'What do you mean?'
'There have been cases of twins, perfect in every way, but united in some part of the body solely by their skin; or joined by a member, an arm or a leg, which is thus deformed. Both such cases cannot, however, be distinguished at birth from the more severe cases, for they cannot be separated as that might kill them. They must be allowed to grow. If they attain adulthood, they may be operated on with little harm. At most, they will be crippled.'
I could not have said whether the being (or beings) which we faced in the little house on the terrace corresponded in all details to the image cited by my wise spouse: too great was the horror that had seized me upon seeing it. At least one detail did, however, correspond: the number four; the four contained in the Tetrachion, the being that stands on four columns, as in the (clearly stylised and beautified) image of the two marine deities on Capitor's dish.
'In any case, there are worse things,' commented Cloridia.
'Worse things…' repeated Atto, somewhat shaken. 'What do you mean?'
Cloridia explained that she was referring to unheard of entities like th e Monstrum triceps capite Vulpis, Draconis amp; Aquilae which was for some time to be found near the banks of the Nile and which, besides having an arm and limb like an eagle's, a horse's tail, feathered legs ending in two feet, one fin and one dog's paw, had three heads. There was also the Monstrum bifrons born to a Frenchwoman in Geneva in 1555: it had two faces, like the god Janus, with a head, arms and legs, both in front and behind; or again the Monstrum biceps caudatum born on 26th October 1598 in a citadel between Augeria and Tortona: two boys with two backs, but joined on the right side so that they had one arm and one leg for each head but, in the middle, instead of the other two legs, an enormous, horrendous fleshy excrescence.
'Tell me just one thing, Monna Cloridia,' Atto interrupted her. 'What causes such monstrosities?'
My wife explained that, if it was not to be defective, childbirth must satisfy five conditions: the infant must be born in the right position, at the right time, easily, with no sickness that cannot be cured by means of purges, and with complete, perfect limbs. Any delivery which fails to satisfy one of these conditions will be defective. If the infant is partially imperfect, it will be called a monster; if it is completely unsound, it will just be a formless piece of flesh.
But the principal cause lies in the mother's imagination. If the woman imprints the vestige of something desired in the unborn infant's body, it will come to pass, because she desires that greatly. Yet, what foolish woman would ever desire to have monstrous children? The answer is that one does not need desire to generate monsters, it is enough that the expectant mother should see something monstrous, even without desiring it.
'This comes of something natural which we see almost every day of our lives. If someone yawns, you too will yawn; if you see wine running from a barrel, you will want to urinate; if you see a red cloth, your nose will bleed; if you see someone else drinking medicine or buying it from the grocer, you will evacuate your bowels three or even four times. For the same reason, if you place a killer before the body of someone he has killed, more blood will gush from that corpse.'
Atto made no negative comment on Cloridia's discourse. After all, he too had attributed to a similar theory (that of flying corpuscles) the apparition of Fouquet, Maria and Louis at the Vessel. Why, then, should he not admit that a mother's imagination, which is so intimately involved with the fruit of her womb, could determine so many mutations in the foetus?
'The midwife must, in any case, baptise monsters at once,' continued Cloridia, 'because most of them survive only a very short time. To be precise, a monster with two heads or two torsos should be baptised twice, but only once if it has only one face and four arms and four legs.'
If in the monster one can recognise one distinct body, said she, completing her explanation, but the other cannot be clearly discerned, the first to be baptised will be that which clearly belongs to the human race, then the other, but sub conditione, meaning that, for the baptism to be valid, God must recognise the second one as being endowed with a soul, which only He will be able to see beyond the appearance of the deformity.
'As you have seen, I was not lying when I said to you that the subject of monstrous foetuses is somewhat curious,' commented Cloridia; 'and, what is more, rather an entertaining matter to tell of to women who have just given birth to fine, healthy infants. After all the travails of childbirth, while they are resting before the afterbirth and the purges, they'll be cheered up by tales and theories about monsters.'
'Cheered up?' muttered Atto, whose greenish pallor gave us cause to fear an attack of nausea.
'But of course,' trilled my little wife. 'When they're resting under observation, we give them rather amusing descriptions of monstrous creatures, with dog's, calf's, elephant's, deer's, sheep's or lamb's heads or with goat's legs or other members resembling those of some animal. Or those with more members than usual, like two heads or four arms, as with your Tetrachion. Or monsters resulting from the crossing of two different species, like centaurs, half man and half horse, minotaurs, half bull, or onocentaurs, half donkey. Then there's the legend of Gerion, King of Spain, who had three heads, and…'
'What's that?' Melani interrupted her again. 'A King of Spain with three heads?'
'Exactly,' she confirmed, noticing Atto's interest. 'It is said that they were triplets born joined together, and that they reigned in great concord.'
'Tell me more about this Gerion, Monna Cloridia,' Atto requested, wiping the perspiration dripping from his forehead with a handkerchief.
'There's no cause for surprise,' said my wife. 'Have not the kings of Spain a two-headed eagle on their arms? That is simply a memento of a defective birth of that kind which took place among the Habsburgs in long bygone days.'
I held my breath. This would have been the time to talk and tell Cloridia what had happened.
But Atto said nothing. I understood that he was overcome by shame and even diffidence at the prospect of telling Cloridia of such an incredible event. In any case, in order to explain himself, the Abbot would be constrained to admit our dishonourable flight. For my part, I did not wish to break his silence: the secret belonged to us both.
It was no accident that Spain, continued Cloridia, was a land where all manner of extraordinary and anomalous births had been thoroughly studied. The Iberian Antonio Torquemada, in his book, The Garden of Curious Flowers writes, for example, that from bears and baboons, if they mate with women, perfect men may be born with their wits well about them. He tells of a Swedish woman who mated with a bear and of a Portuguese one who, condemned to death and driven into the midst of a wilderness, was with child by a baboon: both gave birth to perfect men. The same thing happened between a woman and a dog who were the only survivors of a shipwreck in the East Indies. Marooned in a desert place infested with wild beasts by the name of Tartary, the dog defended the woman from attacks by the wild beasts and love grew up between them. She became pregnant and gave birth to a perfect boy. He in turn lay with his mother and they gave birth to so many perfect and wise men and women that they peopled the whole kingdom. The dog's descendants preserved the memory of their ancestor and to this day they can find no finer title for their emperor than the Great Khanine.
'If this were the case,' commented my wife, who was becoming more and more amused by the bewilderment she was causing me and Atto, 'the Scaligeri, the lords of Verona, might also be of canine origin, for many members of that family are called Cane della Scala or even Cangrande della Scala.'
Soon, Abbot Melani dismissed us all. I looked at him. He had reached the limit of his strength. The tremendous vision we had seen at the Vessel had profoundly shocked him and he now urgently needed to rest. What was more, that evening was to be the final one in the series of festivities; and Albani would be present.
When I was left alone with Cloridia, I was able to bring her up to date with the latest disconcerting events. She became pensive, and when I asked her for her opinion on the matter, she would only venture: 'You are digging too deep: some matters are best left alone. You should rather be busying yourself with obtaining the girls' dowry from Abbot Melani.'
While awaiting the final spectacle, which was to begin only after dark, the afternoon had been dedicated to various amusements and entertainments.
A real tennis court had been set up. For the players there had been acquired from Horatio at the Piazza di Fico, a noted real tennis player, the most perfect racquets and the best 'flying balls'. A short distance away, another space had been prepared for the game of bowls.
The participants, however, were few. Many guests preferred to save their strength for the long night of entertainments and carousing ahead of them. Cardinal Spada had arranged for a number of Turkish pavilions to be
