"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 conversation but to annoy the guests? How dared he permit himself to provoke so impudently a friend and close collaborator of the master of the house? What was more, had not Atto overplayed his French background quite outrageously? Everyone knew, of course, that he was an agent in the service of the Most Christian King; but to make such a display of his partisanship (thus calling down upon himself an open denunciation by Albani) had really been most unwise. At this rate, no one would ever be able to approach him without attracting unwelcome attention. Anyone who talked openly with Melani risked being taken for an open seconder of the French King's ambitions.
Albani had at last calmed down. Not content with the effect he had produced, Atto began speaking yet again.
"Your Excellency is too subtle of understanding not to pardon me if I commit some errors, and too great-hearted not to be indulgent if I briefly recall how Pope Alexander VIII, as I was on the point of saying a few moments ago, had two nephews who were both Secretaries of State: Cardinal Rubini, who formally held the post, and Cardinal Ottoboni, who exercised it de facto. And yet it was he who pronounced those famous words: 'Take heed, for the eleventh hour has sounded.' By this he meant that matters could not go on like this much longer. And he was pope just before the present one! So, you see that…"
"Come, Abbot Melani, do you really want to make these excellencies angry?" Don Giovanni Battista Pamphili interrupted him; having plenty of famous cases of nepotism in his own family and being of a gay and amiable disposition, he easily succeeded in changing the tone and the direction of the conversation. "'Tis true we're in a Jubilee Year, and so must recognise our sins, but our own, not those of others!"
Laughter from those nearby at table thus succeeded in undoing the frowns of a few Zealot cardinals and silencing Atto's unwelcome incitement.
"The Prince of Monaco, the new Ambassador of the Most Christian King of France, made a most dignified entry to the Quirinale a few days ago to salute the Holy Father with a sumptuous, noble and rich equipage, served by an infinite number of prelates and the nobility," broke in Monsignor D'Aste, in an attempt to take part in Pamphili's diversion.
Someone must, however, have counselled him with a kick under the table to avoid at all costs mentioning the word "France", for a brief grimace of pain crossed his face and he fell silent at once without waiting for any answer from his neighbours.
"Monsignor Straccetto will never understand what and when," commented Prince Borghese sotto voce in the ear of Baron Scarlatti.
The Steward, all agitated and bathed in perspiration, ordered that other wines were to be served at once, to create a little movement and distract the table."On Tuesday, the Reverend Father of the Dominicans went in procession to visit the new Padre General of the Franciscans," said Durazzo.
"Yes, that I heard," replied Negroni. "He climbed right to the top of the Ara Coeli Steps with the cross on his shoulders. Heaven knows how fatiguing that must have been. And, speaking of news, I have heard that His Holiness's Privy Chamberlain has left bearing the Most Eminent Monsignor de Noailles his new cardinal's hat, which he is taking all the way to…"
"… Yes, of course, and now they're choosing who is to bring it to the new Cardinals Lamberg and Borgia," said Durazzo, just succeeding in preventing Negroni from mentioning Paris, where the new Cardinal de Noailles was indeed awaiting his hat.
At that juncture, as the end of the nuptial banquet approached, all eyes turned towards the spouses' table: Cardinal Spada had risen, glass in hand, to salute the providential chairborne arrival of the Princess of Forano, the deus ex machina who thus brought the whole embarrassing dispute to a close.
La Strozzi remained seated in her conveyance; although visibly put to the test by her confinement, she had not been willing to forgo the opportunity to embrace the bride who, as Cloridia had mentioned to me, was a good friend of hers.