Imprimatur (34 page)

1 was climbing the stairs after leaving Atto when, on the second floor, I glimpsed a faint gleam coming from Stilone Priaso's chamber. I remembered Abbot Melani's recommendation that I should keep an eye on the young Neapolitan. I approached the door which was slightly ajar, trying to look in.

"Who is there?" I heard him ask in a trembling voice.

I announced myself and entered. He huddled in his bed, pale and dirt-stained. In the semi-darkness, I pretended not to notice this.

"What are you doing awake at this hour, my boy?"

"My master wanted to relieve himself," I lied. "And you?"

"I... I have had a terrible nightmare. Two monsters attacked me in the dark, and then they robbed me of my books and of all the money I had on me."

"Your money too?" I asked, remembering that Ugonio and Ciac­conio had made no mention of that.

"Yes, and then they asked me... well, they tortured me and gave me no quarter."

"That is terrible. You should rest."

"Impossible, I can still see them before my eyes," said he, shiver­ing, fixing an indefinite point in the dark.

"I too have had some strange dreams recently," said I, in order to distract him, "the meaning of which was incomprehensible."

"The meaning..." repeated Stilone Priaso in a daze. "You can­not understand the meaning of dreams. You would need an expert in oneiromancy; but a real one, not a charlatan or a harlot trying to extort money from you."

I blushed on hearing these words and tried to change the sub­ject.

"If you are not tired, I could keep you company for a while. I, too, have no desire to return to sleep tonight," I suggested, in the hope of being able to converse with the Neapolitan and perhaps to obtain from him some information useful to Abbot Melani's inquiries.

"That would not displease me. Indeed, it would be a great help to me if you could brush my clothes while I wash."

He rose and, after undressing, went to the wash-bowl, where he began to rinse his muddy hands and head. On his bed, where he had left me his clothing and a brush, I discovered a notebook on which a number of strange signs were drawn. Nearby, a number of old books, of which I scanned the titles:
Myrotecium, Reverberant Chemicall Proto- Light
and, finally
Horoscopant Physicka/lAnti-Lampion.

"Are you interested in alchemy and horoscopes?" I asked, struck by these obscure titles.

"No, no," exclaimed Stilone turning round with a start. "It is just that they are written in rhyme and I was consulting them for inspira­tion. You are aware that I am a poet?

"Ah yes," said I, pretending to believe him, while 1 laboured with the brush. "And besides, astrology, if I am not mistaken, is forbidden."

"That is not exactly the case," he retorted crossly. "Only judi­cial astrology is prohibited."

In order not to alarm him, I pretended to be completely ignorant of the matter and thus Stilone Priaso, while rubbing his head ener­getically, repeated to me in doctoral tones all that Atto had already told me.

"Finally, about half a century ago," he concluded "Pope Urban VIII, in the very middle of his pontificate, unleashed the full force of his fury against judicial astrologers who, for some thirty years, had en­joyed ever-increasing tolerance and renown, even among cardinals, princes and prelates desirous of obtaining forecasts of their fortunes. It was like an earthquake, so much so that even today whoever reads destinies in the stars runs the gravest of risks."

"A pity, as it would be very useful to us now to know what end we shall come to at the Donzello: whether we shall perish in a lazaretto or come out safe and sound," I provoked him.

Stilone Priaso did not respond.

"With the help of an astrologer, we could perhaps understand whether di Mourai died of the plague or whether he was poisoned, as Cristofano maintains," I assayed once more. "Thus we protect our­selves from any further threats from the assassin."

"Forget it. Poison, more than any other lethal weapon, is concealed from the vigilant eye of the stars. It is stronger than any attempt at divination or prediction: frankly, if I had to kill someone, I would choose poison."

I felt my blood draining away on hearing those words; and here, it seemed to me, was a clue with which to follow up my suspicions.

Astrologers and poison: suddenly I recalled the conversation about poisons which had exercised our guests around the body of poor Signor di Mourai on the very evening of our incarceration. Was it not asserted that astrologers and perfumers were notably expert in the preparation of mortal poisons? And Stilone Priaso, I thought with a shiver, was a gazetteer and an astrologer, as Abbot Melani had just discovered.

"Really?" I replied, feigning candid interest. "Perhaps you already know of cases of suspected poisoning which it was impossible to fore­see in the stars."

"One above all: Abbot Morandi," said Stilone, anticipating me. "That was the most compelling case."

"Who was Abbot Morandi?" I asked, ill concealing my anxiety.

"A friar, and the greatest astrologer in Rome," came his curt re­ply.

"How is that possible? Friar and astrologer?" I retorted, feigning incredulity.

"I shall tell you: until the end of the last century, Bishop Luca Gaurico was official astrologer to the court of no fewer than four popes. A golden age!" he sighed, "alas, gone forever."

I saw that his tongue was loosening.

"After the affair of Father Morandi?" I prompted.

"Exactly. You must know that Father Orazio Morandi, abbot of the monastery of Santa Prassede, owned—some sixty years ago—the best astrological library in Rome: a real landmark for all the astrolo­gers of the time. He corresponded with the most noted men of let­ters of Rome, Milan, Florence, Naples and other cities, even outside Italy. Many were the men of letters and of science who asked his opinion on the stars, and even the unfortunate Galileo Galilei, when he sojourned in Rome, had been his guest."

At the time when these events took place, Abbot Morandi, contin­ued Stilone, was just over fifty years of age: he was eloquent, always gay, rather tall, with a fine chestnut-coloured beard, and was onlyjust beginning to lose his hair. Astrology then enjoyed no little tolerance. Laws did exist against it, but in practice they were ignored.

Orazio Morandi's fame was at its height when (it was 1630) the abbot thought fit to state, on the basis of his astrological calculations, that Pope Urban VIII Barberini would die within the year. The abbot, before divulging this calculation, consulted with other renowned as­trologers, who redid the calculations and obtained the same results.

The sole dissenter was Father Raffaello Visconti, who taught mathematics in Rome, and who thought that the Pope, so long as he did not expose himself to dangers, would not die for at least an­other thirteen years, in other words in 1643 or 1644. The professor was, however, not heeded by his colleagues, who all agreed on the imminent demise of Pope Barberini. The abbot of Santa Prassede's prophecy spread through Rome and the other capitals at lightning speed. Such was the abbot's renown as an astrologer that a number of Spanish cardinals made haste to leave for Rome in order to take part in the conclave, which was seen as imminent. The rumour also spread through France, so much so that Cardinal Richelieu had to beg the court of Rome to take urgent measures to put an end to this embarrassing situation.

Thus, the word reached the ears of the Pontiff himself, who was not pleased to learn, in this manner, that his last hour was approaching. On 13th July, Pope Urban VIII ordered that proceedings be opened against Abbot Morandi and his accomplices. Two days later, Morandi was gaoled in the prison of Tor di Nona, and his library and cham­bers sealed and searched. Soon afterwards, all twelve monks of Santa Prassede were arrested. The friars confessed and in the end Morandi himself, under pressure from the judge, revealed the names of his col­leagues and friends, who in their turn gave away others' names.

"And thus the trial was concluded," said I.

"By no means," replied Stilone Priaso. "It was just at that point that matters started to become complicated."

In the concatenation of denunciations, there was a risk of embar­rassing names coming to light, especially cardinals who, with their secretaries and entourages, having heard of the prediction of the coming death of Urban VIII, had requested further astrological con­sultations in order to know what their chances were of obtaining the Tiara. At his very first interrogation, Morandi had given his accus­ers a number of important names, including even that of the Pope's nephew, Cardinal Antonio Barberini.

The Pope understood at once what loomed on the horizon: a scan­dal which would besmirch the whole Consistory, and above all, his own family. Urban VIII therefore took preventive measures, requiring that the names of pontiffs, cardinals, prelates and even lay persons be omitted from the charges and marked in cipher in the margin, or simply left blank in the text. The decision as to whether such names should be entered would rest with him in person.

Wherever the interrogations went too far, the omissions desired by the Pope came into effect: "I know many who understand astrol­ogy. Vincenzo Bottelli was my master. He told me that many in the palace understood astrology, such as Cardinals ***, *** and ***, as well as ***, ***, *** and also *** and ***."

"In other words, cardinals galore," exclaimed Stilone. "The judge was shocked to hear so many distinguished names; he knew perfectly well that those astrological dealings were being carried out on behalf of the cardinals themselves; and that the latter ran the risk, if one single word too many were to be uttered by their servants, of being covered in dishonour. And farewell then to all hopes, for whoever might have nourished them, of ever being elected pope."

"And how did it all end?" I asked, impatient to hear what all this story had to do with poison.

"Oh, providence... saw to that," replied Stilone with a meaningful grimace. "On the 7th of November, 1630 Abbot Morandi was found dead in his cell, lying on his bed, in the modest robe and sandals which he had worn all his life."

"Killed!"

"Well, seven days later, the physician of the prison of Tor di Nona submitted his report: Morandi had died following twelve days of ill­ness. He had caught a sextan fever which had become malignant and, in the end, fatal.'"I neither have nor saw any evidence of poison,'" confirmed the physician, supported by two other colleagues. They all, however, passed over in silence the fact that only two days previously, another prisoner detained with Morandi had died in identical circumstances after eating a cake of unknown provenance."

Persistent rumours and suspicions of poisoning circulated for months, insistent and impossible to uproot. But what did all that matter now? Father Morandi was dead, and he alone had shouldered the tremendous burden of the vices of the entire pontifical court. To the great relief of all, the veil, which had been so incautiously lifted, was hastily lowered once more.

Urban VIII, in a brief hand-written note, ordered the judge to suspend the case, granting impunity to all copyists and to the astrolo­gers and monks, and ordering that there should be no further judicial action concerning them.

Stilone Priaso fell silent and looked at me. He had dried himself and slipped into bed, awaiting my reaction to the story.

So, in the case of Abbot Morandi, as in that of Signor di Mourai— thus I reflected as I replaced the brushed apparel on the chair—poi­son was concealed under the guise of illness.

"But were not all the others equally guilty?" I objected, gripped by the sad tale.

"In truth, the copyists had copied, the monks had hidden the evidence, the astrologers had speculated on the death of the Pope; and, above all, the cardinals had been involved. It would not have been unjust to punish them, but to do so it would have been neces­sary to reach a verdict," observed Stilone Priaso, "which would have caused a scandal. And that was precisely what the Pope wished to avoid."

"So Urban VIII did not die in that year."

"No, indeed he did not. Morandi was completely mistaken in his prophecy."

"And when did he die?"

"In 1644."

"But was that not precisely the date calculated by Father Visconti, the mathematician?"

"It was," replied Stilone Priaso. "If only the abbot of Santa Prassede had heeded the word of his friend the professor, he would truly have predicted the death of Urban VIII. Instead, he foretold his own death."