Imprimatur

by Rita Monaldi;Francesco Sorti

  "What matters to us that it should not kill the living," sneered Bedfordi.

  The physician was piqued: "Its principle has been approved by Raymond Lull, Philip Ulstad and many other philosophers, both an­cient and modern. But I should like to conclude: I have for each of you the most excellent pills, of half a drachm each, to be carried in your pocket and taken at once, the moment you feel yourselves to be in the least touched by the infection. They are all made up of the most appropriate simples: four drachms of Armenian bole, terra sigillata, zedoary, camphor, tormentil, burning bush and hepatic aloes, with a scruple of saffron and cloves, and one of diagrydium, juice of savoy cabbage and cooked honey. They are designed especially to dissipate the pestilence caused by the corruption of natural heat. The Armenian bole and terra sigillata extinguish the great fire in the body and mortify the alterations. Zedoary has the virtue of desiccat­ing and resolving. Camphor refreshes, and it, too, has the effect of drying. Burning bush is a counter-poison. Hepatic aloes preserve one from putrescence and free the body. Saffron and cloves preserve and cheer the heart. And diagrydium dissolves the superfluous humidity of the body."

  The audience remained silent.

  "You may be confident," insisted Cristofano. "I myself have per­fected the formulae, drawing inspiration from the famous recipes tried and proven by the most excellent masters during visitations of the most fearsome pestilences. Such as the stomachic syrups of Master Giovanni of Volterra, which..."

  At that moment a hubbub arose in the group of onlookers: quite unexpectedly, Cloridia had arrived.

  Until that moment, she had remained in her chamber, careless as ever of mealtimes. Her entry was greeted variously. Brenozzi tormented his sapling, Stilone Priaso and Devize tidied their hair, Cristofano drew in his paunch discreetly, Padre Robleda blushed, while Atto Melani sneezed. Only Bedfordi and Dulcibeni remained impassive.

  It was precisely between those two that the courtesan took her place, without being invited.

  Cloridia's appearance was indeed singular: beneath the extreme whiteness of her face powder, her complexion was, despite her ef­forts, distinctly dark, forming a strange contrast with the thick, curly and artificially lightened tresses which framed her spacious forehead and the regular oval of her face. A snub nose, though small and grace­ful, large velvety black eyes, perfect teeth with never a gap between them in a full mouth: these were only the accompaniment to what most struck the eye: a most ample decolletage, underlined by a poly­chrome bandeau of entwined kerchiefs which encircled her shoul­ders and terminated in a large bow between her breasts.

  Bedfordi made room for her on the bench, while Dulcibeni re­mained immobile.

  "I am sure that some of you would like to know how many days it will be before we leave here," said Cloridia in amiably tempting tones, as she laid a pack of Tarot cards on the table.

  "Libera nos a malo" murmured Robleda, crossing himself and ris­ing hurriedly, without even taking his leave.

  No one responded to Cloridia's invitation, which all believed to be merely introductory to other deeper but financially more onerous inquiries.

  "Perhaps this is not the best of moments, dear lady," said Atto Melani courteously, to save her from embarrassment. "So sad is our plight that it overshadows even your delightful company."

  To everyone's surprise, Cloridia then grasped Bedfordi's hand and drew it gently to her: precisely in front of that luxuriant bosom, decollete after the French fashion.

  "Perhaps it would be better to have a nice palm reading," pro­posed Cloridia, "but gratis, of course, and only for your pleasure."

  This once, Bedfordi remained speechless, and, before he could refuse, Cloridia had lovingly opened his fist.

  "Here we are," said she, caressing the Englishman's palm with a fingertip. "You'll see, you will really enjoy this."

  All present (including myself) had imperceptibly stretched for­ward, the better to see and to hear.

  "Has anyone ever read your palm?" asked Cloridia, gently smooth­ing first his fingertips and then his wrist.

  "Yes. I mean no... I mean, not like this."

  "Calm down, and Cloridia will explain to you all the secrets of the hand and of good fortune. First of all, the fingers of the hand are un­equal for decency's sake, and for greater ease in using them. The great finger is known as the thumb or Pollex, quiapollet, meaning that it is stronger than the others. The second is called the Index, because it is used to indicate; the third is called Infamous, because 'tis a sign of derision and contumely; the fourth is the Medical or Annular, meaning that it is the ring finger; and the fifth is the Auricular, because 'tis used to pick and to clean the ears."

  While she conducted her review of the digital apparatus, Cloridia underlined her every phrase by wantonly tickling Bedfordi's fingers, while he strove to conceal his agitation with a weak smile, showing a sort of involuntary aversion before the fair sex which I have observed only in travellers coming from northern climes. Cloridia went on to illustrate other parts of the hand: "Here, you see, this line which ascends from the wrist towards the index finger, right here, is the Life Line, or Heart Line. This one which cuts across the hand more or less from left to right is the Natural Line or Head Line. Its sister line, close by, is known as the Convivial Line. This little swelling is known as the Girdle of Venus. Do you like that name?" inquired Cloridia insinuatingly.

  "I do, very much so," interrupted Brenozzi.

  "Get back, you idiot," retorted Stilone, repelling Brenozzi's at­tempt to conquer a position closer to Cloridia.

  "I know, I know, it is a lovely name," said Cloridia, turning first to

  Bedfordi, then to Brenozzi with a knowing little smile, "but these too are beautiful: the Finger of Venus, the Mount of Venus, the Finger of the Sun, the Mount of the Sun, the Finger of Mars, the Mount of Mars, the Mount of Jupiter, the Finger of Saturn, the Mount of Sat­urn and the Seat of Mercury."

  While she thus illustrated fingers, knuckles, wrinkles, lines, joints, swellings and hollows, in skilful and sensual counterpoint, Cloridia shifted her index finger alternately from Bedfordi's palm to her own cheeks, to the Englishman's palm and then to her own lips, again to Bedfordi's wrist, then to the first gentle slopes of her generous bosom. Bedfordi swallowed.

  "Then we have the Line of the Liver, the Line or Way of the Sun, the Line of Mars, the Line of Saturn, the Mount of the Moon, and it all concludes with the Milky Way..."

  "Oh yes, the Milky Way," gulped Brenozzi, swooning away.

  By now, almost all the group had gathered around Cloridia, as not even the ox and the ass did with Our Lord on the night when he came into the world.

  "However, you do have a fine hand, and your soul must be even finer," said Cloridia obligingly, drawing Bedfordi's palm for a brief instant to the brown skin between her bosom and her neck.

  "As to your body, however, I cannot tell," said she, laughing and playfully pushing Bedfordi's hand far from her, as though in self de­fence, then seizing Dulcibeni's.

  All eyes were fixed on the older gentleman. He, however, broke free of the courtesan's grasp with a brusque, ill-humoured gesture and, rising from the table, made his way towards the stairs.

  "But what a to-do," commented Cloridia ironically, trying to hide her pique by vexedly arranging a lock of her hair. "And what an ugly temper!"

  At that very moment, the thought crossed my mind that in the past few days Cloridia had sat ever closer to Dulcibeni, who had, however, repulsed her with growing irritation. Unlike Robleda, who made an exaggerated show of being scandalised by the courtesan but had perhaps willingly visited her on several nights, Dulcibeni seemed to experience a real, deep disgust in the young woman's presence. No other guest at the inn dared treat Cloridia with such disdain. But, perhaps precisely because of that, or because of the money which (as seemed clear) Dulcibeni did not lack, the courtesan seemed to have set her heart on speaking to the gentleman from Fermo. Since she was unable to extract one word from him, Cloridia had severa
l times asked me about Dulcibeni, being curious to learn any particulars con­cerning him.

  The doctor took advantage of the abrupt break in the palm read­ing to resume his explanations about the remedies against the risk of infection. He distributed various pills, odoriferous balls and other things to us. We then all filed up behind him when he went to check on the state of Pellegrino's health.

  We entered my master's chamber, where he lay on his bed, seeming now a little less livid. The daylight from the window gave us comfort while the physician inspected his patient.

  "Mmmh," groaned Pellegrino.

  "He is not dead," affirmed Cristofano. "His eyes are half-open, he still has a fever, but his colours have improved. And he has wet himself."

  We commented on the news with great relief. Soon, however, the Tuscan physician found that his patient was catatonic and able to respond only weakly to external stimuli.

  "Pellegrino, tell me what you understand of my words," mur­mured Cristofano.

  "Mmmh," repeated my master.

  "He cannot," observed the physician, with conviction. "He is able to discern voices but not to answer. I have already encountered such a one: a peasant who was crushed by a tree trunk blown down by the wind. For months, he was unable to utter a word, although he was perfectly able to understand whatever his wife and children said to him."

  "And then what happened?"

  "Nothing. He died."

  I was asked to say a few words gently to the patient, to try to re­vive him. But I met with no success; not even by murmuring to him that the inn was in flames and his stock of wine in danger could I get him to overcome the torpor that enveloped him.

  Despite this, Cristofano was relieved. The two protuberances on my master's neck were becoming lighter in colour and receding; so they were not tokens. Whether petechiae or mere bruises, they were now regressing. We no longer seemed to be threatened by a visitation of the plague. We could at last relax a little. We did not, however, abandon the sick man to his fate. We at once checked that Pellegrino was able to swallow both solids and liquids, however slowly; and I of­fered to feed him regularly. The inn remained nevertheless deprived of the person who best knew it and was best equipped to serve us. I was just reflecting on these considerations when the others, satis­fied with their visit to their host's bedside, gradually dispersed. I re­mained alone by the physician's side, while he continued his careful observation of Pellegrino's inert and supine body.

  "I would venture that matters are improving; but one must always beware of being over-sure when dealing with distempers," he com­mented.

  We were interrupted by the vigorous ringing of a bell in the Via dell'Orso, just under our windows. I leaned out; there stood three men sent to make our roll-call and ensure that none of us had es­caped the watchman's attention. First, however, Cristofano must re­port to them on our state of health. I ran to the other chambers and gathered all the guests together. Some looked apprehensively at my poor master, who was totally incapable of standing on his own feet.

  Fortunately, the sagacity of Cristofano and Abbot Melani soon saw that problem resolved. We assembled on the first floor, in Pompeo Dulcibeni's apartment. Cristofano was the first to show himself at the window, assuring the men that nothing special had happened, no one had shown the slightest sign of infirmity and all seemed in perfect health.

  We then began to file before the window, one by one, in order to be inspected. But the doctor and Atto had so arranged matters as thoroughly to confuse the three inspectors. Cristofano led Stilone Priaso, then Robleda, and finally Bedfordi to the window, while the three were calling the names of other guests. Cristofano excused himself several times for involuntarily mixing up names, but in the meanwhile a considerable confusion had arisen. When Pellegrino's turn came, Bedfordi succeeded in creating yet more chaos: he began to scream and shout in English, asking (as Atto Melani explained) to be freed forthwith. The three inspectors responded with insults and mockery, but in the meantime Pellegrino passed by rapidly. He seemed to be in perfect form: his hair was well combed, his pale cheeks had been coloured with Cloridia's rouge. At the same time,

  Devize began to gesticulate and to protest at our reclusion, com­pletely distracting the inspectors' attention from Pellegrino. Thus it was that they concluded their visit without becoming aware of my master's wretched state of health.

  While I was considering these expedients, Abbot Melani plucked my sleeve and drew me through the door. He wanted to know where Pellegrino was wont to deposit the valuables which travellers entrusted to him on their arrival. I drew back, manifestly shocked by the question: the place was obviously secret. Even when no treasures were stored there, that was where my master always hid the sums of money which customers left in his care. I recalled the dismal repute in which Cristofano, Stilone Priaso and Devize held Atto.

  "I imagine," added the abbot, "that your master always keeps the key on his person."

  I was about to reply when I glanced at Pellegrino through the doorway while he was being brought back into his chamber. The bunch of keys on an iron ring which my master kept attached to his breeches night and day was not in its place.

  I rushed down to the cellar, where I kept the spare keys hidden in a hole in the wall of which only I knew the existence. They were there. Taking care not to attract the attention of the guests (who, still in a state of excitement at the success of our stratagem, were making their way downstairs for their evening meal), I returned to the third floor.

  Now, I should explain that between each floor there were two flights of stairs. At the top of each of these was a landing. Well, on the landing between the second and third floors was the little door that gave access to the closet where the valuables were kept.

  I made sure that no one was in the vicinity, then entered. I drew out the stone, set into the wall, behind which lay the little coffer. I opened it. Nothing was missing: neither money nor the notes of de­posits countersigned by customers. I grew calmer.

  "Now, the question is: who has taken Master Pellegrino's keys?"

  The voice was Abbot Melani's. He had followed me. He entered and closed the door behind him.

  "It would appear that we have a thief among us," he commented, almost amusedly. Then he stopped, looking alarmed: "Silence. Some­one is coming." And he nodded in the direction of the landing.

  He signalled to me to look outside, which I did most unwillingly. I heard vague notes from Devize's guitar rising from the ground floor. Nothing more.

  I invited the abbot to quit the closet forthwith, desiring as I did to keep our contacts to a minimum. While he was slipping out through the narrow doorway, I saw him look at the little coffer with a rather worried expression.

  "What is it now, Signor Abbot?" I asked, striving to hide my grow­ing anxiety and to restrain the discourteous tone that was rising to my lips.

  "I was thinking: it makes no sense that whoever stole the bunch of keys should have taken nothing from the strong-box of the inn. Are you really sure that you looked through it thoroughly?"

  I went back to see: the money was there, the deposit notes too; what else should there be? Then, I remembered: the little pearls which Brenozzi had given me.

  Gone was the Venetian's bizarre and fascinating gift, which I had jealously concealed among the other valuables. But why had the thief taken nothing else? After all, there were considerable sums of money there, far more visible and readily exchangeable than my little pearls.

  "Calm down. We shall now go down to my apartment and there we shall examine the situation," said he.

  Then, seeing that I was about to refuse, he added: "If you want to see your pearls again."

  Reluctantly, I consented.

  Once in his chamber, the abbot invited me to take a seat. He was aware of my agitation.

  "We are faced with two possibilities," he began. "Either the thief has already done all that he intended to, in other words, to steal your pearls, or else he did not succeed in completing whateve
r it was that he planned. And I tend towards the second option."