Secretum

'Look Marchese, there's chocolate!'

'Come, Monsignor, they are serving us.'

'And what of the dissertation on the Decades of Livy?' protested one prelate who was taking part in an academic discussion.

'If you'll not let your Decades be bygones, 'tis the chocolate itself that will be gone,' retorted another, and the whole company roared with laughter.

Leaning on the table, I had barely time to fill the cups than they had all been snatched up and the contents of the great jug vanished down the maws of the bystanders. Fortunately, other servants were by then arriving in reinforcement, taken by storm in their turn by new groups of guests, while yet others were besieged by princes and archpriests, secretaries and chamberlains.

While before me one such free-for-all was taking place, I heard behind me a brief conversation which intrigued me no little.

'Have you heard? It seems they intend to resurrect Monsignor Retti's project.'

'The plan to reform the police, from back in the days of Pope Odescalchi?'

'Precisely. And I am all for it! It is high time that all those infamous corrupt catchpolls were taught a lesson.'

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that those exchanging these remarks were two middle-aged prelates. The topic was of no little interest to me: where there are catchpolls there will be thieves, and anything that enlightened me on that subject might be of use for my purposes and those of Abbot Melani. Soon, however, the two prelates were lost from sight (and hearing); hoping to retrace them, I promised myself that I would mention their discussion to Atto.

The lofty and majestic vault which, moments before, had resounded with chatter now echoed with sounds of sipping, sucking and the smacking of tongues. None could bear to forego the taste of chocolate which the Steward — regardless of whatever Don Paschatio might have to say on the matter — had prepared with perfect judgment and mastery.

Suddenly, a space opened up in the formless throng of revellers. Cardinal Spada made his way forward, accompanied by the bridal pair. The master of the house had preferred to let talk die down before making his appearance, thus taking advantage of the gaiety produced by the refreshments.

'Hurrah! Long live the bride and groom!' All turned to applaud the couple, rushing forward to exchange compliments with Spada and to kiss his ring, while festive cheering broke out all around.

'A speech, Your Eminence, a speech!' cried several guests, beseeching the Cardinal.

'Very well, my friends, so be it,' he replied with a smile, benevolently calming the hubbub with a clap of the hands. 'But faced with such an assembly of the learned, my contribution will inevitably be scanty. You will, I hope, pardon me if, in the modest verses I am about to recite, the topic of which is certainly familiar to you, I should fail to measure up to the science which I have heard in these chambers, but, as the poet puts it, non datur omnibus adire Corinthum.'

He begged silence and with jovial expression recited a sonnet.

He am I who through the unknown essence On fasting entered such an argument That to the schoolmen's great astonishment None knows to which of us to 'ward the sentence. One argues taste, the other, abstinence, Both to the Jesuit discipline assent;

If, saith the one, to liquors we consent,

We err, for then there is incontinence.

Balm for his scruples, t'other then suggests

Of amity a civil rite wherein the chalice

Containing no vanilla, each ingests.

Thus, betwixt innocence and malice

A wondrous middle way he then invests,

Which reconciles the fast with gusto and with avarice.

This gave rise to laughter and yet another burst of applause. Cardinal Spada had brilliantly exposed, and resolved, a burning question much debated among Jesuit doctrinal experts: does the drinking of chocolate constitute the breaking of a fast? Spada's proposal was, in keeping with the best style of the Society of Jesus, a sensible compromise: by all means drink chocolate, but let it be bitter, without vanilla, thus reconciling appetite, abstinence and thrift. Meanwhile, the academic chapels whose activities had been disrupted by the arrival of the chocolate were again forgathering. Around single orators or pairs engaged in verbal duels, idle knots of listeners were forming, some still sipping from their cups, some deep in conversation with their neighbours, others gesticulating in the direction of some acquaintance glimpsed in a nearby group. In the motley multitude of ladies, prelates and nobles, it was child's play to discern political allegiances; to identify the partisans of France, Spain or the Empire, one had but to look at where pocket handkerchiefs were placed, the colour of stockings or on which side of their bosom the ladies had pinned some little flower.

With the pretext of removing cups and jugs left on the tables, I moved away from my place to rejoin Abbot Melani whom I saw chatting somewhat disconsolately with a pair of elderly ladies while scanning the whole assembly for the least event worthy of interest or, better, suspicion. Seeing me approach he promptly left the two ladies and with a furtive gesture indicated that I was to join him outside, on the balcony above the stairs leading directly from the main salon down to the gardens.

The sun was still blazing, and we found ourselves providentially alone. I told him briefly of the conversation between the two churchmen and the planned reform of public order in Rome which I had overheard.

'Those two spoke the truth,' he commented. 'The Roman police have always been both corrupt and utterly shameless.'

At that moment, a number of high-ranking prelates emerged from the salon onto the balcony, to take a few pinches of snuff. Some of the faces were known to me, but I could not put names to them. Only one did I remember perfectly and it was that, in fact, which startled me. It was His Eminence Cardinal Albani.

At a glance, Atto took in the situation. He continued what he was saying, gradually raising his voice as he spoke.

'No one is more corrupt than the catchpolls, my boy,' he declared, speaking with mounting passion, turning now to address the cardinals who had just appeared.

There shone in his small eyes, perceptible only to those who knew him well, who knows what project or desire.

'And above all, than the judges,' he continued, 'because in our mad and supposedly modern times, which are nevertheless still the sucklings of a very recent past — times which I would call the Universal Republic of Verbiage — facts count only on the basis of the name they're given. The judges are honorary citizens of this republic, because their task is to satisfy the thirst for revenge of the powerless and the victims of injustice who have ever and will ever crowd their antechambers; antechambers which one leaves with few real facts in hand and many words, for it is precisely of words that this republic consists, as their eminences will be readily aware.'

Atto's sally had cast all in the blackest embarrassment. He was at one and the same time addressing the highest wearers of the purple and myself, a mere plebeian. But such insolence, already grave and unusual, was as nothing beside the factious content of his discourse, which sounded like a hymn to mischief making.

'Through the judges' hands passes the world's future,' he continued, 'for when man counts for little, as in our times, the law is triumphant. Being intrinsically void of any substance, like insanity, it takes up whatever free space it can find. If you should read in a gazette, 'The Judges have ordered the arrest of the alleged swindler Such-and- Such', you will at once think that good has triumphed over evil, for the judges are called judges and the newspaper has called the man they've arrested a swindler. This being said, even before his trial, the death blow against Such- and-Such has already been struck, for fame has plenty of breath and immense wings and aims the darts that are placed in its quiver at whomsoever it will, without paying the slightest attention to any poison in which they may have been dipped. So no one will tell you that those Judges often lie or accept bribes, that they are marionettes, dolls, dummies created out of nothingness and manipulated so as to strike at adversaries, to create diversions, to subvert and to distract public opinion.'

I looked around me. The cardinals present during Atto's rash coup de theatre were grey in the face with consternation. The afternoon was supposed to be dedicated to academies, not the justification of revolt.

'Take careful note, however, the Universal Republic of Verbiage is certainly populated by puppets and