CONSPIRACY OF THE CLOCKS.
[originally by Edouard Foussier (1884-1882)]
WHEN
Cardinal Montalto assumed the tiara under the
title of Sixtus V., he speedily threw off the disguise
which had enveloped his former life, smoothed the
wrinkles from his now proud forehead, raised his
piercing eyes — heretofore cautiously veiled by their
downcast lids — and made the astounded conclave know
that in place of a docile instrument they had elected
an inflexible master. Many glaring abuses existed in
Rome, and these the new pope determined to reform.
It was the custom for the nobles, whether foreigners or
natives, to be escorted whenever they went out by a
numerous body of pages, valets, soldiers, and followers
of all kinds, armed, like their masters, to the teeth.
Sometimes a noble's 'following' resembled an army
rather than an escort; and it frequently happened that
when two such parties met in a narrow street, a violent
struggle for precedence would take place, and blood be
freely shed by those who had had no previous cause of
quarrel. Hence came the warlike meaning — which it
still retains — of the word rencontre. Sixtus V. resolved
to put down this practice, and seized the opportunity
of an unusually fierce combat taking place on Easter-day
within the very precincts of St Peter's.
Next morning an official notice was posted on the
city walls, prohibiting every noble without exception
from being followed by more than twenty attendants.
Every one also, of whatever degree, who should himself
carry, or cause his people to carry, any sort of fire-arms
(pocket-pistols being especially mentioned), should
thereby incur the penalty of death. At this notice
Pasquin jested, and the nobles laughed, but no one
dared to indulge in bravado, until the following
incident occurred.
Just after the promulgation of the pope's orders,
Ranuccio Farnese, the only son of the Duke of Parma,
arrived in Rome. His first care was to wait on the
new pontiff; and being presented by his uncle, Cardinal
Farnese, the young prince met the reception due to his
rank and to his merit. Already his talents and courage
gave promise of his becoming a worthy successor to
his father; and the Roman nobles vied with each other
in doing honour to the heir of one of the richest duchies
in the peninsula. On the evening after his arrival he
was invited by Prince Cesarini to a magnificent banquet.
Wine flowed freely, and the night waxed late, when
the gay guests began to discuss the recent edict of his
holiness. Several wild young spirits, and amongst them
Ranuccio, declared themselves ready to brave it openly.
Next morning, however, when sobered by sleep, they
all, with one exception, judged it expedient to forget
their bravado. Ranuccio alone felt a strong desire to
try conclusions with the pope. Although a feudatory
of the holy see, he was not a Roman, and he was a
prince. Sixtus V. would probably think twice before
touching a head that was almost crowned. Besides,
youths of twenty love adventure, and it is not every
day that one can enjoy the pleasure of putting a pope
in a dilemma. Ranuccio, in short, went to the Vatican
and asked an audience of his holiness. It was
immediately granted, and the prince, after having, according
to the custom, knelt three times, managed adroitly to
let fall at the very feet of Sixtus a pair of pistols loaded
to the muzzle.
Such audacity could not go unpunished. Without a
moment's hesitation the pope summoned his guards,
and ordered them to arrest and convey to Fort St
Angelo the son of the Duke of Parma, who had just
condemned himself to death. War might be declared
on the morrow; an outraged father might come, sword
in hand, to demand the life and liberty of his son.
What cared Sixtus? He was resolved to restore but a
corpse.
The news spread quickly: so much audacity on one
side and so much firmness on the other seemed almost
incredible. Cardinal Farnese hastened to the Vatican,
and, falling at the feet of the pope, with tears in his
eyes pleaded his nephew's cause. He spoke of the
youth of the culprit and the loyalty of his father, who
was then in Flanders fighting the battles of the holy
see. Ranuccio had been but two days in Rome — might
he not fairly be supposed ignorant of the new enactment?
Then he belonged to a powerful house, which
it might not be prudent for even his holiness to offend;
and, finally, he was closely related by blood to the late
pope, Paul III.
The holy father's reply was cruelly decisive. "The
law," he said, "makes no distinction: a criminal is a
criminal, and nothing more. The vicegerent of God
on earth, my justice, like His, must be impartial; nor
dare I exercise clemency, which would be nothing but
weakness."
The cardinal bent his head and retired.
Besieged incessantly by fresh supplications from
various influential quarters, the pope sent for
Monsignor Angeli, the governor of Fort St Angelo. To
him he gave imperative orders, that precisely at
twenty-four o'clock*
that evening his illustrious
prisoner's head should be struck off.
*
In Italy the hours are reckoned from 1 to 24, commencing at
sunset.
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The governor returned to the castle, and signified to
Ranuccio that he had but two hours to live. The young
man laughed in his face, and began to eat his supper.
He could not bring himself to believe that he, the
heir-apparent of the Duke of Parma, could be seriously
menaced with death by an obscure monk, whose only
title to the pontificate seemed to have been his age and
decrepitude. Yet speedily the threat seemed to him
less worthy of derision, when he saw from his window
a scaffold, bearing a hatchet and a block, in process of
erection. But who can describe his dismay when his
room was entered by a monk, who came to administer
the last rites of the church, followed by the executioner,
asking for his last orders!
Meantime Cardinal Farnese was not idle. He
consulted with his friend, Count Olivarès, ambassador
from the court of Spain, and they resolved to attempt
to obtain by stratagem what had been refused to their
prayers. Two precious hours remained.
"Our only plan," said the cardinal, "is to stop the
striking of all the public clocks in Rome! Meantime
do you occupy Angeli's attention."
His eminence possessed great influence in the city,
and, moreover, the control of the public clocks belonged
to his prerogative. At the appointed hour, as if by
magic, time changed his noisy course into a silent
flight. Two clocks, those of St Peter and St Angelo,
were put back twenty minutes. Their proximity to
the prison required this change, and the cardinal's
authority secured the inviolable secrecy of every one
concerned in the plot.
The execution was to be private; but Olivarès, in his
quality of ambassador, was permitted to remain with
the governor. A single glance assured him that the
clock was going right — that is to say, that it was quite
wrong. Already the inner court was filled with soldiers
under arms, and monks chanting the solemn "Dies
Iræ." Everything was prepared save the victim.
Olivarès was with Angeli, and a scene commenced at once
terrible and burlesque. The ambassador, in order to
gain time, began to converse on every imaginable
subject, but the governor would not listen.
"My orders," he said, "are imperative. At the first
stroke of the clock all will be over."
"But the pope may change his mind." Without
replying the terrible Angeli walked impatiently up
and down the room, watching for the striking of his
clock. He called: a soldier appeared. "Is all
prepared?" All was prepared: the attendants, like their
master, were only waiting for the hour.
"'Tis strange," muttered the governor, "I should
have thought" ——
"At least," interposed Olivarès, "if you will not delay,
do not anticipate." And monsignor resumed his hasty
walk between the door and window, listening for the
fatal sound which the faithful tongue of the clock still
refused to utter.
Despite of the delay, however, the fatal hour
approached. "Ten minutes more, and Ranuccio's fate
would be sealed.
Meanwhile the cardinal repaired to the pope. As
he entered, Sixtus drew out his watch, and his
eyes sparkled with revengeful joy. On the testimony
of that unerring timepiece Ranuccio was already
executed.
"What seek you?" asked his holiness.
"The body of my nephew, that I may convey it to
Parma. At least let the unhappy boy repose in the
tomb of his ancestors."
"Did he die like a Christian?"
"Like a saint," cried the cardinal, trembling at a
moment's delay. Sixtus V. traced the following words:
"We order our governor of Fort St Angelo to deliver
up to his eminence the body of Ranuccio Farnese."
Having sealed it with the pontifical signet, he gave it
to the cardinal.
Arrived at the palace gates, Farnese, agitated between
fear and hope, hastened to demand an entrance. A
profound silence reigned within, broken only by the
distant note of the "De profundis." He rushed towards
the court. Was he too late? — had his stratagem
succeeded? One look would decide. He raised his eyes
— his nephew still lived. His neck bare, and his
hands tied, he knelt beside the block, between a priest
and the executioner, faintly uttering the words of his
last prayer. Suddenly the chanting ceased; the
cardinal flew towards the governor. Ere he could speak,
his gestures and his countenance lied for him.
"A pardon! — a pardon!" exclaimed Olivarès. The
soldiers shouted. The executioner began to unloose
his victim, when a sign from Angeli made him pause.
The governor read and reread the missive.
"The body of Ranuccio Farnese!" he repeated: "the
criminal's name would suffice. Why these words, 'The
body of?'"
"What stops you?" cried the cardinal, at that perilous
moment looking paler than his nephew.
"Read!" replied Angeli, handing him the pope's
letter.
"Is that all?" said his eminence, forcing a smile and
pointing to the clock. "Look at the hour: it still
wants two minutes of the time, and I received that
paper from his holiness more than a quarter of an hour
since."
The governor bowed: the argument was irresistible.
Ranuccio was given up to his deliverers. A carriage,
with four fleet horses, waited outside the prison, and in
a few moments the cardinal and the young prince were
galloping along the road to Parma. Just then the
clocks of Rome pealed forth in unison, as if rejoicing
that by their judicious silence they had gained their
master's cause. It might be well if lawyers in our day
would sometimes follow their example.
Monsignor Angeli, as the chronicle relates, was
rather astonished at the rapid flight of time after his
prisoner's departure. In fact, the next hour seemed to
him as short as its predecessor was long. This
phenomenon, due to the simple system of compensation, was
ascribed by him to the peaceful state of his conscience.
Although inflexible in the discharge of what he esteemed
his duty, he was in reality a kindhearted man, and felt
sincere pleasure at what he honestly believed to be
Ranuccio's pardon.
On the morrow the Spanish ambassador was the first
to congratulate Sixtus V., with admirable sang froid, on
his truly pious clemency. Olivarès was only a
diplomatist, but he played his part as well as if he had been
a cardinal, and made every one believe that he had
been the dupe of his accomplice. He had good reasons
for so acting. His master, Philip II., seldom jested,
more especially when the subject of the joke was the
infallible head of the church; and he strongly suspected
that the clocks of Madrid might prove less complaisant
than those at Rome.
Poor Angeli was the only sufferer. For no other
crime than that of not wearing a watch, the pope
deprived him of his office, and imprisoned him for some
time in Fort St Angelo. As to Cardinal Farnese,
renouncing all the praises and congratulations of his
friends at Rome, he prudently remained an
absentee.*
*
The above is abridged from the French of Edouard Foussier.
Gaslight note: originally from La revue de Paris,
(1851-sep), not seen by us.
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(THE END)
