Imprimatur

by Rita Monaldi;Francesco Sorti

  "I know, you brute, we shall be leaving it very soon. Instead of lamenting, you could at least tell me where we are, seeing as it is thanks to you that we came here."

  "It is true," said I to Ugonio. "If, at the fork in the river, you had chosen to take the other branch, we should never have discovered Dulcibeni's island."

  "It is no opera of delight, in as where and what concerns the occupation exercisioned with great artifice upon the altar of the insula."

  Abbot Melani raised his eyes to heaven as though in extremities of distress. He fell silent for a moment, and suddenly cried out: "Then will somebody tell me where and what the deuce this damned insula is!" and his cry caused the whole vast cavern to reverberate.

  The echoes died away. Without opening his mouth, Ugonio in­vited me to follow him. He pointed at the back of the huge stone block which served as the base for one of the tables, and nodded his head with a grunt of satisfaction, as though in reply to Abbot Melani's challenge.

  Atto joined us. On the stone, a high-relief was visible, in which the figures of men and animals could be distinguished. Melani drew even closer and began impatiently to explore the carved surface with his fingertips, as though to confirm what he had just seen with his eyes.

  "Extraordinary. It is a Mithraeum," he murmured. "Look, look here. A textbook example! There is everything here, the sacrifice of the bull, the scorpion..."

  Where we stood, there had once, long ago, been an underground temple in which the ancient Romans adored the god Mithras. He was a god originating in the Orient who had in Rome come to rival in popu­larity Apollo, who, like him, represented the sun. That this was indeed an ancient shrine of Mithras was not in doubt: the image carved on one of the stones showed the god killing a bull, whose testicles were held in the claws of a scorpion, a typical depiction of Mithras. What was more, underground sites (always supposing that this place had been under the ground) were favoured by the worshippers of Mithras.

  "We have found only the two large stones on which Dulcibeni places the tables he uses for his practices," concluded Abbot Melani. "Perhaps the remainder of the temple is at the bottom of the lake."

  "And how could that be?"

  "With all these underground rivers, every now and then the ter­rain down here settles. You have seen it yourself. Underground, there are not only conduits, tunnels and galleries, but grottoes, caverns, great hollows, whole Roman palaces integrated into buildings of more recent centuries. The waters of the rivers and the sewers carve the ground out blindly and every now and then a grotto crumbles, another one fills with water, and so on. That is the nature of the subterranean city."

  I thought instinctively of the fissure which had opened in the wall of the staircase of the inn, a few days earlier, after we had heard a reverberation under the ground.

  Ugonio was again showing signs of impatience. We decided to re­turn the boat to the water and attempt to go back. Atto could not wait to see Ciacconio and to know the success or otherwise of his incursion into the house of Tiracorda. We again launched our humble vessel (which had fortunately suffered no significant damage) and prepared to return up the same narrow channel which had brought us to the subterranean Mithraeum.

  Ugonio seemed in the worst of humour. Suddenly, just when we were about to embark, he jumped down from the boat and, raising a shower of gravel with his rapid little trot, returned to the island.

  "Ugonio!" I called after him, astonished.

  "Be quiet, he'll only be a moment," said Atto Melani, who must have foreseen what the corpisantaro was about to do.

  A few moments later, indeed, Ugonio returned and jumped agilely into the bark. He seemed relieved.

  I was about to ask him what the deuce had called him back, when suddenly I understood.

  "Insula iniquitable," muttered Ugonio, speaking to himself.

  He had freed the last rodent from its cage.

  Our return through the suffocating channel that flowed into the lake was somewhat less dramatic but just as wearying as the outward journey. The going was made all the slower and more painful by our fatigue and the fact that we were moving upstream, however weak the current may have been. No one spoke and in the poop Atto and Ugonio pushed with poles while I held the lantern and provided a counterweight in the prow.

  After a while, I wanted to break the heavy silence, relieved only by the viscous slopping of water in the canal.

  "Signor Atto, concerning this matter of the movements provoked by underground rivers, something bizarre befell me."

  I told him that the astrological gazette which we had taken from Stilone Priaso had forecast for the month of September natural phenomena such as earthquakes and the like. A few days earlier, at exactly the time predicted, there had been heard in the bowels of the earth a sort of abysmal, menacing rumble and a fissure had appeared in the wall of the staircase. Was that only a fortuitous occurrence? Or did the author of the almanack know that in September phenomena of that nature were likely to take place?

  "I can only tell you that I do not believe in such nonsense," said Abbot Melani with a scornful little laugh, "otherwise, I would have run to consult an astrologer to tell me the present, the past and the future. I do not believe that the fact of having been born on the 31st of March can..."

  "Aries," muttered Ugonio.

  Atto and I looked at one another.

  "Ah yes, I was forgetting that you are... that you understand these things," said Atto, struggling to contain his laughter.

  But the corpisantaro would not be intimidated. According to the great astrologer Arcandam, Ugonio imperturbably pronounced, the native of Aries, warm and dry in nature, will be dominated by wrath. He will be red-headed or fair and will almost always bear marks on his shoulders or on his left foot; he will have abundant hair, a thick beard, brightly coloured eyes, white teeth, well-formed jaws, a fine nose and large eyelids.

  He will be observant and curious about the words and deeds of others and concerning every secret. His will be a studious, elevated, variable and vigorous spirit. He will have many friends. He will flee evil. He will be little inclined to illnesses, apart from the grave vexa­tions caused him by headaches. He will be eloquent, solitary in his way of life, prodigal in necessary things: he will meditate upon fraudu­lent enterprises and will often employ threats. He will have good fortune in all kinds of wars as in negotiating all things.

  In his early youth, he will be very contentious and choleric. He will suffer from inner irascibility which he will barely manifest. He will be a liar, and false; using soft words to cover dissimulation and lies, saying one thing and doing another, making marvellous promises but not keeping them. He will spend a part of his life in a position of authority. He will be avaricious and will therefore take care to acquire and to sell. He will be envious and therefore quick to anger, but even more, he will be envied by others, wherefore he will have many enemies and treacherous adversaries. As for misfortune, he may be beset by various calamities, so much so that he will not enjoy a single commodity without discommodiousness and peril for his property. He will possess a mutable inheritance, or he will soon lose what he had acquired and soon acquire what he had lost. But much wealth will be bestowed upon him.

  He will make many voyages and will quit his country and his par­ents. From the age of twenty-three onwards, he will move on to bet­ter things and he will handle money. He will become rich at the age of forty and will attain a position of great dignity. He will succeed perfectly in whatever he undertakes; his good offices will be appreci­ated. He will not marry the woman who was first intended for him, but another whom he will love and from whom he will have noble sons. He will converse with ecclesiastics. In general, if he is born during the hours of daylight, he will be fortunate and held in great esteem by princes and lords. He will live to the age of eighty-seven years and three months.

  Instead of mocking Ugonio, Atto and I listened to him in religious silence up to the end. Abbot Melani even left off using his boat-pole, while the
corpisantaro humbly maintained his rhythm.

  "Well, let us see," reflected Atto. "Wealthy, that is true. Skilful in negotiations, that is true. Fair-haired, at least until it went white, that is true. A great traveller, an observer of others' words and deeds: for sure. Fine eyes, white teeth, well-formed jaw, fine nose: yes, in­deed. Eloquent, studious, elevated, variable and vigorous spirit: God forgive my immodesty, but that is not incorrect; on the contrary. What else? Ah yes, the esteem of princes, the company of prelates, and headaches. I do not know where our Ugonio fished up so much infor­mation from the sign of Aries, but it certainly is not all unfounded."

  I avoided asking Atto Melani whether he also recognised him­self in avarice, irascibility, fraudulence, envy and recourse to lies and threats, as mentioned in the astrological portrait. And nor did I ask

  Ugonio why, among the many defects of those born under the sign of Aries, vanity had been omitted. I also took care not to mention the prophecy concerning marriage and children, which were obviously precluded in the case of the abbot.

  "You truly know many things about astrology," I complimented the corpisantaro instead, recalling also his eloquent excursus into medical astrology a few nights previously.

  "Perused, auscultated, verbalised."

  "Remember, young man," interjected Abbot Melani, "that in this holy city, every house, every wall, every single stone is imbued with magic, with superstition, with obscure hermetic knowledge. Our two monsters must have read a few manuals of astrological consulta­tions—one can find them everywhere, so long as the matter is not spoken of out loud. Scandal is but an entertainment for bumpkins: remember the story of Abbot Morandi."

  It was at that moment that the sound of running water distracted us from our conversation: we had returned to the confluence with the main channel.

  "Now we shall have to set to work with the oars," said Atto, while our boat gave itself up to the far faster and more forceful waters of the underground river.

  A moment passed, then we all looked at one another speechlessly. "The oars," said I. "I think that we abandoned them when the trio of the Societas Orationis et Mortis made their appearance."

  I saw Atto glare resentfully at Ugonio, as though awaiting an explanation.

  "Aries also distractable," said Ugonio in his defence, trying to shift the blame for the loss of the oars to the abbot.

  The little bark, now a helpless prey to the current, began to ac­celerate remorselessly. All attempts to use the poles to slow down our progress proved useless.

  For a brief passage, we proceeded down the river; soon, however, a confluent poured in from the left, provoking a wave which compelled us to hold on tight to our poor piece of wood in order not to be thrown out. The roaring of the waters had grown ever louder and more overwhelming; the walls of the channel offered no hold. No one dared open his mouth.

  Ugonio tried to use the cord which he had brought with him to hook onto any outcrop in the walls, but the bricks and stones that made these up were completely smooth.

  Suddenly, I remembered that, on our outward journey, the corpisantaro had, however enigmatically, explained the reason why, when we came to the fork that led to the lake, he had not wished to pro­ceed along the main channel.

  "Did you not say that this river 'misodours'?" I asked him.

  He nodded. "It misodours with the foulestest of fetidness."

  Suddenly, we found ourselves in the midst of a sort of aquatic crossroads: from the left and from the right, two equal and con­trary confluents hurled themselves with even greater force into our river.

  That was the beginning of the end. The little bark, reeling drunkenly from that convolution of confluents, began to turn on itself, at first slowly and then vertiginously. We clung now, not only to the boat but to one another. The rotation soon made us lose our sense of direction, so that for a moment I had the absurd sensation of moving upstream, towards salvation.

  Meanwhile a deafening roar drew ever nearer. The only reference point was our lamp which, with the greatest of difficulty, Atto con­tinued to hold up, as though the fate of the world depended on it; around that point of light, everything spun madly. We seemed almost to be flying, I thought, transported by fear and vertigo.

  That thought came true. Under the boat, the waters vanished, as though a magnetic force had raised us up and was about to de­posit us mercifully upon the sands of salvation. For a brief and insane moment, I remembered the words of Padre Robleda about Kircher's Universal Magnetism, which comes from God and holds all things together.

  But suddenly a blind, colossal force crashed against the bottom of the bark, throwing us from it at the same instant, and all became dark. I found myself in the water, drawn through icy, malignant ed­dies, lapped by filthy, disgusting foam, screaming with terror and de­spair.

  We had gone over a waterfall, plummeting into an even more fetid and disgusting river. Not only had the impact with the water cap­sized the boat, but our lamp was lost. Only from time to time could I touch bottom with my feet, perhaps because here and there lay some large outcrop. Had that not been the case, I should surely have drowned. The stench was unbearable and my lungs were filled only by my panting from weariness and fear."Are you alive?" yelled Atto in the dark, while the roar of the cas­cade hammered at our ears.

  A large blunt object struck me in the chest, leaving me breath­less.

  "Hold on, hold on to the boat, it is here between us," said Atto.

  Miraculously, I managed to grasp the edge of the bark, while the current continued to drag us along.

  "Ugonio," screamed Atto again, with all the breath that remained to him, "Ugonio, where are you?"

  We were only two now. Certain at this moment that we were go­ing to our death, we let ourselves be led by that poor wreck, floating in the midst of stinking fluids and other indescribable faecal waste.

  "It misodoureth... now I understand."

  "Understand what?"

  "This is not just any channel. It is the Cloaca Maxima, the biggest sewer in Rome, built by the ancient Romans."

  Our speed increased again, and, going by the sound, we knew that we were in a broad conduit the vault of which was rather low, perhaps hardly enough for the capsized hull of our little bark to pass. Now the roar of the waters had diminished, as we drew away from the waterfall.

  Suddenly, however, the boat came to a stop. The vault was too low and had caused our poor craft to run aground in a comical, cap­sized position. Somehow, I managed to hold onto the edge. I raised an arm and felt with horror how close and oppressive was the roof of the vault. The air was dense and fetid: breathing had become almost impossible.

  "What shall we do?" I panted, struggling desperately to keep my lips above the surface of the waters.

  "There is no way back. Let us go with the current."

  "But I cannot swim."

  "I neither. But the water is dense, one has but to keep afloat. Lie on your back and try to keep your head erect," said he, spitting to cleanse his lips. "Move your arms a little from time to time, but do not struggle or you will sink."

  "And then what?"

  "We shall emerge somewhere."

  "And what if, before that, the vault closes in completely?"

  He did not reply.

  Almost at the limit of our strength, we let ourselves be borne by the waves (if that disgusting mire could be so called) until my proph­ecy came true. The current again speeded up, as though we were on a slope; the air was so rarefied that I alternated long periods of holding my breath with sudden, agitated intakes; the foul gases thus inhaled provoked pains in my head and violent dizziness. It felt as though a remote and powerful whirlpool was about to swallow us.

  Suddenly, the top of my head struck the roof of the gallery. The current ran even faster. This was the end.

  I was about to vomit. Yet somehow I held back, as though at last about to obtain liberation and, with it, peace. Strangled, yet very close, I heard Atto's voice one last time.

 
"Alas, so it really is true," he murmured to himself.

  Day the Ninth

  19th September, 1683

  "Look, look here. This one is young."

  Hands and eyes of merciful angels were caring for me. I had come to the end of a long voyage. I, however, was no more: my body must have been elsewhere, while I enjoyed the beneficent warmth which heaven radiates upon all good souls. I waited to be shown the way.

  A few timeless instants passed, then the hands of one of the an­gels gently prodded me. Light, indistinct murmurs were gradually awakening me. I could at last catch a droplet of that sweet celestial colloquy: "Search the other one better."

  A few fleeting but perhaps eternal moments later, I understood that the winged celestial messengers had temporarily left me. Perhaps, for the time being, I no longer needed their charitable assistance. I then opened myself to the divine light which benign heaven extended over and around me and other poor wandering souls.