Secretum

Autumn 1700

About a month had passed since Atto Melani and his secretary had abandoned me. Day after day of hatred, fury and powerlessness had followed. Every night, every single breath had been marked out in seconds by the remorseless clock of humiliation, injured honour and frustration. Perhaps it was no accident that I was tormented by that nasty tertian fever from which I had not suffered for years. It had consoled me little that, about a month before, a notary had come to Villa Spada in search of Atto: he said that the Abbot had instructed him to draw up an act of endowment but had failed to turn up to the appointment at which he was to sign it. Now I had the confirmation: Melani had not premeditated breaking his promise; simply, the instinct to flee had in extremis got the better of him.

Cloridia was sorry for me; despite her anger and humiliation as a mother at being denied her daughters' dowry, she was soon able even to make light of it all. She said that Melani had just been doing his job as a spy and a traitor.

Obviously, I had never set my hand to the memoir for which the Abbot had paid me. He was not really interested in it. I had thought thus to keep the money as partial compensation for the dowry he had failed to make over to my little ones. On 27th September, however, I did take up my pen, impelled by an event the gravity of which put my selfish suffering in the shade. I began to keep a little diary, which I am setting out below.

21th September 1100

The sad day is upon us: Innocent XII has passed away.

On the last day of August he had suffered an alarming relapse, so much so that the Consistory planned for the next day had to be postponed. On 4th September (as I had gradually come to learn from the broadsheets which the Major-Domo read out to the servants) his health had improved, and, with that, hopes had revived for his recovery. Three days later, however, his state again worsened, this time seriously. Yet his constitution was so strong that the illness lasted even longer. On the night of the 23rd and the 24th he was administered the Eucharist. On the 28th, he ordered that he was to be brought to the room where Pope Innocent XI, whom he had so revered, had breathed his last.

The physician Luca Corsi, no whit less capable than his illustrious predecessor Malpighi, had done all in his power. Human assistance was, however, no longer of any avail. Spiritual support was provided by a Capuchin friar to whom the Pope made his general confession.

"Ingredimur via universae carnis", "we are taking the way of all flesh," said he, moving to tears those who accompanied him in his extreme travail.

Yesterday night, his sufferings were aggravated by sharp pains in one side; however, it proved possible to restore him with a few sips of broth. But at four in the morning, he gave up the ghost.

The body will be brought from the Quirinale to Saint Peter's in a plain wooden coffin chosen by the Pope in person. He leaves behind him an exemplary reputation as father of the poor, a disinterested administrator of the Church's estates and a pious and just priest.

Now the betting is truly open for the election of the next Pope. Prognostications for this or that cardinal can be voiced aloud without any fear of offending the honour of the Holy Father and his poor sick body.

This should have been Abbot Melani's finest hour: at long last exploiting his network of acquaintances, making friends among those attending the conclave, getting wind of indiscretions, proposing strategies, propagating false rumours to demoralise the other side..

None of that is to be. No clever interpreter of political manoeuvring, no magus of Vatican alchemy will be by my side. I shall observe the conclave from the outside, wide-eyed and with my soul in a state of suspense, like all the other members of the public.

8th October

Tomorrow, the cardinals go into conclave. The factions are on a war footing, all Rome is holding its breath. The city is full of gazettes and broadsheets setting out the composition of the parties that will be entering the lists. Satires, dramas and sonnets flourish, lampoons abound.

Plays are circulated quite without shame or fear of God, lambasting the whole Sacred College, while according special attention to Cardinal Ottoboni and his particular tendencies: in La Babilonia, he is given the role of the chambermaid Nina; in L'Osteria, he becomes Petrina; in Babilonia Crescente, Madam Fulvia, in Babilonia trasformata, a certain Venetian Angeletta. Everyone kills themselves laughing.

The other day, I came upon a sonnet in which poor Pope Innocent the Twelfth (" Duodecimo") becomes Innocent Duodenum. Out of modesty, I shall not reproduce it here.

Besides all the jokes, serious information also circulates. The imperial and Spanish cardinals number eleven, at least on paper. The French are in equal numbers. The party of the Cardinal Zealots is the most numerous, numbering nineteen. Some of these (Moriggia, Carlo Barberini, Colloredo) I have seen at Villa Spada. The group of the Virile are ten, and include the Chamberlain Spinola di San Cesareo; likewise the Drifters. The Ottoboniani and Altieristi (called after the family names of the popes who raised them to the purple) are twelve. These include my master, Cardinal Spada, together with Albani, Mariscotti and, obviously, Ottoboni. Then come the other popes' appointments, the Odescalchini, the Pignatellisti and the Barberini..

According to the gazettes, the divisions cut across all party lines, and so are infinite. Some see rivalries and alliances according to age groups, gifts, aspirations, caprices, even tastes: there are the bitter cardinals, in other words, those known for their ill humour (Panciatici, Buonvisi, Acciaioli, Marescotti), the good-natured and easy going (Moriggia, Radolovich, Barberini, Spinola di Santa Cecilia), the middling ones (Carpegna, Noris, Durazzo, Dal Verme) and lastly, the unripe ones, who are less than seventy years of age and therefore too young to be elected (Spada, Albani, Orsini, Spinola di San Cesareo, Mellini and Rubini).

Negroni is seventy-one years old but has made it clear that he is not willing to be elected; he will vote for whoever merits the appointment, so he swore, and against the undeserving. The latter, of this everyone is convinced, are the overwhelming majority.

Even upright souls will, however, find the way difficult. No favours will be granted, even to those who have all their affairs in good order. Carlo Barberini, for instance, is about the right age, but has to contend with the hatred of the Romans for his relatives (which has lasted for the best part of eighty years), as well as the hostility of Spinola di San Cesareo and, above all, his own stupidity. Accaioli is opposed by Tuscany and France. Abroad, Marescotti is hated only by France, but in Rome also by Bichi (the feeling being entirely mutual). Durazzo is envied for the fact that he is related to the Queen of Spain. Moriggia is too close to Tuscany, Radolovich to Spain. Carpegna is not in good odour with any of the crowned heads of Europe, Colloredo is detested by the French and despised by Ottoboni. Costaguti is notoriously incompetent. Noris suits no one because he is a friar. For whatever reason, Panciatici is favoured by no one.

Many foreigners will not come, being taken up with urgent business of their own (these are said to include the Austrian Kollonitz, the Frenchmen Sousa and Bonsi and the Spaniard Portocarrero). But the struggle will be very hard indeed, so much so that the eminences may wish to opt for a more rapid solution in order to avoid bloodshed. Some say that white smoke may emerge within a fortnight or so, perhaps even less.

18th November

Nothing of the kind. A month and a half has passed since the beginning of the conclave, yet there's not so much as the shadow of a new Pontiff. The Sacred College of Cardinals seems in fact quite indifferent to the election of the new Pope. We have in fact seen nothing but fruitless manoeuvres whereby candidates have been ruined and burnt out. Everything is blocked by France, Spain and the Empire, in a crossfire of vetoes which implacably bars the way to candidates who do not meet with their approval. The independence and prestige of the Church are obviously in pieces, but the cardinals care nothing for that.

Throughout October, things have gone on like this, with a superabundance of verbiage, while first this candidate, then that, is cast into the fray, like so many manikins cast in the fire: Noris, Moriggia, Spinola di Santa Cecilia, Barbarigo, Durazzo, Medici. All proposed, some even joining the fray on their own initiative, all rejected.

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 cardinals 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.