Conclave

by Robert Harris

  And they responded:

  ‘Et cum spiritu tuo.’

  He had begun.

  *

  Afterwards, no one watching a tape of the Mass would have been able to guess at the inner turmoil of its celebrant, or at least not until he came to deliver his homily. True, his hands shook occasionally during the Penitential Act, but no more than was to be expected in a man of seventy-five. True also that once or twice he seemed unsure of what was required of him, for instance before the Evangelium, when he had to spoon incense on to the burning coals inside the thurible. However, for the most part his performance was assured. Jacopo Lomeli of the diocese of Genoa had risen to the highest levels in the councils of the Roman Church for the very qualities he showed that day: impassivity, gravity, coolness, dignity, steadiness.

  The first reading was in English, delivered by an American Jesuit priest, and taken from the prophet Isaiah (The spirit of the Lord has been given to me). The second was proclaimed in Spanish by a woman prominent in the Focolare Movement, and came from St Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians, describing how God created the Church (The body grows until it has built itself up, in love). Her voice was monotonous. Lomeli sat on his throne and tried to concentrate by translating the familiar words in his mind.

  To some, his gift was that they should be apostles; to some, prophets; to some, evangelists; to some, pastors and teachers . . .

  Before him in a semicircle was arrayed the full College of Cardinals: both halves of it – those who were entitled to participate in the Conclave and those, roughly the same number, who were over eighty and therefore no longer eligible to vote. (Pope Paul VI had introduced the age limit fifty years before, and the constant turnover had greatly enhanced the power of the Holy Father to shape the Conclave in his own image.) How bitterly some of these decrepit fellows resented their loss of authority! How jealous they were of the younger men! Lomeli could almost see their scowls from where he sat.

  . . . so that the saints together make a unity in the work of service, building up the body of Christ . . .

  His eyes travelled along the four widely spaced rows of seats. Wise faces, bored faces, faces suffused with religious ecstasy; one cardinal asleep. They looked as he imagined the togaed Senate of ancient Rome might have looked in the days of the old republic. Here and there he registered the leading contenders – Bellini, Tedesco, Adeyemi, Tremblay – sitting far apart from one another, each preoccupied with his own thoughts, and it struck him what an imperfect, arbitrary, man-made instrument the Conclave was. It had no basis in Holy Scripture whatsoever. There was nothing in the reading to say that God had created cardinals. Where did they fit into St Paul’s picture of His Church as a living body?

  . . . If we live by the truth and in love, we shall grow in all ways into Christ, who is the head by whom the whole body is fitted and joined together, every joint adding its own strength . . .

  The reading ended. The Gospel was acclaimed. Lomeli sat motionless on his throne. He felt he had just been granted an insight into something, but he was not sure what. The smouldering thurible was produced before him, along with a dish of incense and a tiny silver ladle. Epifano had to prompt him, guiding his hand as he sprinkled the incense on to the coals. After the fuming censer had been taken away, his assistant gestured to him to stand, and as he reached up to remove Lomeli’s mitre, he peered anxiously into his face and whispered, ‘Are you well, Eminence?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘The time has almost come for your homily.’

  ‘I understand.’

  He made an effort to compose himself during the chanting of the Gospel of St John (I chose you, and I commissioned you to bear fruit). And then very quickly the Evangelium was over. Epifano took away his crozier. He was supposed to sit while his mitre was replaced. But he forgot, which meant that Epifano, who had short arms, had to stretch awkwardly to put it back on his head. An altar boy handed him the pages of his script, threaded together by a red ribbon in the top left-hand corner. The microphone was thrust in front of him. The acolytes withdrew.

  Suddenly he was facing the dead eyes of the television cameras and the great magnitude of the congregation, too huge to take in, roughly arranged in blocks of colour: the black of the nuns and the laity in the distance, just inside the bronze doors; the white of the priests halfway up the nave; the purple of the bishops at the top of the aisle; the scarlet of the cardinals at his feet, beneath the dome. An anticipatory silence fell over the basilica.

  He looked down at his text. He had spent hours that morning going over it. Yet now it appeared entirely unfamiliar to him. He stared at it until he was conscious of a slight stirring of unease around him and realised he had better make a start.

  ‘Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ . . .’

  *

  To begin with he read automatically. ‘At this moment of great responsibility in the history of the Holy Church of Christ . . .’

  The words issued from his mouth, went forth into nothingness, and seemed to expire halfway along the nave and drop inert from mid-air. Only when he mentioned the late Holy Father, ‘whose brilliant pontificate was a gift from God’, was there a gradual welling-up of applause that started among the laity at the far end of the basilica and rolled towards the altar until finally it was taken up with diminished enthusiasm by the cardinals. He was obliged to stop until it subsided.

  ‘Now we must ask our Lord to send us a new Holy Father through the pastoral solicitude of the cardinal fathers. And in this hour we must remember first of all the faith and the promise of Jesus Christ, when He said to the one He had chosen: “You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the powers of death shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven.”

  ‘To this very day the symbol of papal authority remains a pair of keys. But to whom are these keys to be entrusted? It is the most solemn and sacred responsibility that any of us will ever be called upon to exercise in our entire lives, and we must pray to God for that loving assistance He always reserves for His Holy Church and ask Him to guide us to the right choice.’

  Lomeli turned over to the next page and scanned it briefly. Platitude followed platitude, seamlessly interlocked. He flicked over to the third page, and the fourth. They were no better. On impulse he turned around and placed the homily on the seat of his throne, then turned back to the microphone.

  ‘But you know all that.’ There was some laughter. Beneath him he could see the cardinals turning to one another in alarm. ‘Let me speak from the heart for a moment.’ He paused to arrange his thoughts. He felt entirely calm.

  ‘About thirty years after Jesus entrusted the keys of His Church to St Peter, St Paul the Apostle came here to Rome. He had been preaching around the Mediterranean, laying the foundations of our Mother the Church, and when he came to this city he was thrown into prison, because the authorities were frightened of him – as far as they were concerned, he was a revolutionary. And like a revolutionary, he continued to organise, even from his cell. In the year ad 62 or 63, he sent one of his ministers, Tychicus, back to Ephesus, where he’d lived for three years, to deliver that remarkable letter to the faithful, part of which we listened to just now.

  ‘Let us contemplate what we’ve just heard. Paul tells the Ephesians – who were, let us remember, a mixture of Gentiles and Jews – that God’s gift to the Church is its variety: some are created by Him to be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and others teachers, who “together make a unity in the work of service, building up the body of Christ”. They make a unity in the work of service. These are different people – one may suppose strong people, with forceful personalities, unafraid of persecution – serving the Church in their different ways: it is the work of service that brings them together and makes the Church. God could, after all, have created a single archetype to serve Him. Instead, He created what a naturalist might call a whole ecosystem of mystics and dreamers and
practical builders – managers, even – with different strengths and impulses, and from these He fashioned the body of Christ.’

  The basilica was entirely still apart from a lone cameraman circling the base of the altar, filming him. Lomeli’s mind was fully engaged. Never had he been more sure of exactly what he wanted to say.

  ‘In the second part of the reading, we heard Paul reinforcing this image of the Church as a living body. “If we live by the truth and in love,” he says, “we shall grow in all ways into Christ, who is the head by whom the whole body is joined and fitted together.” Hands are hands, just as feet are feet, and they serve the Lord in their different ways. In other words, we should have no fear of diversity, because it is this variety that gives our Church its strength. And then, says Paul, when we have achieved completeness in truth and love, “we shall not be children any longer, or tossed one way and another and carried along by every wind of doctrine, at the mercy of all the tricks men play and their cleverness in deceit”.

  ‘I take this idea of the body and the head to be a beautiful metaphor for collective wisdom: of a religious community working together to grow into Christ. To work together, and grow together, we must be tolerant, because all of the body’s limbs are needed. No one person or faction should seek to dominate another. “Be subject to one another out of reverence for Christ,” Paul urges the faithful elsewhere in that same letter.

  ‘My brothers and sisters, in the course of a long life in the service of our Mother the Church, let me tell you that the one sin I have come to fear more than any other is certainty. Certainty is the great enemy of unity. Certainty is the deadly enemy of tolerance. Even Christ was not certain at the end. “Eli, Eli, lama sabachtani?” He cried out in His agony at the ninth hour on the cross. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Our faith is a living thing precisely because it walks hand in hand with doubt. If there was only certainty, and if there was no doubt, there would be no mystery, and therefore no need for faith.

  ‘Let us pray that the Lord will grant us a Pope who doubts, and by his doubts continues to make the Catholic faith a living thing that may inspire the whole world. Let Him grant us a Pope who sins, and asks forgiveness, and carries on. We ask this of the Lord, through the intercession of Mary most holy, Queen of the Apostles, and of all the martyrs and saints, who through the course of history made this Church of Rome glorious through the ages. Amen.’

  *

  He retrieved from his seat the homily he had not delivered and handed it to Monsignor Epifano, who took it from him with a quizzical look, as if he were not sure exactly what he was supposed to do with it. It had not been delivered, so was it now to go to the Vatican archive or not? Then he sat. By tradition there now followed a silence of one and a half minutes so that the meaning of the sermon could be absorbed. Only the occasional cough disturbed the immense hush. He could not gauge the reaction. Perhaps they were all in a state of shock. If they were, then so be it. He felt closer to God than he had for many months – closer perhaps than he had ever felt before in his life. He closed his eyes and prayed. O Lord, I hope my words have served Your purpose, and I thank You for granting me the courage to say what was in my heart, and the mental and physical strength to deliver it.

  When the period of reflection was over, an altar boy produced the microphone again, and Lomeli rose and chanted the first line of the Credo – ‘Credo in unum deum.’ His voice was firmer than before. He felt a great surge of spiritual energy, and the power stayed with him, so that in every stage of the Eucharist that followed he was aware of the presence of the Holy Spirit. Those long sung passages of Latin, the prospect of which had filled him with trepidation – the Universal Prayer, the Offertory Chant, the Preface and the Sanctus and the Eucharistic Prayer and the Rite of Communion – every word and every note of them seemed alive with the presence of Christ. He went down to the nave to offer Communion to selected ordinary members of the congregation, while around and behind him the cardinals queued to go up to the altar. Even as he placed the wafers on the tongues of the kneeling communicants, he was half aware of the looks he was receiving from his colleagues. He sensed astonishment. Lomeli – the smooth, the reliable, the competent Lomeli; Lomeli the lawyer; Lomeli the diplomat – had done something they had never expected. He had said something interesting. He had not expected it of himself, either.

  *

  At 11.52 a.m., he intoned the Concluding Rites, ‘Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus,’ and made the sign of the cross three times, to the north, to the east and to the south: ‘Pater . . . et Filius . . . et Spiritus Sanctus.’

  ‘Amen.’

  ‘Go forth, the Mass is ended.’

  ‘Thanks be to God.’

  He stood at the altar with his hands clasped on his chest while the choir and the congregation sang the Antiphona Mariana. As the cardinals processed in pairs back up the nave and out of the basilica, he scrutinised them dispassionately. He knew he would not be alone in thinking that the next time they returned, one of them would be Pope.

  6

  Sistine Chapel

  LOMELI, ALONG WITH his attendants, arrived back at the hostel a few minutes after the other cardinals. They were being divested in the lobby, and almost at once he sensed a change in their attitude towards him. For a start, nobody came over to speak to him, and when he gave his crozier and mitre to Father Zanetti, he noticed how the young priest avoided meeting his gaze. Even Monsignor O’Malley, who offered to help him remove his chasuble, seemed subdued. Lomeli was expecting him at the very least to make one of his usual overfamiliar jokes. Instead he merely said, ‘Would Your Eminence care to pray while the vestments are removed?’

  ‘I think I’ve prayed enough for one morning, Ray, don’t you?’ He bowed his head and allowed the chasuble to be pulled away. It was a relief to have the weight off his shoulders. He rotated his neck to ease the tension in his muscles. He smoothed his hair and checked his zuchetta was properly in place then glanced around the lobby. The schedule permitted the cardinals a long lunch break – two and a half hours, which they could spend as they wished until a fleet of six minibuses arrived at the Casa Santa Marta to ferry them to the vote. Some were already making their way upstairs to rest and meditate in their rooms.

  O’Malley said, ‘The press office have been calling.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘The media have noticed the presence of a cardinal who doesn’t appear on any official list. Some of the better-informed have already identified him as Archbishop Benítez. The press people want to know how they should handle it.’

  ‘Tell them to confirm it, and have them explain the circumstances.’ He could see Benítez standing over by the reception desk, in conversation with the other two cardinals from the Philippines. He was wearing his zuchetta at a sideways angle, like a schoolboy’s cap. ‘I suppose we’ll also need to put out some biographical details. You must have access to his file at the Congregation for Bishops?’

  ‘Yes, Eminence.’

  ‘Could you pull something together, and let me have a copy? I wouldn’t mind knowing a little more about our new colleague myself.’

  ‘Yes, Eminence.’ O’Malley was scribbling on his clipboard. ‘Also, the press office want to release the text of your homily.’

  ‘I don’t have a copy, I’m afraid.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. We can always make a transcript from the tape.’ He made another note.

  Lomeli was still waiting for him to pass some comment on his sermon. ‘Is there anything else you have to say to me?’

  ‘I think that’s all I need to bother you with at the moment, Eminence. Do you have any other instructions?’

  ‘Actually, there is one thing.’ Lomeli hesitated. ‘A delicate matter. Do you know who I mean by Monsignor Morales? He was in the Holy Father’s private office.’

  ‘I don’t know him personally; I know of him.’

  ‘Is there any chance you might be able to have a word with him, in confidence? It needs
to be done today – I’m sure he must be in Rome.’

  ‘Today? That won’t be easy, Eminence . . .’

  ‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry. Perhaps you could do it while we’re voting?’ He lowered his voice so that none of the cardinals disrobing around them could hear. ‘Use my authority. Say that as dean I need to know what happened in the final meeting between the Holy Father and Cardinal Tremblay: did anything occur that might render Cardinal Tremblay unfit to assume the papacy?’ The normally unflappable O’Malley gaped at him. ‘I’m sorry to land you with such a sensitive mission. Obviously I’d do it myself, but I’m now officially forbidden to make contact with anyone outside the Conclave. I need hardly add that you mustn’t breathe a word to a soul.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Bless you.’ He patted O’Malley’s arm. He couldn’t suppress his curiosity any longer. ‘Well, Ray, I notice you’ve said nothing about my homily. You’re not usually so tactful. Was it really as bad as all that?’

  ‘Far from it, Your Eminence. It was extremely well said, although I expect it will have raised a few eyebrows over at the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. But tell me: was it really extempore?’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, it was.’ He was taken aback by the implication that his spontaneity might have been an act.

  ‘I only ask because you may find that it’s had a considerable effect.’

  ‘Well – that’s to the good, surely?’

  ‘Absolutely. Although I have heard murmurings that you are trying to pick the new Pope.’

  Lomeli’s first reaction was to laugh. ‘You are not serious!’ Until that moment it had not occurred to him that his words might be interpreted as an attempt to manipulate the voting one way or another. He had spoken simply as the Holy Spirit had moved him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t now remember the exact phrases he had used. That was the peril of speaking without a prepared text, which was why he had never done it before.

  ‘I only report what I’ve heard, Eminence.’