Two days later the coronation procession took place. A trumpet sounded. Rome fell silent. The Pope stepped outside, a white, almost phallic streak that moved with awesome gravity down the steps of St. Peter’s cathedral, onto the square. He carried in one hand, like a staff, the erect cross. The crowd parted, as if cloven in two by an axe. Two women fainted. The heels of his shoes could be heard on the brickwork. A magnificent white boulonnais horse was brought forth, which he mounted. He made his way down the via della Conciliazione and then along the Corso Vittorio Emanuele II. Nine hundred priests and cardinals followed him. There were floats displaying allegorical images and draped with pithy Latin sayings. Many fell to their knees as he passed. All remarked on the dignity of the new Pope’s appearance.
During those first days and nights the Roman people celebrated the ordination of the new Pope as if it were Carnival. The revel and rejoicing was enthusiastic to an unparalleled degree. It was like a massive, unmitigated public orgy. There were bonfires in the streets, songs sung and candlelight processions. Pictures of Torturo, now Lando the Second, hung from windows and were stationed around the city’s great monuments amongst garlands of flowers. All shops were closed and, young and old alike, paraded through the streets in uninterrupted merriment. The Pope was young; the Pope was Italian. Wine and bread were given out gratis. Barilla made a special pasta, in the shape of a fish, and dubbed it landotori for the occasion. Even some Protestants were pleased with the choice; the city of Bern struck off a medal in his honour.
Others, those Christians more radically apposed to popishness, declaimed him as the Antichrist.
Chapter Thirteen
The day after his coronation the new pope called Vivan and Zuccarelli to him, for a private audience.
The two men were shown through the Sala degli Arazzi, its walls adorned with magnificent Gobelin tapestries, into the Throne Room. Pope Lando the Second sat at the far end, on his majestic seat. He was dressed all in white, except for a crimson hood which sat on his shoulders. A priceless Spanish carpet lay between the door and the throne. Vivan stepped forward first, minced through the stately chamber, climbed the steps leading to the throne and fell to his knees, kissing the Pope’s right foot, which rested on a crimson pillow. Zuccarelli strode forward. Five meters before the Pope he dropped to one knee, bowed and rose. He proceeded forward, climbed the steps to the throne, bowed and kissed the Pope’s hand.
Pope Lando the Second spoke.
“Both of you have been of inestimable service,” he said gravely, “and, now that I am in a position to show my appreciation, I intend to do so.”
Zuccarelli nodded his head, as if to say: “I expected nothing less.”
“The three of us have a bond,” the Pope continued. “Though not strictly a bond of friendship, it is none the less precious. Though it is true that spirituality and perfection are not necessarily connected with advancement in our holy order, we still, each of us, are happy to advance. I have advanced. You shall each advance. We advance together.”
Vivan was affected. His eyes became watery. He was speechless.
The Primate of Italy proceeded:
“Cardinal Zuccarelli, I bestow on you the post of Secretary of State of the Vatican and also make you Cardinal-Deacon with the title of SS. Silvestro e Martino ai Monti.”
Zuccarelli bowed. “I am honoured,” he said.
“Bishop Vivan, I make you my personal assistant in all matters, as well as Cardinal-Priest with the title SS. Cosmas and Damian.”
“Oh, wonderful!” Vivan giggled and then, after giving a great, sweeping bow, fell to his knees and kissed the Pope’s hand. “Did I not tell you his offer was good,” he said, rising and turning to Zuccarelli.
Zuccarelli admitted it was so.
“Oh, we have wonderful days ahead of us,” Vivan cried, clapping his palms together. “And my mother will be thrilled – simply thrilled!”
“We are certainly in an enviable position,” Zuccarelli commented.
“Your positions certainly are enviable,” the Pope said, “and I feel confident that your time will be spent both agreeably and productively. That is as it should be. But I do have one condition to impose.”
Both men looked up inquiringly. Zuccarelli stuck out his chin.
“My only condition to bestowing these titles, to sharing all this opulence with the two of you, is that you both do me credit. Use the salt of prudence. Make sure not to dishonour me. Do not sully your offices. Be discreet.”
“Discreet Holy Father?” Vivan asked.
“Yes. You probably have not run across the word yet in your reading, but I expect you to learn its definition: I require you to be both careful and tactful in what you say and do.”
“I am sure you will find no reason to complain of our behaviour or regret your trust,” Zuccarelli said.
“I do not suppose it otherwise. I am simply stating the obvious so that there is no mistake. Now: Later in the week we will meet in order to outline your exact duties. Meanwhile I imagine you each have many things to wrap up back in Padua. Please do so and return as quickly as possible: Your residences from henceforth are here, in the Vatican, near my person.”
Both men expressed their complete compliance, bowed and moved towards the exit. Vivan turned, on his way out, and blinked.
“Is there anything else?” the Primate of Italy asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Vivan blushed. “I only wanted to say that you look exceptionally majestic in white!”
The door shut behind the two ecclesiastics. The Pope rose from his seat and began to pace the room. His dormant season was at an end. It was now the time for action; he needn’t hide his light under a bushel. The world expected great things from him, and he had every determination to give the world great things.
He sent a message to Di Quaglio, requesting his immediate presence. Ten minutes later the plump little man came bustling into the Throne Room, a giant leather ledger under one arm. He bowed.
“You wanted to see me Summus Pontifex?”
“Yes. There are a few matters I want to discuss with you. In the time of my predecessor, you were the Secretary of Finance of the Vatican, were you not?”
“I was.”
“That will not do.”
“Oh!”
“That will not do. I want you nearer to my person.”
“As you wish Holy Father.”
“You were a great help during the conclave, and I believe you are fit for greater responsibilities. Would you object to being the Sub-Prefect of the Sacred Apostolic Palace?”
“Not in the least Your Holiness!”
“You will retain your original position as Secretary of Finance, but you will have this one as well, – But you must pledge to me your complete subservience and obedience.”
“I – I do,” the little man stammered.
“You must keep an eye out for my interests. Watch over all my underlings. Report to me any mischief you discover.”
“Certainly.”
“Monitor all comings and goings.”
“Certainly.”
“Monitor the phone lines.”
“Yes Summus Pontifex.”
“What is that you have under your arm?”
“The ledger summing up the finances of the Vatican.”
“Fine, set it down over there . . . Yes, that will do.”
“Do you require me further?”
“Yes; – I have business to conduct . . . I want all public access cut off from the Sistine Chapel and the Vatican museums.”
“But, Your Holiness, to deny public access . . .”
“Yes, deny it. The residential section around the Cortile de San Domasco is ridiculously small for the sole Patriarch of the Western Church. Of the thousand or so rooms, only two-hundred are set aside for my use, a quantity which is grossly inadequate. The chapel as well as the majority of museum buildings must be sequestered for private purposes.”
“Your Holiness, I am not sure if you realise it or n
ot, but the chapel, aside from being a most sanctified place, is also a considerable source of capital. Millions of tourists visit it each year and, at nine euros a head . . .”
“My dear fellow,” the Pope said imperiously, “I am not a cattle rancher or pig farmer to be concerned with head-count, nor do I much fancy my residence as a kind of Catholic Disney Land. It would be greatly appreciated if you did not second guess my decisions. Remember, Christ proclaimed that it was my choice to bind or loose as I choose. The legislative authority of Saint Peter falls upon me . . . The relics of the holy saints will, in any case, remain in Rome. If people want to pay to see something, let it be those, and let them be enlightened thereby. The most important task for you at present is to make sure that the holy personage who utters these words is scrupulously obeyed and comforted. Going against the grain, the grain being I, is not a habit of which the cultivation is recommended.”
Just as Pius II, Paul II and Innocent VIII made changes to the Papal residence, so did the present Summus Pontifex. Pope Lando the Second cared not a whit what the world might think. His fists were made not to coddle but to crush. The Vatican, partially cleared of its touristic and pecuniary aspect was thus greatly increased in useable size.
Leonardo’s St. Jerome and the Stefaneschi triptych of Giotto he had removed to his own sleeping chambers. The paintings which defaced the walls of the modern picture gallery were removed and, along with the giant canvas by Matejko, sold at auction. The entire collection of Egyptian antiquities, except for the papyri, he had returned to the government of that country, a move which gained him much acclaim in previously antagonistic quarters.
Vivan, instructed to decorate his chambers as he pleased and given full access to the Vatican treasures of art, exposed his feral nature. Being an adamant admirer of manly beauty he placed, in the centre of his office, the giant gilt bronze statue of Hercules which Pius IX paid such vast sums for. Around this he stationed the Apollo Sauroktonos, a bust of a young boy from the Sala dei Busti, and the Satyr from the Gabinetto delle Maschere. The walls he hung with valuable tapestries and paintings, including some by Guido Reni, Titian and Caravaggio. Small Greek sculptures, from the Galleria Chiaramonti, he scattered throughout the corners and nooks, paying no heed to which were originals and which reproductions, and interspersed them with Etruscan vases. His cabinets he filled with vessels of all type and shape, including a kylix by Xenophantos, an amphora by Epiktetos and a somewhat risque majolica plate by Georgio Andreoli. Next to his desk he placed the Belvedere Apollo.
The wonderful Sistine chapel, one-hundred and thirty-three feet long and forty-six feet wide, cleared of the ever stampeding train of upright livestock, was quickly converted into an office for Pope Lando the Second, where he could comfortably go about the business of the day in an environment that was to his liking. The tasteless, manneristic end frescoes over the door he had replaced by a Roman mosaic of the third century with figures of a stag and birds and another mosaic taken from the Porto San Lorenzo depicting Achilles dragging the body of Hector. A large oak desk was set up beneath The Last Judgment, upon which he put his writing gear and a telephone that was connected to the outer office where his secretary, Cardinal-Priest Vivan, sat, admiring the Belvedere torso while awaiting instructions.
“It is most unusual,” Cardinal Gonzales complained when he saw the alterations taking place. “After all, this is the court chapel and is considered to be reserved for papal ceremonies and elections. Thus, even if we are to deny public access, I am not sure if it is acceptable for use as an office.”
“Signore Gonzales, my using the chapel as an office will in no way impede the usual ceremonies,” was the reply of the Archbishop of the Roman Province. “I am flexible. The ceremonies which previously took place here will be transposed to the Cappella Paolina. As for your second point: A papal election can only take place when I am dead. Under such circumstances I would certainly not object to your doing as you wish with the space.”
The sole Patriarch of the Western Church naturally had his way. This chamber, the famous Sistine Chapel, was, for the most part, kept sparse. The frescoes of Perugino, Michelangelo, Pinturicchio, Botticelli, Ghirlandajo, Pier di Cosimo, Rosselli, Signorelli and della Gatta were the sole décor on the walls. The twelve stained-glass windows, which had been given by the Prince Regent Leopold of Bavaria, were removed, sold at auction by Sotheby’s and replaced by plain semi-opaque glass, which let in far more light and were not half so ugly. Toward the back end of the room, the last third beyond the beautiful marble barrier, His Holiness set up a personal library of those books and manuscripts which he felt a need of immediate access to. In the centre, more or less beneath the Creation of Adam, was a small wooden table, big enough to seat four, on which were perpetually placed equipment for satisfying his hunger at any hour, videlicet a jug of Montepulciano wine, a partial form of parmigiano reggiano, a bowl of black olives and a loaf of rye bread. A young man from Mantova named Lucio was kept in an outer chamber, stationed before an espresso machine, his sole job being to make the said beverage at an instant’s notice, at any given hour of the day or night, and have it delivered within two minutes of its being asked for at the door of the potentate.
He had a couch set up to one side of the room upon which to lie and at the far end he kept glass cases containing items particular to himself: the skin of a bushcat, eagles’ claws, snail shells, feathers, tails and heads of snakes, the horns of antelopes, goats and gazelles, a dried buffalo’s liver, the teeth and claws of a leopard, herbs and nuts. He had no intention whatsoever of neglecting his studies. Though he was far from a fool, he was not devoid of pride. He had had great successes and believed himself capable of still greater. Christ Jesus had been sent forth from the presence of the invisible beings as a saviour, for the deliverance of men. Lando would also deliver men; – deliver them from their own wickedness, and let it be seen that he too was a saviour. From the abyss of darkness he would rule with the light of justice and truth. He was convinced that his mission was not far from divine.
He brought his cousin Marco from Padua and had him ordained, something the poor man had long wished for. Marco shed tears of joy. His heart danced in his chest.
“Thank you ever so much Holy Father,” he said. “I am extremely eager to begin my religious duties.”
“Certainly,” the Pope replied, “But please be aware that I might call on you if I need help with security measures.”
“Security measures?”
“Yes. If I need to implement disciplinary measures I might call on you. Be prepared.”
Meanwhile Gonzales was finding his position in the Vatican more and more untenable. During the previous Pope’s reign he had been of supreme importance, influencing the feeble old man in almost all decisions of moment. With Lando it was different. Not only had he gravely embarrassed Gonzales during the conclave, but now that he was in office, he had stripped him of nearly all his responsibilities. Gonzales spent his days wandering about the palace like a ghost, seeing activity everywhere but unable to take a meaningful role in any of it. Even the majority of South American cardinals, following the dictates of self interest, had more or less abandoned him.
“What do you expect,” Hojeda said. “You failed to get me elected and now, in my place, we have an Italian who tells us to quit our missionary exploits along the Amazon Basin. He seems to think that the indigenous people are not in need of salvation.”
“A man like this cannot last long,” Gonzales said.
“Not last long? He is not yet forty years old and he seems to be in optimum health. I believe he will see us both in our graves.”
“No,” Gonzales insisted desperately. “He cannot last long.”
Cardinal Gonzales, though by no means a brilliant man, could not help but see that the new Pope desired to change the course of the Catholic church. He missed no opportunity to whisper calumnies against the successor of Saint Peter. “It is a frightening thing,” he would say, “when we consider th
e vision of the angel Gabriel, and how he describes a king of a most fierce countenance who understands dark questions, and is exceedingly powerful, and full of false wonders. Gabriel says that he shall corrupt, direct, influence, and put strong and holy men down. He will derail the church. Deceit shall be in his hand, and he will lead many to perdition, bruising them in his hand like eggs.”
The Pope meanwhile worked with activity. He did indeed desire to change the course of the church and took no pains to hide the fact. It seemed to him a crude thing to spend so much effort in the prostelesation of third world nations. The men who were assigned such tasks were usually brutes of feeble intellect who no more understood the words of the gospel than parrots. To have such men as his representatives he considered to be disgraceful. As it was, the faith of Europeans was in the midst of a remarkable decline. There was an upsurge in young Italian atheists. The priesthood was in a state of decay. For the most part, only the most feeble young men, young men who were too weak to endure the hardships of the real world, took up the calling.
“Our duty lies pre-imminently in our home land,” he said. “We need to make Christ Jesus fashionable once more. We need to divert our youth from the football field and into the seminary. We must herd our young women out of the discotheques and into the nunneries.”
“But young people these days want to join the workforce,” Di Quaglio suggested. “They wish to be part of the world economy.”
“World economy be damned!” the sole Patriarch of the Western Church cried in annoyance. “Italy is the greatest nation on earth and I will see it burning in hell before I see it turned into the slave of Brussels. The nation that produced Leonardo da Vinci, Dante and Machiavelli will not be the producer of light bulbs and eyeglasses for England and America.”
The Translation of Father Torturo Page 10
