to be spread on toasted bread every morning before breaking one's fast: honey with rose water and a little vinegary syrup made into a paste with agarics, scammony, turbiths and saffron. But everyone died and Giglio avoided being killed only because the survivors were too few and too weak.' Thus concluded the aged gentleman from the Marches, leaving it to be understood that, in his opinion, our chances of salvation were indeed few.
'Ah, yes,' resumed Cristofano, 'like the much-acclaimed cordial and stomach medicine of Tiberio Giarotto of Faenza. A master confectioner's folly: rose-water sugar, aromatised spirits, cinnamon, saffron, sandalwood and red coral, mixed with four ounces of citron juice and left to marinate for fourteen hours. The whole was then mixed with boiling skimmed honey. And to that he added as much musk as was needed to perfume it. He, however, was torn to pieces by the populace. Have trust in me, our only hope is to do as I have said; indeed…'
But Devize would not allow him to complete his sentence. 'Monsieur Pompeo and our chirurgeon are right: Jean Gutierrez, physician to Charles II of France, likewise held that what pleases the palate cannot purify the humours. Nevertheless, Gutierrez did prepare an electuary which it might well be worth trying. Bear in mind that the King was so seized with the virtues of this preparation that he gave
Gutierrez a very great living in the Duchy of Lorraine. Now, in his electuary, that physician incorporated sweetmeats such as cooked and skimmed honey, twenty walnuts and fifteen figs, also a great quantity of rue, wormwood, terrasigillata and gemmated salt. He prescribed this to be taken morning and evening, two ounces at a time, to be followed soon after by an ounce of very strong white vinegar, to augment the disgust.'
There followed a most heated discussion between those, led by Robleda, who favoured remedies pleasing to the palate and those who saw disgust as providing the best therapy. I followed the discussion in a state approaching amusement (despite the gravity of the moment) at the fact that every single one of our guests seemed always to have been carrying in his pocket a remedy against the infection.
Only Cristofano continued to shake his head: 'If you so desire, try all these remedies, but do not come looking for my help when next the distemper strikes!'
'Could we not opt for partial segregation?' proposed Brenozzi shyly. 'It is well known that there was an analogous case in Venice during the Plague of 1556: one was allowed to circulate freely in the city's alleyways only if one held in one's hand certain odoriferous balls prepared by the philosopher and poet Girolamo Ruscelli. Unlike the stomach, the nose enjoys perfumes, but may be contaminated by stinks: musk from the Levant, calami, carnations, cloves, nutmeg, spikenard and oil of liquid amber orientalis, kneaded into paste. The philosopher made balls the size of walnuts from this and these balls were to be held in both hands at all times, day and night, for as many months as the infection lasted. They were infallible, but only for whoever did not let go of them one single moment, and I do not know how many those were.'
Here, Cristofano grew impatient and, rising to his feet, proclaimed with the gravest and most vibrant accents that he cared little whether or not we desired to be secluded in our apartments: this was, however, the last possible remedy and, if we did not consent to it, then he personally would lock himself into his own chamber, begging me to bring him food, nor would he leave it until he knew that all the others were dead-and that would not take long.
There followed a sepulchral silence. Cristofano then continued, announcing that-if we were finally willing to follow his prescriptions- he alone, as our physician, would move freely through the hostelry to assist the sick and regularly to visit the other guests; at the same time, he would need an assistant, whose duty would be to take care of the guests' food and hygiene, as well as to anoint all and to ensure the correct penetration of the balms with which to preserve us from the distemper. Now, he dared not ask any one of us to incur such risks. We could, however, count ourselves fortunate in our misfortune, in that we had in our midst one who-and here, he glanced at me as I moved about the kitchen-according to his long medical experience, was certainly of a fibre well able to resist diseases. All looks turned towards me: the physician had appointed me to assist him.
'The particular condition of this little prentice,' continued the chirurgeon from Siena, 'renders him, and all those like him, almost immune to the infection.'
And, while the listeners' faces all showed signs of astonishment, Cristofano began to enumerate the cases of absolute immunity in times of pestilence recorded by the greatest authors. The mirabilia succeeded one another in ascending order, and proved that one like myself could even drink the pus from buboes (as, it seemed, had actually happened during the Black Death three centuries earlier) without suffering anything worse than a little heartburn.
'Fortunius Licetus compares their astounding properties to those of the monopods, the baboons, the Satyrs, the Cyclops, the Tritons and the Sirens. According to the classifications of Father Caspar Schott, the better proportioned their members, the greater is their immunity to infection with the pestilence,' concluded Cristofano. 'Very well, we can all see that this lad is, as his type goes, rather well formed: solid shoulders, straight legs, a regular visage and healthy teeth. He is fortunate enough to be one of the mediocres of his race, and not one of the more unfortunate minores or, God forbid, one of the wretched minimi. So we may rest in all tranquillity. According to Nierembergius, those like him are born with the teeth, hair and organs of generation of an adult. By the age of seven, they already have a beard, at ten, they have the strength of giants and can generate children. Johannes Eusebius tells of having seen one who at four years of age already had the most elegant locks and a beard. Not to mention the legendary Popobawa who assails and, with his enormous attributes, sodomises in their sleep the robust men of an island in Africa; while they, in their vain struggles, also suffer bruises and fractures.'
The first to side with the physician, who sat trembling and again covered in perspiration, was Padre Robleda. The absence of other solutions, together with the fear of being abandoned by Cristofano led the others meekly to resign themselves to claustration. Abbot Melani uttered not a word.
While all were rising to make their way to the upper storeys, the physician said that they could make a halt in the kitchen, where I would distribute a hot meal and toasted bread. He warned me to serve wine only after watering it well down, so that it should pass the more easily through the stomach.
I was all too well aware of the relief which our unhappy guests would have obtained from the culinary assistance of Signor Pellegrino. Instead, the entire administration of the inn now lay upon my shoulders and, despite the fact that I gave my all, I found myself reduced to serving up meals prepared from marinated seeds and whatever else I could find in the old wooden sideboard, while taking practically nothing from the well-stocked pantry in the cellar. I usually added to this some fruit or green vegetables and some of the bread which had been left to us, together with the goatskins of water. Thus, I consoled myself, I was at least saving my master's provisions, already exposed to Cristofano's continual plundering for his electuaries, balsams, oils, lozenges, elixirs and curative balls.
That evening, however, in order to comfort the guests in their misfortune, I made a special effort and prepared a little broth with eggs poached in bain-marie, together with vetchlings; to which I added an accompaniment of croquettes of soft bread and a few salt pilchards minced together with herbs and raisins; and, to complete the meal, chicory roots, boiled with cooked must and vinegar. The whole I sprinkled with a pinch of cinnamon; the precious spice of the wealthy would surprise the palates and refresh the spirits.
'It is very hot,' I announced with forced good humour to Dulcibeni and Padre Robleda who sat down with lugubrious mien to examine the chicory roots. But I obtained no comments, nor did I remark any sign of cheer in the guests' dark, frowning faces.
The prospect that my special condition might, in the doctor's opinion, become an arm against the assaults of the disease gave my life its first taste of Pride's inebriating vapours. Although a number of details had left me in some perplexity (at the age of seven I had, of course, been beardless, nor was I born with a set of teeth or with gigantic attributes), I suddenly felt myself a step above the others. And what, said 1 to myself, thinking over Cristofano's decision, what if I really did have these powers? They, the guests, depended on me. So that was why the physician had so lightly allowed me to sleep in the same chamber as my master, when he was still unconscious! Thus I recovered my good humour, while respectfully containing it.
A chi vive ogn'or contento ogni mese e primavera…* sang a lilting voice beside me. It was Abbot Melani.
'What a happy little face,' he joked. 'Keep it that way until tomorrow, for we shall be needing it.'
The reminder of the imminent roll-call brought my feet back down to earth.
'Would you like to accompany me to my sad cloister?' he asked with a little smile after finishing his meal.
'You will return to your apartments alone,' exclaimed Cristofano impatiently. 'I need the boy's services; and I need them now.'
