Ciampoli fared better and on 10 August he wrote a cheery letter to Galileo to say that Urban VIII had confirmed the canonry for which he had applied. He offered to read aloud to the pope the letter of thanks that Galileo would send. This was a nice gesture, but also a way of letting people in Florence know that he still had the ear of the pope.
THE PLAGUE
Galileo had advertised his book outside Italy by writing to friends such as Elia Diodati to tell them that he had found new arguments for the Copernican system and that he planned to publish his book by Easter 1630. When the book did not appear, Diodati became worried and enquired about Galileo’s health—was he still alive? The deadly plague that originated in Germany had spread southward and reached Tuscany in the summer of 1630. It was to last three years with periods of respite, and it took an awful toll in human lives: one-third of the population of Venice, half the population of Milan, and three-quarters that of Mantua. The first symptom of the contagion was the swelling of the lymph nodes under the arms or between the thighs. These lumps, called buboes, gave the pestilence the name bubonic plague. During its worst visitation, between 1346 and 1349, it killed 25 million people, or one-fourth the population of Europe. Only a small number of those who contracted the illness recovered. Banished for a time, the plague returned mercilessly. No one knew why or how. The wildest causes were invoked, from noxious vapors in the air to the influence of the stars and the planets. The remedies were just as fanciful: For instance, Galileo’s daughter, Maria Celeste, recommended an electuary of dried figs, nuts, rue leaves, salt, and honey to be taken every morning with a glass of good wine.
The true cause of the contagion, microbes living on black rats, was only discovered 200 years later. When a sick rat died, its fleas would spread the disease by leaping onto and biting another rat or a human. Europeans may have had no inkling of the germ theory of disease, but they had learned that it was important to avoid contact with those who had contacted the plague. The Venetian doge in 1348 had ordered that travellers from contaminated areas be kept in isolation for 40 days, hence quarantine, from the Italian word for 40. The period of time was not based on any clinical insight but had been chosen because Christ spent 40 days in the desert before returning to civilization to begin his ministry.
The plague brought out the best and the worst in people. The 20-year-old grand duke, Ferdinando II, did not flee to one of his many country villas but stayed in Florence to dispense comfort and encouragement to the citizens. Galileo’s son, Vincenzio, took to the hills with his pregnant wife and left his one-year old infant with Galileo in Bellosguardo, where one of the workers, who had been diagnosed with the plague in October, had died within a matter of days.
COMMUNICATIONS DISRUPTED
By mid-August the contagion had become serious enough for the Apostolic Nuncio in Florence to write to Rome to warn them. Benedetto Castelli was already informed when he wrote to Galileo on 24 August to urge him to have his book published in Florence as Father Visconti considered appropriate. Commerce between Florence and Rome came to a grinding halt, and letters were held back at the border of Tuscany, sometimes for close to a month. Books were confiscated and frequently destroyed. The least that could happen to them was that their covers would be burned and their pages fumigated.
Galileo managed to speed up his correspondence with Rome by sending his letters to Genoa, which was free from the plague, and having them shipped from there to Rome; the process took about 12 days. When it became clear that he could neither go to Rome nor send the bulky manuscript without risk, he asked Riccardi to be allowed to publish it in Florence. His letter was transmitted by Castelli, who acted as go-between. Riccardi’s reply spells out clearly what was expected of Galileo and what had been agreed upon, admittedly before the death of Cesi and the outbreak of the plague complicated matters. “The Master of the Sacred Palace,” Castelli wrote to Galileo, on 21 September 1630,
told me that you had agreed to return to Rome to fix a few small things in the preface and the body of the work, but on account of the plague it will be enough if you send a copy of the book to Rome so that it can be fixed with Monsignor Ciampoli, as need may be. Once this is done, you can have it printed in Florence or elsewhere, as you please.
Riccardi was willing to compromise on where the book was published, but he wanted to see a copy before giving his authorization. Castelli realized how important this was, and he allowed himself a word of advice to Galileo: “I consider it absolutely necessary that you send this copy.” If we assume that a manuscript page of the Dialogue contained about 200 words, then the work ran to roughly 900 pages. Making a copy of such a long work was a tedious and costly affair, and we can understand why Galileo tried to shirk it by putting pressure on Riccardi. He wrote to Caterina Niccolini, the wife of the Roman ambassador, who was the cousin of Father Riccardi, and asked her to intervene. On October 19, she reported that she had been almost completely successful. Riccardi would rest content if Galileo sent the preface and the ending of the book, but he had specified that the book must be revised in Florence by a theologian who was accustomed to this kind of work and belonged to the Dominican friars like himself. He suggested Father Ignazio Del Nente, but he left Galileo free to propose someone else as long as it was a member of his religious order.
Del Nente was a well-known friar who had recently been re-elected prior of the Convent of San Marco for the third time. He was busy at the time with preparations for the canonization of Dominica da Paradiso, the holy woman to whom Florentines prayed for those who had contracted the plague, and the organization of a solemn procession that was to take place on 5 December to transfer the bodily remains of St. Antonino, the protector of the city, from the Convent of San Marco to the cathedral. Galileo feared that Del Nente would not have the leisure to read a scientific work, and he proposed another Dominican, Father Iacinto Stefani, a consultant of the Florentine Inquisition and the former court preacher of Christina of Lorraine. Once again he appealed to the Roman ambassador’s wife and entrusted her with the mission of convincing Father Riccardi. On 17 November 1630 she reported that Riccardi had agreed, albeit reluctantly, but that he had once more insisted on seeing the preface and the end of the book before appointing Stefani and giving him “a few instructions.”
Castelli, who had also been pressed into service, assured Galileo, on 30 November, that Riccardi had promised him “several times to expedite the licensing of the Dialogue and entrust the business to Father Stefani.” This was the good news. The bad one was that Father Visconti, the Roman censor who had been favorable toward the Dialogue, was “in deep trouble over I do not know what astrological writing.” Visconti’s difficulties were linked to those of his friend Orazio Morandi, at whose trial an Astrological Discourse on the Life of Urban VIII, bearing Visconti’s name, had been brought forward. Visconti must have been partly successful in his plea of innocence, since he was only banished from Rome while others received very heavy sentences. Although his career was broken, Visconti was luckier than Morandi, who had died in jail on 7 November 1630, something that Castelli learned only much later. The outcome of Morandi’s trial was the Papal Bull Against Astrologers, which was promulgated a few months later on 1 April 1631. It renewed the prescriptions of Sixtus V’s Bull Coeli ac Terrae Creator of 5 January 1586, directed against astrologers who claimed the power of knowing the future and of setting in motion certain secret forces for the good or hurt of the living. Urban VIII commanded that an eye should be kept on such magical arts as were directed against the life of the pope and that of his relatives down to the third degree. Those guilty of such offenses were to be punished not only with excommunication but also with death and confiscation of property. That Galileo’s name should have been associated with those of Morandi and Visconti was unfortunate, to say the least.
A TERRIBLE WINTER
The plague continued to be severe throughout the winter of 1630, and public health officials sought to halt the spread of the infection by sending th
e stricken to hospitals, burning their belongings, and boarding up their homes. Relatives who were trapped inside had to wait 22 days before going out while subsisting on the food that the authorities distributed and that was hoisted up in baskets from the street. The health officers tried to discourage large gatherings, but the clergy organized processions and called on their flock to meet for prayer in the churches. In the clash that ensued, the pope sided with those who wanted larger crowds in the houses of worship. The whole board of health was reprimanded, but they were undeterred and took the difficult decision of imposing a general quarantine that was to have begun on 25 December but was postponed until 22 January 1631 when it became clear that preparations would take longer than expected. Men were allowed out of their home at the beginning of March but women and children were not permitted to leave until 22 April.
During this period, Galileo heard the sad news that his brother, Michelangelo, had died in Munich, and that his widow and children were in a state of penury. Holed up in his villa in Bellosguardo, Galileo turned 67 on 15 February 1631. He was growing old and people were dying all around him. Some 7,000 inhabitants, out of a population of 70,000, had perished in Florence since the outbreak of the plague. Galileo did not want to disappear without seeing his Dialogue in print, but he had no news from Riccardi. As soon as he was allowed to leave his forced sequestration, he went down to the Granducal Palace on 6 March 1631 to lodge a complaint about the way things were being dragged out in Rome. He hoped to speak to the grand duke himself but suddenly felt ill and had to return home without doing so.
He decided to put what he had to say in a letter, which he wrote the very next day to Andrea Cioli, the secretary of state. In his long letter Galileo stressed his good will and recalled that he had traveled to Rome to personally hand over his manuscript to the master of the sacred palace, Father Riccardi, who had it examined by Visconti but also read it himself, according to Galileo, before returning it duly signed and authorized. Galileo then went back to Florence intending to send the final version to Prince Cesi, who had agreed to have it published in Rome. Unfortunately, Cesi died before this could be done, and the outbreak of the plague and the disruption of communications up and down the peninsula necessitated publication in Florence. Galileo insisted on the fact that he had secured proper permission for the printer from all the local authorities, from the bishop’s vicar to the Florentine inquisitor and the grand duke’s official book reviewer. He had even informed (out of courtesy, as it seemed to him) Father Riccardi, only to be told by the wife of the Roman ambassador that he wanted to see the book once again. Galileo then called on the secretary of state to enquire whether the manuscript could safely be sent to Rome. He was warned against trying to do so because even ordinary letters had a hard time getting through, so he merely sent the preface and the ending of the book. This was done so that Father Riccardi might change whatever he saw fit, cutting, rewording, or even describing his ideas as dreams or chimeras. Riccardi agreed that the rest of the work could be revised in Florence by Father Stefani, and this good friar was so moved,
that he shed tears more than once when he saw with how much humility and reverent submission I defer to the authority of my superiors. He declares, as all those who have read the book, that I should have been begged to publish such as work rather than hindered.
Although satisfied with the preface and the ending, Riccardi never returned them to Galileo. “And my work has been put aside in a corner,” laments Galileo, “my life wastes away and I am in continuous bad health.” Hence his appeal to the grand duke, “so that while I am still alive I may see the outcome of my long and hard work.” But what steps could be taken? Galileo had no hesitation in telling the secretary of state: Find out what Father Riccardi is really up to, and then order the ambassador to have a word with him and tell him in no uncertain terms that the grand duke wants the matter settled promptly, not least to show “what kind of people he has in his employ.”
Any unprejudiced person reading this letter could only feel pity for the elderly scientist whose life’s work was held up by the incompetence of civil servants. Galileo had made an excellent case for himself, but he had not been entirely candid. For one thing, he had carefully avoided mentioning that the topic was sensitive. There was no reference to the condemnation of Copernicanism in 1616, and not a word was breathed about the injunction he had received from Cardinal Bellarmine not to teach or defend in any way that the Earth moves. Furthermore, Galileo’s claim that in the spring of 1630 Riccardi personally read the Dialogue must be qualified in the light of the report that Riccardi submitted to Urban VIII in 1633. Riccardi states that he could not read the book at the time but that in order to speed things up, he had agreed to see it page by page as it came off the press. With this proviso, he granted his imprimatur for publication in Rome. Neither Galileo nor Riccardi could foresee the death of Cesi, and neither was trying to distort the truth, but both wanted to put their best construction on what had happened. There is no doubt however, that Riccardi had not read the Dialogue in 1630 and that his license to print was initially limited to Rome.
POLITICS AT WORK
Galileo’s letter to the secretary of state had the effect he desired. It was read to the grand duke who immediately instructed the Roman ambassador to impress upon Riccardi that he wanted the Dialogue published without further delay. This seems to have placed Ambassador Niccolini in something of a quandary since he chose not to act himself but instead had his wife speak to her cousin, Father Riccardi. The whole trouble, as Niccolini reported to the secretary of state, on 16 March, was that Riccardi did not want the book examined by Father Stefani but by Father Del Nente. Riccardi was clearly dragging his feet. The secretary of state kept returning to the matter in his correspondence with Niccolini who asked, on 5 April 1631, for another week to win over the master of the sacred palace. The secretary of state granted him six days, after which he wrote to remind him that the orders came expressly from the grand duke. On 13 April Niccolini pleaded again for more time “to find a compromise with the Master of the Sacred Palace if we cannot obtain what we wish.” On the next day Riccardi finally accepted the call at the embassy and, after what Niccolini described as a battle, he agreed to give the license to print but with a statement to release him of any liability. He promised to put this down in writing so that the ambassador could transmit it to Florence. Niccolini was evidently becoming a little anxious since he insists, in his letter of 19 April to the secretary of state, that he requested a written statement from Riccardi. “To speak the truth,” he adds, “these opinions are not welcome here, especially by the authorities.” The Florentine government might do as it pleased, but the ambassador did not want to be reprimanded for not sounding the alarm bell.
Easter fell on 20 April that year, and Riccardi used that as a convenient excuse not to produce the statement immediately. He finally got around to writing it on Friday, 25 April and it was forwarded to Florence by diplomatic post two days later. Riccardi points out that, with all the good will in the world, Father Stefani (the reviser whom Galileo had chosen) “did not know the mind of the Holy Father, and could not give an approval that would be sufficient for me to allow the book to be printed without running, for both of us, the risk that some unfriendly persons might find something contrary to the orders that were given.” Riccardi insists that he wants nothing more than to please the grand duke, but in such a way “that someone under the protection of so great a Prince may not be threatened in his reputation.” This meant, Riccardi spells out, that he could not authorize the publication of a book in Florence outside his jurisdiction. All he could legitimately do was to check whether the instructions of the pope had been followed. If Galileo would send him the preface and the conclusion to the book, he could do just that, and then communicate his approval. If the manuscript could not be mailed because of the restrictions that were introduced on account of the plague, Riccardi was willing to bend even more and write to the Florentine inquisitor to tell hi
m what he had been notified to look for in the book, so that the inquisitor, acting on his own authority, might allow it to be published if he found that everything was in order. Riccardi concluded, wistfully, that it would be nice if some entirely different solution could be found, and his signature no longer required.
But the Florentine Government had no better suggestion to offer, and Galileo was showed the letter. He immediately dashed off a note to the secretary of state saying that he was “disgusted.” After making him wait for a whole year, the master of the sacred palace was trying to play the same trick on the grand duke. “This is intolerable,” declared Galileo, and he suggested calling a conference, to be chaired by the grand duke, with the participation of the secretary of state, the Florentine inquisitor, and other notabilities. The Dialogue, in Galileo’s eyes, was becoming a matter of national interest. The secretary of state would not go that far, but he wrote to Ambassador Niccolini to tackle Father Riccardi once more and have him write to Clemente Egidi, the Florentine inquisitor, as he had declared himself ready to do.
Shea and Artigas - Galileo in Rome Page 17