Galileo's Daughter

by Dava Sobel

  The operating theater at the University of Padua

  The quick-witted Sagredo jumps in at this point, bristling that even the remote stars may serve a man in ways he cannot fathom. “I believe that one of the greatest pieces of arrogance, or rather madness, that can be thought of is to say, ‘Since I do not know how Jupiter or Saturn is of service to me, they are superfluous, and even do not exist.’ Because, O deluded man, neither do I know how my arteries are of service to me, nor my cartilages, spleen, or gall; I should not even know that I had gall, or a spleen, or kidneys, if they had not been shown to me in many dissected corpses.”

  Sagredo’s frequent anatomical analogies throughout the Dialogue recall that Andreas Vesalius published his revelations about human anatomy, On the Fabric of the Human Body, in 1543—the same year as Copernicus’s On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres, and with just as much affront to Aristotle. Even while Galileo sat writing the Dialogue nearly a century later, Aristotelians still clung to the heart as the origin of the nerves, though Vesalius had followed their course up through the neck to the brain. Vesalius, who took his medical degree at Padua and lectured all over Italy, had also staged sensational popular demonstrations showing the male and female skeletons to contain the same number of ribs, thus defying the widespread belief, based on the Book of Genesis, that men came one rib short.

  Although Galileo had left his own medical studies behind by the time he began teaching at Padua in 1592, he undoubtedly attended human dissections by torchlight in the university’s tiered anatomical theater, the world’s first such facility, where the cadaver could be raised through a trapdoor in the floor from the canal below, and its body parts burned in a furnace after study. Several of Galileo’s acquaintances on the Padua medical faculty, out of necessity, willed their own mortal remains to the university, to save the anatomists the bother of pillaging the hospitals or begging the bodies of criminals condemned to hang.

  “Besides,” Sagredo sputters at last in frustration with those who would limit the majesty of the universe, “what does it mean to say that the space between Saturn and the fixed stars, which these men call too vast and useless, is empty of world bodies? That we do not see them, perhaps? Then did the four satellites of Jupiter and the companions of Saturn come into the heavens when we began seeing them, and not before? Were there not innumerable other fixed stars before men began to see them? The nebulae were once only little white patches; have we with our telescopes made them become clusters of many bright and beautiful stars? Oh, the presumptuous, rash ignorance of mankind!”

  Thus, to imagine an infinite universe was merely to grant almighty God His proper due.

  [XVI]

  The tempest

  of our

  many torments

  All through the autumn of 1629, Galileo gave himself over to the completion of the Dialogue, which he finished on Christmas Eve. His health remained strong throughout this period, interrupting his three-month burst of creativity only once, in early November, when Suor Maria Celeste and Suor Luisa treated his brief indisposition by sending him five ounces of their vinegary oxymel concoction and some syrup of citron rind to ameliorate its bitter taste.

  Now that Sestilia had assumed the domestic care of Vincenzio through her wedding vows, and also tended lovingly to many of Galileo’s personal needs, Suor Maria Celeste apparently found another way to aid her father. One of her letters suggests that she busied herself recopying his draft manuscript of the Dialogue. Sections Galileo had composed at different times in different formats now needed to be handwritten page by page in perfect penmanship for publication, with corrections and additions pasted in as necessary. When Suor Maria Celeste referred to ritagli or “clippings” already in her possession during November of 1629, reminding him of additional ones he had promised to send before she could set to work on the whole lot, she more than likely meant pieces of the Dialogue that reached her piecemeal. (The book’s original manuscript has not survived, however, nor any description of it that notes whose handwriting it bore.)

  On the short fourth—and final—day of the Dialogue, Galileo rehashed the “Treatise on the Tides” he had given to Cardinal Orsini in 1616, in which he judged the flux and reflux of the sea to be the inevitable result of the Earth’s two motions, one around its own axis, the other around the Sun: As the Earth turns, its daily spinning conspires with its annual revolution to jar the great oceans. Not only can the moving Earth account for the tides, Salviati indicates in his speeches, but also the tides, by their very existence, reveal the motion of the Earth.

  After Simplicio denounces this idea as “fictitious,” the men continue to plumb the confounding complexity of the tides—how they vary in timing, in volume, and in height from one part of the world to another. Salviati suggests that the effort of accounting for these anomalies in the Mediterranean alone led literally to the death of Aristotle: “Some say it was because of these differences and the incomprehensibility of their causes to Aristotle that he, after observing them for a long time from some cliffs of Euboea, plunged into the sea in a fit of despair and willfully destroyed himself.”

  The denouement at that day’s end, when it came time for the three characters to close discussion and draw conclusions, demanded delicate diplomacy, for the text of the third and fourth days advanced compelling physical arguments in support of Copernicus, while the overall tenor of the book needed to preserve the spirit of hypothesis, as Galileo had promised Urban it would.

  “In the conversations of these four days we have, then, strong evidences in favor of the Copernican system,” sums up the hospitable Sagredo, “among which three have been shown to be very convincing—those taken from the stoppings and retrograde motions of the planets, and their approaches toward and recessions from the Earth; second, from the revolution of the Sun upon itself, and from what is to be observed in the sunspots; and third, from the ebbing and flowing of the ocean tides.”

  But Salviati-cum-Galileo, although he has led the discussion in this direction, refuses to endorse Copernicus in the end. He concedes that “this invention“—meaning the heliocentric design— “may very easily turn out to be a most foolish hallucination and a majestic paradox.”

  By such equivocation, Galileo offset his persuasive, often passionate defense of Copernicus. At the end of the Dialogue, he further sought to please Pope Urban by complying with His Beatitude’s wish to see a reprise of the cicada philosophy from The Assayer—the idea that God and Nature possess boundless means for creating the effects observed by men. But Galileo placed these words in the mouth of Simplicio, where their profundity rang shallow: “As to the discourses we have held, and especially this last one concerning the reasons for the ebbing and flowing of the ocean, I am really not entirely convinced,” balks the staunch Aristotelian;

  but from such feeble ideas of the matter as I have formed, I admit that your thoughts seem to me more ingenious than many others I have heard. I do not therefore consider them true and conclusive; indeed, keeping always before my mind’s eye a most solid doctrine that I once heard from a most eminent and learned person, and before which one must fall silent, I know that if asked whether God in His infinite power and wisdom could have conferred upon the watery element its observed reciprocating motion using some other means than moving its containing vessels, both of you would reply that He could have, and that He would have known how to do this in many ways which are unthinkable to our minds. From this I forthwith conclude that, this being so, it would be excessive boldness for anyone to limit and restrict the Divine power and wisdom to some particular fancy of his own.

  And so they part company, hopeful of another fruitful convention on other fascinating themes at some future date.

  As he neared completion of his Dialogue, Galileo anticipated submitting the final text for censorship. Not just sensitive subjects, such as the structure of the universe, but all books on any topics fell under this directive throughout Catholic Europe, following a papal bull issued in 1515 b
y the Medici pope Leo X. Writers seeking publication, this decree stated, must have their manuscripts scrutinized by a bishop of the Church or bishops’ appointees, as well as by the local inquisitor. Printers who started their presses without the requisite permissions faced excommunication, fines, and the burning of their books. For the special case of Germany, fount of the Reformation, Pope Leo perforce prepared another bull five years later, in 1520, prohibiting all works, past and future, from the pen of Martin Luther.

  The Roman Inquisition, after its reorganization in 1542, assumed supervision of printing projects in Italy, and in 1559 promulgated the first worldwide Index of Prohibited Books. In 1564, following the Council of Trent, harsher new restrictions stipulated that authors as well as printers could be excommunicated for publishing works judged heretical. Even the readers of such texts could be so punished. Booksellers, likewise, had to beware, keeping an exact listing of their stock, and standing ever ready for impromptu inspections called by bishops or inquisitors.

  All of Galileo’s previously published works had undergone the requisite scrutiny, for Italian printers obeyed the rules more strictly than most—especially in Rome, home of the Holy Office of the Inquisition. The Starry Messenger, printed in Venice, carried the approbation of the heads of the Venetian law-enforcement agency called the Council of Ten, as well as the resident “Most Reverend Father Inquisitor, the Overseers of Padua University, and the Secretary of the Venetian Senate,” all of whom swore “that in the book entitled Sidereus Nuncius by Galileo Galilei there is nothing contrary to the Holy Catholic Faith, principles, or good customs, and that it is worthy of being printed.”

  Engraving of Galileo by Francesco Villamena

  When Prince Cesi was preparing to print the Sunspot Letters in Rome, he discussed with Cardinal Bellarmino the potential problem of impugning the Sun’s incorruptibility, while Galileo double-checked this point with Cardinal Conti. Neither eminence thought the sunspots would disturb the censors, and in fact the book was licensed without incident.

  The Assayer, too, had negotiated official channels smoothly. But Galileo suspected the substance of the Dialogue might give the censors serious cause for concern.

  MOST BELOVED LORD FATHER

  NOW THAT THE TEMPEST of our many torments has subsided somewhat, I want to make you fully aware of the events, Sire, without leaving anything out, for in so doing I hope to ease my mind, and at the same time to be excused by you, for dashing off my last two letters so randomly, instead of writing in the proper manner. For truly I was half beside myself, shaken by the terror aroused in me and in all of us by our novice mistress, who, overpowered by those moods or frenzies of hers, tried twice in recent days to kill herself. The first time she struck her head and face against the ground with such force that she became monstrously deformed; the second time she stabbed herself thirteen times, leaving two wounds in her throat, two in her stomach, and the others in her abdomen. I leave you to imagine, Sire, the horror that gripped us when we found her body all bloody and battered. But we were even more stupefied at how, as seriously injured as she was, she made the noise that drew us to enter her cell, asked for the confessor, and then in confession handed over to the priest the instrument she had used, so as to prevent any of us from seeing it (although, as far as we can conjecture, it was a pocket knife); thus it appears that she was crazy and cunning at the same time, and the only possible conclusion is that these are mysterious judgments of the Lord, Who still keeps her alive, when for every natural cause she should surely have died, as the wounds were all perilous ones, according to the surgeon; in the wake of these events we have guarded her continuously day and night. Now that the rest of us are recovered, by the grace of blessed God, and she is tied in her bed, albeit with the same deliriums, we continue to live in fear of some new outburst.

  Beyond this travail of ours, I want to apprise you of another anxiety that has been weighing heavily on my heart. The very moment you were so kind as to send me the 20 scudi I had requested (I did not dare to speak freely of this in person, when you asked me recently if I had obtained the cell yet) I went with the money in my hand to find the nun who was selling it, expecting that she, being in extreme necessity, would willingly accept that money, but she simply could not resign herself to relinquishing the cell she loved so much, and since we did not reach an agreement between ourselves, nothing came of it, and I lost the chance to purchase that little room. Having assured you, Sire, that I could indeed obtain it, and then not succeeding, I became greatly troubled, not just on account of being deprived of my own space, but also because I suspected you would get upset, Sire, believing me to have said one thing and done another, though such deceit was never my intention; nor did I even want to have this money, which was causing me such grief. As it happened, the Mother Abbess was confronted at that point with certain contingencies, which I gladly helped her through, and now she, out of gratitude and kindness, has promised me the room of that nun who is sick, the one whose story I told you, Sire, whose room is large and beautiful, and while it is worth 120 scudi the Mother Abbess will give it to me for 80, thus doing me a particular favor, just as she has on other occasions always favored me. And because she knows full well that I cannot pay a bill of 80 scudi, she offers to reduce the price by the 30 scudi that you gave the convent some time ago, Sire, so that with your consent, which I see no reason to doubt, as this seems to me an opportunity not to be missed, I will have all that I could ever want in the way of comfort and satisfaction, which I already know to be of great importance to you. Therefore I entreat your consideration, so that I can give some response to our Mother Abbess, who will be relinquishing her office in a few days, and is currently settling her accounts.

  I also want to know how you feel, Sire, now that the air is slightly more serene, and, not having anything better to send you, I offer a little poor man’s candied quince, by which I mean that I prepared it with honey instead of sugar, so if it is not right for you, perhaps it will satisfy the others; I would not know what to give my Sister-in-law now, in her condition [pregnant Sestilia was near term]. Surely if she had a taste for anything made by nuns, Sire, you would tell us, because we want so much to please her. Nor have I forgotten my obligation to La Porzia [Galileo’s housekeeper], but circumstances have prevented me from making anything as yet. Meanwhile if you have gathered the additional clippings you promised me, Sire, I will be very happy to receive them, as I am holding off work on those I already have until the others arrive.

  I must add that, as I write, the sick nun I mentioned earlier has taken such a turn that we think she is on the verge of death; in which event I will be obliged to give the remainder of the money to Madonna right away, so that she can make the necessary purchases for the funeral.

  In my hands I hold the agate rosary you gave me, Sire, which is excessive and vain for me, while it seems perhaps right for my Sister-in-law. Let me therefore return it to you, so you can learn if she would like to have it, and in exchange send me a few scudi for my present need, so that, if it please God, I believe I really will have the full sum; and in consequence I will no longer be forced to burden you, Sire, for that is what concerns me most. But in fact I do not have, nor do I want to have, others to whom I can turn, except for you and my most faithful Suor Luisa, who wearies herself doing everything she can for me; but in the end we depend upon each other because alone we lack the strength that circumstances so often demand of us. Blessed be the Lord Who never fails to help us; by Whose love I pray you, Sire, to forgive me if I vex you too much, hoping that God Himself will reward you for all the good things you have done for us and continue to do, for which I thank you with all my heart, and I entreat you to excuse me if you find any errors here, because I do not have time to reread this long litany.

  FROM SAN MATTEO, THE 22ND DAY OF NOVEMBER 1629.

  Your most affectionate daughter,

  Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
Jesus.

  Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.

  The rapt repetition of the Franciscan Crown Rosary—the seventy-three Hail Marys, the six Our Fathers, the contemplation of the Joyful Mysteries—required no gilding of agate for a Poor Clare. Wooden beads would work just as well, or even chains of dried, hardened rosebuds.

  Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.

  Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil.

  Galileo gave Suor Maria Celeste the money for her need right away. And early in December Sestilia gave Vincenzio a son—the third and last Galileo Galilei.

  PART THREE

  In

  Rome

  [XVII]

  While seeking to

  immortalige your fame

  By the time Galileo finished writing his book about the world systems, just as December 1629 drew to a close, he had established a new closeness with his daughter. Ever a source of love and financial aid to Suor Maria Celeste, as well as the grateful recipient of her labors, he now began to do favors for her that required the skilled work of his own hands. And she, emboldened either by her recent assistance on the manuscript for the Dialogue or by the maturity of her nearly thirty years, engaged her father with increased confidence. Before too long, the strength of their mutual affection and deepening interdependence would submit to tests neither one of them could yet imagine.