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 serious 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
