better at such moments. The bravo, something of a natural teacher, merely shrugged.
Remembering this dispelled the dream quickly. And before Tonio had placed his bare feet on the delicious coolness of the marble tiles, he knew again he was in the Cardinal’s palazzo, and he was in the middle of Rome. The dream was like a bad taste in his mouth, or a faint headache. It would soon, altogether, be gone.
And the city was waiting for him. For the first time in all his life he was truly free. Years ago, he’d gone from the restraints of his tutors in Venice to the care of Guido and the discipline of the conservatorio, and he could not quite get used to the fact that all this was at an end.
But Guido had made it clear. As long as Paolo had his tutors and Tonio devoted the morning to practice, Tonio had not to answer to anyone anymore. Guido never said so. It was simply the way it was. Guido would disappear in the afternoon when others were still napping and might not come back till midnight. He would ask in the manner of one man speaking to another, “And where have you been?”
Tonio couldn’t help smiling. Nothing of the dream lingered now. He was wide awake and it was very early, and if he hurried he could hear the Cardinal Calvino’s early morning mass.
Each day, the Cardinal Calvino said mass in his private chapel to which members of his household were welcome to come. The altar was decked with white flowers, the candelabra spreading their tiny flames in great arcs beneath the giant image of the crucified Christ, His hands and feet streaming a copious and shimmering red blood.
The glare of the candles hurt Tonio’s eyes when he entered the chapel, and no one appeared to notice as he took a small chair at the very back. And he did not know why he was watching the distant figure at the altar, who turned now with the golden chalice in his hands.
A cluster of young Romans knelt to receive communion, behind them the clerics, humble, more soberly dressed. But Tonio felt good here, and his head resting against the gilded pillar behind his chair, he closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, the Cardinal had his hand raised in the last blessing, and his face appeared ageless in its smoothness, and sublimely innocent, as though he knew nothing of evil and never had. There was conviction to his every attitude and movement, and it seemed a little thought took shape in Tonio’s mind, very like a pulse beating in his temple, and the thought was the Cardinal Calvino had reason more than most of us for being alive: he believed in God; he believed in himself; he believed what he was and what he did.
It was afternoon when, after several hours of practice with Guido and Paolo, Tonio entered the deserted fencing salon of the palazzo alone.
No one had used this room in years. And there was something familiar to Tonio about the polished floor shining through his footprints in the dust. Unsheathing his sword, he advanced against an invisible opponent, humming to himself, as if this battle were accompanied by great music and were actually part of a splendid pageant on a great stage.
Even when he became weary, he continued to go through his exercises until he felt the first agreeable ache in his calves.
But after an hour of this, quite suddenly he stopped, convinced that someone had been watching him at the door.
He spun round, the rapier firmly clasped in his hand.
No one was there. The corridor beyond was empty, though there were sounds of life throughout the enormous house.
Yet he had the persistent feeling someone had come and gone. And putting on his frock coat quickly and sheathing his sword, he found himself wandering about the palazzo almost aimlessly, nodding and bowing to those he passed.
He neared the Cardinal’s immense office, but seeing it was shut up, moved on along a mezzanine, examining the huge Flemish tapestries, and the heavy portraits of those men of the last century who had worn such enormous wigs. White hair appeared to bubble over their shoulders. The skin, exquisitely molded, veritably glistened with life.
Suddenly there was a great clamor below. The Cardinal was just coming in.
And Tonio watched as, surrounded by his pages and attendants, the Cardinal mounted the broad white marble stairs. He wore a wig, small, pigtailed, and perfectly proportioned