This last barb was a polite reminder of the fact that the Princess was herself a descendant of Paul III, Alessandro Farnese.
"The Baccano Woods," she retorted, "were cut down because they were a refuge for assassins and thieves."
"As is happening today with the forests of Sermoneta and Cisternal" came the heated rejoinder of one whom I was later to recognise as the Prince Caetani. "We should cut them all down and leave it at that. For the sake of public order, I mean," he added, embarrassed by the coolness of his audience.
The Princes Caetani, and this I had myself learned some time previously, asked every new pope for permission to cut down those woodlands, which belonged to them, so that they could make money from the operation.
"His Holiness Innocent XII has for years issued decrees for the defence of heaths and woodland," replied Monsignor Aldrovandi imperturbably.
A murmur of approval flowed down the table, at least among those who were not engaged in close, gossipy conversation with the person seated next to them.
"A pity that he had the Tor di Nona Theatre demolished," said the same gentleman who had not laughed at Cardinal Durazzo's joke.
Monsignor Aldrovandi, who had not realised that all his praise of the Pope resembled an obituary, had succeeded in silencing the first, veiled criticism of the Pontiff, but this second one (referring to the unpopular decision to destroy one of Rome's most splendid theatres) he pretended not to hear, turning to his neighbour and showing his back to the person who had addressed him.
While serving him, I was fortunate enough to hear two ladies whisper: "But have you seen Cardinal Spinola di Santa Cecilia?"
"Oh, have I seen him!" giggled the other. "With the approach of the conclave he's been trying to put it about that he no longer suffers from gout. In order not to be left out of the charmed circle, he goes around behaving like a young lad. And then this evening, here, eating, drinking and laughing, at his age…"
"He's Spada's bosom friend, even if both of them try to hide it."
"I know, I know…"
"Has Cardinal Albani not arrived?"
"He will be coming in two days, for the wedding. They say that he is working on a very urgent papal breve."
The dining table was shaped like a horseshoe. Having almost reached the end of the second branch of the table, I was serving a guest with familiar features, and whom I was shortly to recognise, when I felt a sharp but powerful blow to the arm which was holding the charger. It was a disaster. The figs, catapulted to the left together with the leaves, flowers and snow, landed on the face and clothing of the aged nobleman whom I had just served. The dish crashed to the ground with a clangour like that of a breaking bell. A murmur halfway between amusement and disapproval spread among the nearby guests. While the unfortunate nobleman removed the figs with dignity, I looked all around in panic. How could I make Don Paschatio and the Steward understand that what had just occurred was not my fault and that it had been the guest whom I was just serving who had sent my dish flying? I looked at him, full of mute resentment, knowing well that I could do nothing against him, for the servant is always in the wrong. And then I recognised him. It was Atto.
Punishment was swift and discreet. Within five minutes, I was no longer holding a charger in my hand, but one of those enormous, immensely heavy, incandescent torches which illuminated the dinner as though it were almost daylight. I was bursting with rage at Abbot Melani and tormented myself with wondering why he should so cruelly have tricked me, getting me punished and imperilling my present and future employment at the Villa Spada. While the dinner continued, I sought his eyes in vain, for he was seated with his back to me and I could see only the nape of his neck.
Transformed into some new Pier delle Vigne, I must needs bear up: dinner was only beginning and I had better arm myself with patience. The first half of the first hot course had only just been served: fresh eggs drowned in milk with soup under that, butter, slices of lemon, sugar and cinnamon; and boiled head of sturgeon, with its bland savour, served with flowers, herbs, lemon juice, pepper and almonds (one slice for each guest).
The heat from the torch was unbearable, and under the Turkish turban I sweated buckets. The servants who had gone off a-courting with the peasant girls had done well, said I to myself. Yet I knew all too well that I would never have had the heart to betray Don Paschatio and abandon him at so critical a time. The only relief from the heat and the torment of immobility was to know that I was in the company of seven others like myself, each bearing his torch and, what is more, to be able to be a spectator at this meeting of all those eminences and as many noblemen. The place to which I was assigned near the table was, moreover, singular, as I shall soon have occasion to explain.
Hardly had I resigned myself to my punishment when, all of a sudden, Atto turned to me.
"Come, my boy, where I am sitting, 'tis so dark that I feel as though I were in a cave, will you or will you not be so kind as to come closer with that torch of yours?" he called out to me in a loud voice, making an ugly grimace as though I were an anonymous servant quite unknown to him.
I could but obey. I stood right behind him, lighting up his part of the table, which was in any case already perfectly well lit, as well as I could. What the deuce could Atto have in his head? Why had he ill-treated me and why was he now tormenting me?
In the meanwhile, the conversation between the guests, which was conducted quite freely, had turned to frivolous subjects. Unfortunately, I was not always able to understand who was speaking, since from my viewpoint I could see a good many of the guests, but not all of them. Moreover, on that evening, most of the faces and voices were still unknown to me (while in the following days I was to learn to recognise almost all of them).
"… Pardon me, Monsignor, but only a kennel-man is permitted to bear an arquebus."
"Yes, Your Excellency, but let me tell you, if you will permit me, that he may have it carried by a groom."
"Very well. And so?"
"As I was saying, if the boar is cowardly and dares not fight in the open, it is killed with the arquebus, as was the custom on the Caetani estates, which are the best hunting grounds."
"No, no, how then are we to speak of those of Prince Perretti?"
"Pardon me, all of you, and please do not take offence, but all these are nothing compared to the lands of the Duke of Bracciano," corrected the Princess Orsini, widow of the said Duke.
"Your Highness must mean those of the Prince Odescalchi," said a thin, icy voice. I looked at the speaker. It was the nobleman who had not joined into the laughter at Cardinal Durazzo's witticism about the pope who compared himself with Pontius Pilate.
For a moment, the table talk froze. The Princess Orsini, in her passion to defend the memory of the family possessions, had all too easily forgotten that, in order to avoid bankruptcy, the Orsini had sold land and more land to Prince Livio Odescalchi and that those estates and the feudal rights that went with them had changed their names as well as changing hands.
"You are quite right, cousin," said she condescendingly, addressing the gentleman as do nobles when speaking to persons with whom they have bonds of kinship or amity. 'And 'tis indeed most fortunate that they should now bear the name of your household."
The person who had contradicted the Princess was, then, Don Livio Odescalchi, nephew of the late Pope Innocent XI. It followed that this must have been the pontiff concerning whom Cardinal Durazzo had told an amusing anecdote only moments earlier, which had however not amused Prince Odescalchi, to whom his late uncle had left his immense fortune. At last I was seeing in person the nephew of that pope about whom I had, seventeen years previously at the Locanda del Donzello, learned things to make one's hair stand on end. I hurriedly dismissed those memories of episodes which had caused such suffering for my wife and my late father-in-law.