'Precisely; what artichoke? It seems the duke propounded a riddle to Messer Pandolfo Collenuccio, the Ambassador from Ferrara. He said, "I shall eat the artichoke, leaf by leaf." It may signify the league of his enemies whom he means to separate, and so destroy one by one. I have puzzled my brains over it for an hour.' Speaking still lower, he continued, 'Here all is riddle and trap. They chatter about every kind of nonsense, but directly you speak of affairs they become dumb as monks at dinner. But they shall not deceive me; I know very well there is something in the air. I' faith, sir, I would sell my soul to know what.'
And his eyes glowed like a desperate gamester's. Before Leonardo could reply, he was summoned by Messer Agapito. Through a long gloomy passage guarded by the Stradiotes, Leonardo arrived at the duke's bedchamber, a spacious room hung with tapestry and silk. On the ceiling were painted the amours of Pasiphae and the bull. The bull, the heraldic emblem of the Borgias, was repeated on all the ornaments of the room, together with the triple tiara and the keys of St. Peter. The room was warm and scented. A fire of juniper burned on the marble hearth, and the lamp oil was perfumed with violets. Cæsar, elegantly dressed, lay on a flat couch in the middle of the room; he cared for two postures only, reclining, or sitting on horseback. Apparently indifferent to everything, he leaned his elbow on a pillow, listened to a report from a secretary, and watched a game of chess which two of his attendants were playing on a jasper table by his side. He had the faculty of divided attention. With a slow, uniform, mechanical movement he passed backwards and forwards from one hand to the other a golden ball filled with scent, which he carried as religiously as his Damascene dagger.
XI
He received Leonardo with a peculiar and charming courtesy. Not permitting him to kneel, he held his hand and made him sit in an armchair by his side. The duke wished to consult him about plans tendered by Bramante for a new monastery at the town of Imola, which was to be called Valentino, and to have a superb chapel, a hospital, and a refuge for pilgrims. By such munificent works of charity he wished to erect a monument to his own Christian beneficence. After Bramante's designs, he exhibited letters just cut for Girolamo Soncino's new printing-press at Fano, being zealous in the encouragement of the arts and sciences in his dominions. Agapito then gave his master a collection of eulogistic odes by Franceso Uberti the court poet; these Cæsar received graciously, commanding a liberal reward for the author. Then, as he insisted upon seeing satires no less than eulogies, the secretary handed him a poem by Mancioni the Neapolitan, who had been seized and confined in the Castle of St. Angelo in Rome. This sonnet was full of savage abuse; in it Cæsar was called a mule, the mongrel offspring of a harlot and a pope, sitting on a throne, once Christ's now Satan's; a circumcised Turk, a disfrocked cardinal, incestuous, apostate, fratricidal.
'Why, O God, waitest Thou?' cried the poet; 'carest thou not that Holy Church has become a stall for mules, a den of orgies?'
'How does your Excellency wish the villain to be dealt with?' asked Agapito.
'Leave him till my return,' replied the duke quietly, 'I will deal with him myself. I shall know how to teach these scribblers manners!' he added, in a low voice.
Cæsar's method of teaching manners was not unknown. For less serious affronts he had cut off hands, and seared tongues with red hot irons. His report finished, the secretary withdrew. Then audience was given to Valguglio, the astrologer, who had drawn a new horoscope. The duke listened attentively, for he was a believer in the influences of the stars. Valguglio explained that Cæsar's late illness was due to the entrance of Mars into the sign of the Scorpion; the complaint would pass when Venus had reached her rising in Taurus. Had the duke any matter of importance in hand, let him choose for its date the afternoon of the 31st of December, as the conjunction of stars that day was propitious; and bending toward the duke's ear and raising his finger impressively, the astrologer repeated thrice in a mysterious whisper—
'Fatilo, Fatilo, Fatilo'—'Do it. Do it. Do it!'