what he thought of the siege of Vienna, where the fate of all Christendom hung in the balance, and whether he thought that the Emperor might in the end defeat the Turks.
'Emperor Leopold of Austria can defeat no one: he has fled,' he replied drily and then fell silent, leaving it to be understood that the conversation was now closed.
I hoped, nevertheless, that he might express some further opinions, while struggling desperately within myself for some rejoinder whereby to salvage the dialogue. But no inspiration came to me, and so deep silence again descended between us.
I swiftly completed my task and took my leave of him. Dulcibeni remained silent. I was about to leave when there arose in my mind the desire to put another question to him: I could not resist the pressing urge to know whether he too disapproved as much of my cooking.
'No, dear boy, far from it,' he replied. 'Indeed, I'd say that you have a flair for it.'
I thanked him, feeling encouraged, and was about to close the door behind me when I heard him add, as though speaking to himself in a strange whisper rising from the belly: 'Were it not for your excremental brews and all that damned cinnamon. Pumilio! Booby of a scullion that you are!'
That was enough for me. Never had I felt so humiliated. Yet, what Dulcibeni thought of me was, I reflected, quite true. I could strive with all my might and main but it would not raise me one single inch in the eyes of others, not even, alas, those of Cloridia. Anger and pride flared up in me. So I, who aspired to so much (one day to become a gazetteer) was not even capable of raising my station from that of scullion to cook.
While I was thus groaning inwardly outside Dulcibeni's doorway, I thought I heard a sound of mumbling. I brought my ear closer the better to listen, and what was my surprise when I heard Dulcibeni conversing with someone else.
'Do you feel unwell? Does the smell of oil perhaps inconvenience you.?' the other voice asked solicitously.
I was troubled. Was that not the same question I had put to Dulcibeni only moments earlier? Whoever could have hidden in the chamber to listen? And why repeat my words now? But in those words, one detail shocked me: they were spoken by a woman's voice; and it was not Cloridia's.
There followed a few moments of silence.
'Emperor Leopold can defeat no one; he has fled!' Dulcibeni exclaimed suddenly.
That, he had also said to me! I continued to listen, suspended between astonishment and the fear of being discovered.
'You are unfair, you ought not…' replied the woman's voice timidly, in curiously weak, hoarse tones.
'Silence!' interrupted Dulcibeni. 'If Europe is blown up, we shall have cause only for rejoicing.'
'I hope that you are not serious.'
'Listen, then,' Dulcibeni resumed in a more conciliatory tone. 'These lands of ours are, now, after a manner of speaking, like a great house: a house in which there dwells a single great family. But what will happen if the brothers become too numerous? And what will happen, too, if their wives are all sisters, and so their children all are cousins? They will be forever quarrelling, they will hate one another, each will malign the others. Sometimes, they will form alliances, but these will be too fragile. Their children will couple in an obscene orgy, and will in turn produce mad, weak, corrupted offspring. What is to be expected of so unfortunate a family?'
'I do not know. Perhaps someone… will succeed in pacifying them. And above all, the children will leave off marrying among themselves,' the feminine voice responded uncertainly.
'Very well, if the Turk conquers Vienna,' retorted Dulcibeni, 'at least we shall at last have some new blood on the thrones of Europe. Obviously, after the old has flowed like rivers.'
'Excuse me, but I do not understand,' the woman ventured shyly.
'It is simple. By now, all the Christian kings are related to one another.'
'What do you mean, all related?' asked the little voice.
'I understand. You need a few examples. Louis XIV the Most Christian King of France, is twice cousin to his wife Maria Teresa, the Infanta of Spain. Both their parents were in fact siblings. This was because the mother of the Sun King, Anne of Austria, was the sister of Maria Teresa's father, Philip IV King of Spain; while the Sun King's father, Louis XIII, was a brother of Maria Teresa's mother, Elisabeth of France, the first wife of Philip IV'
Dulcibeni paused for a few moments; I heard him taking his snuff box out from a nearby chest and mixing the contents carefully while he continued speaking.
'The respective parents-in-law of the King and Queen of France are, therefore, blood relations: their uncle and aunt. Now, I ask you, what effect will it have to be the nephew and niece of one's parents-in-law? Or, if you prefer, the son and daughter-in-law of one's uncle and aunt.'
I could not restrain myself: I had to know who this woman was to whom Dulcibeni was speaking. How the deuce could she have entered the Donzello, despite the quarantine? And why was Dulcibeni addressing her with such passion?
I tried very gradually to open the door, which I had not completely closed when leaving. Now, there was a crack, and with bated breath, I put my eye to it. Dulcibeni was standing, leaning with his elbows on a large chest and fiddling with his snuff-box. Speaking, he directed his attention towards the wall on his right, where the mysterious guest must be. Unfortunately, my field of vision did not extend far enough for me to distinguish this feminine presence. And if I were to open the door wider, I risked being discovered.
After forcefully taking several pinches of snuff, Dulcibeni became agitated, then began to swell up his chest, as though he were about to hold his breath.
'The King of England is Charles II Stuart,' he resumed. 'His father married Henrietta of France, a sister of Louis XIV's father. Therefore, the King of England is likewise cousin twice over both to the King of France and to his Spanish wife; and they, as you have seen, are doubly cousins to one another. And what about Holland? Henrietta of France, the mother of King Charles II, besides being the Sun King's paternal aunt, was also the maternal aunt of the young Dutch prince William of Orange. In fact, Mary, a sister of King Charles and his brother James, went to Holland as bride of William II of Orange, and from that marriage was born Prince William III who surprised the world six years ago by marrying James's first-born daughter, his first cousin. In other words, four sovereigns have mixed the same blood eight times.'
He shook his snuff-box and brought it to his nose, breathing in frenziedly, as though he had long been deprived of tobacco. Then he resumed his harangue, his face grown livid and his voice, hoarse: 'Another sister of Charles II wed his cousin, the brother of Louis XIV They, too, mixed the same blood.'
He broke off, seized by a coughing fit. Leaning on the big chest, he brought a handkerchief to his mouth as though he were about to be sick.
'But let us go to Vienna,' Dulcibeni resumed, with a trace of exertion in his voice. 'The Bourbons of France and the Habsburgs of Spain are, respectively, four and six times cousins to the Habsburgs of Austria. The mother of the Emperor Leopold I of Austria is the sister of Louis XIV But she is also the sister of the father of his wife Maria Teresa, King Philip IV of Spain, and daughter of the sister of her husband's father, the late Emperor Ferdinand III. The sister of Leopold I married her maternal uncle, again, Philip IV of Spain. And Leopold I married his niece Margaret Teresa. So, the King of Spain is the uncle, brother-in-law and father-in-law of the Emperor of Austria. Thus, three families of sovereigns have mixed the same blood a thousand times over!'
Dulcibeni's voice had grown higher and his expression ever stranger.
'What do you think of it?' he cried out suddenly. 'Would you like to be aunt and sister-in-law to your son-in- law?'
In a furious rage, he swept away the few objects placed on the chest (a book and a candle) so that they struck the wall and the floor. The room fell silent.
'But has it always been like this?' the woman's voice stammered at last.
Dulcibeni resumed his usual stern pose and made a sarcastic grimace: 'No, my dear,' he went on pedantically. 'In the distant past, the reigning families assured their posterity by marrying their offspring with the best of the feudal nobility. Every new king was the purest quintessence of the noblest blood of his own land: in France, the sovereign was the most French of Frenchmen. In England, he was the most English of Englishmen.'
It was at that juncture that my excessive curiosity caused me to lose my balance, and I pushed against the door. Only by a miracle did I manage to hold onto the doorpost, thus avoiding falling any further forward. Consequently, the opening widened only a little. Dulcibeni had heard nothing. Sweating and trembling with fear, I
