"Indeed yes, it is so hot," assented the Monsignor condescendingly
"One seems almost to be in Spain, where they tell me 'tis so very torrid that it feels almost like fire," said the Marchese Serlupi.
"Oh no, in Spain one is very well indeed, I retain the most excellent memory of that land. A splendid memory, of that I can assure you. Oh! Excuse me, I have just seen an old friend. Marchesa, my compliments!"
I saw Cardinal Durazzo, followed by a servant, break off somewhat brusquely the conversation which he had only just begun and move immediately away from the trio to approach another eminence whom I was later to recognise as Cardinal Barberini.
"Now really, that allusion…" I heard Marchesa Serlupi upbraiding her husband.
"What allusion? I didn't mean to say anything…"
"You see, Marchese," said Monsignor Grimaldi, "if Your Benevolence will permit me to explain, Cardinal Durazzo, before receiving his cardinal's hat, was Nuncio to Spain."
"And so?"
"Well, it seems — but this is of course only gossip — that His Eminence was not at all appreciated by the King of Spain and, what is more, and this however is certain truth, the kinsfolk whom he brought in his train were assaulted by persons unknown, and one of them died of his wounds. So, you can imagine, with the times in which we are living…"
"What do you mean?"
Monsignor Grimaldi glanced indulgently at the Marchesa.
"It means, dearest husband of mine," she broke in impatiently, "that since His Eminence is among the papabili, the likely candidates at the forthcoming conclave, he takes umbrage at even the slightest reference to the Spaniards, for that could put an end to his election. We spoke of these things at our home only two days ago, if I am not mistaken."
"I really cannot be expected to remember everything," grumbled the Marchese Serlupi, feeling bewildered as he realised the faux pas he had just made before a possible future pontiff, while his wife took her leave of Monsignor Grimaldi with a smile of benevolent forbearance and the latter greeted another guest.
That was the first occasion on which I became fully aware of the true character of the festivities which were about to begin. Abbot Melani was right. Though all in the villa seemed designed for revelry and to divert the mind away from serious matters, yet the hearts and minds of the participants were focused on the affairs of the day: above all, on the imminent conclave. Every discourse, every phrase, every single syllable was capable of causing the eminences and princes present to jump in their seats as though prodded with a spike. They had come pretending to seek distractions, while in reality they were present at the villa of the Secretary of State only in order to seek their own advancement, or that of the powers which they served.
At that very moment, I realised that the personage whom Monsignor Grimaldi had gone to greet was none other than Car dinal Spada himself, who, after duly saluting Grimaldi, continued on a tour of inspection accompanied by his Major-Domo, Don Paschatio Melchiorri. Despite his purple cardinal's cape, I had almost failed to recognise Fabrizio Spada, so furious was his countenance; he seemed nervous and distracted.
"And the theatre? Why is the theatre not yet ready?" fumed the Secretary of State, panting at the heat as he walked from the little grove towards the great house.
"We have almost attained the optimum, Your Eminence, that is to say, we have made great progress and we have practically resolved, almost resolved the problem of the…"
"Signor Major-Domo, I do not want progress, I want results. Do you or do you not realise that the guests are already arriving?"
"Your Eminence, yes, of course, nevertheless…"
"I cannot see to everything, Don Paschatio! I have other matters on my mind!" snapped the Cardinal, at once exasperated and disconsolate.
The Major-Domo nodded and bowed agitatedly without suc ceeding in getting in a single word.
"And the cushions? Have the cushions been sewn?"
"Almost, almost completely, Your Eminence, only a very few…"
"I see, they are not ready. Am I to seat the aged members of the Holy College on the bare ground?"
With these words, Cardinal Spada, followed by a throng of servants and retainers, turned his heel on poor Don Paschatio, who remained immobile in the middle of the avenue, unaware that he was being observed by me as he dusted down his shoes which were bedaubed with mire.
"Heavens, my shoes!" muttered Buvat, rising with a start at the sight of Don Paschatio's gesture. "I was meant to go and fetch them."
It was, however, by then too late to fetch his shoes at Palazzo Rospigliosi and so, jumping lightly to my feet, I suggested that we should, taking unfrequented byways, make our way discreetly to the attic of the great house, where we could be sure of finding a servant willing to lend him a pair in better condition than his own.
"A lackey's footwear!" mumbled Buvat with a hint of shame, while we hurriedly piled the remains of our picnic into the basket, "but they will surely be better than my own."
With the rolled-up piece of jute under my arm, we turned furtively away from where we could hear voices. We took care to keep to the edge of the park, far from the festive lights, moving along the rim of the dark slope that led down to the vineyard of the villa. Aided and abetted by twilight, we had no difficulty in reaching the service entrance of the house.
Once Buvat was, for a modest consideration, shod with a fine pair of livery shoes in black patent leather with bows, we hurried to our appointment with Abbot Melani. We had no need even to knock at his door: the Abbot, bewigged, powdered and resplendent with ribbons and ruffles, wearing embroidered satin ceremonial dress, his cheeks shining with carmine red and dotted with black beauty spots after the French fashion (and not at all small, but large, ridiculous ones) awaited us on the threshold, nervously ill-treating his walking-cane. I noticed that he was wearing white stockings instead of his usual red abbot's hose.
"Where the deuce have you been hiding, Buvat? I have been waiting for you for over an hour. You would not wish me to come down unaccompanied like a plebeian, would you? All the other guests are already in the garden: explain to me why I came here. Was it to look down from the window at the Marchese Serlupi chattering blissfully away with Cardinal Durazzo, while I rot here in my chamber?"
The Abbot's gaze was drawn suddenly to the shine which the lackey's shoes worn by his secretary gave off in the candle-light.
"Say nothing. I do not wish to know," he warned, raising his eyes heavenward, when Buvat most unwillingly resigned himself to explaining what had happened.
Thus they set off, without Melani paying the slightest attention to my presence. As Buvat nodded to me in sorrowful commiseration, Atto turned to me without stopping and gestured that I was to follow him.
"Keep your eyes open, my boy. Cardinal Spada is Secretary of State, and if anything important is unfolding, I am sure that you will know how to catch the scent of it. We are certainly not interested in his arguments with his Major-Domo."
"In truth, I never promised to spy on your behalf."
"You will have to spy on nothing whatever. In any case, you would not be capable of it. You have only to make good use of your eyes, ears and brain. That's all you need to know the world. Now, get on with it. That is all. Tomorrow at dawn, here in my chambers."
How eager the Abbot was, I noted, to join in the conversations with the other illustrious guests of the Spada family, and certainly not from any desire for distraction. Yet it was clear that he had, from his window, overheard Cardinal Fabrizio rebuking Don Paschatio and he would thus have noted the singular apprehensiveness of the Secretary of State. Perhaps that was why he had made me that last recommendation: to keep my eyes well trained on the master of the house.
That night, I thought, it would be better to stay at the great house, seeing that I had an appointment with Atto at a very early hour on the morrow, but above all, because my Cloridia was not at home. To sleep in our empty bed was for me the worst of torments. Better then that I should sleep on the improvised couch that awaited me in the servants' hall under the eaves.