Secretum

Evening the Sixth

12th J ULY, 1700

This time, my work place was in the garden, of course, need I say dressed as a janissary, setting up the artificial lights for the opera galante which was about to be staged. I was to work under the guidance of the Major-Domo, Don Paschatio Melchiorri, who in his turn had been well instructed by the architect of the scenery. The latter had in fact had a rather original idea: to make of these preparations, which were in fact quite unusual, a spectacle in its own right, to attract and entertain the guests while they awaited the start of the performance.

The area had been provided with a work table and, in the middle, a fire, on which a cauldron of water had been put to boil. A group of cardinals drew near, intrigued by these activities.

"We shall now put up various transparent colours for the embellishment of this evening's scenic jest, and first of all the colour sapphire, or sky-blue, which is also the most beautiful," announced Don Paschatio, resplendent in dress livery, in town crier's tones. I, meanwhile, followed him with a barber's basin and a brass vase under my arms, as well as a shoulder bag.

"Master of the Fowls, take a piece of sal ammoniac from your bag. Rub it on the bottom and the sides of the basin until it is all used up, then add a little water, but very little. The more the salt, the more splendid the colour."

I obeyed, after which he made me filter the water with a felt pad and pour it into the brass vase. I was astounded to see that the water which came out of this was sapphire-coloured. He then made me pour part of this into two large glass jars of a curious half- moon shape, one half of which was convex, the other concave."And now," proclaimed Don Paschatio, "we shall make Emerald Water." Thereupon, he drew from the bag a little jar containing a certain yellow powder which looked just like saffron.

He poured a little of this into one containing sky-blue water, stirred it quickly with a spoon and the liquid at once changed colour, becoming green.

We then dissolved some rock alum in the cauldron of boiling water, made it foam and decanted it through a piece of felt into five different containers, the last of which was almost as big as a cauldron.

"And here is the colour ruby," declaimed Don Paschatio to the bystanders, pouring into the first jar a few drops of highly coloured vermilion wine, which promptly dyed the water a rather bright red.

"And now for the Afghan red!" exclaimed the Major-Domo, pouring red wine and white together into the second jar.

Into the last two containers, he poured a Frascati wine and a little bottle of Marino red.

"And here for you, last but not least, the colour page-grey, and topaz!" said he smugly, while stupefaction was painted on the faces of all those lords and eminences.

"And this?" asked Cardinal Moriggia, pointing at the biggest receptacle.

"This remains as it is: it will reproduce the colour diamond, which is that of the sun in the Greek Islands," said Don Paschatio, who had never been to Greece and was with some success repeating parrot-fashion the instructions passed down to him by the scenery designer.

With this, the spectacle of the preparation of the colours came to an end. What we were about to accomplish next, explained Don Paschatio, was to be kept out of sight of prying eyes.

"Otherwise, if they discover the trick, there's an end to the wonder of it," said he, talking furtively. With the help of other servants, we took the jars behind the painted backcloth, representing the countryside in Cyprus. There, we found a wooden panel with holes in it. We positioned the jars so that they filled these holes with their convex sides, standing them on tripod supports. On the concave side, so as better to receive the light, we placed a lamp designed to provide light of constant intensity.

"Lift the biggest container up there," the Major-Domo ordered me, "and instead of a lamp, put a big torch behind it. Then, behind that, place a well-polished shaving bowl so that the light from the flame is reflected forward as much as possible."

Great was my surprise when, emerging from the wings to admire the results of all these preparations, I beheld a lusty sun sparkling like a diamond in the painted Cypriot sky of the back- cloth and shining paternally on fresh, luminous greenery and flowers coloured ruby, red and topaz, while the sapphire glint of the distant sea was capped by the page grey foam of the waves.

The stage had, moreover, been decorated with trees, hills, little mountains, grasses, flowers, fountains and even rustic huts, all fashioned from the finest of many-coloured silk. Thus, the liberality of the munificent Cardinal Spada and the art and skill of the architect, both enemies of ugly parsimony, had led to the destruction of much of the work of the Master Florist, so that all these things might be recreated in silk, making them even more praiseworthy than if they had been natural. The sea was rich in little cliffs, conch shells, sea snails and other creatures, coral trunks of every colour, mother-of-pearl and marine crabs nestling between the rocks, with such a variety of beautiful things that were I to attempt to describe them, I should expatiate for far too long.

The stage was simply lit with pairs of hanging torches, since the spectacle was to begin in the late afternoon when daylight is still bright and generous. Other lamps also gave both actors and spectators not only splendid lights but superb perfumes: bowls of camphor water were suspended above chandeliers or torches, so that, in accordance with the architect Serlio's formulae, they spread gentle glimmers and soft effluvia, thus preparing the hearts and minds of those present for the pleasures of the performance. In the meanwhile, the terraces, furnished with comfortable sateen-upholstered armchairs, had filled with the noble public. I too stopped briefly to admire the stage: obviously, sitting on the ground. From my awkward position, far too much to one side, I could however overhear some of the comments of the guests seated in the front rows. A trio of gentlemen was particularly voluble; I heard them exchanging jokes while the actors were coming on stage.

"The last performance I recall attending was in March, at the Palace of the Chancellery: Scarlatti's oratorio ' La Santissima Annunziata" said one of the three.

"That for which Cardinal Ottoboni wrote the text?"

"That one."

"What was the Cardinal's verse like? Was it good?"

"Terrible. Far from an Ottobonbon, 'twas truly awful — just a load of Ottobombast," replied the other.

The three gentlemen laughed heartily as they joined the audience's applause welcoming the actors.

"Apropos things terrible, what do you think of Giovan Domenico Bonmattei Pioli's play?"

"The one that was published in January last year?"

"A real horror. It was commissioned by Ottoboni, who is a member of the most learned Academy of Arcadia, but Pioli's plays are really quite nauseatingly crude."

Smiles all round. It goes without saying that the Scarlatti oratorio in March, a good four months earlier, was by no means the last spectacle the gentleman "remembered" attending… What was, however, abundantly clear was the trio's scant sympathy for the Ottoboni faction. This cardinal enjoyed a considerable following at that moment and they were — like all good theatregoers and participants in the Roman social round — enjoying the opportunity for malicious gossip, with an elegant exchange of salacious jokes at their victim's expense.

"His Holiness must again be suffering from poor health," said the third gentleman, changing the subject. "Today was the ninth anniversary of his accession. At the Quirinale, they held a service in the Pontifical Chapel, but he did not attend."

"I can tell you what was wrong with him: he was suffering from the jostling he's been given by the Spanish Ambassador and his cronies."Really?" said one of the other two. "Do you mean that they have at last succeeded in convincing him?"

"A sick old man like him could hardly stand up for long to sly foxes of that calibre."

"Poor man, the thing must have lasted until lunchtime," added the third speaker. "His Holiness came out only in the afternoon, when he went forth into the city and received much applause."

"All merited, for that poor saintly, martyred Pope."

"Let us hope that the Lord will soon call him to his glory, to put an end to his sufferings; after all, there's nothing to be done now…"

"Quiet, lupus in fabula," said the third, pointing towards the drive from which Cardinal Spada was arriving, followed by the bridal couple, greeted by a renewed salvo of applause.

With a brief gesture, the master of the house called for the play to begin. This was a farce from the pen of the Roman Epifanio Gizzi, entitled Love, the Prize of Constancy. Both title and content were consonant with noble sentiments and with the gifts of fidelity and perseverance called for by the sacred bonds of matrimony.

The stage, still empty of actors, opened onto a series of effects most pleasing to the spectators. The architect had arranged for a number of sets of little lay figures to be prepared, cut out from thick cardboard and coloured, and these crossed an arch placed on stage, running along a wooden rail placed on the ground with a dovetail joint. The operator, who was none other than the architect himself, remained hidden behind the arch and the scene was accompanied by quiet music both vocal and instrumental. At the same time and by means of the same cardboard cut-out technique, the moon and the planets crossed the heavens, pulled invisibly by a black wire. The operetta was well made and the public enjoyed it no little. The scene was set on the Isle of Cyprus. The protagonists were two gentlemen, Rosauro and Armillo, the latter accompanied by his coarse servant Barafone. With numerous ups and downs, the pair vied for the favours of two damsels, Florinda and Celidalba. After innumerable tricks and turns of fate (duels, shipwrecks, famines, disguises, fires, attempted suicides) it was revealed that Armillo was really called Alcesti and that he was Celidalba's brother, while her real name was Lindori. Florinda, meanwhile, after several times disdaining Rosau- ro's attentions, gave in at the end and even married him, thus showing that love is indeed always the prize of constancy.

The cavaliers wore splendid costumes, made of rich cloth of gold and silk, and even the servant's jerkin was lined with the finest skins of wild beasts. The fishermen's nets which appeared on the beach were of fine gold and the apparel of nymphs and shepherdesses, too, threw down the gauntlet to meanness.

While the actors drew the applause and laughter of the noble public, I cooperated backstage with the other servants in producing the most varied scenic effects. We simulated a stupefyingly realistic shipwreck. For thunder, we ran a large stone across the wooden floor; for lightning, we reeled across the stage a spool covered with sparkling gold which flashed just like the real thing. For sheet lightning, I stood behind the wings holding a little box in my hand with powdered paint in it and a lid full of holes; in the middle of the lid, there was a lit firework, of the kind that creates rather good effects of lightning. We put all the effects — thunder, lightning, flashes — together at the same time, with the greatest possible success.

The shipwrecked voyagers landing on the beach in Cyprus were warmed on stage by means of a fire which we lit using a firework and the most potent aqua vitae, and it lasted a long while, to the amazement of the spectators.

While I was thus working backstage, my mind was busied with very different matters. To what were the gentlemen referring whom I had overheard saying that the Spanish Ambassador, Count Uzeda, had at last succeeded in convincing the Pope? By the sound of what they were saying, it seemed that he and others had put pressure on the dying Pope to induce him to do something of which Innocent XII was clearly not convinced. Concerning Uzeda, I knew only what I had read in the correspondence between Atto and the Connestabilessa: the SpanishAmbassador had transmitted to His Holiness the request for help from Charles II.

Whatever could they have wanted to convince him of? And who were the other "sly foxes" who were supposed to have worked so unscrupulously with Uzeda to persuade the old Pontiff to yield? The three gentlemen whom I had just overheard were sincerely sorry for the Pope, who was suffering and seemed no longer to have any power. Did not these words bring to mind similar considerations on the part of the Connestabilessa? She had written that the Pope was often reported as saying, "We are denied the dignity which is due to the Vicar of Christ and there is no care for us." Who dared thus ill-treat the successor of Saint Peter?

Lupus in fabula, one of the three gentlemen had whispered when Cardinal Spada appeared, whereupon the conversation had broken off suddenly. What did all that mean? That my most benign master, Cardinal Fabrizio, was perhaps one of the "sly foxes" in question?

"I am delighted to find that what the most learned Father Mabillon said about the libraries of Rome is still true, for they are still in the same excellent condition as when I first came to Italy many years ago," said Buvat enthusiastically.

After the performance, Abbot Melani had returned to his apartments, followed by myself, and had asked his secretary to report to him on what elements he had succeeded in gathering in the course of his research. The time had at last come to know what Abbot Melani's faithful servant had been up to in the course of his peregrinations across the city.

"Buvat, forget that Father Mabillon and tell me what you have succeeded in doing," Atto urged him.

The secretary examined a little pile of papers hastily annotated in minuscule handwriting.

"In the first place, I obtained the advice of Benedetto Millino, the former librarian of Christina of Sweden, who…"

"I am not interested in what he advised you. What did you find?" Buvat said that this was precisely what he was on the point of explaining: he had been to the library of La Sapienza, to the Angelica, to the Barberini Library at the Quattro Fontane, to those of the College of the Penitentiary at Saint Peter's, the College of the Minor Franciscan Fathers at San Giovanni in Laterano, then the Penitentiaries of the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore; to the Vallicelliana near the Chiesa Nuova, the library of the Collegio Clementino, the Colonna or Sirleta, the libraries of Sant'Andrea della Valle of the Theatine Fathers and of Trinita dei Monti, belonging to the Minim Fathers of San Francesco di Paola, to that of the most Eminent Cardinal Casanate of happy memory, now taken over by the Dominican Fathers, as well as…

"Go on, go on. The main thing is that you have not set foot in the Jesuits' or the Vatican libraries. They are nests of spies and they would have registered and checked on everything."

"I did as you ordered me, Signor Abbot."

"And I hope that, in the third place, you abstained from visiting the private libraries of cardinals, like the Chigiana or the Pamphiliana."

"Yes indeed, Signor Abbot. That would have been far too visible, as you yourself did not fail to point out to me."

That triple abstinence had in fact cost him no little trouble, since in the Apostolic Vatican Library or that of the Jesuits, as well as in the libraries of cardinals' families, Buvat would have had far less difficulty in finding the manuscripts which he was looking for. Fortunately, showing his accreditation as a scribe at the Royal Library in Paris, he had at once been well received at the other great libraries which he had visited. He had been able to touch and even to turn the pages of a Greek codex eight centuries old containing the famous Commentary on the Dream of Nebuchadnezzar composed by Saint Hippolytus, Bishop of Oporto; then he had for the first time been able to consult the famous Antiquities of Pirro Ligorio in eighteen volumes; and also, the works of sacred and profane erudition of the Cavaliere Giacovacci and a Latin codex with the Acts of the Council of Chalcedon emended from the original. His palms had then touched with trembling the personal library of Saint Philip Neri at the Biblioteca Vallicelliana, in which are to be found the Life of Saint Erasmus, Martyr written by Giovanni Soddiacono, a monk at Monte Cassino, who subsequently became pope under the name of Gelasius II (of which, Buvat stressed, the eighteenth volume contains, as is well known, the ancient Collation of Cresconio), a most important codex of the Venerable Bede on the Lunar Circle and the Six Ages of the World and the collections of Achille Stazio Portoghese, Giacomo Volponi da Adria and Vincenzo Bandalocchi, not to mention the famous repertories of the lawyer Ercole Ronconi.

But the most moving visit had been that to the library of the College of the Propaganda Fidei, famed for its printing press where, with magnanimous and providential zeal, and for the benefit of all nations, books are printed in no fewer than twenty-two languages. A special glory of this library, recounted Abbot Melani's secretary, is the most accurate set of indexes of the books in its possession, including the most unusual books printed in foreign nations, listed by languages, varieties of customs, strange religious usages and habits; writings in the most exotic characters, emblems, ciphers, hieroglyphics, colours; and those with mysterious lines traced on elephant's leather, pork rind, fish membranes and dragon's skin.

"Enough, Buvat, enough, damn you!" cursed Atto, beating his fist on his knee. "What do I care about books printed on fish skin? How is it that, whenever you have to do with books or manuscripts, you always allow yourself to be distracted?"

Silence descended upon our trio. Humiliated, Buvat said nothing. I was impressed by the number of libraries which the French scribe had visited; within a short space of time, he had been through a great part of the bibliographic resources of the city — admittedly situated a short distance from one another — which were universally known to be immense, thanks to the accumulation over the centuries of books both printed and manuscript by dozens of popes and cardinals. Clearly, only a boundless passion for letters and scripture could have inspired so extensive and detailed a search. What a pity, then, that Atto's secretary found it so difficult to pass from analysis to synthesis."Buvat, I sent you out to search through books because in this city, everyone talks about certain things yet no one knows what they are talking about. Report to me only on what I ordered you to investigate: the cerretani," the Abbot requested. "So, what have you to tell me about their secret language?"

"It is very difficult," answered Buvat, this time in a distinctly less enthusiastic tone of voice. "The catchpolls can, it is true, learn a few rudiments, but only regular daily practice can enable one to understand correctly what it is that they mutter to one another. It is an ancient language but, from time to time, when they realise that it is no longer impenetrable, they renovate it a little, with minor changes, just the minimum necessary to make it completely incomprehensible once more. Rigid cerretano tradition requires that their king, or Maggiorengo Generale, and only he, may dictate the new rules. He writes them with his own hand (for which reason he cannot be illiterate) and the script is read at a general meeting with representatives of all the sects, who then arrange to spread the new codex far and wide. Thus, for centuries, only they have spoken their language, nor can anyone inform against them, not even when they steal the military secrets of the realm and pass them to an enemy."

"Espionage!" snarled Atto. "There, I knew it! That accursed Lamberg!"

"But how do they obtain secrets?" I asked.

"First of all, they always pass unobserved. No one pays any attention to an old, seemingly half-witted, beggar slumped by the roadside," said Buvat, "and yet he always sleeps with one eye open, observes when you enter and leave the house, sees who's with you, listens to your conversations from under the window and, if the opportunity presents itself, steals things from under your nose. What's more, there are so, so many of them, and word gets around very fast among them. Supposing one sees something, ten will know of it at once, then a hundred. No one can tell them from one another, for they all look the same, ugly and dirty, and above all no one can understand a word of what they say when they talk. Their sects…"

"Hold on: did you look in that book which I told you of?" Yes, Signor Abbot. As I thought, Sebastian Brant's Ship of Fools contains a chapter on German canters. They too have a secret language and are in close contact with the Italian cerretani. So much so that among Italian vagabonds there are groups known as lanzi, lancresine or lanchiesine, probably because those names come from the German landreisig, meaning stray and homeless. What's more, every group of.. "

"Ah, so they're in close contact. Good, excellent; go on."

"Yes. The Ship of Fools is an excellent historical source for the study of canters and cerretani and their customs, 'tis perhaps even the first such book since it was published in Basel for the Carnival of 1494, while the so-called Liber vagatorum, which is regarded as the oldest surviving document on canters, was already circulating at the end of the fifteenth century but was printed only in 1510…"

"Get to the point."

Buvat hurriedly drew a sheet of paper from his pocket and read:

They speak a sort of pedlars' French;

They beg and thus their thirst they quench,

Their doxies clothe and bed and board'em

By mumpin', filchin' and by whoredom.

They limp their way across the city,

In robust health, arousing pity.

And what they win, the canter soaks,

Then rolls false dice the bens to hoax.

He'll beat his heels and begone quick

As soon as he has pinched the wick He always plays it fast and loose -

He'll snitch a hen or swipe a deuce,

Which he unleashes, grins and sells

To please the heels, and charm the dells.

In the wide-open, in the mud,

He'll cheat the chewers of the cud.

Every which where, through town and village,

These beggars scrounge and steal and pillage.

"Here at last we have the gibberish, their secret language. Translate!" The doxies are the bawds, mumping and filching are begging and stealing, to soak is to drink, a ben is a fool, pinching the wick means to defraud, to beat one's heels means to run for it, the wide-open means the countryside, deuce is a goose, to unleash means to strangle, to grin means to cut off someone's head, the heels are the accomplices in crime, dells are buxom young wenches, and lastly chewers of the cud are the bumpkins and riff-raff."

Buvat had rattled all this off in one long breath, without the Abbot or I understanding a word of what he had said.

"Good, good," commented Atto. "Excellent, my compliments. So now, at least, the cant language is no longer a secret to us."

"Ummm… to tell the truth, Signor Abbot," stammered the secretary, "I did not translate the gibberish quoted by Brant: the edition which I consulted was annotated."

"What? Are you saying that you found no other terms for the cant language…?" Melani assailed him.

"No dictionary, manual or list. Nothing whatever, Signor Abbot Melani," confessed Buvat with a sigh. "So the language of the cerretani remains completely undecipherable. I guarantee you, no glossary exists which…"

"Are you telling me that you have been loafing at my expense for days on end in libraries," roared Atto, "sifting through old papers and scribbling, wasting precious time on Greek codexes, the acts of Church councils and other such idiocies, all to come up with this?"

"Really…" the secretary attempted to object.

"And I, who went so far as to intercede on your behalf to get you an increase in pay from that miser of a chief librarian of yours!"

"In any case, he did not grant me any…" Buvat dared contradict with a quavering voice. "But, getting back to the dictionary which you requested of me, Signor Abbot, you must believe me…"

"There's no time: we must act now."

Ugonio had kept his word. As agreed, through a filthy little boy who acted as his courier, he had informed Sfasciamonti where we were to meet him. The ride on horseback was initially free from danger or discomfort. The rendezvous was in a place outside the city walls, beyond Piazza del Popolo, at the cemetery of the harlots.

As we rode, I was able to question Atto without being overheard by Sfasciamonti, who went some way ahead of us, while Buvat trailed wearily behind.

"Yesterday, you said that Buvat was collecting evidence with which to entrap Lamberg. I must confess that your words were something of a mystery to me."

"It is quite straightforward. Unless one has a burning desire to arrive at the truth, one will never get at it," he replied with a smile, as though challenging me. "Anyway, it really is simple; just listen to me. The cerretani ambushed the bookbinder who, whether it was fate or something less, died as a result. What did they want from poor Haver? My treatise on the Secrets of the Conclave. This was a theft on commission, for those tramps would certainly not know what to do with such a thing. From Haver, the cerretani took all that they could. But afterwards, examining the stolen goods, the person who ordered the theft found that my treatise was missing."

"Because you had already withdrawn it from the coronaro?'

"Exactly."

"And you are quite sure that Count Lamberg is behind all this."

"But of course. The prime mover, as one can see from the whole context, has excellent connections in Rome — men, money, protectors — and is interested in matters of high diplomacy. He knows full well that Abbot Melani too enjoys discreet support from several quarters and knows facts and persons that could prove decisive at the next conclave. All of this fits in perfectly with Count Lamberg."

While the clip-clop of the horses' hooves echoed between us, I chewed over Atto's explanation. I thought of the grim figure of the Imperial Ambassador, of his sphinx-like expression and the sinister fame that accompanied the Empire's meddling in Spain's affairs: the conspiracies, the mysterious deaths, the poisonings…

"The break-in at Haver's place was carried out by the cerretani'," Atto resumed, "and just bear in mind the coincidence that in the German-speaking lands there also exist other canting sects which are somehow linked to the Italian ones. Lamberg may perfectly well be familiar with suchlike rascals who, thanks to their accursed skills, are capable of getting up to just about anything. Add to that the fact that our dearly beloved tomb robber Ugonio, alias the powerful German, who is in cahoots with the cerretani, also happens to come from Vienna. And this brings us to the next stage. Since the move against the bookbinder failed, Ugonio came to look for my treatise at Villa Spada. And this time, they found it."

"And the wound to your arm?" I asked, already guessing at the explanation.

"Easy. Lamberg wanted to intimidate me; and seriously. He hoped that I'd take fright and run away."

"So he did not mean to kill you. There is, however, something I do not understand: why, among all the diplomats and agents of His Most Christian Majesty present here in Rome should Lamberg have taken aim at you?"

"But it is quite obvious, my boy! He knows that my words and writings are heard and read by influential persons and that I can act on some of the most eminent members of the Sacred College, who are preparing… well, they're preparing for the next papal election, a matter which is obviously close to Lamberg's heart."

I was struck by Atto's hesitation in explaining why Count Lamberg should have wanted to filch his treatise. I had my own good reasons for this. From my clandestine reading of the correspondence between Atto and Maria, I knew that the conclave was not the only game involving the Pope, as Atto was trying to get me to believe. There was also the matter of the Spanish succession.

And precisely that aspect of the question remained unclear to me. Why had Atto, in reconstructing all that had happened to him (the theft, the wound to his arm) failed to make any reference whatever to the Spanish succession? Yet Lamberg, the Ambassador of the Habsburgs, must take a lively interest in the question, seeing that the House of Austria aspired to place one of its members on the Spanish throne!

I pretended to be satisfied with Abbot Melani's explanation and for the rest of the way we rode in silence. Gloomy and sinister was the place where our meeting was to be held, and perfectly in keeping with Ugonio's lugubrious cowled silhouette which awaited us in the midst of the expanse of tombstones. Some nocturnal raptor disturbed the air with its eldritch screeches; the air of that warm night, almost as though impregnated with some black secretions from mortal remains, was in that neglected churchyard even denser, murkier, more torrid. Ugonio had chosen well: for a clandestine meeting, there could be no better place than the harlots' cemetery.

The corpisantaro approached, staggering under the weight of a great jute sack which he bore on his shoulders.

"What have you in there?" asked Atto.

"A merest ineptitude of nothingnesses. Jubilleous objectitions."

Atto circled him and prodded the sack with his hands. The loot creaked and clattered as though the bag had been crammed to the limit with all manner of objects: wooden, metal and bone.

"So business is thriving now that there's the Jubilee?"

Ugonio nodded with false modesty.

"This is a lady's hand mirror," Abbot Melani diagnosed, groping at a corner of the sack, "stolen from some poor dame as she prayed in church. The little purseful of coin just next to it will be the proceeds of alms obtained from the ingenuous by one of your dirty tricks, or else your ruffian's fee for taking a group of pilgrims exhausted by their travels to some overpriced doss-house. This must be a most holy sacrament filched from some distracted parish priest; and this must be a crucifix, perhaps lifted off some confraternity during their visit to the four basilicas, am I not right?"

The corpisantaro could not suppress a bestial half-smiling grimace which betrayed shame at the unmasking of his evildoing and gloating delight at the opportunities which the Jubilee offered him for satisfying his base appetites. He then drew a little book out from his greatcoat and handed it to Melani. It was in rather poor condition, and poorly bound; judging by its size it could not contain more than eighty pages. Atto opened it at the frontispiece as I craned over and read:

A new way of understanding the cant lingo.

Or how to speak St Giles' Greek newly brought up to date in Alphabetical Order.

A work no less pleasant than useful MDXLV

In Ferrara by Giovanmaria di Michieli and Antonio Maria di Sivieri, Companions.

Anno MDXLV

"Aha!" the Abbot jubilated, flourishing it under Buvat's nose.

"What is it?" I asked.

"What my good secretary was supposed to find: a glossary enabling one to understand the canters' language — or Saint Giles' Greek, if you prefer. It will help us to understand what the cerretani are saying. 'Tis a good thing that I also asked Ugonio to find this somewhere," replied Atto, slipping a couple of silver coins into the corpisantaro' s claws.

"I bestole it off a goodlious old friendly," declared Ugonio with a mean snigger.

"From what I can see, it is an old edition; I doubt if it will be very reliable," interjected Atto's secretary, nervously scrutinising the book.

"Silence Buvat, and read it to me," the Abbot cut him short.

We began to leaf through the pages:

A

There followed all the letters of the alphabet, each with its double list of words from ordinary language and a translation into the jargon of the cerretani, and vice versa.

'"Tis a truly strange glossary," insisted Buvat, looking sceptical. "It mixes words with phrases, and then it makes for all kinds of confusion. 'Albert', the name of a person, means 'egg'. 'Anticrot' means 'God' and 'Christ', but also 'Ambassador'."

"It is still better than nothing," said Melani, silencing him. "Come now, let us test it. What did that cerretano, Il Marcio, cry out when we went to get him and II Roscio?"

'"The saffrons…' and then 'buy the violets'," I said.

We leafed through the book and soon found what we were looking for.

"There, do you see?" Atto gloated, turning to his secretary. "As I thought, the saffrons are the police. To buy violets means to make a run for it. Il Marcio warned Il Roscio that we were in the vicinity. This book is by no means useless. But there's something else you must lend me. I'm sure you must have many copies of what I need," said Atto to the corpisantaro, miming with his hand the gesture of someone turning a key in a lock.

Ugonio understood at once. Nodding with a sordid, knowing smile, he pulled out from the old greatcoat a huge iron ring from which hung, clinking against one another, dozens and dozens of old keys of every kind, shape and size. This was the secret arsenal of which I have already spoken, giving the corpisantari access to all the cellars of Rome for their subterranean searching for the sacred relics from the sale of which they lived; but often, they were also used to enter and rob private residences.

"Good, very good," commented Atto, inspecting the heavy bunch. "In Palazzo Spada these will surely prove useful."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Sfasciamonti, like every good catchpoll, could not wait to squeeze some information from the corpisantaro in his turn. He was still somewhat disoriented by that animal-like being, half mole and half weasel, so different from the ordinary criminals he had known; he came to the point, confronting him brutally.

"So, what did you learn?"

"I parleyfied with two Maggiorenghi," replied the corpisantaro. "The treaticise is to be presented to the Grand Legator, who in turn will present it ad Albanum."

I saw Atto grow pale. The tidings were doubly grave. Not only had the cerretani given Atto's treatise to a mysterious Grand Legator, but the latter would be presenting it to a certain Albanum. And who might that be if not Cardinal Albani, His Holiness's powerful Secretary for Breves, the man with whom Atto had already had two venomous verbal clashes at Villa Spada?

"Until Thursday, where will they be keeping my treatise?"

"In the Sacred Ball."

"The Sacred Ball?"

I looked at Sfasciamonti. His face wore the same astonished, dumbfounded expression as Atto Melani's.

"Thus have they verbalised," continued Ugonio, hunching his shoulders. "Then the Grand Legator will exposition ad Albanum the insinuation, accusation and perquisition against the treaticise."

"Who is this Grand Legator?"

"I know not. I scented that they do not want to verbalise this to me."

Some coins (no few of them) moved rapidly from Atto's hands into those of Ugonio. As he slipped them clinking into a greasy little purse, the corpisantaro pulled his cowl well over his forehead, preparing to disappear into the shadows.

"Your treaticise corroborates a periculous and suspifect sapience," said he to Atto before leaving.

"What do you mean?"

"When they affabulate thereupon, the Maggiorenghi become tempestiphilious and agitabundant… almost neuromaniacal. Have a care, Your Enormity. And kindly refract from requestifying me to reference more and more news and ulteriorities to you: I don't want to end up with a broken colon-bone."

On our way back, I dared not so much as address a word to Atto. This was no time for such things. From what we could glean from Ugonio's tortuous account, the cerretani did not care one bit for what Atto had written in those pages. We gathered that they intended on Thursday to bring the matter to the attention of a mysterious Grand Legator. The latter would go and see Albanum, in other words Cardinal Albani, with a formal summons against Atto.

So, who was this Grand Legator, if not Count Lamberg? A person of such elevated lineage could, after all, only be referred to obliquely; just as the cerretani had done.

What would Albani then do? Would he in turn report Atto as a French spy? After the arguments which had flared up between the two at Villa Spada, nothing would be easier for the astute Cardinal than to denounce Abbot Melani, his political adversary (for as such he could now be described) and crush him, causing him endless trouble, including perhaps an immediate arrest for espionage and political conspiracy.

More and more questions beset us: what the deuce could the Sacred Ball be, in which, according to Ugonio, Atto's treatise was to be kept until Thursday, and where was it to be found? Sfasciamonti was silent: he too seemed quite unable to help us resolve the enigma.

"I was forgetting. Lamberg has agreed to receive me," announced Melani.

"How did he inform you?"

"Did you see me hand him a note when chocolate was being served?"

"Yes. I remember that he replied, 'Very well, very well.' So, in that little note, did you request an audience?"

"Precisely. Subsequently, I asked his secretary, and he arranged the appointment: I shall visit Lamberg on Thursday."

As he pronounced that last fateful word, the day on which Atto would perhaps learn the truth about his stabbing, I heard a slight tremor in his voice. Watching him as he rode his nag, I knew that his soul was weighed down by yet another great anxiety. He felt himself to be at the mercy of two giants, Count Lamberg, the Imperial Ambassador, and Cardinal Albani, the Secretary for Breves.

And to think that he had come to Rome (or so he had told me) to take the helm at the conclave and to make his mark on the fate of the papacy! The navigator had become a castaway; and destiny, which he had meant to tame, was crushing the barque of his soul as cruel Scylla had done with the ship of Ulysses.