The Food Taster

by Peter Elbling

  'Yes, Your Excellency. They are magnificent.'

  He stared at me. I did not blink or turn my head away even though his breath was fouler than a sewer on a hot day. I helped him to the chair so he could shit. Then I waited until he had finished and gave him my arm so he could return to his bed. He sat down and waved me away. I wanted to say something to ease his mind, but I was afraid that whatever I said would only arouse his suspicions further.

  When I returned to my room I could hear Miranda's handmaidens giggling as they helped her dress. 'He is as thick as my arm and twice as long,' a girl tittered.

  A moment later, Miranda knocked on my door. She was wearing a gown of blue silk and velvet. Precious jewels had been sewn into the design to compliment her necklace of rubies and emeralds. She seemed thinner and moved slowly as if her head might fall off her neck. Her pupils were still large from the potion I had given her earlier, but the paleness of her face set against the darkness of her hair only enhanced its beauty. 'I need some more potion.' Her voice cracked when she spoke.

  'Your lips will bleed if you do not stop biting them.'

  'Give it to me!'

  'Only a sip.'

  Her huge, dark eyes looked at me over the edge of the bowl.

  'Miranda, you must not listen to stories about Federico. He loves you, deeply. For your own sake, I beg you—'

  She swallowed the potion in one gulp, wiped her mouth with her hand, and then threw the empty bowl against the wall. She pretended to stagger as if she had suddenly become drunk, laughed too loudly, went back to her ladies, and together they walked down the hallway. I followed, fearing the potion might make her say something she would regret, but I lost her in the courtyard amid the colorful confusion of the carriages of the arriving guests.

  The women were dressed in traveling clothes, but the men paraded around like peacocks, admiring themselves and congratulating one another on the safety of the journey. They wore goatees — it is now the fashion in Venezia — and two-colored hose. They had slits in the back of their jackets as if their tailors had forgotten to sew up the seams.

  No sooner did their feet touch the ground than their tongues started wagging. 'Federico has spent a fortune.' 'Not as much as the Estes in Ferrara.' 'But more than the Carpuchis!' 'Corsoli looks splendid!' 'The matrimonial arches are wonderful!' 'To have spent all this money, he must truly be in love!' 'But with the daughter of a food taster?' a prince from Piacenza sniggered, as if food tasters had six legs or a fallo where their nose should be. I mentioned to the prince that it was my daughter, Miranda, the duke was marrying. He looked at me as if I was an idiot. Christ on a cross! He insulted food tasters and then he did not believe I was one! What did he think food tasters looked like? Oh, but he would soon find out, I would make sure of that. Indeed, they all did later that afternoon.

  We had gathered in the entrance hall for the unveiling of Miranda's fresco. By now the palazzo was so crowded with guests and their servants that the very air tingled with excitement. Grazzari made a speech in which he praised Federico for being the sun from which he had drawn his strength, and Miranda the moon from which he had taken his inspiration. Then he pulled the curtain aside. I had watched Miranda pose several times and each time I had been astounded as Grazzari transferred her beauty to the wall. But now that the fresco was finished I was astounded all over again. The fresco is as tall as I am and twice as wide. In it, Miranda flies through the air from left to right, her dark black hair streaming behind her. She is dressed as an angel and the sun's rays form a halo around her head. Her face, which is turned toward us, is aglow, the ends of her mouth turned up in a smile as if she carried within it the secret to happiness. Grazzari had finished it that very afternoon — the colors were not yet dry — and it seemed so alive that I was sure that if I had pressed my head against the fresco I could have heard the beat of her heart. I had always known she was beautiful, but to see every mole, every eyelash, every dimple larger than life was to behold the very essence of beauty itself.

  I thought everyone would cheer, but no one said a word. 'Are you all blind?' I wanted to shout. 'This is the best painting I have ever seen! Better even than the Mary Magdalen in Milano!' Then I saw it was not that they did not wish to speak, but that they could not. The loveliness of the painting had stolen their breath away.

  'Magnifico' someone sighed at last, and then, like a river bursting its banks, the praise poured out. 'Stupendo! Meraviglioso!' over and over again, as if only a mountain of words could express their admiration. They surrounded Miranda, heaping praises upon her.

  'But it is Grazzari you must applaud,' Miranda said. 'He has improved upon nature a second time.'

  'No,' Grazzari replied. 'When God saw how ill prepared I was to complete this task, He assisted me Himself.'

  He explained how the doves flying next to Miranda symbolized peace which could be seen by the lion and lamb lying together in the grassy foreground. 'The necklace around Miranda's neck is the same one Aphrodite gave Harmonia at her wedding. It gives the wearer irresistible beauty.'

  'Maybe she needs it in the painting,' Federico said, 'but not in real life.'

  The guests agreed heartily. Miranda blushed. I did not hear what she said because just then I saw Tommaso in the doorway.

  'I came to see the fresco,' he said. His eyes were red from weeping, his face drawn from lack of sleep.

  'If you do anything foolish,' I whispered, 'you will be killed!'

  'I have nothing to live for!' he cried, and dashed away.

  I could not follow because just then Federico led the guests into the main hall for a small dinner. Because many of them were weary from their journeys they went to bed soon after and I returned to look at the vision of Miranda once more.

  I remembered that Grazzari had begun painting Miranda's face the day after the marriage was announced, when it was all still a game to her, which was why her face appeared so playful. Gazing at it again, I understood the madness of Tommaso's desire. Did I not feel the same for Helene? Did my heart not ache when I thought that I might never see her again?

  Behind me, someone whispered, 'Who is that?'

  I turned around. Miranda was pointing to the fresco. 'Why is she smiling when her heart is breaking in two?'

  I reached out to comfort her, but she brushed my hand away. What could I say? It has been decided she will marry Federico. The wedding can only be canceled if something were to happen to him. But nothing will. Tommaso cannot stop it. What could he do? Stab Federico? He would never get through his guards. Poison him? Not as long as I am Federico's food taster. He had his chance. As Miranda had hers. Time marches forward not backward. What is done is done. Federico will marry Miranda and I will no longer be a food taster. That is the way it is and that is the way it will be and if Tommaso even thinks of doing something about it, by the beard of Christ, I will cut his balls off!

  The second day.

  I do not know if it is the potions I have been taking, my anger toward Tommaso, or the excitement of the wedding, but I woke this morning wearier than when I had closed my eyes. I went to the kitchen, intending to speak with Tommaso. It was already crowded with servants chopping and mixing and boiling and frying, each one inspired to best the other. Luigi confided to me that over the next week two hundred sheep, fifty cattle, and fifty deer will be eaten, as well as two thousand doves, capons, and woodcocks. No wonder so many peasants have flocked to work here: there is no food anywhere else.

  Tommaso was pouring cinnamon, verjuice, and ginger onto a bowl of berries. The berries reminded me of that oaf Onionface and I became furious that berries, which had once saved my life, could now bring about my death. 'A perfect place,' I said, as Tommaso poured them into a crust.

  He jumped. 'What do you want?' he shouted. I wanted to talk to him quietly, but he yelled again, 'What do you want?' as if I was a peasant who had just wandered in from the country. I picked up a heavy ladle and would have cracked him over the head had Luigi not pushed me out of the kitchen
, chiding, 'What devil has got into you? We have work to do.'

  In the courtyard servants were lighting fires beneath vats and cauldrons. The smell of roasting meat filled the air. Giggling girls hurried past, clutching garlands of flowers. I should have been happy, but I was nervous and the roaring of the lion only agitated me further. The lion has not been fed for over a week to prepare him for the caccia and the smell of fresh meat has excited him. I was suddenly reminded of Vittore, for with so much going on I had forgotten about him.

  When he heard my footsteps descending the steps to his cell, he stood up eagerly like a child expecting a treat. Then he saw who I was and sat back against the wall as if he had not a care in the world. His nails had grown and were thick with dirt, his clothes were black with filth, his hair was more matted than ever.

  'Are you going to let Federico put me in the piazza with the lion?' he said, rubbing his poxy eye.

  'I cannot stop him.'

  'Tell him I am your brother.'

  'But you did not want me to tell him, remember?'

  He leaped up and clutched hold of the bars as if he could tear them apart. 'You will not be satisfied until Papa and I are dead, will you?'

  'Papa is already dead,' I said.

  He stared at me. 'You are lying.'

  'A week ago, I heard he was sick so I went to see him. He died while I was there.'

  'Why did you not tell me?'

  Why had I not told him? 'I am sorry. I forgot. I—'

  'You did not forget!' he yelled. 'You are jealous. You have always been jealous.' He spat out the last word as if it could hurt me.

  'If you had truly loved him you would have visited him yourself or brought him to the palace,' I answered.

  'You . . . ass shit!!' He was no longer listening. 'ASS SHIT!' He banged his forehead against the bars.

  'He asked after you,' I said. He stopped his pounding. 'I told him you prospered.'

  He looked at me, and after a moment sneered, 'Am I supposed to thank you?'

  I shook my head.

  The air seemed to leave his body. He had always been taller than me, but now, standing in the middle of the cell, tugging at his hair, muttering to himself, he reminded me of that thin, feeble peasant who had attacked Federico's carriage on the way to Milano. He leaned his head on the bars again. 'Grazie,' he whispered. 'Grazie.'

  A small ball of light glowed between us. It was filled with memories of what might have been — two boys playing together, two young men, their arms linked in friendship, two brothers, companions in life. Then it was gone and an emptiness overcame me. 'I have to go. Cardinal Sevinelli is arriving from Roma.'

  As I reached the top of the stairs I heard a cry like the tearing of a soul. I crouched down and could just see into Vittore's cell. He was lying on the floor, his face in the muck, his hands grasping at the soiled straw, sobbing, 'Papa! Papa!'

  I took my place on the balcony behind Federico and Miranda and next to guests from Perugia and Spoleto. Below us, the crowd was singing and dancing around the matrimonial arch. Trumpets sounded some way off and a whisper spread through the crowd, 'Here he comes! Here he comes!' and then twelve knights dressed in shining armor and green and white sashes rode into the piazza. They carried olive branches in their right hands and sat tall in the saddle as if their heads were attached to heaven. Behind them came twenty magnificent white horses without riders, each outfitted with golden saddles and bridles. Then came three nobles, each carrying a banner. One bore the sign of a cross, the next the keys of the church, and the third, the five crescents — the imperial flag of the Holy Church of Roma. Then came knights wearing papal robes and between them servants carried a canopy of blazing gold.

  The procession stopped in front of the balcony and a figure stepped out from under the canopy. Holy Christ! I could not believe my eyes. It was not Cardinal Sevinelli, but that damned hunchback, Giovanni! I could tell those ears a mile away! My stomach heaved into my throat. I looked again to make sure I had not been mistaken. But no, it was him! He was wearing a robe of beaten gold and that dammed little red hat on the top of his head! The piazza fell silent! Everyone looked to Federico. I thought he would throw himself off the balcony and attack Giovanni, but instead he stood up and said, in a strong clear voice, 'We welcome Cardinal Giovanni to Corsoli and pray that his stay finds us all in God's good graces.' The crowd cheered; the procession moved into the palace.

  The guests hurried away, buzzing like a thousand bees. I could not move, my culo was rooted to the chair, my legs as solid as a stone sculpture. Perhaps I am dreaming, I said to myself. I asked Cecchi if he had known that Giovanni was coming but he shook his head. Septivus swore he had not written to invite him. Then it must have been Federico. But why?

  The guests gossiped about nothing else all afternoon. 'Surely Giovanni would not have come unless he was invited!' they said. 'Even so, one cannot deny he has the balls of a giant!' 'And the dick of a horse, so I hear,' someone joked. Rumor fell upon rumor until they piled so high they blotted out the sun.

  That evening, we gathered in the courtyard for the first performance by the actors from Padua. The air was heavy with the scent of roses. Fireflies darted here and there, eager to play their part in the celebration. The chairs were lined up so that they faced two columns of scenery depicting clouds and birds and flowers which blended perfectly with the Hanging Gardens behind them. Miranda was dressed all in white except for a necklace of dazzling emeralds and a dainty golden crown. Whatever she was feeling, maybe even because of it, she had never appeared more lovely. As she took her place next to Federico, the sconces were lit and we beheld the most sparkling sight we had ever seen. There were so many exquisite women, so many shimmering jewels, so many handsome men all enhanced by the magnificence and splendor of nature, that we were not the pale imitators of heaven, but its very inspiration! Everyone sighed, honored to be part of such a wondrous spectacle.

  I leaned back in my chair, drunk with the wine of goodness, and saw Tommaso's face staring down from a palace window. I was so startled I almost lost my balance. Just then, the flutes and drums commenced to play and I wrenched my eyes away from him to watch the stage. First, a huge cloud suspended between the two columns slowly descended to the stage. When at last it came to rest, actors dressed as gods stepped out from it and called upon nature to show her pleasure. Thereupon more actors dressed as lions, lambs, cats, and dogs ran onto the stage and danced together. They sang love songs to Federico and Miranda and beseeched the gods for a fruitful union.

  Then they left the stage and the columns of scenery were turned, displaying a series of paintings which would unfold throughout the evening. This one showed a convent's cell for a performance of a Boccaccio story about a nun who lost her wimple or something, I do not remember exactly. My mind was so distracted. I could not stop wondering why Giovanni had come or if Tommaso was planning something foolish. More dancing followed, another comedy, and, finally, two huge griffins pulled a golden chariot onto the stage in which Miranda was seated. It had all been planned so smoothly that I had not seen her leave her seat. She was seated in front of a painting of a hillside filled with trees which blended so well with the Hanging Gardens that it was perfection itself.

  I looked to see if Tommaso was still watching; he was not and I cursed him for spoiling my enjoyment. Good God in heaven! Magnificence such as this only happens once in a lifetime and I wanted to remember every detail. I wished my father and my dear mother could have seen it! O blessed saints! I WANTED THE WORLD TO SEE IT! I would have even released Vittore just to show him how his poisonous words had been turned into gold.

  Miranda strummed her lyre and the notes spilled out like a gentle stream. She closed her eyes and sang of a love so great it could not be contained by the human heart. It burned so fiercely that it consumed not only the poet, but also her amoroso, and only in death, unhindered by flesh, could the lovers unite. As the last notes rose into the night, she opened her eyes and raised her head slightly, as if she
could see the souls escaping into the starry blackness above us. Then she dropped her head, the griffins pulled the carriage off the stage, and the last thing we saw was the ghostly pale of Miranda's neck. I looked up at the window. Tommaso was weeping.

  The guests cheered and shouted as Federico rose from his throne and turned to face us. 'She is better than all the actors from Padua!' he beamed. Everyone cheered again. Federico shouted, 'Mangiamo!' and with Miranda by his side, led the way into the banquet hall. No one mentioned the song.

  If I had not seen the hall every day for the past five years I would never have recognized it. Chandeliers bearing hundreds of candles hung from the ceiling. Fine linen cloths covered the tables and at every place setting there were gold plates instead of trenchers. Grazzari had designed everything, even ensuring that the napkins were folded like delicate flowers. No sooner had the guests seated themselves than trumpets announced the serving of the food. I have already mentioned the first course. The second course consisted of fried veal sweetbreads, liver covered with the sauce of eggplant and served with slices of prosciutto and melon, as well as hot foods from the kitchen. Since it was early summer, the meat was tender, especially the rabbits, which had been raised for the occasion, and were served with pine nuts. The slices of spit-roasted veal were bathed in a sauce of its own juices. Of course, Septivus had to make a speech.

  'Keep it short,' Federico said.

  Septivus said that although Corsoli could not boast of the grandeur of Roma or the splendor of Venezia, the three cities were sisters in spirit. Each had their virtues and, since Corsoli was situated midway between them, it benefited from both. If Corsoli's reputation in art or commerce was lacking, that was due to its geography for which only God Himself could be faulted, and who would fault God for placing Corsoli where it was? This made no sense to me, nor anyone else or perhaps even to Septivus, because he stammered and said that Corsoli would make amends for its geography by being the first city in Romagna to use the fork! Then the servants presented each guest with a silver fork. Oi me! You would have thought they were nuggets of gold! Luigi had to stand on a table to get the guests' attention.