Secretum

by Rita Monaldi;Francesco Sorti

  I raised my eyes. They were not looking at me but at the hedge which, to their astonishment, was trotting off in the direction of Cardinal Nerli, an individual who was, as I have had cause to mention, disliked by many. We followed the scene from a distance. Nerli was blindfolded and following a lady.

  Then it happened. From the upper half of the promenading bush came an iron tube which sprinkled Nerli with a light jet of water, eliciting from him a cry of alarm. Then the ball of leaves and bushes ran off, trotting out of the wood. All the company was convulsed with hilarity. The Cardinal tore the blindfold from his eyes.

  "What a splendid joke, Eminence, do you not think?" cried a number of members of the Sacred College, running up to congratulate Nerli, who was as white as a sheet. Judging by their laughter, they had taken a malicious pleasure in the game.

  "Ah yes, really a delightful trick," commented one of the ladies present, "and how elegant that little squirt was, so well done!"

  The Cardinal, scarlet with embarrassment and irritation, did not seem to share this view.

  "Eminence, do not be a spoil-sport," said one of the damsels present. "Put back your blindfold at once, for the game must go

  Lost in all that great verdant sea and in the smile of the lady who was speaking to him, Cardinal Nerli's eye and mind willingly resigned themselves to sweet shipwreck. The magnificence of the gardens softened his soul, its perfumes loosened his heart and lightened his head. The prelate allowed himself to be gently blindfolded and the game resumed without a care.

  The two monsignori commented on the innocent pastimes of the other guests with mute disapprobation. I in the meantime made sure that the espalier of jasmine which I was hiding behind was not also equipped with a tenant and legs. Soon, however, the pair resumed their promenade in order to get away from the noise of the players. For a while, they walked in silence. They went through immense pergolas, mounted on cross-beams and pilasters, so that those passing underneath saw almost a brand new sky, viewed through green-tinted lenses. For brief instants, their eyes caught sight of nearby peach trees, artichoke plants, pear trees, rows of lemon trees, orange groves, cypresses and holm-oaks which played hide-and-seek with the visitor's eyes since, as Leon Battista Alberti puts it, without mystery there can be no beauty. Dodging behind lemon trees and box hedges, I did not let them out of my sight or hearing.

  "But let us get back to our subject," resumed the second of the pair, emboldened after listening to his companion's arguments. "What you tell me is true, and you are quite right. I shall even go further: because of the catchpolls' abuses, or simply their incompetence, the courts of law and the protocols of the civil notaries are full of cases that have had to be dismissed. When they do on occasion catch someone who deserves to end up behind bars, they ill-treat him so brutally, neglecting to collect evidence correctly, that the defence lawyers manage to get the proceedings suspended or even halted. Nevertheless, I do not hold out any high hopes for this reform. You know better than I that there is no point in trying to reason with these catchpolls."

  "Of course there's no point in reasoning with them; but by now, we are no longer talking of catchpolls but of common thieves paid by the Apostolic Chamber! Every one of them is wretchedly poor before enrolling. The wages they receive are not enough to live on; a corporal receives six scudi, a catchpoll, four and a half. Now, let us suppose that with some honest work the corporal can earn another three scudi and the catchpoll another two."

  "Very well, let us suppose that for the sake of argument."

  "How do you explain, then, that if you enter their homes you will find it filled with luxury furniture? Their wives rival great ladies in their apparel and jewellery. And if they have no wife, you will find them surrounded by a brace of harlots, to which you may add gambling, drinking, gluttony and all manner of vices: not even forty scudi a month could pay for all that. It is quite plain that all that money can only come from robbery, do you not think so?"

  "Of course I think so and I second your every word."

  Meanwhile, we could hear the distant cries of the ladies, calling for an end to the game and inviting everyone to come and picnic, and rest, before dinner. The pair went through the gate to the secret garden, in search of quiet. I waited for them to move a little further in, among the elms and Capocotta poplars, and then I too entered, concealing myself to one side, behind a row of zibibbo vines.

  "And so, this reform project?" asked the same one as before.

  "It is simple and sensible. First, by means of a special bull, abolish all the functions of the Bargello, of every tribunal, both in Rome and in the country. Dismiss lieutenants, corporals, ranks of standard bearers and clerks and the like, all of which offices are usually also conferred on the sergeants."

  "You are an optimist. Do you really believe that so crude and radical a reform will be approved by His Holiness, given his present state of health?"

  "We shall see, we shall see. But you have not heard the rest. In the first place, the number of catchpolls will be reduced. Then the Mantellone, or President of Justice, if you prefer that title, will command sergeants from several tribunals, which, as you well know, is not at present possible. For the purposes of patrols and arrests, the catchpolls could be accompanied by a few soldiers, as is already the practice in many kingdoms and republics. All in all, about two hundred catchpolls will be dismissed."

  "And in their place?"

  "Perfectly simple: replace them with soldiers."

  While I was returning to the great house to fetch the noblewoman's veil, cleansed of orange stains and ready to be returned to its owner, innumerable thoughts rushed into my mind. Of course, I was not unaware that the catchpolls were in part a miserable, ill-born and unfortunate rabble. Never, however, had I heard all the depraved commercial activities of the officers of the law listed all together, one after the other. Corrupt they were, indeed. But that was the least of their iniquities. The sergeants, so I had heard, practised far worse outrages, which reduced the law to the theatre of deceit and order to the handmaid of abuse.

  My thoughts turned to Sfasciamonti: it was no surprise that he had to encourage his colleagues to investigate the cerretani. Why, I wondered, should they go out of their way to discover the secrets of the sects of mendicants if they already had to go to such lengths to conceal their own?

  Of course, Sfasciamonti had shown himself to be familiar with the worst practices: falsifying police reports, arresting people unjustly, lying, threatening those detained for questioning. He would even have been prepared to have Il Roscio kept illicitly in prison. But all that was, I thought, in order to arrive at a goal that was in itself praiseworthy: to combat the cerretano scum and find out what had become of Abbot Melani's manuscript, the telescope and the relic. If these were the methods necessary to arrive at the truth, they were perhaps less than ideal; but they could doubtless be accepted.

  When I arrived at Atto's lodgings, I was already awaited for my report.

  "It is about time. Where on earth have you been?" he asked me, while getting Buvat to spread an ointment on his arm.

  I then told him of the many vicissitudes which had kept me busy, including those before the hunt for Caesar Augustus which I had not yet had occasion to report on: the conversation with the Master Florist, Albani's desperation at the loss of his note, stolen by the parrot; and finally, the scandal caused by the repeated argument between Atto himself and Albani, thanks to which the Secretary for Breves was ridding himself of his inconvenient reputation for fidelity to France.

  The Abbot received these three items of news with excitement, amusement and thoughtful silence, respectively.

  "So the Master Florist is prepared to talk. That is good, very good. Only, he said that I should be correctly informed before meeting him: in what sense? He will surely not be of the imperial party."

  "Signor Abbot," Buvat intervened, "with your permission, I have an idea."

  "Yes?"

  "What if the Tetrachion, which Romauli menti
oned, were the flower of some household? The arms of noble houses are full of beasts with the most singular names such as the dragon, the gryphon, the siren and the unicorn, and it may be that plants follow the same pattern."

  "Ah yes, it could come from some family coat of arms!" Atto jumped up, bespattering his poor secretary's clothing with the ointment from his arm. "All the more so in that the Master Florist knows all about flowers. You are a genius, Buvat. Perhaps Romauli hoped that I should be well informed before I meet him because he does not wish to name names and so he expects that, when I go and talk with him, I should already know what family is hidden behind the Tetrachion."

  "So," I asked, "would this provide the proof of the heir to the Spanish throne, as Ambassador Uzeda's maid said? And if that is the case, what would that have to do with the fact that Capitor named the dish after a heraldic flower?"

  "I have not the faintest idea, my boy," replied Melani, over- excitedly, "but Romauli does seem to intend to provide us with useful information."

  Having said this, Abbot Melani sent his secretary off to search through the official registers of recognised arms for a hypothetical noble shield bearing a flower named Tetrachion.

  "You can start at once in the library of the villa. You may be sure that they will have the precious opus of Pasquali Alidosi, which is illustrated with woodcuts of the arms, and that of Dolfi, which has the advantage of being more recent. After that, Buvat, you will resume work on that other matter."

  "When am I to copy your reply to the letter from Madama the Connestabilessa?" asked the secretary.

  "Afterwards."

  Once Buvat had left, not in truth that keen to set to work again at that hour (which he ordinarily dedicated to repose in the company of a fine bottle of wine), I would have liked to ask Atto what else he had in mind for his secretary, who had, for a couple of days, been largely out of sight. But the Abbot spoke first:

  "And now let us pass from the vegetalia to the animalia. So Albani is much troubled through the fault of your parrot," said he, referring to what I had told him not long before. "Ha, so much the worse for him!"

  "And what do you think of the comments they have been making on him?"

  He looked at me with a grave expression on his face, but uttered not a word.

  "We must be vigilant in all directions, without excluding anything," said he in the end.

  I nodded, at a loss for words, without understanding what he might mean by that all-embracing phrase which clearly said all and nothing, like most political statements. He had not wished to comment on Albani's new public image. Perhaps, I thought, he too did not know where that might lead, but did not wish to admit it.

  Ignorant as I was of matters of state, I was mistaken.

  Evening the Fifth

  11th July, 1700

  I had a bone to pick with Abbot Melani. Who was the Countess of S., the mysterious poisoner to whom the Connestabilessa referred so reticently in her letter? Had she something to do with the Countess of Soissons mentioned by Atto, who had spread trouble between Maria and the young King? And who was she? When I asked him, the Abbot, engrossed in his own narration, had not deigned to answer.

  While Atto enjoyed himself at dinner in the gardens with the other illustrious guests, once again I plunged my hands amidst his dirty linen and found the ribbon binding his secret correspondence with the Connestabilessa. Unlike previous occasions, however, I was unable to find either the message from Maria Mancini or the reply which the Abbot had recently penned and which, as I had just heard, he had not yet sent. Where were they then?

  Meanwhile, I felt myself drawn to the bundle of reports, and that brought to mind what I had read on the previous occasion about the unfortunate King Charles II of Spain. I thought that, if I were to read on, I might be able to find other traces of the Countess of S. and understand what she might have to do with Abbot Melani's business. I opened the report from the Connestabilessa which Atto had marked in a corner with the number two:

  Observations

  concerning matters spanish

  Given the state to which the Catholic King is reduced, and the absence of an heir, in Madrid they could think of only one explanation: witchcraft.

  For a long time now there has been talk of this. Two years ago, El Rey in person turned to the powerful Inquisitor-General, Tomas Rocaberti.

  The Inquisitor, after consulting with His Majesty's confessor, the Dominican Froilan Diaz, put the question to another Dominican, Antonio Alvarez de Arguelles, the modest director of an obscure convent in Asturias, but an excellent exorcist.

  It is said that, when he received Rocaberti s letter, Arguelles nearly fainted. In his letter, the Inquisitor- General explained the matter to him in detail, asking him to implore the Devil to reveal what evil spell had been cast on the Sovereign.

  Arguelles did not need to be asked twice. In a chapel, he summoned one of the sisters whom he had earlier freedfrom a diabolical possession. He made her place her hand upon the altar, then recite the spells suitable for that purpose.

  From the mouth of the sister, he heard the Evil One speak thus. The voice revealed that King Charles had been the victim of a spell at the age of fourteen, cast by means of a bewitched beverage. The purpose was ad destruendam materiam generationis in Rege et ad eum incapacem ponendum ad regnum administrandum: in other words, to make him sterile and incapable of reigning.

  Arguelles then asked who had cast the spell. Through the nun's mouth, the Devil replied that the potion had been prepared by a woman called Casilda, who had extracted the malefic liquid from the bones of a condemned man. This juice had then been administered to the King mixed with a cup of chocolate.

  There was, however, a way of curing the diabolical infection: El Rey was once a day to drink half a quart of holy oil on an empty stomach.

  Action was taken at once. Only, the first time that Charles swallowed a little oil, he was at once convulsed with such dreadful bouts of vomiting that the little group of monks and nuns, exorcists and physicians feared for his life. Thus, they were compelled to use the oil externally, on his head, chest, shoulders and legs; after which the relevant formulae, litanies and antidotes were recited.

  Just a year ago, however, Rocaberti died suddenly. Obviously, everyone feared that this might be revenge on the part of Satan. Froilan Diaz, the King's confessor, had to go ahead on his own. Help arrived from an unexpected quarter: in Vienna, the Emperor Leopold had also taken an interest in the question, for something unheard of had occurred in the Imperial capital In the Church of Saint Sophia, a young man, possessed by evil spirits and subjected to exorcism, had revealed that the Catholic King was a victim of witchcraft. The boy (or the spirits which spoke through him) had even explained that the magical instruments employed were concealed in a certain place in the Spanish Royal Palace.

  In Madrid, a furious search began. Squads of workmen unscrewed planks, drilled through panels, demolished party walls, tore away marble plaques, and in the end something was indeed found: a number of dolls and a pile of paper scrolls.

  There could be no doubt about it: dolls are fetishes used for the casting of spells. On the scrolls, however, no one knows what was written.

  The Emperor then sent a Capuchin Father to Madrid, a famed and feared exorcist, to eradicate the influence of the Evil One from the apartments of El Rey. There, however, matters became more complicated: not a day passes without rumours of the discovery of some other malefice, which some priest is said to have been taken on to combat, and so on and so forth. The situation is beginning to get out of hand. It even happened that a madwoman entered the Pcdace screaming and shouting; yet, so obscure and tormented is the atmosphere these days that no one had the courage to stop her, for fear that she might be a messenger of powers supernatural.

  The madwoman succeeded in getting past the guards and even entering the royal apartments, screaming that El Rey was the victim of black magic, that the spell had been cast by means of a snuff box, and that the person behind th
e sorcery was none other than his wife.

  The revelation was immediately accorded much credit, because the King's second wife, Maria Anna of Neuburg, is very ill-tempered and has sometimes behaved as though she were out of her mind.

  Whenever Charles denies her some little favour, she tells him that this was in fact destined for someone capable of casting the evil eye (of which El Rey is terrified) and, if the King does not give in to her, the mysterious person will take revenge; not condemning him to death or sickness, but making him evaporate into nothingness, like a withered flower. Trembling with fear, the Catholic King invariably gives in to her.

  When the rumours of sorcery and exorcisms got around, the Queen decided to act against the person responsible for all that chaos, who in her view was none other than poor Froilan Diaz. In short, he has been arrested.

  Now, in this Jubilee Year, every day in Madrid new lunatics emerge, witches and maniacs overcome by their own nightmares. They scream and tear their hair out or roll on the ground, crying out in public places, under the anxious gaze of the populace, supposed revelations about the ensorcelment of the royal family. There seems to be no way of defending the Catholic King and his consort, and above all the honour of the Kingdom, from the defamatory attacks of those possessed by demons.