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.
