A YEAR had now passed since I bought the farm of Della Fonte from
Sbietta. In addition to their attempt upon my life by poisoning and
their numerous robberies, I noticed that the property yielded less than
half what had been promised. Now, in addition to the deeds of contract,
I had a declaration written by Sbietta’s own hand, in which he bound
himself before witnesses to pay me over the yearly income I have
mentioned. Armed with these documents, I had recourse to the Lords
Counsellors. At that time Messer Alfonso Quistello was still alive and
Chancellor of the Exchequer; he sat upon the Board, which included
Averardo Serristori and Federigo de’ Ricci. I cannot remember the names
of all of them, but I know that one of the Alessandri was a member.
Suffice it to say, the counsellors of that session were men of weight
and worth. When I had explained my cause to the magistracy, they all
with one voice ruled that Sbietta should give me back my money, except
Federigo de’ Ricci, who was then employing the fellow himself; the
others unanimously expressed sorrow to me that Federigo de’ Ricci
prevented them from despatching the affair. Averardo Serristori and
Alessandri in particular made a tremendous stir about it, but Federigo
managed to protect matters until the magistracy went out of office;
whereupon Serristori, meeting me one morning after they had come out
upon the Piazza dell’ Annunziata, cried aloud, without the least regard
to consequences: “Federigo de’ Ricci has been so much stronger than all
of us put together that you have been massacred against our will.” I do
not intend to say more upon this topic, since it would be too offensive
to the supreme authorities of state; enough that I was cruelly wronged
at the will of a rich citizen, only because he made use of that
shepherd-fellow.