The Florentine Emerald: The Secret of the Convert's Ring

by Agustín Bernaldo Palatchi

  Satisfied with his appearance, Mauricio walked quickly through the alleyways that led him to Lucrecia’s shop, dodging between mules laden with saddlebags, young shepherds under the porticos offering fresh milk from their goats, and vociferous peddlers vaunting the excellence of their trinkets. For more than a week now, day after day, he had returned to the shop at the precise time that he had the encounter with that wonderful young woman. It was as if he had been the victim of a magic spell, he was unable to put her light green, almond-shaped eyes out of his mind and was willing to defy all the rules in order to find out more about her. For the last few days, while doing various errands, he had cultivated a friendship with Lucrecia, the shop owner. She had assured him that the young girl, of whom he only possessed a kerchief and the memory of her glance, was not a regular customer. On the other hand, her maid, Cateruccia, did come by the shop a couple of times a month. Mauricio had thought up a daring plan, but did not trust her maidservant to deliver his only hope. He would have to hand it over to the young lady personally.

  When he saw her come in it was as if the rest of the world suddenly faded, as if the Creator’s palette, in order to enhance the appearance of the muse, had suddenly dimmed all the colors that surrounded her. Her face was delicate, soft-skinned, and as white as freshly fallen snow. Her curls fell heedlessly down to the base of her neck, where her skin could just be glimpsed thanks to the scalloped collar of her elegant, red silk dress. The sleeves, slashed up to the elbow, according to the latest fashion, revealed the blouse worn underneath, and the skirt, with its high, close-fitting waist, fell down to her feet in a suggestive cascade of folds.

  Mauricio felt his legs weaken, but this did not stop him from stepping forward to face her. After greeting her with the greatest courtesy, he returned the delicate kerchief that she had dropped some days before. Her handmaid, Cateruccia, was unable to hide an expression of surprise and disapproval. Lorena, on the other hand, displayed good manners and revealed her name. After a brief conversation, she formally took her leave.

  Now Mauricio had made his move. When Lorena opened her kerchief, she would get a surprise.

  15

  Lorena mentally recited the note that Mauricio had hidden in the kerchief. It contained a poem of extraordinary beauty and a message: he would be in the same shop every day at the ninth hour.1

  There he would wait for her impatiently, anxious to see her again. This proposal was unacceptable. A high-class lady of marrying age could not visit Lucrecia’s shop frequently. Even less could she talk in public with this foreigner day after day. Nor even once a week. Were she to do so, her reputation would be called into question and she would find it impossible to find a suitable husband. On the other hand, Mauricio seemed to be a wealthy man judging from his clothing. The fact that he seemed to be completely unaware of Florentine customs, far from displeasing her, gave him an added attraction to her eyes. There was perhaps an honorable possibility that might be worth investigating.

  At first, Cateruccia had resisted, but after being offered a small bribe, she had accepted the assignment.

  “The task you asked me to fulfill was easier than we thought. I only had to ask Lucrecia, who is up-to-date on the latest gossip concerning her clients. It turns out that this Mauricio is the man who saved the life of Lorenzo de Medici when he was about to be stabbed in the cathedral. He is a person shrouded in mystery. It is rumored that he was the one who gave Lorenzo that fabulous ring he wears on certain public occasions. Some even maintain that he is a powerful magician teaching his techniques to Marsilio Ficino himself. Others say that, on the contrary, it is he who has much to learn from the erudite scholars that frequent Il Magnifico’s circle. Little is known of his origins. What we do know for certain is that he is a native of Barcelona. In any case, he is now one of Lorenzo’s most highly trusted men. He lodges in his palace and it will not be long before he will be given the post of assistant manager of the Tavola Medici in Florence, of which he already boasts a small share.

  Lorena’s mind now drifted into a world of dreams and fantasies. Mauricio, the miraculous savior of Il Magnifico. A man of extraordinary powers arriving from distant lands to prevent the triumph of the corrupt Pazzi conspiracy. Perhaps he was a hero like Parzifal described by the troubadour Wolfram von Eschenbach …? Lorena laughed at herself as she came back down to earth.

  “How difficult was it for you to ascertain all this?” she asked, trying hard not to show the enormous interest that was surging up inside her. The more eager she seemed, the more expensive the next favor she was going to ask of Cateruccia would be.

  “Lucrecia is always well-informed, but I really had to beg her for it. I was obliged to buy a pair of clogs at a much higher price than usual. I hardly have any change left to give back to you.”

  Lorena sighed resignedly. It was impossible to fool Cateruccia. She had cared for her since she was a little girl. How could she possibly not notice her blushing every time she mentioned Mauricio? She therefore picked up the small change that Cateruccia had given back and pondered on how to approach her next request. Finally she decided that the most suitable way would be to go on the attack, making it clear that she would bridge no discussion about her wishes.

  “The next time we go for a walk without my sister, we shall make a few purchases in Lucrecia’s shop around the ninth hour.”

  “Signorina Lorena,” answered Cateruccia, alarmed, “we have already gone beyond all permissible decorum. I cannot continue being an accomplice to this game. It is far too dangerous.”

  “Don’t worry so,” Lorena reassured her, “I have not gone completely mad yet. The next visit will be the last. I only ask of you that while I talk to Mauricio you go through the shop and choose something you would like to buy for yourself.”

  Lorena hoped that she had calculated right. Cateruccia not only loved her very much, but was also extremely practical. This new present she was subtly offering her was an incentive that was not to be spurned. Nevertheless, the decisive element lay in the fact that Cateruccia’s future was intertwined with her own. The wedding with Galeotto Pazzi having now been discarded, her parents were already considering new suitors. It was more than possible that within a year at most she would find herself obliged to marry. With this in mind, no one would refuse her having Cateruccia as housekeeper in the new household. And running a great mansion, if the matrimony is in keeping with her parents’ aspirations, would be far more interesting than looking after a couple of young sisters.

  “The next visit will be the last,” declared Cateruccia.

  1 In those days, time was measured from dawn to dusk by dividing it into twelve hours grouped into four periods of three hours each (third, sixth, ninth and vespers) which cannot be equated precisely to specific hours because of the solar fluctuations in the different seasons.

  16

  “I do not think such ferocious insults against the pope have ever been heard in church before,” Marsilio Ficino remarked. “Your old tutor the Bishop of Arezzo certainly did not mince his words during the synod celebrated in the Duomo.”

  Il Magnifico nodded in agreement as they strolled through the gardens of his palace. It had been days since Mauricio had been able to talk to him. Lorenzo was kept constantly busy writing letters and presiding over meetings. Would to God he were inspired! It all depended on his words being well chosen.

  “When the pope only takes into account the earthly interests of his family, he forgets he must also take care of the sheep and instead he tries to devour them like a wild wolf.”

  “The Bishop of Arezzo shares your opinion, as we do,” Marsilio agreed, “although he has resorted to less poetic metaphors: he has accused Pope Sixtus of being the devil’s vicar, a whoremonger who is prostituting his own mother, the church; of being a Judas throwing poison to the fish from his boat, of being a slut, who in spite of being a harlot herself accuses everyone else of being fornicators … ”

  “If your old tutor appears so forceful in public, I wou
ld prefer not to ask what he must say to you in private,” said Leonardo da Vinci with an ironic smile.

  “If you prefer not to know, I shall respect your wishes,” answered Lorenzo sarcastically.

  Mauricio contemplated the harmonious flow of water trickling from the fountain in Lorenzo’s courtyard as he listened in amazement to these serious matters being discussed in such a light-hearted way. So many of the foundations on which his whole upbringing lay had been crumbling since the death of his father. In his home, the slightest word coming from a priest was sacred and it would have been unthinkable to pass a malicious judgment on even the worst sermon of the most humble parish priest, even less to harbor doubts on Christ’s representative on earth. However, he found himself in the midst of a conversation of which he was unable to decide whether it was heretical or cynically realistic.

  The fact was that the pope was not only the spiritual head of the church, but also the leader of a powerful earthly state that guaranteed his independence from other monarchs. The criticisms of his nepotism were irrefutable. Six of the cardinals ordained by Pope Sixtus IV, more than a fifth of all those appointed during his mandate, were nephews of his. The constant flow of favors bestowed on his relatives thanks to the privileges of his position were innumerable: lands, ecclesiastical income, honors, arranged marriages, and so on. Whatever the privilege, it meant little in the eyes of Sixtus IV, especially where his favorite nephew Count Girolamo was concerned, whom it was rumored was his own son. Within this boundless ambition lay the seed of the conflict with Florence. The pope had moved heaven and earth for Count Girolamo to become Lord of Imola and Forli, two independent cities from which he aspired to construct a new state. Once consolidated, it would endeavor to expand, thus becoming a threat to territories under Florentine influence.

  Il Magnifico had always been opposed to these ventures, deeming them to be a danger to Florence and to the balance of power between the Italian states. Finally, the underlying hostilities had come to the surface and erupted into violence. Nevertheless, it was one thing to say that the pope brazenly favored his relatives but quite another to accuse him of being a Judas, a whore, and the emissary of Satan. The war of words had reached such a level that Pope Sixtus had forbidden Florentine priests to administer the sacraments.

  “I am extremely anxious about not being able to either attend mass or to confess,” admitted Mauricio. “Maybe you don’t feel the same?”

  “There is no need to worry,” Lorenzo reassured him, “you will be able to go to Mass and be absolved of your sins like any Christian. We have submitted all the excommunications and indictments weighing on Florence to the most distinguished jurists for further consideration. The answer has been unanimous: they have no value whatsoever. A precedent exists based on two decrees of canon law whereby priests lose all inherent attributes of office when they are found to be bearing arms with the intention of murdering their fellow man. Therefore, the pope’s bans and excommunications, based on the execution of an archbishop and various priests, are without foundation inasmuch as they were bearing weapons with the intention of shedding blood. A different case altogether is that of the young Cardinal Raffaele, nephew of Sixtus, whom we released instead of executing, as he had no knowledge of the conspiracy. This demonstrates that we do behave in a just way. For this reason and with the support of the king of France, we have appealed against the pope’s decisions to the General Church Council. While this is being convened, the priests of Florence will continue ministering to the faithful and will pay no attention to the absurdities of Sixtus. Furthermore, the Florentine synod ex-communicated the pope yesterday, so none of his prohibitions should affect your spirit as his ridiculous ideas no longer represent the church.”

  As always, Lorenzo conveyed total confidence. Mauricio thought it surprising that in spite of possessing a nasal intonation to his voice, the result of problems with his nasal membranes, his words were invariably persuasive. Whether it was due to his personal magnetism or because of his excellent skills as an orator, the fact was that this voice defect became unnoticeable by the time he had finished his first sentence.

  “Your words soothe my spirit,” said Mauricio, “but in spite of that I am disturbed by such serious insults being hurled at the pope. However many human errors he might commit, he is still Christ’s envoy on earth.”

  “I share Mauricio’s opinion,” followed Leonardo, “although perhaps for different reasons. Your leadership, Lorenzo, depends entirely on popular support, being as we live in a republic. And Florence is a Catholic city. Such serious insults against the pope could make part of the population uneasy and predispose them against you.”

  “Do not be alarmed, my dear fellows. These remarks concerning the pope were uttered behind closed doors in the synod and were only heard by some handpicked clerics, such as my good friend Marsilio.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Leonardo, “another friend of yours, the Bishop of Arezzo, has written a pamphlet reproducing the accusations and commentaries that were uttered in the Duomo. Thanks to the three new printing presses in the Via dei Librai, the criticisms of your old tutor could be within the reach of too many people. And logically they will think that it is you voicing your opinions through someone else.”

  “There is probably truth in what you say,” Lorenzo acknowledged, “but the libel is written in Latin and therefore will only be read by cultivated minds with a critical spirit.”

  “Well some kind of propaganda measure will have to be taken with the people,” Marsilio pointed out, “because whether they know Latin or not it has already come to their ears that the pope has excommunicated all the citizens of Florence for not having risen in arms to overthrow you and has forbidden our priests to give the sacraments.”

  “The best propaganda,” concluded Il Magnifico with complete self-assurance, “is that the Florentines will be able to continue attending church services as they have always done.”

  Lorenzo’s verbal display was as convincing as usual, but Mauricio was not completely convinced as a last doubt was still gnawing away inside him.

  “I apologize in advance for daring to ask such a personal question, but do you truly believe that he who occupies the seat of San Pedro, Pope Sixtus, is Satan’s envoy?”

  Lorenzo took a measured look at Mauricio before answering.

  “Of course not. Before being elected pope, Sixtus was an erudite and pious man without much experience or interest in worldly matters. However, once installed on the throne, his family and relatives encouraged him along the road that leads to corrupt nepotism that finally ends in crime. Blood is thicker than water. And the temptations inherent in power are difficult to resist. Believe me, I speak from personal experience.”

  Lorenzo had lowered his voice, as if he were confessing out loud. He looked Mauricio in the eyes as if doubting whether to continue or keep silent. He finally spoke again.

  “One thing is the pope not being Satan and another quite distinct thing is that he is not influenced, without realizing it, by the very devil himself. Or maybe he was not intending to assassinate me at the most sacrosanct moment of the celebration of the Eucharist? As a matter of fact, I was supposed to be killed by the Count of Montesecco, a professional soldier who without doubt would have achieved his objective. When he was ordered to stab me to death during the celebration of mass in the cathedral, he refused point-blank to spill blood on hallowed ground. Whoever manipulated Sixtus into giving his tacit approval to such a dastardly surprise attack was unable to deceive the Count of Montesecco, who confessed to having seen and heard the most terrible, sinister things. Whoever may be pulling the strings in the shadows, they are certainly powerful. But then so was Goliath and he was slain by David with a mere sling.”

  Mauricio gazed at the splendid bronze sculpture that graced the palace gardens: Donatello’s David. Naked, graceful, and with the body of an adolescent, there was nevertheless something that disturbed him in this sculpture. The beauty of David was at once masculine and fe
minine. Donatello, thought Mauricio, had wanted to represent an androgynous creature. But why? Another question also sprang to mind: the small and ingenious hero had put the giant Goliath to death. The Medici had chosen this statue as a symbol, seeing themselves as a David who, fighting for freedom, was capable of confronting and defeating colossal opponents. That being so, were they really fighting for freedom, for some other unknown cause or simply to save their lives? One thing was certain: Lorenzo was facing gigantic enemies.

  “But let’s move on to more day-to-day issues,” said Lorenzo, patting his shoulder. “At mass yesterday I met Lorena’s father. I talked so highly of you that he showed great interest in meeting you. They expect you to lunch today at noon at their house.”

  Mauricio’s heart missed a beat. All his previous doubts and questions vanished from his mind as if by magic. Two weeks earlier he had met Lorena in Lucrecia’s shop. She had explained if he wished to see her again he would have to respect the inevitable social norms of Florence. That is to say, they would have to be formally introduced with the full knowledge of her parents. Mauricio, losing no time, had begged Lorenzo to use his sphere of influence to organize a meeting with Lorena’s family. Although Il Magnifico was weighed down with many problems, he never forgot about his friends and he had personally intervened in order to please him. Lorenzo de Medici was Mauricio’s best calling card. But now, what impression would he make on Lorena’s parents?

  He was not yet an experienced banker or a renowned merchant. At least, he consoled himself, his manners had become more refined during his stay at the Medici Palace. He no longer wiped his hands on the tablecloth but used those cloths called napkins and, if the occasion demanded, he could use a fork and even a spoon without being excessively clumsy. What he absolutely refused to do, finding it far too affected, was to rinse his hands in rose water as Leonardo da Vinci did. The luncheon in Lorena’s house was a magnificent opportunity, but he had to take advantage of it. He hurriedly went up to his room to choose the most elegant of his outfits. The occasion certainly called for it.