Q by Luther Blissett (most recommended books txt) 📖

Basle, 18th March 1545

‘You can get lost in Venice, mate, even when you think you know it well, capito? You can find yourself completely at the mercy of this city. A maze of canals, alleyways, churches and buildings that appear in front of you as though in a dream, without any apparent connection to anything you’ve seen before.’

Pietro Perna, as usual, is losing himself in his talk about Italy, as he uncorks a bottle of ‘the best wine in the world’. From the window of Oporinus’ back room, the sky of Basle is of a grey tending to white as though someone had drained it of colour, but whether it’s the smell of the wine or the Latin accent of my interlocutor, I feel as though the room is flooded with sunlight.

‘Weren’t you just talking about the alleged authors of the Benefit of Christ Crucified, Pietro?’

‘That’s right,’ he answers, wiping his moustache with the back of his hand, ‘let’s not lose sight of the main issue. The book is officially anonymous, while unofficially it’s said to have been written by brother Benedetto Fontanini of Mantua, and in the underground it’s claimed that it is the work of minds not a million miles away from the English cardinal Reginald Pole.’

I immediately interrupt him. ‘I don’t imagine you’ll mind if I ask you for a bit more information about what’s happening in Italy, because what you’ve just said about cardinals quoting Calvin doesn’t make sense to me. And maybe wine isn’t the best thing to be drinking if we’re to have this discussion.’

He opens his eyes wide and pours himself another glass. ‘This is wine from Chianti, my good man, you drink as much of it as you like and it will seem as though your head keeps getting lighter. My parents bottle it, in a farm near the village of Gaiole. It’s a wine that has honoured the table of Cosimo de’ Medici, capito? An in-im-it-ab-le beverage!’

He notices my gesture and continues. ‘Let’s get to the point, my friend. The Spanish doctor Michael Servet described the Italians as being different from each other in every respect: government, languages, customs and physical characteristics. The only thing that links us, he says, is our dislike of each other, our cowardice in war and our haughtiness towards people from across the Alps. Where faith is concerned, you might almost say the same thing: on the one hand there are those adopting a conciliatory position towards the Lutherans, on the other there are those who give absolute precedence to the war against heresy and want to dust down the Holy Office of the Inquisition. Hatred of priests is very widespread among the people, hence the sympathy for what everyone calls the “German faith”. But you could say the opposite too, capito? Just as you could say that many peasants don’t know what the Trinity is, but they still take communion and confess at Easter to keep the parish priest happy, and the rest of the year they live on their superstitions.’

I try to imagine the country described by Pietro Perna, as I sip the second glass of his exquisite wine. Italy: maybe it’s true that I can’t die without having been there. However I do have a sense that much of what I’ve been through started there, not least the killing of Eloi and the Free Spirits, identified by the Inquisition, who identified them to Charles V as heretics, dangerous citizens and infidels.

Meanwhile Perna hasn’t drawn breath, accompanying each sentence with eloquent gestures.

‘The Schmalkaldic League set up by the Protestant princes has an ambassador in Rome, capito? And loads of people would be delighted if Lutheran ideas triumphed in the Serenissima Repubblica of Venice. But you can’t afford to lose a city like this one, comrade. Thanks to commerce, they’ve got everything a rich man could wish to buy, everything that a curious spirit could wish to see, everything that the flesh could ask of the capital of prostitution, where one women in five is or has been, however irregularly, engaged in the profession. Finally, thanks to books, there is a way to fill your purse, as long as you’ve got a bit of that courage which, it would seem, only we Italians lack.’

Third glass: ‘While you’re on the subject of money, Pietro, I’ve got an idea for you. Write a book about Venice, to fill the notables of Europe with the desire to visit the city, and tell them where to eat, where to drink, where they can find female companions, where to sleep. I’m sure the book would be very successful, and that the owners of the places you listed would pay you for the mention.’

He stretches his hands out on the table and takes mine before I have time to draw them back. ‘Listen, my friend, you’re wasted up here. Basle, as you know better than I do, is the city where the most innovative thinkers, the most dangerous heresiarchs, the most rebellious minds of Europe come to shake off their traces, to rest, to breathe quietly for a bit. None of this, be honest, is for you. You’re a man of action.’

‘Maybe. But my last injury was too recent, the skin hasn’t grown back yet.’

‘Then drink, comrade, there’s no better balm for it.’

Fourth glass: my head really is light.