by Morris West
I believe you understand what I am trying to say. I ask you, if you can, to interpret it as clearly as possible to the President of the United States. I have met him. I respect him. In a private dealing I could trust him, but in the domain of politics he is as subject to pressure as I am – more so, perhaps, because his tenure is shorter, and the influence of public opinion is stronger. If you can communicate with him, I beg you to do so, but secretly and with the greatest discretion. You know that I should have to repudiate violently any suggestion that there is a private channel of talk between us.
I cannot yet suggest a secure, method by which you can write to me. From time to time, however, you will receive applications for a private audience from a man named Georg Wilhelm Forster. To him you may speak freely, but commit nothing to writing. If you succeed in a conversation with the President of the United States, you should refer to him as Robert. Foolish, is it not, that to discuss the survival of the race, we must resort to such childish tricks?
You are fortunate that you can pray. I am limited to action, and if I am half right for half the time I am lucky.
Again I repeat my caution. You believe you stand in God’s shoes. I must wear my own and the ground is very slippery. Trust me no further than I can trust myself. Martyrdom is out of fashion in my world.
Greetings. Kamenev
No man remains unchanged by the experience of power. Some are perverted to tyranny. Some are corrupted by flattery and self-indulgence. Some very few are tempered to wisdom by their understanding of the consequences of executive action. I believe this is what has happened to Kamenev.
He was never a gross man. When I knew him he had surrendered himself to cynicism, but this surrender was never quite complete. This was proved by his action in my regard. I would say that there is in his thinking no truly spiritual or religious domain. He has accepted too fully a materialist conception of man and of the universe. However, I do believe that, within the limits of his own logic, he has arrived at an understanding of the dignity of man, and a sense of obligation to preserve it as far as he can. I do not think he is governed by moral sanctions as we understand them in the spiritual sense. But he does realize that a certain practical morality is essential to social order, and even to the survival of civilization as we know it.
I think this is what he is trying to tell me: that I can trust him to proceed logically in his own system of thought, but that I must never expect him to work inside mine. For my part I must not forget that, while man is limited to the covenanted channels of grace, made available to him by the redemptive act of Christ, God is not so limited, and that in the outcome Kamenev’s logic may be turned into a divine one. Even in the human order, Kamenev’s letter has an historic importance. The man who embodies in his office the Marxist heresy, who has tried violently to extirpate the faith from the land of Russia, now turns to the Papacy to provide a free and secret mode of communication with the rest of the world.
I see very clearly that Kamenev offers me nothing – no entry for the faith into Russia, no slackening of oppression or persecution. Cardinal Goldoni points out that at this very moment our schools and seminaries in Poland, and Hungary, and East Germany, are in danger of being closed altogether by the imposition of new and savage taxation. He asks me what Kamenev proposes to offer either to the Church or to the United States by way of a down payment towards peace…
On the face of it he offers nothing. One might even make a good case for the opinion that he is trying to use me to his own advantage. I have to weigh this opinion very carefully. Yet I cling to the deep conviction that there is a divine design in this relationship between us and that it must not be allowed to degenerate into a political gambit…
It is an historic fact that, when the temporal power of the Church was greatest, her spiritual life was at its lowest ebb. It is dangerous to read divine revelation into every paragraph of history, but I cannot help feeling that, when we are like the Master, poorest in temporality, then we may be richest in the divine life.
From me the occasion demands prayer and prudence…Normally we should communicate with the government of the United States through our own Secretariat of State. In this instance we dare not do so. I have, therefore, sent a cable to the Cardinal Archbishop of New York, asking him to come to Rome as quickly as possible so that I may brief him on the situation and have him communicate directly with the President of the United States. Once I have spoken with Cardinal Carlin, we shall all be walking on eggs. If any hint of the matter is revealed to the American press, this small hope of peace may be lost to us for ever…In the morning I must offer Mass as a petition for a favourable outcome…
Today I held the first of a series of conferences with the Congregation of Religious and with the heads of the major religious orders. The purpose of the conferences is to determine how they may best adapt themselves to the changing conditions of the world and participate more actively and more flexibly in the mission of the Church to the souls of men.
There are many problems involved, and we shall not solve them all at one stroke. Each order holds jealously to its tradition and its sphere of influence in the Church. All too often the tradition is a handicap to apostolic effort. Systems of training differ. The ‘spirit of the order’ – that mode of thought and action which gives it a special character – tends too often to harden itself into ‘the method of the order’, so that it reacts too slowly and too stubbornly to the demands of the times.
There is another problem, too. The rate of recruitment of new members has become dangerously slow because many willing spirits find themselves too limited and constrained by an archaic constitution and even by a mode of dress and life which separatés them too sharply from the time in which they live…
Once again I am faced with the fundamental problem of my office – how to translate the Word into Christian action; how to scrape off the overburden of history so that the lode of the primitive faith may be revealed in all its richness. When men are truly united with God, it matters little what dress they wear, what exercises of piety they perform, what constitution they live under. Religious obedience should set a man free in the liberty of the sons of God. Tradition should be a lamp to his feet, lighting his pathway into the future. To renounce the world is not to abandon it, but to restore it in Christ to the beauty of its primal design…We inherit the past but we are committed to the present and to the future.
It is time, I think, for a deeper exploration and a clearer definition of the function of the laity in the life of the Church. Anti-clericalism is a symptom of dissatisfaction among the faithful. For the fact is that rebellion against the doctrine of the Church is less common than the gradual desertion of a religious climate which seems to be at irreconcilable odds with the world men have to live in. Those whose aspirations exceed the dimensions of the local pastor’s mentality gradually fade from the pews in search of substitutes and partial truths, which as a rule bring them neither peace nor joy, but certainly a sense of dedicated integrity. The number of these cases has become large enough to achieve some sort of recognizable status in the Church, which, though ambiguous, is radically different from the category of those whose militant darkness attempts to eradicate from human consciousness the very notion of man’s existence dependent on God…
In this world of ours, when men are reaching swiftly for the moon, the dimension of time seems to narrow daily, and I am perturbed that we cannot adjust ourselves more quickly to the change…
In a couple of weeks the holiday season will begin in Europe. It is customary for the Pontiff to leave the Vatican and spend a vacation at Castel Gandolfo. In spite of my impatience, I find myself looking forward to the change. It will give me time to think, to sum up for myself the thousand diverse impressions of these first months in office.
I have not dared to mention it to the Secretary of State, but I think I shall take the opportunity to travel a little in private, round the countryside…I shall need a good driver. It would be embarrassing to
me, and to the Italian government, if we had any accidents on the road – it would make a wonderful picture if the Pontiff were discovered in the middle of a highway arguing with an Italian truck-driver…I find myself wishing for an agreeable companion to spend the vacation with me, but I have not yet found time to cultivate any real friendship. My isolation is all the greater because I am so much younger than the members of the Curia, and – God help me – I do not want to become an old man before my time.
I understand now how some of my predecessors have lapsed into nepotism and surrounded themselves with relatives, and how others have cultivated favourites in the Vatican. It is not good for any man to be wholly alone…
Kamenev is married and has a son and a daughter. I should like to think he had made a happy match…If not, he must be much more isolated than I. I have never regretted my own celibacy, but I envy those whose work in the Church is with children…
A sudden dark thought. If there is another war, what of the little ones? They are the inheritors of our misdeeds, and how will they fare in the broadcast horror of an atomic Armageddon?
It must not be…it must not!
CHAPTER SEVEN
IN HIS bachelor apartment on Parioli, Corrado Calitri, Minister of the Republic, was conferring with his lawyers. The senior advocate, Perosi, was a tall, spare man with a dry, academic manner. His junior had a round dumpling face and a deprecating smile. In the far corner of the room, the Princess Maria-Rina sat withdrawn and wary, watching them with hooded, predatory eyes.
Perosi laid the tips of his fingers together, like a bishop about to intone a psalm, and summed up the situation:
‘…As I understand it, you have been troubled in conscience for some time. You have taken counsel with a confessor, and he has advised you that it is your duty to change your testimony with respect to your marriage.’
Calitri’s pale face was blank, his voice devoid of expression. ‘That’s the position, yes.’
‘Let us be very clear, then, where we stand. Your wife’s petition for a decree of nullity is made under the terms of Canon 1086, which states two things : first, the internal consent of the mind is always presumed to be in agreement with the words or signs which are used in the celebration of the marriage; second, if either party or both parties, by a positive act of the will, exclude marriage itself, or all right to the conjugal act or any essential property of the marriage, the marriage contract is invalid.’ He rustled his papers and went on in his professional fashion. ‘The first part of the canon does not really concern us. It simply expresses a presumption of the law, which may be overcome by contrary proof. Your wife’s plea leans on the second part. She claims that you deliberately excluded from your consent her right to the conjugal act, and that you did not accept the contract as unbreakable, but as a form of therapy to be laid aside if the therapy failed. If her plea could be sustained, the marriage would, of course, be declared invalid. You understand that?’
‘I’ve always understood it.’
‘But you denied in a written and sworn statement that your intention was defective.’
‘I did.’
‘Now, however, you are prepared to admit that the statement was false and that, in fact, you perjured yourself.’
‘Yes. I understand that I have done a grave injustice, and I want to repair it. I want Chiara to be free.’
‘You are prepared to make another sworn statement, admitting the perjury and the defective intention?’
‘I am.’
‘So far so good. This will give us a ground to reopen the case with the Rota.’ Perosi pursed his pale lips and frowned. ‘Unfortunately it will not be sufficient for a decree of nullity.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s a question of procedure covered by Canon 1971, and by commentaries on the code dated March 1929, July 1933, and July 1942. A party to a marriage who is the guilty cause of the nullity is deprived of the right to impugn the contract. He has no standing in court.’
‘Where does that leave us?’
‘We need one or more witnesses to testify that you expressed to them, clearly and explicitly, your defective intentions before the marriage took place.’
The brisk old voice of the princess intruded itself into the conversation. ‘I think you can take it for granted that such testimony would be available.’
‘In that case,’ said Advocate Perosi, ‘I think we have a sound case, and we may look with some confidence to a favourable outcome.’
He sat back in his chair and began rearranging his papers. As if on a prearranged signal, the dumpling man added a footnote to the discussion:
‘With respect to my senior colleague, I should like to make two suggestions. It would be an advantage if we had a letter from your confessor indicating that you are acting under his advice in trying to repair the injustice done. It might help, too, if you wrote a friendly letter to your wife, admitting your fault and asking her to forgive you…Neither of these two documents would have any value in evidence, but they might, shall we say, help the atmosphere.’
‘I’ll do as you suggest,’ said Calitri in the same colourless fashion. ‘Now I’d like to ask a couple of questions. I admit default, I admit perjury. On the other hand I do have a public position and a reputation to protect.’
‘All the deliberations of the Rota, and all the depositions made before it, are protected by rigid secrecy. You need have no fear on that score.’
‘Good. How long do you think the business will take?’
Perosi considered the question a moment. ‘Not too long. Nothing can be done, of course, during the holiday period, but if all the depositions were in our hands by the end of August, we could have the translation done in two weeks. Then, in view of your position and the long suspension of the case, I think we would get a speedy hearing…I should say two months at the outside. It might even be sooner.’
‘I am grateful,’ said Corrado Calitri. ‘I’ll have the papers ready by the end of August.’
Perosi and his colleague bowed themselves out. ‘We are always at the disposal of the Minister.’
‘Good day, gentlemen, and thank you.’
When the door closed behind them, the princess threw, back her bird’s head and laughed. ‘There now. I told you, didn’t I? It’s as simple as shelling peas. Of course we have to find you a confessor. There’s a nice understanding Monsignore who attends me from Florence. Yes, I think he’d be the one. He’s intelligent, cultivated, and quite zealous in his own way. I’ll have a talk with him and arrange an appointment…Come on now, smile. In two months you’ll be free. In a year you’ll be leading the country.’
‘I know, Aunt, I know.’
‘Oh, there’s one more thing. Your letter to Chiara. There’s no need to be too humble about it. Dignity, restraint, a desire to make amends, yes. But nothing compromising. I don’t trust that girl. I never have.’
Calitri shrugged indifferently. ‘She’s a child, Aunt. There’s no malice in her.’
‘Children grow up – and there’s malice in every woman when she can’t get what she wants.’
‘From what I hear, she’s getting it.’
‘With the dean of the foreign press. What’s his name?’
‘George Faber. He represents one of the New York dailies.’
‘The biggest one,’ said the old princess firmly. ‘And you can’t shrug him off like a cold in the head. You’re too vulnerable now, my boy. You have the Osservatore against you, and Chiara in bed with the American press. You can’t afford a situation like that.’
‘I can’t change it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Campeggio’s son works for me. He likes me and dislikes his father. Chiara will probably marry this Faber as soon as she gets the decree of nullity. There’s nothing I can do about either situation.’
‘I think there is.’ She fixed him with a shrewd and rheumy eye. ‘Take young Campeggio first. You know what I should do?’
‘I’d like to hear it.’
‘Promote him. Push him forward as fast as you can. Promise him something even bigger after the election. Bind him to you with trust and friendship. His father will hate you, but the boy will love you, and I don’t think Campeggio will fight his own son…As for Chiara and her American boy friend, leave them to me.’
‘What do you propose to do?’
The old princess gave her high birdlike chuckle and shook her head. ‘You have no talent with women, Corrado. Just sit quietly and leave Chiara to me.’
Calitri spread his eloquent hands in a gesture of resignation. ‘Just as you say, Aunt. I’ll leave her to you.’
‘You won’t regret it.’
‘I’ll take your advice, Aunt.’
‘I know you will. Give me a kiss now, and cheer up. You’ll have dinner with me tomorrow night. There are some people from the Vatican I want you to meet. Now that you’re back in the bosom of the Church, they can begin to be useful to you.’
He kissed her withered cheek and watched her leave, wondering the while that so much vitality should reside in so frail a body, and whether he had enough to sustain the bargain he had made with his backers.
All his life he had been making deals like this one. Always the price had to be paid in the same coin – another fragment of himself. Each depletion made him less assured of his identity, and he knew that in the end he would be altogether empty, and the spiders would spin webs in the hollow of his heart.
Depression came down on him like a cloud. He poured himself a drink and carried it over to the window-seat from which he could look down on the city and the flight of pigeons over its ancient roofs. The Quirinale might be worth a Mass, but nothing – nothing – was worth the lifetime damnation to emptiness which was demanded of him.