We tried the door. It was open. At the moment of grasping the door handle, I seemed to hear a hurried sound of footsteps and movement, as though someone inside had risen suddenly from a chair. I looked at Atto; if he too had heard something, he showed no sign of it.
We crossed the threshold. Within, no one.
"No vestige of the three eminences, as far as one can see," I commented.
"I certainly was not expecting to find any still here. Yet, some trace of the meeting might have been left behind: a message, who knows, perhaps some notes... I would need only to know in which room they met. Such details are always very, very useful. The villa is large. . . let's see. It seems as though no one has any intention of keeping an eye on it. So much the better for us."
We found a large oblong room illuminated by the light from windows on either side. At the opposite end, a closed door. This large hall was apparently intended for summer luncheons. Through an open window blew the sweet and melancholy west wind. In an adjoining room, one could see a table for playing trucco, or billiards, if you prefer.
Cautiously, we moved a few paces forward, keeping an eye on the door opposite, from which we imagined that someone might issue sooner or later.
In the middle of the room, a great round table was very much in evidence on which was enthroned a large tray in fine inlaid silver poplar wood. We approached. Atto cautiously pushed the tray, which rotated.
"A brilliant idea," he commented. "The servings can pass from one guest to another, without troubling one's neighbour or needing to pay a carver. Benedetti appreciated the comforts of life, I'd say. Someone must have left the room a short while before us," he added after a pause.
"How can you be so sure of that?"
"There are footprints here on the floor. His shoes were dirty with earth."
We split up, while I explored the part of the room where we had entered, while Atto saw to the rest.
I observed that in two places where the walls protruded into the room, cupboards were built in, painted in the same colours as those walls, thus discreetly concealing articles for the table and the wine cellar. I opened the drawers. They were full of fine silver, with cutlery of all forms and dimensions for every purpose, including devices for scaling fish and long, well-sharpened knives for serving meat and game. Copious and variegated were the services of goblets, chalices, beakers, drinking bowls, large glasses, wooden cups, wine carafes and decanters, large and small, punchbowls for refreshments, jugs for water, cups for broths and hot beverages, all in glass decorated, gilded and painted with delightful figures of animals, cherubs or floral motifs. The master of the villa must have loved the pleasures of the eye no less than those of the table, all to be enjoyed in the salubrious air of the Janiculum Hill and among the verdure of vineyards and gardens. The Vessel, despite its strange isolation, was truly a villa built for great pleasures.
Against a wall, near one of the cupboards, I noticed a vertical brass tube which began at a man's height with a flaring opening like that of a trumpet and which ran up until it disappeared into the ceiling. Atto noticed my questioning look.
"That tube is another of the conveniences of the villa," he explained. "It is used to communicate with the servants on the other floors, without having to take the trouble to go and look for them. One need only talk into them and one's voice issues from the openings on other floors."
I moved a few paces. On every one of the shutters of the windows were painted medallions portraying illustrious Roman women: Pompea, Caesar's third wife; Servilia, Octavian's first wife; Drusilla, the sister of Caligula; Messalina, Claudius' fifth wife; and many others including Cossutia and Cornelia, Martia, Aurelia and Calpurnia (I counted thirty-two in all), each celebrated with solemn Latin inscriptions setting out their name, family and spouse.
We realised that above the arches and in the embrasures were other sayings, all alluding to the female sex, and they were most numerous, so many that these pages would not suffice to set out a tenth part of them:
Of women the quinte element is a natural raving
It is easier to find pleasure in absence than silence in women's midst
Woman laughs when she can, and cries when she will
Women and hens annoy the neighbours
Man and woman in a tight place are like straw near the fire
Interest usually, rather than love, rules women's hearts
"Everything here is dedicated to feminine qualities and to the pleasures of the table. This is the great hall of women and the palate," said Atto, while I examined a medallion with the profile of Plautia Hercanulilla.
Until that moment, so intent had we been on finding traces of the presence of the three august members of the Sacred College of Cardinals (and we had indeed discovered footprints) that we had not deigned to accord our attention to what was most interesting in this hall: the rich collection of paintings hung on the walls. Atto stood by my side as I focused on the paintings, realising that the only subject of the collection was, as might have been expected, a set of graceful women's faces.
Abbot Melani began to pass rapidly from one picture to the next without even needing to read the names on the frames, which showed the identity of the ladies in question. He knew each face to perfection (and meant to show that off), having seen them either in the flesh or in so many other portraits, and he told me their names.
"Her Majesty Anne of Austria, the late, lamented mother of the Most Christian King," he recited, almost as though he were presenting her to me in flesh and blood, showing me the sweet, haughty face of the deceased sovereign, that rather penetrating look, the forehead not excessively high, the round but noble neck embraced with loving respect by the low-cut organza collar of her sumptuous black taffeta gown, enriched by a bodice of pleated brocade on which the diaphanous royal hands were limply abandoned.
"As I had occasion to tell you when we met, the Queen Mother loved my singing, I could say, in no ordinary way," he added with a touch of vanity, adjusting his wig with a rapid and discreet gesture. "Above all, sad arias, sung in the evening."
He then passed on to the portraits of the Princess Palatine, Countess Marescotti, and the late lamented Henrietta, sister- in-law of the Most Christian King, all so nobly and realistically depicted that it seemed as though they might just have lunched at the great table nearby.
It was then that we came to the last portrait, a little in the shade by comparison with the others, yet still visible.
Since our regard is subject to desire, while the word is ruled by the intellect, my eyes were swifter to embrace that feminine visage and to recognise it among my memories than was Abbot Melani to announce her name.
That was why, when he said: "Madama Maria Mancini," I had already recognised her. It was without a doubt the young maiden we had glimpsed through the hedge, in the park.
"Of course, all this was the play of your imagination," said Atto, after listening to my explanation, as we left the great hall, taking a door to the left. "You were unduly influenced by an agreeable and unexpected encounter. That can happen, and I can assure you that when I was your age it happened often."
When proffering those words, he turned his head away from me.
"Still, I do not understand where the maiden and her companion can have disappeared to," I objected.
Atto did not reply. On the walls of the chamber there were various prints in the form of pictures which, using a skilful optical illusion, represented ancient bas-reliefs with singular grace and lightness. What was more, here too was a series of portraits, this time, of men.
Here also, the openings in the wall were ornamented with sayings concerning life at court.
THE GOOD COURTIER To acquire merit:
Serve with punctuality and modesty
Always speak well of your Lord and ill of no one
Praise without excess
Practise with the best
Listen more than you speak
Love good men
Win over the bad
Speak gently
Operate promptly
Neither trust someone nor mistrust everyone
Neither reveal your own secret nor listen willingly to those of others
Do not interrupt others' speeches and be not prolix in your own
Believe those who are more learned than yourself
Do not undertake things greater than you
Do not believe easily or answer without thinking
Suffer, and dissimulate
THE COURT
In Courts, there are always some wolves in sheep's clothing
Against treachery in Courts there is no better remedy than withdrawal and distance
The Court often takes light from the streets
The Court and satisfaction are two excessively great extremes
In the air of the Court the wind of ambition must of necessity blow
The affairs of Courts do not always move at the speed desired by the most zealous
In Courts, even the most sincere friendships are not exempt from the poison of false suspicions
Most courtiers are monsters with two tongues and two hearts.
"Yet, to me she does seem to be the same young maiden!" I decided to insist, while Atto was pointing his nose in the air to read the maxims. "Are you sure that today Maria Mancini is nearly sixty years of age? The maiden we saw. . . well, I tell you, she is identical to the woman in the picture, but seems rather young."
He stopped reading brusquely and looked me straight in the eye.
"Do you think I could be mistaken?"
He turned his eyes away from mine and turned to the pictures, to explain them for me. The subjects of the pictures were this time illustrious names from France and from Italy: pontiffs, poets, men of science, sovereigns and their consorts, ministers of state.
"His Holiness the late Pope Alexander VII; His Holiness the late Pope Clement IX, the Cavalier Bernini, the Cavaliere Cassiano del Pozzo; the Cavalier Marino; His Majesty the late King Louis XIII; His Reigning Majesty Louis XIV . ."
While he reviewed the list of names, passing hurriedly from one picture to the next, it seemed to me that Atto was still annoyed by my question about the age of Maria Mancini. In reality, he must be right: I could not have seen Maria in the park, not only because she had not yet reached Rome, but because, being the same age as the Most Christian King, she must, like the Sovereign, be sixty years of age or more.
"His Eminence the late Cardinal Richelieu; His Eminence the late Cardinal Mazarin; the deceased Minister Colbert; the deceased Superintendent Fouquet. .."
He stopped.
'"Suffer, and dissimulate'..." said he to himself, repeating one of the maxims he had just read on the walls of the room.
"I beg your pardon?"
'"Most courtiers are monsters with two tongues and two hearts'!" he smiled, quoting another of the maxims theatrically, as though he wished to mask some unwelcome thought with a joke.
"It is getting late," the Abbot commented as soon as we had left the Vessel, scrutinising the violet of the sky.
The search of the premises had not led to much. Apart from a few footprints, we had found no trace of the three cardinals and in any case there was not enough time to explore the whole villa.
"Now, go back and work in the gardens at Spada. Keep your mouth closed and behave as though nothing had happened."
"To tell the truth, I must repair the damage done by the thief before Cloridia returns. . ."
"For that I shall reimburse you at double its value, so your little wife will soon be consoled. You must be present this evening, after Vespers. Now, be on your way!" he exhorted me rather brusquely.
Atto was nervous, very nervous.
Evening the Second
8th July, 1700
*
While I was making my way towards the garden shed in order to collect my tools, I reflected that Atto had not once asked me about Cloridia: how she was, when he would be seeing her again, what she was doing now, and so on. Never a word, and not even now that he had mentioned her did he take the trouble to ask me anything, however circumstantial, about her. And this despite the fact that he had read in the memoir which he had stolen from me the whole incredible story of Cloridia. A story which, many years before, at the time of the Locanda del Donzello, he could never have imagined. Not that they frequented one another at the time. On the contrary, as far as I could recall, they had not exchanged a single word, deliberately ignoring one another. I had never heard Atto pronounce her name, save scornfully. The castrato and the courtesan: I could surely not expect a friendship to be born. ..
"You are dismissed! Your work is disgusting."
For a moment, my heart almost failed me when that strident voice caught me unawares.
I turned around and saw him a few paces from me, seated on a branch while he stroked his beak with his hooked talons.
"Dismissed, disss-missed!" Caesar Augustus repeated, amusing himself as he was wont to do whenever, between one task and another, I allowed myself a short break. He had probably learned that disagreeable phrase in some shop during his peregrinations across the city.
"What are you doing up there?" I asked him in my turn, irritated by the surprise. "Why do you not get back into your cage?"
He held his peace, as though there was no need to reply and rocked his head rhythmically to show his displeasure. It was one of those days, frequent during changes in the seasons, when Caesar Augustus was melancholy and irritable. Days on which, to vent his anxieties, he would always end up by doing something awful.
Giving immediate and troublesome substance to his malaise, Caesar Augustus went into action. He took flight, sped past brushing my face, turned, plummeted down, landed next to me and, with his beak, boldly seized the small sickle which I had left on the ground.
"No, for goodness sake, give that back to me at once!"
"Dismiss him, dismiss him!" he repeated again with a malign glint in his little round eyes. The small sickle, grasped firmly in his beak, in no way prevented him from imitating the human voice to perfection, the sound issuing, not from the throat, like ours, but from some unimaginable guttural cavity. He spread his great white wings, beating them clumsily in the still summer air, and took off.
In a few instants I lost sight of him; but not only because he had rapidly disappeared over the horizon. While watching Caesar Augustus's departure, I had in fact been distracted by a small detail. Out of the corner of my eye, I seemed for a few fleeting moments to catch a glimpse of a shadow observing me from behind a hedge. But it was very hot, perhaps I was mistaken.
"Move aside, boy."
I was at once roused from such ephemeral impressions by that firm and impatient voice ordering me to stand aside. Making their way between the hedges of the little drive were two valets escorting a third person: in lay apparel His Eminence Cardinal Spada was advancing, his expression even more livid than the day before.
I bowed respectfully while the trio passed me and proceeded towards the gates of the villa. When I rose and dusted down my breeches, I seemed again to hear rustling and once more had the indefinable impression that I was being watched by malign and inquiring eyes. I looked all around me, but without catching sight even vaguely of the dark silhouette which I could have sworn I had seen only moments before, moving behind the surrounding hedges. While at the end of the drive Cardinal Spada disappeared from sight with his two escorts, above their heads I saw instead Caesar Augustus fluttering silently.
Once I had finished my work trimming the hedge and accomplished my duties at the aviary, I realised that no little time remained to me before my appointment with Abbot Melani after Vespers.
I decided to make a quick visit home. There, alas, I found the same painful chaos to which, only a few hours before, I had awoken. For a few moments I fell a prey to anguish as I saw with what rabid fury those faceless strangers had with impunity disrupted the fine order of Cloridia's and my alcove.
When I had rearranged everyt
hing properly, I returned to the Villa Spada. There, in the garden, the heat was rather oppressive. I took off my shirt and curled up in the shade of a tall beech, in a little secret place on the heights, under the outer wall, where I and Cloridia were wont to meet during brief pauses in our work, away from curious glances. From that point, one looked out over the drive below, but, concealed by the leaves, it was almost impossible to be seen. The act of putting our possessions back in order after the devastation wrought by the vandals had made the absence of my sweet wife all the more bitter. And as I sighed and moaned with nostalgia and impatience at the thought of her, 1 found myself thinking of the amours of the Sun King with Maria Mancini, and of the strange passion which seemed to unite Maria and Atto who, after thirty years in voluminous and secret epistolary correspondence, had still never again seen one another.
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