‘And that is legal?’
‘Completely. The branches trade with one another, as if they were doing business with independent third parties. They keep independent sets of books and see the results of their actions in the form of local profits.’
Maddalena frowns. She has never been sure about this part. When talking about the methods used by bankers, the word ‘usury’ is never far from mind.
Looking somewhat pleased with himself, Cosimo rolls onto his left elbow and grins at her. ‘The clever part is, the parent partnership gets to participate in all the branch profits, even though, beyond their invested capital, it is protected from their trading losses.’
But by now, she is no longer feigning interest. Now her brain is whirring away, and the thought inside it troubles her. ‘What prevents the individual branches from acting greedily? Say in the interests of their countrymen, rather than their parent company?’
Still grinning, he presses the end of her nose with his forefinger. ‘Because we rule. The parent company is always the majority partner. And in case that was not enough, the legal partnership agreement with each branch always makes it clear that the interests of the parent company must come first.’
‘Can you really make people do that?’
The smile on his face disappears. ‘You cannot allow local greediness to take over, and above all you can’t have local branches being rewarded for self-interest when their actions have adverse consequences elsewhere. Success can only be recognised if the overall bank succeeds. And in order to do that, you have to maintain mutuality of interest.’
His face is beginning to look serious. Time to play the simpleton again. ‘How do you ensure that?’
‘Money. Through the way people are rewarded. Giovane are recruited to do clerical work and to demonstrate their ability. Those that succeed can become governatore and take on management responsibilities. In due course, if they advance even further, they may become compagni; in personal partnership with the parent company in the ownership of the branch. So at each stage of the process, they become drawn ever closer to the maggiori who own the business.’
To her relief, he’s smiling again. Time for some lemon juice with the honey. ‘That’s all very clever. But doesn’t it all boil down to recognising men’s inherent greed and then rewarding it?’
‘Of course. But I prefer to think of it as enlightened self-interest.’
‘Is it enlightened? It’s certainly self-interest. Well, it works for you.’
‘It works for everybody. If the Medici Bank had not been run so profitably over the last twenty years and more, I would not have been able to devote so much time to the better government of the City and Commune of Florence. Nor to my charitable works, including San Marco, and San Lorenzo.’ He rolls onto his back again and she can see that the grin has returned. He’s looking very full of himself now. ‘Patronage is such an expensive business. But someone has to do it.’
He’s definitely feeling better. She knows what he has in mind when he smiles like that. She slides a hand under the silk sheet. ‘You always win, Cosimo.’
***
Across the room, Madonna Arcangelica closed her eyes and began to smile, nodding almost absent-mindedly. ‘And the family, meanwhile?’
Maddalena recognised she’d had enough of the way banks work. The abbess liked familiar ground; especially children. ‘The family? Oh life went on. Contessina continued to pursue the principles of masserizia: running the ever-growing households with bigger and bigger budgets; yet still mending clothes, saving scraps, sending food to members of the family from their farms to avoid their paying city prices and organising packed lunches for them whenever they travelled anywhere.’
The abbess began to grin. By now Maddalena knew she took vicarious pleasure in her open dislike of Contessina and had begun to play up to it.
‘On Cosimo’s instructions, Giovanni, his younger son, followed the Ecumenical Council to Ferrara to study how a branch of the bank worked and to use his not inconsiderable charms to make friends with the members of the Curia. That he did, by all accounts, with great gusto and even greater expense: Cosimo always grumbling that he spent more time at the dining table and the gaming table than he did at the tavola. We missed his jovial company around the house. Suddenly it had all gone rather quiet.
‘Carlo went off to Rome and pursued his studies there. Occasionally I would hear of this small appointment, then that, and slowly he began to rise through the ranks. By all accounts he worked hard and I’m sure the Medici name cannot have done him any harm.’
She found herself smiling at her own joke; any opportunity to talk of Carlo was always a pleasure to her, although he had become very independent in recent years and she had not heard from him since coming to the convent. In fact, she was not even certain he knew she was there.
The thought chilled her and the smile left her face as rapidly as it had come. And as her mood darkened, she found her story becoming more negative.
‘With Giovanni gone, Lucrezia stopped visiting and went back to pursue her studies at home. Her parents had both died by the time Giovanni left for Ferrara and in his absence she seemed to withdraw into her shell. She had been such a bright little girl, always running round the house with Carlo and her younger brother Giovanni Battista, following our Giovanni around like yapping puppies, but now she settled into her books and seemed to have grown up very fast.
‘She was the brightest of them all. I know I defend my Carlo, but she was cleverer by far than he, and she had more application than all the boys put together. When she had gone, I found I missed her and I hoped she would come back into our world when circumstances changed.
‘Giovanni Battista, her little brother, had made a good impression with Cosimo and as soon as he was old enough, he was sent to the Florence tavola and later to Rome, to study banking. His early reports were very good and by the time he was fifteen, he was established in the Rome branch as a giovane.’
‘You say little of Cosimo’s eldest son?’
‘Piero? No. That’s true. Perhaps because, apart from sympathy, he invoked few emotions in me and left few impressions. What can I say? He had all the burdens of a firstborn son and had been over-mothered by Contessina. I often think he was smothered, not mothered; like a little chick beneath a great, feathered hen, and to an extent, he never came out from under her wing.
‘Of course he idolised his father. But he was afraid of failing him and as a result, he was always hesitant and fumbling in his presence. The effect was most unfortunate. By the time he was ten or eleven, Cosimo had lost faith in the boy and I am sure it was that sense of his father’s growing disinterest that made his stutter worse as he got older.’
Maddalena found herself shaking her head and staring at the ground. ‘Piero has always been a sad character; reticent and, to be honest, uninspiring.’
The abbess sat upright and frowned. ‘Oh dear. What an indictment! Surely his father must have planned a future for him? He was, after all, the eldest son.’
‘Cosimo had made his decisions quite early and he stuck by them. Piero, he knew, would ruin the bank, so in his mind, he gave that to Giovanni. That left the Church for Carlo, and to Piero went the spoils of politics. Somehow, Cosimo hoped the family name would carry him through. “Most of the Signoria are stupid anyway,” he once said to me, “so he’ll be in good company.”’
‘Poor Piero. Too much like his mother, and just like his mother, increasingly ignored as the years went by.’
‘You really didn’t like him, did you?’
‘It’s worse than that. I can’t even make myself care. There’s nothing to like or dislike. The harsh truth is, he’s a stuttering non-entity. I hate myself for saying it, but it’s the truth.’
‘But one day, he will be head of the household and, so they say, Prince of Florence.’
‘I know. That’s what’s worrying me.’
The bell for Vespers chimed and they both felt a sense of relief. As Maddalena
followed the abbess down the stairs, she shook her head again. Poor Piero. He always managed to spoil everything he came into contact with; even our conversation today. But perhaps I have been unfair to him. There’s not a trace of malice in the man. Sometimes, I wish there were. I shall pray for him and hope I find some basis to praise him more highly, next time.
Chapter 19
Lucrezia
17th April 1458
‘I hope you will bear with me if I am somewhat hesitant this week, but I find myself troubled.’ Maddalena felt uncomfortable. She had been agonising over what to say and was still not prepared when, to her surprise, the abbess had arrived early. Now she felt cornered, and as a result, irritable.
The surprise on the abbess’ face was obvious. ‘Troubled?’
Still wishing she had had more time to compose herself, Maddalena took a deep breath. ‘Reverend Mother, since speaking to you last week, I find myself regretful of certain things I may have said.’
‘You wish to retract something?’ Madonna Arcangelica had her Mother Superior face on: professional, distant, uncommitted. Perhaps she sensed embarrassment and her instinct was to be careful, but after so many weeks of close informal conversation, Maddalena found this apparent withdrawal disappointing and unsupportive.
‘Retract? No. But I do feel the need to return to the subject, in order, perhaps, to redress the balance.’ She smiled, cajoling. ‘In the interests of fairness.’
‘That is a gracious thing to do. What is the subject you wish to return to?’ The abbess had a particular way of inclining her head that managed to indicate a willingness to listen whilst, at the same time, withholding any commitment to respond.
Maddalena sensed it was still the position of abbess speaking and not the woman who held it. In response, she found herself retreating too; picking her words with more precision than she had been used to in recent weeks.
‘The subject of Piero di Cosimo de’ Medici. I feel I did him a disservice.’
The abbess shook her head. ‘Really? I thought you chose your words carefully and fairly.’
Relieved, yet feeling thwarted, Maddalena smiled, but the abbess shook her head. ‘I apologise. I have interrupted you. I can see you are uncomfortable; please continue with what you were going to say and I shall do my best not to interrupt.’
For the first time, Maddalena started to relax. ‘I may find this difficult, as I wish to speak of the marriage of Piero to Lucrezia Tornabuoni, of whom I have already spoken and whom, you may have noted, I hold in particularly high regard.’
‘And in describing her marriage to Piero you are concerned that you may allow her, in some way, to overshadow him?’ It hadn’t taken long for the abbess to break her promise.
‘Exactly.’ Maddalena paused. In opening the door so immediately, the abbess seemed to have made her task doubly difficult.
‘You see. That’s the problem. She did. In almost every way, and no doubt she still does.’
Madonna Arcangelica seemed to sense the tension in the room and sensed that her interruptions were largely to blame. Now she made an effort to sit back and relax. ‘Perhaps you should just start at the beginning. This time I really will hold my tongue.’
Maddalena tried to prepare herself. All week, in quiet moments, she had heard herself speaking in what must have sounded like the most disparaging, indeed worse than that; dismissive tones, about the man who was likely in the not-too-distant future, to inherit Cosimo’s position as head of the Medici family. And yet, by speaking of him in the same breath as Lucrezia, she knew she was in danger of reinforcing, if not worsening, the predicament.
‘What I am about to describe is the worst decision that Cosimo has ever made. I have spoken before of Lucrezia, from her early days, with her brother, visiting the Medici household, and even at that young age, enchanting us with her vivacity, her wit and her intelligence.’
‘You do not speak of beauty? It is normal, surely, in such a eulogy, to put that first.’
This time, Maddalena smiled at the interruption. It was a point she had intended to make. ‘No. It is not appropriate, and in her case, not necessary. Lucrezia is a fine young woman, charming and elegant. She carries herself well and her manners, and her consideration for others, are exemplary. But you would not use the word beautiful. Her eyes are too far apart. Her nose is too long; far too long and her mouth is small and for the most part, straight and unsmiling.’
‘She is pious? A straight mouth is often a sign of piety.’
‘She is, but, if I may say this without any sense of implied criticism, she is pious without loss of humanity.’
The abbess dipped her head in admiration. ‘She transcends both worlds? A rare attribute and one to be cherished.’
‘I agree. She is liked by most and respected by all; not only for her studious intellect, her respectful piety and her gentle humanity, but also for her capability. She can read; in Tuscan, Latin and Greek and write in the first and second. She can keep and interpret a set of account books. She owns property in her own right, and she writes poetry. In short, Lucrezia is a woman of many virtues.’
‘She must be, indeed. To achieve so many things, she must also, surely, be in the peak of good health?’
‘Sadly not. That is her one weakness. She suffers badly from rheumatism, eczema, sciatica and stomach pains, yet you never hear a word of complaint from her. Never.’ Maddalena looked up in emphasis. ‘It’s the men in the Medici family that do all the complaining.’
The abbess, with her usual sensitivity, had begun to frown. ‘You have built up my expectations for this remarkable woman, yet by your expression, I fear you are about to dash my hopes for her.’
Maddalena nodded, her expression serious. ‘As I said just now, it was one of the worst decisions Cosimo ever made. Fourteen years ago, Cosimo married his eldest son, Piero, who at that time was twenty-eight years old, to Lucrezia Tornabuoni. She was seventeen years old and her education had advanced as far as any woman in Florence. I remember it well. I was thirty-eight then, and more than twice her age, but over the years, she had spent so much time in my company that increasingly I thought of her, and responded to her, as a confidante, and as a result of her closeness to Carlo, almost as a daughter.
‘The wedding was a quiet affair. The political situation at the time was sensitive and Cosimo did not believe that a large display of wealth was appropriate. So they married simply, in San Lorenzo, and afterward, walked across the piazza past the early workings of the Palazzo Medici, and back to the Casa Vecchia; our house at the time.
‘By that time, everyone had grown used to the idea and the appropriate smiles were to be seen everywhere, but four months earlier, when Cosimo had first made his announcement, it had been very different.
‘We all knew that Cosimo had been talking very earnestly with her father Francesco for some weeks and we all, including Lucrezia, thought we knew why.’
***
PALAZZO MEDICI, FLORENCE
13th April 1444
‘Come in Lucrezia and sit here where everyone can see you. Your father and I have an important announcement to make.’ Cosimo is all smiles.
Maddalena sits quietly at the very back of the room and smiles too. Lucrezia looks so happy and why should she not? Of course, everyone knows why she is here. The secret has been out for days now. Of course, Guillermo who works as a clerk at the Monte delle Doti should never have told everyone. The details of the accounts at the Monte are confidential, but as everyone in the city seemed to be saying, who needs to keep a happy secret?
He’d let it out last Friday morning and by the afternoon everyone in Florence knew that the eleven year fixed interest bond that Francesco Tornabuoni had invested with the Monte was going to mature in three days’ time. Since the sole purpose of the Doti is to provide the finances for a daughter’s dowry, and since his daughter has lodged with the Medici for the majority of the last ten years, it is clear that Lucrezia is going to marry her childhood sweetheart, Giovanni de�
� Medici.
The brothers troop in and take their allotted positions, Piero looks nervous as always and Giovanni looks uncomfortable.
They close the doors and an excited silence falls on the room. Cosimo beams. ‘Today is a happy occasion. Today my close friend, Francesco Tornabuoni and I are delighted to announce the engagement of his delightful daughter, Lucrezia, to my son, Piero.’
There is a gasp around the room. What an embarrassing mistake! Wrong son! People wait for Cosimo to correct himself, but he doesn’t. Instead he takes her hand and leads her towards—yes, towards Piero.
This can’t be right? Surely? Heads turn in all directions and all eyes turn to the girl. And just at that moment, the murmur in the room is split asunder by a great shriek of horror as Lucrezia, repulsed, pulls her hand back from Piero’s, screams and falls to the floor in a dead faint.
Of course, the room is cleared. ‘She’s overcome! It’s the magnitude of the moment! Give her air!’
As Maddalena slips quietly out of the small door at the end of the room, her heart is thumping: with anger.
And ahead of her, in the corridor full of people, is Cosimo.
‘Cosimo! How could you?’ For the one and only time in her life, she is shouting at him, in public. She, the diminutive slave, is standing chest high in front of the richest man in the world and she is berating him.
‘You stupid, cruel, wicked man! May you rot in hell for this, the foulest action of your life.’
And Cosimo, for once, is lost for words. For he, honestly and genuinely, thinks he has made this rather plain, if clever young girl the best offer she could ever have dreamed of: the hand of his eldest son, the heir to the Medici fortune.
***
Maddalena raised her eyes and looked across the room to the abbess. ‘It was the one and only time I ever saw her exhibit weakness. She did her best to recover, but for the rest of that day, she glared at Cosimo as if he had stabbed her in the back with a stiletto.
The House of Medici Page 21