by Martin Rua
I crossed Via dei Tribunali, completely unmoved by the usual noisy crowd at the pizzeria on the corner. There was still an incredible sense of peace and harmony in my soul, and the little conflicts of everyday life seemed to have disappeared, dissolved in the music of the cathedral.
I smiled and went on my way.
I walked along Via Atri until I was in front of a building. I could not explain why, but that evening I was sure I would find the door I was looking for. I entered the courtyard, and to my right I saw it. Not rotten planks, but the door.
I knocked.
“It’s open!”
I went inside. She was there, behind the table with the pentacle, as mystically beautiful as before. I felt no physical attraction for her, though. I knew she belonged to another dimension.
Sofia’s magnetic eyes penetrated me, but I was not afraid.
“I’ve brought it back,” I said, pulling out the big bronze key and placing it upon the table.
“Did you find the treasure?” she asked in her warm, deep voice.
“I think I did.”
Sofia put the key in the jar from whence she had taken it about a fortnight earlier.
“It will serve to open another lock.”
I nodded and turned to leave.
“Wait,” she said, pulling out the tarot cards. She shuffled them and then turned over three.
“The hermit, the house of God and the sun.”
She looked up and smiled at me.
“Now he will be at peace.”
I returned her smile and went back into the courtyard, but I did not turn round. I did not want to see that door disappear again, even though I was already convinced that it would be there for me if I needed it. With a key ready to open other locks.
I went out onto Via Atri and found myself in front of the lad who had brought me there a few days earlier. The mysterious little scugnizzo.
I waited for him to say something, but he, for the first time, just smiled, then turned and started off down Via dei Tribunali.
“Hey, boy – wait!”
The boy stopped and turned round, without saying anything.
“What’s your name?”
He smiled again.
“Matteo,” he said, before running off and disappearing into the night.
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Author’s Note
Thanks
About Martin Rua
About The Parthenope Trilogy
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Author's Note
I would recommend reading this brief note after finishing the book, as it may contain spoilers regarding the plot that will affect your pleasure as you read. You have been warned.
As in the first volume of the trilogy, The Antiquarian’s Nine Keys, in this second volume I have blended invented situations with real ones. It is in any case a novel and should be read as such, so if magic or fantasy prevail over verisimilitude, there’s a reason for the choice.
Similarly, as it is a work of fiction, the characters have no basis in reality. Every writer, however, draws on their own life to shape their stories, so it is inevitable that some characteristics of the characters are modelled upon people that I have encountered. It should be considered coincidental.
Finally, I want to tell the reader what is entirely invented and what instead has some basis in truth. In doing so, I will cite the texts that I used to study the various topics involved, starting from the beginning of the novel.
Prologue.
I imagined two meetings which could have taken place, perhaps not in the same year – 1770 – or otherwise in the eighteenth century. I refer to the Prince of Sansevero, the Count of Saint-Germain and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
Raimondo de Sangro, seventh prince of Sansevero, is obviously a real character – a great writer, scientist, alchemist and freemason. There are many texts which help to understand him but I suggest reading some of the works written by him, in particular the Apologetic Letter (la Lettera apologetica – Alòs, Naples 2002) and The Eternal Light (Il lume eterno – Bastogi, Foggia 2009) and, possibly, the small and enlightening volume by the late professor Mario Buonoconto, Fantastic Voyage (Viaggio fantastico – Alòs, Naples 2002). As regards the freemason and Freemasonry in Naples at the time in which he lived, I found Fulvio Bramato’s book Masonic Naples in the Eighteenth Century interesting (Naples massonica nel Settecento – Longo editore, Ravenna 1980).
If you wish to discover the history of the amazing chapel of the de Sangro family, I recommend the recent Mother of Mercy: Love and Death at the Origin of the Sansevero Chapel (Madre di Pietà, Amore e morte all’origine della Cappella Sansevero – Alòs editions, Naples 2010) by Beatrice Cecaro and what is currently considered the best from the symbolic point of view, The Philosophical Chapel of the Prince of Sansevero (La cappella filosofica del Principe di Sansevero – Stamperia del Valentino, Naples 2010) by Siegfried Hoebel.
Of the Count of Saint-Germain we know little or nothing. Many people of his day claimed have met him, but there are those who suspect that the name is a pseudonym. We cannot know for certain whether he had dealings with the prince of Sansvero. For him, I drew upon the aforementioned book by Professor Buonoconto, but I suggest also ‘picking through’ the wonderful www.massimomarra.net website.
Mozart actually did spend a month and a half in Naples over the summer of 1770, along with his father Leopold. He performed before an audience which was at first noisy (ah, the Neapolitan snobs of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies!) and then amazed by his skill (as we know, he was not simply a great composer). At the time, aged just fourteen, he must have come into contact with illustrious characters of the Naples of the day. I confess, however, that I have found nothing confirming a meeting with Raimondo de Sangro, but I wouldn’t rule it out. It follows that there is no correspondence that links the two that I know of.
The story of the composition entitled Arcana Dei is my own invention, but that of the Sonata No. 1 in C major K 279 is not. Published, in fact, in 1774, some believe that the first movement, Allegro, had been composed years before. Why not in 1770? Apart from the date, there is something special about this composition. Apparently, it was composed on the basis of the so-called Fibonacci series, a sequence of numbers (1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34…) which seems to be fairly ubiquitous in nature. Perhaps the cathedral of Chartres itself was built bearing in mind this golden section. It seemed obvious to use it to reveal the place in which the Cathedral of the Nine Mirrors was hidden. As for Mozart, I would recommend the fine book by Lidia Bramani, Mozart Freemason and Revolutionary (Mozart massone e rivoluzionario – Bruno Mondadori, Pavia 2005).
Prague.
The beautiful Bohemian city was (and in some ways still is) a very active centre for alchemy, especially between the sixteenth and seventeenth century – in the day of Rudolf II, lover of art and occult sciences, the city teemed with alchemists, real or would-be. I have personally visited an alchemical laboratory, discovered in archaeological excavations, in which the original containers used for the experiments were recovered.
Hašek is the name of the Prague-born author of one of the most famous Czech novels, The Good Soldier Švejk, a hilarious anti-war collection of tales about the World War I soldier of the title. Worth reading if Kafka is not for you.
Naples.
I set the central part of the novel in my hometown, and grafted the imaginary onto existing places. Palazzo Penne exists – it is beautiful and – unfortunately, like so many monuments in our country – in need of restoration. The legend that it was built by the devil is a well known one.
Palazzo Sansevero, with the nearby chapel of the same name, is located in Piazza San Domenico Maggiore and it is magnificent. All places that are well worth a visit. Lorenzo Aragona find
s one of the clues under the main altar of the chapel, but I have never poked about in there so I don’t know if there actually is anything carved inside it, just as I don’t know if Masonic lodges meet or there are alchemical laboratories in Palazzo Sansevero. Who can say?
The optical effect of the statue in the Piazza del Gesù Nuovo is real and unnerving – just try positioning yourself down there in the late afternoon and then let me know. The marks on the indentations of the facade of the church are there too, but are almost certainly the signatures of the stonemasons who kept count in this way of the work they had done. Some of those marks, however, are highly reminiscent of alchemical symbols.
The imposing gate guarding the Royal Chapel of the Treasure of San Gennaro and realized by Cosimo Fanzago really does have the curious distinction of being ‘playable’. When you go to pay homage to St Gennaro, try tapping on the bars with your fingers. Maybe you’ll be able to play the Mozart sonata.
The In Parthenope Isidis Societas does not exist. It is the invention of Nicola di Martino, my friend and mentor. The phratries, however, actually did exist. In the Greco-Roman era, of course. In the Middle Ages they were called sedili. Via Sedile di Porto in Naples takes its name from one of these neighbourhood associations.
The jammer, the system which blocks out radio waves really exists, and something similar is used whenever President Obama is traveling.
To learn more about esoteric Naples, I always suggest starting with Esoteric Naples (Naples Esoterica – Newton Compton Editori, Rome 1996) by Mario Buonoconto and continuing with Siegfried Hoebel’s Neapolitan Mysteries (Misteri partenopei – Stamperia del Valentino, Naples 2004).
Chartres.
We could talk at length about the cathedral of Chartres, so I will attempt not to bore you.
Finding yourself in front of Notre-Dame de Chartres, walking beneath its windows and losing yourself in the labyrinth are experiences that elevate the spirit. It is considered one of the most beautiful and complete examples of the Gothic style.
According to what Caesar writes in the Gallic Wars, it seems that the druids met in a sacred forest there once a year. It was assumed that these meetings took place on the hill of Chartres, where archaeological evidence unearthed the remains of ancient Autricum, the Gallo-Roman name of Chartres, one of the most important cities of the Carnutes. The more imaginative believe that the cathedral was built upon ancient druidic dolmens, in turn raised there because of the powerful telluric forces present in the ground (the Celtic wyvern), while the more cautious claim that it is possible that the remains of a Gallo-Roman temple stand in the foundations.
As regards harmony and music, there are those who consider the Gothic cathedrals actual sounding boxes, constructed to elevate the faithful not only spiritually but also physically. According to Louis Charpentier, when you enter Chartres it seems natural to stand up straight in imitation of the soaring pillars.
But the full power of the music or sound in general remains to be discovered. The room of the oracle of the Hypogeum of Ħal Saflieni in Malta (excavated between 3600 and 2500 BC) was designed so that by whispering something into one opening in the rock one’s voice was perceived distinctly throughout the entire structure. And what of the complex of Göbekli Tepe in Turkey, perhaps begun in 9500 BC? Some argue that the forty stones forming the shape of a T can resonate like a great tuning fork, awakening telluric forces. A fascinating hypothesis.
If you are interested in Chartres, I recommend a couple of books that I found very helpful. The first is The Secrets of the Cathedrals (I segreti delle cattedrali – De Vecchi, Milan-Florence 2011) by Antonella Roversi Monaco, while the second is the fundamental The Mysteries of Chartres Cathedral by Louis Charpentier (Edizioni L’Età dell’acquario, Turin 2005). Of course, if you feel ready, you can also try Fulcanelli and his The Mystery of the Cathedrals (Il mistero delle cattedrali - Edizioni Mediterranee, Rome).
Thanks
This book, like the previous one, lived three lives before reaching, in this form, your hands. For each of those lives, I am indebted to many people, including relatives, friends and colleagues. I will thank them first randomly and then in alphabetical order.
First of all, once again, thanks to Raffaello Avanzini and Newton Compton for believing in me and in my project. I would like especially to thank my editor, Alessandra Penna, and her magic touch.
Thank to Nicola di Martino for his invaluable suggestions and because his tellings-off are good for me, and Yuliya Sanchenko who read the first draft and put up with those periods of isolation when Lorenzo Aragona demanded more attention than anybody else.
Thanks for his technical advice to G.L. Barone and to Fabio Sorrentino, both talented writers.
Finally, thanks to those who helped and encouraged me. In particular: my big fan Cristina Andretta, Alessandro Arpaia, the Aruta clan, Attilio Cantore, my close friend Diego Capezzuto, Nicola Fasciglione for the images, Stefano Lanciotti, Mitch Laurenzana, the Nikas clan (especially Constantino, Krini and Anthi), William Prada, Maria Grazia Ritrovato, Stefan Salvatore, Domenico Valente and the bookworm par excellence, aunty Pia.
About Martin Rua
MARTIN RUA is a scholar of the history of religions, specialising in freemasonry and alchemy. After a trip to Prague and Chartres he created Lorenzo Aragona, the central character in his novels, which combine adventure with esotericism.
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Addictive Fiction
First published in Italy in 2015 by Newton Compton
First published in the UK in 2016 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Martin Rua, 2015
The moral right of Martin Rua to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (E) 9781784978952
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