The one serious candidature has perhaps been that of Marescotti, who started out with twenty guaranteed votes, but met with French hostility, which makes him ineligible. Colloredo was proposed: in reality, he is absolutely persona non grata to France, and can therefore get nowhere. Everyone was so sure that Colloredo could not make it that they voted for him en masse and he came within a hair's breadth of election, thus causing some half dozen heart attacks in the Sacred College.
Despite the meagre progress, all manner of things have taken place within the sacred walls of the conclave: endless arguments, envy, hatred among the eminences. More than once, the masters of ceremonies have had to silence the brawling by ordering "Ad cellas, Domini" and forcing the cardinals back to their little cells. There has been no lack of unseemly rows among those attending the conclave who have as usual been caught out listening at one another's doorways. There was even a fire that started, perhaps a case of arson: to repair the damage, an architect and four master masons had to be called in urgently.
The atmosphere is, however, not warlike but mean and nasty. The struggle is informed, not by some lust for triumph, but envy. Rather than competing, what counts is to cripple one's adversary: the winning horse is still not there. It is as though everyone were waiting for something.
The more we go on, the more world-weary and lethargic the mood of the eminences. One morning, Marescotti, the one who was supposed to hold all the best cards, had a nasty fall when putting on his drawers and hurt his head. On hearing the news, the other eminences roared with laughter.
On 31st October, a letter came from the Nuncio to Spain, addressed to Innocent XII. The Nuncio did not know that he had died. Again, there was loud laughter among the eminences.
Monsignor Paolo Borghese who, in his capacity as Governor of the Conclave, is supposed to maintain order and decorum within the Sacred College, makes up for the weakness of his brains with the power of his purse, providing endless banquets within the secluded walls of the College. The dining tables are ornamented with sumptuous displays of flowers and fruit, which are renewed every three days.
In Rome, meanwhile, bread is growing scarce and becoming dearer by the day. The merchants are making money out of the hunger and sufferings of the people, who are exhausted and embittered. The Cardinal Chamberlain Spinola di San Cesareo is suspected of taking part in this speculation and trafficking. After seeing him plotting with Spada and Albani, I do not find it hard to believe this gossip.
In town, Prince Vaini is sowing panic by writing bad cheques, starting brawls and mocking the cardinals assembled in conclave who, in the interregnum between popes, are supposed to govern the city jointly but lack the courage to arrest a troublemaking prince or to do anything about the food shortages and public disorder. After seeing how Prince Vaini did just as he pleased at the Villa Spada, the home of the Secretary of State, nothing could ever surprise me.
Everywhere, we are confronted with an endless series of commotions, assaults and assassinations. As always happens whenever the seat of power is empty, Rome lies under a dark cloud of violence and oppression. This is a time of pessimism, bilious humour and ill will.
As though that were not enough, worrying news keeps reaching us about the health of the King of Spain. On 24th October, Cardinal Borgia, head of the Spanish faction, was supposed to arrive at the conclave from Spain and a cell had already been arranged for him alongside those of the other cardinals. Instead, he let it be known that he would not be coming. It seems that the King's illness has become too serious; from what one hears, on the 27th he received the sacraments and the physicians have now abandoned all hope of saving him.
20th November
The news reached us yesterday. King Charles of Spain has died. It happened on 1st November.
The tidings soon made their way around the conclave. During the night an express courier had arrived from France for their cardinals, then another for Cardinal Medici, sent by his brother, the Grand Duke of Tuscany, followed by a third despatch sent by the French Ambassador to Cardinal d'Estrees.
It seems that their eminences have at long last been shaken by something of an earth tremor. The succession to the Spanish throne is open. The whole world awaits the choice of a wise new pontiff who will be able to mediate between the powers and avoid a long, bloody war.
Now they say that we shall have a new pope tomorrow. The factions have woken up and set to work looking for an agreed candidate. In town, the most disparate prognostications are being voiced: Marescotti's name is mentioned among others, and even Barberini's.
Now, I too am beginning to see more clearly. That was why there had been all that temporising in the conclave, all those candidates unceremoniously dumped, all that time-wasting, banqueting, joking and misplaced mirth. . .
Here then was the event for which the Sacred College had been waiting: that Charles of Spain should die, so that the situation would become truly grave and urgent (as if the election of a pope were not grave and urgent enough).
There it was: an emergency, that was what they needed. If grave and unpopular decisions need to be taken, the circumstances must first become critical, such that no one can any longer say, "One moment, we cannot do this." Atto was right: difficult decisions are taken in states of emergency. And where they do not exist, they must be created, or at least awaited.
But what, I wonder, do their eminences and the powers that influence the Sacred College intend to do? I find myself thinking back to the teachings which Atto imparted to me in an obscure Roman underground passage some seventeen years ago, when he said to me: in affairs of state, what counts is not what you think, but how. No one knows everything, not even the King. And, when you do not know, you must learn to suppose, and to suppose truths which at first sight may appear to be utterly absurd: you will then learn without fail that it is all dramatically true.
So now I understand: they mean to elect a pope who in normal circumstances could never be elected. For example, one in poor health (like Spinola di Santa Cecilia), or unpopular with this or that power (of whom there are so many). But who?
23rd November
The single most unlikely turn of events: Albani.
They have elected Albani. Forty votes out of sixty-eight.
Everyone said he was not papabile, that he was too young: only just fifty-one years old. Even Cardinal Spada, who is four years older, was not on the list of those eligible. Of course, Albani, as is well known, has plenty of relatives: everyone is sure that he will shower them in gold at the Church's expense. But still, they have elected him.
Until a few days ago, he was not even a priest. He took Holy Orders in great haste and said mass for the first time on 6th October, and on the 9th, he joined the conclave. Not being a priest, he was not even a bishop: but the Pope is also Bishop of Rome. Albani will therefore receive his episcopal investiture after the election, from a cardinal's hands. This has not happened for 108 years.
Well-informed commentators say that Albani was perfectly aware of being a contender, nor was it by chance that at the first count he received six votes which at the time went completely unnoticed.
Hardly had the news of the Catholic King's death arrived than Altierani, Ottobonisti, Odescalchini, Pignatellisti and Barberini all sang his name in unison. The French pretended they wanted a deferment, but it was quite clear that they had in mind no one but him.
I am certain of it: this was all pre-arranged. Albani was the Pope in pectore who was already trying on the tiara in the wings while awaiting the death of the King of Spain. The French had his name canvassed by their friends in other factions (whom, it is said, Louis XIV has, since time immemorial been corrupting with rivers of gold). Meanwhile, Albani, thanks to his public arguments with Atto at Villa Spada, had rid himself of his Francophile reputation, so that the others imagined that they were electing an independent pope; instead of which they have chosen a most faithful ally of the Most Christian King. The game became clear only at the very end, when the French cardin
als took everyone by surprise by voting for him en masse.
This was no election, but a comedy. Even the pretexts which Albani devised when they told him that he was about to become pope seem somehow improbable. He said he was assailed by qualms of conscience; that perhaps he would be unable to accept, and that he did not feel up to the task. The other day, he even became unwell and took to his bed, apparently throwing up, with traces of bile in his vomit. Yesterday, he got up again but, amidst tears, said that he would be unable to accept. One can see from a mile off that this is all put on, everyone says so. As an old lion of politics, he wants to be begged to be pope, to pass himself off as a modest man and thus to silence his critics. He knows perfectly well that everywhere they are already carving portrait busts of him in pontifical garb, and on the fagades of churches and public buildings, his family arms are already appearing. At Saint Peter's, the stage for the ceremony of investiture has already been set up; the arms of the Albani have already been carved on the chair on which the new pope will be borne into the basilica.
At this juncture, in order to put an end to the hypocritical refusal, Albani has consulted four theologians who have patiently illustrated for him the ratio precipua that obliges him to accept the tiara, and today the election has been made public.
25th November
At six in the evening, a courier arrived at the Spanish Embassy with the second great tidings.
A few hours after the death of the Catholic King of Spain, his will was opened and read: as successor to the Spanish throne, it designated Philip of Anjou, the second son of the French Dauphin and grandson of the Most Christian King. The news was kept secret until the 10th, when Louis XIV at Versailles officially accepted the will. It seems he exclaimed with satisfaction: "Il n'y a plus de Pyrenees!'''' It is true, the Pyrenees no longer bar the way to Madrid: the whole Spanish monarchy will now pass into French hands.
The Spanish Ambassador, the Duke of Uzeda, immediately brought the news to the Pope, even going so far as to wake him up. The Pontiff was so delighted that he awarded Uzeda's Maestro di Cappella a benefice as canon at Valladolid.
But knots do not dissolve, they get caught up in the teeth of the comb. It is already being bruited abroad that the Empire does not accept the verdict and is threatening to send its armies to Italy, in order to take over the Spanish possessions in the peninsula. France cannot stand by without reacting. The fuse of war has been lit.
I alone in the city see the concealed and unsavoury links between the facts. The bargain was clear: Louis XIV had promised Albani the papacy. As a quid pro quo, he wanted his grandson on the Spanish throne.
Atto, Buvat and Maria had provided the signature for a forged will. However, in the months leading up to his death, Charles had asked Innocent XII to mediate, and from his request it was quite clear that he had no intention of designating a Frenchman as his heir. It was therefore necessary to send him an answer which did not give away the conspiracy which was taking shape; one that, on the contrary, played into the conspirators' hands. Spada, Spinola and Albani had seen to this. They had prepared a suitable answer in which - instead of responding to the request for mediation - Charles II was advised to appoint outright as his successor a grandson of the Most Christian King. This way, when the false will was opened in Spain, no one would be surprised that Charles should have chosen a Frenchman: even the Pope had recommended him so to do... The two forgeries, the opinion and the will, were in fact so designed as to corroborate one another. Once the opinion had been drawn up, the three cardinals had experienced no difficulty in assuming the authority of the Pontiff and had obtained the task of replying to the Spanish Sovereign's request.
Counterfeiting the missive from the Pope was all too simple: he in fact never signed letters or wrote in person to princes and sovereigns. These, he dictated to a secretary and then had sealed by a cardinal. It is no accident that Albani, now that he has become Pope, should have put an end to this custom. He has already proclaimed that, in order to be both humble and expeditious, he will personally draft and sign all the most important documents.. .
And where do I stand in all this? By following Atto, I had become a pawn in these very games. Without being a cardinal, I too had made the new Pope.
But above all, this had been the work of Abbot Melani. Thanks to his rows with Albani during the festivities at Villa Spada, Atto had succeeded in cancelling out the only shadow over that Cardinal's person: his reputation as a Francophile.
That explained why, when I asked Atto how he dared scandalise the company with his shameless speeches, he had not answered me. The fact is that he had to appear in the guise of a fanatical Francophile, while Albani, by quarrelling with him, was meant to gain himself the reputation of a man above all factions. So, it had worked out. And from that play-acting, there had emerged the new Holy Father.
Thus, Atto had pulled off his wager. As he had announced at the outset, he had succeeded in leaving his decisive mark on the destiny of the papacy. What was more, he had succeeded in doing so before the conclave even began.
It was no accident that Albani should have chosen to be pope under the name Clement XI: was not Clement IX the Pope whose election Atto boasted he had arranged thirty years previously?
Abbot Melani had not then lied to me. He had also come to Rome for the election of the new pontiff. What he had told me at the outset had seemed to me a pack of lies, but now turned out to be true. Yet, no one in his place could have simultaneously manipulated both the Spanish succession and the conclave, navigating between the King of France, Maria Mancini and the thousand dangers which we had faced together. He, this shrivelled old man, had accomplished just that.
March 1702
Maria Mancini was right: it had all been pointless.
As I pen these lines, Italy has for the past year been the scene of a horrible war which will soon spread everywhere. The astrologers have announced that the conjunction of Mars and Jupiter this month presages many battles and calamities.
Last spring, the Empire invaded the north-west, advancing on the Grand Duchy of Milan. In July, the French led by Catinat, a mediocre general, were defeated at Carpi and had to abandon their positions between the Adige and the Mincio. The Austrians then crossed the Po and seized the fortress of Mirandola. They were not even stopped by the entry into the war of Piedmont and the French squadrons of the Marechal de Villeroy, who was taken prisoner at Verona. Events were not turned around until the arrival of Vendome. He fielded eighty thousand fresh and well-equipped troops, regained Modena and saved Mantua and Milan, while the Austrian forces were tired and their reserves used up. At this point, it is possible that by opening up a passage through the passes of Tyrol, the French may advance on Bavaria and join up with their army of the Rhine to move against Vienna and strike a mortal blow at the Empire.
Not even this, however, can bring the war to an end. France is on the point of being attacked by England and Holland, who cannot wait to see her humbled: the Most Christian King has deceived them. He had signed with them a treaty for the partition of the immense Spanish monarchy; then, instead, using Charles II's will, he grabbed everything for himself, reneging on his agreements. Thus, the conflict will soon spread to every corner of the continent.
Curiously, the hero of this war has Italian blood in his veins. He is Prince Eugene of Savoy, the son of the Duke of Savoy and a woman whom by now I know well from Atto's account: Olimpia Mancini, Maria's terrible sister.
Prince Eugene should have become a Frenchman, but when he was still very young, Louis XIV neglected and humiliated him, causing him to leave his kingdom. He placed himself at the Emperor's service and has now become the greatest general of all time. At France's expense. Ah, Silvio, Silvio. . .
The Connestabilessa thus proves to have really been the woman of destiny: Eugene, her nephew, dominates the conflict which will decide the fate of the world. Her evil sister Olimpia has thus at last found an outlet for her malignity: her son is the military genius who sows terror
wherever he turns.
As at every decisive turning point in history, prophecies are coming true. Maria Mancini's father had read in her horoscope that she would be the cause of tumults, rebellions and even a war. He had seen rightly: if the young King had married her and not the Spanish Infanta, he could not have laid claim to the succession of Charles II. And this war would never have taken place.
For two years, I tormented myself with the thought of the plot in which I had perhaps been the precious, decisive pawn. A year ago, I at last made up my mind and wrote an account of these events. I even had a frontispiece printed, with a wealth of decorations, and placed it at the beginning of these pages. I shall send the whole lot to Abbot Melani, seeing that he paid me for it, and shall at the same time claim my daughters' dowries. Now that they are twelve and eight years of age, I still have a good deal of time before it will be too late to find a good husband for them.
Will he answer me? At times I am overcome by floods of rancour against that champion of intrigue and mendacity. Then the scapular of the Madonna of the Carmel comes into my hands, with the three little pearls which he kept for seventeen years in memory of me and returned to me in Ugonio's lair. And then I say to myself that I should perhaps recall Abbot Melani only with feelings of affection.
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