All around us, on serving tables lit up by yet more great three- and four-branched candelabra, were set shining silver goblets for beverages, crystal carafes, bowls for washing hands, salt cellars, trenchers, jugs, chalices and salvers, great beakers, chargers heaped up with prune jelly, chunks of black umber, huge mullet with raspberries cut into roundels, all sparkling and reflecting silver and golden light. Then came a table loaded with fish, another with all manner of fowls of the air, yet another with good fresh green vegetables, and a last one with fruit and candies which were all a pleasure for the eyes, that being, indeed, their sole purpose, for I knew that the dishes destined to be eaten were different and even more succulent than that rich display of God's bounty.
Upon hearing the bad news of Cardinal Bonvisi's indisposition, all shook their heads, affecting to be afflicted thereby.
"Yes, 'tis true, he is not very well. He himself wrote telling me that last week," Abbot Melani broke in, thus declaring his friendship for Bonvisi, who went so far as to confide his personal news to him.
"But I am counting upon his swift recovery, so that... because I care for his health," said Colloredo, for an instant betraying the hope that Bonvisi would be well enough to take part in the conclave which all knew to be approaching.
Colloredo was not to know that Bonvisi would die within a few weeks, on 25th August, and that he himself would not survive more than two years. In a flash of clairvoyance, he added with absorbed thoughtful expression: "On 13th June, Cardinal Maidalchini left us, and on 3rd March, Casanate."
An icy breeze ran down the backs of many cardinals present, no few of whom were advanced in years.
In the meantime, the second part of the fourth course had been served. In an effort to restore the palate and prepare it for further exercises in gluttony, a sherbet of blackcurrants and redcurrants had been served, together with slices of lemon. Then came the fried trout accompanied by sweetmeats from Parona and filled with sour cherries in syrup and citrus juice; pastries stuffed with sturgeon and foie gras asparagus tips, capers, prunes, sour grapes, boiled egg yolks, lemon juice, flour and butter, borne to table under a perforated silver dome and sprinkled with sugar; turtles in pottage, cooked in their shells after their heads had been cut off (boiled thus, very little spices are needed), with toasted almonds, more foie gras, sweet- smelling herbs, muscatel wine and crumbled spiced cake, decorated with serpent-shaped tortiglioni sweetmeats from Orvieto, all served under a cover with a generous sprinkling of sugar and many stuffed half-eggs.
"Your Excellency should not turn his thoughts to such sad things on an occasion as gay as this magnificent wedding," said Cardinal Moriggia, whom Caesar Augustus had on the first evening called a boor. "It suffices, moreover, to remember the virtues of those who have passed away; there is no need to learn by heart the dates when they died."
"I would not have done so," replied Colloredo, "but, you know, when the question of the 19th arose. .."
No one dared open their mouth at that juncture; everyone knew what he was talking about, even I, having read it in the court notices among Atto's papers. It had happened the year before that three cardinals had passed away at an exact interval of one month after one another: Giovanni Delfino, Patriarch of Aquileia, on 19th July; Cardinal Aguirre on 19th August and Cardinal Fernandez de Cordoba, Grand Inquisitor of Spain, on 19th September. Obviously, until the 19th October, every cardinal in Europe lived in terror of a possible prolongation of the series, this time affecting him. Fortunately, however, no such thing had transpired and the next to depart had been Cardinal Pallavicino who had broken that unlucky sequence by departing this life on the 11th February. The Sacred College had given a great sigh of relief.
"Dear Delfino, as far as I knew him as a man and as a cardinal, would have made an excellent pontiff," said Atto, pronouncing the name which was in all minds and thus revealing another of his intimate acquaintances among the wearers of the purple. "'Tis a pity that, through someone's excess of zeal, matters should have gone otherwise."
The atmosphere became heavy.
"There exist certain o-ver-zeal-ous individuals, ever ready to give counsel, even to complete strangers, so long as they can cast mud at respectable persons," he added carelessly.
From heavy, the air became leaden. The word "zealous" which Atto had so heavily emphasised, was a reference to the party of Cardinal Zelanti, called the "Zealots" because they preached the independence of the Sacred College from the influence of foreign powers. To this party, both Colloredo and Negroni belonged.
As I knew from my instructive reading of Abbot Melani's court notices, at the previous conclave, nine years before, Cardinal Delfino, Atto's friend and the candidate favoured by all the crowns, was on the point of being elected pope. The Zealots then, being unable to stomach the foreign powers making their own pope, had resorted to the worst possible stratagems in order to destroy that candidacy. As Atto had allusively mentioned, Colloredo had written to the Sun King's confessor, Pere Lachaise (to whom the Cardinal had never written before) in order to canvass for the candidature of Cardinal Barbarigo, another Zealot.
Negroni had then spread the rumour that Delfino had in his youth even killed a man with a poker; which he had indeed done, but only to defend himself from a thief who had broken into his house and was attacking him with a dagger. In the end, malign tongues had prevailed, and, in the place of Cardinal Delfino, the election went to Cardinal Pignatelli, the Pope whose imminent death was now expected.
"The fact, however, remains that our present Pontiff Innocent XII is a saintly, good and wise pope," said Cardinal Negroni, meaning, for those who were familiar with what had taken place behind the scenes, that the sabotage at Delfino's expense had not done any great harm; Atto said nothing.
"This is, moreover, proven by the Romanum decet Pontificem," added Negroni, referring to the constitution whereby Innocent XII had, soon after his election, forbidden the relatives of popes from enriching themselves at the expense of the Church. "And I know not how many would have had the courage to do what he did."
This was yet another allusion to Delfino: in order to prevent his election, the Zealots had it cried out on the rooftops that he had a mass of nephews and intended to enrich them all from the coffers of the Vatican.
The wedding table had fallen silent. Nothing could be heard except the sound of jaws patiently chewing the "English" pie of grilled mullet in salsa bastarda, with little sweetmeats and prune jelly, garnished with lemon slices and candied cinnamon sticks. Decidedly, the Curia's disputes had gained the better of the wedding.
The tensions created by that skirmish, however subtly it had been conducted, had been almost contagiously transmitted to us torchbearers too; now I was perspiring even more copiously. None dared interrupt the venomous verbal duel between Atto and Negroni.
"Oh, what you say is ungenerous towards the previous pontiff," replied Atto with a little smirk. "If Prince Odescalchi were here tonight, I know not what he would have to say about your words. He, the nephew of Pope Innocent XI, who reigned before the present pontiff and Alexander VIII, was never made a cardinal, because his uncle did not wish to be accused of favouring his kinsmen."
"And what of it?" asked Negroni.
"How can one put it, Excellency? So many things are bruited abroad - clearly all malicious gossip. It is said that Prince Odescalchi lends money to the Emperor who loses incredible sums gaming, as though it were a mere trifle, and that he offered eight million florins to the Poles to be elected king, as though that were a title to be sold to the highest bidder; and, moreover, that he paid some four hundred and forty thousand Roman scudi to purchase the fiefs of the Orsini... He, the nephew of a pope who fought against nepotism. . ."
"I repeat: what of it?"
"All this goes to show that, at least in the eyes of the public, it was precisely when an end was put to nepotism that popes' nephews really began to make their fortunes."
The hum of disapproval grew louder; Atto was casting aspersions
on Prince Odescalchi, whom some ailment had kept to his house (he was said to be a hypochondriac), but to whom all these words would surely be reported, together with the disrespect for the present Pope who had even officially done away with nepotism: a policy that in fact pleased no one (for all hope one day to be able to take advantage of the world's injustices), although for the sake of appearances they all feigned blind approval.
"It is not my intention to offend His Holiness, heaven forbid!" continued Abbot Melani. "I am thus debating only in order to amuse the august intellects amongst whom I have the quite undeserved honour to find myself this evening. Well, Cardinal Aldobrandini, who was the nephew of Clement VIII, or Cardinal Francesco Barberini, who was the nephew of Urban VIII, and so many other examples one could cite, never lingered among the delights of Rome when it came to going forth to defend the interests of the Church, even volunteering to fight alongside armies in distant lands. Well, I ask myself: can we really say the same thing of. . .
"Enough, now, Abbot Melani, this is too much."
The speaker was Cardinal Albani. The company was not only amazed by the peremptory tone with which he had silenced Atto. As I had read in the Abbot's piquant court notices, it was Albani who had materially drafted the bull Romanum decet pontificem against nepotism, which had just been mentioned by Cardinal Negroni and, acting together with the master of the house, Cardinal Spada, he was also one of the cardinals who maintained contacts at the highest level between the Holy See and France. What was more, he was regarded as one of the most influential members of the entire Sacred College. He had studied, outshining the best, with the Jesuits of the Collegium Romanum, where the celebrated Hellenist and Hebrew scholar Pierre Poussines had soon noted his gifts for the study of Latin and Greek. While still a young student he had taken on the Latin translation of a homily by Saint Sophronius, Patriarch of Jerusalem, astounding all by his precocity. At the same time, he had discovered in a monastery the manuscript of the second part of the Byzantine Greek Menologion of Basil Porphyrogenitus, the loss of which had long been lamented. Continuing the same display of erudition, he had translated the eulogy of Saint Mark the Evangelist by Deacon Procopius which was inscribed by the Bollandist Fathers in the Acta Santorum. In other words, since his earliest youth Albani had shown himself to be the possessor of a most refined and erudite mind, perhaps already presaging future, glorious achievements.
After obtaining his degree in Jurisprudence at Urbino, a lightning career had seen him become, first, governor of Rieti and Viterbo, then, under the two last popes, Secretary for Breves (or confidential correspondence): a most delicate task, reserved for the most penetrating intellects. Among the most important matters entrusted to him were a considerable proportion of relations with France; and this had soon caused him to be accused of being a Francophile. Not without cause: the year before, in 1699, many had clamoured for a bull condemning the French Abbe Fenelon, who was suspected of heresy. Albani had responded by bringing about the breve Cum Alias, in which twenty-three propositions contained in Fenelon's book were condemned, but the word "heresy" was never mentioned. Not only that, but he had hastened to write a letter to Fenelon to instruct him about the ways and means of arranging an appropriate submission, which was so swiftly done as even to obtain the Pope's written praises.
Even if he was far too young to be made pope (he was at the time of the facts I am narrating only just fifty-one years old), Cardinal Albani had been one of the most important collaborators of the three last pontiffs, an influential mediator with France and the actual author of some of the most important doctrinal and policy measures. One peculiarity should be noted: although a cardinal, he was not a priest. He had in fact never yet received the major orders. Such a omission was, however, not unusual among the wearers of the purple, who often arranged for the necessary formalities when a conclave was imminent, so as not to lose (one never knows!) the possibility of being elected to the papal throne. Atto had, in other words, caused a very important personage to lose patience with him, and, what was more, one with the closest links to Cardinal Spada, his host.
"Eminence, I bow down to whatever you may say," said Melani complacently.
"Come now," retorted Albani with a grimace of annoyance, "I am not asking you to bow down. I simply wonder whether you are aware of what you are saying."
"Eminence, from now on I shall in truth say nothing more."
"You cited names and facts. Now, I ask you, have you ever stopped to consider that you are the guest of a Cardinal Secretary of State?"
"In truth, I am honoured."
"Good. And have you ever considered that instead of a Secretary of State, the popes before Innocent XI had a Cardinal-Nephew, who performed the same duties and whom they appointed acting on their personal prerogative, only because he was a kinsman?"
"Really, that has even been done since, at least by Alexander VIII, I'd say."
"Yes, agreed; I meant only to say," Albani admitted somewhat reluctantly, realising that he had made a mistake, "that Pope Innocent XI of happy memory, by whom I had the honour to be appointed Referendary for the Two Signatures, undertook this just reform whereby under the present Pope we may say that not only is there no Cardinal-Nephew but not even a nephew made cardinal."
Moriggia, Durazzo, Negroni and the others laughed, thus backing Albani and forcing Atto into a corner. Indeed His Holiness Innocent XII, the present Pope, had not made any of his nephews a cardinal.
"That will have been destiny; indeed, predestination," replied Atto, biting into a mouthful of sour grape pie with a scattering of Savoy biscuits and candied sugar.
There was a moment's silence, then Albani exploded.
"Do you know what I cannot bear, Abbot Melani? That persons like you, out of Francophile partisanship, should spoil the pleasures of the table, which is something far more noble, for all these eminences and all these princes and gentlemen. To accuse Holy Mother Church of not seeing and not understanding is as absurd as to claim that the King of France is all-seeing and all- powerful!"
Albani may have been regarded as a Francophile, said I to myself, perplexed; but the way in which the Cardinal had rammed Atto's discourse back down his throat seemed utterly at odds with that view.
Atto listened calmly, without losing his composure, patiently slicing the pie in his plate with his fork. I, however, was struggling to prevent my eyes from squinting and thus losing the immobile and pigeon-chested pose required of a torchbearer. The Steward was speechless. Never could he have imagined that, faced with all the delicacies with which he had laden the table, the eminences, instead of dedicating themselves to gluttony, body and soul, should have ended up by arguing. Don Paschatio, half- hidden behind one of the little columns supporting the canopy, was simply terrified. It was the first time in his life that he had had the honour of receiving so many cardinals at table, but all the pleasure had been destroyed by Albani's sudden outburst: a display so unusual among the wearers of the purple as to make the Major-Domo fear he might soon leave, overturning his chair and cursing Villa Spada and all who in it dwelled.
"Come, come, Excellency..." murmured Count Vidaschi, trying to calm him.
"Indeed, these French. . ." I heard the Prince Borghese murmur.
"All, they're too used to making popes from Paris," replied Baron Scarlatti.
Atto's sally had been somewhat daring. When he spoke of "predestination", he had been referring to a little tome published four years previously, entitled Nodus praedestinationis, the author of which was the late Cardinal Sfondrati and for which Albani had written the preface. Now, Albani was quite erudite, but not in all matters doctrinal, and he had not realised that this book touched on a number of somewhat delicate theological questions, in ways that were not always orthodox. Augustinian and Jansenist circles had called for the book's immediate condemnation by the Holy Office. Then the matter had blown over, but both Pope Innocent XII and Albani had emerged from the affair with no little embarrassment. This was the one and only seri
ous stain on the otherwise immaculate career of Cardinal Albani.
Atto's malign barb drew my attention even more to his strange behaviour that evening. At the previous dinner, he had said practically nothing. How come that he had now yielded to the temptation not only to join in the conversation but to annoy the guests? How dared he permit himself to provoke so impudently a friend and close collaborator of the master of the house? What was more, had not Atto overplayed his French background quite outrageously? Everyone knew, of course, that he was an agent in the service of the Most Christian King; but to make such a display of his partisanship (thus calling down upon himself an open denunciation by Albani) had really been most unwise. At this rate, no one would ever be able to approach him without attracting unwelcome attention. Anyone who talked openly with Melani risked being taken for an open seconder of the French King's ambitions.
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