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He looked at me with perplexity and I detected a shadow of apprehension: 'I do not understand how such questionings arose in your mind, but these were no ravings; far from it. I myself take astrology greatly into account. I know that many physicians deride this science, and to them I reply what Galen wrote, namely that medici astrologiam ignorantes sunt peiores spiculatoribus et homicidis: physicians ignorant of astrology are worse than speculators and murderers. Without counting what was said by Hippocrates, Scotus and other most learned writers, whose part I take in deriding my sceptical colleagues in their turn.'

It was thus that Cristofano, while busying himself with preparing the magnolicore in accordance with the recipe, informed me that it was even thought that the Black Death had been brought about by a conjunction of Saturn, Jupiter and Mars which occurred on 24th March, 1345, while the French pox was thought to have been caused by the conjunction of Mars and Saturn.

'Membrum ferro ne percutito, cum luna signum tenuerit, quod membro illi dominatur' he declaimed. 'That signifies: may every chirurgeon avoid amputating that member which corresponds to the sign of the zodiac in which the moon is situated that day, especially if the moon is in opposition to Saturn and Mars, which planets are malefic for health. For example, if the birth or, in other words, the horoscope of the patient predicts a negative issue to a certain malady of his, the physician my reasonably attempt to save him, applying cures on the days which the stars indicate as most opportune.'

'So, to each constellation in the zodiac there corresponds a part of the body?'

'Certainly. When the moon is in Aries, and Mars and Saturn are in opposition, one must postpone any operations to be performed on the head, the face and the eyes; in Taurus, on the neck, the nape or the throat; in Gemini, on the shoulders, the arms and the hands; in Cancer, on the chest, the lungs and the stomach; in Leo, on the heart, the back and the liver; in Virgo, on the belly; in Libra, on the shins, the loins, the navel and the intestines; in Scorpio, on the bladder, the penis, the backbone, the genitals and the anus; in Sagittarius, on the thighs; in Capricorn, on the knees; in Aquarius, on the legs; in Pisces, if I am not mistaken, on the feet and the heels.'

He added that the most suitable time for a good purgation was when the moon is in Scorpio or in Pisces. One should, however, avoid administering a medicine when the moon, in the ruminant signs, is in conjunction with a retrograde planet, because there is a risk that the patient might vomit it up and suffer from other harmful impairments.

''With the moon in signs ruminant, in the sick, symptoms extravagant,' as was taught by the learned Hermes. And,' he concluded, 'that is especially valid this year, when in spring and in winter, there were four retrograde planets, three of them in ruminant signs.'

'But then our lives are no more than a struggle between the planets.'

'No, on the contrary, this simply shows that with the stars, as with all else in creation, man may shape his fortune or his ruin. It is up to him to make good use of the intuition, intelligence and wisdom which God has given him.'

He explained to me that, in his experience as a physician, planetary influences indicated a tendency, a disposition, an inclination, never a predetermined path.

Cristofano's interpretation did not deny the influence of the stars, but reaffirmed the judgement of men and above all the supremacy of the divine will. Little by little, I felt relieved.

I had in the meanwhile completed my duties. For luncheon, I had cooked a bread-soup with rice flour, pieces of smoked sturgeon, lemon-juice and, lastly, an abundant sprinkling of cinnamon. But as a few hours remained before the mealtime, Cristofano let me go: not, however, before handing me a bottle of his magnolicore with the injunction to drink barely a drop thereof and to sprinkle some on my chest before going to bed, so as to inhale its health-giving vapours and enjoy a good sleep.

'Do not forget that it is also excellent for curing wounds and all pains; excepting, however, the lesions caused by the French pox which, if anointed with the magnolicore, will occasion the most acute spasms.'

I was climbing back up the stairs, when from the first floor, I heard the echo of Devize's plucked notes: he was again performing the rondeau which so charmed me and which seemed so wonderfully to pacify the soul of every one of us.

Arriving on the second floor, I heard my name whispered. I turned to the corridor and glimpsed Abbot Melani's red stockings through his barely open doorway.

'I need your syrup. Last time, it did me much good,' he called out with a clear voice, fearing that Cristofano might be in the offing, while with frenetic gestures he indicated that I was to enter his chamber where, rather than the administration of a syrup, important news awaited me.

Before closing the door behind me, the abbot inclined a delighted ear to capture the echo of the rondeau.

'Ah, the power of music,' he sighed ecstatically.

He then moved with swift steps to his writing desk: 'Let us get down to business, my boy. Do you see all this? In these few papers, there is more work than you could ever imagine.'

Spread out on the table was the mass of manuscript notes which I had seen him put away with a certain apprehension on the occasion of my last visit.

He explained to me that he had for some time been writing a guide to Rome for French visitors, since he considered that those which were available in trade were neither suited to travellers' needs, nor did they do justice to the importance of the antiquities and works of art which were to be admired in the papal capital. He showed me the last pages which he had written in Paris, in a close, tiny hand. This was a chapter dedicated to the Church of Saint Athanasius of the Greeks.

'And so?' I asked in surprise, as I took a seat.

'I had hoped to make use of my free time during this sojourn in

Rome to complete my guide-book. This morning, I was just sitting down to work on it when I had a revelation.'

And he told me how, four years previously, in this very Church of Saint Athanasius, he had had a bizarre and unexpected encounter. After examining the noble fagade which was the work of Martino Longhi, he had gone inside and was admiring a fine canvas by Trabaldesi in a side chapel. Suddenly, with a shudder, he became aware of the presence of a stranger by his side.

In the penumbra, he saw an aged priest who, from his headdress could be identified as a Jesuit. He was rather bent and a prey to a slight but incessant trembling of the trunk and the arms. He leaned on a cane but was supported on either side by two young servant girls who helped him to walk. His white beard was carefully trimmed and the lines on his forehead and cheeks were mercifully fine and few. His eyes were blue and as piercing as two daggers, suggesting that, a few years earlier, he would have lacked neither sharp wits nor a ready tongue.

The Jesuit fixed Atto in his gaze and, with a weak smile, pronounced the following words: 'Your eye… is indeed magnetic.'

Abbot Melani, vaguely disquieted, glanced questioningly at the two girls accompanying the old priest. The pair, however, remained silent, as though they dared not speak out without the old man's permission.

'The magnetic art is most important, in this vast world,' continued the Jesuit, 'and if you also master gnomonic catoptricks or the new specular horologiography, you may be spared every coptic prodromous symptom.'

The two servant girls remained silent, but were plainly dismayed, as though this embarrassing situation had arisen before.

'If, then, you have already undertaken the iter extaticus coelestis,' the old man resumed with a hoarse voice, 'you will need neither Maltese astronomical observatories nor physico-medical Scrutinies, for the great art of light and shade, dissolved in the diatribe of the prodigious cruces and in the poligraphia nova will give you all the arithmology, musurgy and phonurgy that you may need.'

Abbot Melani had remained silent and motionless.

'But the magnetic art cannot be learned, because it is part of human nature,' the aged prelate then argued. 'Magnets are magnetic. Yes, that is indeed so. But the vis magnetica also emanates from visages. And from music. And this, you know.'

'Do you recognise me, then?' Atto had asked, thinking that the old man might know that he was a singer.

'The magnetic power of music, you may see in the tarantulas,' continued the stranger, as though Atto had not spoken. 'It can cure tarantism, and can cure much else. Have you understood?'