Why Tito was Safe.
Tito had good reasons for saying that he was safe. In the last three
months, during which he had foreseen the discovery of the Medicean
conspirators as a probable event, he had had plenty of time to provide
himself with resources. He had been strengthening his influence at Rome
and at Milan, by being the medium of secret information and indirect
measures against the Frate and the popular party; he had cultivated
more assiduously than ever the regard of this party, by showing subtle
evidence that his political convictions were entirely on their side;
and all the while, instead of withdrawing his agency from the
Mediceans, he had sought to be more actively employed and exclusively
trusted by them. It was easy to him to keep up this triple game. The
principle of duplicity admitted by the Mediceans on their own behalf
deprived them of any standard by which they could measure the
trustworthiness of a colleague who had not, like themselves, hereditary
interests, alliances, and prejudices, which were intensely Medicean. In
their minds, to deceive the opposite party was fair stratagem; to
deceive their own party was a baseness to which they felt no
temptation; and, in using Tito’s facile ability, they were not keenly
awake to the fact that the absence of traditional attachments which
made him a convenient agent was also the absence of what among
themselves was the chief guarantee of mutual honour. Again, the Roman
and Milanese friends of the aristocratic party, or Arrabbiati, who were
the bitterest enemies of Savonarola, carried on a system of underhand
correspondence and espionage, in which the deepest hypocrisy was the
best service, and demanded the heaviest pay; so that to suspect an
agent because he played a part strongly would have been an absurd want
of logic. On the other hand, the Piagnoni of the popular party, who had
the directness that belongs to energetic conviction, were the more
inclined to credit Tito with sincerity in his political adhesion to
them, because he affected no religious sympathies.
By virtue of these conditions, the last three months had been a time of
flattering success to Tito. The result he most cared for was the
securing of a future position for himself at Rome or at Milan; for he
had a growing determination, when the favourable moment should come, to
quit Florence for one of those great capitals where life was easier,
and the rewards of talent and learning were more splendid. At present,
the scale dipped in favour of Milan; and if within the year he could
render certain services to Duke Ludovico Sforza, he had the prospect of
a place at the Milanese court which outweighed the advantages of Rome.
The revelation of the Medicean conspiracy, then, had been a subject of
forethought to Tito; but he had not been able to foresee the mode in
which it would be brought about. The arrest of Lamberto dell’ Antella
with a tell-tale letter on his person, and a bitter rancour against the
Medici in his heart, was an incalculable event. It was not possible, in
spite of the careful pretexts with which his agency had been guarded,
that Tito should escape implication: he had never expected this in case
of any wide discovery concerning the Medicean plots. But his quick mind
had soon traced out the course that would secure his own safety with
the fewest unpleasant concomitants. It is agreeable to keep a whole
skin; but the skin still remains an organ sensitive to the atmosphere.
His reckoning had not deceived him. That night, before he returned
home, he had secured the three results for which he most cared: he was
to be freed from all proceedings against him on account of complicity
with the Mediceans; he was to retain his secretaryship for another
year, unless he previously resigned it; and, lastly, the price by which
he had obtained these guarantees was to be kept as a State secret. The
price would have been thought heavy by most men; and Tito himself would
rather not have paid it.
He had applied himself first to win the mind of Francesco Valori, who
was not only one of the Ten under whom he immediately held his
secretaryship, but one of the special council appointed to investigate
the evidence of the plot. Francesco Valori, as we have seen, was the
head of the Piagnoni, a man with certain fine qualities that were not
incompatible with violent partisanship, with an arrogant temper that
alienated his friends, nor with bitter personal animosities—one of the
bitterest being directed against Bernardo del Nero. To him, in a brief
private interview, after obtaining a pledge of secrecy, Tito avowed his
own agency for the Mediceans—an agency induced by motives about which
he was very frank, declaring at the same time that he had always
believed their efforts futile, and that he sincerely preferred the
maintenance of the popular government; affected to confide to Valori,
as a secret, his own personal dislike for Bernardo del Nero; and, after
this preparation, came to the important statement that there was
another Medicean plot, of which, if he obtained certain conditions from
the government, he could, by a journey to Siena and into Romagna, where
Piero de’ Medici was again trying to gather forces, obtain documentary
evidence to lay before the council. To this end it was essential that
his character as a Medicean agent should be unshaken for all Mediceans,
and hence the fact that he had been a source of information to the
authorities must be wrapped in profound secrecy. Still, some odour of
the facts might escape in spite of precaution, and before Tito could
incur the unpleasant consequences of acting against his friends, he
must be assured of immunity from any prosecution as a Medicean, and
from deprivation of office for a year to come.
These propositions did not sound in the ear of Francesco Valori
precisely as they sound to us. Valori’s mind was not intensely bent on
the estimation of Tito’s conduct; and it _was_ intensely bent on
procuring an extreme sentence against the five prisoners. There were
sure to be immense efforts to save them; and it was to be wished (on
public grounds) that the evidence against them should be of the
strongest, so as to alarm all well-affected men at the dangers of
clemency. The character of legal proceedings at that time implied that
evidence was one of those desirable things which could only be come at
by foul means. To catch a few people and torture them into confessing
everybody’s guilt was one step towards justice; and it was not always
easy to see the next, unless a traitor turned up. Lamberto dell’
Antella had been tortured in aid of his previous willingness to tell
more than he knew; nevertheless, additional and stronger facts were
desirable, especially against Bernardo del Nero, who, so far as
appeared hitherto, had simply refrained from betraying the late plot
after having tried in vain to discourage it; for the welfare of
Florence demanded that the guilt of Bernardo del Nero should be put in
the strongest light. So Francesco Valori zealously believed; and
perhaps he was not himself aware that the strength of his zeal was
determined by his hatred. He decided that Tito’s proposition ought to
be accepted, laid it before his colleagues without disclosing Tito’s
name, and won them over to his opinion. Late in the day, Tito was
admitted to an audience of the Special Council, and produced a deep
sensation among them by revealing another plot for insuring the mastery
of Florence to Piero de’ Medici, which was to have been carried into
execution in the middle of this very month of August. Documentary
evidence on this subject would do more than anything else to make the
right course clear. He received a commission to start for Siena by
break of day; and, besides this, he carried away with him from the
council-chamber a written guarantee of his immunity and of his
retention of office.
Among the twenty Florentines who bent their grave eyes on Tito, as he
stood gracefully before them, speaking of startling things with easy
periphrasis, and with that apparently unaffected admission of being
actuated by motives short of the highest, which is often the intensest
affectation, there were several whose minds were not too entirely
preoccupied to pass a new judgment on him in these new circumstances;
they silently concluded that this ingenious and serviceable Greek was
in future rather to be used for public needs than for private intimacy.
Unprincipled men were useful, enabling those who had more scruples to
keep their hands tolerably clean in a world where there was much dirty
work to be done. Indeed, it was not clear to respectable Florentine
brains, unless they held the Frate’s extravagant belief in a possible
purity and loftiness to be striven for on this earth, how life was to
be carried on in any department without human instruments whom it would
not be unbecoming to kick or to spit upon in the act of handing them
their wages. Some of these very men who passed a tacit judgment on Tito
were shortly to be engaged in a memorable transaction that could by no
means have been carried through without the use of an unscrupulousness
as decided as his; but, as their own bright poet Pulci had said for
them, it is one thing to love the fruits of treachery, and another
thing to love traitors—
“Il tradimento a molti piace assai,
Ma il traditore a gnun non piacque mal.”
The same society has had a gibbet for the murderer and a gibbet for the
martyr, an execrating hiss for a dastardly act, and as loud a hiss for
many a word of generous truthfulness or just insight: a mixed condition
of things which is the sign, not of hopeless confusion, but of
struggling order.
For Tito himself, he was not unaware that he had sunk a little in the
estimate of the men who had accepted his services. He had that degree
of self-contemplation which necessarily accompanies the habit of acting
on well-considered reasons, of whatever quality; and if he could have
chosen, he would have declined to see himself disapproved by men of the
world. He had never meant to be disapproved; he had meant always to
conduct himself so ably that if he acted in opposition to the standard
of other men they should not be aware of it; and the barrier between
himself and Romola had been raised by the impossibility of such
concealment with her. He shrank from condemnatory judgments as from a
climate to which he could not adapt himself. But things were not so
plastic in the hands of cleverness as could be wished, and events had
turned out inconveniently. He had really no rancour against Messer
Bernardo del Nero: he had a personal liking for Lorenzo Tornabuoni and
Giannozzo Pucci. He had served them very ably, and in such a way that
if their party had been winners he would have merited high reward; but
was he to relinquish all the agreeable fruits of life because their
party had failed? His proffer of a little additional proof against them
would probably have no influence on their fate; in fact, he felt
convinced they would escape any extreme consequences; but if he had not
given it, his own fortunes, which made a promising fabric, would have
been utterly ruined. And what motive could any man really have, except
his own interest? Florentines whose passions were engaged in their
petty and precarious political schemes might have no self-interest
separable from family pride and tenacity in old hatreds and
attachments; a modern simpleton who swallowed whole one of the old
systems of philosophy, and took the indigestion it occasioned for the
signs of a divine afflux or the voice of an inward monitor, might see
his interest in a form of self-conceit which he called self-rewarding
virtue; fanatics who believed in the coming Scourge and Renovation
might see their own interest in a future palm-branch and white robe:
but no man of clear intellect allowed his course to be determined by
such puerile impulses or questionable inward fumes. Did not Pontanus,
poet and philosopher of unrivalled Latinity, make the finest possible
oration at Naples to welcome the French king, who had come to dethrone
the learned orator’s royal friend and patron? and still Pontanus held
up his head and prospered. Men did not really care about these things,
except when their personal spleen was touched. It was weakness only
that was despised; power of any sort carried its immunity; and no man,
unless by very rare good fortune, could mount high in the world without
incurring a few unpleasant necessities which laid him open to enmity,
and perhaps to a little hissing, when enmity wanted a pretext.
It was a faint prognostic of that hissing, gathered by Tito from
certain indications when he was before the council, which gave his
present conduct the character of an epoch to him, and made him dwell on
it with argumentative vindication. It was not that he was taking a
deeper step in wrong-doing, for it was not possible that he should feel
any tie to the Mediceans to be stronger than the tie to his father; but
his conduct to his father had been hidden by successful lying: his
present act did not admit of total concealment—in its very nature it
was a revelation. And Tito winced under his new liability to disesteem.
Well! a little patience, and in another year, or perhaps in half a
year, he might turn his back on these hard, eager Florentines, with
their futile quarrels and sinking fortunes. His brilliant success at
Florence had had some ugly flaws in it: he had fallen in love with the
wrong woman, and Baldassarre had come back under incalculable
circumstances. But as Tito galloped with a loose rein towards Siena, he
saw a future before him in which he would no longer be haunted by those
mistakes. He had much money safe out of Florence already; he was in the
fresh ripeness of eight-and-twenty; he was conscious of well-tried
skill. Could he not strip himself of the past, as of rehearsal
clothing, and throw away the old bundle, to robe himself for the real
scene?
It did not enter into Tito’s meditations on the future, that, on
issuing from the council-chamber and descending the stairs, he had
brushed against a man whose face he had not stayed to recognise in the
lamplight. The man was Ser Ceccone—also willing to serve the State by
giving information against unsuccessful employers.