by Morris West
The waiter came back to clear the pasta dishes, carve the veal and offer a second flask of wine.
“Can we manage it?” Rossini asked.
“I need it,” said Hallett. “Perhaps we’ll find wisdom in the bottom of the bottle.”
“Better, I think, that wisdom be justified in her children.” He said it with a laugh and then raised his glass to Hallett. “I’m honoured that you’ve confided in me. I know how dangerous it is to be alone when a crisis hits.”
“I believe you do,” said Hallett. “The thing I fear most is that I could be so needy that I might enslave myself, utterly demean myself to a lover.”
“In particular, the young man from the Archive?”
“In a way, yes. He’s like a young god, proud in his youth. I’m what? An ageing cleric with the seven-year itch. Not a pretty picture, is it?”
“It’s a sad picture, my friend. My heart weeps for you.”
“I wish I could weep. I can’t. I’m just so bloody ashamed of my own need. Do you have needs, Luca?”
“I do. Not the same needs as yours, but yes, I have them.”
“How do you cope?”
“Not very well.” Rossini smiled. Hallett persisted with the question.
“‘This kind is not cast out except by prayer and fasting’. Is that what you’re saying?”
“That hasn’t been my experience.” There was a sharp edge to his retort. Hallett apologised.
“I’m sorry. I stepped over the line. I should tell you I’ve been thinking of leaving the priesthood. It would be one less burden to bear, one fear less to carry. You know how exposed we are these days to scandal and litigation.”
“I know very well. As a Church we have yet to learn how to cope with our own humanity. If you left, would you be able to sustain yourself professionally?”
“Without a doubt – even with the handicap of age. In my own narrow field, I’m one of the best in the world.”
“Then you should think calmly about it as a possible decision. There is a process to go through if you want a formal release with all the seals in the right places. I’d try to shorten it for you if I could; but God knows where I’ll end up under a new Pontiff. You don’t have to make a decision yet. You don’t want a crisis situation with your friend.”
“He’s not likely to create it. I am.”
Rossini was silent for a moment, toying with a new thought, then abruptly he put it to Hallett.
“First you need to cool off.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I was thinking of a retreat.”
Hallett gaped at him in surprise and anger.
“Come on, Luca! Not from you of all people! Cold showers and a hairshirt – and some solitary confinement!”
“Not at all! As a conclavist, I am entitled to bring with me a minimal staff. I was thinking of taking someone from my office. You can have the job if you want.” His eyes lit up and his mouth relaxed into a boyish grin. “At least it will keep you off the streets and put you in the company of your elders and betters.”
“That’s uncommonly kind of you. You’re right, it might provide a therapeutic shock to the system, but what happens afterwards?”
Rossini, still smiling, refused the challenge.
“One day at a time, Piers. That’s all we’re given; that’s all we can take, any of us. We invoke the Holy Spirit to guide us in the conclave. Maybe the Spirit will speak to you.”
“Are you expecting Him – or should it be Her? – to speak to you, Luca? Give you a name for your voting card?”
“At this moment,” said Luca Rossini lightly, “the Spirit and I are out of touch with each other. You don’t have to answer yet about the conclave. Just think about it for a day or so. Pour me some more wine like a good fellow!”
Five
Early the next morning, Monsignor Angel-Novalis was summoned to a conference with the Camerlengo, the Secretary of State, Rossini and three other Cardinals. They were assembled for one of the curial committee meetings which would take place every day until the conclave began. Rossini laid out a proposal for Angel-Novalis.
“You have accepted to speak today, as a private person, at the Foreign Press Club. As that same private person, we ask, but do not command, a service from you. If you agree, you will make few friends and some enemies in the high clergy. You will expose yourself to harassment and a possible lawsuit with big financial risks. We have explained the risks to your superior and assured him that we shall underwrite them. However, you will not be able to reveal that now or later. If things go wrong, there may well be some damage to your public career in the Church. Are you prepared for that?”
“I am not a careerist, Eminence. My talents, such as they are, were placed long ago at the disposal of my superiors.”
“Good. For this role, we need a very good actor.”
“I’m a passable actor, Eminence. I’m not a good liar.”
“You will not be asked to lie. You will be required to offer a hypothesis to your audience. We should like you to offer it with as much personal conviction as possible.”
“Is it a reasonable hypothesis?”
“We believe it is.”
“But you can’t prove it?”
“At this moment, no.”
“So you want me to see how it flies with the media?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me what you are trying to achieve?”
“We want to throw the press a bone – a very big bone – which they can gnaw over until the conclave begins. After that, this unfortunate affair will fade into history.”
“And I am to be the bone?”
“Exactly. How do you feel about that?”
“I’m prepared to hear you out. As you say, gentlemen, in this I am a private person.”
“Who may soon be very public.” Rossini returned his smile. “Here is what we propose.”
Angel-Novalis heard him out in silence; then gave a thin smile.
“Your evidence would be worthless in a court of law, Eminence. You know that.”
“We are not asking you to present evidence, only to make a public assertion of a private opinion.”
“That’s pure casuistry, Eminence.”
“I know it is. You know it is. The press doesn’t – and our friend Figaro will assume we know a great deal more than you are saying. Most importantly, you will have introduced into the whole affair a useful element of doubt. Will you do it for us?”
“I will do it,” said Angel-Novalis. “I shall try to compose myself to total obedience, of mind, heart and will. Now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen.”
“You are excused, Monsignore. We thank you for your co-operation.”
“De nada, Eminencia. In Spain we make fine swords and fine distinctions! By your leave, gentlemen!”
He bowed himself out of the meeting. As soon as he was gone, the Camerlengo turned to Rossini: “Now, my dear Luca, we have a commission for you, too.”
“What is the commission?”
“Our eminent colleague, Aquino, would like to meet with you this afternoon. He feels that there are issues between you which need to be resolved. We are of the same opinion.”
There was a long silence. Rossini looked from one member of the group to the other. They did not meet his look. They sat eyes downcast, their hands folded in their laps. Finally, Rossini asked:
“Has Aquino defined the issues between us?”
“He has,” said the Camerlengo. “And we’d be grateful if you spared us the embarrassment of rehearsing them.”
“Have you thought of the embarrassment to me?”
“We have, Luca. We believe you are a big enough man to wear it.”
“In whose interest?”
“In the interest of the Church. Another scandal at this time and on the eve of the conclave would be highly embarrassing.”
“We need more than embarrassment! We need to be shamed!” There was anger in Rossini’s tone. “We have cover
ed too many scandals. This one is already out. It is firmly planted in the newspapers. It has to be dealt with openly. I will not be party to any conspiracy of concealment.”
There was another moment of silence, after which the Secretary of State himself intervened.
“It is for that reason, Luca, that we think your meeting with Aquino is important. You can reason with him on a level different from ours. You may even find some ground of compassion which would encourage him to confront his accusers. You may perhaps break through to the real man behind all the enamel.”
“If there is such a man,” said Luca Rossini.
“You have to believe there is,” said the Secretary of State. “Will you please meet with him?”
“On whose ground, his or mine?”
“Mine,” said the Secretary of State. “Two-thirty in Conference Room A.”
“I shall be there, but understand, I make no promises on the outcome.”
“We understand that. Thank you, Luca … Now, if we may pass on to the rest of the agenda.”
When he stood at the lectern in the Foreign Press Club, facing an audience of media folk and a battery of television cameras, Angel-Novalis had the air of an ancient hidalgo, challenging all comers. When he began to speak, however, his tone was simple, almost humble:
“My dear colleagues, I speak to you today as a private man, caught, as you are, in a millennia! moment in this ancient city. I have never explained myself to you before. As a Vatican official, I felt that would have been improper. As a private man, I can be open with you. You know that I am a member of the Priestly Society of the Holy Cross, better known to you as Opus Dei. Many people don’t approve of us. They judge that we are elitists, rigorists, old-fashioned ascetics, dangerous dealers in secret works. I am not here either to defend our reputation or our practice of the religious life. I declare simply that when my world was falling about me, when my wife and children were killed, when I had neither wish nor will to survive, the Society helped me to put my life and myself together again. I tell you this not to persuade you to join us. We wouldn’t suit most of you – and most of you wouldn’t be happy with us! However, there are larger fellowships, wider embraces and broader fields where we can all meet in comfort, as we do today.
“The Bishop of Rome is dead. Soon another will be elected in his place because the Church abides and is continuous in Christ. In the memorial Masses we pray for the departed: ‘Enter not into judgment with your servant, O Lord.’ Here, today, we are doing just that: entering into judgment on a dead man who can no longer answer for himself. On the other hand, it is your profession to report news and comment on it. I have no quarrel with that, provided you render true report and prudent judgment.
“This brings me at one stride to the subject of my small discourse: Past and future in an abiding Church. The late Pontiff represents the recent past – a large slice of this century. The man who is elected in his place is elected for the future but is commissioned also as a custodian of the past: that body of teaching, tradition and revealed truth which we call the Deposit of Faith. Bear with me, I beg you, while we explore this notion together.”
They were all professionals. They knew a good performer when they saw one. They gave him their full attention. They knew he was wooing them, softening them up with sedulous skill, trying to disarm them before question time. He was also making more concessions in his private role than he would ever have made in his public one:
“The Church has its own enormous inertia, its own glacial immobility …
“It is not, like truth, a seamless cloth, but it is almost as hard to unpick and reshape …
‘The burden of office is laid like a leaden cope on the shoulders of a Pontiff. It is not too long before he realises that one day it will crush him …
“He knows, too, he can be destroyed by his own shortcomings – as Peter knew that he had betrayed his master three times at the jibing of a servant girl and Paul knew that he had stood in silence holding the cloaks of those who stoned Stephen to death. It has been my personal task to present the late Pontiff to the world through the media with as much truth and as little blemish as possible. Now, in the diaries, he presents himself as Everyman in pyjamas and bedroom slippers. It’s not always an edifying spectacle. I enter a personal plea: pity him before you blame him!”
It was this final sentence that brought him generous applause: the simple admission of human frailty – and the implied confession of necessary myth-making around the Pope and his office. It also provided a standing-place for Frank Colson in his role as inquisitor:
“So you would agree, Monsignor, that your first task at the Sala Stampa is to protect the Pontiff?”
“Our task is to convey official information and to convey it as clearly as possible. Others, like the Congregations and the Bishops, are the official interpreters.”
“How did you feel – as a private person – when you heard of the publication of the Papal diaries?”
“Saddened, angered.”
“Angered by what?”
“The gross breach of privacy.”
“But the Pontiff must have been aware of that possibility when he made a formal deed of gift to his valet?”
“I know nothing of his intentions in the matter.”
“There is a phrase in his letter which is interesting, I quote: ‘In olden times, I might have been able to enrich a faithful retainer like yourself. These volumes are my legacy to you.’ Do not those expressions indicate that the Pontiff knew that his gift might be turned into money by his faithful retainer?”
“I have no brief as an interpreter, Mr Colson. I must decline the question.”
“Let me put it another way. Are you, as a private person, satisfied with the document of gift?”
“As a private person, no. I have certain reservations about it.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“Not at this moment. Later perhaps.”
“Has any legal action been taken by any Vatican authority to challenge the document?”
“I have not been informed of any such action.”
“Do you think it is likely?”
“I would venture to doubt it. The See of Peter is vacant. The Camerlengo is only a caretaker.”
“Given your doubts, would you recommend such action or enquiry?”
“My opinion will not be asked, Mr Colson. In the normal order of things, I may soon be out of a job.”
That raised a laugh and some of the tension in the room relaxed. Frank Colson took a sip of water, straightened his papers and glanced at the note which had just been handed to him. It was from Steffi Guillermin. It said: “He’s pleased with himself. Move in. Cut him down.” Colson gathered himself like a prosecutor for the next assault on his witness.
“It is clear, Monsignor, that, whatever your private opinions, the Vatican is not prepared to challenge the authenticity of the diaries, or the validity of the gift to Claudio Stagni.”
“It would be more exact to say that, at this point, the Vatican has made no formal challenge.”
“So, another scenario presents itself. The gift of the manuscript was valid. It was made by a Pontiff in full possession of his faculties – fully aware of the use to which it might be put.”
“That is pure speculation.”
“But, you agree, at least an admissible hypothesis?”
“Improbable, but yes, admissible.”
“Extending the thought a little, is it not equally admissible that certain members of the Curia, close counsellors, suggested this stratagem to the Pontiff, and encouraged him in it?”
“That’s too big a leap for me to make, Mr Colson. I was counsellor to the Pontiff only on matters affecting the media.”
“But surely this was a matter of prime concern to the media? It is the sole subject of our discussion here today.”
“All I can say is that I was not consulted on the matter at any time.”
“But you would concede that such discussio
n might have taken place with the most intimate and powerful counsellors of the Pontiff?”
“It’s a possibility. I can say no more than that.”
“The alternative is rather frightening, is it not?”
“What alternative, Mr Colson?”
“That the Holy Father, a man charged with enormous responsibility, committed an egregious folly by giving a most private document into the hands of his valet.”
“There may be other explanations.”
“What, for instance, Monsignor?”
“Theft.”
“Which would make us and our employers traders m stolen goods?”
“It could. Such things have happened before.”
“Another alternative?”
“Forgery of the document of provenance. That, too, has happened.”
“Either alternative leads to a very uncomfortable conclusion, does it not?”
“Tell me your conclusion, Mr Colson.”
“That the Holy Father kept in his close personal employ, and shared his most intimate thoughts each day, with a man who abused his trust, invaded his privacy and committed or organised a series of criminal acts for personal gain.”
“Precisely. And if your conclusion is right, Mr Colson, then you, your colleagues and your corporations are all complicitous in crime.”
“And the good judgment of a Pontiff, charged with the universal care of souls, is sadly compromised.”
“That, too, has happened many times in history, Mr Colson. We are a pilgrim Church. We are not a perfect society.”
Colson let him take the point. He, himself, had won enough already. He started on a new line of questions.
“Let’s look now at some of the most significant entries in the diary. You’ve more or less admitted that it’s an authentic document. It will soon be a public one. It’s a unique insight into the mind of a man whose titles are Vicar of Christ, Supreme Pastor of the Universal Church.”
“He is also – in this document, at least – a private man, expressing intimate thoughts.” Angel-Novalis was on the attack now. “He has laid aside the public role and is in discussion with himself and with God.”
