Уильям Моэм - Then and Now

Monna Caterina gave him a curtsey in which according to his perspicacity an observer might have seen derision, resentment or civility and was gone.

Machiavelli was confounded.

NOTWITHSTANDING ALL his attempts during the next month it was not till he was about to leave Imola that he saw Aurelia again. Fortunately his work kept him too busy to brood over his disappointment. The rebels were reported to be at loggerheads. At last, however, all signed the agreement which Agapito had shown Machiavelli except Baglioni of Perugia, who told them they were fools and dupes to put their hands to such a document and, when he found them determined to make peace at any cost, in a passion strode out of the church in which they were meeting. The Duke appointed Pagolo Orsini governor of Urbino, which by the terms of the treaty he recovered, and to reward him for persuading the captains to sign it made him a present of five thousand ducats. Vitellozzo wrote humble letters in which he sought to excuse his actions.

“The traitor stuck a knife in our backs,” said Agapito, “and now he thinks he can undo the harm with soft words.”

But Il Valentino appeared to be well pleased. It looked as though he were prepared to let bygones be bygones and restore the repentant rebels to his confidence. His amiability seemed suspicious to Machiavelli and he wrote to the Signory that it was hard to guess and impossible to know what the Duke had in mind. He had now large forces at his disposal and it was evident to all that he would make use of them. Rumours were current that he was making preparations for his departure from Imola, but whether he intended to march south and attack the Kingdom of Naples or north to wage war on the Venetians was more than anyone could tell. Machiavelli was disturbed to hear that influential persons from Pisa had come to offer him their city. Florence had spent time, money and lives in the attempt to recapture it, for its possession was necessary to the Florentines’ commerce, and if it was held by the Duke their position, both from the economic and the military standpoint, would be hazardous. Lucca was close and the Duke, speaking of it, remarked in a way that Machiavelli thought ominous that it was a rich territory and a mouthful for gluttons. If after gaining possession of Pisa he seized Lucca, Florence would be at his mercy. In an interview with Machiavelli the Duke brought up again the matter of the condotta and the wretched envoy was hard put to it to explain, in such a way as not to offend him, the Signory’s hesitation to grant him the command he wanted. The plain fact was that they were determined not to place themselves in the power of an unscrupulous man whom they had every reason to distrust. But whatever sinister plans he turned round in that handsome head of his, the Duke was evidently not ready to resort to more than veiled threats to induce the Florentines to accede to his demands, for he listened to Machiavelli calmly enough. He ended by telling him that he was about to set out for Cesena with his army and once there would do what he decided was necessary.

He started for Forli on the tenth of December and reached Cesena on the twelfth. Machiavelli made arrangements to follow him. He sent Piero with one of the servants ahead to make sure of a dwelling and, having taken leave of certain persons who had obliged him during his sojourn at Imola, empty now that the Duke, with his court and all the hangers–on, had left, finally went to say good–bye to Bartolomeo. He found him at home and was ushered into his study. The fat man received him with his usual boisterous cordiality. He had already heard of Machiavelli’s approaching departure and expressed his regret in very handsome terms. He said how greatly he had enjoyed the acquaintance of such a distinguished visitor and how much he deplored that he would no longer have the opportunity to play with him those too infrequent games of chess and to entertain him at his house with such poor fare as he could provide. Machiavelli on his side paid him appropriate compliments and then with some embarrassment entered upon a matter which was on his mind.

“Listen, my dear friend, I am come not only to thank you for all your kindness to me, but to ask you to do me one more kindness still.”

“You have only to mention it.”

Machiavelli gave a slightly bitter laugh.

“I owe you twenty–five ducats. I haven’t the money to pay you. I must ask you to wait a little longer.”

“It is a matter of no consequence.”

“Twenty–five ducats is a considerable sum.”

“Let it wait, let it wait, and if it’s inconvenient for you to pay there’s no reason why you should. Look upon it as a gift rather than a loan.”

“There is no reason why you should make me such a present. I couldn’t possibly accept such a favour at your hands.”

Bartolomeo leaned back in his chair and burst into a great booming laugh.

“But didn’t you guess? It is not my money. Our good Duke knew that with the rise of prices and the necessary expenses of your mission your circumstances were embarrassed. Everyone knows that the Signory is niggardly. I received instructions from His Excellency’s treasurer to provide you with any sum you might need. If you had asked me for two hundred ducats instead of twenty–five I would have given them to you.”

Machiavelli went pale. He was dumbfounded.

“But if I had known the money came from the Duke nothing would have induced me to take it.”

“It was because the Duke knew your scruples and admired your integrity that he chose me to be the go–between. He respected your delicacy. I am betraying his confidence, but I do not think you should remain ignorant of so generous and disinterested a gesture.”

Machiavelli stifled the obscenity that rose to his lips. He had little belief in the Duke’s generosity and none in his disinterestedness. Did he think to buy his good will for twenty–five ducats? Machiavelli’s thin lips tightened so that his mouth showed as no more than a bitter line.

“You are surprised?” smiled Bartolomeo.

“Nothing the Duke may do can any longer surprise me.”

“He is a very great man. I have no doubt that we who have enjoyed the privilege of being useful to him will on that account be remembered by posterity.”

“My good Bartolomeo,” said Machiavelli, “it is not the great deeds men do that make them remembered by posterity, but the fine language with which men of letters describe their deeds. Pericles would be no more than a name if Thucydides had not put into his mouth the speech that has made him famous.”

While saying these words he got up.

“You mustn’t go without seeing the ladies. It would grieve them not to bid you farewell.”

Machiavelli followed him into the parlour. There was a certain constriction in his throat and it seemed to him that his heart was beating at an unaccustomed rate. The women had not expected a visitor and they were in their everyday clothes. They were taken aback to see him and perhaps none too pleased. They rose to their feet and curtseyed. Bartolomeo told them that Machiavelli was leaving for Cesena.

“What shall we do without you?” cried Monna Caterina.

Since Machiavelli had the conviction that they would do perfectly well without him, he merely smiled a rather sour smile.

“Messer Niccolò will doubtless be glad to leave a place which offers so little to divert a stranger,” said Aurelia.

Machiavelli could not but think there was a hint of malice in her tone. She resumed her work and he noticed that she was still busy with the elaborate embroidery of the shirts the material of which he had brought from Florence.

“I hardly know which to admire most, Monna Aurelia,” he said, “your patience or your industry.”