The pressure was too great for Riccardi and, on 24 May he gave in, but he still tried to have his cake and eat it. He told the Florentine inquisitor that he could “use his own authority.” In other words, since the book could not be sent to Rome, it was up to the local inquisitor to do his job. Riccardi was willing to lend a helpful hand by telling him about a few things that the pope had made absolutely clear. First, the title should in no way make mention of the tides. Second, if Scripture was not taken into consideration, Copernicanism could be presented as a theory that accounted for astronomical observations although no claim was made for its physical truth. Third, it was to be made clear that the book was only written to demonstrate that Rome did not condemn Copernicanism without knowing all the arguments in its favor. The preface and the ending, Riccardi added, would be revised in this light and would be returned as soon as this was done. So at the end of May 1631, almost one year after Galileo’s trip to Rome, Riccardi had still not found the time or the energy to read what amounted to less than ten pages.
As if all had been settled, Riccardi wound up, “With these precautions, no one in Rome will object to the book, and you will be in a position to please the author and serve his Highness the Grand Duke, who has shown such concern in this matter.” Riccardi was trying to have it both ways. Without actually refusing to give the license to publish, he shifted the burden onto the Florentine inquisitor while playing the role of the dutiful servant of both the pope and the grand duke. He held on to the preface and the conclusion of the Dialogue, thereby effectively delaying its publication. But Galileo was not to be undone. He had Ambassador Niccolini pester the master of the sacred palace well into the hot Roman summer until Riccardi sent the preface on 19 July and allowed the author to change or embellish the wording, as long he kept the substance. “The same argument must appear in the conclusion,” Riccardi added in his letter to the Florentine inquisitor. Clearly he had capitulated before revising the conclusion which contained the views of Urban VIII on the nature and limits of science. These views were dear to the pope, and they should not have been found in the mouth of the dim-witted Simplicio. Had Riccardi read the passage, as he had promised to do, he might have seen and averted the catastrophe.
In informing Galileo of his success, Ambassador Niccolini added, for the first time, a word of sympathy for the much harassed priest. “The Master of the Sacred Palace deserves to he pitied,” he writes, “for in these very days when he was being bothered by me, he had a lot of trouble about some other works that appeared a short while ago.” We do not know what these other works were, but Father Riccardi had clearly been more generous than his superiors judged suitable.
LET’S PUBLISH . . . AND PERISH
Galileo had not waited for the arrival of the preface to begin printing the Dialogue. As early as June, the presses had been set in motion, and some 50 pages (out of a total of about 500) were ready by the time Riccardi bowed to Florentine pressure. The frontispiece needed an illustration, and Galileo and the printer hired Stefano Della Bella, a 21-year-old engraver who was at the beginning of his career. Galileo had him represent three elderly and bearded scholars in fanciful costumes. On the left, with his back turned to us, is the eldest, who is bald and has a long beard. He leans with his left hand on a stick and points to an armillary sphere in the hand of the person next to him. He is identified as “ARISTOTLE,” the name written on his sumptuous robe. The scholar in the middle has an oriental headgear and his name, “PTOLEMY,” engraved on the fringe of his mantle. The third person, on the right, wears a three-cornered hat and what was considered a nordic garment. This is Nicholas Copernicus, abbreviated as “NIC. COPER” on his clothing. He also points to the armillary sphere with his right hand, but in his left he holds a circular frame with the Sun at the center.
ADVERTISING BEYOND THE ALPS
In spite of his protestations of reverent submission to the will of his “superiors,” Galileo never intended to suppress his physical proof that the Earth moves. He did not yell this from rooftops in Italy, but he was willing to let it be known beyond the Alps, at least to Diodati, who had been born in Italy but had moved to Geneva and then to Paris on account of the Protestant faith of his family. On 16 August 1631, Galileo wrote to tell him that he had permission to publish his book but not to mention the tides in the title, “Although this is the main argument that I develop in the work. But I have been allowed to outline the Ptolemaic and the Copernican systems and say all that can be said for both of them without coming down on one side.”
Galileo thought that it was enough not to formally endorse the arguments for the motion of the Earth that he had marshalled over four days. But this was not what the pope and Riccardi had in mind! They did not expect Galileo to argue for Copernicanism but to vindicate the Roman Curia for condemning it in 1616 by showing that the ecclesiastical authorities (including Urban VIII) knew the arguments for both sides. They wanted him to make clear that the motion of the Earth was a clever theory, useful for computations, but that the evidence for it was weak and controversial, and that the Church had been wise to defend the traditional, literalist interpretation of natural phenomena described in the Bible. This was sound exegesis and, for Urban VIII, it also seemed good natural philosophy. Galileo was in the habit of underestimating the abilities of people who disagreed with him, and Urban VIII suffered from the same human frailty. What is more to the point is that Galileo was instructed not to attempt to prove that Copernicanism was true, and it is hard to believe that he did not recall that he had been warned in 1616 not to teach the system in any way whatsoever. But he had outlived Bellarmine. So had Urban VIII.
The autumn of 1631 brought moving of another kind. Galileo’s daughter, Maria Celeste, had found a house for rent around the corner from her convent, and Galileo left Bellosguardo to take up residence at Il Gioiello (The Jewel), as it had been dubbed. It was to have been the idyllic place to live out the remainder of his years. As we shall see it was to become, after the trial, his place of confinement.
CHAPTER SIX
Foul Weather in Rome
SIXTH TRIP • 13 FEBRUARY-6 JULY 1633
On 21 February 1622, the Florentine printer Giovan Battista Landini heaved a sigh of relief and wrote to a correspondent in Bologna: “Praise be to God, today I finished Galileo’s book, which will be presented to the Grand Duke and the Princes tomorrow.” One thousand copies had been printed, a large run for the period, and it had taken Landini nine months to complete. As was frequently the case at the time, the title page was a cross between a summary and a publicity blurb, and it ran as follows on so many lines:
DIALOGUE
Of Galileo Galilei, Lyncean
Outstanding Mathematician of the University of Pisa
And Philosopher and Chief Mathematician Of the Most Serene
GRAND DUKE OF TUSCANY
Where, in the course of four days, are discussed
The Two
CHIEF SYSTEMS OF THE WORLD,
PTOLEMAIC AND COPERNICAN
Propounding inconclusively the philosophical and natural reasons
As much for one side as for the other.
Florence: Giovan Battista Landini, MDCXXXII
With the permission of the authorities
On Sunday, 22 February 1632, the grand duke was given a copy of the Dialogue in a ceremony at his palace in presence of a distinguished French visitor, the Duc de Guise, to whom a copy was also offered. The work opened with a flowery dedication to the grand duke, under whose protection Galileo placed Ptolemy and Copernicus, “in order,” he said, that they might receive honor and patronage. If these two men have taught me so much that my work may be considered their own, it can also be said to belong to Your Highness, for it was your generosity that gave me leisure to write, and your constant and effective assistance that provided the means by which it finally saw the light of day.
By “effective assistance” Galileo meant the financial help that he had received from the grand duke after the
untimely death of Prince Cesi. Galileo stressed in his dedication that Ptolemy and Copernicus were truly great because they were natural philosophers (scientists) who wanted to understand “the work of the omnipotent Craftsman” and not merely clever mathematicians who could calculate the position of the planets. Galileo saw his own work in this light, and it strongly contrasts with what we read in the preface, which follows the dedication and about which Riccardi had made so much fuss. This document, which bears the title To the Discerning Reader, is only three pages long, but it is printed in italics and in a typeface that is different from the one used for the rest of the book. It looks and reads like an afterthought:
A few years ago, a salutary edict was promulgated in Rome. It was aimed against the dangerous tendencies of our present age, and imposed a suitable silence upon the Pythagorean opinion that the Earth moves. Some rashly asserted that this Decree was not the outcome of an objective assessment, but the result of bias and incomplete information. Protests were to be heard that consultants, who were completely ignorant about astronomical observations, ought not to have clipped the wings of speculative minds by means of rash prohibitions. Upon hearing such carping insolence, my zeal could not be contained. Since I was thoroughly informed about that very wise determination, I decided to appear openly upon the theatre of the world as a witness to sober truth. I was at that time in Rome where I was not only received by the most eminent prelates of the Papal Court, but had their applause. Indeed, this Decree was not published without some previous notice of it having been given to me. This is why I propose in this work to show to foreign nations that as much is understood about this topic in Italy, and particularly in Rome, as transalpine diligence can imagine. I shall bring together what was discussed about the Copernican system, in order to make known that the Roman censors were perfectly well informed.
How much of this opening statement is Galileo’s and how much is Riccardi’s? The reference to a “salutary edict” hardly expresses Galileo’s sentiments. He considered the Decree of 1616 distasteful and something of a disaster, and the long and wordy paragraphs that we have just quoted may well have been drafted by Riccardi. The real, ironic Galileo appears in the next paragraph, in which Aristotelian philosophers are ridiculed:
To this end I have taken the Copernican side in the discourse and, proceeding as with a pure mathematical hypothesis, I have tried to show, by every means, that it is more satisfactory than supposing the earth motionless—not, indeed, absolutely, but when compared to the arguments of some professed Peripatetics who do not even deserve that name, for they do not walk about [Peripatetic in Greek means “walking about” and was applied to Aristotle, who walked up and down during his lectures]. Rather they are content to worship shadows, and instead of thinking for themselves they rely on a few ill-understood principles that they have memorized.
THE DIALOGUE IS DISTRIBUTED
Galileo had a number of copies of the Dialogue bound and gilded for personalities in Rome, but Ambassador Niccolini advised him not to send them before the end of May because the quarantine regulations required that books be dismantled, fumigated, and sprinkled with perfume. Galileo was annoyed but undeterred, and he called on another member of the Niccolini family, this time none less than the newly appointed archbishop of Florence, Pietro Niccolini, who was going to Rome at the end of March. It would seem that the archbishop agreed to take some unbound copies but that Galileo decided to wait until he could ship the ones that he had had specially bound at considerable expense. When the quarantine was finally relaxed at the end of May, Galileo gave his friend Filippo Magalotti eight copies to bring to Rome. The first was for Cardinal Francesco Barberini, Magalotti kept the second, and the others were distributed to Father Riccardi; Ambassador Niccolini; Monsignor Giovanni Ciampoli; Father Tommaso Campanella; Monsignor Lodovico Serristori, who was a consultant of the Holy Office; and the Jesuit Leon Santi, a professor at the Roman College. Cardinal Barberini gave his copy to Benedetto Castelli, who read it from cover to cover “with infinite pleasure and amazement,” as he told Galileo.
The Jesuit Christopher Scheiner suspected, quite rightly, that Galileo had attacked him in the Dialogue, and at the beginning of June he went to a Roman bookshop to enquire about the book. It had not arrived, but someone had seen a copy in Siena and praised it as a masterpiece. On hearing this, Scheiner became extremely agitated and told the bookseller that he would gladly give him ten gold scudi for a copy in order to be able to reply immediately. This was 20 times the list price, and the story quickly went around town. Meanwhile, Galileo had been able to distribute the Dialogue elsewhere in Italy, and letters of enthusiastic readers were pouring in from Bologna, Genoa, Padua, Venice, and other centers. On 9 April he had sent a copy to Elia Diodati in Paris, and he intended to ship several more to Lyon in France in order to have them distributed from there.
A COURTIER IN TROUBLE
Getting copies of the Dialogue into Roman hands was not Galileo’s only concern in May 1632. Disturbing news about his friend Giovanni Ciampoli had reached his ears and he confided his worries to Benedetto Castelli on 17 May: “I am most anxious to learn about our Mecenas [Ciampoli] since a rumor, which was later softened, arrived. Please write immediately.” Castelli, who was not familiar with intrigues at the papal court, blandly reassured Galileo on 29 May that Ciampoli was in excellent health, continued in office, and “took these worldly matters light-heartedly.” But Castelli was poorly informed, and Ciampoli had been in deep trouble since April.
Urban VIII was a poet in his spare time, and he enjoyed the company of men of letters, several of whom were Galileo’s friends. These included Giovanni Ciampoli, whom the pope made secretary of briefs. Ciampoli kept his lyre attuned to papal themes. He wrote verses on the coronation of Urban VIII, the struggle in the Valtellina, the pope’s action for peace, the fall of La Rochelle, even the gathering of grapes at Castel Gandolfo. He was also the author of the glowing papal brief that Galileo had taken with him to Florence after his successful visit to the new pontiff in 1624.
Ciampoli put pressure on Riccardi to do what Galileo wished and, as we shall see at the trial, he exceeded his powers. His relations with the pope were at first very intimate, and he became confident that he could read the mind of his master. He also began to long, first with impatience, and later with thinly disguised fretting, for the cardinal’s hat that Urban VIII distributed to men that Ciampoli considered his inferiors. Frustration made him reckless, and he allowed himself to be befriended by the entourage of the Spanish Cardinal Gaspare Borgia, the spokesman of Philip IV and a thorn in Urban’s flesh.
At a private consistory that Urban VIII held with the cardinals on 8 March 1632, Cardinal Borgia rose to protest against the pope’s failure to support the Catholic King Philip IV against the German Protestants. The pontiff, Cardinal Borgia charged, was unable, or unwilling, to defend the Church. The supporters of Urban VIII were outraged and the cardinals almost came to fisticuffs. The Swiss Guard had to be called in to restore order.
The incident was to prove a turning point in the pontificate of Urban VIII, who decided to purge his entourage of pro-Spanish elements. He was particularly incensed upon hearing of Ciampoli’s relations with the Spaniards, and he punished him accordingly. At the time Castelli wrote to Galileo in May, Ciampoli was no longer allowed to see the pope, and in August he was exiled as governor of the small town of Montalto. He was never allowed to return to Rome, and the pope never forgave what he considered to be treacherous behavior.
The open and violent denunciation of Cardinal Borgia unsettled Urban VIII to the point that he began to see Spanish spies everywhere. He secluded himself more frequently at Castel Gandolfo and, fearing poison, he did not eat food that had not been tasted by an attendant. He suspected that the maneuvers of the Spanish troops that occupied Naples were directed against him. To deepen his fears, in 1631, Francesco della Rovere, the elderly Duke of Urbino, had died and Ferdinando II, who had married Vittoria della Rovere, the grandd
aughter and only heir of the duke, was expected to inherit his lands. But the pope declared Urbino a vacant fief, moved in his troops, and annexed the Duchy to the Pontifical States. Ferdinando II could do little but protest, and Urban VIII was anxious to show him who was boss in Italy. Ciampoli now imagined that the grand duke of Tuscany might any day sail into the papal ports of Ostia and Civitavecchia, in retribution for the way Urban VIII had snatched Urbino from the Medici. It is in this unfortunate set of circumstances that Galileo’s controversial book appeared.
GIVE ME THE BOOK!
The first sign of trouble came in July 1632 when Urban VIII, who either saw the book or had someone tell him about its content, instructed Father Riccardi to write to the Florentine inquisitor, Clemente Egidi. Riccardi’s letter, dated 25 July 1632, shows signs of having been written in some haste,
Galileo’s book has arrived and there are many things that are not acceptable and that the authorities want to see revised. The Sovereign Pontiff has ordered (but only mention my name) that the book is to be withheld. It should not be sent here until you receive what has to be corrected, nor should it be sent elsewhere. Talk about it with the Apostolic Nuncio and, while handling the matter tactfully, see that the order is obeyed.
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