Then and Now

by W. Somerset Maugham

  'What it is to have to do with a woman of experience,' said Machiavelli. 'She leaves nothing to chance.'

  He told one of his servants to bring a pail of hot water to his bedroom and he washed himself all over. It was a thing he hadn't done since the night before his marriage to Marietta. He remembered that he had caught cold as the result and as was only natural had given his cold to Marietta. Then he scented himself with perfume he had bought at the same time as he bought the attar of roses for Aurelia. He put on his best clothes. Since he did not want to spoil his appetite for the excellent supper he looked forward to, he refused to partake of the modest meal Serafina had prepared on the excuse that he was going to sup at the inn with the agent of the Duke of Ferrara. He tried to read, but was too excited to read with attention. He strummed a little on the lute, but his fingers served him ill. He thought for a while of that dialogue of Plato's in which he proves to his own satisfaction that pleasure, being mingled with pain, is an imperfect good. There was something in it, but there were moments when meditation on eternal things was but an insipid resource. He laughed in his heart when he passed in review the difficulties of his undertaking and the ingenuity of his devices to overcome them. It would have been a false modesty unworthy of him not to acknowledge that he had been wonderfully clever. He didn't know anyone who could so skilfully have worked on the passions, foibles and interest of the parties concerned as to bend them to his will. The church clock struck eight. He called Piero, thinking to pass the long hour ahead by playing draughts; ordinarily he could beat him easily, but tonight he was careless and Piero won game after game. It seemed as though the hour would never end, and then on a sudden the clock began to strike. Machiavelli sprang to his feet, flung his cloak round him and opened the house door on to the darkness of the night. He was about to step out into the alley when he heard the tread of feet on the cobbles. He closed the door partly and stood just within to wait till the men, whoever they were, had passed. But they didn't pass, they stopped at his door and one of them knocked; since it was not latched the knock pushed it back and the flare of the torches two of the men carried discovered Machiavelli in the passage.

  'Ah, Messer Niccolo,' said a man whom Machiavelli immediately recognized as one of the Duke's secretaries. 'We were coming to fetch you. And you, you were just coming to the Palace? His Excellency desires to see you. He has important news for you.'

  For once Machiavelli lost his presence of mind. He could not think of any excuse to make. Had he not been caught thus, ready to go out, he could have sent a message to say that he was sick in bed and could not come, but how could he say that now? The Duke was not a man to whom you could say that you had other things to do, and besides, if he had important news to tell, it was essential that he should hear them. It might very well be that they concerned the safety of Florence. His heart sank.

  'Wait a moment and I will tell my boy that he need not accompany me.'

  'It is quite unnecessary. Men will be sent to bring you safely back.'

  Machiavelli went into the parlour and closed the door behind him.

  'Listen, Piero. The Duke has sent for me. I will make the interview short by telling the Duke I have the colic. Monna Caterina must be waiting. Go to the door and knock in the way she told you. Tell her what has happened and say I will come as soon as possible. Ask her to let you wait in the yard so that you can open for me when I knock.'

  'Very well.'

  'And say that I am distressed, mortified, miserable, woebegone and exasperated. I shall be back in half an hour.'

  With that he joined the men who had come for him and went to the Palace. He was taken into an ante-room and the secretary left him saying he would inform the Duke of his arrival. Machiavelli waited. Minutes went by. Five, ten, fifteen. Then the secretary returned to say that the Duke sent his excuses, but a courier had just arrived from the Pope with letters and he was closeted with the Bishop of Elna and Agapito da Amalia to consider them. He would send for Machiavelli as soon as he was ready. Once more Machiavelli was left alone. His patience was sorely tried. He fidgeted, he tossed from side to side in his chair, he bit his fingers, he walked up and down. He fretted, he chafed, he fumed, he raged. At last, in desperation, he flung out of the room and sought out the secretary who had come for him and in icy tones asked him if the Duke had forgotten he was there.

  'I have the colic,' he said. 'If the Duke cannot see me I will go home and return tomorrow.'

  'It is an unfortunate accident. Surely His Excellency wouldn't keep you waiting except for matters of the greatest urgency. I believe he has something to say to you that is of vital interest to the Signory. Please have patience.'

  Mastering his vexation as best he could Machiavelli threw himself into a handy chair. The secretary engaged him in conversation, and though Machiavelli answered in monosyllables and was evidently not paying attention to what he said, would not be discouraged. It was only by a great effort that Machiavelli prevented himself from telling the chatter-box to hold his silly tongue. He kept on saying to himself: if they'd only come one minute later they wouldn't have found me. At last Agapito da Amalia himself came and said the Duke was ready to receive him. Machiavelli had been kept waiting an hour. He gave a sardonic smile as he thought of Piero standing inside the door shivering in the yard. It was some small consolation that he was not the only one to suffer.

  The Duke was with his cousin the Bishop of Elna. He was gracious, but wasted no time on compliments.

  'I have always been frank with you, Secretary, and I wish now to put my position quite plainly. I am not satisfied with the declaration of good will which at the Signory's direction you convey to me. The Pope may die any day, and if I want to keep my states I must take measures to secure myself. The King of France is my ally and I have an armed force; but that may not be enough and so I wish to make friends of my neighbours. These are Bologna, Mantua, Ferrara and Florence.'

  Machiavelli thought this was no time to repeat his assurances of the Republic's good will, so wisely he held his tongue.

  'So far as Ferrara is concerned I have acquired the Duke's friendship by his alliance with Monna Lucrezia, my beloved sister, the enormous dowry the Pope gave her, and the benefits we have conferred on his brother the Cardinal. So far as Mantua is concerned, we are arranging two things; one is to give the Cardinal's hat to the Marquis's brother, for which the Marquis and his brother will deposit forty thousand ducats; and the other is to give my daughter in marriage to the Marquis's son, whereupon the forty thousand ducats will be returned as her dowry. I need not point out to you, Secretary, that mutual advantage is the most solid basis of enduring friendship.'

  'I would not dispute it, Excellency,' smiled Machiavelli. 'And Bologna?'

  The Lord of Bologna, Giovanni Bentivoglio, had joined the rebellious captains, and though his army had withdrawn from the Duke's frontiers it remained on war footing. II Valentino stroked his well-kept, pointed beard and smiled maliciously.

  'I have no wish to seize Bologna, but only to assure myself of that state's co-operation. I would sooner have Messer Giovanni my friend than drive him out of a state which I might not be able to hold and which might prove my ruin. Besides which, the Duke of Ferrara refuses to give me aid unless I come to an agreement with Bologna.'

  'Messer Giovanni has signed the articles of association with the rebels.'

  'For once your information is at fault, Secretary,' the Duke answered good-naturedly. 'Messer Giovanni is of the opinion that the articles do not safeguard his interests and has refused to agree to them. I am in communication with his brother the Protonotary and things are proceeding to our mutual satisfaction. When we come to an agreement the Protonotary will receive a Cardinal's hat, or if he prefers to relinquish Holy Orders the hand of my cousin, the sister of the Cardinal Borgia. The forces of our four states, supported further by the King of France, will be formidable, and then your masters will have more need of me than I have of them. I don't say that I bear them ill will, but ci
rcumstances alter cases, and if I am not bound to them by a definite pact I shall feel myself at liberty to act as appears best to me.'

  The velvet glove was off and the mailed fist was bared. Machiavelli allowed himself a moment's reflection. He was aware that Agapito and the Bishop of Elna were watching him intently.

  'What exactly would Your Excellency have us do?' he asked as nonchalantly as he could. 'I understand that you have already come to terms with Vitellozzo and the Orsini.'

  'Nothing has been signed yet and as far as I'm concerned I'd just as soon nothing were signed. It is not my policy to crush the Orsini: if the Pope dies I must have friends in Rome. When Pagolo Orsini came to see me one of his complaints was the behaviour of Ramiro de Lorqua; I promised to give him satisfaction and I shall be as good as my word. Vitellozzo is another matter. He is a snake and he has done everything he could to prevent my settling my differences with the Orsini.'

  'Perhaps it would be better if Your Excellency were more explicit.'

  'Very well. I desire you to write to your masters that it may very well be that the King of France will order them to restore to me the condotta which they withdrew without rhyme or reason and they will be obliged to obey. It is surely better for them to do this willingly than by compulsion.'

  Machiavelli paused to collect himself. He knew that every word he said was fraught with danger. When he spoke it was in as ingratiating a manner as he could assume.

  'Your Excellency acts with prudence in assembling his forces and making friends; but so far as the condotta is concerned, Your Excellency can't be classed with hireling captains who have nothing but themselves and a few troops to sell. Your Excellency is one of the powers of Italy, and it would be more suitable to make an alliance with you than to engage you as a mercenary.'

  'I should look upon such an engagement as an honour,' the Duke answered suavely. 'Come now, Secretary, surely we can arrange something that will be to our common advantage. I am a professional soldier, bound to your state by ties of friendship; it is a slight your masters put upon me in refusing my request. I don't believe that I'm mistaken in thinking that I could serve them as well as anyone else.'

  'I venture to point out that there would be no great safety for my government when three-quarters of its troops were in the hands of Your Excellency.'

  'Does that mean that you doubt my good faith?'

  'Not at all,' said Machiavelli with a fervour he was far from feeling. 'But my masters are prudent and they must be circumspect. They cannot afford to take a step which they might have reason to regret. Their chief desire is to be at peace with all men.'

  'You are too intelligent not to know, Secretary, that the only way to assure peace is to be prepared for war.'

  'I have no doubt that my government will take such steps as they deem necessary.'

  'By taking other captains into their service?' the Duke asked sharply.

  This was the opportunity Machiavelli had been looking for. He knew that Il Valentino was subject to sudden attacks of rage, and having vented it would scornfully dismiss the object of wrath. Machiavelli was too eager to get away to care if he angered him.

  'I have every reason to believe that such are its intentions.'

  To his astonishment the Duke laughed. He rose from his chair and stood with his back to the fire. He answered with complete good humour.

  'Are they under the impression that it is possible to remain neutral in the unsettled conditions that now prevail? Surely they have more sense. When two neighbouring states go to war, the one that has counted on your help because of its intimate relations with you will consider you under an obligation to share its fortunes, and when you fail to do so, will bear you a grudge: the other will despise you for your timidity and lack of spirit. To the one side you are a useless friend and to the other an enemy little to be feared.

  'The neutral is in such a position that he can help one party or the other; and in the end he is forced into such a situation that he is obliged against his will to join in the fray which he was unwilling at the beginning to enter boldly and with a good grace. Believe me, it is always wiser to take one side or the other without hesitation, for one or the other of them will be victorious and then you will fall prey to the winner. For who will come to your rescue? You can give no reason why anyone should protect you and will find no one to do it. The victor has no use for friends he can't trust, and the vanquished will do nothing for you, even if he could, because you wouldn't come to his help when your forces might have saved him.'

  Machiavelli had no wish at the moment to listen to a disquisition on neutrality and he only hoped that by then the Duke had said his say. But he hadn't.

  'Whatever the risks of war, the risks of neutrality are greater. It renders you an object of hatred and contempt, and sooner or later you will fall victim to the first person who thinks it worth his while to destroy you. If on the other hand you come out vigorously on one side and that side wins, even though its power is so great that you may have cause to fear it, you have put it under an obligation and attached it to yourself by bonds of friendship.'

  'And it is Your Excellency's experience that men's gratitude for past benefits is so considerable that they will hesitate to exercise their power at your expense?'

  'Victories are never so decisive that the victor can afford to alienate his friends. It is to his best interest to treat them with justice.'

  'And supposing the side you have taken loses?'

  'Then you are all the more valuable to your ally. He helps you to the best of his ability and you are the companion of fortunes that may rise again. So, whichever way you look at it, neutrality is folly. That is all I have to say to you. You will be wise to repeat to your masters the little lesson in statemanship that I have thought well to give you.'

  With these words the Duke sank into a chair and held out his hand to the blazing fire. Machiavelli, bowing, was about to withdraw when the Duke turned to Agap-ito da Amalia.

  'Have you told the Secretary that his friend Buonarotti is delayed in Florence and will not be arriving for some time?'

  Agapito shook his head.

  'I know no such person, Excellency,' said Machiavelli.

  'Surely. The sculptor.'

  The Duke was looking at him with smiling eyes and Machiavelli on a sudden guessed of whom he was speaking. He had written to his friend Biagio for money and had received an answer from him to say that he was sending it by Michelangelo, a sculptor. The name meant nothing to him. But the Duke's remark suggested that his effects had been searched, evidently with the connivance of Serafina, and he congratulated himself on having put his important correspondence in a safe place; he had kept in his lodging only papers of little consequence, but among them was Biagio's letter.

  'There are many stone-cutters in Florence, Excellency,' he said coolly. 'I cannot be expected to know them all.'

  'This Michelangelo is not without talent. He made a Cupid in marble and buried it in the ground so that when it was dug up it was taken for an antique. Cardinal di San Giorgio bought it, but when he discovered the fraud returned it to the dealer and in the end it came into my hands. I have sent it as a present to the Marchioness of Mantua.'

  Il Valentino spoke in a jesting way and Machiavelli for a reason obscure to him received the impression that he was being made a fool of. He had the irascibility of the highly sensitive man he was, and his impatience overcame him. He was quite willing to affront the Duke if only he could secure his freedom to keep his appointment.

  'And does Your Excellency propose to order from him a statue to rival the one Leonardo made for the Duke of Milan?'

  The shaft quivered through the air, and the secretaries, startled, glanced at the Duke to see how he would take it. The great equestrian statue of Francesco Sforza, thought by many to be Leonardo's masterpiece, had been destroyed by the soldiery when Marshal Trevulzio captured the city; and Francesco's son, Lodovico il Moro, who had commissioned it, a usurper like Caesar Borgia himself, dri
ven from his city, was now a prisoner in the castle of Loches. Machiavelli's remark was well designed to remind Il Valentino how dangerous his position was and to what depths he might fall if his good fortune deserted him. The Duke laughed.

  'No, I have more important work for this fellow Michelangelo to do than to make statues. The defences of this city are useless and I'm going to let him draw plans for its fortification. But you were speaking of Leonardo; I should like to show you some drawings he has made of me.'

  He made a sign to one of the secretaries who left the room and soon returned with a portfolio which he handed to the Duke. He showed the drawings to Machia-velli one after the other.

  'Unless you had told me they were portraits of Your Excellency I should never have known it,' said he.

  'Poor Leonardo, he has no great gift for catching a likeness. But as drawings I am assured they are not without merit.'

  'That may be, but I think it a pity that with his gifts he should waste his time painting pictures and making statues.'

  'I can assure you that he will not do so while he is in my service. I sent him to Piombino to drain the marshes and lately he has been at Cesena and Cesenatico to cut a canal and make a harbour.'