by Ted Riccardi
“Suor Angelica, when you were last in this room, which way was the picture facing?”
The nun hesitated for a moment and said, “The Virgin was facing the wall. The Cardinal’s habit was to turn the picture to the wall on Ash Wednesday and leave it that way until Easter morning. When I asked him why he did that, he said that he did not know.”
“Have you told anyone else what you have told us?”
Suor Angelica avoided Holmes’s eyes as she groped for words.
“I may have mentioned it in passing to Padre Roberto, Cardinal Spontini’s secretary.”
“Thank you, Suora, we shall leave now.”
Holmes rang, and the young priest returned. Holmes asked that the room be once again sealed and that no one be allowed to enter.
“Most interesting, Watson,” he said as we returned to our quarters.
“But Holmes, I must say that all the small things you saw hardly amount to a grand conflict,” said I as we entered our rooms.
“As I have said in the past, Watson, you see but you do not observe. The room, despite its tranquil ambience, has all the signs of conflict. The crucifix I take as a warning to the Cardinal, the broken rosary and bent ring may have been his angry reaction to the invasion of his private chambers. But now, to further the investigation, we must look elsewhere.”
We sat for a time in almost complete silence. Holmes was deep in thought and paid little heed to my questions. There was a sudden knock at the door. Signora Piperno, our landlady, stood there.
“There is a message for Signor Holmes,” she said, “from Inspector Grimaldi.”
Holmes took it from her and we read:
Dear Holmes,
The body of a dead priest has been retrieved from the Tiber.
It is that of the Cardinal. Come at once.
Grimaldi
We left without pause, hailed a cab, and went directly to Grimaldi’s office in the Palace of Justice. Grimaldi greeted us and then reported on the discovery.
“Last night, towards dark,” he said, “a young boy fishing in the river noticed a hat near the river’s edge, not far from Castel Sant’Angelo. He tried to retrieve it with his line and only realized when he pulled that his hook was firmly fixed to the head of a corpse. He informed a carabiniere standing nearby, who called for help, and the body was brought here. It is badly decomposed, but it is undoubtedly that of the Cardinal. Cardinal Spontini, the acting chief of the Curia, has made a positive identification and has informed the Pope.”
“And the cause of death?” asked Holmes.
“Suicide by drowning. A despondent Cardinal killed himself for reasons that are still not certain, but highly probable. In his hand he clutched a note in a woman’s hand. The note is illegible, but the woman’s name, Maria Teresa, can be read at the bottom. This is, of course, that name of the woman he has been associated with in rumours among the populace.”
Grimaldi handed Holmes a folder in which the note had been placed. Holmes examined it carefully. A smile broke on his face.
“May we examine the body?” he asked.
“Of course,” said Grimaldi. “Come, the morgue is at the end of the hall.”
“There will be no autopsy,” he said, “without the Church’s permission. We have yet to perform a complete examination, but we shall supply you with a copy once it is performed.”
Grimaldi motioned to the attendant. A drawer was pulled out to reveal the body. It was that of a man in his mid-fifties, dressed in the black habit of a common priest. We watched as the attendant stripped the body of its clothes. The slender but well-muscled body of a man in the prime of life was revealed. There were no wounds on the body.
Holmes made his own examination, carefully observing the head and hands and then the chest and feet. He turned the face upwards. Badly deteriorated, it had been smeared with vermilion. Holmes looked at me but said nothing.
“Please come, Watson, I have seen enough. Signor Grimaldi, vi ringrazio. We shall be in touch.”
Once on the street, Holmes grinned.
“Most interesting, Watson. What did you make of it?”
“A tragedy, the most popular of cardinals dead in his prime.”
“No, Watson, not at all. That is not the body of a cardinal. If the Cardinal is dead, his corpse is yet to be discovered. This is a ruse, clever but not clever enough.”
He paused for a moment in thought and then said, “Or perhaps clever and rather bold, even impertinent. The vermilion face . . . we must find its meaning. Something in memory . . .”
“But Holmes, how do you know it is not the Cardinal?”
“Forgive me, Watson. I should have asked you to examine the corpse as well. We would have benefited from your opinion, but I doubt that it would have differed substantially from mine. The hands alone would tell you, Watson. They are the hands of a workman, a mason probably. The rough skin is not the result of the Tiber’s waters but of a lifetime of heavy work. The scarred nails filled with stone dust and mortar were so part of the man that they survived a long bath in the Tiber. Poor fellow, he did not die of drowning in the Tiber but of a fall. I detected multiple fractures of the ribs, and a bad concussion that probably killed him. And one more thing.”
“And what is that?” I asked.
“Grimaldi knows as well as we do that this is not the body of Cardinal Corelli.”
I was completely perplexed by this statement.
“But why the further ruse?
“Ah,” said Holmes, “Grimaldi is an old tiger, clever and tenacious. He has joined the fray. He knows, as do all Italians, that the Church is first a human institution, and that it runs on human principles, however much those who run it would have it otherwise. The long reign of Leo the Thirteenth is now drawing to a close, and we are witnessing the first signs of the struggle for power. It has already begun. Indeed, it began with the disappearance of Cardinal Corelli. It will end only when a new pope is elected. These men will do anything to control the Papacy. And all of Italy.”
Holmes looked at his watch. “By now, Watson, Grimaldi will have announced the news from the Palazzo della Giustizia. Rome will be filled with it. It is therefore time for us to pay a call on Cardinal Spontini, a most jubilant prelate at this moment, but one destined for an inevitable fall.”
As we entered the Vatican, we were directed to Spontini’s office. Suor Angelica was there. She had been crying, for she had just received the news of the death of Cardinal Corelli. Spontini led her out as we entered.
“Let her not go far,” said Holmes.
“As you wish, Mr. Holmes.” He told Suor Angelica to remain and closed the door. As he returned to his seat I observed him. A short but elegant man with silver hair, he was what I would have thought the great French cardinals looked like. This one resembled, if anything, an Italianate Richelieu.
“The terrible news is upon us, and I have just informed the Holy Father, who was distraught when I told him,” said he.
“Indeed,” said Holmes, “we have just come from the morgue.”
“I too visited and of course identified the body.”
Holmes was silent for a moment. His face was without expression when he began to speak.
“A mistake, indeed perhaps a grave one on your part, Your Excellency, for as you well know the body is not that of Cardinal Corelli. You, a prince of church, have committed a false identification at the Palazzo della Giustizia . . . Grimaldi’s trap, I think.”
The Cardinal showed no emotion.
“I made an honest identification.” he said firmly.
“La sua posizione, caro mio,” said Holmes bitingly, “è ancora più gravissima. For not only did you willfully and most falsely identify the corpse, you had it put there to float in the Tiber.”
Spontini grew angry. “Be careful, Mr. Holmes, you are speaking to a prince of the Church,” said he.
Holmes ignored his remark and continued.
“I noticed, caro principe, upon our first visit here that sca
ffolding had been raised on the east side of this building. In talking to the masons, I learned that one of them, one Francesco Sarubbi, fell to his death two weeks ago. He was buried in a local potters’ field since he had apparently no family. A talk with the custodian at the cemetery confirmed that the body was exhumed by orders from the Vatican, from the head of the Propaganda Fide, a position that only you hold, if I am not mistaken. It is the body of the poor Sarubbi that lies in the morgue.”
“Basta con queste bugie,” said Spontini.
“But there is more, far more. You are also the head of a long-banned cell within the Propaganda Fide known as La Faccia Vermiglia, the Vermilion Face, if you will. Its purpose is the purification of the clergy of the Church. It has its origins in the twelfth century, perhaps as early as the Inferno of Dante, in which the vermilion face of Satan chews for all eternity the body of the betrayer, Judas Iscariot. And so, dear Cardinal, in addition to your official labours, you searched for a heretic or worse among your colleagues. To your profound pleasure you found that the man you hated the most, Corelli, was even worse than a heretic.”
“A Jew,” said Spontini with clenched teeth. “It was my Christian duty to fight his presence and to stop him from becoming the next Pope. I am determined to drive him from the Church. He is a converso, who turns the Virgin Mary’s picture to the wall. I have given him ample warning. He hides, however, waiting to return.”
“I suspected as much as soon as I discovered myself the picture of the Virgin Mary, its face to the wall and replaced by a hideously disfigured crucifix. All of this was perpetrated to warn Corelli that he could not remain in the Church, let alone in a high place, unless you approved.”
The Cardinal turned ashen as Holmes spoke, forcefully and with the greatest disdain.
“What is your price?” asked the Cardinal.
“I have none. Your fate lies with the Pope. My suggestion would be, however, that you resign from the Cardinalate and that you lead the rest of your life as a penitent. And of course, neither Cardinal Corelli nor your reluctant mistress, Suor Angelica, is to be harmed in any way.”
I myself was shocked at the latest revelation. Holmes rose, went to the door, and brought in the nun.
“It is through you,” said Holmes to the cringing woman, “that Spontini learned of the picture. It is through you that he was able to enter the Cardinal’s room and plant the crucifix with the vermilion face on the wall, the sign that Christ himself had been transformed into the betrayer, the Jew, Judas Iscariot. You may tell us in your own words why you did these things.”
Suor Angelica looked at the Cardinal with loathing.
“Many good lives have been ruined by this man and his evil ambitions. I am merely one among them. For years he pursued me—since my arrival, in truth. Always Corelli protected me. We were like brother and sister.”
Spontini tried to stop her, but Holmes intervened.
“It all began on Ash Wednesday of this year. I had gone to Saint Paul’s for Corelli to hear my confession. When I was through, I knelt in a pew not far from the confessional to say my prayers. It was then that I noticed a beautiful woman, possibly an Austrian by her beautiful clothes, enter the confessional. She was the last to give a confession. She stayed a long time, but when she came out she said no prayers, but waited for the Cardinal to come forth. They left together.”
She paused to regain her composure.
“I suddenly felt myself seized by an overpowering jealousy. I raced back to the Vatican. I found the Cardinal Corelli already in his room at his desk. I asked him who the woman was. He was taken aback by my question, but in his gentle way he smiled and said, “Just a woman who wanted to talk to me.”
“He then went over to his bed and turned the Virgin’s picture to the wall.”
“I left without a word. The turning of the picture I had seen many times before, but this time I took as a direct affront, since I had given it to him. In my anger I went to this man and told him of the woman and the painting. Because I had described her as an austrica, he laughingly gave her the name of Maria Teresa, which his agents spread through the city. For a brief moment I found solace in his arms. From then on my life became a living hell, with this man threatening me at every turn unless I told him of all of Corelli’s activities.
“On the night of this past Holy Thursday, Spontini and I entered the Cardinal’s room and hung the crucifix on the wall. Spontini applied vermilion to the crucifix and marked the satanic verses in the missal on the desk. Corelli returned. I heard him shout in anger at what he saw in his room. The following morning he left, never to be seen alive again.”
“I shall report to the Pope immediately,” said Holmes. “I shall be lenient with you, Suor Angelica.”
At eight o’clock that evening, a priest dressed in black was seen to enter an osteria near Piazza Rinaldi. The osteria was run by a family from Salerno. The priest, known as Padre Giovanni, was on good terms with the proprietor, Signor Barca, and served as the family priest, performing baptisms and other sacraments for the family. Signora Barca went out of her way to prepare his favorite foods.
The priest seemed troubled this evening. Signor Barca brought him a liter of his favorite wine. The priest sipped it slowly, but none of his humour or affability came forward. He smiled wanly and sat as if waiting.
Holmes and I were the next to enter. Holmes looked at the priest, smiled at him, and we took our seats at an appropriate distance. Except for the two of us and the priest the osteria was empty, for it was still an early hour to sup by Roman standards.
The priest paid little attention to us but stood up as a woman entered. He greeted her warmly. They smiled at each other and began speaking in German. They ate quickly and left.
Holmes and I followed them discreetly and watched as they stopped at a door near the Porta d’Ottavia. As they prepared to enter, Holmes approached them.
“Scusi,” said Holmes, “I would like a word with you.”
“Dica,” said the priest.
“Cardinal Corelli, the Pope has asked me to ascertain your whereabouts and your safety. My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is my friend, Dr. Watson.”
Visibly taken aback, the Cardinal motioned us through the door.
“I know who you are. I knew that you would eventually find me. This is my long-lost sister, Maria Teresa,” said the priest.
We climbed to the first floor, where we entered a small flat which, judging by its sparse furniture and general shabbiness, looked more like a way station than a residence.
“These have been my quarters since I left the Vatican on Good Friday. Tell me, Mr. Holmes, I have heard recent rumours of my death and the discovery of my body floating in the Tiber. Is it so? All arranged by Spontini, of course, as a warning to me not to return.”
“Quite right, Your Excellency. I can assure you, however, that Spontini is well taken care of. The Pope has removed him from the Cardinalate and assigned him to work in a poor house in Isernia, a fitting coda to a misspent career in the Church. But tell me, how did you come to this decision to leave the Vatican, as if you left the Church itself?”
The Cardinal’s sister spoke.
“I am to blame,” she said in English, “for much of the disturbance to my brother. I am his older sister and in that terrible earthquake in which we lost our parents and two other brothers, I was also presumed to be dead. I was found wandering in a daze and brought to an orphanage in Benevento, where I was raised. I had no idea that my brother had survived nor he that I had. When I was thirteen, I was traced by relatives and brought to Vienna, where they had moved from Italy. I was raised there in good circumstances but always hopeful that, as I had, one or more of my brothers had survived. Then not long ago, I saw a picture of Cardinal Corelli in a Viennese newspaper. His resemblance to my youngest brother was astonishing. I thought long and hard about trying to see him. You see, we were a Jewish family, and he a prince of the Church. I decided, however, that I had to know the truth. I came to Rom
e and went to St. Paul’s to offer my confession to the Cardinal. It was the only place where I could meet him secretly. I entered as any parishioner, frightened but hopeful of what I might learn. In a few minutes, we had established our relationship beyond a doubt. You can imagine with what joy we discovered each other after so many years. My brother accompanied me to this place and returned to the Vatican. It was Ash Wednesday.”
“There,” said the Cardinal, “as I was about to turn the Virgin’s picture to the wall, an action which I had done without thinking all my life, Suor Angelica entered. She was distraught, and I knew it was over my sister, about whom she had made erroneous assumptions. I tried to calm her without telling her anything, for I was afraid Spontini would learn of my Jewish ancestry and use it against me.
“On Good Friday, I returned to my room after hearing confessions to find that my quarters had been entered. The Christ with the vermilion face had been hung above my bed. Its message was not lost on me. I became angered. I threw my ring onto the table, tried to crush it in my hand, and tore my rosary in pieces. My missal had been opened to the lines from an Easter hymn of praise to the Lord, but they had been tampered with so that they brought to mind Satan and his chewing of Judas Iscariot, the great Jewish betrayer. I left in anger and did not know whether I would ever return. I knew I could not fight Spontini, for he had his evil ambitions that drove him forward. I chose to live here in the ghetto with my sister. Free from the cares of the Church for the first time in my life, I began to debate whether or not I should leave. I still have not decided.”
“The Pope was gratified to learn that you were alive and well,” said Holmes.
“I shall speak to him in the morning,” said the Cardinal.
We took our leave and returned to our quarters.
“Well, Holmes, what do you think he will do?”I asked.
“I do not speculate, Watson. Either way, it is a difficult decision.”
A few days later, it was announced that Cardinal Corelli had decided to remain in his position in the Church. The news was greeted with joy by the people of Rome.
