The child was not there. Needless to say, the Princess had already dumped him upon the wet-nurse. He would soon be arriving with his father. Cardinal Fabrizio greeted the Princess with a toast and a speech.
"Aristotle was mistaken when he said that woman is weak," he began in a facetious tone. "While 'tis true that the females of rapacious animals such as leopards, panthers, bears, lions and the like, are stronger and more robust than the males, I would make another point: namely that women's ways are idle and delightful, and that each of these things is enough to unnerve a Hercules or an Atlas."
Everyone laughed at the sharpness and piquancy of the Secretary of State's observation.
"Nor do 1 agree with Aristotle when he calls woman 'a monster' or 'an accidental animal'. Here, the great man was raving, perhaps because he was angry with his own good wife."
The renewed outburst of laughter had the effect of clearing the air and cheering souls; the tension caused by Abbot Melani had now completely vanished.
"But above all," continued the master of the house in flattering tones, "a woman like the Princess here present may certainly be said to be strong and not weak, and worthy to stand beside Lasthenia of Mantinea and Axiothea of Phlius, Plato's disciples. And while the examples of Panthasilea and Camilla are reputed favourable, those of Zenobia and Fulvia, Antony's wife, to whom Cassius Dio refers in his account of the reign of Augustus, are most true and historical. Likewise most certain is the history of the Amazons' valour and of their empire. And he who knows not of the Sibyls knows nothing. I can surely place these women beside our newly delivered Princess, so that all together, after the Most Holy Madonna, they may be upheld as models of virtue and wisdom for the bride who now sits here before us."
These words were greeted with a round of applause and a toast to wish Maria Pulcheria Rocci every good fortune: as a bride and not a mother, she was in fact less important than the new mother; besides which, the poor thing, with her seaweed- coloured turbot's countenance, was certainly not one to inspire high-flown epithalamia.
"And what should be said of Aspasia, who taught Pericles and Socrates?" the speech continued, "or of the most learned Areta, remembered by Boccaccio? Was she not simultaneously both mother and philosopher? So well did she raise her offspring that she wrote a most useful book on how to instil manners in children, and another, for the use of the children themselves, on the vanity of youth; at the same time, for thirty-five years she taught natural philosophy, having a hundred philosophers for disciples, as well as composing the most erudite works: on the wars of Athens, on the power of tyrants, on Socrates' Republic, on the un- happiness of women, on the vanity of funerary rites, on bees and on the prudence of ants."
Meanwhile, the fifth course was served, usually consisting entirely of fruit. Although I had already eaten, I could not remain indifferent to the dishes of tartufali tartufolati — truffles in a truffle sauce served on crusts of toasted bread with half-lemons, or to the dishes making up an imperial feast of ravioli with butter, cauliflowers, tartuffolo sea urchins, egg yolks, with juice of lemon and cinnamon. Nor were the other poor torchbearers unmoved by such delicacies, yet they must like Tantalus stand by and listen powerlessly to the motions of the great lords and ladies'jaws and palates. Then came the fried Ascoli olives, the Florentine marzolino cheeses and the Spanish olives.
"But was this not to be the fruit course?" Baron Scarlatti discreetly asked the Prince Borghese.
"The fruit is there," replied the other. "Namely, the truffles on toast and in the imperial feast, the citrus cubes inside the fried olives and the orange flowers garnishing the fresh olives."
"Ah, I see," replied Scarlatti laconically, yet remaining unconvinced that subterranean truffles could be described as fresh fruit.
Then, to refresh the palate, bowls of iced pistachios were brought to the table, together with ground pistachios, pistachios in their shells, pistachio cakes, peach pies alla Senese, candied lettuce stalks and, in honour of Cardinal Durazzo, who came of a noble Genoese family, bowls of candied Genoese pears, together with prunes and candied Adam's apples, citrons and medlars, all from Genoa.
At that moment the Princess of Forano's newborn babe arrived, well swaddled in his father's arms.
"Minor mundus," said Cardinal Spada, greeting him with the name "world in miniature" accorded to man by the ancients for the perfection of his composition. Spada blessed the child and prayed that this might be a sign most auspicious.
"May you augur a prolific future for our beloved bride and groom today!" he concluded.
There was yet another toast; the various members of the couple's families then stood up one after another and, turning to the happy pair, they eulogised, magnified, augured, remembered and exhorted as is the custom at such banquets.
The ever-generous mantle of darkness had already fallen some two hours earlier when Sfasciamonti arrived with three saddled horses. All the guests, having been regaled with the utmost sumptuousness, had by now all retired to their beds.
As agreed, Atto and I waited in a sheltered corner not far from the Villa Spada. Buvat, who had tippled somewhat too freely at the nuptial banquet, had likewise abandoned himself to the arms of Morpheus and was snoring in his little room.
"Where are we going?" I asked, while the catchpoll helped, first Atto, then me, to mount.
"Near to the Rotonda," he replied.
Sfasciamonti, as he himself had explained that morning, had received information that should enable us to find two cerretani. These were small fry, but it was already a great deal to lay hands on a sure pair like these. As for their names, they were known as II Roscio and II Marcio: Red and Rotten. Such were the colourful nicknames by which the pair whom we were stalking were known in the Roman underworld.
We moved swiftly and silently towards the Tiber and thence to the city centre. As on the night before, we crossed the river by passing through the island of San Bartolomeo.
As intended, we dismounted a short distance from the Piazza della Rotonda. We found waiting for us there a little man who was kind enough to hold the reins of our horses as we clambered down from them. He was a friend of Sfasciamonti's and would look after our mounts for as long as was necessary.
We moved to a dark corner of the piazza where a number of carts for the transport of goods were stationed, secured to one another with a heavy iron chain. These probably belonged to the poor pedlars working at the market held by day at the Rotonda. It was a cul de sac in which darkness, the fetid odour of rats and damp mildew were omnipresent. Atto and I exchanged a worried look: this looked like the ideal place for an ambush. Sfasciamonti, however, surprised us, moving directly into action.
He handed me the lamp which we had been carrying with us, which somewhat faintly lit the scene. He looked under the carts and shook his head in disappointment. Then he stopped next to one of the carts and leaned on it with both hands. Swinging one leg back, he then launched a great kick into the darkness beneath the cart.
We heard a raucous howl in which anger and surprise were mixed in equal measure.
"Ah, here we are," said the catchpoll with the absent-minded ease of someone looking for a pen in a drawer.
"In the name of the Governor of Rome, Monsignor Ranuzio Pallavicini, come out from there, you miserable dog," he enjoined.
As nothing was happening, he leaned under the cart, reached out with one hand and tugged hard. A hoarse growl of protest was heard, which ended when Sfasciamonti hauled out a human figure without so much as a by-your-leave. It was an emaciated old man dressed in rags with a long yellowish beard under his chin and hair as thin and stubbly as a bunch of spinach. Other details I was for the time being unable to descry owing to the semi-dark- ness, which could not however conceal one detaiclass="underline" the stench of putrefying filth that arose from the poor old man after years of living in extreme want.