The Adventures of Enea, Part 7 of 13

Enea's Pope! (2) I suppose it’s common knowledge (and not tedious, I hope!) that two-thirds of the Sacred College must concur to elect a pope. With eighteen cardinals gathered, twelve was the number to get. They were nervous, preoccupied, lathered, for there was no favourite yet. Day One turned out quite indecisive, Calindrini accomplishing five: Enea’s vote, far from derisive – his five kept his prospects alive. D’Estouteville’s position was healthy, and he lobbied for all he was worth. It helped to be fabulously wealthy, and promise the voters the earth. “I don’t want to sound like a critic,” (thus whispered d’Estouteville in private) “but look at him – pauper, arthritic. There’s something you need? I’ll contrive it.” The gist of the cardinal’s sermon was that Enea worshipped Apollo, and was anyway almost a German, dire consequences were certain follow. A cardinals’ caucus at midnight convoked by the frenchified faction made it seem that the tertium quid might take a piece of the Rouenais action. D’Estouteville himself was a teller when they voted the very next day: they’d do better to pick Helen Keller – one of Enea’s votes “went astray”. Now Enea’s on nine votes, and leading: a silence descends on the throng. D’Estouteville is far from conceding: this process could well be prolonged. In silence they sit in the Sistine, feckless, faineant, forlorn (the chapel itself is still pristine: Michelangelo hasn’t been born.) A shout comes from Borgia (Rodrigo, that’s Cesare’s father-to-be), “I’m switching to you, mi amigo!” That’s one of the necessary three! And then speaks Tebaldi of Naples: “I’ll go with Siena as well!” It’s looking decidedly papal, as friends of d’Estouteville can tell! One vote is now all that is needed, one vote and he’s pontifex max: one vote and he’s finally succeeded: one vote is the one thing he lacks! Colonna gets up from his cushion: d’Estouteville and chums know the score: unseemly, the shovin’ and pushin’: they bundle him out of the door. The spectacle can’t be called splendid. “Enea, I’m making you pope!” The greasy pole’s now been ascended: It’s time for the slippery slope!