The Finer Points of Sausage Dogs by Alexander McCall Smith Page B

number of them had appended notes in Portuguese, and one or two of them had actually commented on the reception of Portuguese terms in the East. This was a topic of considerable interest to von Igelfeld, who had once written a paper on the origin of the word
alfandica
. An
alfandica
was a customs house for foreign merchants in India, and was obviously derived from the Portuguese
alfandega
. But was this really based on the Arabic,
al-funduk
, which signified an inn? If the Italian term was
fundaco
, this might not be expected to have a Moorish connection, or might it? There were many similar examples.
    It was one of von Igelfeld’s favourite libraries. The real pleasure of working there lay in the knowledge of the great and beautiful things with which the Library was filled. Here were the very earliest books, the purest texts of the classics, the finest products of Renaissance Humanism. Here was a sheer accumulation of cultural treasures that outshone that of any other library in any other country. And it was all at his fingertips, ready to be brought to him, on his request, by one of the obliging library staff.
    Because of his status, von Igelfeld was allowed to use a special reading room beyond the main public section of the library. This was a room with an airy, open aspect, decorated with sixteenth-century frescoes. There were six or seven large tables in this room, each equipped with several book rests on which large volumes could be safely placed. The chairs in this room were commodious, and well-padded – a fact which had somnolent results for some of the more elderly scholars who frequented this part of the Library. One cardinal in particular was known to retreat to the Library for long hours at a stretch, thereby avoiding duties in his office and enjoying, under the pretence of scholarship, an undisturbed siesta.
    Von Igelfeld established himself at a table in the middle of the room, spread out his papers, and called for the first volume of letters to be brought to him. This was a volume which he had not examined before, and he found it to contain a substantial amount of dross. But there were one or two letters which would repay closer study, and these he prepared to transcribe.
    The first day of work went well. That evening, he had dinner with the Prinzels in a restaurant near the Garibaldi, and then took an evening walk with them through a pleasant neighbouring part of the city. The next day, he was back at the Vatican Library shortly after it opened, and spent a satisfactory day wading through his manuscripts. He dined alone that night – the Prinzels were at a concert – and retired early to bed, his head still full of the whirls and cursives of the Jesuit script which he had spent the day deciphering.
    On the third day, uncomfortably hot outside, but cool in the scholarly inner sanctum of the Vatican Library, von Igelfeld’s concentration on his task was considerably interrupted by one of the other readers. This reader, who was at the table next to his, had arrived with one or two other people, and had set himself down to browse through a large folio volume which the Prefect of the Library himself, an ascetic-looking Monsignor, had brought and placed on the table before the reader. Then the Prefect had retired, but there had followed a succession of other visitors who had come up to the table to whisper to the reader or to pass him notes.
    Von Igelfeld felt his annoyance growing. Any scholar of standing knew that the library rule of silence had to be respected, even at the cost of considerable personal inconvenience. If this person wished to talk to his friends, then he should go out to do so under the Library portico. It was very distracting for everybody else if conversations were carried out in the library, even if they were
sotto
voce
. Von Igelfeld gave a loud sigh, hoping that his fellow reader would notice his displeasure, but the offender merely looked briefly in his direction and met his gaze –