Secretum

marionettes, yet it is built of stones as massive as those of the walls of Ilium; these are called justice, truth, public health, security… Each one of these is a cyclopic mass that can neither be discussed nor moved, because the power of words is the only sovereign in our times. Whosoever stands up against seeming truth and seeming Justice will always be called deceitful and dishonest, whoever resists public health will be labelled a spreader of the plague, and if they take on security, they will be damned as subversives. Any attempt to convince others, many others, that behind those words there often, oh so often, lies concealed their very opposite, will be as effective as trying to lift those walls and transport them over a thousand leagues. Better by far to put one's hands over one's eyes and simply keep going, like those who have always decided the fate of nations, the sovereigns and their occult counsellors: well they know that perverse wheel of fortune, and indeed they encourage it, for they want the judges, the catchpolls and all the other marionettes of that sad and grotesque Republic of Verbiage to remain their slaves, and our butchers. Until, perhaps, one day they too are hanged on the orders of a judge.'

'Abbot Melani, you are challenging the order of things.'

It was Albani. As on the evening before, Atto was being menacingly called to order by His Holiness' Secretary for Breves.

'I am challenging nothing and nobody,' Atto replied amiably, 'I am merely meditating on…'

'You are here to provoke, to stir up trouble and confusion. You are promoting disorder, inviting people to mistrust judges, to disobey the police. All that, I heard quite clearly.'

'Stirring up trouble? Far from it, Your Eminence. As a French subject…'

'That you are on the side of the Most Christian King, that, everybody knows by now,' Albani interrupted him yet again, 'but there are limits you should not overstep. The Papal See is not some land to be overrun by this or that power. The Holy City is the universal haven of peace, open to all men of goodwill.'

His tone admitted of no reply.

'I bow down to Your Eminence,' was Atto's sole response as he made a deep bow to his contradictor, and attempted to kiss his ring.

To complete the insult, however, Albani did not see (or wish to see) the gesture and turned sharply towards the rest of his company, commenting harshly on what had just taken place.

'Incredible! To come here, to the home of the Secretary of State, making propaganda for France, and then spreading ideas…' he exclaimed indignantly to his fellow cardinals.

Atto was thus left kneeling before Albani's back. Someone among the latter's friends noticed this and sniggered. The humiliation was as grave as it was comic.

Moments later, Melani had returned to the salon; I followed him discreetly. His rash speech had been made in my presence too. It might appear to be the ravings of one beside himself, which I had witnessed by pure chance. But one must not go too far: we must avoid word getting around that I was in his service, otherwise I too would come under a cloud of suspicion and mistrust. I did not want to protect his interests but my own. What if Cardinal Spada were to decide that I was mixed up with with a troublemaker? I ran the risk of dismissal.

We crossed the salon, still crowded with guests, keeping our distances. Melani gestured that I was to follow him to his lodgings on the upper floors.

'So, have you understood how the Republic of Verbiage works?' he resumed, as though his speech had never been interrupted.

'But Signor Atto…'

'You have doubts, I know. You would like to say to me: if what you say is really true, how do you know, and how do others like you know, that the police are not to be trusted and that judges too are sometimes corrupt, and at the service of the powerful?'

'Well, if, among other things…'

'These are clandestine truths, my boy, banished from the Republic of Verbiage and thus utterly worthless. And remember,' said he with an admonitory grin, 'if order is to be maintained in states and in kingdoms, the people must never know the truth about two things: what there really is in sausages and what takes place in the courts of law.'

I had no time to contradict him and prolong the discussion, for by then we had reached his doorway. He opened the door, telling me to wait outside a moment, then returned with a basket of soiled underwear.

'Now I have an important meeting, I want to change my shirt. I must put myself in order, I am in a disastrous state. Count Lamberg, the Ambassador of the Empire, is on the point of returning to the villa and I shall approach him. He is a little late, soon he'll be here. I want to ask him to receive me. You, meanwhile, take these clothes and have them washed and ironed for me, otherwise I shall soon be left without any clean apparel. Now, leave me.'

As I made my way to the laundry with Atto's dirty clothing in my hands, a swarm of thoughts crossed my mind. Melani's words accused sovereigns and the highly select circle (counsellors, ministers of state…) to which he was so proud to belong. It was almost as though with those words he really did mean to excite, to provoke, to stir up rebellion, as Albani said. With the Cardinal's double reprimand, Atto had acquired for himself the reputation of a rash fellow and an agitator to boot, all of which was what he least needed to be able to manoeuvre in peace. He was a spy and spies need discretion. Whatever could have got into him that he should have made such an exhibition of himself while, what was more, bruiting abroad his connections with the French party? Surely, those who had been present during the second clash between him and Albani must have spread that tasty piece of gossip among the other guests. The damage was done.

Strangely, Atto seemed oblivious of this. Hardly had we been alone than, instead of commenting on the humiliation he had suffered at Albani's hands when the latter had turned his back on him as he knelt at his feet, he had resumed his bizarre discourse on the Universal Republic of Verbiage.

Perhaps I had got everything wrong, said I to myself. No longer was I to expect from Abbot Melani the implacable lucidity I had found in him seventeen years before. He had aged, that was all. With the loss of his intellectual and moral faculties, imprudence, poor judgment and intemperance had taken over. From being sharp- witted he had grown quarrelsome, from being prudent, he had become rash, instead of coldly calculating, confused. I knew that men rarely improve with age. That he should have worsened somewhat should not, I thought, come as a surprise to me.

Meanwhile, I observed from afar a large company of persons entering the great house, accompanied by an impressive escort of men-at-arms. I heard the other servants being told that Cardinal Spada was coming to receive an important personage. I knew who this must be.

Moments later, the guest made his entrance into the salon, while Fabrizio Spada, accompanied by the bridal couple, advanced to meet him with obsequious and benevolent pomp. Many among the guests were those who rushed to meet the new arrival: the Count von Lamberg, Ambassador of the Emperor.

Cardinal Spada, so I subsequently learned, had sent one of his personal carriages to fetch him, preceded by that of the Cardinal de' Medici. In order to avoid grave problems of form, the other two representatives of the powers, the Spanish Count of Uzeda and the French Prince of Monaco, had tacitly arranged with their imperial counterpart that they were to be present at the same time only on the wedding day and to make a second visit on different days from one another. This would avoid conflicts of honour and precedence, as well as violence and brawls (such as occurred daily in Rome) between their respective lackeys, ever on the lookout for the best places to station their master's carriage.

The ambassadors of the other two great powers (France and Spain) would therefore not be present on that day, so that all attention would focus on Lamberg.

Because of my modest stature, obstructed as I was by the dense barrier of backs, heads and necks, I was obviously unable to witness the fatal moment of Lamberg's arrival in the salon. Nevertheless, the guests formed almost at once into two wings, between which the Imperial Ambassador made his way forward. He was accompanied by a great retinue of lackeys in yellow livery and men-at-arms in dress uniform. Cardinal Spada was at his side, respectfully leading him to the centre of the salon. Ladies and gentlemen, to show their respect, bowed as he passed, seeking to attract attention by paying tribute to him and heaping blessings upon his head.

'Excellency…'

'May God preserve you!'

'May Your Excellency always keep as well.'

Amidst the psalmody of obsequious expressions accompanying bows and curtsies, an unexpected note however arose.