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"And what happened to the astrologers after the death of Mo­randi?" I asked, dejected by that lugubrious observation.

"That tale is soon told: Galileo recanted, Argoli went into exile, Centini went to the stake; all this in the space of a very few years. And astrology ended up crushed under the weight of papal bulls."

Here, Stilone fell silent, as though observing a moment of mourning.

"However," he resumed, "when Abbot Morandi's prophecy of his imminent death was circulating, the Pope became very afraid that it would come true."

"So, even Urban VIII, who did so much to combat astrology, be­lieved in it!"

"But of course! I have already told you that everyone, but every­one, in every epoch, has paid tribute to Dame Astrology," laughed Stilone Priaso, bitterly.

"Pope Barberini, so it was said, was beset by the blackest terror when the prediction of his death began to do the rounds. While he publicly professed scorn for Abbot Morandi's prophecy, in secret, he summoned a Dominican friar, Tommaso Campanella and, fearful and trembling, begged him to dispel the threat. The Dominican did what he could, sprinkling aromas and perfumes against malefic effluvia, making the Pontiff wear white vestments in order to cancel out the effects of eclipses, lighting lamps which symbolised the seven plan­ets, and so on and so forth. But now I had better break off. Thanks be to heaven, I am again feeling a little drowsy."

It was dawn. I greeted the ending of this discussion with silent re­lief. I again blamed myself for having initially encouraged it. Not only had I discovered nothing about the poisoning of Signor di Mourai, or the theft of my little pearls; but, at the end of such a long an inter­view, I was now more confused than ever.

*

After leaving Stilone Priaso, I returned exhausted to my chamber. I do not know where I found the strength to complete my diary, but I did succeed in so doing. Then, I read swiftly through the pages which I had already written. Dejectedly, I went over the results of the tenta­tive investigations which I had conducted concerning the guests at the Donzello: and what had I discovered? Practically nothing. Every appar­ent breakthrough had proved to be a false dawn. I had learned of facts and circumstances which had little to do with the sad end of Signor di Mourai, and which had thrown my ideas into even greater confusion.

But what, I wondered, did I know about Mourai? At my table, I lay my head on one arm, asking myself that question. Enveloped in the blanket of sleep, my thoughts receded into the distance, but did not disappear entirely.

Mourai was French, old and ill, and his eyesight had become very weak. He was between sixty and seventy years of age. He was accompanied by the young French musician Devize and by Pompeo Dulci­beni. He seemed to be of elevated rank and more than merely prosper­ous, which contrasted with the very poor state of his health: it was as though he had in the past undergone long-drawn-out sufferings.

But then, why would a gentleman of his rank lodge at the Donzello?

I knew from Pellegrino that the Ponte quarter, where our hostelry was situated, had long since ceased to house the great inns, which were now to be found in the environs of the Piazza di Spagna. To sojourn at the Donzello was perhaps more fitting for a person of lim­ited means; or perhaps for someone desiring to avoid the company of neighbours of high rank; but why?

Mourai, moreover, never left the inn, save at nightfall; and even then, only for the shortest of walks in the immediate environs; cer­tainly not beyond the Piazza Navona or Piazza Fiammetta.

Piazza Navona, Piazza Fiammetta: suddenly, my temples began to throb painfully, and, rising with great difficulty from the chair, I let myself collapse onto my couch like a marionette.

I awoke in the same position the next morning, in broad daylight. Someone had knocked at the door. It was Cristofano, angry that I had still not fulfilled any of my duties.

I sat up in the bed with extreme indolence, having had only a few hours of sleep. In my breeches, I espied the gazette of horo­scopes which the tomb robbers had purloined from Stilone Priaso. I was still affected by the extraordinary events of the previous night: the peregrination through the underground passages full of uncer­tainties and surprises, the stalking of Stilone and, lastly, the terrible affairs of Abbot Morandi and Campanella, which the Neapolitan had narrated to me in the last hours before dawn. That abundant harvest of sensory and spiritual impressions was still very much alive in me, despite the fatigue that assailed me, when I lazily opened the little book. Perhaps also because of a powerful headache, I did not resist the temptation to lie down once again; at least for a few minutes, thought I. And I began to peruse the book.

The first words that met my eyes were a lengthy and learned dedication to Ambassador Buonvisi, and then another no less polished prologue addressed to the reader.

There followed a table entitled "Calculation of the Introitus of the Sun", which I did not read. Finally, I found a "General Discourse on the Year 1683":

It
will begin, according to the Custom of the Holy Roman Catholicke Church, on the First of January and according to the ancient Astronomi­cal Style, when the Sunne has completed its Round of the Twelve Signs of the Zodiac, returning again to the Cusp of the Sign of Aries, because Fundamentum principale in revolutionibus annorum mundi et introitus Solis in pritnum punctum Arietis. Thus, it is by Means of the Tychonian System...Irritated by all this show of astronomical wisdom, I gave up. Fur­ther on, I read that there would be four eclipses during the course of the year (none of which would, however, be observable in Italy); then came a table with a mass of figures, all of them completely incompre­hensible to me, entitled "Direct Ascension of the Celestiall Figure in Winter". I felt discouraged. It all seemed to me to be unconscionably complicated. I was only trying to find some prediction for the current year and, what was more, I had little time. At long last, I found a promising heading: "Lunations and Combinations with other Plan­etary Aspects for all the Year 1683". I had finally discovered detailed predictions, set out according to the seasons and months and cover­ing the entire year. I skimmed through the pages until I came to the four weeks of September:

Saturn, Ruler of the Eighth House
, threatens the aged, endangering their lives.

I was perturbed. This prediction referred to the first week of the month, but it was clear that, only a few mornings earlier, old Mourai had died a mysterious death. I looked hurriedly for the second week, since Mourai had died on the 11th, and soon discovered:

As regards Maladies, Jupiter rules the Sixth House and will strive to bring Health to many who are sick; however, Mars, in a Fiery Sign attd in Opposition to the Moon seems intent on subjecting many Individuals to malignant Fevers and venomous Distempers, for it is written that in this position Lunam opposito Martis morbos venenatos inducit, sicut in sig- nis igneis, terminaturque cito, & raro ad vitam. Saturn rules the Eighth House, and greatly threatens senile Age.

Not only had the author clairvoyantly perceived that the aged were again threatened by Saturn, which fully corresponded with the demise of Signor di Mourai, but he had also foreseen the sufferings of my master and Bedfordi as a result of "malignant Fevers and venomous Distempers". Not to mention the fact that the reference to poison perhaps concerned the aged Frenchman most of all.

I went back a few lines and resumed my reading for the first week, with the firm intention not to leave off from it, even if Cristofano were to knock yet again.

The Emergencies which resultfrom the Study of the heavenly Bodies during this Week are directed by Jupiter in his quality as Ruler of the govern­ing House, which, being in the Fourth House with the Sunne and Mer­cury, seeks with fine Astuteness to
reveal a hidden Treasure,
the same Mercury, dignified by Jupiter in a terrestrial Sign, signifies
Outbreaks of subterranean Fires, and Tremors with Terrors and Alarums for Mankind;
wherefore it is written: Eo item in terrae cardine, & in signo terreo fortunatis ab eodem cadentibus dum Mercurius investigat eumdem, terraemotus nunciat, ignes de terra producit, terrores, & turba- tiones exauget, minerias & terrae sulphura corrumpit. Saturn, Ruler of the Seventh House, in the Third House, promises
great Mortality as a
Consequence of Battles, and Assaults against the City,
and, being square with Mars, means
the Surrender of a considerable fortified Place, as foreseen by Ali and by Leopoldus Austriacus.

Despite some difficulties (as with the learned references to mas­ters of astrological doctrine) I did in the end succeed in understand­ing. And again, I shuddered; for, in the prediction of the revelation of "a hidden Treasure and Outbreaks of subterranean Fires, and Trem­ors, with Terrors and Alarums for Mankind", I recognised clearly the most recent occurrences at the Donzello.

What was the "hidden Treasure" which was to be brought to light in the first days of the month if not the enigmatic letters hidden in Colbert's study and appropriated by Atto just before the minister's death? It all seemed so clear and terrible in its in­evitability. Above all, the death of Colbert, who surely did not die young, coincided perfectly with the threats to the aged of which the gazette spoke.

Even the earthquakes and subterranean fires were familiar to me. I could only think of the rumbling which we had at the beginning of the month heard coming from the cellars. The tremendous reverber­ation had made us fear that an earthquake was coming; fortunately, it had left no more trace than a crack in the wall of the stairs leading to the first floor. But Signor Pellegrino almost had a seizure.

And what could one say about the "great Mortality as a Conse­quence of Battles, and Assaults against the City" as foreseen by Ali and by Leopoldus Austriacus? Who would not see in this the battle against the Turks and the siege of Vienna? The very names of the two great astrologers were disturbingly reminiscent of the Emperor Leopold of Austria and the followers of Mahomet. I grew afraid of reading on and went back to the preceding pages. I stopped at the passage concerning the month of July, in which, as I expected, the Ottoman advance and the beginning of the siege were predicted:

The Sun in the Tenth House signifies... the Subjection of Peoples, Republics and Neighbours by a stronger bordering Power, as foreseen by Ali...

At that precise moment, Cristofano knocked on my door. I hid the astrological gazette under the mattress and rushed out. The doctor's call came almost as a relief: the accuracy with which events seemed to have been guessed at by the author of the gazette (especially, sad and violent events) had upset me deeply.

In the kitchen, while I was preparing luncheon and at the same time assisting Cristofano with the preparation of a number of rem­edies for Bedfordi, I kept turning matters over and over in my mind. I was spurred on by my anxiety to understand: I felt as though I were somehow a prisoner of the planets, and all our lives, in the Donzello as in Vienna, no more than a vain struggle in narrow fore-ordained straits, in some invisible torrent which might bear us where we would perhaps rather not go, while our sad but trusting prayers languished under a black and empty heaven.

"What rings you have around your eyes, my boy! You have not perchance been insomniac these last few nights?" Cristofano inquired of me. "Insufficient sleep is quite a serious matter: if the mind and the heart remain awake unceasingly, the pores no longer open and allow the evaporation of the humours corrupted by the cares of the day."

I admitted that I was indeed not sleeping enough. Cristofano then warned me that he could not do without my services, especially now that, with my help, he was at last managing to keep the lodgers in perfect health. And truly, he added in order to encourage me, all had praised the quality of my assistance.

It was plain that the physician was unaware that I had as yet given no treatment to Dulcibeni, to young Devize or even to Stilone Priaso, in whose company I had, however, spent almost an entire night. And so, the health of at least these three guests was due to Mother Na­ture and not to his remedies.

Cristofano, however, planned to do more: he set to work on a preparation to make me sleep.

"All Europe has tried it thousands of times. It restores sleep and is good for most of the body's intrinsic infirmities, as well as heal­ing all manner of wounds. If I were to tell you here and now all the wonders I have wrought with this, you would not believe me," the Tuscan assured me. "It is known as
magnolicore,
the great liquor; and it is prepared in Venice too, at the Apothecary of the Bear, on Campo Santa Maria Formosa. The process of preparation takes quite some time, but can be completed only in the month of September."

And, with a smile, he pulled out from his bags, the contents of which had already spilled onto the great kitchen table, a curious clay jar.

"It is necessary to begin preparation of the
magnolicore
in the springtime, boiling twelve pounds of common oil together with two of mature white wine..."

While Cristofano, with his usual extreme meticulousness, listed the composition and miraculous qualities of his preparation, my mind continued to wander.

"... and now that it is September, we shall add balsamic herbs and a good quantity of Master Pellegrino's finest aqua vitae."

I awoke abruptly from my thoughts upon hearing this news of the latest spoliation of my master's cellar for apothecary's purposes.

"My boy, what is it that so preoccupies your heart and your mind?"

I told him that I had awoken that morning with a sad thought: if, as some affirmed, our lives were governed by the planets and the stars, then all was in vain, including the medicines which Doctor Cristofano himself was preparing with such care. But I at once ex­cused myself, explaining away my ravings as the fruit of fatigue.

He looked at me with perplexity and I detected a shadow of ap­prehension: "I do not understand how such questionings arose in your mind, but these were no ravings; far from it. I myself take as­trology greatly into account. I know that many physicians deride this science, and to them I reply what Galen wrote, namely that
medici astrologiam ignorantes sunt peiores spiculatoribus et homicidis:
physicians ig­norant of astrology are worse than speculators and murderers. With­out counting what was said by Hippocrates, Scotus and other most learned writers, whose part I take in deriding my sceptical colleagues in their turn."