The House of Medici Page 17

  Afterwards she had thought about it further. In retrospect, she could see, he had been tightening the screw, but nevertheless, the terms of his proposal had still been more than generous.

  Of course, she had accepted and quickly written to confirm her agreement in principle.

  ***

  At the third visit, she had signed a formal agreement, presented by the lawyer, with Cosimo still present but now very much in the background. Even today, she wonders whether the lawyer had been brought to the fore so that she could not ask Cosimo to agree to any late changes; but in any event, she had not wanted any, and the question had not arisen. Cosimo had countersigned the agreement and they had, somewhat formally, she had thought at the time, shaken hands to seal it.

  ***

  Soon after they had signed the agreement, the architect had arrived; Michelozzo di Bartolomeo, builder of the Palazzo Medici, and the most energetic man you could ever imagine. In no time, he had prepared a design for the proposed new tower, to stand at the corner of the convent, just where Cosimo had suggested, and based, he said, upon his existing designs for the towers he had built at Cafaggiolo and Careggi.

  Within weeks, the builders were at work. As to be expected; when Cosimo de’ Medici was the patron and Michelozzo the architect, work progressed fast, and amazingly, it had taken only a month before the tower was complete.

  The lower two floors of the tower held only a wide but simple staircase, and the second floor a small storeroom, with a narrower staircase continuing beside it. At the third and final floor, the tower widened, cantilevered out on what the architect called ‘machicolated corbels’, which he said were intended to mimic the design of the old castle towers, although no longer with the active possibility of pouring hot oil on those below.

  The room thus created, complete with a great balcony, looked out over the countryside of the Mugello, north, towards the Badia di Buonsollazzo and the castle of Il Trebbio, and it had been to this room that she had climbed earlier that morning, for her final inspection.

  ***

  She runs her finger down one of the hinges on the chestnut doors and lifts the fingertip to her nose. Fresh oil; acrid yet still fragrant. Attention to detail wherever she looks. That architect. Such a brilliant man. Such precise attention to detail. It shows everywhere.

  She smiles to herself at the memory. Cosimo’s own final visit had been with the architect. He had inspected the tower, examined the new library, at the rear of the convent chapel, and looked carefully at the vault, cut from solid rock deep beneath the library floor. All three had been important parts of his stipulations for their agreement; she had seen no reason to disagree with any of them, and she had watched their construction with growing fascination.

  The tower, she had known from the beginning, would accommodate the new nun, an unnamed member of the Medici family, shortly to be accepted into their community as Suora Maddalena. The abbess had been sure she would be more than welcome; the new sister was bringing with her a very generous conventual dowry as well as an annuity of a hundred florins a year, for life. That sum, alone, was sufficient to overcome all their day-to-day financial difficulties.

  The library, he had told her, was to house the beginnings of a new collection of books, similar to his gifts to the Dominican Convent of San Marco. Like the Medici Library, it would be designed and built by Michelozzo. The books, he had said, were ‘largely, but not entirely of a religious nature’, and he was sure, he told her, that once ‘his relation’ was in residence, then she and the abbess could together decide which of them would be made available to the nuns and which were better ‘held in reserve, lest the nuns’ daily routine be overly disturbed.’

  It had been a description guaranteed to excite her interest and she now found herself looking forward as much to seeing the new books as she was to meeting the new nun.

  And the parallel did not end there. As he had done at San Marco, Cosimo said he wished to place some objects within the convent for ‘safe keeping’, and that, he said, without going into any greater details, was where the vault came in.

  ‘Don’t worry. Michelozzo will sort it all out.’

  He had said it with a throwaway wave of the back of his hand and sure enough, the architect had done so without further difficulty; making a door in the far corner of the library, with a spiral staircase beyond, cut direct into pure rock and leading straight down into the vault below.

  Madonna Arcangelica turns carefully, taking in every detail of the room at the top of the tower. How long will it be before the new nun arrives? Not long now, by all accounts. Presumably she will be a noble lady, a lady of importance?

  She walks to the door and sets off down the steep stairs. At the first turn, she looks back. Will she be allowed to visit the new nun in that room? What will she be like? Will she, like so many of the nobility, be remote and unapproachable? Or is there a possibility that they may build an attachment of some sort? Enough rapport that she may ask—sensitively and carefully of course—what the Magnificent One’s intentions are for the future, and whether, in the fullness of time and as the later stages of his great project emerge, there may be the possibility of some further financial gain for the convent. That chapel roof will need attention one day . . .

  ***

  Maddalena looked at the abbess’ now bland face and decided she had stopped listening. There was a strange, vacant look on her face, as if she had been lost in thought; far away, perhaps in another place and time. She smiled to herself, understanding. There was something about this room that had that effect on her too.

  With no way of knowing what was in the abbess’ mind and little in the way of clues from her bearing, she decided to wait and see what, if anything emerged. But in biding her time, she did not have to be completely passive. She could, surely, tease her a little, and watch carefully for changes in her expression.

  ‘The Cosimo I knew in the early days was by nature obedient. Obedient to God and to his father.’ But not necessarily in that order she thought to herself.

  ‘It was for that reason, as well as his instinct to pause and calculate the likely consequences of his every action, that made some label him indecisive. But much of the time, as I learned in later years, what he was really saying to himself was not “what shall I do” but rather “what ought I to do in these circumstances”. He was not thinking for himself, but instead, trying to work out what his father would have thought.

  ‘But the experience of exile: the fear, the humiliation, the shame; together with the anger and resentment that followed later, changed him in very fundamental ways. He took the opportunity of living in the Republic of Venice—larger, more powerful and arguably much more successful than Florence—to observe how they went about governing their society and comparing that with the way we did it in Florence. And with the benefit of distance, he came to the conclusion that the model of republican democracy that the City and Commune of Florence had chosen to adopt simply did not work.

  ‘The City never had enough funds to achieve the things the people expected, and as a result, it relied on the generosity of a small number of rich and generous benefactors to fill the yawning gap. Yet such was the fear that a noble might raise himself up and take control of the City, that whenever someone did make a generous contribution, it was quite likely that the City would throw mud in his face or worse. And when, as in recent years, the City was involved in the cost of extensive wars, the whole edifice finally ground to a halt.

  ‘I remember how carefully he discussed the catasto and other forms of taxation with the knowledgeable men in Venice. In the end, he came to the conclusion that it was not the Florentine tax system that was at fault, but the so-called democratic safeguards themselves.’

  Maddalena saw a frown on the abbess’ face and decided to elaborate.

  ‘The system had been designed to let all the people (that is to say, all the adult men in the City) participate in government. But in their anxiety of being dominated by one or two nobles
, they not only allowed all the people to vote for the government, but they designed the system so that everyone had a chance to participate in the government process itself. Everyone was eligible to be elected. But half of the people being elected under the open system had no knowledge or experience of government, and in trying to make a contribution to the discussions, they simply confused issues and slowed everything down. By acting slowly, and only being in power for a period of two months, no Signoria was able to get anything of significance done at all.’

  Madonna Arcangelica smiled and nodded. ‘Just like the Chapter of Nuns.’ It was clear from her expression that she understood fully.

  Maddalena smiled back. Having sat through a number of interminable meetings in the Chapter House, she knew exactly what the abbess was referring to.

  ‘In the January before he was exiled, Cosimo had had the misfortune to lose a valued and trusted employee when Ilarione de’ Bardi died. Already he could feel the political tension rising and as an interim measure, he appointed Ilarione’s nephew, Lipaccio di Benedetto de’ Bardi as his General Manager. But he proved ineffective and perhaps even worse. A conflict had arisen between Ubertino de’ Bardi in the London office and Gualterotto de’ Bardi in the Bruges branch. The disagreement amounted to some 22,000 florins and when, by the New Year, his newly appointed General Manager failed to sort it out, Cosimo decided that Bardi loyalties were being put before Medici interests and he replaced all three of them in the contract renewals.

  ‘It was a telling time and Cosimo could only begin to relax again when he managed to appoint Giovanni d’Amerigo Benci and Antonio di Messer Francesco Salutati as joint General Managers. These were much more able men than the Bardi had been. Between them, they began to run the bank very successfully and when Salutati died eight years later, the performance of the bank improved further. It was that which led me, and others to conclude that it was Benci, more than anyone else, who had been behind the success of the Medici bank during this period.’

  For the first time since their earliest meetings, the abbess looked hesitant. She began to twist awkwardly in her chair. ‘If you will forgive the impertinence, Suora Maddalena, your statement implies that Benci did more for the Bank than even the Magnificent Cosimo had done. Surely I have misunderstood?’

  Maddalena shook her head. ‘No you have not misunderstood. But perhaps I have not explained myself sufficiently. The significance of my statement is that from the time of these appointments onward, Cosimo began to change the emphasis of his life.

  ‘It was another of the decisions he had reached while he was in exile. He had realised how important professional managers were in running such a venture. And it was that recognition that made him see why the Signoria was so ineffective; it was run entirely by temporary amateurs. There was never enough money to do things properly, so it could not afford to employ a permanent full-time Provveditore to manage the day-to-day business, as they did in Venice. As a result, difficult matters were avoided and simpler ones never completed.

  ‘By the time we returned from Venice, Cosimo was convinced that the whole system needed changing. It was at that time that he reconsidered his father’s advice: advice that had governed his career since the old man’s death. What he now recognised for the first time, was that the guidance his father had given him had been wholly cynical; that what appeared to work didn’t, and that it was the hidden hand behind the Signoria that moved matters along. He also realised that in making any changes, he must ensure that outward appearances remain; it was only the underlying reality that should be altered.’

  ‘A subtle and difficult game?’ The abbess was sitting right on the edge of her chair now, alert as a fox.

  Maddalena saw her expression and made a mental note. However little experience this woman has of the outside world, she clearly has an instinct for politics. What battles does she face in her daily life that have so prepared her for this conversation?

  ‘Did that challenge present The Magnificent One with any difficulties?’ Madonna Arcangelica tipped her head to one side, perhaps to show Maddalena that she acknowledged her question was a difficult one, and potentially embarrassing.

  ‘It did.’ Maddalena found herself nodding as the memories returned. ‘He had somewhat of a crisis of conscience once he had grasped how he had misinterpreted his father’s advice, and in so doing, had made some big mistakes. The fact that he had been rejected by the people and exiled still hung heavily over him. And with a new cycle of discussions taking place within the church about the morality of usury, he was concerned at the amount of money the bank had made for him over the previous ten years.’

  Madonna Arcangelica nodded, satisfied. ‘I am pleased and relieved he saw the dilemma. How did he address it?’ Again she tipped her head to one side. ‘I’m sure he did not let such a great moral issue pass him by?’

  ‘Of course not. He spoke to Pope Euganius, who was living in Florence at that time, and the Pope told him to spend 10,000 florins restoring the Monastery of San Marco.’

  The abbess raised an eyebrow. ‘Did he indeed? That’s an awful lot of money.’

  Maddalena saw the expression and knew the abbess was trying hard not to overreact. So that’s the direction of her interest she thought. She is trying to understand how Cosimo thinks.

  As if to confirm Maddalena’s instinct, the abbess continued. ‘And did he spend that much, on San Marco?’ She was trying to look relaxed, but the knuckles of her hands which had tightened on the arms of her chair had now turned quite white.

  Maddalena noticed the shift of interest. So . . . whatever arrangement they have made together remains incomplete. Like me, she is trying to guess what he’ll do next. She smiled to herself. In that case, what I have to say may help her.

  ‘No. Not immediately. First he set a condition. The Silvestrines, who occupied San Marco at that time, and whom he described as “living without poverty and without charity”, were to be replaced by the Dominicans. As he said to the pope: “Replace them with those severe Dominicans. Only the prayers of men whose very identity is grounded in poverty and purity will be of use to a banker with an illegitimate child.”’

  The abbess looked at Maddalena and slowly a smile broke across her face. ‘Brave words indeed.’

  She started nodding to herself, the smile broadening. ‘And carefully chosen by a man who planned to place that illegitimate son within the church. Without actually saying so, he was, surely, attaching the promise of his son’s future progress to the gift? We are talking about your son, I assume?’

  Maddalena frowned, feeling affronted by the accusation. ‘It was a penance.’

  The abbess’ head tipped slowly from side to side as she pursed her lips in thought. ‘Perhaps I should have said “the expectation of his son’s progress”? As I understand such conversations, nobody would be so crass as to demand a specific condition?’

  ‘And nobody would be so naïve as to rely on a promise from a pope!’ Maddalena’s voice was shriller than she had intended, but she was finding discussion about the bartering that may have preceded Carlo’s success, uncomfortable. Somehow, even whilst being aware of the influence of the Medici name, she had always convinced herself that Carlo’s rise had reflected some merit on his own behalf.

  Surprised at Maddalena’s tone of voice, the abbess jerked back in her chair but then, seeing the pain of the emotion behind it, relaxed and raised a hand. ‘Pax, Sister. We are here to tell each other truths and secrets are we not? By their nature, sometimes they will be painful. But we should not, surely, censor them because of that? Since our very first afternoon, I have always regarded the ascent of those stairs as a transition and a personal withdrawal from the regulations and observances that remain below. Do you accept that?’

  Maddalena felt her heart lift. It must have taken great strength of mind and independence for the abbess to even contemplate such an idea and to express it so openly: true courage. She rose from her chair, crossed the room, knelt, and placed her steep
led fingers between the abbess’ own. ‘Yes, Reverend Mother. I do accept that. And in deep gratitude.’

  For a moment they remained in that position, until Maddalena’s knees began to ask for relief. Madonna Arcangelica smiled and opened her hands. ‘Rise, Sister, before we both feel the pain and discomfort of our old age.’

  Self-consciously, they sat facing each other, yet each looking out of the open doorway at the landscape beyond, perhaps too embarrassed to catch each other’s eye.

  Finally, in a careful voice, the abbess spoke again. ‘Pray tell me about the work at San Marco. I know something took place, but as to the detail . . .’

  Maddalena nodded, released from the grip of the moment. ‘The pope acceded to the request. The “rigid Dominicans” were moved from Fiesole and entered the Monastery of San Marco; which in the process was redesignated as a convent. They were led by Fra Antonino. It was he who undertook the work, meeting on a monthly basis with Cosimo, and with the architect Michelozzo, who had shared Cosimo’s exile and become his close friend. Together they renovated the monks’ cells above the cloisters, maintaining their intrinsic austerity, but at least in the process, making them waterproof and windproof.’

  ‘There is a library, I believe?’ The abbess’s eyes were attentive, and Maddalena realised that she was thinking about the library that Michelozzo had built at the rear of the chapel here at San Damiano and perhaps of the vault beneath. The vault where the great chests were keeping their secret. She had almost forgotten they were there.

  ‘Indeed there is. Michelozzo designed a fine library, with a vaulted roof and windows along both sides; and being on the upper floor, light coming in from above, as well as from either side. Cosimo contributed a vast collection of books. I have not seen the library myself, but Cosimo’s description was avuncular.’