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Francesco sighed wearily as he looked at the empty desk from the corner of his eye. Guglielmo had been away for only three days and he was already missing him. Lorenzo was accompanying him (and he refused to think he had such affection for him that he was missing him too) to Bologna for legal matters regarding the alum trade. Things had been going smoother since Jacopo’s exile. Giuliano and he, for once in their life, had agreed on the fact he should have been hanged. Francesco could not forgive his shameful betrayal of his family for his personal revenge against the Medici. His uncle had tried to give up Florence to Montefeltro, uncaring of the untold lives he was sacrificing in the process. Jacopo had jeopardized his own family for power.
Francesco could never forgive such a thing.
It was Lorenzo who had pressed for exile instead of death. Everyone had been convinced it was foolishness to be clement with a man like that. Francesco had certainly thought so. Fortunately his uncle had been powerless to stir up trouble since his exile from the city. Now his nephews ran the Pazzi bank, working hand in hand with the Medici. A family business, in a word.
“It has just arrived for you, Master Francesco.”
Francesco left his reverie to go see the strange box that had been delivered for him.
“From Signor Lorenzo,” announced the messenger. “Signor Lorenzo begs you to forgive him for taking Signor Guglielmo away for such a long time and hopes this humble gift may help sooth your ache.”
He couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Lorenzo just had to be dramatic even when he wasn’t here. He gestured for the “humble gift” (which was, looking at the expensive silk around the box, not humble at all) to be put on his desk. Francesco made sure everyone had gone back to work before locking himself in his office to open the present. What he carefully got out of the box made him shake his head with disbelief.
Two automata.
They were independent from each other and made mostly of wood. Francesco realized with a shock they represented him and Guglielmo. His effigy was seated at a desk, papers littering the surface and quill in hand. His brother’s showed him standing over a table, scales in a hand while apparently counting the coins on the table.
The details were breathtaking. The automata were delicately painted and wore expensive clothes. Francesco’s desk was finely decorated, putting to shame its life-size model. The quill was a real one; the papers were real bits of parchments glued to the desk. There was a tiny ink pot on a corner, a purse on another one. The tiny coins seemed glued too to the table but looked real enough, as were the scales.
Francesco then got out of the box two beautiful little silver keys. They were delicately decorated with floral patterns. He put each key in the hole (they seemed to be the same) of the pieces. He turned them until the mechanisms both clicked. He let go of both keys at the same time and watched with delight the automata come to life.
The miniature Francesco busied himself writing while Guglielmo bent over to count the coins on his table. Then, to his great surprise, his brother’s effigy turned, his mouth speaking silent words, while his own raised his head and seemed to nod before writing down something. They’re interacting with each other, he realized. He arranged the automata so they seemed to talk to each other, and sure enough Francesco felt like looking at himself and Guglielmo working a normal day at the bank. They were almost frightening with life: they blinked and moved around with fluidity. They almost seemed to breath, even.
Francesco sat down, weighed down by amazement, tears welling up in his eyes. Who gifted automata to their brother-in-law? Lorenzo must have lost his mind. Each piece must have costed him a small fortune. The gift had been prepared well before the trip to Bologna was even a thing. Who knew when the idea popped up in the young man’s mind. Lorenzo could have just given him his present, but he actually waited for this occasion to deliver it to him.
It implied a great deal of affection for Francesco to do such a thing.
Of course he knew Lorenzo had the dismaying habit of spoiling his loved ones. His mother never missed an occasion to lament the fact her son did not hesitate to use funds from the Medici bank to offer expensive gifts to his entourage. Clarice had received lapis-lazuli earrings; Giuliano a jeweled sword; Bianca a richly decorated set of paper screens from the far East; Madonna Lucrezia an illuminated book of hours; Sandro golden paint from Syria. And these were just recent gifts. Even Guglielmo and Novella had benefitted from Lorenzo’s generosity: his wife had received a yard of fine silk and his brother two exotic plants for his garden. Francesco had never liked the extravagant presents the young man showered his loved ones with and had told him so several times. He had refused vehemently any attempt from the young Medici to offer him anything that went beyond the usual ceremonial gifts exchanged at birthdays and great occasions. It had occasioned several fights between them. Lorenzo felt like he could not show his friendship correctly toward Francesco, and Francesco felt like Lorenzo was trying to buy him. Eventually they had managed to reach an understanding: Lorenzo could occasionally give a present to him as long as it was not too extravagant.
Obviously the young man was trying to test the limits of their agreement. Yet for once Francesco couldn’t really be angry with him. The gift was meaningful. The automata represented important things to Francesco and the young man knew it. Suddenly overwhelmed by emotion, Francesco put the automata back in the box and rubbed his moist eyes. A grin tugged at his lips for the rest of the day.
When Lorenzo came back from Bologna, he was pleasantly surprised to see his little present decorating Francesco’s office at Palazzo Pazzi.