Imprimatur am-1

by Rita Monaldi

  I wondered whether I should not awaken him and free him from those ugly memories. Carefully, I got out of bed and brought my face close to his. I studied it. This was the first time that I was able to scrutinise Atto from so near, without coming under his vigilant and censorious eye. I was moved by the abbot's countenance, puffed up and stained by sleep: the cheeks, smooth and just beginning to sag, were redolent of the eunuch's solitude and melancholy. An ancient sea of suffering in the midst of which the proud and wayward dimple strove still, like one shipwrecked, to keep afloat, demanding the reverence and respect due to a diplomatic representative of His Most Christian Majesty. I felt my heart tighten, but was suddenly torn from my reverie.

  ‘Barricades… mysterieuses, mysterieuses. Barricades. Mysterieuses. Les barricades.. Abbot Melani suddenly murmured in his sleep.

  He was raving. Inexplicably, however, those words troubled me. Whatever could those barricades be in the mind of Abbot Melani? Barricades mysterieuses. Mysterious. What did those two words remind me of? It was as though the concept was not new to me…

  Just then, Atto gave signs of waking. He no longer seemed in the least weighed down by suffering, as he had only moments before. On the contrary, upon seeing me, his face broadened at once into a smile and he chanted:

  Chi giace nel sonno non speri mai Fama.

  Chi dorme codardo e degno che mora…

  "Thus Le Seigneur Luigi, my master, would have upbraided me," he jested, stretching and scratching himself here and there. "Have I missed anything? How is our physician?" he then asked, seeing me so pensive.

  "There is nothing new, Signor Atto."

  He who lies sleeping

  lays no claim to Fame

  He who cravenly sleeps

  is worthy of death.

  "I feel that I owe you an apology, my boy," said he, a moment later.

  "What for, Signor Atto?"

  "Well, perhaps I should not have teased you as I did, when we were in my chamber this afternoon; concerning Cloridia, I mean."

  I replied that no apologies were necessary; in reality, I was as surprised as I was pleased by Abbot Melani's admission. With a more amiable disposition, I then recounted all that Cloridia had explained to me, dwelling especially upon the magical and surprising science of numbers, in which the destiny of each one of us is concealed. I then proceeded to tell him of the investigative powers of the ardent rod.

  "I understand. The ardent rod is (how should I put it?) an unusual and fascinating subject," commented Atto, "in which Cloridia is surely well versed."

  "Oh, you see, she was washing her hair and called for me to help comb it out," said I, ignoring Atto's subtle irony.

  O biondi tesori inanellati, chiome divine, cori, labirinti dorati…

  He exclaimed to me, singing sotto voce. I blushed, at first in anger and shame, but then was at once overcome by the beauty of that aria, now utterly devoid of any accent of scorn.

  … tra i vostri splendori

  M’e dolce smarrire la vitae morire…

  I let the melody transport me to thoughts of love: I lulled myself in the image of Cloridia's blonde and curly tresses, and I remembered her sweet voice. In my heart, I began to wonder whatever had brought Cloridia to the Donzello. It had been the ardent rod, that much she had told me. She had then added that the rod is moved by "antipathy" and by "sympathy". Which, then, had it been for her? Had she come to the inn following the trail of someone who had done her a grave wrong and upon whom she may perhaps have wished to take revenge? Or (oh, delicious thought!) had Cloridia come, guided * O blonde treasures / Rings curled upon rings, / Divine tresses, choirs, / Golden labyrinths!.. Amidst your splendours / It is sweet to me to lose / My life, and die… by that magnetism which leads us to find love and to which, it seems, the rod is rather sensitive? I began to daydream that perhaps it was so…

  Su tutto allacciate, legate, legate gioir e tormento!..*

  Atto's song, in tribute to the golden tresses of my courtesan of the honey-coloured skin, was in counterpoint to my thoughts.

  Moreover, I continued in my musings upon love, those moments of… relaxation: had not Cloridia graciously bestowed them upon me, without ever a mention of money, (unlike that painful previous episode when I had consulted her concerning dreams)?

  While I was thus engrossed, and Atto was so caught up in the vortex of song as no longer to hold back the flood of his voice, Cristofano opened his eyes.

  He looked at the abbot with narrowed eyes, without however interrupting him. After a moment of silence, he even thanked him for having helped him. I heaved a sigh of relief. From his expression and his colouring, the doctor seemed to have recovered. His diction, again fluent and normal, soon reassured me as to the state of his health. This had been a mere passing crisis.

  "Your voice is still splendid, Signor Abbot Melani," commented the physician, as he rose and adjusted his clothing. "Although it was somewhat imprudent on your part to allow the other guests on this floor to hear you. Let us hope that Dulcibeni and Devize do not wonder what you were doing singing in my chamber."

  After once again thanking Abbot Melani for his attentive assistance, Cristofano moved in my company towards the room next door, in order to visit poor Bedfordi, whilst Atto returned to his own chamber on the second floor.

  Bedfordi lay immobile as ever. The doctor shook his head: "I fear that it is time to inform the other guests of this unfortunate young man's plight. If he should die, we must avoid panic breaking out in the hostelry."

  We agreed that we should first warn Padre Robleda, so that he could administer Extreme Unction. I avoided mentioning to Cristofano that once, when requested by me, Robleda had refused to administer the

  All put up and tied,

  Tied, tying together

  Joy and torment!.. holy oil to the young Englishman, treating him as a Protestant, who was thus excommunicated.

  Thus we knocked at the Jesuit's door. I foresaw all too well the reaction of the cowardly Robleda to our bad news: anxiety, stammering and, above all, noisy scorn for Cristofano's attitude. To my surprise, none of that came to pass.

  "How come that you should not have tried to cure Bedfordi through the use of magnetism?" Robleda asked the physician, as soon as he had finished explaining the sad situation to him.

  Cristofano remained speechless. Robleda then reminded him that, according to Father Kircher, the whole of creation was dominated by magnetism, so much so that the learned Jesuit had devoted a book to explaining the entire doctrine, clarifying once and for all that the world is nothing more than a great magnetic concatenation at the centre of which is God, the first and the one original magnet, towards Whom every object and every living being tends irremediably. Is not love (both human and divine) an expression of magnetic attraction? Indeed, is not every kind of fascination? The planets and the stars are, as all know, subject to reciprocal magnetism; but the celestial bodies are also inhabited by magnetic force.

  "Well, yes," intervened Cristofano, "I do know the example of the compass."

  "… which, of course, aids navigators and travellers to orient themselves; but there is far more to it."

  What should we say of the magnetism exercised upon the waters by the sun and the moon, so evident from the tides? And, in plants, the universal vis attractiva is clearly to be found: the vegetal magnetic force triumphs in the barometz, said Robleda, as no doubt the doctor well knew.

  "Mmm, yes indeed…" said Cristofano, hesitantly.

  "What is that?" I asked.

  "Well, my boy," said the Jesuit, adopting a paternal tone, "this is the celebrated plant from the lands of Tartary, which senses magnetically the presence of nearby sheep and then produces miraculous flowers in the form of sheep."

  Analogous is the behaviour of the heliotropes, which magnetically follow the path of the sun (like the sunflower, from which Father Kircher had fashioned an extraordinary heliotropic clock) and that of the selenotropic plants, whose blossoms follow the moon instead.


  Animals, too, are magnetic: while leaving aside the all too well-known examples of the torpedo and of the fisher frog, which attract and paralyse their prey, animal magnetism is clearly observable in the anguis stupidus, the enormous American serpent which lives immobile below ground and attracts prey to itself, mostly deer, which it calmly proceeds to envelop in its coils and to swallow, slowly dissolving in its mouth their flesh and even their hard horns. And, is not the faculty magnetic whereby the anthropomorphic fish, also known as sirens, attract unfortunate mariners into the waters?

  "I understand," retorted Cristofano, slightly confused, "but our task is to cure Bedfordi, not to devour or to capture him."

  "And do you perhaps believe that medicinal remedies do not act through their magnetic virtue?" asked Robleda, with skilful rhetoric.

  "I have never heard of anyone being cured in that way," I observed dubiously.

  "Well, it is quite naturally the therapy to be employed where all others have failed," said Robleda in defence of his contention. "What matters is not to lose sight of the laws of magnetism. First, one cures the sickness using every herb, stone, metal, fruit or seed which bears a similarity in colour, form, quality, figure et cetera with the diseased part. One observes the correspondences with the stars: heliotropic plants for solar types, lunar plants for lunatics, and so on and so forth. Then the principium similitudinis: kidney stones, for example, are cured with stones from the bladders of swine or other creatures which enjoy stony environs, such as crustaceans and oysters. The same is true of plants: the chondrilla, for example, the roots of which are covered in nodes and protuberances, are splendid for curing haemorrhoids. Finally, even poisons can act as antidotes; and in the same way, honey is excellent for healing bee stings, spiders' legs are used in poultices against spiders' bites…"

  "Now, I understand," lied Cristofano. "Yet I fail to see with what magnetic therapy we should cure Bedfordi."

  "But that is simple: with music."

  Padre Robleda had not the slightest doubt: as Kircher had most clearly explained, the art of sounds entered too into the law of universal Magnetism. The ancients knew that the different musical modes were able through magnetism to stimulate the soul: the Doric mode inspired temperance and moderation, the Lydian, which was suitable for funerals, moved one to tears and lamentation; the Mixolydian mode aroused commiseration, piety and the like; the Aeolian and the Ionic induced sleep and torpor. If, then, one rubs the edge of a glass with a damp fingertip, it will emit a sound which will be propagated magnetically to all similar beakers placed in the immediate vicinity, thus provoking choral resonance. But the magnetismus musicae also has exceedingly powerful therapeutic capacities, which manifest most markedly in the cure of tarantism.

  "Tarantism?" I asked, while Cristofano at last nodded his accord.

  "In the city of Taranto, in the Kingdom of Naples," explained the physician, "a species of unusually noxious spider is often to be found, which are therefore known as tarantulas."

  Their bite, Cristofano explained, produces effects which are, to say the least, terrifying: the victim first bursts into uncontrollable fits of laughter, ceaselessly rolling and twisting on the ground. He then jumps to his feet and raises his right arm high, as though unsheathing a sword, like a gladiator preparing solemnly for combat, and exhibits himself in a series of ridiculous gesticulations, before yet again casting himself down to the ground in another fit of hilarity. He then pretends again, with great pomp, to be a general or condottiere, whereupon he is seized with an irrepressible thirst for water and coolness, so that if he is given a vase full of water, he will plunge his whole head into it, shaking it frenetically as sparrows do when washing in a fountain. He then runs to a tree and climbs up it, remaining suspended therefrom, sometimes for many days. At last, he lets himself fall to the ground, exhausted and, kneeling bent double, he falls a-groaning and a-sighing and strikes the bare ground with his fists like an epileptic or a lunatic, invoking punishments and misadventures upon his own head.

  "But that is terrible," I commented, horrified. "All that, just from the bite of a tarantula?"

  "Of course," confirmed Robleda, "and that is without mentioning other extraordinary magnetic effects: the bite of the red tarantula causes the victim to become red in the face, green tarantulas make one turn green, and striped ones likewise cause the victim to come out in stripes, while aquatic ones induce a desire for water, those which dwell in hot places induce choler, and so on and so forth."

  "And how is it cured?" I asked, growing curious.

  "Perfecting the primitive knowledge of certain peasants from Taranto," said Robleda, rummaging in his drawers and then proudly showing us a leaf of paper, "Padre Kircher prepared an antidote."

  He showed us a crumpled half-sheet of paper, covered in notes and pentagrams. We observed him with perplexity and no little suspicion,

  "And with what does one play?"

  "Well, the Tarantini perform it with tambourines, lyres, zithers, dulcimers and flutes; and, obviously, with guitars, like that of Devize."

  "In short," the physician retorted perplexedly, "you are saying that Devize could cure Bedfordi with this music."

  "Oh no, this is good only for the bite of the tarantula. We shall have to use something else."

  "Another music?" I asked.

  "We shall have to use trial and error. We shall leave the choice to Devize. But remember, my sons: in desperate cases, the only true succour comes from the Lord; and," added Padre Robleda, "no one has ever discovered an antidote for the pestilence."

  "You are right, Padre," I heard Cristofano say, while obscurely I remembered the arcanae obices. "And I wish to place my entire confidence in the theories of your colleague Kircher."

  The physician, as he freely admitted, no longer knew to which saint to address himself; yet, still hoping that his cures might, sooner or later, have a beneficial effect upon Bedfordi, he would not deprive his moribund patient of one last desperate attempt. He therefore informed me that we would, for the time being, delay informing the other guests of the Englishman's desperate condition.

  Later, when I was already serving dinner, Cristofano told me that he had set an appointment with Devize for the morrow. The French musician, whose chamber was next to that of Bedfordi, would only have to play his guitar in the Englishman's doorway.

  "So, do we take leave of one another until morning, Signor Cristofano?"

  "No, I have fixed the appointment with Devize immediately before luncheon. That is the ideal time: the sun is high and the energy of the musical vibrations can spread to the maximum. Good night, my boy."

  Night the Eighth

  Between the 18th and 19th September, 1683

  "Closed! It is closed, damn it!"

  That was to be expected, I thought, while Atto Melani pushed uselessly against the trapdoor that led to Tiracorda's stables. Already, when we were marching through the galleries, escorted by the subdued muttering of Ugonio and Ciacconio, this latest nocturnal expedition to the house of Tiracorda seemed to me destined to fail. Dulcibeni had discovered that we were keeping an eye on him. Perhaps he did not imagine that we had already spied upon him in Tiracorda's study, but he would never have wished to run the risk of being observed while conducting strange trafficking with (or against) his old friend. And indeed, after entering his fellow-countryman's home, he had made sure that the trapdoor was locked.

  "Excuse me, Signor Abbot," said I while Atto wiped his hands nervously, "but perhaps it is better like this. If tonight Dulcibeni notices nothing strange while he is playing at riddles with Tiracorda, perhaps tomorrow we shall find our way free."

  "Not a bit of it," replied Atto crossly, "he knows now that he is under observation. If he intends to accomplish something strange, he will do it as early as possible: even tonight; or tomorrow, at the latest."

  "And so?"

  "And so, we must find a way of entering Tiracorda's house, even if I really do not know how. We would need…"

  "
Gfrrrlubh," interrupted Ciacconio, stepping forward.

  Ugonio looked at him frowning, as though in reproof.

  "At last, a volunteer," commented Abbot Melani, satisfied.

  A few minutes later, we were divided into two unequal groups. Atto, Ugonio and I marched along gallery C, in the direction of the underground river. Ciacconio, on the other hand, had climbed to the surface up the well which led from the same conduit to the Piazza della Rotonda, near the Pantheon. He had not been willing to explain to us how he intended to effect his entry into the house of Tiracorda. We had patiently explained to him, down to the smallest details, how the physician's house was laid out, but only at the very end did the corpisantaro candidly declare that the information would be absolutely of no use to him. We had even provided him with a sketch of the house, including the disposition of the windows; but, hardly had we separated than we heard resounding in the gallery a frenetic, goatlike sound of mastication. The life of our sketch, on which Ciacconio was horribly banqueting, had been all too brief.

  "Do you think he will succeed?" I asked Abbot Melani.

  "I have not the least idea. We explained to them ad nauseam every single corner of the house, but it is as though he already knew what to do. I cannot bear them, those two."

  In the meantime, we were rapidly advancing towards the small underground river where, two nights previously, we had seen Dulcibeni mysteriously disappear. We passed close to the old and nauseating carcasses of the rats, and very soon we heard the sound of the subterranean watercourse. This time we were better equipped: at Atto's request, the corpisantari had brought with them a long and robust rope, a few iron nails, a hammer and a few long staves. These would be useful for the perilous and somewhat unwise operation which Atto intended at all costs to perform: to ford the river.