by Stuart Clark
Cesi bit his lower lip and dipped his head in Galileo’s direction.
Galileo was confused by the logic behind honouring the ancient Greeks for his discoveries, but the expectation on Cesi’s face convinced him of the right thing to say. ‘Sir, while I point out that the naming of the instrument is not mine to adjudicate, I am honoured to be consulted. And let me say that I humbly accept your gracious offer of membership to the Lyncean Academy. We share a common set of goals and beliefs. Namely that philosophy is written in this grand book of the universe and stands continually open to our gaze. But the book cannot be understood unless one first learns the language in which it is composed. It is written in the language of mathematics; its alphabet is triangles, circles and other geometrical figures. Without these it is humanly impossible to understand a single word of it, and one is left to wander about lost in the dark labyrinth of the sky.’
With the formalities completed, the partying recommenced. Galileo slipped away from the crowd and found himself a large laurel bush to stand behind while he emptied his full bladder. As he buttoned himself up afterwards, he heard voices. Cesi and Grienberger. He froze.
‘I am here to caution you on behalf of the Roman College,’ the Jesuit was saying. ‘You must be careful in your advocacy of Galileo.’
‘Why? He is the greatest astronomer alive!’
‘We cannot jump to conclusions about the meaning of these new planets. It goes too much against Scripture.’
‘But you have seen them with your own eyes.’
‘The Roman College is the arbiter of Catholic science, and we are favourably disposed towards Galileo’s discoveries, but everything must proceed along established lines. We will report to the cardinals, who will report to his supreme eminence, the Holy Father, but we need support among the theologians if we are to argue that the Bible needs reinterpreting. We are doing everything we can to get the consensus we need. In the meantime, proceed with caution: stick to the facts of the discovery but mention nothing of interpretation. If you follow my advice, Prince Cesi, the Jesuits will remain your friends.’ There was an edge to Grienberger’s tone that chilled Galileo.
‘Of course.’ Cesi’s voice sounded like that of a scolded child.
‘Good. Let us return to your guests.’
Shaken by what he had heard, Galileo waited until he was sure they had gone before rejoining the party. He took another glass of wine but his mood was broken, and he soon asked if he might leave, feigning tiredness. Cesi escorted him back down the hill, where Grienberger was waiting by the carriage. Galileo’s heart missed a beat at the sight of the Jesuit.
‘Galileo,’ said Grienberger in his matter-of-fact tone, ‘you are to be ready at ten o’clock, tomorrow morning. I will meet you at the Tuscan embassy with a carriage. Do not be late.’
‘Who it is that summons me?’
A quizzical look crossed Grienberger’s face. ‘Do you really need to ask? You have been granted an audience with His Holiness.’
If Galileo thought he had been nervous about visiting the Roman College, he now realised his anxiety had been nothing compared to the terror of standing at the gates of the Vatican. His insides bubbled as his eyes fell on the great central dome and its flanking towers rising up from the rooftop of St Peter’s Basilica. Last night’s eavesdropping had unsettled him. His discoveries had never been intended to undermine the Scriptures. He had not anticipated that they could be seen as an attack. His lack of foresight added to his nerves. What else have I failed to anticipate?
The Vatican was where the cold majesty he had seen in the city gave way to extravagant craftsmanship. And it was becoming increasingly extravagant. The white stone of the building’s frontage was covered in wooden scaffolding and swarming with workers. Through the web of poles and planks, Galileo glimpsed a set of grand columns rising to support a broad triangular pediment.
Beside him was his shadow: Grienberger. Even under the direct glare of the sun, the man’s face betrayed no emotion. There was no hint of discomfort at the heat, just that hangdog expression and the annoying tendency to never quite meet Galileo’s eyes. Should I be fearful of him or grateful for his presence?
‘It is unusual of His Holiness to take such an interest in the mathematical sciences. You are truly honoured.’
‘I know,’ said Galileo, aware that his entire credibility could be destroyed if he uttered a single wrong word. The Pope’s word was law. He could overrule Galileo in a heartbeat and no one would listen to him again. But if he were to endorse Galileo …
‘I have one instruction,’ said Grienberger. ‘Do not offer to show him the telescope. If His Holiness wishes to see the heavens, the Roman College will arrange the viewing.’
Galileo meekly agreed.
Inside, the high ceiling rested on graceful arches that reached down, like a giant’s shoulder supporting a mighty burden. Every square inch of wall and ceiling space was decorated with frescos, geometrical in pattern and depicting biblical portraits and scenes. Galileo was so lost in his admiration for the building he almost missed the approaching scarlet-clad figure.
‘Cardinal Bellarmine, this is Galileo Galilei,’ said Grienberger.
‘May I welcome you to the Vatican.’ The cardinal’s expression was neutral as he greeted Galileo.
‘I haven’t seen you at the College lately,’ said Grienberger.
‘If only I had the time to visit; I swear the Inquisition becomes busier every day,’ said Bellarmine.
Galileo’s heart beat faster. The Inquisition? Why were they involved?
‘But we are winning the fight, yes?’
‘Indeed we are. The Lutherans are becoming increasingly isolated.’
‘What hope of England?
‘What indeed? It is a dark place. The failed assassination of James has done us no favours. It has hardened his resolve to outlaw our loyal Catholics, however innocent they may be. We are far from resolution there. But let us not wallow in such matters. Today is a celebration. Allow me to show you to your audience.’ Bellarmine betrayed his years only when walking, emitting occasional grunts of pain. ‘Arthritis,’ he explained. ‘I used to be able to count on it easing in the summer.’
‘My sympathies, cardinal,’ said Galileo, hoping to extract some warmth that he could take as reassurance. ‘I suffer too, though this year has been merciful to me.’
Bellarmine led them from the magnificent arches into a more bureaucratic corridor, though one still adorned with busts between the windows and a floor of black-and-white diamond-shaped flagstones.
Two of the Pope’s Swiss Guards stood at the end of the corridor. Uniformed in stripes of orange, red and blue, they opened a pair of wooden doors in unison, allowing Galileo’s party to pass without breaking step. Pope Paul V sat at the far end of a wide strip of scarlet carpet.
His old face might as well have been carved on one of the busts that Galileo had walked past, moving only with a small nod when an aide in cardinal’s robes bent to his ear and whispered something.
Bellarmine and Grienberger dropped behind Galileo, who walked forwards at what he hoped was a dignified pace and knelt before the Pope, touching his lips to the papal ring on the hand that the Pontiff held out with casual indifference.
‘I am told that you have seen wonders hitherto unanticipated in the heavens.’ His voice was warmer than Galileo expected.
‘I have been blessed in this way, yes, Your Eminence.’
‘What is it you see?’
Galileo described the moons of Jupiter and the myriad stars he had seen in the Milky Way. He was about to launch into his discussion of the way the mountains on the Moon proved it was another Earth, when something stopped him. He decided to simply mention them as markings.
‘Heaven is richly stocked with new wonders. I cannot help but speculate as to what else I may find.’ Immediately the words were out of his mouth, he wondered whether he had gone too far with that presumption.
‘I have one concern,’ said the Pope.
Galileo’s stomach clenched.
‘Why would God hide these marvels from us in the first place?’
‘Perhaps to urge us to greater heights of achievement than any of us thought possible.’
The Pope pursed his lips for a moment and then rocked his head in agreement. Galileo risked looking out of the corner of his eye. There was a change in Grienberger’s face. He was not quite smiling but the corners of his mouth had definitely lifted.
The Pope spoke again. ‘Galileo of Florence, you are a credit to the Catholic Church. God go with you in your work.’
Nothing had changed in the buildings, the sounds or the high summer smells of the city when Galileo emerged from the Vatican, yet as he looked around, everything felt different. He wanted to laugh or maybe cry; it was difficult to tell which.
‘You did well today, Galileo. You have learned much in your week with us here,’ said Grienberger.
Ordinarily Galileo would have taken offence at being patronised by a younger man but today he found it easy to accept the words as a compliment. ‘Thank you. I have a question for you.’
Grienberger inclined his head.
‘Do you not think that the weight of my observations proves Copernicus?’ asked Galileo. ‘The fact that the Medici stars orbit Jupiter, not the Earth; that the Moon has earthly features …’
‘The official Jesuit position is currently an Aristotelian one.’
‘But my observations are so clearly in conflict with Aristotle.’
‘Listen to my words, Galileo: “currently”. As Father Clavius said to you, the Jesuits recognise that the orbs of Heaven need rearranging, but as yet we have no new interpretation to offer that satisfies everyone.’
‘I didn’t ask you what the Jesuits think, I asked what you think.’
‘Galileo, I do not enjoy the same freedom as you. The Jesuits speak with one voice. Each of us understands that the individual is subservient to the group. There are 13,000 of us, some as far as China, all spreading the word of Christ with the same voice.’ There was obvious pride in Grienberger’s voice, the first time Galileo had perceived any passion in the man. ‘We achieve this unity because we work with a common purpose, with clear lines of communication and an acceptance of the hierarchy. Everything we publish passes through the College and is reviewed before it goes near the presses; in this fashion we maintain the quality of what we do. It is our organisation, our unity of purpose that makes the Lutherans fear us.’
Galileo turned to face him. ‘These new observations can help in the fight, but only if we are willing to use them. We can show people that the true glory of Heaven is a Catholic revelation.’
Grienberger’s head shifted a fraction. For a moment, Galileo actually saw into the Jesuit’s blue eyes. ‘I agree, Galileo, but you need to work with us.’
‘One voice,’ said Galileo after a pause.
‘One voice. It is what makes us strong. Know this, Galileo: stick to describing the basic facts of your observations, and let us do the rest. Do this, and you will have nothing to fear from us.’
‘And if not?’
Grienberger ignored the question.
21
Prague, Bohemia
The entrance hall was full of linen. Bundles of sheets lay on the floor; others were scattered higgledy-piggledy across the furnishings. As Kepler looked at the mess, some more came flying through the kitchen door, followed by pulses of angry conversation.
He headed for the source of the trouble, his face grim. Barbara stood with her hands on her hips, shrieking at the top of her voice. Frau Bezold had her back turned, pretending to ignore the tirade and folding one of the bedsheets.
Barbara’s face was bright red. ‘Husband, tell her! We cannot sleep on dirty sheets.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my laundering,’ said Frau Bezold.
‘You must do them again until they are cle—’
Barbara dropped to the floor.
She fell so quickly that it took a few seconds for Kepler to comprehend what had happened.
‘Don’t just stand there!’ urged Frau Bezold. But no sooner had the housekeeper taken a step towards her mistress than she recoiled, her face twisted in horror.
Barbara was thrashing wildly on the floor. Her limbs made the most sickening thudding noise on the flagstones. Livid bruising was already visible on her elbows and wrists.
Kepler clambered around the table and dropped to his knees, trying to grab hold of his wife’s flailing arms. But there was too much force in her jerky motions. Every time he thought he had her, she would break free with a renewed surge of wild energy.
‘Barbara, Barbara,’ Kepler called. ‘It’s me, Johannes.’
Her head may have moved at his voice, but it was difficult to tell.
Frau Bezold began to recite the Lord’s Prayer.
‘Help me, Frau Bezold, we must restrain her.’
She clutched her crucifix and did not budge.
‘Help me, now! There is no danger, except of her injuring herself.’
Frau Bezold gingerly approached and, with a wail, reached out to grasp Barbara’s ankles. Together, Kepler and Bezold fought to keep Barbara still. Her eyes were half-open but unfocused. Then, as quickly as it had begun, so it ended. Barbara went limp and seemed to fall asleep, emitting a guttural snoring. Kepler hesitantly released the slumbering form. Neither he nor Frau Bezold spoke but he began to tremble, so leaned forwards on his knees.
When Barbara woke up, she was confused and weak. She reached up and clutched her husband, who manoeuvred her into his arms. She dug her fingers into him, twisting great handfuls of his clothing.
‘You’re alright now. You’re safe. Let’s get you into bed,’ he said.
There were pale marks on Barbara’s neck where the doctor touched her carotid artery. Kepler stood beside Frau Bezold and watched the man from the corner of the room.
The doctor looked over his shoulder at him. ‘Seizures, you say?’
‘A handful in the past few days.’
‘A handful? What do you mean? Three? Four? Five?’
Kepler felt like a child, caught concealing the truth. ‘Five in three days, Doctor Reichard. But she has not been herself for many months now.’ He flicked a glance at Barbara. ‘She suffers from melancholia.’
Reichard closed his eyes and counted Barbara’s pulse. ‘A little high, but nothing to worry about.’
Kepler smiled at Barbara, who responded weakly. She was sitting upright, immobile, with the blankets pulled high around her. Reichard knelt down and ran a hand under the bed. ‘Aha.’ He retrieved a ceramic chamberpot and looked into it, fascination written on his face.
He took the pan to the window, tilted it towards him, then away. There was a faint slopping sound. He swirled the pan and held it to his nose to sniff, as Kepler had seen Hewart von Hohenburg do with wine. He reached into his bag and retrieved a small glass beaker. Into it, he splashed a sample from the chamberpot and held it to the light at the window. With a noise of contentment, he tipped the contents back into the pot and dried the interior of the beaker with a cloth.
‘Doctor?’ Kepler asked.
‘Nothing much wrong there. But, melancholia, you say? That is linked to an excess of the cold and dry vapours in the blood. The best course of action will be to bleed her at the temporal vein.’
Kepler nodded. Barbara remained motionless.
Reichard retrieved a small knife from his bag. He ran a fingernail down the dull blade, scraping at a collection of black spots on the metal. Then he pulled out a metal bowl.
Kepler noticed how reluctantly he approached Barbara and reached towards her right temple. She winced at the incision and screwed her eyes shut as the blood flowed from the side of her face. At arm’s length, the doctor held the bowl until sufficient blood had pooled in the metal receptacle, after which he pressed a cloth to the wound. Frau Bezold immediately rushed to hold it in place as Barbara slumped backwards onto the pillows.
‘Sh
e will sleep now.’ He turned to Kepler. ‘Can we talk, privately?’
Once outside, Reichard took a deep breath. ‘Herr Kepler, I’ll come straight to the point. You do not need a doctor, you need a priest. The bleeding will help the melancholia but the seizures … It is beyond physic …’
Kepler squared his chest. ‘I cannot believe it.’
‘Herr Kepler, please. You must realise – evil is afoot in Prague.’ The doctor took a deep breath. ‘I can find nothing medically wrong with your wife. The only explanation is that she has been … invaded by an evil spirit.’
‘You are wrong.’
‘You saw her thrashing, was it not demonic? She is fighting a war inside. You owe it to her – and to the rest of us – to stop this terror spreading. I urge you to help her with an exorcism.’
When the doctor left, Kepler brooded on the diagnosis, finding reasons why it could not be true. Yet that night he arranged the children around Barbara’s sleeping form and conducted them in an hour of prayers and recitals. He pronounced each word more carefully than he could ever remember doing in the past, emphasising their meaning by holding each child’s gaze in turn.
In the morning, Barbara awoke with a smile, blinking at the brightness from the window.
Kepler sprang up from the armchair in which he had spent the night dozing. ‘You look better.’ He had barely completed the sentence when her eyes rolled upwards and another violent fit took possession of her.
Kepler made his way through the deserted streets of the Jewish quarter. Arriving at the university, he found Jessenius bustling down a corridor.
The anatomist had his hands clasped behind his back and appeared to be studying his feet. When Kepler intercepted him, his head jerked upwards.
‘What are you doing here, Johannes?’ It sounded like an accusation.
Kepler explained about Barbara.
‘I am sorry to hear that.’ Jessenius looked drawn.
‘Tell me you do not believe in this, too.’
‘I would prefer such things not to be true but they make sense to me.’