Secretum am-2

by Rita Monaldi

  As soon as I arrived, I began boldly mixing juices and filling glasses, running from one guest to another like a bee buzzing from flower to flower in the morning.

  Once I had done my duty waiting upon them, I placed myself at the gentlemen's service, standing beside one of the wooden pillars of the pavilion before which the other waiters stood like so many Lot's wives. Under the white and sky-blue wing of the great linen tent the guests stood and chattered, laughing and joking, or sat ensconced in armchairs. A few paces away from me, a few middle-aged monsignors calmed with lemonade tongues over-exercised with gossip.

  It was at that moment that I realised I was in luck. Next to me stood the two monsignors whom I had, during the Academy, overheard discussing a certain plan to reform the corps of sergeants. From what I could gather, the discussion was continuing:

  "… And so now, things should get a move on."

  "But this idea is twenty years old, surely they do not intend to implement it now?"

  "On the contrary, that does appear to be the case. I was told by my brother who is still an auditor of the Rota but is close to Cardinal Cenci."

  "And what does Cenci know of it?"

  "He knows, he knows. Here in Rome, at a certain level, the matter is common knowledge. It seems that the time is ripe; if the Pope lives a few more months, the reform will be carried through."

  I listened to those two like Diana drawing her bow against a fleeing stag.

  "But it is absolutely just that this should be done," continued the first speaker. "You and I, who are decent persons, have never seen the proud cohort of catchpolls entering a tavern or wine-shop at night, for at night we sleep and do not go out wine- bibbing in taverns. But everyone knows perfectly well what takes place. First the catchpolls get roaring drunk, befoul everything and create pandemonium, then off they go without so much as a goodnight. And if the innkeeper is so ill-advised as to ask to be paid, they spit in his face as though he had committed lese-majeste, treat him worse than some back-street assassin and the night afterwards they return to take their revenge. They arrange for some strumpet to enter the hostelry, or a pair of ruffian friends of theirs, and get them to play cards with unstamped playing cards. Then they enter, pretending to be there for a police check, find the cards, or the strumpet, and everyone is thrown into prison: the host, the waiters and anyone who happens to be in the tavern at the time, thus ruining the establishment and the innkeeper's family."

  "I know, I know," replied the other, "these tricks are as old as the world."

  "And do you think that a trivial matter?" insisted the first speaker. "It appears that the catchpolls exact a tithe, 'the gratuity', they call it, not only from all traders and hawkers but even from artists. What is more, they take a cut from all the harlots, and not only that. They rent rooms and sublet them to the same women of the town at a high price, so that they take money off them twice over. If the harlots refuse, they lose all their advantages."

  "Advantages?" repeated the other, somewhat confused.

  "Those protected by the catchpolls can work, if you will pardon the improper term, even on feast days. The others they keep checks on, obliging them to rest during religious festivals, in accordance with the law. So those ones lose earnings. Do I explain myself clearly?"

  "Well, that's a fine one," said the other, wiping his forehead with a white lace handkerchief in a voice that expressed a mixture of surprise, curiosity and a hint of prurience.

  "Come," said the first one. "Let us go and take a look at the game of blind man's buff."

  They rose from their armchairs and took one another by the arm with familiar courtesy, moving towards the nearby outer wall bordering the Barberini estate; there, they would certainly be turning to the left, towards the little grove where the game would be at its height.

  I looked around me. There could be no question of leaving my post and abruptly or suddenly abandoning the other waiters in the tent. Don Paschatio would certainly receive notice of such a thing; hitherto, I had enjoyed almost complete freedom of movement, except for those occasional duties as a supernumerary, whenever there was a shortage of personnel. If I were to be counted among the deserters, that would only be the start of my troubles. Perhaps the matter might even be brought to the attention of Cardinal Spada in person and I would lose my job; or else the permission to serve Atto might be revoked.

  Just as I was reviewing all these pessimistic prospects, I found the solution. A lady with a decolletage after the French style, with a great white veil on her shoulders, was being served a generous portion of blood orange juice in a crystal bowl. Next to her, the Marchese Delia Penna awaited his turn. Swiftly I took a carafe of lemonade from the table and rushed to serve the Marchese.

  "But what are you doing, boy?"

  In rushing to serve the gentleman, I deliberately jogged my colleague's arm, with the result that he sprinkled red juice on the lady's immaculate veil. Surprised and angered, the lady promptly protested.

  "Oh heavens, what have 1 done! Permit me to remedy this, the veil must be washed at once, I shall see to this in person," said I, snatching the veil from her shoulders and rushing towards the great house; a move executed with such rapidity that the victim and the onlookers were left with no time to react. The school of Atto, master of false accidents, had yielded its first fruit. A few moments later, I placed the veil in the hands of a maidservant, with the request to wash it and return it to me in person. That task was the pretext I needed to abandon my post at the pavilion.

  Immediately after that, I was in the vicinity of the little grove, on the trail of the two monsignors overheard moments before. How, I wondered, was I to spy on them without being discovered? At last I caught sight of them walking between the box and laurel hedges and continuing their earlier conversation. I was jubilant: the good old rules of Master Tranquillo Romauli had offered me the solution. Near the statues, the hedges had been left not more than a yard high. Elsewhere, they were higher. The precise height of those hedges, neither too low nor as high as those in a maze, provided me with a decisive advantage: they concealed even the top of my head, while leaving the others uncovered from the shoulders upwards. I could see without being seen, spy without being spied on.

  I stopped behind a hedge, ready to listen, when a voice made me jump.

  "Cuckoo! You are here, you naughty girl, I know."

  "Hee hee hee hee!" responded a feminine laugh.

  The Penitentiary Major, Cardinal Colloredo, was groping his way, impeded by his voluminous cassock, with his eyes covered with a big red bandage and his hands, adorned with huge topaz and ruby-incrusted rings, stretched out before him in search of his prey. A few paces beyond, hidden behind a little tree, a young high-born maiden wearing a lovely cream-coloured gown and with a heavy diadem of emeralds around her neck awaited Colloredo's approach with trepidation.

  "That is not fair! You are breaking the rules," the young woman chanted, for the ancient wearer of the purple, pretending to wipe the perspiration from his brow, had raised the blindfold a little from his eyes.

  Suddenly, a nobleman wearing a showy French periwig, whom I was able to identify without a shadow of a doubt as the Marchese Andrea Santacroce, burst out from the surrounding bushes. He grasped the maiden firmly, pressing his chest hard against her back, and kissed her passionately on the neck, like a gander covering a goose and biting her sensually from behind.

  "You are mad," I heard her moan, as she freed herself from the embrace. "The others are coming."

  Just then, indeed, another blindfolded player was approaching that part of the wood, driving the other players before him, as happens when the prey is driven forward by the beaters on a hunt. Santacroce disappeared as rapidly as he had materialised. The damsel cast one last languid glance at him.

  I concealed myself even more thoroughly in the grass, terrified of the prospect of being discovered and taken for a spy on clandestine trysts.

  "I know that you're nearby, ha ha!" came the happy chant of the
Chairman of the Victualling Board, Monsignor Grimaldi, blindfolded with a big yellow handkerchief.

  Before him moved a little group of guests who were enjoying themselves provoking him, keeping very close but never allowing themselves to get caught. The ladies caressed him with fans, the men tickled his belly with a little finger, then were gone in a trice, some under the sheltering foliage of loquat or marine cherry bushes, some taking refuge under the friendly fronds of a young example of those strange trees, the palms, which were for the first time planted by Pope Pius IV in the garden before the Villa Pia and had since made such an impression that their exotic mops were now to be found throughout the Holy City. Grimaldi bounded forward, sure of surprising the nearest player, the Cardinal Vicar Gaspare Carpegna. Instead, he collided with the trunk of the palm tree, causing great mirth in all the group.

  The Cardinal Vicar, who had escaped the assault by a hair's breadth, leaned contentedly against a wall, when from this came a spray of water which caught him straight in the face, soaking his collar and his purple cape. An even heartier burst of general laughter followed.

  In order to make the games richer in surprises, Cardinal Spada had arranged that little water devices were to be scattered throughout the property, which would be activated by the unwitting passer-by, unleashing sprays, spouts, buckets and downpours for the joy of gay, fun-loving souls. The wall on which Carpegna had leaned, inadvertently pressing on a lever, was in reality a wooden panel leaning against a tree and covered with bricks, behind which was concealed a hydraulic machine equipped with a spout aimed at the activator.

  "Cardinal Carpegna was hoping to get away, and instead… he got a wetting, ha ha!" commented Cardinal Negroni who, however, promptly tripped over a vertical cord which tipped a bucket of water on an overhead branch onto his head, giving him abundant copious cold shower.

  More laughter followed and I took advantage of the diversion to move a little further away. I was on the point of giving up my bold project of espionage and returning to the great house when I recognised the two monsignori whom I sought, as they distractedly observed that jovial pastime. As I expected, they did not notice me, absorbed as they still were in their discussions.

  "The catchpolls protect fugitives and persons who have been served summons," said the first, as they slowly strolled towards the fishpond under the fountain, "yet they imprison people with a mere civil debt for insolvency. And what is one to say of those convicted in absentia who are arrested and arrive in prison half dead? All the doctrinal texts make it quite clear that torture is licit, but at the end of proceedings, not the beginning."

  "And how about illegal arrests? No one says anything about these but they are exceedingly frequent. People are arrested in the middle of the night, interrogated, maltreated and thrown into the cells for no good reason. I tell you roundly that, as long as all this remains unchanged, pilgrims and foreigners are bound to leave Rome scandalised, ascribing the crimes of the sergeants to the persons who worthily preside over public administration."

  "The Pope, the Secretary of State, the Governor…" added the other, stopping by the feet of the Triton to admire the water-lilies, the marsh marigold with its yellow double flowers and the whitepetalled trefoil, all limply abandoned on the surface of the waters.

  "Of course, and they will spread the word everywhere in foreign countries, to the great dishonour and discredit of the Holy Apostolic See."

  Prolonged and forced immobility behind a mere box hedge, although thick and as high as a young boy, was both risky and uncomfortable. The danger of being found out by some player of blind man's buff entering the walk where I was eavesdropping gave me cold sweats. Such was the tension in my legs, what with my concern not to make the slightest sound on the gravel, that my calf muscles were close to cramp.

  Suddenly, my heart stopped: the hedge was no longer there. Or rather, it had shifted. It had gradually moved out of alignment and it was now extending to my left, leaving me without cover. By pure luck, the two monsignors were facing away from me, and so did not see me. I felt as desperate and defenceless as a pig at the gates of a slaughterhouse. Leaping, I took refuge in the shade of a jasmine espalier. I saw the two monsignors break off and look in my direction with an amazed expression on their faces; I prayed to the Lord and lowered my head.

  I raised my eyes. They were not looking at me but at the hedge which, to their astonishment, was trotting off in the direction of Cardinal Nerli, an individual who was, as I have had cause to mention, disliked by many. We followed the scene from a distance. Nerli was blindfolded and following a lady.

  Then it happened. From the upper half of the promenading bush came an iron tube which sprinkled Nerli with a light jet of water, eliciting from him a cry of alarm. Then the ball of leaves and bushes ran off, trotting out of the wood. All the company was convulsed with hilarity. The Cardinal tore the blindfold from his eyes.

  "What a splendid joke, Eminence, do you not think?" cried a number of members of the Sacred College, running up to congratulate Nerli, who was as white as a sheet. Judging by their laughter, they had taken a malicious pleasure in the game.

  "Ah yes, really a delightful trick," commented one of the ladies present, "and how elegant that little squirt was, so well done!"

  The Cardinal, scarlet with embarrassment and irritation, did not seem to share this view.

  "Eminence, do not be a spoil-sport," said one of the damsels present. "Put back your blindfold at once, for the game must go

  Lost in all that great verdant sea and in the smile of the lady who was speaking to him, Cardinal Nerli's eye and mind willingly resigned themselves to sweet shipwreck. The magnificence of the gardens softened his soul, its perfumes loosened his heart and lightened his head. The prelate allowed himself to be gently blindfolded and the game resumed without a care.

  The two monsignori commented on the innocent pastimes of the other guests with mute disapprobation. I in the meantime made sure that the espalier of jasmine which I was hiding behind was not also equipped with a tenant and legs. Soon, however, the pair resumed their promenade in order to get away from the noise of the players. For a while, they walked in silence. They went through immense pergolas, mounted on cross-beams and pilasters, so that those passing underneath saw almost a brand new sky, viewed through green-tinted lenses. For brief instants, their eyes caught sight of nearby peach trees, artichoke plants, pear trees, rows of lemon trees, orange groves, cypresses and holm-oaks which played hide-and-seek with the visitor's eyes since, as Leon Battista Alberti puts it, without mystery there can be no beauty. Dodging behind lemon trees and box hedges, I did not let them out of my sight or hearing.

  "But let us get back to our subject," resumed the second of the pair, emboldened after listening to his companion's arguments. "What you tell me is true, and you are quite right. I shall even go further: because of the catchpolls' abuses, or simply their incompetence, the courts of law and the protocols of the civil notaries are full of cases that have had to be dismissed. When they do on occasion catch someone who deserves to end up behind bars, they ill-treat him so brutally, neglecting to collect evidence correctly, that the defence lawyers manage to get the proceedings suspended or even halted. Nevertheless, I do not hold out any high hopes for this reform. You know better than I that there is no point in trying to reason with these catchpolls."

  "Of course there's no point in reasoning with them; but by now, we are no longer talking of catchpolls but of common thieves paid by the Apostolic Chamber! Every one of them is wretchedly poor before enrolling. The wages they receive are not enough to live on; a corporal receives six scudi, a catchpoll, four and a half. Now, let us suppose that with some honest work the corporal can earn another three scudi and the catchpoll another two."

  "Very well, let us suppose that for the sake of argument."

  "How do you explain, then, that if you enter their homes you will find it filled with luxury furniture? Their wives rival great ladies in their apparel and jewellery. And if th
ey have no wife, you will find them surrounded by a brace of harlots, to which you may add gambling, drinking, gluttony and all manner of vices: not even forty scudi a month could pay for all that. It is quite plain that all that money can only come from robbery, do you not think so?"

  "Of course I think so and I second your every word."

  Meanwhile, we could hear the distant cries of the ladies, calling for an end to the game and inviting everyone to come and picnic, and rest, before dinner. The pair went through the gate to the secret garden, in search of quiet. I waited for them to move a little further in, among the elms and Capocotta poplars, and then I too entered, concealing myself to one side, behind a row of zibibbo vines.

  "And so, this reform project?" asked the same one as before.

  "It is simple and sensible. First, by means of a special bull, abolish all the functions of the Bargello, of every tribunal, both in Rome and in the country. Dismiss lieutenants, corporals, ranks of standard bearers and clerks and the like, all of which offices are usually also conferred on the sergeants."

  "You are an optimist. Do you really believe that so crude and radical a reform will be approved by His Holiness, given his present state of health?"

  "We shall see, we shall see. But you have not heard the rest. In the first place, the number of catchpolls will be reduced. Then the Mantellone, or President of Justice, if you prefer that title, will command sergeants from several tribunals, which, as you well know, is not at present possible. For the purposes of patrols and arrests, the catchpolls could be accompanied by a few soldiers, as is already the practice in many kingdoms and republics. All in all, about two hundred catchpolls will be dismissed."

  "And in their place?"

  "Perfectly simple: replace them with soldiers."

  While I was returning to the great house to fetch the noblewoman's veil, cleansed of orange stains and ready to be returned to its owner, innumerable thoughts rushed into my mind. Of course, I was not unaware that the catchpolls were in part a miserable, ill-born and unfortunate rabble. Never, however, had I heard all the depraved commercial activities of the officers of the law listed all together, one after the other. Corrupt they were, indeed. But that was the least of their iniquities. The sergeants, so I had heard, practised far worse outrages, which reduced the law to the theatre of deceit and order to the handmaid of abuse.