Imprimatur

by Rita Monaldi;Francesco Sorti

  Because of my sad thoughts, it was a pleasant accident to encoun­ter Abbot Atto Melani before my door at the foot of the stairs, already impatient at having been kept briefly waiting. The latter risked be­traying our appointment to Cristofano when, on my arrival, he was unable to hold back a resounding sneeze.

  Night the Fourth

  Between the 14th & 15th September, 1683

  *

  This time we traversed the series of galleries under the Donzello more swiftly and more safely. I had brought with me Pellegrino's broken fishing rod, but Abbot Melani was opposed to inspecting the ceiling of the tunnels, as we had done when we had discovered the trapdoor to the upper cavity. We were, he reminded me, due at an important meeting; and in view of the circumstances of that encounter, there could be no question of delay. He then noticed my surly face and remembered that he had seen me descending from Gloridia's little tower. An amused smile played on his lips and he intoned:

  Speranza, al tuo pallore

  so che non speripiu.

  E pur non lasci tu

  di lusingarmi il core...*

  I had no desire to be entertained and decided to silence Atto by putting to him the question which had been on my mind ever since I had overheard Brenozzi. The abbot stopped abruptly.

  "Am I an abbot? But what kind of question is that?"

  I begged his pardon and said that never would I have wished to put such inappropriate queries to him, but Signor Angiolo Brenozzi had spoken at great length with Stilone Priaso from his window and in the course of that conversation, many things had been recounted and many considerations touched upon, amongst which, the conduct of the Most Christian King in his dealings with the Sublime Porte and the Holy See; and among the many words exchanged, the Vene­tian had expressed the opinion that Melani was no more an abbot than Count Donhoff.

  * Hope, from your pallor /I know you hope no more. / And yet you do not cease / From flattering my heart...

  "Count Donhoff... How clever of him!" hissed Atto Melani sar­donically, hastening at once to explain. "Obviously, you have no idea who Donhoff is. It should suffice for your purposes to know that he is the Diplomatic Resident of Poland in Rome, and that during these months of war with the Turks, he has been very, very busy. To give you an idea, the money which Innocent XI is sending to Poland for the war against the Turks also passes through his hands."

  "And what would that have to do with you?"

  "It is no more than a low and offensive insinuation. Count Jan Kazimierz Donhoff is indeed not an abbot: he is a Commander of the Order of the Holy Spirit, Bishop of Cesena and Cardinal with the ti­tle of San Giovanni a Porta Latina. I, on the other hand, am Abbot of Beaubec with letters patent from His Majesty Louis XIY confirmed by the Royal Council. What Brenozzi means is that I am an abbot only by the will of the King of France, and not the Pope. And how did they come to this question of abbots?" he asked, as we moved on once more.

  I gave him a brief account of the conversation between the pair: how Brenozzi had represented the growing power of the King of France and how the Sovereign intended to ally himself with the Sub­lime Porte in order to put the Emperor in difficulties and to have a free hand to pursue and consolidate his conquests, and how such designs had made him an enemy of the Pontiff.

  "Interesting," commented Melani. "Our glass-blower detests the French Crown and, judging by his hostile remarks, his feelings for yours truly can scarcely be sympathetic. I shall do well to bear that in mind."

  Then he looked at me with narrowed eyes, showing clear signs of annoyance. He knew that he owed me an explanation concerning his abbot's title.

  "Do you know what the Right of Regalia is?"

  "No, Signor Atto."

  "It is the right to appoint bishops and abbots and to have title to their property."

  "Therefore it is one of the Pope's rights."

  "No, no... One moment!" broke in Atto. "Listen carefully, for this is one of those things which will serve you well in the future, when you are a gazetteer. The question is a sensitive one: who owns church property, when it is on French soil? The Pope or the King? Remem­ber: this concerns not only the right to appoint bishops and to grant ecclesiastical benefices and prebends, but the material ownership of convents, abbeys and land."

  "Indeed... it is hard to tell."

  "I know. In point of fact the pontiffs and the kings of France have been squabbling over this for the past four hundred years or so be­cause, obviously, no king will voluntarily cede a piece of his kingdom to a pope."

  "And has the issue been resolved?"

  "Yes, but the peace was broken with the arrival of this pope, Innocent XI. In the last century, the jurists finally came to the con­clusion that the right of regalia belonged to the King of France. And, for a long time, no one queried that decision. Now, however, two French bishops (note the coincidence: both Jansenists) have reopened the matter with Innocent XI immediately extending his support to them. Thus, the dispute has resumed."

  "In other words, were it not for Our Lord the Pope, there would be no discussion whatsoever concerning the question of regalia."

  "Of course not. Only he could have hatched the idea of so clum­sily disturbing relations between the Holy See and the Firstborn Son of the Church."

  "If I understand correctly, you, Signor Atto, were appointed abbot by the King of France and not by the Pope," I concluded, scarcely concealing my surprise.

  He replied with a mumbled assent, stepping up his pace.

  I gained the distinct impression that Atto Melani did not desire to wish the matter any further. I, however, had at last rid myself of a doubt, which had taken hold when I was in the kitchen, listening to Cristofano, Stilone Priaso and Devize recount Atto's obscure past to one another. That doubt had deepened when we examined the torn page from the Bible found by the corpisantari. His scant familiarity with the Holy Scriptures now coincided with his revelations concern­ing the right of regalia, which permitted the King of France to make an abbot of whomsoever he wished.

  I was, then, not in the presence of a true churchman, but of a mere castrato singer who had received a title and a living from Louis XIV

  "Do not place overmuch trust in Venetians," resumed Atto, break­ing in on my thoughts at that very moment. "To understand their nature, one need only observe how they behave with the Turks."

  "What do you mean to say?"

  "The truth is that the Venetians, with their galleys full of spices, fabrics and all manner of goods, have always maintained a rich com­merce with the Turks. Now, their trade is falling off, with the arrival on the scene of superior competitors, among them the French. And I can well imagine what else Brenozzi will have told you: that the Most Christian King hopes Vienna will fall so that he can then invade the German Electorates and the Empire and share all the spoils with the Sublime Porte. That is why Brenozzi mentioned Donhoff: he meant that perhaps I was in Rome to lend a hand to some French plot. It is indeed from this city that, by the will of Innocent XI, money is con­voyed for the relief of besieged Vienna."

  "While in fact that is not the case," I added, almost as though I were demanding some confirmation.

  "I am not here to set traps for Christians, my boy. And the Most Christian King does not conspire with the Divan," was his grave reply.

  He then added solemnly: "Remember: crows fly in flocks; the ea­gle flies alone."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means: use your head. If everyone tells you to go to the right, you go to the left."

  "But, in your opinion, is it or is it not legitimate to form an alli­ance with the Turks?"

  There followed a long pause, until Melani, without once raising his eyes to meet mine, pronounced these words: "No scruple should prevent His Majesty from renewing today the alliances which so many Christian kings before him have formed with the Porte."

  There had, he went on to explain, been dozens of cases in which Christian kings and princes had made pacts with the Ottoman Porte. Florence
, to name only one example, had sought Mehmet II's assistance against Ferdinand I, King of Naples. Venice, in order to expel from the Levant the Portuguese who were disturbing its trade, had used the forces of the Sultan of Egypt. Emperor Ferdinand of Habsburg had not only allied himself with but become a vassal and tributary of Soliman, of whom he had, as a humble supplicant, begged to be granted the throne of Hungary. When Philip II set out to conquer Portugal, in order to obtain the good offices of the king of nearby Morocco, he had made a present to him of one of his possessions, thus placing Christian lands in the hands of the Infidels: and this, for the sole purpose of despoiling a Catholic monarch. Even Popes Paul III, Alexander VI and Julius II had, when necessary, gone to the Turks for assistance.

  Naturally enough, the question had been raised several times among the casuist fathers and in the Catholic schools as to whether those Christian princes had sinned in so doing. However, almost all the Italian, German and Spanish authors considered that this was not the case, and they had arrived at the conclusion that a Chris­tian prince might succour an Infidel in war against another Christian prince.

  "Their opinion," the abbot expounded, "is grounded in authority and in reason. The authority is drawn from the Bible. Abraham fought for the King of Sodom, and David against the children of Israel; not to mention the alliances formed by Solomon with King Hiram, or that of the Maccabees with Sparta and with Rome—in other words, with pagans."

  How well Atto knows the Bible, I thought, when it deals with politics.

  "Reason, however," continued the abbot with an expression of firm conviction, "is founded on the notion that God is the author of nature and of religion: therefore, it cannot be said that what is just in nature is not just in religion, unless some divine precept obliges us to consider it so. Now, in this instance, there are no divine precepts which condemn such alliances, especially where they are necessary, and the right of nature renders honest all reasonable instruments upon which our preservation depends."

  Having thus concluded his diatribe, Abbot Melani scrutinised me again from under didactically raised eyebrows.

  "Do you mean to say that the King of France may form an alliance with the Divan for purposes of legitimate self-defence?" I asked, still a trifle dubious.

  "Of course: in order to defend his states and the Catholic religion from the Emperor Leopold I whose base scheming runs contrary to all laws, both human and divine. Leopold in fact formed an alliance with the heretical Dutch, and was thus the first to betray the True Faith. But in that event, no one uttered so much as a word of com­ment or condemnation. Everyone is, however, always ready to inveigh against France, which is guilty only of having rebelled against the constant threat of the Habsburgs and the other princes of Europe.

  Louis XIV has, since the beginning of his reign, fought like a lion in order not to end up being crushed."

  "Crushed by whom?"

  "By the Habsburgs, in the first place, who surround France on the east and the west; on the one hand, the Empire of Vienna, on the other, Madrid, Flanders and the Spanish dominions in Italy. While, from the north, heretical England threatens, together with Holland, which commands the seas. And, as though all that were not enough, the Pope himself is France's enemy."

  "But if so many states say that the Most Christian King endangers Europe's liberty, there must surely be some truth to the assertion. You too told me that he..."

  "What I said to you about the King is completely irrelevant. Never, never make irrevocable judgements, and consider every single case as though it were the first you had ever encountered. Remember that, in relations between states, absolute evil does not exist. Above all, never assume that condemnation of one party implies the honesty of the other: in most cases, both are guilty. And the victims, once they have changed places with their tormentors, will commit the same atrocities. Remember all this, otherwise you will play into the hands of Mammon."

  The abbot paused, as though to reflect, and heaved a melancholy sigh.

  "Do not chase after the mirage of human justice," he continued, with a bitter smile, "for when you reach it, you will find only that from which you hoped to flee. God alone is just. Be wary especially of whoever loudly proclaims justice and charity, while accusing his adversaries of being creatures of the devil. That is no king, but a tyrant; no sovereign, but a despot; he is faithful not to the gospel of God but to that of hatred."

  "It is so difficult to judge!" I exclaimed disconsolately.

  "Less than you think. I told you, crows fly in flocks, the eagle flies alone."

  "Will knowing all these things help me to become a gazetteer?"

  "No. It will be a hindrance to you."

  We proceeded for a while without another word being uttered. The abbot's maxims had left me speechless, and silently I turned them over in my mind. I was especially surprised by the ardour with which Mel­ani had defended the Most Christian King, whom he had presented to me in a dark and arrogant guise when narrating the Fouquet affair. I admired Atto, even if my youth did not yet enable me fully to compre­hend the precious teachings which he had just imparted to me.

  "Know, in short," added Abbot Melani, "that the King of France has no need to plot against Vienna: if the Empire should fall, it will have been brought down by the cowardice of the Emperor Leopold himself: when the Turks drew too close to Vienna, he fled like a thief in the night, while the desperate and angry populace rained blows against his carriage. Our Brenozzi should know this perfectly well, since the Venetian ambassador to Vienna was also a witness to that wretched scene. Hearken to Brenozzi's words, if you will; but do not forget that when Pope Odescalchi enjoined Europe to resist the Ot­tomans, apart from France, only one power ignored the call: Venice."

  I was thus doubly silenced. Not only had Atto Melani convinc­ingly refuted Brenozzi's accusations against France, diverting them against Leopold I and Venice; he had also clearly understood the mis­trust which the glass-blower had tried to engender against him. I was, however, allowed no time in which to reflect upon my companion's sagacity for we had already reached the dark lair in which, a day or so before, Ugonio and Ciacconio had tried to ambush us. A few minutes later, as promised, the pair of tomb robbers appeared.

  As I had occasion to observe later, it was never possible to know with any certainty where these two obscure beings had emerged from. Their arrival was generally heralded by a pungent odour of goat, or of mildewed food, or of damp straw, or more simply by that fetid smell typical of the beggars who slouched through the streets of Rome. Then, in the dark, their curved profile would be gradually revealed. Anyone seeing this for the first time would take it for the epiphany of some creature out of the Underworld.

  "And do you call this thing a map?" raged Abbot Melani. "You are two beasts, that is what you are. Boy, take this and use it to wipe Pellegri­no's fundament."

  Scarcely had all four of us sat down around the lantern to con­clude the business which had been settled the night before than ab­bot Melani gave vent to his fury. He passed me the piece of paper which Ciacconio had given him, on examining which I was unable to withhold a gesture of disappointment.

  We had made a pact with the corpisantari: we would return to them the scrap of Bible, which they so coveted, only if they prepared for us an accurate plan of the passages which they knew stretched through the bowels of the city, from under the locanda. We were ready to honour our commitment (partly because Atto thought that the corpisantari might be useful to us on other occasions) and we had brought the blood-soaked paper with us. In exchange, however, we had received nothing but that dirty little scrap, which a long time previously must have been paper. On it was visible only a crazed tangle of hundreds of tremulous, indeciperable lines, of which one could often find the beginning but not the end, and which it was barely possible to distinguish from the natural folds of the paper. The latter, on closer examination, could not hold together for long before crumbling into a thousand pieces. Atto was beside himself and spoke to me as though
the pair before us, swept aside by his scorn, did not even exist.

  "We should have thought of this. Those who spend their lives rooting around under the earth like beasts cannot be capable of any­thing else. Now; if we are to be able to move around down here, we shall need their help."

  "Gfrrrlubh," protested Ciacconio, clearly offended.

  "Silence, animal! Now you are to listen to me: you will get back your page from the Bible only when I decide to give it. I know your names: I am a friend of Cardinal Cybo, the Pope's Secretary of State. I can so arrange matters that the relics which you find will not be au­thenticated, and that no one will buy any more of the rubbish which you gather down here. I shall therefore avail myself of your services, Malachi or no Malachi. And now show me how one gets out into the open air."

  The corpisantari were shaken by a tremor of alarm. Then Ciacconio placed himself despondently at the head of our quartet and gestured to a vague point in the dark.