Eugenio looked at the advertisement. He was shorter and stouter than his companion and he was not given to excitement, but he could understand his friend’s agitation.
Years ago Carlo had told him of a very rare coin that his father had told him to seek because he thought that it had been made by one of their ancestors in the now-distant 1630 and it was precisely this story that had given rise to their acquaintance: it seemed that the coin had been produced in Masserano, and Eugenio’s father was born nearby.
“So, will you come with me to Paris? We’ll have fun.”
“I wish I could, you know that my wife, Chiara, hasn’t been well lately and as for going alone… well, you know how jealous she is!”
“I know, but we can say that we are not going alone, my father will be with us.”
“You are right, my dear friend, however, for the sake of a peaceful life, believe me, it is better that way.”
Eugenio turned and nodded to someone inside the shop, then he turned back to Carlo and said, “Let’s go and have a coffee, then you can tell me the whole story.”
Paris – 11th April 1929
The Hôtel Millennium was close to the Opéra, a very convenient location for visiting the city, but above all for reaching Hôtel Drouot, which was the reason for his trip. Carlo had arrived the previous evening on the express train from Geneva, then he had taken a taxi to the hotel recommended by Eugenio; an excellent hotel, it had opened one year ago and was decidedly luxurious with all the most recent comforts that technology could offer. It was also frequented by artists like Jean Cocteau and celebrities like Lindbergh, who lived there after his famous transatlantic flight.
He dressed almost as if he were attending a ceremony and set off on foot; after all, it was only a short walk, along the Boulevard Haussmann, turning right into rue Drouot.
He sniffed appreciatively at the spring air of Paris, feeling in a good mood; as an antiques dealer, he came to the city quite often.
The Hôtel Drouot had for many years been a source of business for Carlo, he was known personally at the auction house and had worked with a number of its experts. However, he had rarely dealt in coins and for this reason the person he was to meet was a new acquaintance and Carlo was very curious.
Carlo asked the concierge for monsieur Jakub Janowski, imagining him to be a Polish aristocrat who had fled to Paris during the war.
A messenger led him to the door of an office, where he knocked and announced to Janowski the presence of a visitor.
After the greetings and the polite exchange of comments on the Parisian weather, they got down to business: the registration for the auction and the examination of the coin.
It was an important numismatic auction and the coins for sale were, almost all, visible in four large display cabinets standing in the centre of the room. Two armed guards stood at the door.
As we said, almost all were visible, because some, actually half a dozen, could only be seen by appointment and in a private, well-protected room.
So, they approached a very stout door, defended by a guard with a rifle. Mr Janowski took out a bunch of keys and opened three locks, then he ushered Carlo into a lobby, followed him and locked the door behind them. Then he tapped a signal on the inner door, a peephole opened and finally the door was opened from inside by another armed guard.
The gold coin, ten scudi dated 1632 with a portrait of the Duke Vittorio Amedeo of Savoy, was not merely rare, it was one of only five known pieces. One belonged to the Tsar Nikolai II and was kept at the Hermitage in Leningrad. The second was in Rome, in the collection of Vittorio Emanuele III, the third in the Numismatic Cabinet of the Vatican and the fourth piece was held at the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Lyon.
What made these coins particularly rare and sought after by collectors was not only their intrinsic beauty, but also the fact that they were all counterfeits, of excellent quality, but still counterfeit.
Given their counterfeit nature, it was not known why they were produced, since they could not be spent: they were coins of the kind commonly called monete d’ostentazione, literally ostentation coins, since they were used exclusively by the powerful to show their status and not for commercial exchanges.
The mystery of their nature and certain curious events had given the coins a dark and evil reputation, or at least this was what the superstitious believed.
The fact was that they were certainly the reason for the death of the Duke Vittorio Amedeo I of Savoy. In fact, it was said that Cardinal Richelieu, who had by chance come to own them, had used them to disgrace the duke in the eyes of the king, Louis XIII. The duke had died shortly afterwards, certainly not by chance, poisoned during a banquet served in his honour.
By a curious coincidence, the coins also brought little good fortune to cardinal, who had kept them for his private collection, because he died suddenly just a few years later.
It was as if a strange and evil fate awaited the owners of these coins: almost all of those who inherited them had little luck and many were overwhelmed by circumstances and not only during the revolution of 1789.
Another striking case, at least amongst the numismatists, concerned Marie Duplessis, the famous ‘lady of the camellias’. A mocking similarity in their names, certainly not kinship, casually linked Marie to the dynasty, du Plessis, of Cardinal Richelieu. At the start of 1847, Marie received the gift of a gold coin from one of her admirers, the coin that Carlo Fantone was now admiring, and a few months later she died of tuberculosis, young and regretted by the whole of Paris.
“É veramente stupenda!” exclaimed Carlo in Italian.
“That is true Signor Fantone, but believe me chella è na seccia, chella ammarca 'a peste.” (In Neapolitan dialect ‘it is cursed and will bring bad luck).
Carlo slipped off his monocle and stared in amazement at the ‘Polish’ gentleman.
“But… Forgive me, I beg you, I thought that you were Swiss French, therefore I spoke to you in French. Which you speak very well.”
“Signor Fantone, you are very kind, but that is one of my two mother tongues: the second is Neapolitan.”
“That is curious, since your name is somewhat… exotic.”
The ‘Polish-Neapolitan’ leaned back in his armchair and laughed delightedly at the remark.
“My great-grandfather Jakub Janowski, whose name I have the honour to bear, was in fact from Poland, where the aristocratic families spoke French. My great-grandfather was an officer in Napoleon’s army when Poland became a French protectorate and in 1815, he found himself in Napoli, where he met my great-grandmother.
“Ahh… what a romantic story!” laughed Carlo, then he continued. “Excuse me Signor Janowski, but what did you say before? ‘Chell’…?”
“Ah! Chella ammarca ‘a peste? It is a Neapolitan saying that means something brings bad luck: a hex, a jinx!” said Janowski, clasping the traditional horn of red coral that he wore on his watch chain.
“I would not want that coin even if it were a gift. It is an evil totem.”
“Oh come now, we both know that these are legends, rumours. You who have handled it every day for the last week are quite well!” retorted Carlo, amused and irritated at the same time.
“Certainly, but apart from certain precautions,” he indicated the coral amulet, “the coin is not mine. I am merely the temporary custodian.”
“Well, believe whatever you want. The coin will be auctioned the day after tomorrow, right?” asked Carlo as he left.
“Certainly, Signor Fantone, it will be one of the last lots and it will be auctioned the day after tomorrow, Friday the thirteenth of April!”
Janowski shook Carlo’s hand, keeping his left hand behind his back in a vigorous and protective typically Neapolitan gesture.
Paris – 12th April 1929
Signor Siro Fantone
Piazza Sant’Antonio
Locarno
Switzerland
Dear Father,
&n
bsp; I have arrived in Paris and tomorrow I will be present at the auction of ‘our’ coin, which I hope we will be successful in buying.
Today I went to Drouot where I met a surprising character: our interlocutor Monsieur Janowski is not Polish, as we believed, or at least, only in part. He comes from a noble Neapolitan family; his great-grandfather came to Italy with Napoleon and settled in Napoli. Life is certainly full of surprises!
What I still cannot understand is how such a competent and respected person can be so superstitious: he was terrified by the coin, almost as if the stories about it were true. He is convinced, he told me so in a dialectal saying that I cannot recall, that the coin brings bad luck!
Yesterday, when I returned to meet our acquaintances at Drouot, I asked their opinion of Signor Janowski and everyone, I mean every single person, praised and complimented his competence and his expertise!
Truly, I cannot understand how a person of his calibre can possibly believe in such superstitions.
Your son Carlo
Locarno – 13th April 1929
Monsieur Carlo Fantone
Chez Hôtel Millennium
Boulevard Haussmann
Paris
My dear Carlo
The behaviour of our ‘Polish’ friend does not surprise me particularly, since you will forgive your old father for having so far hidden a curious and at the same time disquieting aspect of the coin that we are trying to purchase. When you return I will tell you the whole story and the origin, which will certainly surprise you, of this curious piece. For now, it is sufficient for you to know that there is some truth in the bad reputation that accompanies the coin but to be honest, I also hoped that with time and better education people would finally cease believing in this nonsense, I was wrong.
I wish you every success at today’s auction and look forward to hearing your news.
Your father.
Paris – 13th April 1929
Signor Siro Fantone
Piazza Sant’Antonio
Locarno
Switzerland
Dear Father,
You will know from the telegram that I sent a little earlier that we were not successful at the auction. I certainly did not expect to meet such determined opposition from our adversary, who I have learned is an American collector from the city of New York, whose main activity concerns dealing on the stock exchange.
He was not present in person, but was represented by a French lady, Thérèse Milaud, very elegant and attractive, to whom I later introduced myself, complimenting her on her success and leaving with her our address in case the buyer should change his mind and decide to sell the coin.
I return home empty-handed, I no longer even want to enjoy an evening in Paris.
We will speak soon,
Your son Carlo.
Locarno – 15th April 1929
“Well Carlo, what has happened? What was this Thérèse Milaud like, she seems to have bewitched you to the point where you lost the auction… and your heart?”
Siro Fantone observed his son with a sly air from behind his golden spectacles, which made him look like the Conte di Cavour.
“What do you mean bewitched, Father? I wish she had given me the slightest sign or chance: nothing! She is truly a very beautiful woman.”
“That is precisely what I meant! You see I was not wrong.”
“Rubbish, it was not her charms that beat me, but the offer of two hundred thousand francs, I repeat, two… hundred… thousand! They may be French francs but, goodness, that is four thousand of our francs: you can buy more than ten kilos of pure gold for that! But where would we find a sum like that?”
Siro was sitting in a chair behind his desk. He stared at his son, drew heavily on his cigar and puffing out the smoke he nodded before speaking.
“It is really amazing how these Americans buy almost anything with a total disregard for the cost… he was American, am I right?”
“Yes, but of Dutch origin, his name is van Buren.”
“As I said, I am amazed by the way these Americans can spend absurd sums, I would not have spent more than twenty thousand francs, perhaps it is just because the coin has a reputation for being jinxed.”
“No, no, Janowski used another expression, most unusual.”
Siro got up; he took a volume from the bookcase behind him and began to turn the pages.
“Did he perhaps say… bring…”
“No, it started differently.”
“Ammarca ‘a peste?”
“That’s it. But why are you so interested in that phrase?”
“Nothing in particular! It just helps me to understand people. Anyway, it is just a matter of rumours and the exaggerations of popular gullibility, but there are circumstances that I would call disquieting. Sit down, take a cigar and listen.”
Carlo settled comfortably in a chair and after pouring himself a glass of sherry, he lit a cigarette and began to listen to Siro’s story.
Locarno – 15th April 1929
“You know that our family has a rather… well, a rather curious history, I would say. Until the last century, our ancestors handed down a profession that had lasted at least from the mid-sixteenth century. It was never openly mentioned because it was an activity that carried many risks, not because it was illegal, but because the intention of those who commissioned our ancestor’s work were not always honest.
The coins and the medallions that my great-grandfather was still engraving and minting in 1798 at Maccagno for the Marquis Borromeo were authentic and of good quality, but in the past that was not always the case.
You know that I now ‘waste my time’ as you call it, searching the parish records and the aristocratic archives for traces that will allow me to reconstruct our origins. So far, I have arrived at Sabbioneta where the parish registers show that a man called Jacopo Fantone had come to live in the village: where he came from and why he arrived there, I did not know.
Last month, while I was reading for the umpteenth time the register of the jobs that Jacopo’s son began to keep when he arrived in Angera at the start of seventeen hundred, the volume fell from my grasp and the cover came away. I took it immediately to Meralli, you know the bookbinder who has a workshop in via delle Monache, and the following day he called me to say that he had found something.
There were some pages with writing on them that had been glued to the cover and Meralli, who is very deft, had been able to separate them.”
Siro had stopped for a moment, both to create a little suspense and to catch his breath. Carlo, impatient, encouraged him to continue and asked rather irritably, why he was only mentioning this discovery now.
“It is all written in those few pages which it was not easy to decipher, because the ink is old and the handwriting is difficult to interpret. The person who is writing is Jacopo; I think he did so at the end of 1600, when he was settled in Sabbioneta. He also worked at the mint and he had learned his trade from his father… but he had a different surname. Jacopo’s mother and father were killed in an arson attack from which the boy escaped quite by chance. Taken for dead he fled and was later adopted by a childless couple from whom he took his surname: Fantone.
The fire occurred in Masserano and, as Jacopo discovered much later, had been deliberately set because of a coin, or rather, because of a dozen coins. One of them is the one the coin that we did not manage to buy.”
Carlo did not move, he stared at his father, while his cigarette slowly burnt down between his fingers, dropping ash onto the carpet. He shook himself and asked,
“A dozen coins? I thought they had minted lots of them and that they had been lost. Exactly how many were there?”
“There were eleven, yes, precisely eleven. Now listen. I am certain that Jacopo was the great-great grandfather of my great-great grandfather! While for you he would be… well it gets a bit complicated!
He was certainly talented, he was only a boy and yet he not only surv
ived, he also continued his father’s trade. His father had, on behalf of a very important personage whose name Jacopo does not give, secretly made eleven counterfeit coins with the effigy of the Duke Vittorio Amedeo of Savoy. These coins were not only adroit fakes designed to discredit the duke, they also included, and this was a secret known only to Jacopo and his father, a reduced quantity of gold. The rest was a material that at the time had almost no value, because no one knew how to work it, since it had a very high melting point. Jacopo’s father used it in powder as ballast, instead of the gold he was given, which had almost the same density.
The Spaniards, who had discovered it in America, first thought that it was silver, then since they could not use it in any way, the treated it as waste material and often just threw it away. Imagine! Imagine that they despised it so much the called it platina that is ‘little silver’.
It was platinum. Pla-ti-num!”
“But how is it that these coins have earned such a notorious reputation and where are all the others?”
“We don’t know how, Jacopo does not tell us, but all the other coins ended up in France, less one, which I will tell you about in a minute. What is more, they all finished in the hands of Cardinal Richelieu! The cardinal, who did not admire the Duke of Savoy, thought that he had an opportunity to get rid of him by making him look like a traitor in the eyes of King Louis XIII. I say this, because the duke represented on the coins died of poisoning shortly afterwards, perhaps it was merely a coincidence, however…
The cardinal wanted to keep the coins for himself and perhaps it is just a coincidence also in this case, but from that moment on his health began to fail him. Five years later, he was still relatively young, not yet sixty years old, he died of tuberculosis, which the doctors had mistaken for an ulcer.
A Bad Coin Always Turns Up Page 4