A Trembling Upon Rome

by Richard Condon

  Although she was beautiful and accomplished – and, I am telling you, when you,… if you think about spectacular, stately women, it would be nearly impossible to conceive of a woman who was more beautiful up to the moment I last saw her – and although there wasn't much else for her to work at to support her four small children, she refused to become a courtesan. She became a ruffiana instead. She deal in women, boys, potions, poisons, fortune telling and stolen goods, and she prospered.

  Later, when they could understand, she told her children, `You were sired by great men. The strength of their characters and mine have joined to form your characters. Had I become a courtesan, it could have been said that we didn't know, who your fathers were, so varied are the seeds that are scattered over a courtesan's fields until it is nearly impossible to know whose seeds take root.' However, she trained and raised her daughters to be courtesans. The first two helped bet, to teach the others.

  Such young women were called courtesans because they were the companions of the cortegiani, the courtiers at the courts of Italy. They had been raised from the street title of whores by an official government designation of meretrix honesta, or `honourable whore'. Courtesan was a title for the convenience of their patrons, usually men of station but always men of funds. Whore would have been a gratuitously rude label for the companions of such esteemed men.

  Rosa, the youngest, became a courtesan when she was thirteen. Her youth and virginity, both endlessly extended by mama, were not her only attractions. Like her sisters she could read and write, sing, paint, think, wear clothes and jewels, and play musical instruments. Mama's central commandments to Rosa and her sisters were as the Words which had tumbled out of: the burning bush to Moses.

  'A whore is not a woman,' Manovale taught them. 'She is a whore. It is what you make of the work and not the label which counts. We are the ants who hoard up the summers of our beauty and our art against the dread winter. Woe to the one who has no brains, for that is where the art lives. You must be able to burst into tears while a man is taking his pleasure from you – tears without reason – enough to make him stop what he is doing – that is the great test of the art – to make him beg of you why you weep. You answer with broken words and sobs. "I cannot make you love me!" you tell him or words to that effect… "That is my fate, a life without your love." Of course there are many variations, but the men swell, with pride that a woman is lovesick for them. Occasionally, you must weep when they arrive: so that they will believe you weep far joy at seeing them again. Love is not for us. Oh, as a caprice, yes – here today, gone this afternoon. Neither is lust for us. She who keeps drinking never feels thirsty., But all the best in this life can be yours if you dress yourself becomingly and are always ready and cheerful, hardly ever laughing outright, which shows teeth and gullet like a street whore, but cultivating a sweet and attractive smile because you are a woman of quality. As the men come to you, you will entertain them cleverly and never play dishonest tricks on them. You will never drink too much – men detest that in others – nor will you stuff yourself with food.

  `My dearest, talk if you feel like talking but only when you are with your family. When you are with the man who engaged you, please,

  I beg of you, talk no more than is necessary and, when it is time to lie down, do nothing roughly or carelessly. Work to captivate your lover and make him love you more. And remember! It is not enough to have beautiful eyes and lovely hair. Only your art which is your brain will pull you through. The difficulty is in keeping lovers, not in getting them. Only make promises you know you can keep, nothing more, and whatever other good opportunity comes your way never shut your door in the face of the one who is entitled to sleep with you. You must swear an oath daily that you will take many little baths as often as you can, then wash and wash again, for if there is loving advantage in giving oneself to many, the least we can do is to stay clean.'

  When Rosa was discovered by the tenebrous Cardinal Spina, mama's own place in the carnal garden had long. before been transplanted from the ruffiana parterres to a sunlit terrace of the mezzana -mistress of the latest love songs on the lute and viola da braceio, writer of elegant love letters for her clients in the best Latin, French or German,' and a brilliant artist of transactions which made rich old men believe it was they who were being placed within the proximity of seemingly unattainable beautiful women. She moved her family into a small palazzo in Rome to make comfortable the wealthy churchmen; rich businessmen and condottieri generals from all over Italy who were her clients.

  Touchingly, Cardinal Spina's discovery of Rosa had been made to happen in a church. Selective church attendance was the best advertising for a courtesan. It showed off her beauty as well as her clothes and jewels, which were tributes to her desirability. Young and poor men jostled each other outside church doors to watch the women enter, preceded by pages and menservants, surrounded by supporters, while still more servants closed in at the rear. In May 1401, on the feast day of Santa Grazia di Traghetto, all the space between the altar itself and the cardinals' seats was occupied by courtesans, including Rosa.

  Previous to setting his hooded eyes upon Rosa, Spina had made his carnal discoveries at night, prowling the streets in disaffecting cloaks and huge disguising hats to move into the beds of the women his agents had put aside for his pleasure, while he carried out his endless search for Bernaba Minerbetti. It was not because he was in any way ashamed of his desires (or of Romans becoming aware of them) but rather from his devious conviction that his right testicle must never know what his left testicle was doing. Since the night Bernaba Minerbetti had deserted him, disgracing and humiliating him, he had been searching for her. He was prepared to spend the rest of his life searching for her because she must pay for what she had done. She had not returned to Bari his agents had sought her out there and found nothing. She must be in Rome. He had paid for her and had not yet finished with her. He had vowed to inflict sfregia upon her if she went with another man. It was his duty to his honour, to his being a Sicilian, to accomplish that vow, He roamed the streets at night looking for her. The discovery of Rosa: did not change the need to find Bernaba Minerbetti and to ruin her face; but Rosa could fulfil other needs. He would maintain her. An occasional arrangement at first was best for testing these women, he sensed. It was not a matter of sampling, but of character. Also, he had refused to establish any courtesan under his permanent protection because he could not live with the idea of unseen people attempting to get her to get him to do things for them. Even after spending most of my life around churchmen, I can still say that I have never met a man as devious as Piero Spina.

  14

  Decima Manovale taught her daughters to search for their clients' oddnesses, weaknesses between man and woman – so when Rosa was brought together with Spina, she acted out convincing terror at the possibility of being known to Rome as a cardinal's lover because then it could be bruited about that she was a courtesan, which he knew she was not. No! And he was to tell her nothing of his life, for women were weak and their tongues wagged. She would place her long, silken hand over his mouth when he offered her as much as a good evening, because why did she need to know anything except her love for him, or to feel anything apart from the madness which came over her when he touched her? She always wept when she returned to him and when they parted.

  Because all his life Spina had persevered in never telling anyone his inner (or outer) thoughts of what he was doing, had done or planned to do – he had been unable to trust anyone until his dear little shepherdess had wandered into his life – he had to tell her everything. Spina became an extraordinary source of information for Manovale.

  `Never cease exploring the vastness of self-doubt and uncertainty within your clients,' Manovale instructed her daughters, `for these, lead to gold and power. Great wealth is the source of friendship and praise, of fame and authority, for the individual as for the state. A family must erect and decorate buildings, possess beautiful books, much power and fine horses
.'

  The day after her arrival in Florence with her daughter and Cosimo di Medici, Signora Manovale, feet together, hands in her lap, eyes (frequently) cast down, sat in the Medici house in the Piazza del Duomo of Florence, facing Giovanni di Bicci di Medici.

  Behind the senior Medici, beyond the windows, were the almost imperceptibly rising walls and dome of the cathedral, which, the city of Florence intended to be grander than any yet built. Cosimo sat soberly at his father's right hand, thinking pure thoughts, no doubt.

  When my son told me of his plans for you,' the father said to Manovale, 'I rejected them. At least I thought I had, but my son and I think alike, I have trained him so, and your possible usefulness – women are not usually such useful objects – began to emerge as I studied your dossier. I asked old Toreton the condottiere to come to see me. He remembers you as what he called "the most promising soldier on his staff What do you say to that?'

  `I knew him, of course. He was a kind man. He taught me so much of what little I know.'

  `About war?'

  She shrugged. `About war. War was for men. Mainly about how to gather intelligence and how to use it.'

  'I will pay you ten gold florins a month.'

  Manovale told Bernaba that she had tried not to laugh but she couldn't help it. She laughed, rocking in her seat, holding a handkerchief to her face, with her left hand holding her side. She laughed with disappointment, which is almost the equal of despair. She laughed at the waste of her time. When she was able to regain control of herself, she wiped her eyes and said, `And, of course, you would expect me to give up my business as a mezzana to work for you?'

  He looked at her steadily, `We misunderstood each other,' he said, `I offered the ten gold florins a month during the first three months in which you offered to work for nothing,'

  `Ah. Such a difference.'

  Signora – we have been after a piece of northern business for almost four, years. Church business Church business is important wherever it is to be found, and this happens to be a large matter involving the Archbishop of Mainz, who will go to Rome to see the pope in one month's time. There is French Church business which is also important. We have learned that the Bishop: of Cambrai, who is the confessor to the King of France and a close adviser to Benedict, the Avignon pope, will go to Rome to see Pope Boniface on a most secret mission shortly after Mainz's visit. We must always remain several steps ahead, of the other banks – here and elsewhere. Is all of this comprehensible to you so far?'

  She smiled.

  `Let us discuss the Bishop of Cambrai, Pierre d'Ailly, a greedy fellow. He has the look of a, sleek pack rat and he has served almost as many sides as there are in France. He supports anyone from whom he can gain, short term or long. When I spoke of Pope Benedict as being the pope at Avignon, that usage could seem to oppose our pope at Rome. Well, we are bankers, and there are two popes in this world, but Benedict is no longer at Avignon. He is defying the French crown or the Mediterranean coast. He is a very stubborn man who wants to be independent of the French king. The Bishop of Cambrai, our same Pierre D'Ailly, will go to Rome for him – as secretly as possible, of course, to discuss with Boniface the sharing out of certain, benefices in Poland, Hungary and Greece. These are open territories and both popes feel they should share in them. Cardinal Spina will be the pope's negotiator. Do you know him?'

  She nodded.

  `How well do you know him?'

  `My youngest daughter is his mistress,' the signora said.

  He smiled at her for the first time. `Now, then,' the banker said, `working on the theory that you can be useful to us, we will propose that friends of ours in Paris work on D'Ailly's lust for comfort and pleasure by offering to arrange for him to stay at your house in Rome. No one must know he is there, you understand. The pleasures, however unusual they may be, must be brought to him privately, you understand. His weakness with women has to do with talking. He makes classical conversation with beautiful woman – beautiful young women and those kind of conversationalists are hard to find.'

  Signora Manovale made her eyes opaque. `What about that northern business you have been after for so long?' she asked pleasantly. `The Archbishop of Mainz, is it?'

  `May we feel secure about D'Ailly?'

  What do you want from D'Ailly?'

  `Well, I know what I want in a limited sense. I want those benefices in Poland, Hungary and Greece to be told by whichever pope is involved to bank with our bank. But there could be a larger opportunity there. Pope Benedict is breaking away from the King of France. He therefore must keep his money, sooner or later, independent of French bankers: We would like to be his bankers.'

  'Please tell me about the Archbishop' of Mainz.'

  `He is John, Count of Nassau, Archbishop of Mainz, as un-ordained as the rest of them, a ferocious warrior, and the richest churchman north of the Alps. He is the First Elector of the Holy Roman Empire and, if he can be induced to bank with us to the exclusion of the other bankers, that could lead to the banking business of all the electors of the empire, as well as that of the kings and princes of the north and the businessmen who seek their goodwill.’

  Manovale returned to Rome and called her daughters Maria Louise and Helene to her. `The time has come for our first great harvest,' she told them. `The harvest of years of work is about to be reaped. I shall set you each a refresher course of studies. You, Maria Louise, are going into great riches to live among your father's people, the Germans, as mistress of a warrior-count who is also the Archbishop of Mainz. Helene goes to Paris, to her father's France, as the mistress of the richest bishop in France. Maria Giovanna is at the side of a rich banker in Florence. We will be one entity which will interchange information in order to rise and to continue to prosper.'

  At the appointed time, John of Nassau, Archbishop of Mainz, arrived at the Manovale house in Rome, a long string of a man who resembled a famished eagle. His face was scarlet, his eyes shining black, his hair prematurely white with streaks of brass. I knew him well, not then but later, and cultivated him for Cossa. He was charming when one was alone with him, or when two or three other men were present, but be became offensive as soon as there were women in the room and impossible if the women were pretty.

  He came to the Villa Manovale dressed in blood-red ecclesiastical garments under polished battle armour. He wore spurs to the dinner table. He stared at Manovale's body as if it were unclothed. She felt encouraged in her task.

  `You are the Medici representative in Rome?' he asked mockingly.

  She smiled at him. She allowed the smile to begin gently, then, with experienced control, she slowly increased its heat to lasciviousness.

  `I understand,' he said.

  On the day after his arrival, a papal messenger, brought an invitation to the archbishop suggesting that he join. His Holiness at dinner at two o'clock the following morning at the Vatican.

  Unwilling to consider going to bed to be reawakened, the archbishop asked Signora Manovale if she would lay on a `merry luncheon' at ten o'clock in the evening before his meeting with the pope.

  The signora invited Paolo Orsini, the industrial condottiere, so that the archbishop would have someone with whom he could talk shop if he chose. She brought in the famous actor Alghieri Melvini and Giovanni di Gianni, a man who controlled the grain in Rome and who was a new client of the Medici bank, recruited by her. There were women to set these men off but, seated at the archbishop's left, speaking in both Latin and German, was Maria Louise Sterz whom the signora introduced only to her guest of honour. He was soon so delighted with her that he made it clear that he wished to speak to no one else at the table.

  John, of Nassau remained in Rome for eleven days, six days longer than his original intention. He saw the pope once again and spent the rest of his stay with Marie Louise. When she was absent – seeing her dressmaker, she said – her mother comforted the archbishop with fine wine and soon established a relationship for him with the Medici bank. She assured him that the Medi
cis would be so honoured to have big account that they would immediately open a branch for his convenience in Mainz as well as, she was hopeful, for the convenience of the Church's considerable banking business in Swabia and for the bank deposits of those dioceses which neighboured on the archbishop's jurisdiction and which looked to him for protection from the Teuton and Polish princes. His Eminence, Archbishop and Count, wanted something from her, so the matter of which Italian bank held his money was of little interest to him. Therefore, when the Count of Nassau left Rome, the signora had made a banking coup which delivered over 500,000 florins each year to the new Medici branch at Mainz and 25,000 gold florins to Decima Manovale, at the commission of 5 per cent which had been arranged by the bank to come into effect immediately when she produced the business.

  15

  The Archbishop of Mainz departed from Rome at the head, of his troop of 600 horsemen, with his household of 192 people, and with Maria Louise Sterz, whom he had leased from Signora Manovale at terms no more strenuous than those she had secured from Cosimo di Medici for Maria Giovanna Toreton.

  That night, Pierre D'Ailly, the Bishop of Cambrai, arrived in Rome after his journey from France. He had travelled with only ten men. I worked with D'Ailly several years later. It was a cheerless task, like trying to touch a man by addressing his reflection in a mirror. He was a smart fellow who had seen everything and had done everything. He never lost sight of himself.

  Manovale received him in the company of an exclamatorily attractive young woman of seventeen, whom she introduced as Mademoiselle Helene MaCloi. Everyone spoke French. The. two women dined with the bishop that night and soon he and Mademoiselle MaCloi were into a dense discourse which excited the bishop. He drank much wine and insisted, when the evening came to an end, that the young woman take him to his bed.