Imprimatur

by Rita Monaldi;Francesco Sorti

  "A pity, as it would be very useful to us now to know what end we shall come to at the Donzello: whether we shall perish in a lazaretto or come out safe and sound," I provoked him.

  Stilone Priaso did not respond.

  "With the help of an astrologer, we could perhaps understand whether di Mourai died of the plague or whether he was poisoned, as Cristofano maintains," I assayed once more. "Thus we protect our­selves from any further threats from the assassin."

  "Forget it. Poison, more than any other lethal weapon, is concealed from the vigilant eye of the stars. It is stronger than any attempt at divination or prediction: frankly, if I had to kill someone, I would choose poison."

  I felt my blood draining away on hearing those words; and here, it seemed to me, was a clue with which to follow up my suspicions.

  Astrologers and poison: suddenly I recalled the conversation about poisons which had exercised our guests around the body of poor Signor di Mourai on the very evening of our incarceration. Was it not asserted that astrologers and perfumers were notably expert in the preparation of mortal poisons? And Stilone Priaso, I thought with a shiver, was a gazetteer and an astrologer, as Abbot Melani had just discovered.

  "Really?" I replied, feigning candid interest. "Perhaps you already know of cases of suspected poisoning which it was impossible to fore­see in the stars."

  "One above all: Abbot Morandi," said Stilone, anticipating me. "That was the most compelling case."

  "Who was Abbot Morandi?" I asked, ill concealing my anxiety.

  "A friar, and the greatest astrologer in Rome," came his curt re­ply.

  "How is that possible? Friar and astrologer?" I retorted, feigning incredulity.

  "I shall tell you: until the end of the last century, Bishop Luca Gaurico was official astrologer to the court of no fewer than four popes. A golden age!" he sighed, "alas, gone forever."

  I saw that his tongue was loosening.

  "After the affair of Father Morandi?" I prompted.

  "Exactly. You must know that Father Orazio Morandi, abbot of the monastery of Santa Prassede, owned—some sixty years ago—the best astrological library in Rome: a real landmark for all the astrolo­gers of the time. He corresponded with the most noted men of let­ters of Rome, Milan, Florence, Naples and other cities, even outside Italy. Many were the men of letters and of science who asked his opinion on the stars, and even the unfortunate Galileo Galilei, when he sojourned in Rome, had been his guest."

  At the time when these events took place, Abbot Morandi, contin­ued Stilone, was just over fifty years of age: he was eloquent, always gay, rather tall, with a fine chestnut-coloured beard, and was onlyjust beginning to lose his hair. Astrology then enjoyed no little tolerance. Laws did exist against it, but in practice they were ignored.

  Orazio Morandi's fame was at its height when (it was 1630) the abbot thought fit to state, on the basis of his astrological calculations, that Pope Urban VIII Barberini would die within the year. The abbot, before divulging this calculation, consulted with other renowned as­trologers, who redid the calculations and obtained the same results.

  The sole dissenter was Father Raffaello Visconti, who taught mathematics in Rome, and who thought that the Pope, so long as he did not expose himself to dangers, would not die for at least an­other thirteen years, in other words in 1643 or 1644. The professor was, however, not heeded by his colleagues, who all agreed on the imminent demise of Pope Barberini. The abbot of Santa Prassede's prophecy spread through Rome and the other capitals at lightning speed. Such was the abbot's renown as an astrologer that a number of Spanish cardinals made haste to leave for Rome in order to take part in the conclave, which was seen as imminent. The rumour also spread through France, so much so that Cardinal Richelieu had to beg the court of Rome to take urgent measures to put an end to this embarrassing situation.

  Thus, the word reached the ears of the Pontiff himself, who was not pleased to learn, in this manner, that his last hour was approaching. On 13th July, Pope Urban VIII ordered that proceedings be opened against Abbot Morandi and his accomplices. Two days later, Morandi was gaoled in the prison of Tor di Nona, and his library and cham­bers sealed and searched. Soon afterwards, all twelve monks of Santa Prassede were arrested. The friars confessed and in the end Morandi himself, under pressure from the judge, revealed the names of his col­leagues and friends, who in their turn gave away others' names.

  "And thus the trial was concluded," said I.

  "By no means," replied Stilone Priaso. "It was just at that point that matters started to become complicated."

  In the concatenation of denunciations, there was a risk of embar­rassing names coming to light, especially cardinals who, with their secretaries and entourages, having heard of the prediction of the coming death of Urban VIII, had requested further astrological con­sultations in order to know what their chances were of obtaining the Tiara. At his very first interrogation, Morandi had given his accus­ers a number of important names, including even that of the Pope's nephew, Cardinal Antonio Barberini.

  The Pope understood at once what loomed on the horizon: a scan­dal which would besmirch the whole Consistory, and above all, his own family. Urban VIII therefore took preventive measures, requiring that the names of pontiffs, cardinals, prelates and even lay persons be omitted from the charges and marked in cipher in the margin, or simply left blank in the text. The decision as to whether such names should be entered would rest with him in person.

  Wherever the interrogations went too far, the omissions desired by the Pope came into effect: "I know many who understand astrol­ogy. Vincenzo Bottelli was my master. He told me that many in the palace understood astrology, such as Cardinals ***, *** and ***, as well as ***, ***, *** and also *** and ***."

  "In other words, cardinals galore," exclaimed Stilone. "The judge was shocked to hear so many distinguished names; he knew perfectly well that those astrological dealings were being carried out on behalf of the cardinals themselves; and that the latter ran the risk, if one single word too many were to be uttered by their servants, of being covered in dishonour. And farewell then to all hopes, for whoever might have nourished them, of ever being elected pope."

  "And how did it all end?" I asked, impatient to hear what all this story had to do with poison.

  "Oh, providence... saw to that," replied Stilone with a meaningful grimace. "On the 7th of November, 1630 Abbot Morandi was found dead in his cell, lying on his bed, in the modest robe and sandals which he had worn all his life."

  "Killed!"

  "Well, seven days later, the physician of the prison of Tor di Nona submitted his report: Morandi had died following twelve days of ill­ness. He had caught a sextan fever which had become malignant and, in the end, fatal.'"I neither have nor saw any evidence of poison,'" confirmed the physician, supported by two other colleagues. They all, however, passed over in silence the fact that only two days previously, another prisoner detained with Morandi had died in identical circumstances after eating a cake of unknown provenance."

  Persistent rumours and suspicions of poisoning circulated for months, insistent and impossible to uproot. But what did all that matter now? Father Morandi was dead, and he alone had shouldered the tremendous burden of the vices of the entire pontifical court. To the great relief of all, the veil, which had been so incautiously lifted, was hastily lowered once more.

  Urban VIII, in a brief hand-written note, ordered the judge to suspend the case, granting impunity to all copyists and to the astrolo­gers and monks, and ordering that there should be no further judicial action concerning them.

  Stilone Priaso fell silent and looked at me. He had dried himself and slipped into bed, awaiting my reaction to the story.

  So, in the case of Abbot Morandi, as in that of Signor di Mourai— thus I reflected as I replaced the brushed apparel on the chair—poi­son was concealed under the guise of illness.

  "But were not all the others equally guilty?" I objected, gripped by the sad tale.

/>   "In truth, the copyists had copied, the monks had hidden the evidence, the astrologers had speculated on the death of the Pope; and, above all, the cardinals had been involved. It would not have been unjust to punish them, but to do so it would have been neces­sary to reach a verdict," observed Stilone Priaso, "which would have caused a scandal. And that was precisely what the Pope wished to avoid."

  "So Urban VIII did not die in that year."

  "No, indeed he did not. Morandi was completely mistaken in his prophecy."

  "And when did he die?"

  "In 1644."

  "But was that not precisely the date calculated by Father Visconti, the mathematician?"

  "It was," replied Stilone Priaso. "If only the abbot of Santa Prassede had heeded the word of his friend the professor, he would truly have predicted the death of Urban VIII. Instead, he foretold his own death."

  "And what happened to the astrologers after the death of Mo­randi?" I asked, dejected by that lugubrious observation.

  "That tale is soon told: Galileo recanted, Argoli went into exile, Centini went to the stake; all this in the space of a very few years. And astrology ended up crushed under the weight of papal bulls."

  Here, Stilone fell silent, as though observing a moment of mourning.

  "However," he resumed, "when Abbot Morandi's prophecy of his imminent death was circulating, the Pope became very afraid that it would come true."

  "So, even Urban VIII, who did so much to combat astrology, be­lieved in it!"

  "But of course! I have already told you that everyone, but every­one, in every epoch, has paid tribute to Dame Astrology," laughed Stilone Priaso, bitterly.

  "Pope Barberini, so it was said, was beset by the blackest terror when the prediction of his death began to do the rounds. While he publicly professed scorn for Abbot Morandi's prophecy, in secret, he summoned a Dominican friar, Tommaso Campanella and, fearful and trembling, begged him to dispel the threat. The Dominican did what he could, sprinkling aromas and perfumes against malefic effluvia, making the Pontiff wear white vestments in order to cancel out the effects of eclipses, lighting lamps which symbolised the seven plan­ets, and so on and so forth. But now I had better break off. Thanks be to heaven, I am again feeling a little drowsy."

  It was dawn. I greeted the ending of this discussion with silent re­lief. I again blamed myself for having initially encouraged it. Not only had I discovered nothing about the poisoning of Signor di Mourai, or the theft of my little pearls; but, at the end of such a long an inter­view, I was now more confused than ever.

  Day the Fifth

  15th September, 1683

  *

  After leaving Stilone Priaso, I returned exhausted to my chamber. I do not know where I found the strength to complete my diary, but I did succeed in so doing. Then, I read swiftly through the pages which I had already written. Dejectedly, I went over the results of the tenta­tive investigations which I had conducted concerning the guests at the Donzello: and what had I discovered? Practically nothing. Every appar­ent breakthrough had proved to be a false dawn. I had learned of facts and circumstances which had little to do with the sad end of Signor di Mourai, and which had thrown my ideas into even greater confusion.

  But what, I wondered, did I know about Mourai? At my table, I lay my head on one arm, asking myself that question. Enveloped in the blanket of sleep, my thoughts receded into the distance, but did not disappear entirely.

  Mourai was French, old and ill, and his eyesight had become very weak. He was between sixty and seventy years of age. He was accompanied by the young French musician Devize and by Pompeo Dulci­beni. He seemed to be of elevated rank and more than merely prosper­ous, which contrasted with the very poor state of his health: it was as though he had in the past undergone long-drawn-out sufferings.

  But then, why would a gentleman of his rank lodge at the Donzello?

  I knew from Pellegrino that the Ponte quarter, where our hostelry was situated, had long since ceased to house the great inns, which were now to be found in the environs of the Piazza di Spagna. To sojourn at the Donzello was perhaps more fitting for a person of lim­ited means; or perhaps for someone desiring to avoid the company of neighbours of high rank; but why?

  Mourai, moreover, never left the inn, save at nightfall; and even then, only for the shortest of walks in the immediate environs; cer­tainly not beyond the Piazza Navona or Piazza Fiammetta.

  Piazza Navona, Piazza Fiammetta: suddenly, my temples began to throb painfully, and, rising with great difficulty from the chair, I let myself collapse onto my couch like a marionette.

  I awoke in the same position the next morning, in broad daylight. Someone had knocked at the door. It was Cristofano, angry that I had still not fulfilled any of my duties.

  I sat up in the bed with extreme indolence, having had only a few hours of sleep. In my breeches, I espied the gazette of horo­scopes which the tomb robbers had purloined from Stilone Priaso. I was still affected by the extraordinary events of the previous night: the peregrination through the underground passages full of uncer­tainties and surprises, the stalking of Stilone and, lastly, the terrible affairs of Abbot Morandi and Campanella, which the Neapolitan had narrated to me in the last hours before dawn. That abundant harvest of sensory and spiritual impressions was still very much alive in me, despite the fatigue that assailed me, when I lazily opened the little book. Perhaps also because of a powerful headache, I did not resist the temptation to lie down once again; at least for a few minutes, thought I. And I began to peruse the book.

  The first words that met my eyes were a lengthy and learned dedication to Ambassador Buonvisi, and then another no less polished prologue addressed to the reader.

  There followed a table entitled "Calculation of the Introitus of the Sun", which I did not read. Finally, I found a "General Discourse on the Year 1683":

  It will begin, according to the Custom of the Holy Roman Catholicke Church, on the First of January and according to the ancient Astronomi­cal Style, when the Sunne has completed its Round of the Twelve Signs of the Zodiac, returning again to the Cusp of the Sign of Aries, because Fundamentum principale in revolutionibus annorum mundi et introitus Solis in pritnum punctum Arietis. Thus, it is by Means of the Tychonian System...Irritated by all this show of astronomical wisdom, I gave up. Fur­ther on, I read that there would be four eclipses during the course of the year (none of which would, however, be observable in Italy); then came a table with a mass of figures, all of them completely incompre­hensible to me, entitled "Direct Ascension of the Celestiall Figure in Winter". I felt discouraged. It all seemed to me to be unconscionably complicated. I was only trying to find some prediction for the current year and, what was more, I had little time. At long last, I found a promising heading: "Lunations and Combinations with other Plan­etary Aspects for all the Year 1683". I had finally discovered detailed predictions, set out according to the seasons and months and cover­ing the entire year. I skimmed through the pages until I came to the four weeks of September:

  Saturn, Ruler of the Eighth House, threatens the aged, endangering their lives.

  I was perturbed. This prediction referred to the first week of the month, but it was clear that, only a few mornings earlier, old Mourai had died a mysterious death. I looked hurriedly for the second week, since Mourai had died on the 11th, and soon discovered:

  As regards Maladies, Jupiter rules the Sixth House and will strive to bring Health to many who are sick; however, Mars, in a Fiery Sign attd in Opposition to the Moon seems intent on subjecting many Individuals to malignant Fevers and venomous Distempers, for it is written that in this position Lunam opposito Martis morbos venenatos inducit, sicut in sig- nis igneis, terminaturque cito, & raro ad vitam. Saturn rules the Eighth House, and greatly threatens senile Age.

  Not only had the author clairvoyantly perceived that the aged were again threatened by Saturn, which fully corresponded with the demise of Signor di Mourai, but he had also foreseen the sufferings of my master
and Bedfordi as a result of "malignant Fevers and venomous Distempers". Not to mention the fact that the reference to poison perhaps concerned the aged Frenchman most of all.

  I went back a few lines and resumed my reading for the first week, with the firm intention not to leave off from it, even if Cristofano were to knock yet again.

  The Emergencies which resultfrom the Study of the heavenly Bodies during this Week are directed by Jupiter in his quality as Ruler of the govern­ing House, which, being in the Fourth House with the Sunne and Mer­cury, seeks with fine Astuteness to reveal a hidden Treasure, the same Mercury, dignified by Jupiter in a terrestrial Sign, signifies Outbreaks of subterranean Fires, and Tremors with Terrors and Alarums for Mankind; wherefore it is written: Eo item in terrae cardine, & in signo terreo fortunatis ab eodem cadentibus dum Mercurius investigat eumdem, terraemotus nunciat, ignes de terra producit, terrores, & turba- tiones exauget, minerias & terrae sulphura corrumpit. Saturn, Ruler of the Seventh House, in the Third House, promises great Mortality as a Consequence of Battles, and Assaults against the City, and, being square with Mars, means the Surrender of a considerable fortified Place, as foreseen by Ali and by Leopoldus Austriacus.