If, by any chance, you had happened to wander into the streets of Firenze on a certain April afternoon in the year 1954, you would have doubtless noticed that those streets were rather overpopulated by chappies of a somewhat conspicuous aspect, some long-haired, the others not. And what would have struck you most, had you subjected those coves to a closer inspection, was that over those assorted specimens hung an air of distinct gloom, almost despair.
Passers-by, when catching sight of those long faces, did their best to pass by as rapidly as possible, but you, dear reader, could have pondered what the reason for this despondency was. Were those chappies immigrants, unemployed or orphans, you might have thought. What misfortune had caused these faces (some rather good-looking ones, mind you), to become pale and drawn? While strolling on and meditating in such a way you would have spotted another of those chaps kicking a garbage can viciously… A bum, no doubt, you would have said to yourself.
In reality, they were none other than the younger members of the Medici family, and what had driven them out into the street was the prosaic fact that on that particular afternoon Mother Medici had announced her intention to clean out the family cupboard. Those who were of a delicate age tried to exclaim ‘what, again?!’ as a sign of protest and received hard stares which, had the recipients been of a less resilient family, would have gone through them like the better type of stiletto.
So, not having apparently been presented with a choice, the family trudged out while the trudging was good, as the house gave the distinct impression of a joint shortly to be filled with such a bouquet of arsenic, cyanide and other jolly substances that have made the name of Medici so well-known in the course of history that the gang knew even they would have found the mixture too rich.
Now that you’ve got the solid facts before you, only the toughest reader would not agree that the unfortunate fish were justified in feeling peril not far ahead. And the sense of doom intensified closer to 8 p.m., as such had been their sense of rightful indignation at that time that it had completely slipped the throng’s mind that it was Mother Medici’s turn to cook dinner.
