Read Online Imprimatur by Rita Monaldi, Francesco Sorti - Free Book Online
Authors: Rita Monaldi, Francesco Sorti
Tags: Historical Novel
Ads: Link
hostelry, closed for years; but in Bologna, in the cappella of San Petronio, and in Florence, one can hear many fine musicians and many magnificent new works. Indeed, our great maestro Jean-Baptiste Lully, who ornaments the King's glory at Versailles, is a Florentine. Best of all, I know Venice where, of all Italian cities, music flourishes the most. I adore the theatres of Venice: the San Cassiano, the San Salvatore, and the famous Teatro del Cocomero where, before I went to Naples, I attended a marvellous concert."
"Were you intending to stay long here in Rome?"
"It scarcely matters now what I may have intended. We do not even know whether we shall leave here alive," said he, resuming his playing with a passage which, he said, came from a chaconne by Maestro Lully himself.
Hardly had I left the kitchen where, after my conversation with Devize I had closed myself in to prepare luncheon, when I ran into Brenozzi, the Venetian glass-blower. I advised him that, if he wished for a warm meal, it was ready. But he, without uttering a word, grasped my arm and dragged me down the stairs that led to the cellar. When I tried to protest, he closed my mouth with his hand. We stopped halfway down the stairs and he started at once: "Calm down and listen to me. Do not be afraid, you must only tell me certain things."
He whispered in a strangled voice, without allowing me to open my mouth. He wanted to know the comments of the other guests on the death of Signor di Mourai, and whether it was thought that there was a danger of yet another death by poisoning or some other cause, and if anyone in particular feared such an eventuality, and if others, on the contrary, feared no such thing, and how long the quarantine might last, if it might be more than the twenty days ordered by the Magistrate, and whether I suspected that any of the guests might be in possession of poisons, or even so much as thought that use had really been made of such substances; and lastly, whether any one of those present was proving inexplicably tranquil despite the quarantine that had just been imposed on the inn.
"Signore, I really..."
"The Turks? Have they spoken of the Turks? And of the pestilence in Vienna?"
"But I know nothing, I..."
"Now listen once and for all, and answer me," he continued, impatiently squeezing his rod. "Marguerites: does that mean anything to you?"
"I beg your pardon, Sir?"
"Daisies, marguerites."
"If you wish, Sir, I do have dried ones in the cellar for preparing infusions. Do you feel unwell?"
He snorted and raised his eyes to heaven.
"Forget all that I have said to you. My one command is this: if anyone should ask you, you know nothing about me, understood?" and he squeezed both my hands until they hurt.
I stood there looking at him, speechless.
"Understood?" he repeated impatiently. "What is wrong, is that not enough for you?"
I did not comprehend the meaning of his last question and began to fear that he was out of his mind. I broke free of his grip and rushed up the stairs, while my tormentor tried to hold me back. I emerged into semi-darkness, while Devize's guitar began again to play that splendid and disquieting melody which I had already heard. Rather than tarry, however, I rushed up to the first floor. My fists were still tight with the tension provoked by the glass-blower's assault, and that is why it was only then that I became aware of something in my hand. I opened it and saw three little pearls of admirable lustre.
I put these in my pocket and headed for the chamber in which Signor di Mourai had died. There, I found three of our guests engaged in the saddest of tasks. Cristofano was carrying the corpse of the deceased, wrapped in a white cloth which served as a shroud, and beneath which one could sense the deathly rigour of his members. The physician was assisted by Signor Pellegrino and, in the absence of younger volunteers, by Dulcibeni and Atto Melani. The abbot wore no periwig, neither was his
"Were you intending to stay long here in Rome?"
"It scarcely matters now what I may have intended. We do not even know whether we shall leave here alive," said he, resuming his playing with a passage which, he said, came from a chaconne by Maestro Lully himself.
Hardly had I left the kitchen where, after my conversation with Devize I had closed myself in to prepare luncheon, when I ran into Brenozzi, the Venetian glass-blower. I advised him that, if he wished for a warm meal, it was ready. But he, without uttering a word, grasped my arm and dragged me down the stairs that led to the cellar. When I tried to protest, he closed my mouth with his hand. We stopped halfway down the stairs and he started at once: "Calm down and listen to me. Do not be afraid, you must only tell me certain things."
He whispered in a strangled voice, without allowing me to open my mouth. He wanted to know the comments of the other guests on the death of Signor di Mourai, and whether it was thought that there was a danger of yet another death by poisoning or some other cause, and if anyone in particular feared such an eventuality, and if others, on the contrary, feared no such thing, and how long the quarantine might last, if it might be more than the twenty days ordered by the Magistrate, and whether I suspected that any of the guests might be in possession of poisons, or even so much as thought that use had really been made of such substances; and lastly, whether any one of those present was proving inexplicably tranquil despite the quarantine that had just been imposed on the inn.
"Signore, I really..."
"The Turks? Have they spoken of the Turks? And of the pestilence in Vienna?"
"But I know nothing, I..."
"Now listen once and for all, and answer me," he continued, impatiently squeezing his rod. "Marguerites: does that mean anything to you?"
"I beg your pardon, Sir?"
"Daisies, marguerites."
"If you wish, Sir, I do have dried ones in the cellar for preparing infusions. Do you feel unwell?"
He snorted and raised his eyes to heaven.
"Forget all that I have said to you. My one command is this: if anyone should ask you, you know nothing about me, understood?" and he squeezed both my hands until they hurt.
I stood there looking at him, speechless.
"Understood?" he repeated impatiently. "What is wrong, is that not enough for you?"
I did not comprehend the meaning of his last question and began to fear that he was out of his mind. I broke free of his grip and rushed up the stairs, while my tormentor tried to hold me back. I emerged into semi-darkness, while Devize's guitar began again to play that splendid and disquieting melody which I had already heard. Rather than tarry, however, I rushed up to the first floor. My fists were still tight with the tension provoked by the glass-blower's assault, and that is why it was only then that I became aware of something in my hand. I opened it and saw three little pearls of admirable lustre.
I put these in my pocket and headed for the chamber in which Signor di Mourai had died. There, I found three of our guests engaged in the saddest of tasks. Cristofano was carrying the corpse of the deceased, wrapped in a white cloth which served as a shroud, and beneath which one could sense the deathly rigour of his members. The physician was assisted by Signor Pellegrino and, in the absence of younger volunteers, by Dulcibeni and Atto Melani. The abbot wore no periwig, neither was his
Similar Books
My Grandfather Would Have Shot Me: A Black Woman Discovers Her Family's Nazi Past
Jennifer Teege, Nikola Sellmair
