The search was not very successful. First of all, it was Claudio again who chauffeured them from the Vatican to the San Lorenzo neighbourhood. He drove like a madman.
“Can’t you tell him to behave, my dear Contini?” Daisy remonstrated.
“I’ve tried, believe me, time and again, but it’s no good. He just can’t help himself. The only reason I put up with it is that he’s a good Catholic, with eight children to feed at home. And he’s clever enough to remind me of that when needed.”
Claudio had no idea they were talking about him.
They started with the church closest to the street where Lavinia was born. It turned out to be “new” all right, Baroque, with no old relics, not even an antique inscription of any kind. And the priest who happened to be present had never heard of a St Plautilla chapel nor of the Desiderata stone.
“No luck so far. Still, my dear Daisy, your hypothesis is sound, we must carry on.”
And as he could see on the map that the other churches they had to visit where within walking distance, he decided to let Claudio wait for them in front of the first church, and to proceed on foot. They spent a few hours making a little round along the churches in Lavinia’s old neighbourhood, further and further away from her place of birth. While they strolled from one church to the next, Contini told Daisy about the district.
“It’s very popular with students nowadays, because La Sapienza University is nearby… although the San Lorenzo campus would not have been built yet around 1800, when little Lavinia lived here.”
“And did this area already exist in Rorick’s day?”
“Excellent question, my dear! But I think I can reassure you: yes, probably. Although this neighbourhood lies outside the Aurelian wall of ancient Rome, the Via Tiburtina leads right through it; the highway to Tivoli. A new residential area would have appeared along that road long before the fall of the Roman Empire, and some of it would have survived in Rorick’s time.”
As they were roaming the streets, Daisy hanging on to her companion’s arm, they were suddenly heckled by a cheeky passer-by: “Ciao, Monsignor, ciao Doris Day! La donna è bella e il vescovo è cornuto!”
“Typical Roman esprit,” Contini grumbled, “I won’t even attempt to translate, it is not suitable… but who is this Doris Day I keep hearing about?”
“Oh, just a Hollywood actress who’s all the rage at the moment. We’re exactly the same age and apparently I look a lot like her.”
“Very flattering for you, no doubt.”
“You’re such a scholar, Contini, and you’ve never heard of Doris Day! Don’t you ever go to see a film?”
“God forbid… If I went to a cinema to watch a Hollywood film, that would immediately become front-page news in the communist press!”
Then, as they completed their tour of the local churches, still with no results, Daisy started to have some misgivings.
“Contini, we’ve run out of churches! If this really is the neighbourhood where we should be looking, then we have to wonder: does the St Plautilla chapel still exist at all? For example, you mentioned that the present-day La Sapienza campus was built after Lavinia Rossi’s time: couldn’t it be that our chapel was torn down to make place for the University buildings?”
“Yes, you’re right, I was thinking along the same lines. There’s another part of this area that did not exist in 1800: the Termini station.”
“Of course! The first railways weren’t built before the Contessa had become an elderly lady.”
“Exactly. And though I’m not too worried about the University site, on the other hand, if the chapel was situated where the station and the tracks are now, then we’re in trouble. There wouldn’t be a trace of it left.”
“So we need to check the records on that point.”
“Yes, time to call Vanetta. Therefore, time to have lunch, so I can get to a phone. But first I must give some instructions to Claudio.”
The bishop led Daisy back to the street where his limousine was waiting, and he told his chauffeur to go home for lunch, and come back over an hour and a half. That way they could get their blind guest back to the Vatican in time for her daily debriefing. Then he picked out a small restaurant nearby, hoping for the best, and as they went inside he asked the padrone if they had a phone. Daisy was led to a table and her companion into a back-office. The owner of this modest establishment and his whole family were very honoured to have a bishop as a guest, and after Contini had come back from making his call, some time went by as the owner, his wife, and three sweet little boys made a genuflexion and kissed his ring. He gave them his blessing one by one. Finally he settled down and ordered the plat du jour, “Nothing fancy or special for us, please, my son.”
“Did you speak to Vanetta?” Daisy asked eagerly.
“Yes, no worries, my dear. I know exactly where he hangs out and how the Vatican telephone exchange can get in touch with him. I gave him our assignment and he’ll call back this restaurant’s number with an answer as soon as possible.”
As she tucked in on a portion of delicious spinach tortellini, Daisy told her companion that she was feeling a bit worried. “I had such high hopes when I woke up this morning and realized we had to focus on the Contessa’s childhood neighbourhood… but so far we’ve been drawing a blank. It’s not looking good.”
“I know, my dear, the results are discouraging; there’s a good reason why the Desiderata stone is not in the Corpus; it is not that easy to uncover an inscription that has been lost for centuries. But I’m sure our approach is still sound… I’m trying to picture the Contessa’s life in this area around 1800, and Rorick’s visit to Rome in the 6th century, and I’m trying to focus on what would have stayed the same up to this day.”
“Not so easy, I guess, and I can’t help you much. Like Du Bellay said, ‘Nouveau venu qui cherches Rome en Rome, et rien de Rome en Rome n’aperçois…”
They remained silent for a while, enjoying the food and taking a few sips of the house wine, then Contini continued, “No matter what Vanetta tells us, there is one place I want us to visit later this afternoon: the basilica of San Lorenzo fuori le Mura. As its name indicates, it is a prominent feature at the limit of this district. No matter what, it would have played an important part in the life of a Catholic family such as young Lavinia’s, and it was definitely there in Rorick’s day too, because it is one of the seven ‘pilgrim churches’ of Rome. That is also the reason why it is not marked on Vanetta’s map: very old, Romanesque in style, not Baroque.”
“Lavinia would have gone there on a regular basis, I see. Only, it can’t be the ‘St Plautilla chapel’ of her youth, can it?”
“In principle, no, but you can never be sure… I’m just thinking… what if there is some little side-chapel there, somewhere, that is dedicated to St Plautilla?”
“I see! And what if that side-chapel happens to be in Baroque style? That is certainly worth investigating, then!”
A moment later the padrone came over to their table and told the bishop that he was wanted on the phone. When the latter came back a moment later, he announced that there was no problem: the on-campus churches of old were still there, still on the same spot. As for the railway station and trails, Vanetta had consulted a couple of old city maps, and it was plain that although they’d torn down a fair portion of a residential area, no churches had been affected. “At the time the Pope was still in charge in all of Rome, and they wouldn’t have dared!”
“Great! That’s a relief, anyway… You know, Contini, your brainwave about the San Lorenzo basilica has rekindled my hopes a bit. Clever how you thought up a thing like that.”
“Well, Rome is a wonderful place for someone with a sense of history, and as a priest, I have that more than most people.”
While they finished their meal, they discussed this topic further. Daisy’s companion gave her the example of the Tiber Island, where you have the Fatebenefratelli Hospital. “Just an ordinary hospital, nothing remarkable, but the fascinating thing is that it’s situated just across the street from a church, St Bartholomew, and that the church is situated on the very same spot as the temple of Asclepius in ancient Rome, Asclepius being the Greek god of medicine and healing. The temple was established in the 3rd century BC, so you could argue that the Tiber Island has been dedicated to medicine for more than two thousand years.”
“Really? So what you’re saying is that apart from the obvious monuments, like the Forum or the Pantheon, you also have functionalities that survived in Rome over millennia.”
“Indeed, very well formulated, my dear!”
“Well, that’s fascinating… any other examples you can think of?”
“Erm… let me see… surviving functionalities… well, take the Villa Borghese gardens, one of the biggest and most popular parks today. In antiquity you had the gardens of Lucullus on the very same spot. It probably already had some kind of zoo, too. And in ancient Rome, of course, you had cemeteries along the main roads just outside the city gates. I’ve already mentioned this. Today, the biggest cemetery of Rome is the Campo Verano, near the San Lorenzo church we’ll be visiting later. But the remarkable thing is, it lies right next to the old Via Tiburtina, on the site of ancient Christian catacombs, so in that sense you could say that this cemetery too has existed for almost two thousand years.”
“Another reason to check out the place! And how about the Vatican? Were there any important temples on the Vatican hill in ancient Rome?”
“No, actually. The Vatican is a real upstart! The first basilica wasn’t built before the 4th century. In earlier times the Vatican plains were just an area of market gardens and private parks outside the city. The official story is that the ‘Circus of Nero’ was also there; that’s where St Paul and St Peter are said to have been martyred.”
“And St Plautilla would have been present too, for moral support, before she was martyred herself, sometime later.”
“Precisely. So the current basilica is reputed to stand on the tomb of the apostle Peter, but the exact location of the circus is unclear: it would have been situated along the Via Cornelia, outside the city, on the other side of the Tiber.”
At the debriefing, that day, Daisy was feeling nervous and impatient to go back to the search, understandably. She told the group she could no longer report about art appreciation, as she and “Father Contini” were still looking for the Desiderata stone: “We’ve gone into the field now, that is to say, we’ve been searching all over Rome.”
The others reacted with remarks along the line of, “Oh, that again, haven’t you got enough of it already?”
Daisy reflected that it was only the second time she told them about this, so: “Excuse me if I’m boring you!”
On the other hand, it was the first time Morag reported extensively on her activities. After she’d taken stock of all the treasures the museums had on offer, she was now concentrating on the examples of cross-over influences between antiquity and the Renaissance. “After all, the artists of the Italian Renaissance must have been very familiar with the Vatican collections, and the Greco-Roman art on display inspired them tremendously. That was the whole point of the Renaissance, right? So, looking at the collections, you can find all sorts of very concrete details from, say, antique sculpture, and find them back in details of anatomy in the later Italian paintings… I was never much interested in sculpture before, but now I’m comparing statues and paintings all day long! And the funny part is: I don’t even need English for that, not until I write up my results. For the moment I’m only using my eyes and my brain.”
Daisy was glad to hear that Morag was having a good time on her own; that she really didn’t mind them pursuing different interests; that there were apparently no hard feelings between them.
Then, at last, she and Contini were chauffeured to the San Lorenzo fuori le Mura basilica. The bishop had announced his visit over the phone, and they were received by a very knowledgeable priest, Father Formenti, who spoke good English. He led them on a grand tour, after kissing the ring and all that, first through the echoing main hall of the ancient basilica, then he showed them around in the cloister. This was literally packed with tombstones, slabs of marble covered with Latin inscriptions, “All from antiquity, and well documented, of course.” There were also beautiful Roman sarcophagi that had been recuperated by Catholic prelates like Cardinal Fieschi for their own burial. This last one, from the second century AD, was a real jewel of classical sculpture. Daisy would have liked to don her rubber gloves and investigate, but she let the man lead them around and talk for a while, before she made use of an opening to explain their mission to him, and the facts of the case. Fortunately, the man could listen too, and was very willing to help, but also very apologetic when he told them there was not much he could offer them.
“The story of the young Contessa is charming and fascinating, no doubt, but I wouldn’t know of any Baroque chapel within this church complex that would answer your description. A Baroque St Plautilla side-chapel? I think not!”
“Well, it probably went by another name, officially. It was only called St Plautilla in the popular, oral tradition.”
“Even so, it doesn’t ring a bell, and the Baroque part is out of the question! Now for the other part of your story: Bishop Rorick’s reference to the stone in his Compendium, and the mention by Aristobulus a couple of centuries before that. This is interesting, because you did have a lot of Christian catacombs around here in those early days…”
“Yes, yes, but all the catacombs are well documented,” Contini interrupted, “please remember that we are looking for an inscription that is not in the Corpus.”
“Even so, Excellenza, I have a suggestion. A place that would have been familiar to the Contessa in her childhood, and that might have been a remnant of a Christian shrine from the earliest antiquity… yes, it fits the bill quite well, except for one small detail.”
The chatty priest was silent for a few seconds, to heighten the suspense, then he asked rhetorically, “Did I mention that our church was badly damaged by Allied bombs in 1943?”
“No, you didn’t,” Contini growled, “but I’m well aware of this fact. It has been beautifully restored, I must say.”
“Well, there used to be a charming Baroque chapel on the Via Tiburtina, a few hundred meters down the road from here, in the direction of Tivoli. It would have been there around 1800, officially known as the Sacro Sangue dei Martiri, the ‘Sacred Blood of the Martyrs’. During the same bombing I just mentioned, it suffered a direct hit. It was completely destroyed.”
“Oh no!” Daisy cried, feeling very guilty. She was married to a former bomber pilot, and preferred to keep this painful truth under her hat. But she quickly calculated that Richard, her current husband, or Ralph, her first one, could never have been involved. They had both been stationed just north of London: Rome would have been way out of range for their Lancaster bomber, D-Daisy.
“So what are you telling us, Father Formenti? Could the Desiderata stone have been destroyed by an Allied bomb?”
“That I cannot say, my dear lady, but a new chapel has been built, sometime around 1950; it is a modern, concrete and glass little building. You see, Sacro Sangue dei Martiri had always been very popular with the visitors of the Campo Verano cemetery: that is why they decided to rebuild it after the war. I’m only suggesting that you might want to check it out, because for the rest, as I said, it fits the bill.”
“And is there a sacristan, or anyone to show us around?” the bishop asked.
“Oh yes, there is always a caretaker present. I happen to know him well: old Bertini.”
As they walked down the busy road, Daisy holding on to her companion’s elbow, they were both in a state of great trepidation.
“Contini, this is such an unexpected development, it is completely outside of the plan we hatched with Vanetta.”
“Yes and no, my dear. Like you I’m of two minds about this. It seems a long shot, but the one thing that gives me hope is the name of the place. ‘The Sacred Blood of the Martyrs’, that’s exactly how you would rename a ‘St Plautilla’, now that I think about it…”
“Yes, I can see that, she being an early martyr and all that… but what if the stone has been destroyed by a bomb?”
“Unlikely. If it had been displayed plainly in the Baroque chapel, it would have been mentioned in the Corpus, including the date of its destruction. The fact that it is not on record gives us some hope for its survival… we’ll soon find out.”
When they reached the modern chapel and went inside, the bishop gave a brief description, talking under his breath so as not to disturb the worshippers. The building was a plain concrete cube, basically, closed off on the side of the busy thoroughfare of the Via Tiburtina, except for some small square windows high up in the wall. On the side of the cemetery, however, the whole wall was made of glass, with huge windowpanes set in a framework of thin steel pillars. This glass wall afforded a beautiful view on the graves and the greenery on the Campo Verano.
“There are few ornaments, all of them in a modern, abstract style. The altar and the crucifix on the wall above it are also simple and austere… Now, I am rather critical of modern architecture in general, but this is really done in very good taste, I must say.”
“It doesn’t smell like a church at all, except for the burning candles.”
“Yes, they have votive candles that the visitors can light themselves… Now, where is the caretaker we were told about?”
Scanning the chapel, the bishop soon spied an old man who was clearly not there to pray for a dear departed, but kept himself discreetly busy tidying things up, although the place was already spotless.
“Signor Bertini?”
“Excellenza! To what do we owe the honour?”
And of course he had to kiss the ring, and the archbishop gave him his blessing, and the worshippers spotted an opportunity and half a dozen people came forward, and Contini blessed them one by one. Then, when he could finally state his business, he first asked the old man if he had already been the caretaker before the war, to which the man answered yes. The two were speaking Italian, but never had Daisy listened more intently, trying to follow or to guess what was being said with deeper longing.
“So you’ve known the old Baroque chapel well, my friend?”
“Certainly, Excellenza.”
“And do you remember if there was an ancient lapide with a Latin inscription?”
“Certainly. A strange inscription, like a message scratched on a wall.”
“Excellent! Did the message start with the word ‘Desiderata’?”
“That I wouldn’t know; I never really studied the stone that closely.”
“All right… but now listen carefully: what happened to the scratched stone when the bomb hit the old chapel?”
“Nothing. Is it this old stone slab you are interested in?”
“Yes, of course! Where is it? Can we see it?”
“Well certainly. I can show it to you… and the blind lady can touch it.”
Contini put his hand on Daisy’s shoulder and told her, “The man says there’s a stone here with a scratched message!”
“Where? Where is it?”
Signor Bertini did some guessing of his own, and chuckled, stamping his foot down on the concrete floor several times, “Sotto terra! Sotto terra!”
And as the old caretaker chuckled some more, the bishop translated: “Under the ground.”
“Really? Is the stone buried here?”
“È sepolto?”
“No! No! Vienite con me!”
The old man led the way to a small door in the back wall, on the side, behind the altar. They entered a cramped vestry with an office corner and many racks with supplies: cleaning products, candles and all kinds of leaflets. Bertini tapped with his foot on a closed trapdoor in the middle of the cubicle’s floor: “This is the entrance to the crypt.”
He retrieved a big electric torch from a shelf, and stepping over, he pulled the heavy steel door open, switched on the torch and shone the light down a steep stone staircase, its steps gnarled by age and chipped by bomb damage. “For as long as I’ve worked here, our crypt was never open to the public. You can see why. Even without the bomb damage, it was always a bit tricky, and the vault downstairs is very, very narrow. The three of us can hardly fit in there.”
Contini translated for Daisy, and added, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you can get down those stairs…”
Without a word Daisy opened her handbag and retrieved her collapsible cane, its segments folded up along an elastic string. She fitted the pieces together, and with a flourish she produced a thin white cane. Sweeping the floor in front of her she found the opening, and stepping right up to it, she stopped and prodded the first couple of steps.
“With this in my hand I can negotiate any stairs just as well as the sighted. Let’s go.”
“I’m impressed once again, my dear. In fact I’m the handicapped one now, as I’m wearing a cassock.”
Daisy liked the man for saying that, but what she couldn’t see was how he unceremoniously pulled up his robe, revealing the lower part of his manly legs, with old-fashioned calf-garters holding up his pure-silk socks. Bertini chuckled appreciatively.
“Seguitemi!”
He led the way down the narrow stairs, shining his big, powerful torch, followed by the bishop holding up his robe with one hand, and the blind Englishwoman tap-tapping with her cane. The old caretaker was having the time of his life.
At the foot of the stairs they followed a narrow corridor that wound a complicated path through sheer rock. As they probed their way forward, they had the feeling there was no end to it; even old Bertini, who was not doing this for the first time, remarked, “Isn’t it spooky, Monsignor? It’s been ages since I visited our crypt!”
“What is this place,” Contini asked, “is it part of the Christian catacombs?”
“I don’t think so, no, it is not a burial site as such. In fact, in the thirties a German archaeologist came here to examine our crypt, and get this: he concluded it must have been the cesspool of a public latrine! He could even tell that the latrine had been built under the reign of Vespasian, the emperor who came after Nero. Meant for the travellers on the Via Tiburtina, obviously.”
“A German archaeologist, eh? In the