Secretum am-2 Read online

  "Of course, the Mancini family is of the most ancient nobility," the secretary insisted. "It stretches back to before the year one thousand, but the family has never enjoyed the affluence befitting the flower of the aristocracy. Their names betray this: Martinozzi, Mancini…" he chanted, stressing the ozzi and the ini. "Anyone can see that these are not high-sounding names."

  Despite the girls' temperament, all the marriages of the Mazarinettes were, when all is said and done, arranged and celebrated without excessive difficulties. Only one niece brought Mazarin a veritable mountain of difficulties: Maria.

  She had arrived in Paris at the age of fourteen, when the young Louis was one year older. She took up lodgings in the palace of her uncle, almost stunned by the pomp and luxury which, during the years of the Fronde, had excited the people's enmity against the Cardinal. At first, the Queen Mother, Anne of Austria, treated her benevolently, as indeed she did Mazarin's other nieces, almost as though they were of the same blood.

  "One day, the mother of the Mancini girls fell gravely ill and His Majesty went with a certain regularity to visit the sick woman. Here, every time, he found Maria. Of course, in the beginning, everything was rather formal: 'I am so pained at your noble mother's ill health,' etcetera, etcetera; 'Oh, Your Majesty, despite the sad occasion, I am most honoured by your words, and so on,'" said Buvat, miming first royal concern, then womanish modesty.

  In the end, Maria's mother died and, on the day of the funeral, some persons noted that the freedom with which the young girl spoke with the Sovereign was considerably greater than when her mother had enjoyed good health.

  On the very evening of Maria's mother's funeral, a ballet with a prophetic title was performed at court, L'Amour Malade. Louis, as was his wont when young, was among the dancers. In the great hall of the Louvre, before the entire court, Louis' royal pirouettes opened the first of ten entrees, each of which represented a remedy to cure the languishing deity.

  No few courtiers noticed that Louis's steps were livelier than usual, his breath longer, his leaps more ample, his look firmer and more expressive, as though an invisible force sustained him, whispering to him the secret remedy whereby love is first cured and at last triumphant.

  At court, no one, among all the King's noble companions of the same age, was able to treat with him on a basis of true friendship. He was too irascible and proud, too serious even when he smiled, and too smiling when he commanded. Whenever they spoke with him, young women, in the grip of awe and embarrassment, hid behind the heavy mantle of curtsies and formalities.

  Only Maria was not afraid of Louis. When, in the King's presence, all others trembled with fear (and the desire to be chosen by him), the young Italian girl played the game of love with the same tranquil malice as she might have employed with any good-looking young man.

  In public, he was icy and distant; only she distracted and, often without even realising it, melted the mask of indifference, transforming it into that of desire. He was dying to grant her every confidence, as etiquette forbade him to, and even found himself stammering, blushing and comically at a loss for words.

  "His Majesty was observed," swore Buvat, "at night, before going to sleep, tormented by the memory of minute yet insufferable embarrassments, and he bit his pillow when he remembered how some witty sally of Maria's had caused him first to laugh, then to stutter painfully, losing both his royal composure and the right moment in which to say: 'I love you'."

  Events again took the upper hand because of an illness. At the end of 1658 in Calais, after a series of exceedingly fatiguing voyages and inspections, and perhaps because of the bad air which troubles the humours, Louis became seriously ill. The fever was most violent and persistent, and for a fortnight all Paris feared for the Sovereign's life. Thanks to the skill of a provincial physician, Louis recovered in the end. Upon his return to Paris, the gossip on all court tongues soon came to his ears: in all the city, the eyes which had wept the most, the mouth that had most invoked his name and the hands most joined in prayer for his recovery had been Maria's.

  Instead of an open declaration (which none could dare utter to a Sovereign) Maria had thus sent Louis an involuntary and far more potent message, and the whole court, through its whispering, was suggesting to the King: she loves you, and you know it.

  In the months that followed, the court sojourned at Fontainebleau, where Mazarin, who still held the reins of government, kept the young Sovereign entertained each day with new diversions: excursions by carriage, plays and trips on the water followed one another without a break, and, whether in his carriage, on the park's drives or on its lawns, Louis' path kept crossing that of Maria. They sought one another constantly and were forever finding one another.

  "Permit me to ask you a question," I interrupted him. "How come you know all these details so well? These events took place over forty years ago."

  "Abbot Melani knows these things better than anyone else," was his sole reply.

  "Ah, I see. So he has also told you all about that period, as he told me," said I, deliberately exaggerating, "about the secret missions he carried out for Mazarin, concerning Fouquet…"

  I had purposely mentioned two well-hidden secrets from Melani's past: his friendship (which he himself had revealed to me seventeen years previously) with Superintendent Fouquet, France's Minister of Finance, who was persecuted by the Most Christian King, and the fact (learned from others) that Atto had been a secret agent in the service of Mazarin.

  I seemed to detect a sudden flash of surprise in Buvat's expression. He probably thought that Abbot Melani had confided the most precious secrets to me and I must therefore be worthy of his trust.

  "He will then have also told you," he added, "that he himself was deeply in love with Maria, obviously without anything taking place between the two of them, and that when reasons of state constrained the King to marry the Infanta of Spain, she left Paris and came to Rome, where she married the Constable Colonna. In Rome, she and the Abbot continued to frequent one another, seeing as he had arrived there shortly afterwards. And they still correspond. The Abbot has never forgotten her."

  I brought the glass to my lips and drank deeply, seeking to cover my face as much as possible so that my surprise should not be visible. I had succeeded in making Buvat believe that I knew enough about what had taken place behind the scenes in Atto's life, so that he could talk freely with me. I must not let him see that I was learning all this from him for the first time.

  So Atto had been in love with Maria, and at the very time when she was courting the young King of France. Now that explained his sighs, thought I to myself, when at the Villa Spada he received that letter from the Connestabilessa!

  I recalled then, while ordering another ring cake, a far-off conversation from seventeen years before, at the time when I had made Atto's acquaintance: a conversation between the guests at the inn where I was working. And I remembered how it had then been mentioned that Atto had been the confidant of a niece of Mazarin, with whom the King was madly in love, so much so that he wanted to marry her. Now I knew who that niece of Mazarin's was.

  Suddenly, we were interrupted by a scene all too common in establishments like that in which we sat. A quartet of mendicants had entered in order to beg, provoking the wrath of mine host and mute discontent among the other customers. One of the intruders began to exchange insults with a pair of young men seated near us and, within moments, a brawl broke out, so that we were forced to move in order to avoid getting involved. What with the vagabonds, the tavern's customers, the host and his apprentice, there must have been some ten persons involved in the struggle. In the confusion, they fell against our table and nearly knocked over the jug of wine.

  Fortunately, once the row had died down and the mendicants had gone on their way, we saw that our jug was still there and we could once more sit down. I heard the master of the house muttering for a long time after that against the flood of beggars unleashed on Rome during Jubilees.

  "Ah yes, I
too knew that Abbot Melani was very much in love with Maria Mancini," I lied, in the hope of getting something more out of Buvat.

  "So much in love that, the moment she had gone, he went every day to visit her sister Ortensia," continued Buvat, pouring wine into our glasses. "So much so that he incurred the wrath of her husband, the Due de La Meilleraye, a bigoted and violent fellow, who sent ruffians to hunt him down and give him a beating, thus causing him to leave France."

  "Ah yes, the Due de La Meilleraye," I repeated while drinking, again remembering what I had heard years ago from the guests at my inn.

  "The Abbot who, it seems, could not do without contact with one of the Mazarinettes, took advantage of the situation to go to Rome and find Maria, with the King's blessing — and a fat payment. But now I think it is time we were on our way," said Buvat, seeing that we had by now emptied the whole jug of wine. "Several hours have passed now and the Signor Abbot will be wondering what has become of me," said he, asking the host for the bill.

  Having hired two nags, we rode to the Villa Spada without exchanging another word. I was beset by great somnolence, while

  Buvat was suffering from fits of giddiness caused, said he, by the unseemly hour at which the Abbot had got him out of bed. I too realised with surprise that I was exhausted: the events of the day — and the night — before were perhaps beginning to be too much for me. I was no longer the fresh young prentice I had once been. I had barely the strength to take my leave of Buvat with a nod in lieu of salutation, after which I mounted my mule and let myself be borne back to my little house. I already knew that I would still not find Cloridia there. That blessed delivery was still keeping everyone waiting. As I let myself fall back on the bed and slip into drowsiness, I rejoiced at the thought that we would be meeting again that very evening at the Villa Spada, where the arrival was expected of the Princess of Forano in an advanced state of pregnancy. For safety's sake, Cloridia's presence would certainly have been requested. Then I gave in to sleep.

  I was awoken in a most disagreeable and, to say the least, unex pected manner. Heavy and hostile forces were shaking me, accompanied by a thunderous, peremptory and insistent voice. Any attempt to return to the immaterial world of dreams and to resist these unwanted calls from the world would have been quite in vain.

  "Wake up, wake up, I beg you!"

  I opened my eyes, which were at once painfully hurt by the light of the sun. My head was hurting as it had never done in my whole life. My shoulder was being shaken by a servant of the Villa Spada, whom I recognised with difficulty because of the great pain in my head and my difficulty in keeping my eyes open.

  "What are you doing here and… how did you get in? "I asked weakly.

  "I came to deliver a note from Abbot Melani and when I got here I found the door open. Are you all right?"

  "So so… the door was open?"

  "As far as I was concerned, I meant only to knock, believe me," he replied with the deference which he believed to be my due in my capacity as the addressee of a message from a guest of such distinction as Abbot Melani, "but then I dared enter in order to make sure that nothing had happened to you. I think that you have been the victim of robbers."

  I looked around me. The room in which I had been sleeping was in the most utter chaos. Clothes, blankets, furniture, shoes, the bedpan, the night pot, Cloridia's obstetrical instruments, even the crucifix which normally hung above the conjugal bed, were scattered all over the place, on the bed, on the floor. A glass lay shattered near the threshold.

  "Did you notice nothing on your return home?"

  "No, I… I think that all was in order…"

  "Then it happened while you were sleeping. But your sleep must have been very heavy… Would you like me to help you tidy up?"

  "No, it does not matter. Where is the message?"

  As soon as the servant had gone on his way, I tried to overcome the shock by putting a little order in the house. Instead, I only increased my surprise and disquiet. The other rooms too, the kitchen, the pantry, even the cellar, had been violently turned upside down. Someone had entered the house while I was sleeping and had looked everywhere in search of something hidden. All the worse for them, I thought: the only objects of value were buried under a tree and only I and my wife knew where that was. After a good half hour spent putting things back in order, I realised that in fact nothing of any importance was missing. I sat down on the bed, still tormented by my aching head and by fatigue.

  Someone had entered my house in broad daylight, I repeated to myself. Had I noticed anything on my return? I could remember nothing. It was then, still half befuddled, that I realised I had not yet read the message sent me by Atto. I opened it and remained all agape:

  Buvat drugged and robbed.

  Join me at once.

  "But it is obvious, you have both been slipped some narcotic," said Abbot Melani, nervously pacing up and down his apartment at the Villa Spada.

  Buvat was seated in a corner with two huge bags under his eyes, apparently incapable even of yawning.

  "It is not possible that you should not have heard the thieves when they were turning your whole house upside down," continued Abbot Melani, turning to me, "nor is it possible that Buvat should not have been aware of someone lifting his mattress, throwing him to the ground, rummaging through the blankets and finally stripping him of everything, including his money and leaving him half naked. No, all that is not possible without the help of a powerful sleeping draught."

  Buvat nodded timidly, without managing to conceal his feelings of guilt and shame at what had happened. So Buvat, too, on his return from our mission in town, had fallen into a leaden sleep. The Abbot was right: we had been drugged.

  "But how did they manage it?" trilled Melani, looking at us.

  Buvat and I looked at one another with vacant, tired eyes: we had not the slightest idea how.

  "And did they make no attempt to enter your chamber?" I asked Atto.

  "No. Perhaps because I, instead of going to pothouses," said he emphatically, casting a meaningful look at us, "stayed wide awake and worked."

  "But did you hear nothing?"

  "Nothing whatever. And that is the strangest thing. Of course, I had bolted the door communicating with Buvat's little room. Whoever did it must have been a real magician."

  "Perhaps Sfasciamonti will not yet have returned, but the other catchpolls of the villa will surely have seen…" said I.

  "The catchpolls, the catchpolls…" he chanted excitedly. "They know only how to drink and to enrich the brothels. They'll have let in some strumpet who, after taking care of the guards, helped the thieves. We know how these things are done."

  "How very strange," I observed; "and all this only a few hours after the horrible assault on the bookbinder. Could the two things be connected?"

  "Good heavens, I really do hope not!" exclaimed Buvat with a start, for he had no wish to be, however indirectly, the cause of someone's death.

  "Of course, they were looking for something which could be in the hands of one or other of you," replied Atto. "The proof is that, among all the apartments in the great house, they wormed their way in only here. I put a few discreet questions to the servants, but it all meant nothing to them. No one had disturbed them."

  "We must advise Don Paschatio Melchiorri at once," I exclaimed.

  "Never," Atto cut me off. "At least, not until we have clearer ideas about this affair."

  "But someone has got into the great house! We could all be in danger! And it is my duty to inform Cardinal Spada, my master…"

  "Yes… And thus you'd cause a general alarm, the guests would protest at the villa's lack of protection and they would all leave. So, adieu to the nuptial celebrations. Is that what you want?"

  Abbot Melani was so accustomed to having a dirty conscience that in murky cases like this it mattered not that he himself was the victim; he feared nevertheless that he might have something to hide and invariably opted for secrecy. I was, however, bound t
o admit that his objections were far from unfounded: I dared not so much as to consider that I might have risked ruining the nuptials of Cardinal Fabrizio's nephew. So I resigned myself to seconding the Abbot.

  "But what were they looking for?" said I, changing the subject.

  "If you do not know, I too have no idea. The thieves' objective concerns me, obviously, as I am the only one who knows both of you. Now, however…"

  "Yes?"

  "I must think, and think deeply. Let us take things in order. There are other knots to be untied first, and who knows if, once that has done, we may not find our way to this? You, my boy, will now accompany me."

  "Where?"

  "On board, as I promised you."

  After a quick visit to the kitchens to pick up something on which to lunch, we left the Villa Spada in the greatest secrecy; we cut across the vineyard while avoiding the main avenue and surreptitiously gained the entrance gate. While we were taking that irregular route and dirtying our shoes with the soil of the vineyard, Atto must have sensed on the back of his neck the warm breath of my curiosity.

  "Very well, this is what we are about," he exclaimed, going straight to the point. "Your master must board something in the company of Spinola di San Cesareo and a certain A."

  "I remember perfectly."

  "So the first problem, contrary to what you might imagine, is not the place of the meeting, but who will be taking part in it."

  "You mean, who A is."

  "Exactly. Because only once we know the state and the prerogatives of the participants to a secret meeting shall we be able to discover the place where it is to be held. If it is a prince meeting with two ordinary burghers, it will take place on the prince's estates, for he certainly will not discommode himself for the sake of two inferiors; if it is between two thieves and an honest man, it will surely be in a place chosen by the thieves, who are used to plotting at secret meetings, and so on."