The Last Day
Page 33
From here, the tour group was led outside again, through a series of art-adorned courtyards, and then back indoors through several museum halls of exquisite paintings, statuary and tapestries. Finally, they exited out into the sunlight and the vast magnificence of St. Peter's Square. Catching up with them here were the media, Swiss Guards and the rest of the knightly court they'd previously left behind.
As large as a half dozen football fields, the immense square was deserted, closed off at the bottleneck of the stately Bernini colonnades by rows of riot-geared police. Beyond the blockade, crowds of fervid onlookers massed all the way out to the distant banks of the Tiber.
The point where the Jeza party emerged onto the square was roughly midway between the colonnades and the imperial Basilica of St Peter. As they traversed the lengthy expanse of cobblestone, it was explained that this huge common had once been a spectacular Roman circus where, for sport, gladiators had fought to the death and early Christians were devoured by wild beasts. Indeed, it was in this very courtyard where Saint Peter himself, as an eighty-year-old man, had been nailed upside down on a cross to die agonizingly in the sun.
Awaiting them at the steps of the cathedral was a formal military formation of more plumed Swiss Guardsmen and assorted papal knights in full dress regalia. One by one as they were announced, the military brigades snapped into a gauntlet of opposing columns leading up the stone steps into the cathedral. With Santorini still in the lead, Jeza and company ascended through the human tunnel, passed between huge white portals and ornate wrought iron gates, and into the vast, sacred chambers of the world's largest church. The armed guards then collapsed in orderly fashion and fell in behind the group.
It was dark and cool inside like a cave. And just as otherworldly. As he marched down the broad, open aisle, Feldman's mouth was agape. He'd never witnessed such splendor. The voices of the all-boy Julian choir wafted down from the lavishly embellished, vaulted heights of the loggias. If it had been the pope's intent to impress his visitors, he'd most certainly succeeded. At least with Feldman and his WNN associates, who were visibly awestruck. The Messiah's perception, however, was indeterminable, her face impassive, her demeanor polite and unaffected.
As enormous as it was, the spacious cathedral's galleries were utterly filled to capacity with representatives of every conceivable Catholic religious order and declension. Perfectly civil in contrast to the milling crowds outside the Vatican gates, this was still a decidedly hostile assembly. Feldman noted more than a few glares of disapproval on the wan faces of the nuns and clergy. And now, sealed off from behind by the rear guardsmen, Feldman found himself growing increasingly uneasy as he moved deeper into the ecclesiastical stronghold.
Directly ahead of the procession, rising to a height of eighty-eight feet, was a gigantic gold-bronze canopy supported by four colossal, spiraling pillars. The canopy was centered under the enormous, four-hundred-foot-high dome of the cathedral, sheltering below it the elevated platform of the High Altar itself. In front of the altar sat an empty throne awaiting the arrival of the pope.
A lone cardinal, dressed in white and bright scarlet, stood tall and immobile next to the throne, his hands clasped behind his back. It was the redoubtable Antonio di Concerci, observing the approaching party with the cold, emotionless appraisal of a war-hardened general surveying his enemy before battle.
As Feldman grew near to the point of rendezvous, he was surprised to find, upon closer inspection, that what he had taken to be a railed enclosure in front of the altar turned out to be the dark passage to an underground chamber. He suddenly recognized this to be a section of the catacombs, the ancient altar that was the mystical repository for the bones of the first pope of Rome himself. As he stared down into its somber depths, Feldman felt a cold draft emanating.
Santorini continued around the railing and brought his procession to a halt at the steps leading up to the left side of the High Altar. Turning back to face his charges, the cardinal upraised a palm as if warding off any questions, lowered his head and eyes, and then folded his hands at his waist in prayer. Cardinal Litti followed suit.
Feldman noticed that Jeza had also closed her eyes in silent meditation. Not having much alternative, Feldman and the rest of the party maintained their positions, patiently awaiting what was to come next. A few rows behind Feldman, Hunter was busy zooming his camera in on points of interest around the basilica, and Cissy occupied herself with adjusting sound levels of the choir on her portable, digital recorder.
When the choir suddenly fell silent, Feldman took this as a good sign something significant was imminent. In a few moments, tall bronze double doors from a side sacristy opened wide with a heavy metallic bong. The choir erupted in a joyous hymn, the huge audience rose, turning as one in excited reverence, and the media pressed in as close as the cordons and stationed Swiss Guards would allow.
First to emerge through the bronze doors was the papal master of ceremonies in white and black robe, flanked by the procurators of the ecclesiastical colleges and two Swiss Guards. Behind them followed the Capuchin preacher to the Holy See, clad in dark brown. Then the papal father-confessor, dressed in jet black; after him, a series of monsignors in deep purple; a group of protonotary apostolics in white; and a chaplain bearing the papal mitre.
Next were six judges of the Rota and legal officials carrying candles, followed by two deacons, one Western, one Eastern; then abbots, bishops, archbishops and patriarchs, succeeded by two clergy with flower-bedecked staves; next came the entire College of Cardinals in brilliant crimson robes; after them, the prince assistant at the pontifical throne, dressed in black with silk hose and white lace fichu.
And finally, in gala uniforms of the court, came the papal chamberlains, who bore upon their shoulders the sedia gestatoria—the royal sedan chair—bearing His Holiness the Vicar of Rome, the two hundred sixty-ninth successor of Saint Peter, Pope Nicholas VI.
The pontiff was spectacularly arrayed in a flowing white robe of the finest silk, with short shoulder mozzetta of crimson velvet. Towering atop his head was a magnificent, three-tiered papal tiara, once the property of his predecessor namesake, Nicholas V. It gleamed of burnished gold, set off by nearly one thousand rubies, emeralds, sapphires, diamonds and pearls.
Floating above the tiara was a white, mobile canopy, held aloft by eight monsignori, as two privy chamberlains walked alongside with white, ostrich-plumed flabelli on long poles. Behind the caravan, following with a satin pillow, was the dean of the Rota, whose responsibility it was to bear the heavy papal tiara, when not in use. Bringing up the rear was the papal majordomo, then a selection of other papal officials and, finally, the high generals of all the noble religious orders.
The elaborate, regal train maneuvered slowly toward the High Altar as the pope magnanimously bestowed blessings upon his adoring faithful and saluted them with small, wristy waves of both hands. As the sedan chair glided up to the altar, a mendicant scurried in from nowhere with golden-carpeted, portable steps which he placed at the side of the carriage. Removing his unwieldy tiara, the pope handed it down to the dean of the Rota for safekeeping and awkwardly exited his sedan. The choir continued its glorious chants until the pope had ascended the altar and seated himself in his throne.
There was a full three minutes of applause and subdued cheering before the pope lifted his left hand slightly from the armrest and called for silence. Breck Hunter, with Cissy at his elbow, moved with impunity directly up to the side of the High Altar for an acolyte's-eye view.
As soon as the great cathedral had quieted, the papal master of ceremonies strode up the steps of the altar and bowed slightly to Nicholas.
“Holy Father, may we ask for your blessings upon our assembly?”
To which the pontiff made an aerial sign of the cross in front of his heart and whispered Latin words.
“Holy Father,” the master of ceremonies continued, “may I present to you Silvio Cardinal Santorini, who marshals today's delegation.”
Santorini mounted the steps and dropped to one knee before the throne as Nicholas extended his hand. Kissing the Ring of Peter, Santorini rose and descended on the right to the base of the steps, taking up a mirror reflection of his former position.
Standing next to the pope, di Concerci's face was implacable. But behind his back, his clasped hands were locked in a tight grip. The pope's state of mind was evidenced in the steady creasing of his brow.
“May I present to you Alphonse Cardinal Litti, escort,” the presiding master announced, and the stout cardinal made his way energetically up to the throne.
Just as di Concerci had predicted, Litti genuflected and kissed his pope's ring. Nicholas gave him a slight wink, and Litti rose with a broad smile on his face, descending to join Santorini. Over among the pope's entourage, a chamberlain was readying an armchair, presumably for Jeza. He held off installing the chair on the altar until after the prophetess could be announced.
“Your Holiness,” the master of ceremonies spoke again, “may I petition for your audience the Lady Jeza of Israel.”
So far, the Messiah had been indifferent to the ceremony, her head cast downward and off to the side, as if preoccupied. Di Concerci unclenched his hands behind him and lowered them slowly to his side. The pope anxiously edged forward in his chair, his ring hand at the ready.
Watching all this develop, Feldman had wondered how Jeza would respond to this overwhelming display of pomp and power. He did not have long to wait.
Having chosen her moment, the prophetess slowly ascended the stairs. The pontiff leaned forward expectantly, extending his arm at full length to the oncoming woman. Video cameras rolled and flashbulbs popped as the historic union impended.
Raising her eyes as she climbed, the Messiah fixed them, for the first time, on those of the pope. There was blue fire in her glare and she unleashed its flame with full force. Despite di Concerci's warning, Nicholas was ill prepared for the searing effect He was startled, gasped, and reflexively retracted his arm, averting his face, flinching and splaying his hands defensively in front of his eyes.
To the crowd of amazed onlookers, the pope appeared intimidated, his reaction submissive. Instinctively, di Concerci moved forward to assist his pope, but Nicholas was recovering. The pontiff took a furtive glance through his fingers at the prophetess as she reached the top level of the High Altar, pulling up short of the throne. Standing but a few feet away from the stricken pope, Jeza looked down upon him, her head tilted slightly to the side as if carefully studying him.
The basilica had grown as quiet as the catacombs that moldered beneath it.
“I do not come to venerate the Ring of Peter,” she exclaimed in a loud voice, placing her hands defiantly on her hips. “In the name of the living God, I come to reclaim it!”
The pope was taken completely aback. Alphonse Litti, anxious and distraught, had dropped to his knees at the base of the altar.
With a look of outrage, di Concerci attempted to intervene, but it was obvious Jeza wasn't going to yield the floor. Her eyes flashing with passion, she cautioned the prefect back with an upraised palm, and with her other hand, aimed an accusing finger at the confounded pope.
“Your Church has broken faith with Almighty God,” she declared. “It has betrayed the consecrated covenant of Peter. For two millennia has it abused the sacred trust of Christ. Through the centuries has it corrupted the Holy Scripture to its own selfish purposes in its lust for power and control. In its hypocrisy has it ruled its followers one way, yet secretly lived another. In its jealousy and intolerance has it muted and destroyed the holy men and women God has sent to enlighten it. In its arrogance has it ignored the Father's messages and warnings.
“And in its greed and pursuit of worldly materialism has it accumulated vast wealth at the expense of the destitute it was ordained to cherish and nurture.” She lowered her accusing finger slightly to target the pope's hand.
“Of what value is this gold ring you would have me kiss?”
The pope could not answer, he could only stare vapidly up at her.
“And of what value is a life?” she asked, but he failed to answer. “If selling this ring would feed but one person, save but one life, would not its value increase a thousandfold? And if this ring would feed a thousand, would not its worth increase a thousand times a thousand?
“Has Christ not said in Matthew nineteen, verse twenty-one: ‘If thou wilt be perfect, go sell what thou hast and give to the poor, and thou shall have treasure in heaven?’
“Yet you, who call yourselves ‘God's chosen on earth,’ and ‘the One, Holy and Apostolic Church,’ have acquired vast holdings, surrounding yourselves with the richest concentration of treasures in the world!”
The pontiff sat frozen in his throne, a look of deep hurt and shock on his face, unresponsive as Jeza spewed her venom before the entire world. With the pope unable or unwilling to counter the attack, an alarmed-looking Cardinal di Concerci stepped forward to confront the prophetess.
“The Church is merely the custodian of these sacred treasures,” he pointed out angrily, assuming command in the glare of the unblinking cameras. “The wondrous works of art that you see about you are revered religious symbols that have inspired devotion and prayer in the millions of worshipers who have meditated upon them over the centuries. The very creation of each of these master-pieces was itself an expression of devout faith on the part of the artist, undertaken for the honor and glory of God.”
This rally to the defense of the pope released a pent-up frustration in the crowded galleries, and cries of “Amen” and “Alleluia” echoed encouragement to the Cardinal Prefect.
Jeza was not dissuaded. “Do the starving, sick and naked of the world draw inspiration from your works of art?” she asked. “Are the priceless pagan antiquities of the Greeks, Romans and Egyptians in your Museo Profano, your Museum of the Profane, also inspirational religious icons?
“And how do you justify the enormous wealth of the papal financial institutions whose great fortunes are stockpiled in deep secrecy? Or the vast holdings in real estate that you hoard throughout the world? I say to you, the Father values not goods, but goodness. He neither needs nor wants your tributes. The Almighty is neither insecure nor vain such that the trappings of mortal man can embellish Him!
“Did Christ seek wealth or glory? You acquire these adornments to enrich yourselves, not God. How can the towering structures you erect as places of worship be more inspiring than the cathedrals of the forests and mountains, or the altars of the open fields and valleys that God Himself has created for you?
“Behold,” she cried, throwing her arms open wide and gesturing toward the vastness of the basilica. “My house is the house of the faithful. Yet you have made it a temple unto yourselves!”
An increasingly furious and desperate di Concerci lashed back. “Your house?” he exploded in indignation, pausing for his point to solidify, then petitioning the cameras with imploring eyes. “Are these not the ravings of a megalomaniac! This girl is self-righteous and utterly delusional. And so ill-informed that she can focus only on the superficial and cannot see the greater good!”
Turning back to Jeza, the prefect declared, “You are misguided, woman. Blind to the true purpose and goodness of Holy Mother Church. You do not know of Her extensive philanthropies. Her irreplaceable largesse that feeds and clothes and tends and heals and educates and uplifts the suffering masses of the world. Her charitable missionaries, hospitals, orphanages, schools and benevolent organizations!”
Jeza turned her unwavering gaze on her opponent. “It is not that I am unaware of the virtuous deeds of your Church,” she intoned. “It is that I am unmoved. The good services you perform are but a fraction of what God has mandated of you, and a pittance of what your vast resources enable you. God's patience grows thin!”
Cardinal di Concerci, whose patience had apparently also grown thin, nodded down to a frantic Cardinal Santorini, who slipped quickly away from the battle.
Feldman seemed to detect a slight softening in Jeza's expression, which, to this point, had remained deadly serious.
“If my words sound harsh to you,” she replied, “it is only because you appear unable to grasp anything less.” She paused and sighed. “I do not say that yours is the most misdirected of religions. There are many more which have led their followers further astray. Yet, it is the Catholic Church that was the original vessel of Christianity, the first Church ordained by Christ to carry forward His Word. Therefore, it is the Catholic Church that must bear the greatest responsibility for the wayward directions of Christianity. In failing to heed the pleadings of the Lord's messengers over the centuries, in failing to redress your abiding arrogance and materialism, the Catholic Church is responsible for causing the great schisms which divided Christianity into the countless fragmented sects now scattered across the lands.
“After two millennia and the many warnings of God's holy messengers, your time for reparation has passed. The Almighty is reclaiming that which He gave you. All that is left to you are your benevolent services in assisting the physical afflictions of mankind. Your spiritual authority is no more.”
She raised her right hand and forefinger in front of her face in admonition and called out loudly, “In the name of the Living God, I command you to relinquish to the poor all that has been given you through the ages. Surrender up your vast wealth and possessions. Abandon your throne, disband your ministries, and preach no more your flawed catechism. Persist no longer in your stubborn ways. I warn you now for the last time, obey the will of God or be met with a just and devastating retribution!”