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  While Cristofano went to collect the necessary, which he had left in his chamber, the Frenchman went into a corner at the far end of the room to tune his guitar. I hoped that he would again play that intriguing piece which had so enchanted me in the morning, but, soon after, he rose and returned to the kitchen, where he stopped behind the table at which the Neapolitan poet was seated, and never again touched the instrument. Stilone Priaso had taken out a notebook and was scribbling something in it.

  "Fear not, my boy. We shall not die of the pestilence," said he, turning to me as I busied myself in the kitchen.

  "Perhaps, Sir, you foresee the future?" asked Devize ironically.

  "Better than chirurgeons can!" joked Stilone Priaso.

  "Your wit is inappropriate in this hostelry," warned the doctor, arriving with his sleeves rolled up and with the balsam in his hands.

  The Neapolitan was the first to uncover his back, while Cristofano as usual listed the numerous virtues of his physick: "… and last but not least, 'tis also good for the penile caruncle. One needs but rub it vigorously into one's tail until it is absorbed, and relief is assured."

  While I was busy with tidying and warming up the broth which I had been asked to prepare, I heard the trio communing ever more closely among themselves.

  "… and yet I repeat, 'tis indeed he," I heard Devize whisper, his Gallic accent making his voice easy to recognise, above all when he pronounced words like "carriage", "war" or "correct" which made his elocution quite inimitable.

  "There can be no doubt about it, no doubt," echoed Stilone Priaso's excited response.

  "All three of us recognise him, and each in different ways," concluded Cristofano.

  I stationed myself discreetly where I could overhear them, without crossing the threshold dividing the kitchen from the dining chamber. I soon understood that they were speaking of Abbot Melani, whose reputation was already known to all three.

  "This much is certain: he is an extremely dangerous individual," affirmed Stilone Priaso peremptorily.

  As always when he wished to imbue his words with authority, he focussed severely on an invisible point in front of him, while scratching the bridge of his nose with his little finger and nervously shaking his fingers as though to rid himself of who knows what fine powder.

  "He must be kept under constant observation," he concluded.

  The trio talked without paying any attention to me, as was, moreover, usual with almost all customers, to whom a serving boy was little more than a shadow. Thus it was that I learned a number of facts and circumstances which made me repent no little my having conferred for so long the night before with Abbot Melani and above all having promised him my services.

  "Is he now in the pay of the King of France?" asked Stilone Priaso in a low voice.

  "I maintain that he is. Even if no one can tell with certainty," replied Devize.

  "Certain persons' preference is to side with all and with none," added Cristofano, continuing his massage and kneading Stilone Priaso's back even harder.

  "He has served more princes than he himself can remember," hissed Stilone. "In Naples, I am sure that they would not even allow him to enter the city. More to the right, please," said he, turning to the physician.

  Thus I learned, with unspeakable dismay, of the dark and turbulent past of Abbot Melani; a past of which he had not breathed a word to me the night before.

  Since his earliest youth, Atto had been engaged by the Grand Duke of Tuscany as a castrato singer (and this, the abbot had indeed told me). But that was not the only task which Melani performed for his master; in reality, he served him as a spy and secret courier. Atto's singing was indeed admired and in demand in all the courts of Europe, which gave the castrato great credit among crowned heads, in addition to unusual freedom of movement.

  "On the pretext of entertaining the sovereigns, he would introduce himself into the royal courts to spy, to stir and to corrupt," explained Devize.

  "And then repeat everything to his principals," echoed Stilone Priaso acidly.

  In addition to the Medici, Cardinal Mazarin had soon used Atto's double services, thanks to the ancient relations of friendship between Florence and Paris. The Cardinal had, indeed, become his foremost protector, and took him with him even on the most delicate diplomatic missions. Atto was regarded almost as one of the family. He had become the bosom friend of Mazarin's niece, for whom the King had so lost his head that he wished to marry her. And when, later, the girl was obliged to leave France, Atto remained her confidant.

  "But then Mazarin died," resumed Devize, "and life became difficult for Atto. His Majesty had just attained his majority and mistrusted all the Cardinal's proteges," explained Devize. "What is more, he was compromised in the scandal involving Fouquet, the Superintendent of Finances."

  I gave a start. Was not Fouquet the name which the abbot had mentioned in passing the night before?

  "That was a false move," continued the French musician, "for which the Most Christian King pardoned him only after the passing of much time."

  "Only a false move, you call it? But were not he and that thief Fouquet friends?" objected Cristofano.

  "No one has ever succeeded in clarifying how matters really stood.

  When Fouquet was arrested, a note was found containing the order to lodge Atto secretly in his house. That note was shown to Fouquet's judges."

  "And how did the Superintendent explain it?" asked Stilone Priaso.

  "He said that, some time previously, Melani had requested a sure refuge. That meddler had made an enemy of the powerful Due de la Meilleraye, the heir to Mazarin's fortune. The Duke, who was a most irascible character, had succeeded in persuading the King to have Melani removed from Paris and had already hired ruffians to give him a beating. Some friends therefore recommended him to Fouquet: in his home, he would be safe, since the two were not known to frequent one another."

  "But then Atto and Fouquet were not acquainted!" said Stilone Priaso.

  "'Tis not that simple," warned Devize with a knowing smile. "Twenty years have passed since then and I was a child at the time. Later, however, I perused the records of Fouquet's trial which in those days were more widely read than the Bible. Well, to his judges, Fouquet said: 'There existed no known frequentation between Atto and myself.'"

  "What a sly fox!" exclaimed Stilone. "A perfect answer: no one could witness to having ever seen the two together; which did not, however, mean that they may not have been secretly in contact… In my opinion, the two did know each other, and that right well. The note speaks for itself: Atto was one of Fouquet's private spies."

  "That is possible," said Devize, nodding his head in agreement. "What is, however, certain is that Fouquet's ambiguous reply saved Melani from prison. He slept in Fouquet's house and immediately afterwards left for Rome, escaping the beating. In Rome, however, other bad news reached him: the arrest of Fouquet, the scandal, his good name besmirched, the King's fury…"

  "And how did he extricate himself from that predicament?" asked Stilone Priaso.

  "He managed very well," interrupted Cristofano. "In Rome, he placed himself at the service of Cardinal Rospigliosi who, like him, hailed from Pistoia, and who then became Pope. So much so that to this day Melani boasts that he had him elected Pontiff. Believe me, those Pistoiesi are the world's greatest braggarts."

  "Perhaps," replied Devize prudently. "But to make a pope, one must needs manoeuvre well in conclave. Now, during that conclave, Rospigliosi was indeed assisted by Atto Melani. And it is well known that not only has Melani always been on familiar terms with those cardinals who are most in the public eye, but also with the most powerful French ministers."

  "He is an intriguer, to be feared and never trusted," cut in Stilone Priaso, conclusively.

  I was utterly stupefied. Was the individual of whom the three lodgers were speaking really the same man with whom I had conversed only last night, a few paces from where they now sat? He had introduced himself to me as a musician,
and now he was revealed to me as a secret agent, involved in turbid palace manoeuvres, and even in scandals. It seemed almost as though I had known two different persons. Surely, if what the abbot himself had told me was true (namely that he still enjoyed the favours of many princes) he must have recovered his reputation. But after hearing the conversation between Stilone Priaso, Cristofano and Devize, who would not be suspicious of his word?

  "Wherever there is a political question of any importance, Abbot Melani is always to be found," resumed the French musician, laying stress on the word "Abbot". "Perhaps it will be discovered only after the event that he too was involved. He always manages to worm his way in everywhere. Melani was among Mazarin's assistants during the negotiations with the Spaniards at the Isle of Pheasants, when the Peace of the Pyrenees was concluded. They also sent him to Germany, to convince the Elector of Bavaria to stand as a candidate for the Imperial Throne. Now that his age no longer permits him to travel as he used to, he endeavours to make himself useful by sending the King reports and aide-memoires concerning the court of Rome, which he knows well and where he still has many friends. In more than one affair of state, it is said that voices have been heard in Paris anxiously requesting the suggestions of Abbot Melani."

  "Does the Most Christian King grant him audiences?" inquired Stilone Priaso."That is another mystery. A personage of such dubious reputation should not even be admitted to court, yet he enjoys direct relations with several ministers of the Crown. And there are those who swear that they have seen him slipping out from the King's apartments at the most unseemly hours. His Majesty is said to have summoned him for interviews most urgently and in the utmost secrecy."

  So it was true that Abbot Melani could obtain audiences with His Majesty the King of France. At least on that point he had not lied to me.

  "And his brothers?" asked Cristofano, as I approached with a bowl of hot soup.

  "They always move in a pack, like wolves," commented Devize with a grimace of disapproval. "Hardly had Atto settled in Rome, after the election of Rospigliosi, than he was joined by his two brothers, one of whom immediately became maestro di cappella at Santa Maria Maggiore. In their own city of Pistoia, they have laid their hands on benefices and the collection of excise duties and are justifiably held in execration by many citizens."

  There could be no further doubt. I had met not with an abbot, but a deceitful sodomite, skilled in gaining the confidence of trusting sovereigns, and this too thanks to the rascally connivance of his brothers. My promise to assist him had been an unpardonable error.

  "It is time for me to check on Master Pellegrino," announced Cristofano, after administering the oil of sulphur to his two boon companions.

  Only then did we realise that Pompeo Dulcibeni had returned downstairs, who knows how long since: he had remained in complete silence, seated in an alcove of the other room, pouring himself liquor from a flask of aqua vitae which my master was wont to keep on one of his tables, surrounded by small drinking glasses. He must, I thought, surely have overheard the conversation about Atto Melani.

  So I followed the trio. Dulcibeni, however, did not move. On the first floor, we encountered Padre Robleda. The Jesuit had restrained himself, controlling his mad fear of the infection, and had remained for a moment on the threshold of his chamber, wiping the perspiration which glued his grizzling curls to his low forehead and struggling to maintain his dignity. Now he had propelled himself just outside the chamber, and there he stood rigidly close to the wall, yet without touching it, erect and comical. He stayed there, looking at us, in the vague and anxious hope of gleaning some good news from the physician, with all his great body weighing down on his toes and his chest exaggeratedly thrust backwards, so that his black profile formed a great curve.

  Not that he was really fat, apart from the rather rotund forms of his brown face and his neck. He was tall, and the moderate prominence of his belly did not spoil his appearance but endowed him with an air of mature wisdom. However, his bizarre pose compelled the Jesuit to cast his eyes downwards, with his eyelids slightly lowered, if he wished to face whoever he would speak to; and this, together with his long and widely spaced eyebrows and the dark rings around his eyes, conferred upon him an air of extreme nonchalance. Much good did it do him, for scarcely had Cristofano caught sight of him than he invited him peremptorily to accompany us, as Pellegrino might be urgently in need of a priest. Robleda would have liked to make some objection, but as none came to mind, he resigned himself to following behind us.

  Having climbed to the upper floor to look at what we feared might already be my master's corpse, we realised that he was still alive. And he was still breathing, hoarsely but regularly. The two spots had neither diminished nor grown: the diagnosis remained in the balance between the plague and the petechial fever. Cristofano proceeded to clean him all over and to refresh him with damp towels, after wiping away his sweat.

  I then reminded the Jesuit, who had remained prudently outside the doorway that, as matters stood, the sacrament of Extreme Unction should be administered to Pellegrino. The edict which laid down that holy images were to be present in hostelries also-I made it clear-required that if anyone were to fall ill in hostelries or taverns, they were to be administered the Oil for the Sick.

  Father Robleda gave a start, but could not refuse his services.

  He then ordered me to bring him olive oil, as indicated specifically by Saint James, so that he could bless it for the ceremony; and also a little rod. A few minutes later, the Jesuit was by Master Pellegrino's bedhead to administer Extreme Unction.

  The thing was over unbelievably soon: he dipped the rod into the oil and, making sure that he remained as distant as possible from the sick man, he anointed one of his ears, rapidly gabbling only the brief formula Indulgeat tibi Deus quidquidpeccasti per sensus, which was very different from the familiar long form.

  "The University of Louvain," said he, turning to his perplexed audience in self-justification, "ruled in 1588 that, in the event of the plague, it should be licit for the priest to impart the Holy Chrism with a rod rather than with his thumb. And instead of anointing the mouth, nostrils, eyes, ears, hands and feet, each time pronouncing the canonical formula Per istassanctas unctiones, etsuampiissimam misericordiam indulgeat tibi Deus quidquidper visum, auditum, odoratum, gustum, tactum deliquisti, many theologians there held that the Sacrament was valid with a single unction effected rapidly on one of the sensory organs, pronouncing the brief universal formula which you have just heard."

  Whereupon, the Jesuit withdrew in great haste.

  So as not to attract attention to myself, I waited until the group had dispersed, then at once followed Padre Robleda. I caught up with him just as he was crossing the threshold of his own apartment.

  Still half out of breath, I said to him that I was most apprehensive for my master's soul: had the oil cleansed Pellegrino's conscience of sins, so that he would run no risk of perishing in the Inferno? Or must he confess himself before dying? And what would happen if he did not regain consciousness before he died?

  "Oh, if that is what is troubling you," replied Robleda hurriedly, "you need not worry: 'twill not be your master's fault if, before dying, he is unable to return to his senses for long enough to render a full confession of his little sins to the Lord."

  "I know," I promptly retorted, "but if there should also be mortal sins, as well as venial ones…"

  "Do you perhaps know of some grave sin committed by your master?" asked the Jesuit, growing alarmed.

  "As far as I know, he has never gone beyond some intemperance and a few glasses too many."

  "Still, even if he had killed," said Robleda, signing himself, "that would not mean much."

  And he explained to me that the Jesuit fathers, having a special vocation for the sacrament of Confession, had always made a careful study of the doctrine of sin and pardon: "There are greater sins that lead to the death of the soul, and these are in the majority. But there are also sins which are
partially permissible," said he, lowering his voice bashfully, "or even sins which are permitted. That depends upon the circumstances, and for the confessor, I can assure you, the decision is always difficult."

  The study of case histories was limitless, and was to be considered with the greatest prudence. Should absolution be accorded to a son who, in legitimate self-defence, kills his father? Does he commit a sin who, in order to avoid an unjust condemnation, kills a witness? And what of a wife who kills her husband, knowing that he is about to render her the same service? May a nobleman, in order to defend his honour before his peers (which for him is of the uttermost importance) assassinate someone who has offended him? Does a soldier sin who, obeying a superior's order, kills an innocent? Or again: may a woman prostitute herself in order to save her own children from hunger?

  "And is stealing always a sin, Padre?" I insisted, remembering that my master's over-indulgence in the contents of the cellar did not always draw upon what belonged to him.

  "Anything but. Here, too, one must consider the inner and outer circumstances in which the act was accomplished. It is certainly not the same when a rich man robs a poor one as when a poor man robs a rich one, or a rich man another rich man, or a poor man another poor man, and so on, and so forth."

  "But cannot one gain pardon in all cases when one returns what has been stolen?"

  "You are too hasty! The obligation to return stolen goods is, of course, important, and the confessor is in duty bound to bring this to the attention of whoever confides the matter to him. But the obligation may also be subject to limitations, or even be cancelled out. It is not necessary to return what has been stolen if that means impoverishing oneself: a nobleman may not deprive himself of servants, and a distinguished citizen may certainly not demean himself by working."

  "But if I am not under any obligation to restore what was wrongfully taken, as you put it, then what must I do to obtain pardon?"

  "That depends. It may sometimes be best to visit the offended party at home and to beg his forgiveness."