book which represented the vision of the Apocalypse, which was moreover sent to John, and to us, by God's love for mankind…'
'True!' approved Durazzo.
'Such holy words!' echoed Monsignor D'Aste.
'Praise be to our Lord Jesus Christ,' said they all (except those whose mouths were too full of the fried trout that had just been served), crossing themselves (except those whose hands were too involved with glasses of wine, knives and tridents for eating fish).
'There were visions of angelic choirs,' continued Carpegna with a somewhat vacant expression, 'effigies of the figures symbolising the Four Evangelists, namely the Lion, the Eagle, the Ox and the Man. I remember that the breast of the Lamb was all bloodstained and 'midst silver and golden rays of light his heart opened to display the Holy Eucharist which indeed issues only from God's love for mankind.'
'Good, bravo!' approved his neighbours at table.
'But this year's Jubilee too will stand as an example for the centuries to come,' said Negroni pompously.
'Oh yes, indubitably: pilgrims keep arriving from all parts of Europe. 'Tis so true that the pure, disinterested work of Holy Mother Church is more powerful than any force on earth.'
'Apropos, how is this Jubilee going?' Baron Scarlatti asked Prince Borghese almost inaudibly.
'It could hardly be worse,' whispered the other. 'There has been a tremendous fall in the number of pilgrims. The Pope is most concerned. Not a penny is reaching the coffers.'
Dinner was drawing to a close. Between one yawn and the next, eminences, princes, barons and monsignors were taking leave of one another, moving slowly towards the avenue leading to the main gate and their carriages. In a humbler procession, their secretaries, attendants, retainers, servants and other members of their retinue also moved away from the nearby table set aside for them, and from their more modest fare, in order to escort their illustrious patrons. As the table emptied, we torchbearers were able at last to relax our back and abdominal muscles, which had been so tense all evening long.
No one knew it, but when at long last I removed the ridiculous Ottoman turban and placed my smoking torch on the ground, it was I who was most breathless, not from fatigue but shock.
I had seen him at once and had realised what he was about to get up to. When he had gone on to call Cardinal Moriggia a boor three times over, I was quite sure that he would be most cruelly punished. Instead, his foolishness had been equalled only by his good fortune, and in the dim light of the dinner party, no one had caught sight of him. I moved away from the other servants, towards the outer wall of the villa. Then I heard him call me, with his usual courtesy.
'Boor!'
'As far as I am concerned, 'tis you who are the boor,' I replied, speaking in the direction of the part of the garden from which the voice seemed to be coming.
'Dona nobis panem cotidianum,' came Caesar Augustus's response from the dark.
He had been flying around throughout dinner above the canopy that covered the table. He surely hoped to get his talons into some fine piece of the delicacies being served, but he must then have realised that it would be impossible to do so without being seen. I had broken into a cold sweat every time that, for the pure pleasure of giving offence, he had insulted Cardinal Moriggia. Yet no one could have imagined that mocking little voice belonged to Caesar Augustus, for the simple reason that, as I have already mentioned, the parrot spoke to no one except myself and everyone regarded him as being dumb.
I advanced a little further onto the meadow, hoping that no one would come seeking me for some last-minute chore.
'Your little play could hardly have been in worse taste,' I reproved him, chattering into the darkness. 'Next time, they'll wring your neck and make a roast of you. Did you see the dish of quails they served up with the third course? Well, that's what you'll be reduced to.'
I heard his wings beating in the dark and then a fluttering of feathers grazed my ear. He landed on a bush a few inches from me. Now at last I could see him, a white feathered phantom with a yellow plume proudly rising from his forehead, almost like some mad flag fluttering the papal colours.
I sat down on the fresh, damp grass, still somewhat over-excited and worn out by those hours spent as a torchbearer. Caesar Augustus stared at me with the usual very obvious expression of one imploring a little food, for pity's sake.
'Et remitte nobis debita nostra,' he insisted, again reciting the Lord's Prayer, which he would drag into service in the most woeful tones every time that he was hungry.
'You have eaten perfectly well today, this is sheer greed,' said I, cutting him short.
'Clink-clonk, tink,' said the diabolical creature, imitating with singular precision the clatter of cutlery on plates, and the joyful clinking of glasses. That was only the latest of his provocations.
'I have had enough of you, now I am going to bed, and I recommend that you do…'
'To whom are you talking, my boy?'
Atto Melani had joined me.
I needed plenty of persuasion to explain to the Abbot the bizarre nature of the animal with whom he had surprised me in conversation. All the more so, as Caesar Augustus had fled into the shadows the moment that he caught sight of Abbot Melani and there was no way in which he could be persuaded to make an appearance.
It was no easy task to persuade Atto that I was not mad, nor was I talking to myself, but that there was a parrot hidden in the dark with which it was possible to communicate, although in the contorted and anomalous manner which was his preference. At the end of my conversation, however, Caesar Augustus, who must have been immobile all this time, watching Atto from the shadows with that mixture of mistrust and curiosity which I knew so well in him whenever he caught sight of a stranger, remained as mute as a fish.
'It must be as you say, my boy, but it seems to me that the creature has no intention of opening its mouth. Eh Caesar Augustus, are you there? What a pompous name! Cra-cra-cra! Come, come on out. Did you really call Moriggia a boor?'
Silence.
'Eh, you old crow, 'tis you I'm addressing. Out with you! Have you nothing to say for yourself?'
The fowl's beak remained sealed, nor were we vouchsafed the honour of seeing him appear.
'Well, when he deigns to show himself and puts on all those fantastic shows of which you have told me, give me a whistle and I'll fly straight to you, ha,' sniggered Atto. 'But now, let us get down to serious business. I have a couple of things to tell you for tomorrow, before sleep gets the better of…'
'Puella”
Atto looked at me in shock.
'Did you say something?' he asked.
I pointed into the darkness, in the direction of Caesar Augustus, without daring to confess openly that it was he who had offended Atto, calling him by the most insulting name possible for a castrato: puella, or, in Latin, little girl. I remained speechless: it was the first time that the parrot had uttered a word in the presence of others. Despite the insult proffered, I'd have said that Melani was honoured.
''Tis absurd. I have seen and heard other parrots, all of them excellent. But this one sounded just…'
'… Like talking to a person of flesh and blood, as I've already told you. This time he spoke with the timbre of an old man. But if only you knew how he can imitate women's voices, children crying — not to mention sneezes and coughing.'
'Signor Abbot!'
This time, it was a real human voice that was calling for our attention.
'Signor Abbot, are you there? I have been looking for you for over half an hour!'
It was Buvat who, gasping and panting, was searching for his master in the semi-darkness of the garden.
'Signor Abbot, you must come up at once. Your apartment… I think that someone has entered without your permission, while you were dining, and has… We have had thieves!'
'Does anyone else know of this?' asked Atto as we opened the door of his apartment, immersed in darkness.
'No one but yourselves; what's more, your orders…'
'Very well, very well,' assented Atto. He had arranged that in the event of an emergency, Buvat was to
