Then and Now

  'But should all this happen as you desire, Excellency,' said Machiavelli, grimly, 'all you will have achieved will be to increase the power of France and arouse the fear and envy both of France and Spain. Either of them could crush you.'

  'True. But with my arms and my gold I should be so powerful an ally that the party I sided with would be certain of victory.'

  'You would still remain the vassal of the victor.'

  'Tell me, Secretary, you have been in France and have had dealings with the French. What is your opinion of them?'

  Machiavelli shrugged a somewhat disdainful shoulder.

  'They're frivolous and unreliable. When an enemy resists the ferocity of their first attack they waver and lose courage. They can stand neither hardship nor discomfort and after a little while grow so careless that it's easy to take advantage of their unpreparedness.'

  'I know. When winter comes with cold and rain they slink of out of camp one by one and then they're at the mercy of a more sturdy foe.'

  'On the other hand the country is rich and fertile. The King has broken the strength of the barons and is very powerful. He's somewhat foolish, but well advised by men as clever as any in Italy.'

  The Duke nodded.

  'And now tell me what you think of the Spaniards.'

  'I have had little to do with them.'

  'Then I will tell you. They're brave, hardy, resolute and poor. They have nothing to lose and everything to gain. It would be impossible to withstand them but for one circumstance: they have to bring their troops and armaments across the sea. If they were once driven out of Italy it shouldn't be difficult to prevent them from coming back.'

  Silence fell upon them. Il Valentino, his chin resting on his hand, appeared to be sunk in thought, and Machia-velli watched him at his ease. His eyes were hard and brilliant. They looked into a future of tortuous diplomacy and of bloody battles. Excited as he was by the events of the day and the amazing success of his duplicity, no enterprise seemed too difficult or too dangerous for him to undertake, and who could tell what visions of greatness and glory dazzled his bold imagination? He smiled.

  'With my help the French could drive the Spaniards out of Naples and Sicily: with my help the Spaniards could drive the French out of the Milanese.'

  'Whichever you helped would remain the master of Italy and you, Excellency.'

  'If I helped the Spaniards, yes; not if I helped the French. We drove them out of Italy before; we can drive them out again.'

  'They will bide their time and return.'

  'I shall be ready for them. The old fox, King Ferdinand, is not one to cry over spilt milk; if they attack me he will seize the opportunity of revenge and march his armies into France. He married his daughter to the son of the King of England. The English will not miss the chance to declare war on their hereditary enemies. The French will have more reasons to fear me than I to fear them.'

  'But the Pope is old, Excellency; his death will deprive you of half your force and great part of your reputation.'

  'Do you suppose I haven't taken that into consideration? I've provided for everything that may happen when my father dies. I am prepared for it and the next Pope will be of my choosing. He will be protected by my troops. No, I do not fear the Pope's death. It will not interfere with my plans.'

  Suddenly the Duke sprang out of his chair and began to pace the room.

  'It is the Church that has kept this country divided. She has never been strong enough to bring all Italy under her rule, but only to prevent anyone else from doing so. Italy cannot prosper till it is united.'

  'It is true that if our poor country has become the prey of the barbarians it is because it has been ruled by this multitude of lords and princes.'

  Il Valentino stopped walking and, his sensual lips curling with a sardonic smile, looked into Machiavelli's eyes.

  'For the remedy we must turn to the Gospel, my good Secretary, which tells us to render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's and unto God the things that are God's.'

  The Duke's meaning was plain. Machiavelli gave a gasp of fearful amazement. He was strangely fascinated by this man who could calmly speak of taking a step which must arouse the horror of all Christendom.

  'A prince should support the spiritual authority of the Church,' he went on coolly, 'for this will keep his people good and happy, and I cannot think of a better way to restore to the Church the spiritual authority she has so unfortunately lost than to deprive her of the burden of temporal power.'

  Machiavelli was at a loss to know how to answer a remark in which there was so brutal a cynicism, but he was saved from the necessity of doing so by a scratching at the door.

  'Who is it?' cried the Duke with sudden anger at the interruption.

  There was no answer, but the door was flung open and a man entered whom Machiavelli recognized as Don Michele, the Spaniard known as Michelotto. It was he, they said, who had strangled with his own hands the handsome and unfortunate boy, Alfonso of Bisceglie, whom Lucrezia loved. Michelotto was a big, hairy man of powerful build, with bushy eyebrows, hard eyes, a short blunt nose, and an expression of cold ferocity.

  'Ah, it's you,' cried the Duke, his look changing.

  'Murieron.'

  Machiavelli knew little Spanish, but he could not fail to understand that one grim word. They died. The man had remained at the door and the Duke went over to him. They spoke in an undertone and in Spanish, and Machiavelli could not hear what they said. The Duke asked one or two abrupt questions and the other seemed to answer in detail.

  Il Valentino gave that curious light, gay laugh of his which meant that he was pleased as well as amused. After a little Don Michele went and the Duke, a happy smile in his eyes, resumed his seat.

  'Vitellozzo and Oliverotto are dead. They died less valiantly than they lived. Oliverotto cried for mercy. He put the blame for his treachery on Vitellozzo and said that he had been led astray.'

  'And Pagolo Orsini and the Duke of Gravina?'

  'I am taking them with me tomorrow under guard. I shall hold them until I hear from His Holiness the Pope.'

  Machiavelli gave him a questioning glance and the Duke answered it.

  'As soon as I had arrested the rascals I sent a messenger to the Pope to ask him to seize the person of the Cardinal Orsini. Pagolo and his nephew must await the punishment of their crimes till I am assured that this has been done.'

  The Borgia's face grew sombre and it was as though a heavy cloud lurked between his eyebrows. There was a silence and Machiavelli, supposing the audience was at an end, rose to his feet. But the Duke with a sudden gesture of impatience motioned him to sit still. When he spoke it was in a low voice, but in accents that were hard, angry and resolute.

  'It is not enough to destroy these petty tyrants whose subjects groan under their misrule. We are the prey of the barbarians; Lombardy is plundered, Tuscany and Naples are laid under tribute. I alone can crush these horrible and inhuman beasts. I alone can free Italy.'

  'God knows, Italy prays for the liberator who will deliver her from bondage.'

  'The time is ripe and the enterprise will bring glory to those who take part in it and good to the mass of the people of the land.' He turned his bright-eyed, frowning gaze on Machiavelli as though by its force he thought to bend him to his will. 'How can you hold back? Surely there is not an Italian who will refuse to follow me.'

  Machiavelli stared gravely at Caesar Borgia. He sighed deeply.

  'The greatest wish of my heart is to free Italy from these barbarians who overrun and despoil us, lay waste our territories, rape our women and rob our citizens. It may be that you are the man chosen by God to redeem our country. The price you ask me to pay is to join with you in destroying the liberty of the city that gave me birth.'

  'With or without you Florence will lose her liberty.'

  'Then I will go down to destruction with her.'

  The Duke gave his shoulders a displeased, peevish shrug.

  'Spoken like an ancient
Roman, but not like a man of sense.'

  With a haughty wave of the hand he indicated that the audience was terminated. Machiavelli got up, bowed and uttered the usual expressions of respect. He was at the door when the Duke's voice stopped him. And now, clever actor that he was, he changed his tone to one of affable friendliness.

  'Before you go, Secretary, I should like you to give me the benefit of your advice. At Imola you became friendly with Bartolomeo Martelli. He's done one or two odd jobs for me not too badly. I need a man to go to Montpel-lier to conduct negotiations with the wool merchants, and it would be convenient if he went on to Paris to do various things for me there. From your knowledge of Bartolomeo, do you think I should be wise to send him?'

  He spoke casually as though there were nothing more in the enquiry than the words signified, but Machiavelli understood what was at the back of them. The Duke was offering to dispatch Bartolomeo on a journey that would take him away from Imola for a considerable period, and now there could be no doubt that he knew of Machiavelli's desire for Aurelia. Machiavelli's lips tightened, but otherwise his face betrayed nothing.

  'Since Your Excellency is good enough to ask my opinion I should say that Bartolomeo is so useful to you in keeping the people of Imola contented with your rule that it would be a grave mistake to send him away.'

  'Perhaps you are right. He shall stay.'

  Machiavelli bowed once more and left.

  30

  Piero and the servants were waiting for him. The streets were dark and empty. Dead men, most of them stripped to the bone, still lay about, and from a gallows in the main square looters hung as a warning to others. They walked to the inn. The heavy doors were locked and barred, but on their knocking they were examined through the judas and let in. The night was bitter cold and Machiavelli was glad to warm himself at the kitchen fire. Some men were drinking, some were playing dice or cards; others were asleep on benches or on the floor. The landlord put down a mattress for Machiavelli and Piero in his room at the foot of the great bed in which his wife and children were already asleep. They lay down side by side, wrapped in their cloaks, and Piero, tired after the morning's ride from Fano, the exciting events of the day and the long wait at the Palace, fell asleep instantly; but Machiavelli stayed wide awake. He had much to occupy his thoughts.

  It was obvious that Il Valentino knew of his abortive intrigue with Aurelia, and Machiavelli smiled with bitter irony over the mistake that man of tortuous mind had made in thinking that he could use the passion he supposed him to feel to seduce him from the service of the Republic. Machiavelli would have credited him with more intelligence than to imagine that a man of sense could be so besotted with desire for a woman as to allow it to interfere with the serious business of life. Women were a-plenty. Why, when the Duke had kidnapped Doro-tea Caracciolo, wife of the captain of the Venetian infantry, and Venice had sent envoys to demand her return, he had asked them whether they thought he found the women of Romagna so unapproachable that he was compelled to abduct transient females. Except to say goodbye to her Machiavelli had not seen Aurelia for several weeks, and if he wanted her now it was because he did not like to be thwarted rather than because his passion was still at fever heat. He knew that, and it would have seemed absurd to him to yield to such a petty emotion. But he was curious to know how the Duke had discovered his secret. Certainly not through Piero; he had tried him and found him true. Serafina? He had been very careful and there was no possibility that she had an inkling of what had gone on. Monna Caterina and Aurelia were too deeply implicated in the plot to have betrayed him. Nina? No, they had taken care of her. On a sudden Machiavelli slapped his forehead. Fool that he was! It was plain as the nose on his face and he could have kicked himself for not having guessed at once. Fra Timoteo! He must be in the Duke's pay; with his close association with Serafina and with Bartolomeo's household he was in a position to spy on the Florentine envoy's movements: and by him the Duke must have known all he did, who came to visit him, when he sent letters to Florence, and when the answers arrived. It gave Machiavelli a peculiar sense of discomfort to realize that he had been under surveillance. But this guess made everything clear. It was no coincidence that on the night when Bartolomeo was safely praying before the bones of San Vitale Il Valentino should have sent for him at the very hour appointed for him to knock at Aurelia's door. Fra Timoteo knew the arrangements and had passed the information on. Rage seized Machiavelli and he would gladly have wrung the sleek monk's neck. Caesar Borgia, judging Machiavelli by himself, thought the disappointment would exacerbate his passion and so make him more malleable to his own designs. That was why Fra Timoteo had refused to help him further. It was certainly he who had persuaded Aurelia that Providence had prevented her from committing a sin and so she must refrain from it.

  'I wonder how much he got besides my twenty-five ducats,' Machiavelli muttered, forgetting that he had borrowed them from Bartolomeo and Bartolomeo had got them from the Duke.

  But for all that he could not but feel a certain complacency at the thought that the Duke was prepared to take so much trouble to inveigle him into his service. It was far from disagreeable to realize that he set so high a value on him. In Florence the Signory thought him an amusing fellow and his letters often made them laugh, but they had no great confidence in his judgment and never followed his advice.

  'A prophet is not without honour save in his own country,' he sighed.

  He knew that he had more brains in his little finger than all the rest of them put together. Piero Soderino, the head of the government, was a weak, shallow, amiable man, and it might have been of him that the Duke was thinking when he spoke of those who were more afraid of doing wrong than zealous to do right. The others, his immediate councillors, were timid, mediocre and irresolute. Their policy was to hesitate, to shillyshally, to temporize. Machiavelli's immediate superior, the Secretary of the Republic, was Marcello Virgilio. He owed his position to his handsome presence and his gift for oratory. Machiavelli was attached to him, but had no great opinion of his ability. How it would surprise those silly fellows to hear that the agent whom they had sent to Il Valentino just because he was of small consequence had been appointed governor of Imola and was the most trusted of the Duke's advisers! Machiavelli hadn't the least intention of accepting the Duke's offers, but it amused him to play with the idea and imagine the consternation of the Signory and the wrath of his enemies.

  And Imola would be merely a step. If Caesar Borgia became King of Italy he might well become his first minister and occupy the same position as the Cardinal d'Amboise enjoyed with the King of France. Was it possible that in the Borgia Italy had found her redeemer? Even though it was personal ambition that spurred him on his purpose was lofty and worthy of his great spirit. He was wise and vigorous. He had made himself loved and feared by the people; he commanded the respect and confidence of the troops. Italy was enslaved and insulted, but surely her ancient valour was not dead. United under a strong ruler her people would enjoy the security they longed for to pursue their avocations and live in prosperity and happiness. What greater opportunity for glory could any man want than to give that suffering land the blessing of lasting peace?

  But suddenly a notion struck Machiavelli with such force that he started violently, so that Piero, asleep by his side, was disturbed and made a restless movement. It had occurred to him that the whole thing might be nothing more than a practical joke that the Duke had played on him. He knew well enough that Il Valentino, notwithstanding his pretence of cordiality, was displeased with him because he felt that he had not exerted himself as much as he might have to persuade the Sig-nory to grant the condotta which would enhance his prestige and augment his resources. This might be his revenge, and Machiavelli felt his whole body prickle as he thought that all that time at Imola the Duke and Agapito and the rest had watched his ingenious moves and guffawed as they devised ways to frustrate them. He tried to persuade himself that this was only an idle fancy which had better be quick
ly forgotten; but he couldn't be sure, and the uncertainty tortured him. He spent a very troubled night.

  31

  Next morning the Duke, leaving a small force to garrison the town, set out with his army on the first lap to Perugia.

  It was New Year's Day.

  The weather was bad, and the roads, poor at the best of times, were converted by the tramping horses, the baggage wagons and the marching soldiers into a slush of mud. The army halted at small towns in which there were no means of accommodation for so great a mass of men and those were lucky who found the shelter of a roof. Machiavelli liked his comfort. It affected his temper to sleep on the bare earth in a peasant's hut cheek by jowl with as many as could find room in which to stretch their weary limbs. One had to eat what food there was, and Machiavelli, with his poor digestion, suffered miserably. At Sasso Ferrato news came that the surviving Vitelli had fled to Perugia, and at Gualdo citizens of Castello were waiting to offer the Duke the town and its territories. Then a messenger arrived to announce that Gian Paolo Baglioni, with the Orsini, the Vitelli and their men-at-arms, abandoning hope of defending Perugia, had fled to Siena, whereupon the people had risen and next day ambassadors came to surrender it. Thus the Duke gained possession of two important towns without striking a blow. He went on to Assisi. There envoys from Siena came to ask what reason he had for attacking their city as according to common report was his intention. The Duke told them that he was filled with amicable sentiments towards it but that he was determined to expel Pandolfo Petrucci, their lord and his enemy, and that if they would do this themselves they had nothing to fear from him; but if not he would come with his army and do it himself. He set out for Siena, but by a circuitous route so that the citizens might have time to reflect, and on the way captured various castles and villages. The soldiery plundered the country. The inhabitants had fled before them, but when they found any that had stayed behind, old men or old women too infirm to leave, they hung them up by their arms and lit fires under their feet so that they might tell where valuables had been hidden. When they would not, or could not because they didn't know, they died under the torture.