[ooc: let's try this again!
]
With a stoic grunt, Sir Jonathan noted that the next account was centered on finance and economics, two of his least favorite topics. Still, there might be something of worth in it. There was no name given for the author, nor a title.
Later, Leonardo Fortonato would remark, "You should understand that such events, the ones that touch all men in all nations, even if in a most trivial way, simply do not occur in a void. Something always comes first."
Sig. Fortonato was the puppeteer behind a great many "such events", some that touched men trivially and some that most certainly did not. In the case of his earliest and most celebrated, some would same infamous, manipulation of the Hearts and Minds of his peers, the thing that happened first occurred half an ocean away.
In May of 1432, Murad II of Bursa, which we call Nicaea, and Izmir, which we call Adrianople, though usually a level-headed, courteous man, lost patience with John VIII of Constantinople, who we call King of the Greeks, though he pretends to the title of Roman Emperor. War was declared. The Greeks put up a better fight than one might expect, due to the presence of John's youngest son, Constantine, who had apparently built a 6-mile wall across the Isthmus of Corinth to guard his southern holding, the Morea.
But on the 11th day of the 11th month of the following year, the city of Genoa had brokered a peace between the rising and falling empires. The cost to Greek pride, and coffers, was steep: 25,000 Genovese pounds and the entire peninsula of the Morea were to go to the Turk. Few in Europe took note. Leonardo Fortonato, in service to his elderly father-in-law, Antonio Palena, doyen of Genovese finance, took decided note.
The Morea was not good for much. It had a strong citadel, Mistra, which had incongrously been the scene of a culture flourish over the last few decades. However, all those scholars and churchmen now fled to our fair city in the wake of the Turk. Other than that, the Morea most grew grapes and olives. As it had since ancient times. Then, as now, both were greatly prized commodities. But once the Turk arrived, the flow of products, particularly that most important oil of the olive, slowly dried up.
Leonardo noticed that members of the chefs' guild were complaining about the higher cost of olive oil. One or two smaller restaurants closed, while the rest either ate the cost or passed it along to the indebted nobles. But that got Leonardo to thinking. Not that anyone at the time realized that he was thinking. In 10 years of marriage to his hideous wife, he had never been observed to flinch when seeing or hearing her, so he was obviously a man in control of outward appearances.
Instead he acted. No one knows for sure where he got the capital. He had probably squirrelled some of it away. As for the rest, he was on very good terms with his father-in-law. But be that as it may, the tall, confident man with the unyielding bargaining style was soon buying up every batch of olive oil he could get his hands on. He made a minuscule profit on it, and then stopped. People figured he had learned his lesson. In reality, he was refining his approach.
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The summer of 1434 was a remarkable year for those who followed the Mode. There had been several scientific breakthroughs that had left all of northern Italy aflutter. Some young mill-designers had discovered that machinery could be made to work more smoothly when a good lubricant was used at key junctions. They eventually settled upon olive oil.
The Holy Father, at that time inclined towards one of his periodic interdictions upon the Venetians and therefore listening to his Genovese friends, declared to his monastic orders that anointing oneself with olive oil was the key to suppressing carnal urges.
Fathers, hearing what the monastic fathers were doing, promptly grabbed their daughters and started anointing them as well. This would not have lasted very long, except that every noblewoman in the city knew that year that olive oil was good for the fact. And so one would see all the Great Ladies strolling about with olive oil dripping off their faces.
In a happy confluence of clothing fashion with social fashion, at least for young men of 20 and 50, that year designers decided that it was stylish to show more bosom. Quite alot of bosom, in fact. So these young ladies, with the olive oil dripping down their faces, ended up oiling other parts as well.
Industry ground to a halt. Farms went unsowed and untilled. Officers abandonned their armies. Madams declared that, far from suppressing desires, olive oil was precisely that which was needed to revive them in those who were flagging. And so began the Great Olive Oil Bubble of 1434.
But it seemed that there was no olive oil to be found! Or, rather, it could be found, but at exorbitant prices. It seems that Leonardo had not bought one year's olive oil, but three. He could not corner the entire market, of course, but once the other sellers saw how much he was selling his for, they raised their prices to match. People were so desperate that they would pay any amount.
To make matters worse, Leonardo had been taking all his profits and using them to buy out the olive oil contracts from other merchants for the next season as well. Then, in August, when he had only used up half his stock, he simply stopped selling. Prices soared, and suddenly young ladies were tearfully refusing to go outside and be seen oil-less.
Throughout the winter, there was a frenzy of wheeling-and-dealing at the trading houses, with Sig. Fortonato at the center of it all. But he continued to accumulate, claiming that this was just the beginning, that soon olive oil would, like some kind of ambrosia, be worth more than liquid gold.
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I overheard this conversation myself, at a popular winery near the downtown countinghouses. It occurred the following June of 1435. Prices on olive oil had soared even higher as the summer returned, and the speculation had spilled over into other viscous substances such as tar, though that did not last long.
Sig. Fortonato was concluding a very difficult and involved transaction to sell off all his olive oil futures contracts, en masse. The agent, whose name I never learned, had brought the final papers, and the two sat there. Leonoardo would make a point and the agent would attempt to demur, but usually Leonardo got his way. Across the room, Cosimo Larente, who had hated Fortonato since their youth for the latters great success at financial matters, and for his marital relations with Quaestor Palena, glared at him with undisguised malice.
Finally, he dipped his quill in ink - he was not one of those who had switched to using olive oil instead, claiming it was too hard for him to read words written in olive oil, a complaint which is in fact valid - and scrawled his distinctive signature on the contract. The agent handed over the letter of currency in return, and the transaction was done. Someone had just become the most powerful merchant in Genoa.
When Cosimo let out a triumphant snarl and bounded across the room, there was no doubt who had been the secret buyer.
"Leo, you fool, you just sold that oil for half its market value! With the profits, I'll pay the Council to run you out of Genoa themselves!" Cosimo was spitting in his excitement. His cheeks were flushed with animation, and the sheen of fashionable olive oil smeared upon his face.
Leonardo simply shrugged. "Hmm. Frankly, I don't see why people are still buying this stuff. It neither helps nor hinders the fleshly urges. Although it looks good on bosoms, it certainly does not on the face. In fact, I just sold all of my olive oil stocks for twice what you paid. It just made me feel awful to see people so desperate for a simple cooking oil that they were willing to pay so much."
Beads of sweat suddenly started to appear on Cosimo's face, which was a most horrific effect given that the beads would not mix with the oil.
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When the Bubble collapsed, olive oil prices dropped to their lowest levels in 50 years. It was said that people were using it to wash with, since it was cheaper than water, but that seems rather implausible, given the unpleasantness of being doused in olive oil. Though it was difficult to tally the damages, Cosimo's mass purchase had destroyed several banking houses in addition to his own. In all, prices were estimated to have risen by 10% for all commodities in the space of a few months.
There was another conversation that I had been privy to, the winter of 1435, while the Bubble was still expanding.
The Doge had called upon Quaestor Palena and Sig. Fortonato.
"This is getting completely out of hand!" the Doge thundered. "I come back from important business in Milan, and this is what I find?"
The Quaestor smiled a partially-toothed smile. "It is simply the merchants buying and selling. What do you want me to do?"
"And the way the young ladies ... glisten ..." He stopped to mop his brow. "It's indecent! There must be something you can do, before this ruins half the traders in the city. Do you know how much even normal products, like lumber, are costing now?"
The Queastor turned to Sig. Fortonato who spread his hands innocently. "Such a thing could be arranged, but it would be very difficult. Stocks of existing olive oil would have to be slowly disbursed, futures would have to be managed ... it's a very intricate, time consuming, expensive operation. Otherwise, the inflation will continue amok," he said softly. "But not too expensive for the Doge who loves his city, I would presume."
The Doge was glaring daggers now. "How much?"
"100,000 pounds should suffice."
The Doge snorted. "I don't love this city that much. I'm going back to Milan. Who cares if bread costs 11 pounds instead of 10, anyway?"
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In such ways are made the events that touch all men, even if in a most trivial way.
Sir Jonathan rubbed his eyes. Frankly, he hadn't understood at all. Was this like the Dutch tulip mania, or the great South Sea Bubble? He much preferred battles of swords or wits than those of numbers. He turned to the next account hopefully.
driftwood
