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

by Agustín Bernaldo Palatchi

  Lorenzo was dictating his last wishes. It seemed incredible that the battered body lying before him belonged to Il Magnifico. Ever since he had known him he had been an excellent horseman, hunter, and sportsman. His physique and bearing combined the strength of an athlete with the grace of a dancer. However, in the last few weeks, illness had so damaged his health that his swollen joints made even walking impossible. He was forty-four years of age and on the point of dying. In the name of their friendship, Mauricio had to accomplish everything that Lorenzo was asking of him to the best of his abilities.

  “You mentioned before there were various reasons for giving me the ring,” said Mauricio, who wanted to learn more about Lorenzo’s motives.

  “Yes, I have only told you half the matter: preventing the ring from falling into inappropriate hands is one thing. The other half will complete the circle when the ring finally fulfils its destiny. And there, as well, your assistance will be decisive: I want you to return it to its legitimate owners.”

  “But why me?” asked Mauricio, surprised.

  “I recently discovered that centuries ago the true owners of the ring, who were being subjected to savage persecution, chose to give the ring to a person they trusted entirely for safekeeping, so that it would not fall into the hands of the Resplendent Ones. The stratagem worked because the enemy never suspected the person who had been chosen: your ancestor, Abraham Abulafia, who promised to return it when the circumstances seemed appropriate. However, he died and his descendants preferred not to give away such a valuable object. Once again avarice had defeated the heart.”

  “So you want me to repair a historic injustice. You would like me to return the emerald to those who should never have parted with it in the first place.”

  “Exactly. I would be unable to entrust such a valuable jewel even to my most trusted messengers. Nor can I rely on my family, not even my children. It is too difficult to detach oneself from this ring, I know only too well. For this reason, I am doing it on my deathbed and I am making you swear that you will honor your word. This very day my best heralds have left for the South of France with a mission of delivering a message to the person who should possess the emerald. He will understand and let you know how you should return what is rightfully his.”

  “Supposing I am still in possession of the ring and my life. I believe I am not mistaken in deducing that those who persecuted and hounded the legitimate owners of the emerald centuries ago, were in fact the Resplendent Ones, the very same whom you now fear will take it from you after you die. They must indeed be fearsome. For hundreds of years, the emerald has remained hidden, well out of their reach. And yet as soon as the emerald came back to shine in full sunlight, they have crept out of the shadows to try and seize it. One does not have to be very clever to conclude that if they have not been able to achieve their objective, it has been thanks to your extraordinary cunning and power.”

  “Which, I might add, will not save me from the grave. I fear that the death of my faithful spymaster, Xenofon Kalamatiano, has allowed the Resplendent Ones to infiltrate my palace kitchens. I believe they have been administering a very slow-acting poison in tiny doses so that its effects have become evident only now when it is too late.”

  “In that case, I will only be safe as long as the Resplendent Ones do not find out that the ring has come back to me again.”

  Lorenzo shook his head before answering.

  “The danger of dying is inseparable from that of living, just as the danger of suffering is inherent in loving. I truly do not know how much power these followers of Lucifer could wield. But there is, however, something I do know: God knows exactly how many hairs we have on our head and not a leaf stirs on the bough without his will. I cannot talk more. Do you accept?”

  Lorenzo, as always, had left no room for dissent. Mauricio owed him too much to be able to refuse, however dangerous his proposal. He took the ring and put it away in a leather pouch that hung from his belt. The jewel had returned once again to the family of Abraham Abulafia.

  73

  Lorena strode anxiously around the house as she waited for her husband, going over all the extraordinary events that had befallen Florence at the beginning of that month of April. Three nights before, lightning had hit the lantern hanging in the cupola of the Duomo, causing great blocks of marble to crash into the street and on to the actual floor of the church itself. All of Florence had interpreted this as a portent that something extraordinary was about to occur, for when the lightning had struck, the weather had been perfect without a single cloud in the sky. A rumor was going around the city that a genie lay hidden in Il Magnifico’s favorite ring. Those who believed this affirmed that this fabulous genie had taken the shape of a lightning bolt in order to escape from the jewel mounted on Lorenzo’s ring. As if this were not enough, the next day the lions in the zoological gardens behind the Signoria Palace had engaged in a violent fight. As a result, the most handsome lion, the most loved by all, had died, mauled by his rivals. Also, that very morning, a mad woman had interrupted mass in Santa Maria Novella, prophesying between heart-rending shrieks that a flaming bull would come and burn down the city.

  This was all so utterly strange and promised nothing good. It was for this reason that when Cateruccia announced that her husband had arrived, Lorena felt immensely relieved.

  “Where on earth have you been?” she asked. “You have arrived so late that the children are already asleep.”

  “Our great friend Lorenzo de Medici has died in his villa in Careggi.”

  Lorena received the news with enormous sadness. So all those ominous signs of the last few days had been announcing the death of Il Magnifico …

  “I heard,” said Lorena, “that yesterday he sent for Savonarola to go to his villa at Careggi.”

  “Indeed he did,” said Mauricio.

  “This means a final triumph for Savonarola, at least that is what the people will say. They were mortal enemies, each representing entirely different ways of understanding life. People in the city will say that Lorenzo, having realized that Savonarola was in the right, wanted to confess as a sign of repentance.”

  “I was not at the Careggi villa, so I cannot tell you for sure what happened. However, Lorenzo had already confessed and had received extreme unction when he decided he wanted Savonarola to come and see him. It is probable, therefore, that he called him for a different reason. In my opinion, knowing Lorenzo, he might have wanted Savonarola to agree to a pact of non-aggression against his son Piero, the heir destined to govern Florence. Politics and family ran in Il Magnifico’s blood. Personally I think he tried to reach an agreement with his enemy by taking advantage of the fact he was on his deathbed. A pact agreed to under those circumstances would never be broken by Savonarola.”

  Lorena thought that her husband was probably right. It was entirely typical of Il Magnifico to take advantage of the most difficult situations in order to achieve unexpected opportunities. She still remembered how he had been capable of entering enemy territory in Naples and had managed to convince his adversary King Ferrante that it was necessary to sign a peace treaty. But what could he have offered the ascetic cleric in order to convince him to stop his attacks from the pulpit? Lorena doubted that he had been able to convince the visionary monk, but it was admirable that he had fought until he drew his last breath. Over the years, she had built up a great fondness for Lorenzo. True, he was a public figure with a sense of superiority, but he also possessed great charm and had always shown a special kindness toward them. They owed much to Lorenzo. The fact that Mauricio had managed to become a respected figure in Florence was because Il Magnifico had taken him under his protective wing. Lorena thanked God for all the blessings that had been bestowed upon them and prayed for Lorenzo to have reached heaven. Yet she feared for his soul.

  “Mauricio, I sometimes think that the son of King David was right when he lamented that what shines on this earth under the sun is only vanity and chasing after the wind. Only today I
was reading his words in Ecclesiastes and thought of Lorenzo. For twenty-three years he has been the first citizen of Florence, the most prominent one and perhaps the most famous of all Italy. Today he is dead and the power he wielded yesterday has come to nothing. He will be weighed upon the scales like any one of us in order to find out if his fate lies in heaven or in hell. I pray that tonight he be sitting at the table of God the Father. However, to remain in power for so many years, Lorenzo must have had to perform deeds that could not have been pleasing in the eyes of God,”

  “I understand what you are saying,” said Mauricio. “What good is there for a man to conquer the world if he loses his soul in the process? Is that what you mean? This is a question I discussed with Lorenzo on a couple of occasions. His point of view was that in the fight for power there is no room for pity. You are either superior or you will be destroyed. He in particular would have preferred to dedicate himself to poetry and the arts, but it was impossible. He was only twenty when his father died and not only his family, but all those benefiting from the Medici’s favor, begged him to take up the reins of the city. To refuse would have meant condemning them to ruin, exile, and perhaps even death, as rival families would have filled the vacuum of power. From that moment onward, Lorenzo accepted not being innocent or pure. As far as it was possible, he has governed by winning the favor of the people, fomenting an economic boom, promoting the arts, using persuasion, gifts, and favors on a grand scale in order to create a dense web of mutual interests. If needed, the tax inspectors, with their detailed and arbitrary investigations, could provoke the ruin but not the death of his enemies. However, power can sometimes demand cruel decisions and Lorenzo was extremely mistrustful. Who could have ever doubted that behind that luminous countenance, Lorenzo possessed another far darker mask! In spite of this, I am convinced that no other government could have brought as many benefits to Florence and to the whole of Italy. When the time comes for him to be weighed upon those scales, I do not doubt for one moment that his virtues will outweigh his sins.”

  Lorena contemplated this man. He was her husband and she loved him. Not with the reckless passion of a young girl, still living in a world of dreams, but with the heart of a mature woman, already a mother of three children. Neither was Mauricio the young man she had first known. He had put on weight and now had the body of a man, although his blue eyes still shone with an almost feminine candor. They had been through bitter times together, especially after the death of their first child during delivery, also the terrible plague that had struck him down, and, more recently, just a few months before, a miscarriage that had nearly taken her life. Fortunately they had been able to overcome all these obstacles strewn in their way and, apart from in those difficult moments, they were an extremely happy couple. Mauricio had his faults, but he also possessed extraordinary strength combined with great sensitivity. Lorena was in love with her husband the way he was. She was convinced, nevertheless, that he was a rough diamond that once properly polished, would shine with an even greater brilliance.

  74

  Life could bridge no interruptions and although Lorenzo de Medici’s funeral rites still permeated the atmosphere of Florence, Mauricio had gone to Orsanmichele to solve some affairs concerning the workers who were employed in his textile business. Orsanmichele was a handsome building that was put to many uses. The top floors served as granaries, whereas the ground floor was used for religious services, attended by many Florentines who trusted in the miraculous properties of a beautiful image of the Virgin Mary. The space surrounding the church was also a meeting place for the city guilds. The exterior walls boasted large statues set in niches representing the different guilds of Florence. The guild of the calimala to which Mauricio belonged, was unmistakable thanks to a colossal statue of Saint John the Baptist cast in bronze by Lorenzo Ghiberti.

  On that particular morning Orsanmichele was throbbing with people and the sound of voices, making it impossible to take more than a couple of steps without being shoved or taken unawares by a heavily laden mule barging its way through the crowd goaded on by its owner. Mauricio was completely astonished when he came face-to-face with Elias Levi, not only because coming across a friend in such a crowd was a bit like finding a needle in a haystack, but also because it was not the sort of place the rabbi usually visited.

  “I am going to introduce you to a compatriot of yours,” said Elias after greeting him affectionately, “but let us move away somewhere where we do not run the risk of dying buried under these crowds or trampled upon by ill-tempered beasts of burden.”

  “My name is Isaiah and I am from Toledo,” said the man accompanying Elias, once they had managed to find a less crowded spot.

  “I am Mauricio and I am originally from Barcelona. What brings you to Florence?” He examined the man facing him. He was about thirty years old, wore a much-darned doublet, and was hatless. His slightly lisping Spanish, the Ladino spoken by Sephardic Jews, was unmistakable in spite of the fact that he had hardly spoken.

  “Necessity, my friend,” answered Isaiah. “The Catholic Monarchs issued a decree in which they ordered all Jews who had not converted to Christianity to abandon Spain before the third of August. I preferred to avoid trouble and not wait until the last minute, so I sold everything I possessed and came to Florence, where the Medici have always treated us well.”

  Mauricio knew how Jews preferred to own possessions that could quickly be converted into cash in order to leave wherever they were living hastily if it was necessary.

  “Many will try and wait as long as possible,” continued Isaiah, “in order to get as much as possible for their properties, but that is foolish. As the time nears, people will use their situation against them and pay them less. Moreover, they run the risk of attacks breaking out against the Jews before August. It will not be the first or the last time that pogroms have been organized against us.”

  “In that case, ” asked Mauricio, “why risk staying any longer than is necessary?”

  “Love, hope, disbelief? Who knows?” Isaiah wondered. “Any one of those sentiments is capable of keeping us back in the countries we ought to be fleeing from. From the day they expelled us from Jerusalem and we were reduced to slavery in Babylon, the history of our people has been one of endless suffering in foreign lands. Rabbis offered us consolation, assuring us that one day our misfortunes would be over. Now then, when our ancestors reached Sefarad, Spain for you, they believed they had found the Promised Land we had always dreamed of. For centuries we were able to live together in peace, both Christians and Muslims. Sefarad grew to be part of us and we of her. We were so happy there that expulsion has proven to be as hard to accept as if our own mother had rejected the fruit of her loins. For this reason, there are too many Jews who are confident that the decree will be annulled or at least postponed indefinitely in exchange for money. They do not understand that paying more taxes than anyone else and doing no harm, they have to be driven out of the midst of Sefarad. Sadly, the reality is that when we were financing the conquest of Granada, we were necessary. Now we are not, at least that is my opinion.”

  Throughout the years he had spent in Florence, Mauricio had slowly modified his feelings toward the Jews. On his arrival from Barcelona, he looked upon them with mistrust. Afterward, through being in contact with them, especially with Elias, he had developed a sincere appreciation for them. Although they were misguided in their faith, Mauricio, in accordance with Lorenzo’s example, had learned to enjoy the friendship of good people, independently from their beliefs. It pained him to imagine the suffering endured by the Jews, obliged to leave their homes, properties, work, and professions. It is never easy to abandon what one loves. What would he do if he found himself in a similar predicament? Mauricio hoped he would never have to face such a terrible situation.

  “You see now that bad news did not end with the death of Lorenzo,” interjected Elias. “However, life demands decisive answers in response to the most trying times. That is why I have come t
o Orsanmichele, not to pray to the Virgin Mary, but to obtain the necessary authorizations for Isaiah to work as a tanner.”

  Mauricio looked at Elias. His beard was not as neatly trimmed as it used to be, but long, bushy, and white. He had grown older, but instead of getting wrinkled his forehead had seemed to get broader. Elias Levi was a character who was impossible to pigeon-hole. Extremely erudite and wise, he lived a life of great simplicity.

  The great esteem in which Lorenzo had held him could have brought him enormous benefits. Nevertheless, Elias had shown indifference to wealth. His sole interest lay in his family, religion, books, and philosophy, but this did not prevent him from devoting the necessary time to help and advise other people. Had he wished, his community would have most certainly named him Grand Rabbi of Florence, but he was uninterested in filling that post. For Elias, true good fortune consisted in having the freedom to be able to do at every moment what one considered correct.