Baudolino

by Umberto Eco

  "Yes—but what is your story?"

  "At the beginning of that year I was still living with my father and mother, a few cows and a vegetable patch. A hermit of those parts had taught me to read. I roamed around the forest and the swamp. I was an imaginative boy, I saw unicorns, and in the fog (I said) Saint Baudolino appeared to me...."

  "I've never heard the name of such a saint. Did he really appear to you?"

  "He's a saint from our parts; he was bishop of Villa del Foro. Whether or not I saw him is another question. Master Niketas, the problem of my life is that I've always confused what I saw with what I wanted to see."

  "That happens to many people."

  "Yes, but with me, whenever I said I saw this, or I found this letter that says thus and so (and maybe I'd written it myself), other people seemed to have been waiting for that very thing. You know, Master Niketas, when you say something you've imagined, and others then say that's exactly how it is, you end up believing it yourself. So I wandered around Frascheta and I saw saints and unicorns in the forest, and when I came upon the emperor, without knowing who he was, I spoke to him in his language. I told him that Saint Baudolino had said he would conquer Terdona. I said that to please him, but it suited him for me to say it to everybody, and especially to the delegates from Terdona, so they would be convinced that even the saints were against them. That's why he bought me from my father. It wasn't so much for the few coins, but because it was one less mouth to feed. And so my life was changed."

  "You became his footman?"

  "No, his son. At that time Frederick hadn't yet become a father. I believe he took a liking to me, I told him things others didn't say out of respect. He treated me like I was his own, he praised me for my first scrawls, the first sums I could do with my fingers, for the things I was learning about his father, and his father's father.... Sometimes he confided in me things that perhaps I wouldn't understand."

  "And did you love this father more than your blood father, or were you dazzled by his regality?"

  "Master Niketas, until then I had never asked myself if I loved my father, Gagliaudo. I took care only to stay out of range of his kicks or his club, and that seemed to me normal for a son. I did love him, but I realized that only when he died. Before, I don't think I ever embraced my father. I would go and cry on my mother's bosom, poor woman, but she had so many animals to tend that she had little time to console me. Frederick was an impressive figure of a man, with a red-and-white face, not leathery like the faces of my neighbors, with flaming beard and hair, and long hands, slender fingers, neatly tended nails. He was confident and he inspired confidence, he was good-humored and decisive and he inspired good-humor and decision, he was courageous and he inspired courage.... I was the cub, he the lion.

  He could be cruel, but with those he loved he was very gentle. I loved him. He was the first person who listened to what I said."

  "He used you as his vox populi.... A wise ruler does not lend an ear only to his courtiers, but tries to understand how his subjects think, too."

  "Yes, but I no longer knew who I was or where I was. After I met the emperor, the imperial army overran Italy twice between April and September, proceeding like a snake from Spoleto to Ancona, from there to Apulia, then again in Romagna, and on towards Verona and Tridentum and Bolzano, finally crossing the mountains and returning to Germany. After having spent twelve years confined between two rivers, I had finally been flung into the center of the universe."

  "So it must have seemed to you."

  "I know, Master Niketas, that the center of the universe is your city here, but the world is vaster than your empire, and there's even Ultima Thule and the land of the Hibernians. True, compared to Constantinople, Rome is a pile of ruins and Paris is a muddy village, but even there something happens every now and then. In many vast, vast regions of the world people don't speak Greek, and there are those who, when they want to agree with something, say oc."

  "Oc?"

  "Oc."

  "Strange. But do go on."

  "I will. I saw all of Italy, new lands and new faces, dress I'd never seen before, damasks, embroidery, golden cloaks, swords, armor; I heard voices that I strained to imitate day after day. I remember only vaguely when Frederick received Italy's iron crown in Pavia, then the descent towards what they called Italia citeriore, the long journey along the Francigene way, the emperor meeting Pope Hadrian at Sutri, the coronation in Rome..."

  "But this basileus of yours, this emperor, as you call him, was he crowned in Pavia or in Rome? And why in Italy, if he's the basileus of the Alamans?"

  "One thing at a time, Master Niketas. For us Latins things aren't as simple as they are for you Romei. In your country someone gouges out the eyes of the current basileus, and he becomes basileus himself, everybody agrees, and even the patriarch of Constantinople does what the new basileus tells him, otherwise the basileus gouges out his eyes too."

  "Now don't exaggerate."

  "Exaggerate? Me? When I got here they told me right away that the basileus, Alexis III, ascended the throne because he'd blinded the legitimate ruler, his brother Isaac."

  "Doesn't anybody ever eliminate his predecessor and seize the throne in your country?"

  "Yes, but they kill him in battle, or with some poison, or with a dagger."

  "You see? You people are barbarians. You can't imagine a less bloody way of managing questions of government. And besides, Isaac was Alexis's brother. Brother doesn't kill brother."

  "I understand. It was an act of benevolence. That's how we do things. The emperor of the Latins—who hasn't been a Latin himself since the days of Charlemagne—is the successor of the Roman emperors—the ones of Rome, I mean, not those of Constantinople. But to make sure he's emperor, he has to be crowned by the pope, because the law of Christ has swept away the false law, the law of liars. To be crowned by the pope, the emperor also has to be recognized by the cities of Italy, and each of them kind of goes its own way, so he has to be crowned king of Italy—provided, naturally, that the Teutonic princes have elected him. Is that clear?"

  Niketas had long since learned that the Latins, though they were barbarians, were extremely complicated, hopeless when it came to fine points and subtleties if a theological question was at stake, but capable of splitting a hair four ways on matters of law. So for all the centuries that the Romei of Byzantium had devoted to fruitful discussions bent on defining the nature of Our Lord, while never questioning the power that still came directly from Constantinople, the Occidentals had left theology to the priests of Rome and had spent their time poisoning one another and trading hatchet blows to decide if there was still an emperor and who he was, achieving the admirable result of never having a genuine emperor again.

  "So then, Frederick had to have a coronation in Rome. It must have been a solemn occasion...."

  "Only up to a point. First, because Saint Peter's in Rome, compared to Saint Sophia, is a hut, and a rather run-down hut at that. Second, because the situation in Rome was very confused; in those days the pope was sealed up in his castle, close to Saint Peter's, and on the other side of the river, the Romans seemed to be the masters of the city. Third, because it wasn't clear whether the pope was spiting the emperor, or vice versa."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that if I listened to the princes and bishops of our court, they were furious at the way the pope was treating the emperor. The coronation was supposed to take place on a Sunday, and they held it on Saturday. The emperor was supposed to be anointed at the main altar, and Frederick was anointed at a side altar, and not on the head, as they had done in the past, but between his arms and shoulder blades, not with the chrism but with the oil of the catechumens. Perhaps you don't understand the difference—nor did I in those days—but at court they were all glowering. I was expecting Frederick, too, to be mad as a bull, but instead he was all deference towards the pope, while the pope's face was grim, as if he had sealed a bad bargain. I asked Frederick straight out why the bar
ons grumbled and he didn't, and he told me I had to understand the value of liturgical symbols, where a mere nothing can change everything. He needed to have a coronation, and it had to be complete with the pope, but it shouldn't be too solemn, otherwise it would mean he was emperor only thanks to the pope, whereas he was already emperor by the will of the Germanic princes. I told him he was sly as a weasel, because it was as if he had said: See here, Pope, you're merely the notary, but I've already signed papers with the Almighty. He burst out laughing and slapped my head, saying smart boy, you always find the right way to express things. Then he asked me what I had been doing in Rome those days, because he had been so taken up with the ceremonies he'd lost sight of me. I saw the ceremonies you were taken up with, I said. The fact is that the Romans—the Romans of Rome, that is—didn't like that business of the coronation in Saint Peter's, because the Roman senate wanted to be more important than the pope, and they wanted to crown Frederick on the Capitoline. He refused, because if he then went around saying he had been crowned by the people, not only the Germanic princes but also the kings of France and England would say: Fine anointment this, by the holy rabble. Whereas if he could say he was anointed by the pope, they would all take him seriously. But the matter was even more complicated, and I realized that only later. For some time the Germanic princes had been talking about the translatio imperii, which was like saying that the hereditary line of the Roman emperors had passed to them. Now if Frederick had himself crowned by the pope it was like saying that his right was recognized also by the vicar of Christ on earth, and he would be what he was even if he lived, so to speak, in Edessa or Ratisbon. If he had himself crowned by the senate and by the Roman populusque, it was like saying the empire was still there, without any translatio. Smart thinking, as my father Gagliaudo used to say. At that point, surely, the emperor wasn't going to put up with it. That's why, as the great coronation banquet was taking place, the Romans in a fury crossed the Tiber and killed not only a few priests, which was everyday stuff, but also two or three imperials. Frederick flew into a rage, interrupted the banquet, and had them all killed then and there, after which there were more corpses than fish in the Tiber, and by nightfall the Romans understood who was master. To be sure, as festivities go, it wasn't a great festivity. This was what caused Frederick's bad humor towards those communes of Italia citeriore, and that's why when he arrived before Spoleto at the end of July, he demanded they pay for his sojourn there, and the Spoletini made a fuss. Frederick got even madder than he had in Rome, and carried out a massacre that makes this one in Constantinople seem like child's play.... You have to understand, Master Niketas, an emperor has to act like an emperor and forget about feelings.... I learned many things in those months; after Spoleto there was the meeting with the envoys of Byzantium at Ancona, then the return to ulterior Italy, to the foot of the Alps, which Otto called the Pyrenees, and that was the first time I saw the tops of mountains covered with snow. Meanwhile, day after day, Canon Rahewin introduced me to the art of writing."

  "A hard introduction, for a boy."

  "No, not hard. It's true that, if I didn't understand something, Canon Rahewin would hit my head with his fist, but that had no effect on me, not after the blows of my father. For the rest, everyone hung on my lips. If I felt like saying I had seen a sea siren—after the emperor had brought me there as one who saw saints—they all believed me and said good boy, good boy."

  "This must have taught you to weigh your words."

  "On the contrary, it taught me not to weigh them. After all, I thought, whatever I say is true because I said it.... When we were heading for Rome, a priest by the name of Corrado told me about the mirabilia of that urbs, the seven automata of the Lateran, which stood for the individual days of the week, each of them with a bell that announced a revolt in a province of the empire; and about the bronze statues that moved on their own, and about a place filled with enchanted mirrors.... Then we arrived in Rome, and that day, when they were killing each other along the Tiber, I took to my legs and wandered through the city. As I walked, I saw only flocks of sheep among ancient ruins, and under the arcades some poor people who spoke the language of Jews and sold fish. As for mirabilia, not a sign, except for a statue of a man and a horse in the Lateran, and even that didn't seem to me anything special. Yet, on our return journey, when they were all asking me what I had seen, what could I say? That in Rome there were only sheep among the ruins and ruins among the sheep? They would never have believed me. So I told of the mirabilia that I had been told about and I added a few of my own ... for example, that in the Lateran palace I had seen a reliquary of gold studded with diamonds and inside it were the navel and the foreskin of Our Lord. They were all devouring my words, and they said too bad in those days we had to kill the Romans and weren't able to see all those mirabilia. So for all the years I've been hearing others talk about the wonders of the city of Rome, in Germany, in Burgundy, and even here, it is only because I had told about them."

  Meanwhile the Genoese had come back, dressed as monks, ringing their little bells and preceding a troop of creatures wrapped in lurid whitish sheets, which covered even their faces. These people were the pregnant wife of Master Niketas, with her youngest in her arms, and the other sons and daughters, very young and pretty girls, some other relations, and a few servants. The Genoese had brought them through the city as if they were a band of lepers, and even the pilgrims had kept well out of their way as they passed.

  "How could they take you seriously?" Baudolino asked, laughing. "The lepers maybe... but you men, even in those robes, don't look anything like monks!"

  "With all due respect, the pilgrims are a bunch of dickheads," Taraburlo said. "And besides, after all the time we've been here, we also know what Greek we need. We repeated kyrieleison pighè pighè, in a low voice, all together, like a litany, and they stepped back, some made the sign of the cross, some made the horns sign to ward off the evil eye, and some touched their balls."

  A manservant brought Niketas a box, and Niketas withdrew to the back of the room to open it. He returned with some gold coins for our hosts, who uttered extravagant blessings and insisted that, until he left, he was the master here. The sizable family had been divided among some nearby dwellings, along somewhat filthy alleyways, where no Latin would ever think of searching for loot.

  Now content, Niketas called Pevere, who seemed the most authoritative of the hosts, and said that, if he had to remain in hiding, he was unwilling to give up his habitual pleasures. The city was burning, but in the port merchant ships continued to arrive, and fishermen's boats, but they now had to stop in the Golden Horn, unable to unload their goods at the storehouses. With money, it was possible to purchase cheaply the things necessary to a comfortable life. As for a proper cuisine, among the relatives just rescued was his brother-in-law Theophilus, who was an excellent cook; they had only to ask him what ingredients he needed. And so, towards afternoon, Niketas was able to offer his host a dinner worthy of a logothete. A fat kid, stuffed with garlic, onion, and leeks, covered with a sauce of marinated fish.

  "More than two hundred years ago," Niketas said, "there came to Constantinople, as ambassador from your king Otto, a bishop of yours, one Liudprand, who was the guest of our basileus Nicephorus. It was not a happy encounter, and we learned later that Liudprand had set down an account of his journey, in which we Romei were described as sordid, crude, uncivilized, shabbily dressed. He could not bear even our resinous wine, and it seemed to him that all our food was drowned in oil. But there was one thing he described with enthusiasm, and it was this dish."

  The kid tasted exquisite to Baudolino. And he went on answering Niketas's questions.

  ***

  "So, living with an army, you learned to write. And you already knew how to read."

  "Yes, but writing is harder. And in Latin. Because, if the emperor had to curse some soldiers, he spoke Alaman, but if he was writing to the pope or to his cousin Jasomirgott, he had to do it in Latin, and the
same with every document of the chancellery. I had to struggle to write down the first letters, I copied words and sentences without understanding what they meant, but by the end of that year I knew how to write. Still, Rahewin hadn't yet had time to teach me grammar. I could copy but I couldn't express myself on my own. That's why I wrote in the language of Frascheta. But was that really the language of Frascheta? I was mixing memories of other speech that I had heard around me, the words of the people of Asti, and Pavia, Milan, Genoa, people who sometimes couldn't understand one another. Then later, in those parts we built a city, with people who came from here and from there, all united to build a tower, and they spoke in the same, identical way. I believe it was a bit the way I had invented."

  "You were a nomothete," Niketas said.

  "I don't know what that means, but maybe I was. In any case, the later pages were already in fair Latin. I was by then in Ratisbon, in a quiet cloister, entrusted to the care of Archbishop Otto, and in that peacefulness I had many, many pages to leaf through.... I learned.

  You will notice, among other things, that the parchment is clumsily scraped, and you can even glimpse parts of the text underneath. I was really a rogue. I was robbing my teachers; I had spent two nights scraping away what I believed was ancient writing, to make space for myself. The nights following, Bishop Otto was in despair because he could no longer find the first version of his Chronica sive Historia de duabus civitatibus that he had been writing for more than ten years, and he accused poor Rahewin of having lost it on some journey. Two years later he determined to rewrite it, and I acted as his scribe, never daring to confess to him that I had been the one who scraped away the first version of his Chronica. As you say, justice does exist, because I then lost my own chronicle, only I didn't have the courage to write it over. But I know that, as he rewrote, Otto changed some things...."