Blogs

Abu bin Malachi smiled at the Conte. My dear Count of Foscari, as a friend of the Ustath, Aldo Stern -- he who is like a brother to me and who has saved my own unworthy life more times than this poor wanderer can count -- you are thus my friend also.

I am indeed honored, replied the Conte in a tone that conveyed genuine humility and respect. Perhaps at some point we may have met each other before...I spent some years in Istanbul when I was young. My father Francesco Foscari was ambassador there.

Bin Malachi's face lit up. Ah yes! The respected emissary of the Venetians...I did indeed know your father! The Ottoman envoy laughed and added, he drove a bargain well.

The Conte nodded, smiling. He did indeed understand the art of the deal. But I did not appreciate it back then as much as I do now. I and my brother Ferigo were with him those years, however, we really were just boys when we arrived.

The professore gestured towards a chair at the table. My old Friend, will you take coffee with us?

Bin Malchi bowed slightly and took the offered chair. The two Italian gentlemen once again took their seats, and Don Aldo signaled for Aph's helper to bring more coffee. No sooner had Abu bin Malachi settled in with his cup of strong, sweet coffee, when Signor Gatto, the orange-striped feline lord of the coffee house, jumped down from his usual perch on the window sill, pranced over and jumped into the Ottoman envoy's lap. Bin Malachi started to gently scratch Signor Gatto's ears and chin, and the cat began purring as loudly as anyone had ever heard him purr.

The Ottoman gentleman looked back at the Conte. I was not much in Istanbul in those days...but I may have some recollections in this old gray head of your father and his young sons, and your time among our people of the Sultan's capital. Something about two young Christian boys who managed to get in a bit of harmless trouble now and then, perhaps?

The Conte and Don Aldo laughed.

After a bemused pause, the Professor gestured at bin Malachi's clothing. My friend, I cannot but help notice that you are not dressed in your usual finery as befits an envoy of the Great Sultan. Instead you are dressed in the traveling garments of desert people...have you been visiting among them?

Bin Malachi nodded. Aye...for I go to see how the plague has affected their trade and well-being on behalf of the Great Sultan, He who loves all his children and cares deeply for their health and happiness...

The Ottoman Envoy paused and sighed before continuing. And it was then I learned of the death of the noble lady who was being held for the ransom...the ransom of bronze, not gold.

Is it bad? asked the Conte.

A plague is never good, my new friend, answered bin Malachi. However, it is not a great plague...perhaps it will pass faster than it might have. We pray that it will not spread like the fires in the dry grass of summer. But...it will be as Allah wills it. Praise be to Allah.

The three men thoughtfully sipped the their coffee. Signor Gatto had now curled up in the folds of bin Malachi's desert cloak and seemed to be in no hurry to relocate. Finally the Ottoman envoy spoke again in a subdued tone. I do regret the death of the noble lady...I feel considerable disappointment that we were not able to affect a different outcome.

Conte Foscari nodded and said softly, alas, the poor woman. He was about to say something about hoping she had not suffered much, but he knew that with plague, such a hope was pointless to express. By its nature, death from the plague, even if it happened swiftly, did not happen soon enough.

Bin Malachi gently scooped up Signor Gatto and placed him on the floor. The cat yawned and stretched, rubbed his head on the Ottoman envoy's legs and sauntered off in the direction of the kitchen.

Bin Malachi watched him go and then turned back to the Italian gentlemen. When he spoke again, his voice was still soft and low, but there was an edge of iron to it.

Understand this, I shall help our friend Achille the tavernkeeper, who even now works to repatriate the lady's bones to the land of her fathers. Upon the lives of my grandchildren, I avow I shall not fail you in this, Ustath Aldo.

That will be of great comfort for the family, who will be able to give her a Christian burial in their family mausoleum, answered Don Aldo. We can do no more...and it is no one's fault. It is the hand of Providence.

Bin Malachi nodded. As a people of the Book, I know such things matter to the Christians.

Conte Foscari added, Yes and it will give them comfort to have her remains brought home...they would suffer to think of her final rest being far away in a foreign land...

Bin Malachi looked thoughtful for a moment and then shrugged. That is very true, my dear Count of Foscari. But... there is also some small profit in the task as well, I suspect. Of course such considerations are secondary...mostly...after all, there was more profit in bringing her back alive and well. But these things happen, and we will cut our losses.

The three gentlemen all nodded their agreement. It struck the Conte that he was in presence of men who were very much like himself. Men who, at the heart of it, largely tried to follow a path of honor and decency, but who also were very realistic and practical: honorable pragmatists, if there was such a thing.

Bin Malachi glanced down at the paper on the coffee house table.

Ah...is that a new Journal of Paris ? he asked.

Yes...just from a few weeks ago, in fact. The Conte passed the paper across to his new friend. You will find some articles that may be of interest about the situation in Paris and at Versailles these days, but one must read a bit between the lines to get the true significance.

Bin Malachi began flipping through the Journal de Paris , which bore a publication date from late April.

Might I borrow this?" he asked. "Since I am here, it would not be a bad thing to get some news...you know, my dear Count, the Ustath Aldo helped me with my command of French and Italian, and it is yet another thing for which I am indebted to him. He nodded appreciatively at Don Aldo.

"But of course," answered, the Conte. "Please keep it with my compliments."

Oh...and there is an interesting piece in this issue by Dottore Franklin, added Don Aldo. He has an idea for changing the hours of the day so that the start of the day is adjusted to the time of year...and candles will be saved by the alteration..saving money for people and workers who must do their activities with artificial lighting at times.

Bin Malachi thought about this for a moment. Very interesting. I shall be curious to see what he proposes...but most people I know of rely only on the sun rising and setting to tell them when to work and to rest, especially in the countryside. And speaking of the time, I must excuse myself to go and perform my prayers. Even in the land of the infidel I must do my duty to my faith...

He looked at Aldo and grinned. No offense meant, my infidel friend.

None taken, my barbarian colleague, laughed Don Aldo.

Abu bin Malachi rose, bowed, and said his goodbyes to the Conte and the Professore. After complimenting the coffee house girl on the quality of the brew and giving Signor Gatto one last scritch of his ears, he tucked the Journal de Paris under his arm, and the Ottoman envoy slipped back into the street as silently he had arrived.

After the man had left, the Conte looked at the Professore and commented, what an interesting fellow. One day when there is time, I would be most curious to hear the story of how you two met. Have you known each other long?"

Don Aldo smiled. Over 20 years. You know...I was first sent on diplomatic missions to north Africa as punishment after my failure in Paris...well that, and some other things I had done that annoyed some important people. But I considered it a blessing -- one of the best things I ever embarked upon -- to be truly useful. And I could not have been so useful without having made friends like Abu bin Malachi.

The Conte nodded. I cannot remember for certain if I was ever introduced to your friend when I was with my father in Constantinople: I was very young and wasn't always paying attention as I should have.

Oh, you may have seen him around, but he probably wasn't being introduced to many people back then...he started his career more as a spy than as an envoy... and he still functions as a key intelligence officer for the great Sultan. That is why he wants to read the news in that recent Journal de Paris and other papers he can get here. There may be helpful information that he can send back to Istanbul.

HAH! laughed the Conte. I did suspect this...oh, and speaking of news and information....Devi gave me the news that my Father, his valet and nurse also travelled on the ship from Ravenna, but stopped off to visit in Napoli.

Don Aldo arched an eyebrow. I would imagine they have already worn out their welcome in Napoli?

Oh most certainly. Absolutely and utterly. Their arrival here is imminent, replied the Conte with a hint of resignation in his voice.

~

Abu bin Malachi smiled at the Conte. My dear Count of Foscari, as a friend of the Ustath, Aldo Stern -- he who is like a brother to me and who has saved my own unworthy life more times than this poor wanderer can count -- you are thus my friend also.

I am indeed honored, replied the Conte in a tone that conveyed genuine humility and respect. Perhaps at some point we may have met each other before...I spent some years in Istanbul when I was young. My father Francesco Foscari was ambassador there.

Bin Malachi's face lit up. Ah yes! The respected emissary of the Venetians...I did indeed know your father! The Ottoman envoy laughed and added, he drove a bargain well.

The Conte nodded, smiling. He did indeed understand the art of the deal. But I did not appreciate it back then as much as I do now. I and my brother Ferigo were with him those years, however, we really were just boys when we arrived.

The professore gestured towards a chair at the table. My old Friend, will you take coffee with us?

Bin Malchi bowed slightly and took the offered chair. The two Italian gentlemen once again took their seats, and Don Aldo signaled for Aph's helper to bring more coffee. No sooner had Abu bin Malachi settled in with his cup of strong, sweet coffee, when Signor Gatto, the orange-striped feline lord of the coffee house, jumped down from his usual perch on the window sill, pranced over and jumped into the Ottoman envoy's lap. Bin Malachi started to gently scratch Signor Gatto's ears and chin, and the cat began purring as loudly as anyone had ever heard him purr.

The Ottoman gentleman looked back at the Conte. I was not much in Istanbul in those days...but I may have some recollections in this old gray head of your father and his young sons, and your time among our people of the Sultan's capital. Something about two young Christian boys who managed to get in a bit of harmless trouble now and then, perhaps?

The Conte and Don Aldo laughed.

After a bemused pause, the Professor gestured at bin Malachi's clothing. My friend, I cannot but help notice that you are not dressed in your usual finery as befits an envoy of the Great Sultan. Instead you are dressed in the traveling garments of desert people...have you been visiting among them?

Bin Malachi nodded. Aye...for I go to see how the plague has affected their trade and well-being on behalf of the Great Sultan, He who loves all his children and cares deeply for their health and happiness...

The Ottoman Envoy paused and sighed before continuing. And it was then I learned of the death of the noble lady who was being held for the ransom...the ransom of bronze, not gold.

Is it bad? asked the Conte.

A plague is never good, my new friend, answered bin Malachi. However, it is not a great plague...perhaps it will pass faster than it might have. We pray that it will not spread like the fires in the dry grass of summer. But...it will be as Allah wills it. Praise be to Allah.

The three men thoughtfully sipped the their coffee. Signor Gatto had now curled up in the folds of bin Malachi's desert cloak and seemed to be in no hurry to relocate. Finally the Ottoman envoy spoke again in a subdued tone. I do regret the death of the noble lady...I feel considerable disappointment that we were not able to affect a different outcome.

Conte Foscari nodded and said softly, alas, the poor woman. He was about to say something about hoping she had not suffered much, but he knew that with plague, such a hope was pointless to express. By its nature, death from the plague, even if it happened swiftly, did not happen soon enough.

Bin Malachi gently scooped up Signor Gatto and placed him on the floor. The cat yawned and stretched, rubbed his head on the Ottoman envoy's legs and sauntered off in the direction of the kitchen.

Bin Malachi watched him go and then turned back to the Italian gentlemen. When he spoke again, his voice was still soft and low, but there was an edge of iron to it.

Understand this, I shall help our friend Achille the tavernkeeper, who even now works to repatriate the lady's bones to the land of her fathers. Upon the lives of my grandchildren, I avow I shall not fail you in this, Ustath Aldo.

That will be of great comfort for the family, who will be able to give her a Christian burial in their family mausoleum, answered Don Aldo. We can do no more...and it is no one's fault. It is the hand of Providence.

Bin Malachi nodded. As a people of the Book, I know such things matter to the Christians.

Conte Foscari added, Yes and it will give them comfort to have her remains brought home...they would suffer to think of her final rest being far away in a foreign land...

Bin Malachi looked thoughtful for a moment and then shrugged. That is very true, my dear Count of Foscari. But... there is also some small profit in the task as well, I suspect. Of course such considerations are secondary...mostly...after all, there was more profit in bringing her back alive and well. But these things happen, and we will cut our losses.

The three gentlemen all nodded their agreement. It struck the Conte that he was in presence of men who were very much like himself. Men who, at the heart of it, largely tried to follow a path of honor and decency, but who also were very realistic and practical: honorable pragmatists, if there was such a thing.

Bin Malachi glanced down at the paper on the coffee house table.

Ah...is that a new Journal of Paris ? he asked.

Yes...just from a few weeks ago, in fact. The Conte passed the paper across to his new friend. You will find some articles that may be of interest about the situation in Paris and at Versailles these days, but one must read a bit between the lines to get the true significance.

Bin Malachi began flipping through the Journal de Paris , which bore a publication date from late April.

Might I borrow this?" he asked. "Since I am here, it would not be a bad thing to get some news...you know, my dear Count, the Ustath Aldo helped me with my command of French and Italian, and it is yet another thing for which I am indebted to him. He nodded appreciatively at Don Aldo.

"But of course," answered, the Conte. "Please keep it with my compliments."

Oh...and there is an interesting piece in this issue by Dottore Franklin, added Don Aldo. He has an idea for changing the hours of the day so that the start of the day is adjusted to the time of year...and candles will be saved by the alteration..saving money for people and workers who must do their activities with artificial lighting at times.

Bin Malachi thought about this for a moment. Very interesting. I shall be curious to see what he proposes...but most people I know of rely only on the sun rising and setting to tell them when to work and to rest, especially in the countryside. And speaking of the time, I must excuse myself to go and perform my prayers. Even in the land of the infidel I must do my duty to my faith...

He looked at Aldo and grinned. No offense meant, my infidel friend.

None taken, my barbarian colleague, laughed Don Aldo.

Abu bin Malachi rose, bowed, and said his goodbyes to the Conte and the Professore. After complimenting the coffee house girl on the quality of the brew and giving Signor Gatto one last scritch of his ears, he tucked the Journal de Paris under his arm, and the Ottoman envoy slipped back into the street as silently he had arrived.

After the man had left, the Conte looked at the Professore and commented, what an interesting fellow. One day when there is time, I would be most curious to hear the story of how you two met. Have you known each other long?"

Don Aldo smiled. Over 20 years. You know...I was first sent on diplomatic missions to north Africa as punishment after my failure in Paris...well that, and some other things I had done that annoyed some important people. But I considered it a blessing -- one of the best things I ever embarked upon -- to be truly useful. And I could not have been so useful without having made friends like Abu bin Malachi.

The Conte nodded. I cannot remember for certain if I was ever introduced to your friend when I was with my father in Constantinople: I was very young and wasn't always paying attention as I should have.

Oh, you may have seen him around, but he probably wasn't being introduced to many people back then...he started his career more as a spy than as an envoy... and he still functions as a key intelligence officer for the great Sultan. That is why he wants to read the news in that recent Journal de Paris and other papers he can get here. There may be helpful information that he can send back to Istanbul.

HAH! laughed the Conte. I did suspect this...oh, and speaking of news and information....Devi gave me the news that my Father, his valet and nurse also travelled on the ship from Ravenna, but stopped off to visit in Napoli.

Don Aldo arched an eyebrow. I would imagine they have already worn out their welcome in Napoli?

Oh most certainly. Absolutely and utterly. Their arrival here is imminent, replied the Conte with a hint of resignation in his voice.

~

The Conte Foscari was reading a surprisingly recent copy of the Journal de Paris that Donna Leena Fandango had just left in the coffee house on Rocca Sorrentina, when he looked up to see the approach a familiar figure, dressed like himself, all in black.

Greetings Sior Aldo. said the Conte. Please join me.

Grazie, Singor Conte. thank you

How are you? It has been a while since we had the opportunity to chat.

Don Aldo sighed. I am afraid I have some unfortunate news from my friend, Abu bin Malachi, the ottoman envoy to Tripoli.

Oh? How unfortunate? I trust he is in good health?

He is not unwell...but he is gravely disappointed. The noble lady we were seeking to ransom from the Barbary Corsairs with his help...and the payment of all those newly cast bronze cannon...

The Conte nodded and waited for his friend to continue.

The Professore frowned and went on, A plague is sweeping the cities of North Africa in recent months...and the lady in question...sadly she has succumbed to the pestilence

Aahhhhh...I see. The Conte frowned slightly as well. That is most unfortunate, and rather changes things ....Hmmmm.

Yes it does, indeed. Bin Malachi himself has come with this news...but Achille remains at Tripoli. He is working to secure the poor woman's remains to return to her family.

The Conte looked thoughtful for a moment. I see...by the way...not to change the subject, but I must talk to you about Achille.

Oh?'

Yes, if you please, may we set aside the matter of the lady...and the cannon for now?

As you wish, agreed Don Aldo.

I don't know if you are aware, the Conte began, but Achille seems to have formed an attachment with my ward, Devi, the young Romani girl you may have seen around. They travelled together from Ravenna...

Yes. I know of Devi. An interesting young woman...I can understand how they might have formed a mutual attachment..that is, assuming it is in fact, mutual?

Well, replied the Conte, I have not spoken to Achille since they arrived, and only know her side of things...and yes, she is indeed an interesting young woman. And very stubborn when she gets an idea into her head, he laughed.

Ah..so she does have a fondness for him as he does for her?

Oh yes, very much so. Normally it would be my duty to send her back north to her family...but she is adamant that she will not leave until her guitar-playing knight returns from his quest.

The Professore coughed. Then she may have a long wait. Achille's task is of a most delicate nature and may take some time for him to complete...that is, if he is in fact able to complete it and safely return. He is in a land swept with contagion and pestilence...it is entirely possible that Providence will not permit him to come back to us

The Conte seemed lost in thought. You know, I have no idea what his intentions are towards her, or what kind of man he is...well, other than you are his padrone, and you always speak well of him and trust him with the most sensitive of tasks...that is, on many levels, good enough for me. But as you say, he runs great risks...not just in this mission but in everything he does for you and your friends. Perhaps it is simply best not to speak with her of these considerations for now. We shall let the matter rest, and meanwhile, I shall think about whether it is prudent to send her off elsewhere and keep her occupied with tasks of her own...

Don Aldo nodded and sipped his coffee. He picked up the Journal de Paris that the Conte had been reading and noted it was very recent, with a publication date from late April, 1784. His thoughts were interrupted when the Conte suddnely began to speak again.

Going back to the cannon for a moment, as the two situations seem to be intertwined. The cannon that have been delivered here...if you do not have another buyer,I can take them off your hands. I am planning a visit to Prussia in the near future, and along the way I can call upon some potential customers. Cannon are not so hard to get rid off.

Or we could save on delivery expenses and I could purchase them, Signor Conte, said Don Aldo in a pleasant tone.

Oh? You have a buyer?

Actually, the Professore shrugged a bit, the possible buyer would be the island of Rocca Sorrentina

Ahhhhh...so you would be interested in keeping them? Are you afraid of aggression?

oh...I have my purposes.

I am intrigued...it would certainly save on transport...hehe...are you concerned about the Neapolitan authorities?

Not particularly...and if I had a half dozen large guns here, that would not make that much difference in the long run, if I did have an issue with the authorities.

Pirates, then?

Don Aldo laughed. My dear Conte usually you are not so inquisitive...do you fear I will put to them to wicked uses?

No, I do not fear you will put the cannon to wicked use, I have total faith in your good use of them...I was just curious to what threat you are concerned with...

Threats and opportunities are two sides of the same coin, replied Don Aldo quietly.

That is quite true. Well, my friend, I am happy to sell you the cannon at cost price, given that I do not need to concern myself with any transportation...

Just then, another man materialized by the table. They had heard no footsteps, and it struck the Conte it was as if a large cat in the form of a man had silently entered the coffee house. The man had dark skin, a short grey beard, and was dressed in the garments of an Ottoman desert merchant.

Don Aldo's face lit up in a genuine show of pleasure at the arrival of the newcomer.

The man bowed in a simple dignified manner, which the Conte noted was strikingly similar to the way that Don Aldo customarily bowed.

As-Salaam Alaikum, to you my friend, Ustath Aldo...and to you as well, good gentleman.

Ah my dear friend! Alaikum Salaam! replied Don Aldo

Alaikum Salaam, repeated the Conte as he rose and bowed in return.

Conte Foscari, may I present the Ottoman envoy to Tripoli, Abu bin Malachi, he who is like a brother to me, who has saved my life more times than I can count, wise counselor to the great Sultan, and advisor to the Princes of North Africa...

~*~

The Conte Foscari was reading a surprisingly recent copy of the Journal de Paris that Donna Leena Fandango had just left in the coffee house on Rocca Sorrentina, when he looked up to see the approach a familiar figure, dressed like himself, all in black.

Greetings Sior Aldo. said the Conte. Please join me.

Grazie, Singor Conte. thank you

How are you? It has been a while since we had the opportunity to chat.

Don Aldo sighed. I am afraid I have some unfortunate news from my friend, Abu bin Malachi, the ottoman envoy to Tripoli.

Oh? How unfortunate? I trust he is in good health?

He is not unwell...but he is gravely disappointed. The noble lady we were seeking to ransom from the Barbary Corsairs with his help...and the payment of all those newly cast bronze cannon...

The Conte nodded and waited for his friend to continue.

The Professore frowned and went on, A plague is sweeping the cities of North Africa in recent months...and the lady in question...sadly she has succumbed to the pestilence

Aahhhhh...I see. The Conte frowned slightly as well. That is most unfortunate, and rather changes things ....Hmmmm.

Yes it does, indeed. Bin Malachi himself has come with this news...but Achille remains at Tripoli. He is working to secure the poor woman's remains to return to her family.

The Conte looked thoughtful for a moment. I see...by the way...not to change the subject, but I must talk to you about Achille.

Oh?'

Yes, if you please, may we set aside the matter of the lady...and the cannon for now?

As you wish, agreed Don Aldo.

I don't know if you are aware, the Conte began, but Achille seems to have formed an attachment with my ward, Devi, the young Romani girl you may have seen around. They travelled together from Ravenna...

Yes. I know of Devi. An interesting young woman...I can understand how they might have formed a mutual attachment..that is, assuming it is in fact, mutual?

Well, replied the Conte, I have not spoken to Achille since they arrived, and only know her side of things...and yes, she is indeed an interesting young woman. And very stubborn when she gets an idea into her head, he laughed.

Ah..so she does have a fondness for him as he does for her?

Oh yes, very much so. Normally it would be my duty to send her back north to her family...but she is adamant that she will not leave until her guitar-playing knight returns from his quest.

The Professore coughed. Then she may have a long wait. Achille's task is of a most delicate nature and may take some time for him to complete...that is, if he is in fact able to complete it and safely return. He is in a land swept with contagion and pestilence...it is entirely possible that Providence will not permit him to come back to us

The Conte seemed lost in thought. You know, I have no idea what his intentions are towards her, or what kind of man he is...well, other than you are his padrone, and you always speak well of him and trust him with the most sensitive of tasks...that is, on many levels, good enough for me. But as you say, he runs great risks...not just in this mission but in everything he does for you and your friends. Perhaps it is simply best not to speak with her of these considerations for now. We shall let the matter rest, and meanwhile, I shall think about whether it is prudent to send her off elsewhere and keep her occupied with tasks of her own...

Don Aldo nodded and sipped his coffee. He picked up the Journal de Paris that the Conte had been reading and noted it was very recent, with a publication date from late April, 1784. His thoughts were interrupted when the Conte suddnely began to speak again.

Going back to the cannon for a moment, as the two situations seem to be intertwined. The cannon that have been delivered here...if you do not have another buyer,I can take them off your hands. I am planning a visit to Prussia in the near future, and along the way I can call upon some potential customers. Cannon are not so hard to get rid off.

Or we could save on delivery expenses and I could purchase them, Signor Conte, said Don Aldo in a pleasant tone.

Oh? You have a buyer?

Actually, the Professore shrugged a bit, the possible buyer would be the island of Rocca Sorrentina

Ahhhhh...so you would be interested in keeping them? Are you afraid of aggression?

oh...I have my purposes.

I am intrigued...it would certainly save on transport...hehe...are you concerned about the Neapolitan authorities?

Not particularly...and if I had a half dozen large guns here, that would not make that much difference in the long run, if I did have an issue with the authorities.

Pirates, then?

Don Aldo laughed. My dear Conte usually you are not so inquisitive...do you fear I will put to them to wicked uses?

No, I do not fear you will put the cannon to wicked use, I have total faith in your good use of them...I was just curious to what threat you are concerned with...

Threats and opportunities are two sides of the same coin, replied Don Aldo quietly.

That is quite true. Well, my friend, I am happy to sell you the cannon at cost price, given that I do not need to concern myself with any transportation...

Just then, another man materialized by the table. They had heard no footsteps, and it struck the Conte it was as if a large cat in the form of a man had silently entered the coffee house. The man had dark skin, a short grey beard, and was dressed in the garments of an Ottoman desert merchant.

Don Aldo's face lit up in a genuine show of pleasure at the arrival of the newcomer.

The man bowed in a simple dignified manner, which the Conte noted was strikingly similar to the way that Don Aldo customarily bowed.

As-Salaam Alaikum, to you my friend, Ustath Aldo...and to you as well, good gentleman.

Ah my dear friend! Alaikum Salaam! replied Don Aldo

Alaikum Salaam, repeated the Conte as he rose and bowed in return.

Conte Foscari, may I present the Ottoman envoy to Tripoli, Abu bin Malachi, he who is like a brother to me, who has saved my life more times than I can count, wise counselor to the great Sultan, and advisor to the Princes of North Africa...

~*~

Inspired by William Hogarth (* 10. November 1697 in London ; 26. Oktober 1764 )Written by Jean-Matisse & Alessandra de Fiorentino Conti

Chapter III "Firm The Faith"

Alice came crying into the Salon, curtsied in front of the young Duchesse an began to speak "I am terribly sorry your grace, but what shall I do.....?" "What has happened Alice?" asked the Duchesse a bit worried. "This little rascal has opened my Apron bow four times...." she moaned"... and Mme la Grandmere always rebukes me about my sloppy look!"" Do not worry Alice..." the Duchesse smiled" I already noticed that on the stairs one time....I will talk to Mme la Comtesse....my Grandmother should not tolerate such behaviour..."

A few minutes later Grandmere and Jean came down the stairs. Alessandra awaited them already downstairs "Chere Grandmere.....could I talk to you for a moment ?....I will not tolerate the behaviour of your little servant Jean....I do not want him to play pranks with my chambermaid Alice!" She looked strict at Jean and said " You do know what I am talking about Jean.....the apron bow, don 't you ?"

"My dear Child,that is absolutely incredible..." indignanted Mme la Grandmere" ...MY little precious would never play pranks...Would you Jean ?""Oh Mme la Comtesse...I do hope you do not believe such a thing!" with wide opened and innocent eyes he looked at Grandmere.She helped him to sit on a little table and petted his head. "Certainly I do not believe such a thing, my little angel!" said the Grandmother , opened a little golden box and stuck some candy in the little Moors mouth."Merci bien , Madame la Comtesse, I will pray for you. I thank our dear Lord that he showed me the mercy for bringing me to you!" "Awe...There you see Alessandra, that little angel could not lie!"

The young Duchesse smiled wryly....it had no use to talk with Grandmere about that. The little boy seemed to have wraped her grandmother around a finger. It was obvious...allone the precious clothing she dressed him with....She always knew her Grandmother as a bit stingy.

"May I go a bit in the garden , Mme la Comtesse?" "Oh mon Dieu! You will get dirty my precious! We will have a look later ...." "As you wish dear Mme...."answered the little Moor with a big smile. Duchesse Alessandra rolled her eyes.

"But Alessandra...it occured to me that I am in a impious Household!" determined the Grandmother "I do hope that also your servants will follow us to the praying hour!" Little Jean noded. "I would love to join you for praying...aswell as Alice....but I have to talk to you in another serious matter.....I have met a very fine Gentleman.... He is also introduced at court!"

"hmmmm Is it so?" Mme la Grandmere raised an eyebrow " My little Granddaughter gets wise?....The Marriage is a sacred state for a man and woman ..... What Court is he introduced to?"

"At the court of Versailles...."

"Oh mon Dieu!..." gasps the grandmother " Versailles.....the anteroom of Hell....The snakepit !!"Jean made the sign of the cross.

"I have already invited him Grandmere.....he will be here tomorrow...I think you will like him !" said the young Duchesse with a firm voice.

"We will see...ma chere.....we will see!" Jean noded "Indeed , Mme la Comtesse....indeed"

Inspired by William Hogarth (* 10. November 1697 in London ; 26. Oktober 1764 )Written by Jean-Matisse & Alessandra de Fiorentino Conti

Chapter III "Firm The Faith"

Alice came crying into the Salon, curtsied in front of the young Duchesse an began to speak "I am terribly sorry your grace, but what shall I do.....?" "What has happened Alice?" asked the Duchesse a bit worried. "This little rascal has opened my Apron bow four times...." she moaned"... and Mme la Grandmere always rebukes me about my sloppy look!"" Do not worry Alice..." the Duchesse smiled" I already noticed that on the stairs one time....I will talk to Mme la Comtesse....my Grandmother should not tolerate such behaviour..."

A few minutes later Grandmere and Jean came down the stairs. Alessandra awaited them already downstairs "Chere Grandmere.....could I talk to you for a moment ?....I will not tolerate the behaviour of your little servant Jean....I do not want him to play pranks with my chambermaid Alice!" She looked strict at Jean and said " You do know what I am talking about Jean.....the apron bow, don 't you ?"

"My dear Child,that is absolutely incredible..." indignanted Mme la Grandmere" ...MY little precious would never play pranks...Would you Jean ?""Oh Mme la Comtesse...I do hope you do not believe such a thing!" with wide opened and innocent eyes he looked at Grandmere.She helped him to sit on a little table and petted his head. "Certainly I do not believe such a thing, my little angel!" said the Grandmother , opened a little golden box and stuck some candy in the little Moors mouth."Merci bien , Madame la Comtesse, I will pray for you. I thank our dear Lord that he showed me the mercy for bringing me to you!" "Awe...There you see Alessandra, that little angel could not lie!"

The young Duchesse smiled wryly....it had no use to talk with Grandmere about that. The little boy seemed to have wraped her grandmother around a finger. It was obvious...allone the precious clothing she dressed him with....She always knew her Grandmother as a bit stingy.

"May I go a bit in the garden , Mme la Comtesse?" "Oh mon Dieu! You will get dirty my precious! We will have a look later ...." "As you wish dear Mme...."answered the little Moor with a big smile. Duchesse Alessandra rolled her eyes.

"But Alessandra...it occured to me that I am in a impious Household!" determined the Grandmother "I do hope that also your servants will follow us to the praying hour!" Little Jean noded. "I would love to join you for praying...aswell as Alice....but I have to talk to you in another serious matter.....I have met a very fine Gentleman.... He is also introduced at court!"

"hmmmm Is it so?" Mme la Grandmere raised an eyebrow " My little Granddaughter gets wise?....The Marriage is a sacred state for a man and woman ..... What Court is he introduced to?"

"At the court of Versailles...."

"Oh mon Dieu!..." gasps the grandmother " Versailles.....the anteroom of Hell....The snakepit !!"Jean made the sign of the cross.

"I have already invited him Grandmere.....he will be here tomorrow...I think you will like him !" said the young Duchesse with a firm voice.

"We will see...ma chere.....we will see!" Jean noded "Indeed , Mme la Comtesse....indeed"

The Professore was quite impressed as he watched the master printer demonstrate his new press, a machine that only a week ago was being removed in pieces and parts from the hold of an English merchantman.

"It is a fine addition to your new and improved printing house, Don Cesare. I am intrigued by the system of gears to turn the cylinders. It seems quite an advancement over the old style roller presses I was familiar with in Torino, not all that long ago."

The Master printer, Don Cesare smiled as he showed the Professore how easily he turned the handles of the press, pulling the bed forward with little effort, smoothly feeding the paper under the inked copper plate.

"I am indebted to you, Signore, for your help in securing the financing for these new machines and all the new type. I have every confidence you will not be disappointed with the returns on your investment as we move into full production."

"Ah, well, investments are one thing," replied the Professore, "but the greatest reward will be in seeing the impact of the publications and prints you soon will be churning out with greater speed and efficiency...and at a more affordable cost to those who will benefit from your enhanced productivity, no?"

The master printer nodded as the gears turned and the paper slid through the roller press. I can assure you I will not miss our poor old Gutenberg press...may she rest in peace."

"What did you do with the beast? She was old enough to be far better suited to a place in a cabinet of curiosities than on the shop floor of a modern printing house."

"Ah, the apprentices hauled it off. They may have sold it for scrap, or maybe they are hiding it somewhere to start a competing business of their own. I don't really care," answered Don Cesare. "If that is their plan, then good luck to them is all I can say."

When the bed reached the end of its trip, the printer pulled off the finished print and began examining it, looking for flaws. As he held it up by the window to scrutinize, he frowned slightly and said in a quiet and very serious tone, "speaking of headstrong young men, what of those two fellows, Signor Dieter and Don Mercurio? As the elder Magistrato shouldn't you try to dissuade them from this foolishness?"

Don Aldo merely shrugged and sighed. "There are limits to what I can do in these matters of honor..."

Before the Professore could finish his sentence, a soldier of the Guardia came rushing in, somewhat out of breath, his white uniform coat stained with the perspiration of his exertions. "Magistrato," he huffed, "Don Alfonso sends his regards and wishes to inform you that a brig has arrived with a guest of significance from North Africa, and this gentleman has news for you...news, he says, that you will find to be a disappointment...in fact, a tragedy of some consequence, it seems..."

The Printer and the Profressore looked at each other, and as if at a signal, both sighed and shrugged, almost in unison.

"Many thanks for the demonstration, Don Cesare," said Don Aldo with only a hint of resignation in his voice. "It would seem I shall have to call again some other time to see the new English common press at work."

The Printer nodded and moved to the line to hang the print to dry. The Professore meanwhile turned back to the soldier of the Guardia once more. "Come, my good fellow...would you be so kind as to show me to this guest that I may hear his information first-hand?"

.

The Professore was quite impressed as he watched the master printer demonstrate his new press, a machine that only a week ago was being removed in pieces and parts from the hold of an English merchantman.

"It is a fine addition to your new and improved printing house, Don Cesare. I am intrigued by the system of gears to turn the cylinders. It seems quite an advancement over the old style roller presses I was familiar with in Torino, not all that long ago."

The Master printer, Don Cesare smiled as he showed the Professore how easily he turned the handles of the press, pulling the bed forward with little effort, smoothly feeding the paper under the inked copper plate.

"I am indebted to you, Signore, for your help in securing the financing for these new machines and all the new type. I have every confidence you will not be disappointed with the returns on your investment as we move into full production."

"Ah, well, investments are one thing," replied the Professore, "but the greatest reward will be in seeing the impact of the publications and prints you soon will be churning out with greater speed and efficiency...and at a more affordable cost to those who will benefit from your enhanced productivity, no?"

The master printer nodded as the gears turned and the paper slid through the roller press. I can assure you I will not miss our poor old Gutenberg press...may she rest in peace."

"What did you do with the beast? She was old enough to be far better suited to a place in a cabinet of curiosities than on the shop floor of a modern printing house."

"Ah, the apprentices hauled it off. They may have sold it for scrap, or maybe they are hiding it somewhere to start a competing business of their own. I don't really care," answered Don Cesare. "If that is their plan, then good luck to them is all I can say."

When the bed reached the end of its trip, the printer pulled off the finished print and began examining it, looking for flaws. As he held it up by the window to scrutinize, he frowned slightly and said in a quiet and very serious tone, "speaking of headstrong young men, what of those two fellows, Signor Dieter and Don Mercurio? As the elder Magistrato shouldn't you try to dissuade them from this foolishness?"

Don Aldo merely shrugged and sighed. "There are limits to what I can do in these matters of honor..."

Before the Professore could finish his sentence, a soldier of the Guardia came rushing in, somewhat out of breath, his white uniform coat stained with the perspiration of his exertions. "Magistrato," he huffed, "Don Alfonso sends his regards and wishes to inform you that a brig has arrived with a guest of significance from North Africa, and this gentleman has news for you...news, he says, that you will find to be a disappointment...in fact, a tragedy of some consequence, it seems..."

The Printer and the Profressore looked at each other, and as if at a signal, both sighed and shrugged, almost in unison.

"Many thanks for the demonstration, Don Cesare," said Don Aldo with only a hint of resignation in his voice. "It would seem I shall have to call again some other time to see the new English common press at work."

The Printer nodded and moved to the line to hang the print to dry. The Professore meanwhile turned back to the soldier of the Guardia once more. "Come, my good fellow...would you be so kind as to show me to this guest that I may hear his information first-hand?"

.