Secretum am-2 Read online

  I gave a start when the time came to don the livery: I was handed a white turban, a scimitar, a pair of oriental slippers, baggy pantaloons, a tunic and a great arabesque cummerbund to wear around my chest. The costume was, of course, three sizes too large for me.

  Ah, but I had forgotten: it had been decided that the mise en scene for these dinners was to be in exotically oriental style, as, accordingly must be the liveries. The long gay plume that stood on my headdress showed beyond a doubt that this was the costume of a janissary, a member of the most powerful and terrible guards of the Grand Turk. And this was as nothing when compared to what I was to see later.

  After donning this Turkish uniform, I was handed two great silver chargers for serving the first cold course: fresh figs, served on leaves and adorned with their flowers, all set in snow; and, on another dish, tunny-fish served in well garnished roundels. Others bore pies of fish roe, Genoa cakes, pistachios on sticks with slices of citron, fat capons served up in roundels, sole in tricolour garnish, royal salads and iced white cakes.

  Passing under the great pergola, I took the drive which led from the great house to the fountain, and thence to the place where the tables were set. As I made my way there, I was enthralled by the perfume drifting over from the flower beds lining the parallel entrance driveway, the smell of the Indian narcissi, the belladonna lilies, the autumn crocuses which had just opened, and by the fresh exhalations from the soft, damp earth of the vineyard. The heat of the day was at last giving way to the gentle embrace of evening's shadows.

  Upon reaching my destination, I was astounded by the quality and the generous opulence of the decor. Under the dome of the starlit night, on the soft grassy carpet, the illusion had been created of a veritable oriental palace with Turkish pavilions, made in truth of delicate and brilliantly coloured Armenian gauze, mounted upon light wooden frames and crowned, at the top of each pavilion, by a golden half-moon. All around, the nocturnal braziers had been lit, from which rose, in great spirals, perfumes to mellow one's thoughts and please the senses. A little way off, but concealed by an artificial hedge, stood the far more modest table for the secretaries (among whom Buvat was intently helping himself to glass upon glass of wine) attendants and other members of the retinue of the eminences and princes. Many of these personages were indeed aged or suffering from gout and thus always in need of a helper at hand.

  While we waiters served at the high table, which stood upon camelhair-coloured carpets, other janissaries, perspiring yet impassive, upheld great torches which generously illuminated the table.

  Thus it was in the midst of such splendour that the dinner began, opening with the very dishes which I myself, amongst others, was serving. Well-nigh stunned by such luxury and pomp, I drew near to that great theatre of pleasure and prepared to serve the guests in accordance with the orders of the Chief Steward, who had appropriately placed himself behind a torch to be able, like one conducting an orchestra, to direct the peaceful militia of the waiters. The wine had just been served to the last guest, and so I moved towards the table. I realised that I was about to serve someone important, for Don Paschatio's eyes and those of the Steward followed me, blazing with anxiety.

  "… And so I asked him once again: Holiness, how do you think you can resolve the problem? The Holy Father had just finished eating and was at that very moment washing his hands. And he answered me: 'Really, Monsignor, can you not see? Like Pontius Pilate!'"

  All those at table burst out laughing. I was so nervous about my delicate and unexpected task that this sudden outburst of hi larity, which I would never have expected from that assembly of high prelates and persons of noble lineage, that I was left well-nigh paralysed. He who had aroused the good humour of the company was none other than Cardinal Durazzo, recounting with malicious wit the words of one of the many pontiffs he had known during the course of his long career. Glancing at the far end of the table I no ticed that, curiously, only one face remained impassive and almost glacial; later, I was to learn the explanation for this.

  "And yet he was a holy pontiff, one of the most virtuous of all time," added Durazzo when some of the guests had quietened down and were wiping away the few tears brought on by excessive laughter.

  "Holy, truly holy," echoed another eminence, rapidly dabbing with a napkin at a few drops of wine that had run down his chin.

  "Throughout all Europe, they want to beatify him," one added from the far end of the table.

  I raised my eyes and saw that the Steward and Don Paschatio were striving desperately to attract my attention, gesticulating wildly and pointing at something under my nose. I looked: Cardinal Durazzo was looking at me fixedly and waiting. Half stunned by the general outburst of laughter a few moments before, I had forgotten to serve him.

  "Well, well, my boy, rather than Pontius Pilate, do you want me to be like Our Lord in the wilderness?" said he, causing yet another storm of laughter.

  Hurriedly, I served the figs to the Cardinal and his neighbours, overcome by a deplorable state of mental confusion. I knew that I had committed an unpardonable gaffe and caused Cardinal Spada to lose face and, if only for a few moments, I had become the laughing stock of the company. My cheeks were on fire and I cursed the moment when I had offered my services to Don Paschatio. I dared not even raise my eyes; I knew that I would find those of the Major-Domo fixed on me, full of anxiety, and those of the Steward, full of fiery wrath. Fortunately that evening was not yet the official feast. Cardinal Spada himself was absent and would be coming only two days later, at the start of the formal festivities.

  "… But yes, he's right to think that he will soon be better. Or so we hope, at least," said someone speaking in sad tones as I continued serving.

  "So we hope, ah yes," echoed Cardinal Aldrovandi, whose name in truth I did not yet know. "In Bologna, whence I arrived today, they keep asking me insistently for news of his health, every day and at all hours. They are all very worried."

  I understood that they were speaking of the Pope's health and every one of them had his word to put in.

  "We hope, we hope, and we pray; prayer can resolve everything," said another prelate in a sorrowful and in truth rather insincere voice, ending up by crossing himself.

  "How much good he has done for Rome!"

  "The Hospice of San Michele a Ripa Grande along with a hundred and forty thousand scudi every year for the poor…"

  "A pity that he did not succeed in draining the Pontine Marshes.. " said the Princess Farnese.

  "Your Highness will permit me to remind her that the miserable state of the Pontine Fields and the unhealthy effluvia that issue therefrom to oppress Rome are not the fruit of nature, but of the imprudent deforestation practised by past popes, above all Julius II and Leo X," retorted Monsignor Aldrovandi, striving to stifle at once the least allusion to any lack of success on the part of the reigning Pope, "and, if I am not mistaken, Pope Paul III too."

  This last barb was a polite reminder of the fact that the Princess was herself a descendant of Paul III, Alessandro Farnese.

  "The Baccano Woods," she retorted, "were cut down because they were a refuge for assassins and thieves."

  "As is happening today with the forests of Sermoneta and Cisternal" came the heated rejoinder of one whom I was later to recognise as the Prince Caetani. "We should cut them all down and leave it at that. For the sake of public order, I mean," he added, embarrassed by the coolness of his audience.

  The Princes Caetani, and this I had myself learned some time previously, asked every new pope for permission to cut down those woodlands, which belonged to them, so that they could make money from the operation.

  "His Holiness Innocent XII has for years issued decrees for the defence of heaths and woodland," replied Monsignor Aldrovandi imperturbably.

  A murmur of approval flowed down the table, at least among those who were not engaged in close, gossipy conversation with the person seated next to them.

  "A pity that he had the Tor di Nona Theatre demolish
ed," said the same gentleman who had not laughed at Cardinal Durazzo's joke.

  Monsignor Aldrovandi, who had not realised that all his praise of the Pope resembled an obituary, had succeeded in silencing the first, veiled criticism of the Pontiff, but this second one (referring to the unpopular decision to destroy one of Rome's most splendid theatres) he pretended not to hear, turning to his neighbour and showing his back to the person who had addressed him.

  While serving him, I was fortunate enough to hear two ladies whisper: "But have you seen Cardinal Spinola di Santa Cecilia?"

  "Oh, have I seen him!" giggled the other. "With the approach of the conclave he's been trying to put it about that he no longer suffers from gout. In order not to be left out of the charmed circle, he goes around behaving like a young lad. And then this evening, here, eating, drinking and laughing, at his age…"

  "He's Spada's bosom friend, even if both of them try to hide it."

  "I know, I know…"

  "Has Cardinal Albani not arrived?"

  "He will be coming in two days, for the wedding. They say that he is working on a very urgent papal breve."

  The dining table was shaped like a horseshoe. Having almost reached the end of the second branch of the table, I was serving a guest with familiar features, and whom I was shortly to recognise, when I felt a sharp but powerful blow to the arm which was holding the charger. It was a disaster. The figs, catapulted to the left together with the leaves, flowers and snow, landed on the face and clothing of the aged nobleman whom I had just served. The dish crashed to the ground with a clangour like that of a breaking bell. A murmur halfway between amusement and disapproval spread among the nearby guests. While the unfortunate nobleman removed the figs with dignity, I looked all around in panic. How could I make Don Paschatio and the Steward understand that what had just occurred was not my fault and that it had been the guest whom I was just serving who had sent my dish flying? I looked at him, full of mute resentment, knowing well that I could do nothing against him, for the servant is always in the wrong. And then I recognised him. It was Atto.

  Punishment was swift and discreet. Within five minutes, I was no longer holding a charger in my hand, but one of those enormous, immensely heavy, incandescent torches which illuminated the dinner as though it were almost daylight. I was bursting with rage at Abbot Melani and tormented myself with wondering why he should so cruelly have tricked me, getting me punished and imperilling my present and future employment at the Villa Spada. While the dinner continued, I sought his eyes in vain, for he was seated with his back to me and I could see only the nape of his neck.

  Transformed into some new Pier delle Vigne, I must needs bear up: dinner was only beginning and I had better arm myself with patience. The first half of the first hot course had only just been served: fresh eggs drowned in milk with soup under that, butter, slices of lemon, sugar and cinnamon; and boiled head of sturgeon, with its bland savour, served with flowers, herbs, lemon juice, pepper and almonds (one slice for each guest).

  The heat from the torch was unbearable, and under the Turkish turban I sweated buckets. The servants who had gone off a-courting with the peasant girls had done well, said I to myself. Yet I knew all too well that I would never have had the heart to betray Don Paschatio and abandon him at so critical a time. The only relief from the heat and the torment of immobility was to know that I was in the company of seven others like myself, each bearing his torch and, what is more, to be able to be a spectator at this meeting of all those eminences and as many noblemen. The place to which I was assigned near the table was, moreover, singular, as I shall soon have occasion to explain.

  Hardly had I resigned myself to my punishment when, all of a sudden, Atto turned to me.

  "Come, my boy, where I am sitting, 'tis so dark that I feel as though I were in a cave, will you or will you not be so kind as to come closer with that torch of yours?" he called out to me in a loud voice, making an ugly grimace as though I were an anonymous servant quite unknown to him.

  I could but obey. I stood right behind him, lighting up his part of the table, which was in any case already perfectly well lit, as well as I could. What the deuce could Atto have in his head? Why had he ill-treated me and why was he now tormenting me?

  In the meanwhile, the conversation between the guests, which was conducted quite freely, had turned to frivolous subjects. Unfortunately, I was not always able to understand who was speaking, since from my viewpoint I could see a good many of the guests, but not all of them. Moreover, on that evening, most of the faces and voices were still unknown to me (while in the following days I was to learn to recognise almost all of them).

  "… Pardon me, Monsignor, but only a kennel-man is permitted to bear an arquebus."

  "Yes, Your Excellency, but let me tell you, if you will permit me, that he may have it carried by a groom."

  "Very well. And so?"

  "As I was saying, if the boar is cowardly and dares not fight in the open, it is killed with the arquebus, as was the custom on the Caetani estates, which are the best hunting grounds."

  "No, no, how then are we to speak of those of Prince Perretti?"

  "Pardon me, all of you, and please do not take offence, but all these are nothing compared to the lands of the Duke of Bracciano," corrected the Princess Orsini, widow of the said Duke.

  "Your Highness must mean those of the Prince Odescalchi," said a thin, icy voice. I looked at the speaker. It was the nobleman who had not joined into the laughter at Cardinal Durazzo's witticism about the pope who compared himself with Pontius Pilate.

  For a moment, the table talk froze. The Princess Orsini, in her passion to defend the memory of the family possessions, had all too easily forgotten that, in order to avoid bankruptcy, the Orsini had sold land and more land to Prince Livio Odescalchi and that those estates and the feudal rights that went with them had changed their names as well as changing hands.

  "You are quite right, cousin," said she condescendingly, addressing the gentleman as do nobles when speaking to persons with whom they have bonds of kinship or amity. 'And 'tis indeed most fortunate that they should now bear the name of your household."

  The person who had contradicted the Princess was, then, Don Livio Odescalchi, nephew of the late Pope Innocent XI. It followed that this must have been the pontiff concerning whom Cardinal Durazzo had told an amusing anecdote only moments earlier, which had however not amused Prince Odescalchi, to whom his late uncle had left his immense fortune. At last I was seeing in person the nephew of that pope about whom I had, seventeen years previously at the Locanda del Donzello, learned things to make one's hair stand on end. I hurriedly dismissed those memories of episodes which had caused such suffering for my wife and my late father-in-law.

  I learned that evening that Don Livio had also owned a box at the Tor di Nona theatre, which he would no longer be able to enjoy, since the present Pope had had the theatre demolished. This explained why Monsignor Aldovrandi had insisted on that topic.

  "By the smithy of Hephaestus, boy, you are roasting my neck. Would you kindly move that way?"

  Atto had yet again turned around rudely to upbraid me, almost shoving me to a new post, further away from him. By means of these two moves he had shifted me almost five yards from my original position, almost to the far end of that branch of the table.

  Dinner was proceeding with singular freedom of manners and speech, a point which even I who was utterly unfamiliar with that most elevated milieu remarked at once. Only from time to time, irrepressibly, did the quarrelsome haughtiness of the great families and the subtle but venomous pride of those at the summit of the ecclesiastical hierarchy show its face. Yet the rigid protocol which those eminences and princes would have had to observe when meeting one another individually had been magically dissolved, perhaps by the amenity and delightful qualities of the place chosen for banqueting.

  "Pray, pardon me, all of you, a moment's silence! I should like to raise my glass to the health of Cardinal Spada, wh
o is, as Your Excellencies well know, absent on account of pressing affairs of state," said Monsignor Pallavicini, Governor of Rome, at a certain point. "He has recommended me to be, if not a father, at least an uncle to his guests tonight."

  A gentle ripple of approving laughter ran through the assembly.

  "As soon as I see him," continued Monsignor Pallavicini, "I shall express to him my gratitude for his political gifts, and in particular for not providing us with a table laid in the Spanish or in the French style, but surrounded instead by Ottomans."

  Another amused murmur arose.

  "And this last reminds us of our shared destiny as Christians," added Pallavicini amiably, while throwing a swift glance at Cardinal d'Estrees, Ambassador Extraordinary a latere of the Most Christian King, always too much in cahoots with the Ottoman Sublime Porte.

  "And as the enemies of heresy," came the prompt reply of d'Estrees, whose call to order alluded to the fact that, although a Catholic, the Austrian Emperor was allied with Dutch and English heretics.

  "Let us not speak too much to him of the Sublime Porte or D'Estrees will take umbrage and be off," I heard someone whisper rather too loudly.

  "Gently, gently with all this talk," quoth Cardinal Durazzo, who had missed nothing. "First a janissary would not deign to serve me figs and now that he hears all this murmuring about heretics, he'll get it into his head to set his torch to me and burn me."

  The company burst once more into hearty roars of laughter as soon as they caught the allusion to my initial misadventure with Cardinal Durazzo, while I must needs stay sadly impassive and keep holding my torch quite straight.