CHAPTER X.

NICCOLO MACHIAVELLI.

As we reached the street, I expressed the hope that the lady and her

stout companion were in safety. The stranger laughed: "Oh,

Buonoccorsi, he and La Sirani are no doubt shivering in security by

this time; but let us hasten, for although we have barely more than a

couple of cross-bow shots to go, our bravos may return and have better

luck. St. John! but it was a narrow affair."

Our way led back by Santa Felicita, past the Ponte Vecchio, and at

length we came to a halt before a small side door, let into, what

seemed to me, nothing but a vast blank wall. My new friend opened this

door noiselessly, with a key he drew from his pocket, and invited me

to enter. Pleading ignorance of the way, however, I gave him the pass,

and followed him up a narrow and very dark stairway, which opened into

a long gallery, likewise in semidarkness. Up this gallery we went,

then there was another small passage, and lifting a curtain at the end

of this, we stepped past an open door into a large room, evidently a

study, for it was filled with books all but the side near the passage,

which was covered by a heavy tapestry. In the middle of the room was a

large table, littered with papers in much confusion, and eight tall

candles burning in a pair of grotesque candelabra, threw a bright but

soft light over the chamber.

"Sit you down there," said my host, pointing to a chair, "and we will

have something to drink. _Diavolo!_ You are wounded! Why did you not

say?"

I looked at my left arm, and sure enough the coat-sleeve was red, with

an enlargening patch. It was only a trifle, however, as we found on

examination; but my companion, who still kept his mask on, insisted on

bandaging it, which he did with deft fingers, and then turning to a

curiously inlaid cabinet let into the wall, brought thenceforth a

flagon of green crystal and two long-stemmed Venetian glasses.

Whilst he was thus engaged my eyes rested on a book on the table, and

I saw at a glance that it was the copy of Plutarch's Lives which Ceci

had lent me on payment, so that it was most probable that I was in the

presence of the noble, against whom the Medici plot was directed, and

in whose library the intendant's nephew was employed, partly I guessed

as a spy. My hand was on the book as my host placed the glasses on the

table, and observing the movement, he said with a smile:

"I see, Signore, you not only carry a sharp sword; but know a book as

well."

"As for books, Signore," I answered, "I know but little of them. This

one, however, I thought I had seen before."

"Indeed," he said, "that is odd, for I believe this is the only

rendering of Plutarch into Italian which is in existence. Strange,

too, as for over a week I could not find it anywhere."

"Very," I answered shortly, and my host, pouring out a glass for me,

helped himself, and settling comfortably in a chair opposite to me,

slowly removed his mask and laid it aside. I saw before me, a man in

the prime of life, of middle height and slender figure, with however a

great dignity of carriage. His head, covered with short dark hair, was

small, but well-shaped, his dark eyes sparkled with intelligence, and

a slightly aquiline nose curved over a pair of thin, sarcastic lips,

which were however now smiling at me with as much good-humour as they

could express.

"Books," he said, "are the delight of my life, without them all would

be stale. Here," and he held up a volume, "is a priceless treasure. It

is a manuscript copy of Cicero's De Gloria. I obtained it from my

friend, poor Angelo Poliziano."

"I am afraid," I said, "I could only look at it, for I have not

studied the ancients."

He laid down the book: "Of a truth, men were giants in those days--but

hark! That is too loud for a rat." At this moment we heard a distinct

rustling behind the tapestry, which hung on one side of the wall. My

host sprang up, and with his drawn rapier in his hand, lifted the

arras. I followed him; but we observed nothing but a door, which was

concealed behind the curtain. "This is a private door leading to the

corridor, and confound it--it is open. How the devil did this happen?

However, this will make things sure." He turned the key which was in

the lock, and removing it, placed it carefully aside in a drawer, and

his face was shaded a little with anxiety. This however he brushed off

like a fly, and resuming our seats, he poured out some more wine for

both of us, and said:

"Signore, now that I observe you closely, it appears to me that your

sword, good as it is, has not helped you to fill your purse."

"It was able to save your life, Messer--I know not your name," I

answered with a little heat, and rose as if to take my leave. He

laughed cheerfully, and putting his hand on my shoulder, pressed me

back into my chair.

"Sit down, signore, I meant no offence, and my name is Niccolo

Machiavelli. Will you give me yours in return?"

I was then before the Secretary of the Council of Ten, the crafty

politician who at that time held Florence in his hand, and with whose

name all Italy was full. I now understood Ceci's plot at once, but the

question was, should I give my right name? Sooner or later the

Secretary would find out, and I accordingly answered him as honestly

as possible.

"I pass under the name of Donati, your excellency, will that do?"

He leaned back reflectively. "I like confidence when I give it," he

said, "and yet perhaps it does not matter. You had no idea who I was

when you helped me?" he added with a quick look.

"Not in the slightest." I did not feel justified in adding more.

"Well, Signore Donati, I have work for which I want a brave man, and

if you care to accept it, I offer it to you."

"Your excellency, I will plainly say that I hardly know where to turn

for employment, in fact, I am in such straits that I cannot afford to

look for a hair in any egg that may fall my way; at the same time your

business must be such as I can take with honour."

"With honour of course," he smiled sarcastically, and then added, "I

suppose I can trust you?"

"You need not give me the employment, signore, if you do not think you

can trust me--and pardon me--it is getting late."

"Sit down, man, I did but try you, and you are the man I want. Where

do you lodge?"

"In the Albizzi Palace, in the street di Pucci."

"Could you leave Florence at a moment's notice?"

"It is a matter of funds."

"They will be provided."

"Then, yes."

"Enough! To-morrow a man will call on you, precisely at noontide, with

a letter. I want that letter delivered into the hands of the Cardinal

of Rouen at Rome. It is a secret matter, and if you fail in it you may

forfeit your life. If you succeed, his eminence will give you further

occupation. Do you accept?"

"Yes."

As I said this we again heard the creaking noise, and Machiavelli

jumped up as agilely as a panther, and sprung to the door behind the

arras. It was open; but no one was there.

"_Maldetto!_" he exclaimed. "Signore, there are spies in my own

house--help me to tear down this tapestry."

I did so, and in a few minutes we laid bare the side of the room, and

piled the tapestry in a heap against a bookshelf.

"That is better," Machiavelli said, "you see--the spy, whoever he is,

must have a master key. There is no use going into the passage after

him; but for the present I fancy we are safe. I must have a bolt put

on and keep a watch. To resume business however. You say you accept,

and only need funds."

"Exactly so."

He pulled from a drawer a bag, which chinked with a pleasant sound to

my ears.

"Here," he said, "are a hundred crowns. It is your fee for the task I

set you."

"It is ample."

"And now, Messer--Donati--farewell! You will always find a friend in

me. You know your way--I have left the side door open--and bear a

loose sword."

"A word, your excellency."

"Say on."

"Prom what has happened to-night, I see plainly that the plotters

against your life have friends very near you. If they failed this time

they may not fail again. One of the men who made the attack to-night I

recognised. He is called Brico, formerly an ancient, perhaps still so,

in the army of Tremouille."

"I will attend to the Signor Brico."

"Yet a little more. If your excellency's movements are known it is

probably from within your own house. I would keep an eye on your

library scribe."

"_Per Bacco!_ Signor Donati, but you know too much. I am more and more

your debtor."

"The hundred crowns have repaid me," I replied as I took my departure,

having said all I dared say of the plot without breaking my pledge of

secrecy to Ceci.

Now it happened that as I gained the corridor, I saw in the dim light

a figure retreating hastily before me; but with noiseless footsteps,

and having in mind the strange attempt to play the spy on us, I made

no doubt but that here was the culprit, and followed up. I saw the

figure turn at the end of the corridor and enter another gallery, then

another, and yet another, finally vanishing as it were against the

wall. Owing to my not knowing the way properly, and to the semi-gloom,

I was unable to follow fast enough to overtake the spy, who flitted

before me like a ghost, but in a very human hurry. When at length I

came up to the wall, I looked to see if there was a door of any kind;

but could discern nothing, and was so astonished that for a moment I

felt a little chilled, thinking that it may have been a spirit after

all. Fortifying myself, however, with the thought that if it was a

spirit, it seemed in no way anxious to meet me, I went to a closer

examination, and saw by the moonlight that I was before a door,

painted in exact imitation of the marble wall. This settled my doubts,

and putting my shoulder to it, I made a trial, with all my strength,

to force the passage, but in vain. I therefore gave up the matter, and

turned to find my way back. This was, however, easier said than done.

I could not find the gallery I wanted, and after groping about

hopelessly for a little time, thought that I had best give a shout,

which would no doubt summon some one to my aid. I was just about to

carry this into execution, when, on further reflection, it struck me

that I might be landed in other difficulties thereby, and that I might

make another try to free myself, without bringing the house about my

ears, and perhaps compromising the secretary, who had, I saw, an

active and enterprising enemy under his own roof. So I stilled my

tongue and made further exploration, with the result that I found

myself before a stairway, that led to the floor below me, and

determined to see where this would take me. Accordingly I descended as

softly as possible, and arrived in a few steps at a small landing,

covered by a carpet so thick, that I felt as if I was treading on the

softest of moss. At the end of the landing, and opposite to me, was a

half-opened door, the room inside being in light. Stepping noiselessly

up to the door I peered in, and saw a chamber furnished with the

utmost luxury, and apparently just vacated by its occupants. In a

corner of the room stood a harp, lying on a table close to a low

luxurious seat were some articles of dainty feminine embroidery; soft

silken curtains shrouded the walls, and the ceiling was painted,

apparently with some representation of the history of the house. A

white marble figure of Cupid held out at arm's length a lamp, whose

opal shade softened its bright light; and on a gilded triangle, set in

an alcove, swung a blue and scarlet macaw--a rare Eastern bird--who,

with his head tucked under his wing, slept in a position which would

be intolerable torture to any other created thing except a bird. It

was clear that I had invaded the private sitting-room of the ladies,

or lady of the household; and I was about to beat a hasty retreat,

when the screen of an inner room was swung aside, and I saw before me

my two unknowns of the Garden of St. Michael, and the giver of the

tari which had saved me from death. It was too late to go back now, as

the sound of my feet on the marble stairs would certainly reach, and

perhaps alarm them, tread I ever so softly; so I resolved to stay

where I was until they retired again, and then go back. This I judged

would be very shortly as it was late. I had not however sufficient

experience then, of the lengths to which those nocturnal confidences,

in which the fair sex indulge with each other, extend. In the meantime

I could not but admire the graceful figures before me, and especially

of her, who had given me the tari. Clad in a soft clinging robe,

clasped by a jewel at her throat, and a silver girdle round her waist,

with her pale proud features set in a mass of dark hair, she seemed to

me an embodiment of pure womanhood, and I thought how lucky the man

would be who could have such a companion to help him through life. I

guessed also that the other was the wife of Machiavelli, being aided

thereto by her statement, when I drove Luigi off, that her husband was

one who could help me much. At the same time I could not but feel some

pity in my heart for her, when I thought she was wedded to a man of a

character so contradictory as that of the Secretary, who could leave a

fair wife for the sake of indulging in low dissipation, and come back

after a narrow escape with his life, to bury himself in matters of

state, or in the perusal of the ancients. However there was no sign of

sorrow on her fair and mirthful face, as with all the teasing nature

of a kitten, she walked up to the macaw and stirred him up with her

white fingers, an attention he did not appear to relish, for he

ruffled his plume, and let forth an ear-piercing shriek.

"Heavens!" she laughed, "how that bird screams! He is almost as cross

as you, Angiola."

"Thanks," replied the other; "I do sympathise with the bird though,

for you never leave off teasing. It is enough to make a saint cross,

Marietta."

"Well, I won't tease any more," and Marietta put her hand on her

friend's shoulder. "I am sure though it was he, and I will have that

last word."

I wondered to whom the reference was made, as Angiola replied: "I

really do not care if it was; but there is a draught, and I must shut

this door."

She came up so quickly that there was no time to retreat, and in a

moment I was discovered.

She gave a little cry, and stepped back.

"Who are you, sir? How dare you----!"

I saw that the other was going to scream out, and burst forth: "Madam,

I implore you to be still. There is absolutely no danger. I have had

business with his excellency, and missed my way. Pardon the

intrusion," and I stood with my cap in my hand.

"Well, sir," said the Lady Angiola, "as you have found out that you

have missed your way, had you not better turn back?"

"Why, Angiola, it is the gentleman who rescued us in the gardens!"

called out Madonna Marietta, with a sudden recognition.

"Who looks as if he were here now, to make up for it by cutting our

throats. According to you he should have been dying of starvation at

Santa Felicita."

"Madam," I cut in, "I wish I had died of starvation rather than heard

this. I will however restore what I have received. If you can only

show me the way out of this house I shall be grateful, and I again

seek pardon for disturbing you."

"I suppose you are speaking the truth. Come, give me that candle,

Marietta."

The other handed her a candlestick, and refusing my proffer to bear

it, and with a curt request to walk in front, she directed and led me

along the interminable galleries until I recognised the corridor from

which I entered. I was again about to thank her, but she simply

pointed to the door.

"Your way lies there, sir."

I opened the door and stepped on to the stairway without another word.

In shutting the door behind me I glanced once more in her direction.

She was already on her way back, the single candle throwing its soft

light on her loose robes and graceful figure.

I made my way down the stairs, at the end realising the sensation of

suddenly finding my foot meet the ground after the last step. I

thought there was yet another and was brought up with a nasty jerk.

Stepping out softly into the street, and holding my drawn sword in my

hand, I hurried towards my abode. When I had gone about fifty paces, I

heard the sound of a door opening and shutting behind me, but thinking

it was the wind playing with the door I had left unlocked, having no

key, I took no notice, and went on; but soon became aware I was being

followed. I stopped therefore, and deliberately faced round. The

footsteps behind me instantly ceased, and I could make out through the

moonlight, the shadowy figure of a man, stooping as if to search for

something. This was of course nothing but a pretence, and I had half a

mind to go back and question him. Reflecting, however, that it would

be wiser to avoid any further adventures for the night, and that after

all it was but one man, I went on, and my pursuer did likewise, but at

a greater distance than before, until finally apparently gave the

matter up seeing I was on my guard. Crossing the square of Santa

Felicita, however, I saw some one running swiftly a little ahead of

me, and then disappear behind the shelter of the small casino of the

Medici which stood there. I felt sure it was my shadower. He had

passed me by some short cut, and was now probably intending to bring

matters to a head. Keeping well in the middle of the road I went on,

and to my surprise saw nothing, but in a short time again became

conscious that I was dogged, and dropping into an artifice quickened

my pace to a run. The sound of rapid footsteps behind me, showed that

my curious friend was doing likewise, and not to deprive him of the

exercise, I kept up the pace, until we reached the street di Pucci and

were close to my lodging. Here I faced about and ran back full speed

at my pursuer, feeling sure that the burst I had given him would try

all his speed to get away. He so little calculated on my change of

front, that he ran on about twenty yards, before realising what was

the matter. Then he turned round and was about to make off, when I

reached him, and driving him against the wall held him there, with the

point of my sword at his breast. Imagine my surprise on seeing before

me the young man with whom Ceci had gone away on our return from the

funeral of Corte's daughter. He was doubtless also the spy of the

evening, and now, with a face white with either terror or anger

crouched against the wall, holding a dagger in his hand; but any

attempt to use it would have been useless.

"Well," I said, "have you had enough of this?" and I emphasised the

question with a sharp prick.

"Mercy!" he called out, thinking his last hour come, and scrabbled on

to the pavement.

"Be off with you then!" I said, and assisted his departure with a

hearty kick as he rose. He needed no second bidding, but made off at a

good pace.

When his figure mingled up with the haze, and was lost to view, I

proceeded on my way wondering a little at the incident. I could not

help connecting it with the affair in the Secretary's room--the man I

had chased up the endless galleries of his house, and the attempt at

murder in the Marzocco Inn. Why was I followed? I could not make this

out; but thankful that I had escaped with a whole skin, climbed up the

winding stairway of the tower which led to my chamber. Carefully

shutting the door, I lit my candle, and emptied out the contents of

the bag I had received from Machiavelli on to my bed so that the coins

might make no sound.