Kimura’s painstaking, detailed account was making Barrett restless. ‘What did the counselor have to say, Leo?’
‘Once the clearance came, she was eager to be entirely cooperative. It turned out she has had several meetings with Jerry and is most disturbed by what he has done. Because there are so few sources to give us information on Jerry I felt that she was too important for me to interrogate. I felt it would be better if you or Mr Zelkin saw her. She is a Mrs Henrietta Lott. I have arranged an appointment for either one of you this afternoon. Mrs Lott will be extremely busy later in the week, so I thought I must take advantage of her readiness to discuss Jerry today.’ He pulled free a slip of paper and held it out tentatively. ‘Her name, office number - the academic counselors’ offices are in the Administration Building -and the time of the appointment. I hope one of you -‘
Barrett reached for the slip. ‘I’ll take it,’ he said to Zelkin. ‘I intended to drop by UCLA later in the afternoon, anyway. They’ve got a sharp English department, and I want to learn whether any member of the faculty understands the book well enough to talk about it sympathetically in court. Before that, I’m going to look in on Ben Fremont.’
‘And I’ll be out pounding the pavements, too,’ said Zelkin.
‘Leo,’ said Barrett to Kimura, ‘you’d better stick close to the office, or let Donna know where she can find you if you go out, so we don’t miss that call from Monte Carlo. Once we’ve got that French publisher, we’ve got a real chance. Here comes the food now… . Well, Phil, old boy, how does it feel to be where the action is?’
Sanford stretched and beamed. ‘It’s beginning to feel good, now that I can see what’s being done. I tell you, if that District Attorney - Duncan - if Duncan knew half of what we’re doing, he’d throw in the towel.’
Barrett removed his sunglasses and made a wry face. ‘Don’t be too sure of that. If we knew half of what he is doing, we might want to kill ourselves. One thing you can bet on. Elmo Duncan isn’t sitting on his hands.’
For Elmo Duncan, the telephone call and the summons early this morning had been unexpected, and his presence here this early afternoon, in this renowned prelate’s office, had about it an air of the strange and the mysterious.
Waiting now in the Chancery office for the appearance of His Eminence, Cardinal MacManus, the District Attorney was again conscious of the empty velour armchair facing the portrait of the Pope that hung on an otherwise barren wall. When the Cardinal’s secretary had escorted him into this room, Duncan had been told that every prince of the Church had such a chair facing a portrait of the Pope, a chair kept ready should His Holiness ever pay an unexpected visit in person. Tradition.
Elmo Duncan continued his survey of the Chancery office. Every decoration gave the impression of venerable age and continuity. Again, tradition. Rich damask draperies framed the windows. The
fireplace hearth was charred, blackened by years of providing warmth. On the old desk, atop a pedestal, stood a driftwood cross bearing a drooping carved figure of the Saviour, a crucifix which might have been carried by Junipero Serra in his trampings through California.
Only one inharmonious object intruded. This on the prince’s desk also. A flashy late-model dictating machine. The same model that Duncan had in his very own office.
Although somewhat reassured that he and the prince of the Church might have more in common than he had feared, Duncan still felt uneasy. He yearned for a cigarette. But as a Protestant in the inner headquarters of the Los Angeles diocese of the Catholic Church, he had no idea of the restrictions or, indeed, of the Cardinal’s personal quirks. Duncan decided not to smoke.
Once more Duncan speculated on the early-morning summons.
The telephone call had come from the Very Reverend Monsignor Voorhes.
‘District Attorney Duncan?’ Monsignor Voorhes had introduced himself briskly. T am secretary to His Eminence, Cardinal MacManus, Archbishop of Los Angeles. I am telephoning at the personal request of Cardinal MacManus. It concerns a matter in which His Eminence has taken a considerable interest’
‘Yes?’
‘I refer to the forthcoming legal trial regarding the book The Seven Minutes, and your prosecution of this work. The Cardinal feels that your civic office and his church office may have a common goal in this affair and may benefit by mutually cooperating.’
‘Well, I - I’d certainly welcome cooperation from any source. But it’s not clear to me what you, or rather His Eminence has in mind.’
‘It would gratify the Church to have this work obliterated. The Cardinal feels he can achieve this end by being useful to your cause.’
‘Do you have anything specific in mind?’
‘Yes. That is the purpose of my call, Mr Duncan. His Eminence would like to meet with you at your earliest convenience to explain.’
‘I’d be glad to see him today.’
‘Excellent. Perhaps it would be wisest if the meeting were to take place in Cardinal MacManus’ Chancery office. We are located at 1519 West Ninth Street, near downtown Los Angeles. Would two o’clock this afternoon be satisfactory ?’
‘I’ll see that it is. You can tell His Eminence that I’ll be there at two. And be sure to let him know how much I appreciate his - his interest in this case.’
Later, when he had joined Luther Yerkes, Harvey Underwood, and Irwin Blair for a business lunch on the patio of Yerkes’ Bel-Air palace, Duncan had brought up the curious call and wondered what it could mean.
Yerkes had warned Duncan immediately not to expect any concrete evidence from Cardinal MacManus. ‘The Church has a continuing stake in censorship,’ Yerkes had said, ‘so he’ll probably assure you that you’ll have the Lord in your corner. Don’t expect more than that.’ Then the subject of Duncan’s appointment with Cardinal MacManus had been dismissed, because there was important work to be done. This very evening a fund-raising affair sponsored by the Strength Through Decency League was being held in the Grand Ballroom of the Beverly Hilton Hotel. The principal speaker, as arranged by Irwin Blair, would be District Attorney Elmo Duncan. The title of his speech would be ‘The Freedom to Corrupt.’ It was to the revising and strengthening of this prepared speech that the four of them had devoted the rest of the lunch hour.
And now Elmo Duncan stood in the Chancery office of the Los Angeles diocese, waiting to learn what the Cardinal would offer that might be ‘useful’ to his case. Would the offer be, as Yerkes had so cynically suggested, the blessings of the Lord? Or would it be something more substantial?
‘Mr Duncan, I am sorry to have kept you. How very kind of you to come.’
The voice had issued from the far corner of the office, and Duncan whirled around to see Cardinal MacManus shutting a door behind him as he lifted a welcoming hand. Duncan had seen the Cardinal’s picture in the newspapers frequently, and in these photographs he had always looked his age, which was seventy-eight. Now, though he wore a Roman collar and a black suit instead of his elaborate ceremonial vestments, he resembled the face and cleric in the photographs - the same cottony white hair, baggy eyes, wrinkled skin, hunched back.What was not the same, what was evident when seen in person, was the Cardinal’s alertness. Although limping, he advanced across the room rapidly, his sunken eyes lively, one bony hand vigorously brushing lint off his black jacket and the other hand extended.
Duncan took the prelate’s hand. ‘Cardinal MacManus, this is a pleasure.’
‘My pleasure, sir, and your kindness to accommodate me by coming such a distance. It was not my age or infirmities that kept me from going to you. It was, in fact, my knowledge that it would serve neither of us - might, indeed, be misrepresented in certain circles - if church and state were not kept separate in the public view, despite the truism that the religious and the secular may have a single goal.’
‘I quite understand, Your Eminence,’ said Duncan.
‘Make yourself comfortable,’ said the Cardinal, steering Duncan toward the long brown sofa.
Court
eously Duncan waited for the prelate to settle himself on the sofa, and then Duncan sat down a few feet from him.
‘I shall not mince words,’ the Cardinal said. His voice was dry
and brittle, and sounded like wrapping paper being crumpled and balled in a fist. ‘When one is as old as I am, or as young as you are, one has learned not to waste words or time with interminable social amenities. My secretary informed you of my interest in the trial you are about to undertake and the Church’s desire to assist you as best it can.’
‘He did tell me that, and nothing more. So I am not quite certain what…’
‘ What to expect, eh ? You may be doubtful of what aid I can give you, and if so, that is understandable. You may think that I have you here merely to bless your crusade and to promise you my prayers. Well, indeed, I do bless your enterprise and I do pledge you my prayers. We have a rather good one on behalf of decent literature, one which received the imprimatur of the Archbishop of Cincinnati.’ At once, eyes cast upward, jowls shaking, he began to recite in a deep, crackling voice.’ “O God, Who hast said, ‘Suffer the Little Children to come unto Me,’ assist and bless us in our efforts to arouse public opinion, so that we may eliminate obscene and indecent literature from bookracks and newsstands. With Your Divine Guidance, may the laws be enforced so that this type of literature may no longer exist in our country and throughout the world.” ‘ He caught his breath, wheezed asthmaticaily, then resumed, ‘ “Virgin Mary, whose life is an inspiration to all, watch over us and intercede for us so that our efforts may be successful, through Jesus Christ, Our Lord. Amen.” ’
Awed, Duncan whispered, ‘Thank you, Your Eminence.’
Cardinal MacManus’ hairy nostrils sniffed. ‘If that were all I had to offer you, you would have no reason to thank me. It is not all that I have to offer you. I have much, much more to offer.’ He scratched inside his stiff Roman collar, and the great jewel set in the heavy ring on one finger glittered, as he sat lost in thought for several moments. Then he crossed his arms, stared at the ceiling, and began to speak quietly.
‘I have said we have a common cause. And we do. Our enemies would like to believe that the Church’s only interest is in morality and religion at the sacrifice of freedom of speech. This is not true. We dwell in an ordered society. To keep it ordered and civilized, we must have authority and we must have certain restrictions. Without restrictions, we would have no democratic freedoms left after a time. We would have a godless, pagan society where anarchy reigned and only might made right. The Church wants freedom of speech. We wish to restrict only those who would abuse this freedom. As a Catholic editor has remarked, we do not ask for prudery, we ask only for prudence. We are not, as this editor went on, attempting to be arbiters of the national taste where an adult’s freedom of choice is concerned. We are interested only in curbing obvious obscenity and preventing its corruption of youth. We are defenders of real literature, even vulgar literature if it has
social value and is sincere. We are the opponents only of pornography, of pornography that disguises itself as literature but has no purpose other than to drive the young into lives of sin. This the Church stands against. I cannot believe that your law-enforcement office of the state thinks differently from us. It was not a priest delivering a church sermon, but a spokesman of the Chicago Police Department, who made the statement, “Obscene literature is wanton, depraved, nauseating, despicable, demoralizing, destructive and capable of poisoning any mind at any age. Obscene publications mock the marriage vow, scorn chastity and fidelity, and glorify adultery, fornication, prostitution and unnatural sex relations.” I assume, then, Mr Duncan, we are of one mind about books like The Seven Minutes?’
‘We are of the same mind,’ said Duncan with conviction. ‘We don’t want to weaken freedom, but rather reinforce it by eliminating those who would corrupt it.’
‘Very well. Now, in 1938 the Catholic bishops of the United States, also enlisting the leaders of many other faiths, established NODL - the National Organization for Decent Literature - and they did this, as they stated, “to set in motion the moral forces of the entire country… against the lascivious type of literature which threatens moral, social and national life.” Normally, in a local community action, it would be from NODL’s successor, CDL -Citizens for Decent Literature - that you might expect to receive the Church’s cooperation. However, because the Church views The Seven Minutes as an extraordinarily destructive force, because your case against it exceeds national boundaries and takes on international importance, and because the Church is uniquely equipped to give you special support in this trial, the Church has seen fit to extend cooperation from its very highest level.’
‘The very highest - ?’ Duncan repeated, bewildered.
‘From the Vatican itself. I have received instructions from the Cardinal in charge of the Sacred Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith in the Vatican. Mr Duncan, it is at the personal request of His Holiness the Pope that the Sacred Congregation is volunteering its entire resources to be used on behalf of your case.’
Duncan’s confusion was complete. ‘You mean the Pope - His Holiness - he knows about our trial? I’m surprised - delighted, that he is interested, of course - but I can’t understand why he…’
‘I will enlighten you,’ said Cardinal MacManus. ‘And then I will help you.’
‘Please do,’ said Duncan.
‘To enlighten you, to explain when the seed of our interest in a case such as yours was planted, I must start at the very beginning. Soon after Gutenberg made it possible for books to appear in great quantities in Western Europe - that is to say, after 1454 - the Vatican realized that it must adjust itself to this new phenomenon. Until then the pulpit had been the primary means by which the
priest disseminated knowledge and faith. Now books offered to become a greater transmission agent for good. At the same time, the Vatican became aware of the power of books to spread evil, to subvert men’s minds and hearts and cause them to behave in ways harmful to society and religion. In 1557 under the guidance of Pope Paul IV, the Church acted. It drew up a list of books condemned for reasons of sensuality, mysticism, or heretical ideas, and it published this condemned list as the first Index Librorum Expurgatorius. During the four centuries since its initial publication, the Index has been brought up to date and reissued from time to time. Have you ever seen a copy?’
‘No,’ said Duncan.
‘Let me show you a recent edition.’ The Cardinal rose, hobbled to his desk, picked up a small gray paperbound volume, and returned to the sofa with it. ‘Here it is, five hundred and ten pages, listing approximately five thousand condemned books, each title listed in the language in which it was originally written.’ He opened the Index. ‘Allow me to translate a few remarks from a preface prepared for the 1929 edition, a preface included in this more recent edition which appeared in 1946. It begins,’ the Cardinal translated slowly, ‘ “Throughout its life the Church had always to endure tremendous persecutions of all kinds while the number of its heroes and martyrs grew steadily. But today there is a much more dangerous threat coming from hell: the immoral press. There is no worse danger than that and therefore the Church never ceases to caution the faithful against it.” ’
Cardinal MacManus halted, read silently to himself, and then he resumed. ‘Three or four paragraphs later, the preface clarifies the Church’s position. “It would be wrong to say that condemnation of bad books is a violation of human freedom, for it is clear above everything that the Church teaches that Man’s endowed with freedom by his Creator and that the Church has always upheld this doctrine against whoever dared to deny it. Only those suffering from that plague called liberalism can say that these restrictions put by a legitimate power to libertinism are limitations of Man’s free will: as if Man, being free of his will, were therefore authorized always to do what he wants.” Then the next paragraph. “It is clear, therefore, that Church authorities, by preventing through laws the diffusion of errors, by try
ing to take out of circulation those books apt to corrupt morals’ and Faith, do nothing but save frail human nature from those sins that by its very weakness it can easily incur.”’
He lifted his head. ‘Until 1917, the authority for handling the prohibition of books belonged to the Congregation of the Index. After that, the functions of the Index were taken over by the Curia office known as the Section for the Censure of Books, under the authority of the Supreme Congregation of the Holy Office. But because the Holy Office was long associated in the minds of many
with the Inquisition, and to appease our Protestant brethren, the Holy Office was abolished in 1965 by Pope Paul VI. The work of the Index was then taken over by the less conservative Sacred Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, and it is this office with which we are concerned. Is what I have explained perfectly clear to you?’
‘Absolutely, Your Eminence.’
‘Mr Duncan, there are two principal reasons why a book may be condemned by the Church and thus listed in the Index. As far back as 1399, a manuscript was forbidden if it taught or told stories “sensual or related to matters of flesh,” or if it “aimed at destroying the fundamentals of religion” or “attacked or ridiculed Catholic dogma or the Catholic hierarchy.” In short, to this very day, abook may be condemned on the grounds of immorality on the one hand or heresy on the other hand. Because of immorality, you will find in the pages of the Index such authors as Casanova for his Memoirs and Gustave Flaubert for Madame Bovary, as well as Balzac, D’Annunzio, Dumas pire and fils for their sensual novels, and as recently as 1952, Alberto Moravia for his obscene books. Because of their anticlericalism, unsound theology, outright heresy, you will find in the Index such authors as Laurence Sterne for A Sentimental Journey Through France and Italy, Edward Gibbon for The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Bergson, Croce, Spinoza, Kant, Zola, and more lately, Jean-Paul Sartre, for their irreligious commentaries, histories, philosophies. But very few authors have been condemned for both immorality and heresy. One of the few thus doubly condemned was Andr6 Gide.’
(1969) The Seven Minutes Page 18
