Chapter Twenty-Seven

Rome, 1901

Over breakfast the next morning, Holmes looked at me and asked, “Now that you have slept on it and had time to mull it over, did anything in Pope Alexander’s letter strike you as unusual?”

“I must admit that I am rather curious about that ball that he mentioned. I am also intrigued by the fact that he hired Michelangelo to bring his ideas to fruition.”

“And nothing else?” asked Holmes.

“Not offhand,” I said. “Although I fail to see the point of his rather mundane discourse on the duality of human nature. Why be obtuse? Just tell us what you mean.”

“Ah Watson,” laughed Holmes, “You must remember, he wasn’t writing for us, but only for future popes. Something tells me the significance of his words has been lost over the centuries.”

“And you saw something there?” I sputtered, “To me, Holmes, it was indecipherable nonsense.”

Holmes chuckled softly, “Try to imagine yourself a Renaissance pope sitting on the Throne of the Fisherman, rather than a modern medical man. As pope, your world is guided by faith and your knowledge is limited. If you can but put yourself in his shoes, I imagine you will see things rather differently.”

“I shall try, but I cannot promise. Now, what are we doing today?” I asked.

“You are going to see Captain Tritini,” Holmes said. “I have made a list of points I need you to go over with him.” He handed me a sheet of paper, and I glanced at it. “You know he is only a captain. I am not certain that he possesses the power to carry out everything you have written here.”

“Just tell him to do the best he can,” said Holmes amiably.

“And while I am visiting with Captain Tritini, what will you be doing?”

“I think I shall pay a call on Signore Giolitti,” he said smiling.

“Do you think that is wise?” I asked.

“Wise? Perhaps not. However, I can assure you that it is necessary, Watson.”

My day passed rather quickly. I met with Tritini and showed him Holmes’ list. As I feared, he was able to accommodate several of the requests, while others he admitted were utterly impossible.

After leaving his office, I headed back to St. Peter’s Basilica, determined once again to explore that monument to faith in greater detail and at a more leisurely pace.

As wandered through the vast church, I tried to take in all the statues and stained glass as well as the towering bronze baldacchino, which I learned was 95 feet tall and made almost entirely of sculpted bronze, I was suddenly struck by the faith of the artisans who crafted these magnificent creations, all to honor an unseen god. I left feeling slightly jealous because I had nothing comparable in my life.

As I returned to the convent, I saw Holmes taking a pipe on the bench in the garden. “How did your meeting with Signore Giolitti go?”

“About as well as can be expected,” Holmes replied dryly.

He began by saying, “I called upon him at his office, which is a reflection of the man’s enormous ego. The walls are covered with framed Daguerrotypes and photographs of Giolitti with various world leaders. There’s even a photograph of him with Pope Leo. The face that graced all those images is that of a man who is used to getting his way. He is rather tall and imposing. He has a thick head of dark hair that is receding rather rapidly, which punctuates his rather pronounced pre-frontal development, and like many Italian men, he affects a full moustache, which is accented by a small goatee.

“What little room remains on the walls is filled with proclamations honoring him as well as his various degrees. It’s a far cry from any office that I might ever have envisioned for myself,” sniffed Holmes.

“I informed his secretary that I was employed by the British Ministry of the Interior and that a mutual friend, Sir Charles Ritchie, had suggested that I visit Signore Giolitti, should I ever find myself in Rome.”

“He kept me waiting for a few moments and then came out and ushered me into his office.”

“He is a very sharp customer, Watson. Before I could introduce myself, he turned and said, ‘I wasn’t aware that you were working for the Home Secretary, Mr. Holmes. I was under the impression that you were still toiling as a consulting detective. Would you care for a cup of tea?’”

“I said, ‘I won’t insult you by asking...,’ and he cut me off, saying, ‘You have your little spies on bicycles Mr. Holmes, but I have my people everywhere. Something else to drink? Coffee, perhaps?’”

“No thank you, signore,” I replied, “I think it best that we get right to business.”

“‘I had heard you were a man with little patience for trifles,’ he continued, ‘How may I be of assistance?’” “I believe you are in possession of several items that do not belong to you,’ I said, ‘I have come to return them to their rightful owner.”

“He smiled at me in a rather condescending manner and said, ‘Mr. Holmes, I am afraid that you have me confused with some street brigand. What exactly are these items to which you refer?’”

“Signore Giolitti, let us not play games. You have my word that the law will never hear a word of anything that we say. I understand your position, but do you really think that blackmailing the pope over something he believes is totally beyond his control can in any way justify your actions?”

“‘Without admitting anything, please allow me to quote the great Italian writer Nicolo Machiavelli, ‘The end justifies the means.’ Make of that statement what you will Mr. Holmes.”

“‘At that point, Watson, I despaired of appealing to his sense of fair play, so I tried another tack. I said, ‘Signore, I will tell you this. I told His Holiness that any man with the audacity to rob the papal apartments and then to make demands of the papacy was a man to be both feared and reckoned with.’”

“The self-satisfied smile on his face after I made that statement was an indication that I was plowing fertile ground. So I continued with more blandishments, ‘Signore, I have spoken to the pontiff, and I have assured him that such an individual would never compromise.’”

“‘Let us say that I knew someone who possessed the items in question. What is your suggestion?’ he asked.”

“‘The pope has asked that one of the cameos be returned as an act of good faith, and then he will meet with you or your representative to discuss resolving the Roman Question. After which, depending upon the outcome of your meeting, you will either return the rest of the cameos or follow a course of your own choosing, which I assume would mean making the existence of the cameos public knowledge.”

“’That seems like an eminently fair request,’ he replied. ‘I shall attempt to contact those who may be able to help us and see if they are amenable.’”

“Signore Giolitti, please. Let us drop the charade. You, or someone you know has the cameos. That you have acted as you did, I can understand, although I might have done things differently,” I stated.

“‘I shall see what I can do, Mr. Holmes.’”

“Before I leave, may I ask a question?”

“‘By all means, Mr. Holmes. I am not promising an answer, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.’”

“As far as I understand, the existence of these cameos is a closely guarded secret. I am curious as how you came to learn of them.”

“The man actually had the audacity to puff out his chest, Watson, then he looked at me and said, ‘Let us venture into the realm of conjecture, shall we, Mr. Holmes? I am certain that you have heard of Leonardo da Vinci. Are you aware that he fashioned the silver cases in which the cameos sit?’

“No,” I replied honestly. “This is the first I have heard of that.”

“‘How much do you know about Leonardo. Mr. Holmes.?’”

“I am aware of his paintings and his drawings that encompass everything from ball bearings to underwater diving suits to various flying machines.”

“‘Do you know anything about his personal life?’”

“On that matter, I am afraid that I must plead complete ignorance,” I admitted.

“‘So I can assume that you have never heard of his apprentice, Salai?’”

“‘I cannot say that I have,” I answered truthfully.

“‘Salai, whose real name was Gian Giacomo Caprotti di Oreno, was the bane of Leonardo’s existence. In fact, the word salai can be translated as “little devil.” At any rate, Salai entered Leonardo’s household as a youth. I believe he was 9 or 10 at the time. He spent most of the rest of his life there, assisting Leonardo and quite often serving as a model. If you should ever see Leonardo’s “Bacchus” or “John the Baptist,” you will find yourself looking at the face of Salai.”

“In fact, there are some who believe that the face of the Mona Lisa bears more than a passing resemblance to Salai.

Curiously, when Leonardo died, he left La Giocanda, several other paintings and half a vineyard to Salai.”

“Despite their closeness, Salai and Leonardo often clashed. Salai apparently stole money from his master on several occasions, and was described by Leonardo as stubborn, a liar and a glutton. At the time, there was a great deal of civil unrest in Florence caused by a monk named Savonarola.”

“Playing to the masses, Savonarola managed to force the powerful Medici family from the city and create a quasirepublic there - although it was fairly short-lived.”

“At any rate, Salai was a follower of Savonarola’s. He was what was called a piagnoni, which can be translated as a ‘weeper’ or a ‘wailer.’”

“I am reasonably certain that Leonardo knew nothing about Salai’s political leanings, just as I am equally certain that he was completely ignorant of the young man’s rather detailed diaries.’”