CHAPTER 24
Servants roused me by making me sniff pepper and when I had sneezed out all my brains, I assured the prince that although I was in the best of health, his news had rendered me helpless. However, if this was a jest he had performed it with great wit, but I begged him now to tell me the truth. The good prince insisted Helene and I join him at his table where he would explain the reasons for his belief. So we gave up a wonderful meal at the inn for an even greater one with the prince.
I hardly remember what we ate because I was so entranced by the prince's tale which I shall relate as best I can. He said that in his youth he had been a sergeant in the papal army of Pope Julius. They had been marching through Umbria on their way to attack Bologna when the pope instructed him to stop at the Convent Verecondo to make a donation. Close to the convent, he had met a young woman who was so distressed that the whole countryside could hear her weeping. Since the prince was then a young and handsome man and the girl was very beautiful, her tears touched him deeply. In answer to his questions, the girl said her husband had cruelly taken their small son with him to tend the sheep and she missed him terribly.
The prince continued to Verecondo where he spent the night, but the woman's weeping invaded his dreams. The following morning he went to her farm and declared his love for her. She had fallen in love with him the moment she saw him and so great was their passion they threw off their leaden shoes and danced the songs of love until the next day. The prince begged the woman to accompany him to Bologna, but she could not leave her child. With a heavy heart he left her and hurried to meet the pope. However, his absence had not gone unnoticed, and his enemies so maligned him to the pope that he was forced to flee to Firenze and then to Venezia for his safety.
Many years went by before he was able to return to the village, by which time the woman had died. The neighbors told him she had given birth to a second son, which he realized might be his own, but that child had since grown and left for Gubbio some years earlier.
I had been listening with astonishment to this tale and when the prince mentioned Gubbio I could contain myself no longer, throwing my arms around his neck and calling him my own dear father. I fell into such a weeping the like of which I had not done since my mother died. The prince did likewise and everyone at the table was so moved, the tears flowed like the sweet rain of spring, for beneath all of our sorrows, hope had blossomed again.
My father said he pursued a career trading olive oil which had made him very prosperous. He had never married, the remembrance of his love coming between him and every other woman, until one day it had burst forth into a painting which he held up for us to see. It showed with simple delicate lines a woman with dark hair and a somber face, with full lips just like mine and the left eye slightly larger than the right.
'Blessed be the Holy Virgin,' I cried. 'It is the mirror of my mother!'
The prince smiled. 'When I was very young I studied with Leonardo da Vinci for a short while in Milano.'
'You are a most worthy pupil,' I said.
The prince said he had instructed his servants to remember my mother's likeness from the painting and to bring any man who resembled it to the palace. This they had done several times, but the prince had known immediately they were not his offspring. He despaired of ever finding his son until the moment he saw me. Now, as Death approached, he could die happy at last.
I pleaded with him not to speak in this manner, saying, 'God would not have waited so long to bring us together only to tear us apart', and I told him the incredible journey that Helene and I had just undertaken had now resulted in our meeting. The prince said he would commission a new altar to be built on his grounds to celebrate our reunion. Thus with much rejoicing we continued until the chirping of the birds heralded the approaching dawn. Then my father led us to our bedroom whose walls and floors were covered in luxurious carpets and tapestries and to our bed covered with the finest linen sheets and pillows. I could not believe my good fortune. To have found my heart's desire and be reunited with my father all in the space of a few days! What had I done to deserve this? I reached out to Helene. Her softness, her goodness, her beauty and courage overwhelmed me. I see her even now as she bends her head toward me, her hand reaching for mine, her lips beckoning me. I see it as clearly as the day it happened.
Oh, but why go on with this? None of it happened. None of it. I did not run away with Helene. We did not stay at the inn, cook a meal, meet my real father or a thousand other fancies. I dreamed them all. I dreamed them by night and I dreamed them by day. I dreamed them so often they became servants to my desires and so real that I remember the food we ate, the clothes we wore, the words we spoke with greater passion than the things which really did happen. And now it is written down which makes it true. I do not know why that is so, but it is.
All my life I believed the stories of the Bible or of Greece or Roma were true just because they were written down. Now, as I read over what I have written, I see how easy it is to make up a story where none existed. To stir the humors, to make the reader weep, laugh, or clutch his heart — surely that is a gift more valuable than all the gold and silver that exist. Truly the man who succeeds in this is god of his own world.
In truth, Helene and I clung to one another every moment of the few hours we had together. Sometimes the words poured out and at other moments there was no need to speak. I recited my poem and she kissed me, repeating my name a hundred times so that whenever I heard it from then on, it was her voice I heard saying it. We loved one another standing against the walls of the castello, not caring if anyone saw us. Then I had to leave for the sun was beginning to rise and the servants were packing the mule carts.
When I returned from tasting Federico's breakfast, Helene was weeping and cursing her pride for the time she had wasted by not speaking to me. I kissed her again and again and told her to return to the archbishop because I was afraid she would get into trouble if she was seen with me. She refused to leave my side.
Then Federico was climbing into his carriage and the knights and courtiers were mounting their horses. The mule carts were led out of the courtyard. Helene tore at her hair and began wailing loudly. I climbed down to comfort her while behind us the procession rode through the gates. The dandy and several other tasters had gathered by the stables, and were watching us.
'Go,' Helene said, wiping her tears. 'Go, before they harm you.'
The guards were closing the gates, but I did not want to leave Helene — had I not lost Agnese in a similar way? — but she assured me they would not dare to hurt her because she was the archbishop's taster and there were guards everywhere.
I told her that one day I would come back for her. It did not matter if she was in Nimes, Milano, or Paris — I would find her. It might take the rest of my life, but without her my life was not worth living. She clung to me, laid her soft, small finger against my lips and said, 'If God wills it, so it will be. But go now, please, Ugo. Go.'
I mounted my horse. The tasters rushed at me, swinging their swords and clubs. I reared my horse, scattering them, and galloped out of the castello grounds just before the gates closed.
CHAPTER 25
It was during our return to Corsoli that Cecchi named me Il miracolo vivente — a living miracle. But I was hardly living and my life was far from miraculous. Although I had every reason to rejoice, I was filled with melancholy. It was not just that I had found the love of my life only to have lost her again, but I was weary in mind and body. My bones ached, my blood was sluggish, and I did not sleep well. And when I did, my sleep was invaded by dreams of deception and death. I was given to looking over my shoulder and licking my lips like the food tasters I had met. Yes, I had triumphed over Onionface, but he had made a ghost of me. I finally understood what Tommaso had meant when he had warned me about becoming too close to Federico. I had taken on all of his fears as well as my own.
Thus, when on the third day of our journey Cecchi said that Federico had invited me into his carriage, I did
not wish to go. Cecchi said although he was sure my reasons were good, he could not think of one that was good enough to disobey Federico's command.
The others were already there listening to Septivus read about a Roman emperor who had defeated the French and German hordes.
'And he was loved, too?' Federico asked.
'He was a stoic'
Federico's mouth puckered up. 'A stoic'
'To a stoic, virtue was the highest good,' Septivus explained. 'They believed that to attain freedom, true freedom over their own lives, they had to set aside all passion.'
'I can do that,' Federico said, biting into a peach.
We nodded in agreement.
'And also put aside unjust thoughts,' Septivus continued.
'I never have unjust thoughts,' Federico said, wiping the juice from his chin.
Again we nodded.
'And live with nature and give up all indulgences,' finished Septivus.
Federico swallowed the last of the peach. 'Basta. We will read again tomorrow.'
Septivus hastily closed the book and left, quickly followed by Piero and Cecchi. Bernardo grasped my shirt and tried to pull me with him.
'Go,' Federico said to him, and as Bernardo left, Federico hurled the peach stone at the back of his head.
'Scusate,' Federico said, when Bernardo turned around. 'An unjust thought.' Then he turned to me and said, 'Did you know Marcus Aurelius persecuted Christians? I wish they would have had popes then.' He rearranged the cushions behind him and bit into another peach. 'Did you like Milano?'
I replied that I had, although not as much as Firenze.
'Do you like the paintings and sculptures better in Firenze or Milano?'
I had to be careful how I replied because I did not know the reason for his questions. 'I liked the painting of Mary Magdalen.'
'With the book in her hand? Yes, I liked that one, too. Who painted that?'
'Il Giampietrino.'
'Giampietrino.' Federico nodded his head. 'Did you see the da Vinci in the tower hall? The tree with all those golden ropes? Magnificent. Just magnificent. But you should see the paintings and the mosaics in Istanbul.' He told me of the magnificent mosques, mosaics, and jewelry he had seen while he was employed by the sultan. I was surprised, not only that he remembered, but also that he was confiding in me. 'I want to do something like that.' He parted the curtains. 'Look at the clouds. Do they not look like sculptures?'
I sat next to him and peered through the curtains. It was most peculiar talking to him as if he was just another man. 'Yes,' I said, 'That one reminds me of the head of the David in Firenze.
'So it does.' Christ on a cross! He was agreeing with me! I added, 'I liked the Duomo in Firenze, and especially the statue of David. It has an unearthly beauty.'
Federico stared at the clouds for a long moment and then closed the curtain. 'You mentioned Milano, Firenze, but not Corsoli. Not even once.'
'Your Excellency, that is because it is—'
'A shit hole,' he said angrily.
'If I may beg to differ—'
'You may not. But I will change that.' His eyes squinted with ambition. 'I am going to build an altar to the Virgin Mary in the Duomo Santa Caterina.'
'To echo the golden Madonna on the front?'
He must have forgotten about the golden Madonna. 'Yes,' he snapped, as if the idea now disappointed him. 'I want to add something to the palace, too.'
'A tower?'
'No. A new wing to go across the back to hold a library. A place for scribes to translate my manuscripts.'
I did not know he had any manuscripts. I said, 'To make a square out of the palace courtyard.'
'Exactly. Make a square out of it.'
'It is a bold and excellent idea, My Lord.'
'Yes, it is bold. And excellent. The courtyard will be enclosed and the scribes can look upon it while they work. I spoke to a student of Bramantino while we were in Milano.' He began to plump up his cushions and then looked at me, which meant that I should do it for him. I have since taken on that task whenever I see him. 'But I do not wish to lose the garden,' he continued. 'A palace must have gardens. They are good for contemplation.'
'Maybe if it were planted into the hillside.'
He looked at me as a hawk does when it spies a rabbit. I was about to apologize when he said, 'You mean like the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?'
Since I had never heard of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, I said, 'Yes. But bigger.'
'Bigger! Of course, bigger.' He rubbed his hands together. 'I want to wake up and see the hillside covered in flowers. The Hanging Gardens of Corsoli. That would make those fools in Milano sit up! Do you know what they said about Corsoli?'
I shook my head although I could have guessed.
'Backward! They called it backward!'
I could see the storm brewing, and, as I was the only one in the carriage with him, I knew I would be the one to suffer, so I said, 'But, My Lord, that just shows their foolishness because when it comes to cleanliness and neatness they do not compare to Corsoli.'
'You noticed that?' he cried.
'They were like pigs. The servants' quarters would have horrified you.'
‘I knew it! That is because of the Germans! And the Swiss. And the French. They are all pigs! I will build Corsoli to be the envy of Romagna and it will be clean. And neat, too!' He was excited again.
As soon as I emerged from Federico's carriage the others hissed at me. 'What did he say? What did he want?'
I told them Federico had spoken to me as a trusted servant and I could not betray that trust.
Later, Cecchi took my arm and we walked a little ahead of the carriage where the clopping of hooves would bury our words. 'Federico cannot rebuild Corsoli—'
'But why not? Some new buildings and statues will be good for the city.'
Cecchi tugged at his beard. 'The contadini are already starving. If we raise the taxes again they will die. Then there will be no one to feed the palace.'
The next day, Federico called me to his carriage again. I had been warned by Cecchi not to encourage his ideas, but when an idea seized Federico nothing could change his mind. Septivus sat in a corner trying to write as the carriage jolted up and down.
'I am inviting sculptors and painters to Corsoli,' Federico said. 'They will compete to design the back wing, the Hanging Gardens, a statue of me, and some paintings.' He snatched a piece of paper from Septivus and read it with his thick bruised lips.
'To the most modern of ancients, my illustrious brother and Lord, Michelangelo Buonarroti, I thank the Virgin Mother that those of us who look upon your wonders are not required to be as gifted as you since then you would only have God Himself for company. For a man such as I, whose hands unfortunately have been immerse in sangue, it is not only a revelation, but also an absolution to know that man is capable of such magnificent deeds. Your statue of David, which I recently saw on my way to Bologna, so overwhelmed me that I was rooted to the spot, unable to eat or drink, unable to do anything but gaze upon this vision and give thanks to Almighty God that I was allowed to witness such unearthly beauty.'
Those last were my words! There was another page of praise until, finally, Federico invited Michelangelo to paint Federico in one of three poses which he believed would be a challenge worthy of Michelangelo's talent. The first was Federico as Hercules strangling the lion of Nemea, the second as Alexander cutting the Gordian knot, and the third as Caesar crossing the Rubicon. Federico was prepared to pay a thousand gold coins and added that, knowing how promptly the pope paid his artists, he thought Michelangelo could use the money. When he finished reading he looked up at me.
'I cannot see how he will fail to come,' I said.
He grunted and read another letter — this one to Titian — promising exactly the same amount, except he changed Hercules to Perseus slaying the minotaur.
'Federico as the minotaur is something I would pay to see,' Cecchi growled after I told him.
Lette
rs were also written to Piero Bembo and Matteo Bandello, inviting them to Corsoli, which Federico claimed was like the Garden of Eden and where inspiration was as common as dirt. He also wrote to Lorenzo Lotto, Marco D'Oggiono, and to the sculptor Agostino Busti, whose works he had admired in the cathedral in Milano. ‘I would like a statue of me on a horse,' he wrote.
The third time I went into the carriage, Septivus was reading aloud from Verana's book. Fortunately, Septivus had not thrown it away as he had been instructed, for now Federico made him read from it every day. Septivus was reading a passage which said that after blowing one's nose it was not wise to look into the piece of cloth as if it contained the pope's jewels, but to place the piece of cloth in a pocket.
'That's easily solved,' Federico boasted. 'I always use my fingers.'
Federico now ordered me to play backgammon with him while Septivus read from The Odyssey. Every now and then Federico would look up and say something like, 'Who got turned into hogs?'
'Circe turned Eurylocus's men into hogs.'
'Why?'
'Because she hated men.'
'And where was Odysseus?'
'By the ship.'
'Which ship?'
'The ship they were on when they left Laestrygones, no I mean . . . Aeolus ... no ... no ... Telepylus.'
'No wonder I am confused,' Federico said. 'Start again.'
'From the beginning?' Septivus squeaked.
'Where else?'
Although it was often difficult to follow Septivus's reedy voice reciting the journeys of Odysseus or Dante, I found it pleasing to rock backward and forward as the rain drizzled lightly on the carriage roof and the wheels crushed the stones beneath us. Sometimes Federico fell asleep, sometimes I did, and once, Septivus himself began to snore even as he was reading.
It was only when Septivus explained that Beatrice had only been fourteen when Dante had fallen in love with her that I thought of Miranda. I wondered how she was, if she had fallen in love with another boy, if she had taken her potions, if she was with child. My heart ached to see her and I felt such a weariness that I said to Federico, 'Your Excellency, I am so grateful for the many honors you have given me. As you must know my sole desire on earth is to serve you faithfully as Our Lord wills me to.'
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