Too late. If they had been there, they were now elsewhere.
I did not await their return. I knew from experience that there would be no such returning.
I thought one last time of Albicastro. He was leaving that abandoned villa, which in reality was so overflowing with life, to throw himself into the world's turmoil, now nothing but wars and destruction. I remembered what he had told me two years before: just like the Sileni of Alcibiades, the clumsy statuettes which conceal divine images within, what seems death, is living, and correspondingly, what seems life is death.
Leaving the Vessel, I realised that the sky had again taken a turn for the worse: the light had suddenly become opaque and crepuscular.
I felt the skin on my arms grow rough with disquiet. I knew, however, that in that place, time could become a vortex and turn back on itself. So why be surprised if the wind and the leaves, the clouds and the sun accompanied the dance?
"What has happened to you? I've been looking for you for hours!"I was as pale as a shroud. Worried and surprised, Cloridia took me in her loving arms. She had come to meet me on the way home.
Without drawing breath, I explained to her all that I had just seen; she smiled.
"Your Abbot would speak of fantasies, of hallucinating exhalations or even of some trick, and perhaps he'd start quoting from one of those little treatises on physics that are so fashionable now."
"And what do you think?" I asked, thinking of the trick with the camphor in Ugonio's lair, which had made me believe I was dead.
"I think that you've seen, or imagined, what would have happened if the King of France and Maria Mancini had not been separated; they'd have grown old side by side."
"So, once again, I've witnessed in the Vessel the good things that might have happened and never did," said I. "But why did I never see what bad things might happen?"
"I could put it like this. First: this villa provides a refuge only for what should rightly have happened but which did not take place because of... let's call it a 'distortion' of history, a deviation from the natural order of things."
"And the second reason?" I asked, seeing that Cloridia had interrupted her train of thought.
"I could, I repeat, I could use big words and explain to you that the good, all that's right and good, really does exist - just that. It issues from God the Creator, so it exists, in the highest sense of the term. And it continues to exist even when, in the arena of things terrestrial, it must give way to overwhelming malign forces. This is because the good is pure and incorruptible affirmation and it is not possible for it not to exist. Thus it is never annihilated. And you may be sure that, in other times and under other guises, it will reappear."
"And evil?"
"You know perfectly well that I detest philosophy. But, here too, I could quote Saint Augustine of Hippo: Evil is negation. Unlike the good, it does not exist in itself, but only as the destruction of what is right and good. Therefore, when evil that's planned is defeated by the good, it goes nowhere, but disappears utterly. In other words, even its deceitful appearance disappears, the empty husk which misled men. That is why you will never find a place like the Vessel which provides a receptacle for bad intentions or evil plans left unrealised."
I looked at her in some perplexity: she was talking as though all this were the most natural thing in the world. We covered the rest of the way home in silence.
"For you women, everything's so obvious!" I sighed, when we reached the yard of our farm and I removed the shoes given me by Atto, exchanging them for my peasant's clogs. "You'd not be surprised if you saw a donkey fly."
"Perhaps that's because, as you men say, we've less brains than you," said my wife, taking off her coat and removing the blue ribbon from her hair.
"No, I meant that you are always so much wiser than us."
"It was no accident that a woman, not a man, crushed the serpent's head with her bare foot," added Cloridia. "Mind you, I only said that I could tell you all these things. . ."
"So, what are you telling me then?"
"I'm telling you that you've simply had a hallucination. A product of. Good for a novel, I'd say."
Dear Alessio,
Dear Alessio
Now that you will have reached the end of my two friends' text, kindly permit me a brief leavetaking.
This time, I needed undertake no research to verify the authenticity of the events narrated: along with the typescript, I received a disc containing all the pieces of music mentioned therein and an appendix of documentary proofs. This is just as well: from the place I am in, I should certainly have been in no position to conduct any such investigation, let alone to trace a recording of Albicastro's fascinating but unknown folia, or even an aria from The Faithful Shepherd.
To you, I leave the pleasure of checking on whether the content of what you have just read is true. The task is far less demanding than you might fear. Besides, the unknown performers of the music on the disc will keep you good company.
As you will read in the pages that follow, Rita and Francesco commissioned two graphologists to examine the signature on the will of Charles II of Spain. The result is unequivocal: it is a forgery.
Enough of that, I shall disclose nothing else to you. Rather, you will still be expecting an answer to another question: why did I send this to you? Simply because in Rome, so close to the Holy Father, it will surely be of more use than here, in the hands of a poor bishop reduced to the humble role of a parish priest in far- off Tomi. But do not waste your time whisking your fine soutane through the inner corridors and the back rooms of power: that would lead nowhere. Permit me here to remind you of that warning by Ovid, the Latin poet who is my companion in misfortune, as quoted by Atto Melani:
"Thy lot is mortal, but thy wishes fly / Beyond the province of mortality."
I am confident that your person will in the end bring good fortune to my two friends. "How could that be?" you will no doubt be asking yourself sarcastically, but also - this I know - with some disquiet.
The answer is in the mind of God, quern nullum latet secretum.
Documentary Proofs
The signature of Charles II of Spain
If it is true that Charles II's signature was forged, the question arises: what would have happened if the fraud had not been perpetrated?
There would have been no War of the Spanish Succession; or perhaps the alliances involved in the conflict would have been different, as would its outcome. Perhaps the Spanish Empire would have been peacefully subdivided among the various powers, as provided for in the partition treaty. France, by avoiding a tremendous conflict, would have maintained its position of predominance on the continent, and perhaps even the revolutionary events of 1789 would have taken on another character, or would have taken place at a later date, or been less violent. Europe would probably, at the end of military operations, have assumed a very different form. Perhaps the whole course of subsequent history would have been radically different. And today, there would not be a Bourbon on the Spanish throne.
How does one establish whether a signature is false? That's obvious. One calls in a graphologist; or rather, two.
There are authentic signatures of Charles II in the archives of most of the great cities of Europe, where the diplomatic correspondence of the kings of Spain with their ambassadors and with other sovereigns is kept. Here are five signatures of Charles II, penned at various times during his short life:
Even an untrained eye can see that this firm, sure, agile signature cannot be that of a chronic invalid like Charles II who, in the last months of his life, was almost constantly bedridden and worn out by illness (the will is supposed to have been signed less than a month before his death). The other signatures are uncertain, irregular and sometimes shaky. The closer he drew to death, the more tremulous they become. Incredibly, the last of all, that of the will, when Charles was a hair's breadth from the end, was penned with the grace and insouciance of a boy.
But laymen can be wrong. There
fore, two expert graphologists were called in, both frequently consulted by the courts: one comes from the neighbourhood of Verona, the other from Naples. Both were, obviously, kept in the dark about each other's identity.
The first response came from the north. Dr Marina Tonini wrote:
. . . comparison between the signature in question (X), dated 3 October 1100, and that dated April 1100 must inevitably give rise to serious doubts as to the authenticity of the signature to the will. It will, moreover, be observed that, in the signature dated April 1100, the “l" is totally absent from the word "el" in "yo el Rey ". This phenomenon is, moreover, entirely consistent with the seriously disturbed grapho-motricity which appears in the text of A5. At this point, one may legitimately wonder whether the subject was capable of performing a simultaneously gentle and flexible movement, as contained in the signature to the will.
Therefore, on the basis of the foregoing observations, and within the limits arising from the availability only of photostat copies, it is legitimate to conclude that in all probability the signature to the will was not written by the hand that penned the authentic signatures.
The expression "in all probability" shows that Dr Tonini had to leave a technical margin of uncertainty, as is often the practice among graphologists, because she did not have the original of any of the signatures to hand, but only photographs and photocopies. This obstacle was, moreover, impossible to circumvent, since the letters from which they were taken were in Spain and Austria.
Something else was needed, and this came with the other expert's report, that of the Neapolitan lawyer and judicial graphologist, Andrea Faiello. Here, luck played a part: from the days of his university studies, Faiello had been familiar with the affair of the Spanish succession, as well as being familiar with his city's historical archives. Consequently, there was a marked advance in the case, in relation to the already meticulous examination performed by Dr Tonini. Faiello went in person to the Naples State Archives in order directly to view other signatures of Charles II on original documents. This enabled him to evaluate the whole matter more comprehensively. And here is the result:
In the signature to the will, according to Faiello's expert report,
... all signs of "writing in bed " are completely absent. These should include frequent superpositions, tremors, jostling, revisions and, in general, signs of growing tiredness in the hand [...] (a tiredness which should be all the more evident given the state of health of Charles II at the time when the signature is supposed to have been made...).
Instead, the writing "flows" (graphic sign: "flowing writing", meaning the kind of writing which runs confidently to the right, with a tendency for the graphic trait to move horizontally rather than vertically, regardless of the haste or calm of the movement itself or of the care or carelessness with which the letters are written - forward-moving tendency: impetuosity, dynamic feelings and willpower).
Moreover, one notes the presence of the graphic sign: "agile writing" associated with writing in which the letters or parts of letters are not aligned on the real or imaginary base line but jump up or down [. . .]. By comparison with the writing which is of certain authenticity, there is an obvious deformation in the "slot" (the space between the "staff" - the descending trait, and the hair stroke - ascending trait) between the first development of the final "paraph" [meaning: the seal] of the signature and the corresponding elements in the comparative writings. The slot in question is unquestionably narrower than those, which remain constant, of the signatures left by Charles at various times in his life and with the development of the various complex pathologies which debilitated him to the point of causing his death. This paraph is also different as regards the angles of the staffs and hair strokes.
The overall trait appears, moreover, to be substantially freefrom blots, alterations, smudges, thickening, hesitations and retouching of the line. Both the endings of the letters and the beginnings are traced with a fluidity of execution unquestionably attributable to a physical state differentfrom that of the Sovereign and to a practiced hand producing letters by means of the same morphological processes.
CONCLUSIONS
The undersigned, in a calm state of mind and with all scrupulousness, concludes as follows:
The person who penned the signature at the foot of the last will and testament dated 3 October 1100 presents none of the characteristics of the autographs authentically signed by Charles II Habsburg;
The signature in question is therefore spurious.
So it is true. Charles II's will, in which he named Philip of Anjou, the grandson of Louis XIV as his heir, was never signed by Charles himself. Perhaps he signed another will, which was subsequently destroyed, leaving the throne to an Austrian Habsburg. But that is mere speculation. Only one fact is certain: the House of Bourbon came illegitimately to the Spanish throne and its present occupant sits there on the basis of a forged will. It might be argued that Francisco Franco, after the Second World War, organised the return to the throne of King Juan Carlos de Bourbon. But Franco only chose a direct descendant of Philip V a Bourbon, still enjoying the consequences of that false signature. The two experts' reports were deposited at a notary's practice:
Dr Stefan Prayer
Notariat Dr Wiedermann und Dr Prayer
Vivenotgasse 1/7
A-1120 Vienna (Austria)
Tel. +43-1-813 13 56
Fax+43-1-813 13 56 23
Anyone may consult these two experts' reports, either by going in person or by asking to be sent an authenticated photocopy at their own expense. Thus, one can, so to speak, literally touch with one's hand this particular flagrant deception - one among the many that have muddied human affairs.
The authentic signatures analysed come from:
1677: Vienna, Haus- Hof- und Staatsarchiv, Spanien, Hofkorre-
spondenz 7 (Fasz.10), c. 1 1679: ibid., c. 12
1687: Pfandl, L., Karl II - Das Ende der spanischen Machtstellung in
Europa, Munich 1940, p. 176 1689: Vienna, Haus- Hof- und Staatsarchiv, Spanien, Diploma-
tische Korrespondenz 59, c. 503 1700: Pfandl, op. cit., p. 448
Dr Faiello also examined personally the following original signatures of Charles II kept in the Naples Historical Archives:
Archivio "Giudice Carracciolo di Villa"; settore Pergamene, busta n. 134
Archivio "Sanseverino di Bisognano"; settore Pergamene, busta n.
29
Archivio "Giudice di Cellamare"; settore Pergamene, busta n. 94, doc. n. 15
The will of Charles II is deposited in Spain in the General Archives of Simancas, Estado K, busta 1684, n. 12.
An opinion or a mediation?
Nothing but a clear and orderly description of the facts could clarify the conspiracy whereby the three most powerful cardinals of the moment (the Secretary for Breves, Cardinal Albani; the Secretary of State, Cardinal Fabrizio Spada; and the Chamberlain, Cardinal Spinola) bypassed the authority of the aged Pope Innocent XII and sent the King of Spain the advice to name a French heir. This was a necessary precondition for the falsification in Spain of Charles's will, since the latter wanted to be succeeded by a Habsburg. The two spurious documents, the false papal opinion and the false will of Charles II, were designed to corroborate one another. A perfect crime, and everyone was taken in. Until now.
It all began in the spring of 1700, when it was first rumoured that Charles II had drawn up a will in favour of a member of the House of Habsburg: the Archduke of Austria, the fifteen-year-old son of Emperor Leopold I.
On 27th March of that year, the Papal Nuncio to Madrid wrote to Rome: "It is probable that the King will choose as his successor a prince of his own blood, one from the House of Austria, and not a Frenchman." It seems, then, that Charles still had it in mind to appoint a member of the House of Habsburg (Landau, M., Wien, Rom undNeapel. Zur Geschichte des Kampfeszwischen Papsttum undKaisertum. Leipzig 1884, p. 455, no. 1).
As Maria tells in her letters to Atto (cf. Klopp, O., De
r Fall des Houses Stuart, VIII, Vienna 1879, p. 496 etseq.), at this point, Charles II asked his cousin Leopold I to send his younger son, the Archduke of Austria, from Vienna to Madrid. He even had a naval squadron made ready in the port of Cadiz, to go and collect the Archduke. It was clear that Charles would make him his heir. However, the Most Christian King intervened; as soon as he learned the news, through his ambassador, he sent a message to Charles II to inform him that he would consider such a decision as a formal breaking of the peace. He at once had a fleet far more powerful than the Spanish one made ready at Toulon, to intercept and bombard the ship bringing the Archduke of Austria to Spain. Leopold did not dare make his son run such risks. Charles II then suggested that the Archduke should be sent to the Spanish territories in Italy. But Leopold I hesitated: after years of fighting against the Turks in the east, the Empire was unwilling to bleed its subjects in its defence. This, the King of France knew. Louis had, moreover, understood that the time had come to strike the decisive blow; in order to scare the Spaniards even more, he made public the secret pact for dividing their kingdom into which he had entered two years previously with Holland and England. Charles II rushed back to Madrid from the Escorial in dismay. The court was in a state of emergency: the Council of State was afraid of France and was ready to accommodate a grandson of the Most Christian King as heir, rather than risk a French invasion.
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