Before the table, next to Il Roscio, stood Sfasciamonti, holding the accused tightly by one end of the rope, while gripping his arm painfully behind his back. The prisoner was a pudgy, stock- ily built youngster, whose little blue eyes, under a rectangular forehead beset by deep horizontal furrows, a sure sign of a dissolute life lived with impunity, were set above two rotund and florid cheeks, which bespoke a coarse, ingenuous nature. Observing him at close quarters, one could understand the origin of his nickname, the Red; for his head was crowned by a thick, bristling plumage of carrot-coloured hair.
Buvat adjusted his oversized wig and, still slightly unsteady from the effects of sleep and wine, cleared his throat a couple of times. Then, he began to write, at the same time chanting aloud the formal clauses which he was consigning to paper:
" Die et cetera et cetera anno et cetera et cetera. Roma. Examinatus init in carceribus Pontis Sixtis... What is it?"
Sfasciamonti had interrupted Buvat's recording to whisper a recommendation in his ear.
"But of course, yes, yes," replied the latter; only later did I learn that, as suggested by the catchpoll, the date of the interrogation was to be left blank, so that the whole report could be filed later under whatever date suited one's purpose.
"Very well, let us begin again," said Buvat, resuming his writing with a stiffly dignified expression. "Examinatus in carceribus Pontis Sixtis, coram et per me Notarium infrascriptum... Your name, young man?"
"Pompeo di Trevi."
"Where exactly is Trevi?" Buvat asked carelessly, thus revealing his limited knowledge of the Papal State, which might have sown suspicion in the mind of the prisoner, if only the latter had not been utterly confused by fear.
"Near to Spoleto," he replied, speaking barely louder than a whisper.
"So we write: Pompeius de Trivio, Spoletanae diocesis, aetatis annorum... How old are you?"
"Sixteen, I think."
"Sexdicem incirca," Buvat continued, 'Et cui delato iuramento de veritate dicenda et interrogate de nomine, patria, exercitio et causa suae carcerationis, respondit."
Sfasciamonti shook the young man and translated the notary's words: "Swear that you will tell the truth and then repeat your name, age and the city in which you were born."
"I swear that I shall tell the truth. Have I not already given my name?"
"Repeat it. This is for the official record. Procedure so demands, we must needs be accurate," pronounced the catchpoll to make the proceedings seem more realistic.
The young man looked around himself, looking somewhat stunned.
"My name is Pompeo, I was born at Trevi, near Spoleto, I may be about sixteen years of age, I have no trade and. . ."
"That is enough," Sfasciamonti interrupted him, again moving to Buvat's side and whispering something in his ear.
"Ah, very well, very well," answered Buvat.
At that point in the record, the grounds for the arrest were to be entered, but there were no such grounds. On the catchpoll's recommendation, Buvat was therefore to enter a false deposition, namely that the cerretano had been arrested for begging alms during mass.
"Come on now," said the false notary, adjusting his spectacles on his aquiline nose. "Interrogatus an sciat et cognoscat alios pauperes mendicantes in Urbe, et an omnes sint sub una tantum secta an vero sub diversis sectis, et recenseat omnes precise, respondit..."
"I shall go and get the whip," said Sfasciamonti.
"The whip, what for?" said the cerretano with a slight tremor in his voice.
"You are not answering the question."
"I did not understand it," answered the other, who obviously did not know a word of Latin.
"He asked you whether you know other sects in Rome besides that to which you belong," intervened Atto. "He wants to know whether they are all united under a single leadership, and to complete matters, he expects you to provide him with a complete list of all of them."
"But you, however, have no intention of answering," added the catchpoll, taking a pair of keys from a bag, presumably to open up some dungeon equipped with devices to encourage reticent criminals, "and so your back is in need of a good flogging."
Suddenly, the boy threw himself to the ground on his knees, causing Sfasciamonti himself, who was holding him on a tight cord, to sway.
"Gentlemen, please listen," said he in imploring tones, turning first to Buvat, then to the catchpoll. "Among us poor mendicants there are various companies, and this is because they carry out different functions and wear different clothes. I shall tell you everything that I can remember."
There followed a moment's silence. The boy was weeping. Abbot Melani and I were utterly amazed; the first of the mysterious cerretani ever to fall into the hands of the law was not only willing to be interrogated by a criminal notary but refused the ordeal of the scourge and was promising to tell all.
Sfasciamonti made him stand up, his expression momentarily betraying something between surprise and disappointment. Once again, his crude catchpoll's skills would not be needed here.
"Let us give him a seat," said he with forced benevolence, clumsily putting one of his enormous arms around the shoulders of the young miscreant, who was trembling and shaking with tears and terror.
I gave him a stool and the confession began.
"The first is called the Company of the Chop-Churches. They beg for alms in crowded churches, cut purses and bags and steal all they find in them."
I called to mind the episode with the sanpaolaro and the little woman whose purse-strings had been cut. Was that one of these Chop-Churches?
II Roscio stopped and looked at us one by one, studying on our faces the effect of these revelations which must, for him, amount to scarcely less than the desecration of a deity.
"The second is called the Company of Swooners," he continued. "They pretend that they're dying; they lie on the ground, screaming and groaning and begging for alms, but in reality, they're perfectly well. The third is called the Company of Clapperdogeons. They too are healthy, but slothful; they don't like to work so they pound it."
"'Slothful', I understand, but 'pound it'?"
"They go begging," answered II Roscio; then he asked for and obtained a glass of water.
"Go on," said Sfasciamonti.
Beggars and wastrels: was not the morning crowd whom I had for years been meeting with in the streets of Rome composed mainly of suchlike? Perhaps I had in my short life unknowingly come across far more cerretani than I realised.
"The fourth is called the Company of Brothers of the Buskin, or strolling players," continued our hostage; "They lie curled up on the ground, shivering as though they were dying of cold, or scabby with ring-worm, and beg. The fifth is called the Company of Blockheads: they pretend to be idiotic and brainless, they always answer beside the point and go out begging. The sixth is the Company of Abram Coves. They strip naked or half- naked and show their uncovered flesh as and when suits them, and they beg. The seventh is called the Company of the Hedge Priests. .."
"One moment, one moment," said Buvat; the pseudo-notary, equipped with too large a pen and unaccustomed to writing fast, was struggling to keep up with the full flow of the confession. He had initially been prepared to draw up a false statement for the record; now, however, he found himself having to write a real one, and a particularly precious one at that. Sfasciamonti kept gesturing to him that he was not to miss a single word. I now knew why: the catchpoll wanted at last to have hard and fast evidence of the existence of the cerretani to show sooner or later to his colleagues or even the Governor.
"Let us do as follows," proposed Atto. "First, tell us the names of the companies, so that we can have an idea of them. Then explain to us what they do."
The young cerretano obeyed and began to rattle off a list, including the companies already mentioned:
Chop-churches
Swooners
Clapperclogeons
Brothers of the Buskin
Tawneymen
Abram Cov
es
Hedge Priests
Dommerers
Swaddlers
Basket Ants
Watchdogs
Puppets
Bayardeers
Kinchins
Autem morts
Doxies
"Enough, that will do. Which company do you belong to?" asked Atto.
"To the Swooners."
Then Il Roscio spelt out all the infamous deeds of which the cerretano companies were capable but which he had not yet specified. He spoke of the Hedge Priests who disguise themselves as Austin Friars; of the Tawneymen, who pretend to be lunatics, frenzied madmen or possessed by devils, frothing at the mouth and rolling on the ground after eating a soapy mixture. He revealed the tricks of the Dommerers, who bear heavy iron chains around their necks and pretend to speak Turkish, forever repeating "Bran-bran-bran" or "Bre-bre-bre" and claiming to have been prisoners of the infidels. The Swaddlers always go about two by two, pretending to be soldiers, and when they meet some poor defenceless person in the street, they rob him. The Basket Ants are bandits who have fallen on hard times, while the Watchdogs are constables who have likewise been ruined; the Puppets pretend their bodies are shaken by tremendous convulsions, like puppets, because, so they claim, they descend from sinners who were unwilling to kneel before the Most Holy Sacrament, and that is why they are being punished. The Bayardeers rob farm bailiffs when they are delivering bread in the countryside (their name comes from a cant word for a horse, after the famous Bayard). The Kinchins are little boys who live in the streets and sing songs like "O Maria Stella!" while shamelessly begging. Lastly, the Autem Morts and Doxies are women who beg with infants in their arms, with their faces covered: the Autem Morts are married, while the Doxies are single.
"Heavens, what chaos," Atto Melani commented in the end.
"But these cerretani are all beggars after all," I observed.
"And did I not tell you that from the start?" replied Sfasciamonti. "Only, they use mendicancy as a cover for other nefarious activities, such as violence, cheating and robbery. . ."
"Excuse me, we have an interrogation to complete," said Buvat, calling us to order with the inflexible dignity of a true notary, as he began to transcribe the customary formula.
"Interrogates an pecuniae acquistae sint ipsius quaerentis an vero quilibet teneatur illas consignare suo superiori secundum cuiusque sectam illorum, respondit. . . So, young man, I repeat: do you keep the money which you earn through mendicancy or other criminal activities for yourself or do you hand it over to your superiors in every company?"
"Sir, whoever earns money, at least among us Swooners, keeps it for himself. Our chief is Gioseppe da Camerino, and he on the contrary gives money to everyone. I have heard it said that the Hedgers and Puppets hold things in common and often meet up at inns or in other places, and that they elect their principals and officers. My companion, who fled in order not to be taken, told me that last week he was in the company of four Brothers of the Buskin, two Hedgers and two Puppets. They all met at a tavern in the Ponte quarter to have a good time together. They had all manner of good things brought to them by mine host, excellent wines and many things to eat. In other words, a meal fit for the nobility. And after the feasting, the host presented the bill and said that the whole meal came to twelve scudi, which the elder of the Hedge Priests paid in coin without uttering a word. And they enjoyed themselves together because they are never short of money, least of all the heads of the companies."
"Where do the members of your company meet?"
"At Piazza Navona, Ponte, Campo di Fiore and in the Piazza della Rotonda."
"Now, tell me whether you go to Confession, take Communion or attend mass?"
"Sir, among us there are few who do so, because, to tell the truth, most are worse than the Lutherans. Apart from that, I swear I know nothing."
"Do you gentlemen have any further questions?" said Buvat, turning to us.
Once again, Sfasciamonti drew near to Buvat in order to whisper in his ear that the next question was not to be placed on the record.
"Ah, yes, yes," the pseudo-notary reassured him. "Very well, my boy, within your company, have you heard of the theft of certain documents, a relic and a telescope from the Villa Spada?"
"Yes, Sir."
We all four looked at one another and this time even Buvat was unable to conceal a look of surprise.
"Go on, go on, for goodness' sake," said Atto with his eyes almost bursting out of his head.
"Sir, I know only that this thing was done by the German. Why, I know not. Since the Jubilee began he has been doing excellent business, mining money in all the streets of Rome."
"And where the Devil are we to find this German?" asked Atto.
The cerretano explained everything.
"I think that is quite clear," commented Sfasciamonti in the end.
All that Il Roscio had spilled out concerning the German related to the search for Atto's personal effects and was therefore omitted from the record, together with many other things said by the young canter that evening.
"If anyone should find this statement on me, I shall be in real trouble," said Sfasciamonti out of the prisoner's hearing. "I shall, for safety's sake, put a fictitious date on it, say, 4th February 1595.
Then I shall place it in the Governor's archives. Only I shall know where to find it, because no one now looks at the documents of the past century. I shall produce it if and when I want to: what's more, with that date, it will prove that the cerretani have existed for a long time, and I shall at last be able to wave this under the noses of all those who've been mocking me."
The next decision was the most difficult, but there was no choice in the matter. The cerretano could not be kept in prison without an arrest summons, or at least a permit from the Bargello; Sfasciamonti had in fact mentioned such a possibility to one of the gaolers, a good friend of his, who had been unwilling so much as to discuss the possibility. There are, said he, so many innocent people in gaol, and so many guilty ones at liberty; but matters such as these must be handled in the right way. Usually, they are organised by the judges, or by those in power, whose orders the former carry out, unbeknownst to the people.
It was, moreover, impossible to hold the criminal (if such he could be called) elsewhere: Villa Spada, which did of course have plenty of space in its cellars, could obviously not be used for this purpose. Nor, it was plain enough, could our private residences.
In order to make the decision seem less improvised, we made Il Roscio wait in a little side-room and pretended to confer together for a while. Then we brought him back, taking care to show long, disappointed faces.
"The notary has spoken with His Excellency the Governor," lied Sfasciamonti, "who has been so good as to reward your willingness to collaborate."
The cerretano cast confused glances in all directions, not understanding what was about to happen.
"Now you will be accompanied to the door. You are free."
Day the Fourth
10th JULY, 1700
*
"Give me alms, boy."
The old man was naked. His sole covering, a great iron chain which he had borne around his neck since who knows how long and which crushed his right shoulder, biting into and infecting the poor decrepit flesh. Bent and skeletal, he held out his filthy hooked hand imploringly. Not only could his every rib be counted, but every single tendon. If he had held a scourge in his hand he would have made the perfect image of a flagellant. He leaned against a wall, and he stank. His pudenda were covered only by the immensely long grey beard reaching down almost to his feet.
I looked at him without saying a word, nor did I offer him even an obole. I was overcome by the crudity of that image of misery, unhappiness and dispossession.
"For pity's sake, my boy," the wretch repeated, first bending, then sitting on the ground, exhausted.
"Forgive me, but I have not. . ." I stammered while the old beggar stretched out, then turned onto one side
.
"Teeyouteelie," he hissed, and I seemed to sense in his voice a subtle and melancholy note of reproof.
He turned again to one side, then to the other, and in the end he began to rock rhythmically ever more rapidly. He was having convulsions. I had decided to help him rise, when he was shaken by a most violent spasm, recovered briefly, then was seized by unstoppable trembling. His mouth tightly closed, the muscles of his neck so tense it seemed they might snap, he appeared to be on the point of suffocating. Without warning, he sat up and opened wide his jaws from which flowed a thick yellowish froth which horribly fouled his chest and belly; I drew back in shock and disgust. His pupils rolled back in his eye sockets, as though to turn his gaze towards some parallel universe of desperation and solitude which only he truly understood. He again held out his trembling and wrinkled hand. I felt in my pocket: there was nothing but a one scudo piece in it: a disproportionately large sum for almsgiving. I was about to tell him that I had nothing to give him when, as though he had read my thoughts, he again growled:
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