by Izak Botha
Albani lit up. ‘It can be cumbersome with so many tourists this time of year, don’t you think? Sometimes it is better to visit in winter.’
Not having known what to expect, Jennifer found Albani’s welcome heartening. In some respects, he reminded her of her father: respectful, accommodating, well-meaning. When he led her up the steps towards Sisto V, she walked beside him. As in the Pio XI reading room, the hall had a vaulted ceiling, books covering every inch of wall space and a row of desks down the center. He showed her into a meeting room overlooking the Cortile della Bibliotheca. Drawing out a chair, he apologized for not offering her a drink. Due to the nature of the relics, refreshments were off-limits. Shortly afterwards, he excused himself and returned to the reception desk.
Jennifer’s pulse quickened slightly. The closer she came to her interview, the more her gut writhed. Her chat with the bishop had broken the ice a bit, but the thought of interviewing a cardinal still made her nervous.
Placing her notes on the table, she sat back. She stared out of the window at the deserted courtyard outside. Catholicism differed radically from her own Calvinist beliefs. The Catholic Church might as well be a different religion altogether. It was an integral part of the ritual that, upon being elevated to cardinal, former bishops intoned a ceremonial prayer invoking divine protection, the benedictio solemnis. It sounded so mysterious—as if they were summoning supernatural powers. Cardinals were also required to defend rigorously any papal bulls concerning the protection of Church assets, ecclesiastical nepotism, papal elections and their own dignity. It was ironically redundant, really, for at that stage in his career a cardinal would have already been in the service of the church for decades. Surely, he would have been upholding those principles all along. At the beginning of each secret consistory, the aperitio oris, or ‘opening of the mouth’, took place, and at its conclusion, there was the clausura oris, or ‘closing of the mouth’, as these ceremonies were symbolic of every cardinal’s obligation to keep the secrets of his office and give wise counsel to the pope. Finally, the Vatican would bestow upon each new cardinal a sapphire ring to show he had assumed his title and responsibilities.
Jennifer frowned. These men represented Christ for goodness sake. A religious institution should be unabashedly transparent. The Vatican should have no secrets.
Chapter 2
‘What is the cornerstone of our calling?’
Cardinal Giovanni Cardoni knew exactly how to capture the attention of his protégés. His question, designed to test the young men’s knowledge of the foundations of their vocation, always produced the desired result. It would show aspiring priests how little they knew about their faith.
Cluttered with philosophical mumbo-jumbo, the men would struggle to realize the essence of their new life in the Holy Church. Most believed their faith in Christ’s death and resurrection elevated them above other mortals. But those were only the fundamentals. Inevitably, some young men came close, but no one had ever given him the perfect answer.
Cardoni would rest his elbows on the podium. Staring across the hall of enthusiastic but gullible faces, he would say, ‘We, gentlemen, are the bearers of God’s power and authority.’
Every time he appraised the richness of their heritage, he could not help but gloat a little.
Paging to the Gospel of Matthew, Cardoni would read aloud how God had bestowed ‘all power in Heaven and on Earth’ upon His Son Jesus, and at this point, he would wait. Sometimes it would come instantly, sometimes it took a moment, but the question always came.
‘Your Eminence,’ an aspirant priest would call out, his hand raised, ‘how did we end up getting it?’
He lived for that moment. Enlightening their keen minds to the fact that God had bestowed His glory upon the Holy Roman Church never failed to exhilarate him.
‘The Gospel of John teaches how the “Keys of the Kingdom” were bestowed upon Christ’s beloved Apostle Peter, whom He instructed to feed His sheep. In the Gospel of Matthew, Christ calls Saint Peter the “rock upon which I will build my Church” and says that whatever Peter bound and loosed on Earth, the same would be honored in Heaven.’
Before concluding, he would accompany the aspirants to the heart of Saint Peter’s Basilica to view the first pope’s grave at the foot of the aedicula, beneath the floor. Flanking Maderno’s nave stood stuccoed marble columns bearing the weight of the coffered barrel vault above. And directly beneath Bramante’s monolithic dome, Bernini’s thirty-meter bronze baldachin paid tribute to the gravesite of the Church’s premier saint.
He would stop in front of the confessio and wait for one of the men to open the gate in the center of the u-shaped balustrade adorned with bronze lamps. Leading the young faithful, he would then descend the marble steps to the burial site below. Above the arched entrance of the necropolis, four words were etched in the image of an unfurled ribbon, announcing Peter’s tomb:
SEPULCRUM SANCTI PETRI APASTOLI
Cardoni would pass beneath the archway that led to the back of the exedra, the exact spot where Saint Peter’s remains lay. Behind a gilded-bronze gate and decorated with a ninth-century mosaic, Peter’s sepulcher rested within a niche known as the ‘dei Palli’. Bronze statues of Saint Peter and Saint Paul graced each side. Nearby, stood a bronze urn donated by Benedict XIV.
‘A shrine to our most sacred saint,’ Cardoni would announce.
Huddled in the small chamber, the men would spend hours debating the importance of the treasured relic.
When Cardoni felt sure they had understood the significance of Peter’s burial on that holy ground, he would then lead them to the Secret Archives. Once there, he would present them with the inspired and transmitted Word of God, the most precious of all the manuscripts in the world, and the source for biblical translations: The Codex Vaticanus.
‘Saint Peter’s remains and the Vaticanus are infallible proof that the Kingdom of Heaven is in our hands.’ He would lift his chin proudly. ‘And this, gentlemen, is the cornerstone of your holy calling.’
By the time he had let those words flow from his lips, the young seminarians were enthralled, their minds defenseless against his rhetoric.
Invariably one would ask, ‘Does this mean no one can go to Heaven without our blessing?’
And patly Cardoni would reply, ‘It does indeed.’
*****
Cardinal Cardoni no longer lectured seminarians, but as the Vatican Librarian, he was still the foremost authority on the Vaticanus. Arriving a few minutes late, he briefly spoke with Bishop Albani at the reception desk before entering the meeting room.
Jennifer watched the cardinal as he closed the door: chic, with silver-grey hair, he was at least three inches over six feet with all the swagger of a natural egotist. He certainly was not what she expected from a priest of his stature. Before leaving home, she had researched his career with great interest. Born in 1943, he had professed in his mid-twenties and taken his final vows a few years later. After his ordination to the priesthood, he had embarked on an illustrious career as a theologian. He had received his doctorate at Rome’s Pontifical University of Saint Thomas Aquinas in the seventies. Pope John Paul II had appointed him Prefect of the Secret Archives Library a decade later, and noting Cardoni’s flair, had subsequently elevated him to the venerable position of Cardinal Librarian.
Jennifer was already standing to greet the cardinal as he stepped towards her. When he extended his hand, she placed hers delicately into his. Meeting his forceful gaze, she curtsied, but she deliberately did not kiss his ring; her own convictions were too strong for that.
Cardoni drew his hand back indignantly but waited for her to sit before pulling up a chair at the head of the table. He then spent some time arranging his robes.
Jennifer looked on bemused. What pomp! It must be exhausting. Aside from his Tourette twitches, she found his body language rather endearing, perhaps even a touch effeminate. Despite his age and the acne scars scattered like tiny craters on his cheeks, he was qu
ite handsome. He was possessed of near perfect symmetry. Nature seldom achieved such delicate results. His clean, creaseless, tailormade cassock fitted perfectly, and when he folded one leg over the other to rest his foot against a table leg, his black leather shoes gleamed as if polished only minutes before. (Luckily, she had cleaned her own before entering the library.) Then he laid his hands on his lap. Hell, the cardinal had nicotine stains curling up his fingers like salamanders sweltering in the desert sun. For a man of the cloth, surely that was a blemish to moral excellence.
‘How can I assist you, Miss Jaine?’
‘Geographic America is making a documentary of the manuscripts on which The New Testament is based,’ she said. ‘Since the library holds one of the oldest copies of the Bible, my assignment is to examine it and obtain permission to conduct experiments.’
She felt terrible for lying again, but the Vatican had left her no choice. Only doctoral academics could access the libraries; access to Cardoni was only slightly less impossible. At the very least, you had to be a reporter in the employ of an esteemed publication. She was neither. When she had applied for the interview, she was still working on her PhD. To give her thesis credibility, she had decided to do fieldwork at the Secret Archives. Having applied through the correct channels, she had received her entry pass two years ago. But just after that something extraordinary had happened: an unexpected but crucial discovery had made her question her beliefs entirely. Someone very important from Jerusalem had enlightened her mind to good sense. For him, the life of reason outweighed that which relied on faith. Reaching an impasse, she had presented her quandary to her supervisor, but his dogmatism in asserting the supremacy of faith had shocked her. Religion hinged on faith, he had insisted. She was therefore doomed; unless she chose faith, her supervisor could not confer her degree.
Finding it impossible to compromise, she had taken a break. She did not go back, for there seemed no solution to the problem. In other words, she had quit.
But she had refused to sacrifice her visit to the Vatican.
If she harbored any faith at all, it was in the hope that at some point she would find the answer. Nothing in the world would stop her from investigating further. Convinced the solution to her dilemma lay hidden within the Vatican’s walls, she had started on a new quest. Because Christianity had originated in the time of the Apostles and because the Vatican claimed Apostolic succession as well as custodianship of the Apostles’ writings, she had to investigate both, hence her interview with Cardoni.
Jennifer had needed help securing the interview, and it had come in the form of a friend who worked for one of the world’s leading journals, Geographic America. He had invented her credentials in return for exclusive rights to her material. That much she owed him.
So, there she sat, a failed scholar and wannabe journalist in need of a break. It was all very stupid, really, but she had nothing else to lose.
Cardoni’s eyes narrowed. ‘Dear child, the Vaticanus is not one of the oldest transcripts but the oldest. We’re immensely proud of our holy scriptures.’
The hair on the back of her neck rose. Not only did he call the Bible their holy scriptures, he had also ignored her request to conduct experiments on the Vaticanus and negated other contenders for the title of oldest and full surviving copy, such as the Codex Sinaiticus.
Though the Holy See dated its codex to the first half of the fourth century, it had only been with them since the fifteenth century. Nevertheless, herein lay another contradiction. Earlier, Romano had asserted that the oldest manuscripts in their care dated around the eighth century. The figures were contradictory. But since she still had a number of controversial questions, she decided not to belabor the point.
‘How much of the Vaticanus has changed since its transcription?’ she asked instead.
‘There were at least three revisions,’ said Cardoni. ‘The first alterations were made soon after the original arrangement. There were a few more seven hundred years later. A third hand then retraced some faded letters early in the fifteenth century.’
Feeling confident she would remember her questions, Jennifer laid her notes on the table. ‘So that means little of the original codex is untouched?’
Cardoni tilted his head. He had already sensed she was up to something. He just could not quite lay a finger on it yet. ‘That’s not quite the way we would put it,’ he said cautiously. ‘But I suppose you could say that.’
She could not believe her ears. How would the man like to put it then? She did her best to maintain her composure. ‘Where did the codex originate?’
‘Its origin is uncertain. Some think right here in Rome; others attribute it to Asia Minor. Another opinion is Egypt. Personally, I’d say Rome.’
For a man credited with knowledge of the Vaticanus, Cardoni knew almost nothing. What was more, he made assumptions about things impossible to validate. That was likely how he led his audiences towards his own point of view. Did he deliberately mislead the faithful?
‘Did you find a complete manuscript, or were parts missing?’
‘Our holy treasure was slightly mutilated when it was discovered, but it contained most of the Old and New testaments.’
‘Which parts were missing?’
‘Folios at the beginning and the end had to be substituted.’
‘When was this, Your Eminence?’
The quick succession of questions was more of an irritation than a challenge. None of the answers he would give her was based on actual evidence. The Church based its noesis on age-old traditions. ‘It’s impossible to say exactly when, or how much. Nevertheless, since the fifteenth century all the missing pages have been replaced.’
If she did not clench her jaw, it would have dropped. Did the man understand the significance of what he said? ‘How was it replaced?’
‘We believe codices like the Sinaiticus, the Alexandrinus and the Latin Vulgate were used to replace the missing sections.’
He had put his finger on the pulse of her dilemma. ‘What you are saying then, Your Eminence, is that the Vaticanus is not original but merely a copy of earlier texts? And texts you do not have, I might add. You do not know who wrote it, when or where it comes from, and you have no clue how much of it was replaced?’
This Jennifer Jaine’s rapid responses made for formidable verbal sparring, but years of developing his own cunning had made Cardoni an expert advocate. Soon he would show her the error of her ways.
Jennifer did not allow him any respite, though, albeit he already looked ready to devour her. Anyway, she had only presented him with the truth.
‘Who wrote the Gospels?’ she asked, changing tack.
‘Surely you should know this, Miss Jaine.’
That was exactly the point: she did not. But neither did he nor anyone else. The Vatican certainly wanted everyone to believe the Apostles had written the Gospels, but any first-year seminary student could cite a litany of proof that they had not.
‘The earliest manuscripts appeared around 300 CE,’ she asserted. ‘We estimate their origins to be between 65 and 125. If so, how could the Apostles have managed to write them?’
He thought of lecturing her on Church history, but decided against it. As a PhD in religious studies, she already knew all the answers. This meant that she was just being difficult to get her way. ‘You should be grateful that we preserved the glorious message all this time, child.’
His words were ignored. There was no rational answer to such a statement. ‘When were the Epistles of Saint Paul written?’
‘About 45 to 60 AD.’
How did such a man make sense out of all this? Apart from the fact that there were no original Epistles in existence, Paul could perhaps have authored six of the fourteen letters ascribed to him. The rest were so different they could not have come from the same city, let alone the same hand. Lately, she had been finding the truth, or untruth of it all, difficult to stomach. How could anyone entrust his or her spiritual destiny to a religion whose doctri
nes were based on the sketchiest of evidence?
Her persistence was annoying and was now testing his patience. Cardoni was not sure how long he could bear entertaining her folly.
‘What is the point of all this, Miss Jaine?’ he asked irritably.
‘Paul’s Epistles are dated prior to the Gospels and Acts,’ she said plainly.
Now even he found it impossible to contain his curiosity. ‘And your point is?’
She could not believe he would ask that. She wondered what the Vatican had been doing for two millennia. ‘Your Eminence, if the Gospels postdate Paul by decades, why don’t they mention him?’
Cardoni stiffened. Her odiousness was beyond the pale. She had now trapped him not once but twice. ‘You forget with whom you are speaking, child. We represent God. And God would never deceive His faithful.’
Perhaps God would not, but people might.
Jennifer had not anticipated Cardoni’s hostility. Every time she had asked him a legitimate question, he gave her an arbitrary brushoff, and none of it made any sense. Yes, her subject matter had been controversial, but that was her purpose. People often posed similar questions to her. Not answering them properly, clearly made her look like an idiot.
A master’s in religious studies, and she could not authenticate her faith. Imagine attempting to convince sceptics of faith with little more than a series of dei ex machina! It simply would not fly. If Cardoni, who claimed to be an Agent of God, could not come up with one credible argument or a speck of evidence, why should she believe him, let alone in him? Knowing whether the Word of God had any validity had never been more crucial.
‘May I see the codex now?’ she asked, already knowing the answer.
Cardoni had long before decided to end the interview. The library opened its arms to those who sought the glory of God’s presence, not to rebellious journalists attempting to disgrace their treasured antiquities. ‘I would suggest you obtain a Vaticanus B,’ he pronounced stiffly. ‘They are faithfully executed copies, perfectly crafted to reproduce the Vaticanus.’
