THREE – Niccolò and me
My relationship with Niccolò began in one of the most unlikely manners possible: It began in a dungeon. It seemed curious to me that a man who had risen so high had now plunged so deep and fallen so low, I admit it. I obtained my husband's permission to see the incarcerated because I was curious, but hardly did I have any idea of what I would find in the Florentine dungeons. Sitting there in the dark was a man in his forties whose ambassador's clothes were ragged by weeks of imprisonment and, as I rightfully assumed, torture. Still, his posture was upright, and the small dark eyes divided by an elongated nose looked at me with natural curiosity. The Medici had accused him of conspiracy against our family and tried to break him, but they had not succeeded. I was impressed.
When he realized by my lavish gowns that I was no gaoler, he rose from the mouldy bench he had been sitting on and said:
"Madonna, I would take off my cap for you if I had one."
That sentence in itself already says more than a thousand words about Niccolò. That sharp, unblazoned sarcasm combined with his impeccable manners was his true nature. I fought hard to prevent myself from giggling since I thought it overly inappropriate in this environment.
"Are you Signore Niccolò di Bernardo dei Macchiavelli?" I asked with as much composure as I had to offer.
"Yes, Madonna, I am. And who is it paying me a visit in this dark place?"
I don't know why, but I found myself answering: "Make a guess." And to my surprise, he seemed to like the idea. There was a devilish grin on his face.
"If you wish. Let me think aloud, Madonna: You are a lady of high birth, granted by your manners, and you obviously have a sense of fashion and the means to afford it." I blushed as he said this because my dress had been Simonetta's choice. "Your face does not seem familiar to me, nor does it bear familiar features, so I assume you are no Floretine lady. Taking into account the way you speak your 'r's, I would rather take it you were of foreign birth, most likely English. This and the fact that you were permitted to access the dungeons then leads me to embrace the assumption that I have the honour of speaking to Signora Elisabetta de' Medici, sister to the King of England."
To be honest, I was stupefied by the flawlessness with which he had come to this conclusion. I had not realised it back then, but I already loved clear rational thinking and never before met anyone so dedicated to it as him.
"You are right, Signore," was all I call respond.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Madonna. May I inquire what leads you into this darkness?"
"I…" Frankly, I was too intimidated by his wits to tell him the truth. I felt like a stupid child for coming down here just to look at a man who had once been one of the most powerful officials of the city. "I merely wanted to make sure you were well taken care of. I hear that you are to be released within the week."
"Oh, is that so? That is news to me," he replied. "Wonderful news, in fact, even though I am grateful to your husband and His Holiness for their hospitality. But I do prefer the countryside this time of the year."
His words were dripping with sarcasm. I must have looked at him in a mixture of awe and sadness over his impending release and absence from the city. I don't know why, but I wanted our conversation to be much longer than just these few minutes.
"You will leave Florence, then?"
"I have a lovely estate in Sant'Andrea in Percussina. Haven't been there in ages. Stately affairs are quite a hindrance with regard to leisure time… of which I assume I will have more in the future."
I nodded and, barely audibly, whispered: "What a pity."
Somehow, Niccolò must have heard me nonetheless, and he laughed warmly at my honesty. "Do you really think so, Madonna? I am sure your husband will be more than pleased to be rid of me."
Even though his laughter wasn't unfriendly, I felt spoofed by it and stiffened my back to talk back to him. "But my husband is not me."
His laughter ceased. "Of course not," he replied more seriously now. "And I would not oppose to return the favour of hospitality to you if you ever happen to travel by."
"Thank you," I murmured back.
That's how it all began. Of course I took advantage of his offer, even if I had to wait eight months for a chance to visit him in Sant'Andrea without my husband or my mother-in-law becoming suspicious. Simonetta, as always, was my co-conspirator and helper.
"I feel like I am preparing to cheat on my husband," I told her nervously before I left Florence.
"Are you?"
The bluntness of her question surprised me. "What? No. Why would you think that?"
"He is a man and you are a woman."
I shook my head forcefully. "No, no, not at all! He is old and… no! It's not like that. I just want to converse with him. He is so… insightful."
"Are you sure he thinks the same way about you?"
Simonetta was right to ask that question. A man twice my age, was I insane to come up with excuse for a journey that would happen to go through the city he was living in? But I thought too highly of him and his mind to embrace any thought of romantic intentions on his behalf. Not him, I told myself. But the question was asked and it would haunt me for the rest of my life. I would often hear people whispering behind my back, especially in later years, when Niccolò frequently returned to Florence to take part in several intellectual groups which he invited me to join. I knew people were suspicious of our friendship. Even Harry heard about these rumours in England as he later told me, but he promised he had never doubted me. Alfonsina certainly did, although she never said it to my face. But Lorenzo? I don't know.
I understand why people were thinking this way, and in a way they were right: Niccolò soon meant much more to me than my husband ever would. He pushed open a door to a bright new world of Renaissance enlightenment for me, of learning and questioning and debating. We spent the entire day of my visit in Sant'Andrea discussing his opinion on the First Ten Books of Titus Livy. I had not read the opus, but he eagerly explained everything to me, and by nightfall I was already head over heels involved in his train of thoughts. He would later publish them as his "Discourses on Livy" and I cherish the copy he sent me as one of the most precious things I will ever own, alongside the bracelet my father gave me when I left for Italy.
What began that night never ceased until my departure from Italy. We met as often as we could, either in Florence or the countryside, and he let me into his world of pure and fascinating thoughts. We discussed everything he had ever thought of – his profound and shocking analysis of the ways Duke Valentino had murdered several men, including another duke; his attitude on French affairs; his interest in ancient Roman arts; his deep insight into the art of war; and, of course, his numerous discourses about the cities of Tuscany, their history, and their current political troubles.
It is hard to say which of these was most important to him, but for me, the most striking conversation we ever had was concerned with his 1502 work about the provision of money. A dull topic, I know, but when I started to tell him about my "miserly" father, he was completely hooked, and we spent seven solid hours discussing the modalities of pecuniary politics. I loved it.
What about "the Prince", you might ask now? What about his most famous work that coined the term "Macchiavellian" even in English? I cannot deny its importance for my life, since it was dedicated to my husband – which was Niccolò's way of dedicating it to me without attracting too much attention. And it embraced the love for realism over idealism that we both shared. I often thought about it in later years when my views clashed with those of Harry, who, despite his interest in the book, would have certainly never liked Niccolò, and vice versa. I can also not overstate the impact the book had on European politics when it was published after his death.
But despite all this, I do not like to speak about it. Many people today do so and with so little knowledge, and it hurts me to see how they prey on Niccolò's words without even aspiring to fully understand him. They seem like vultures to me, picking out only the things that suit their cause, especially those who want to condemn Niccolò as a teacher of evil. They destroy the beauty of the thoughts expressed in "the Prince", thoughts which emerged in many wonderful hours of conversation, and which I feel should have never belonged to anyone else but Niccolò and me.
These people wrong him and it makes me bitter to listen to them. Niccolò, a harbinger of the devil? That very same man whose greatest pleasure was to dress in the proper robes of a statesman and discuss the ideas of great ancient philosophers? The man whose love for learning even made him forget about poverty and death? No, not him. He was the man who shaped me into the woman I am now, into the politician I grew to be, and I will never believe any of the slanders against his name. I knew him better than all these people.
Were we lovers, then, you might ask? Were the rumours true that my son, little Alessandro, or even his sister Eleonora were Niccolò's? Was I flouting my marriage vows for a man twice my age? Was I cuckolding my husband? I highly doubt Lorenzo ever believed these rumours, for he only saw what he wanted to see and cared for nothing else. Besides, he took mistresses himself, one of which also gave him the French disease which would eventually kill him. There would have been little need of a bad conscience for me. Nobody ever dared to ask me directly, so nobody ever got an answer, not even Harry, or Lorenzo, or you. It doesn't matter, anyway. The past is in the past, and all you need to know to understand my life is how important Niccolò's brilliant mind was for me. Yes, in a way you could say that Niccolò dei Macchiavelli was, in fact, my making.
AN: If you wonder about the purpose of this chapter – its point is to shape Elizabeth into someone who can be a politician in her own right, someone with a clue. She will need these wits soon enough- Henry VIII's Great Matter is about to begin! Stay around for the next chapter!
