Shea and Artigas - Galileo in Rome

by William R. Shea

  From the evidence with which we are already familiar, we can think of three arguments. First, if the Earth moved, a whole set of biblical passages would have to be reinterpreted. This was possible, but it was far from clear that the traditional common-sense interpretation should be replaced by a science that was still in its infancy and had yet to be confirmed. Second, it seemed proper that the Earth should be at the center of the world, given the central place of human beings in God’s plans. Furthermore, if the Earth was just one of several bodies around the Sun then the other planets could also have inhabitants, and this raised questions about the meaning of original sin, the Incarnation, and Redemption. Third, if the Earth was not naturally at rest, the physics of Aristotle would be completely wrong. But his philosophy was the conceptual tool that had been used to develop much of Christian theology, for instance, the monumental achievement of Thomas Aquinas.

  The notion that the Earth is at the center of the universe was never defined as belonging to the Christian faith, but it was coherent with Christian doctrine. Although the motion of the Earth had no direct bearing on Christian belief as such, the pope and several very good theologians saw it as threatening.

  The pope did not discuss these arguments with Ambassador Niccolini. Urban VIII’s indignation was directed against the “trickery” of Galileo and Ciampoli and the fact that the conclusion of the Dialogue was not at all what he had expected. The religious issue is genuine, but it cannot be dissociated from the more personal crime of lese-majesty. Urban VIII never forgot that he was both a religious leader and a temporal prince. Religious concerns, however distinct, often meshed with the political interests of the Vatican. The pope was anxious to protect the pontifical states, and he kept a close eye on his neighbors. As we have seen, he had snatched the duchy of Urbino from the hands of Grand Duke Ferdinando II of Tuscany in order to enhance his territorial and military power.

  The grand duke was only in his early twenties, and the pope wanted him to understand who was the ruler in the Italian peninsula. Ferdinando II had been brought up to respect the sovereign pontiff by his grandmother, the deeply devout Grand Duchess Christina of Lorraine, and his equally pious mother, the Archduchess Maria Maddalena. This is why Urban VIII could speak of the grand duke’s duty to repress whatever might prove prejudicial to the faith. Matters were no longer in the hands of some official at the Vatican; the pope himself had taken over, and the grand duke would do well to behave accordingly. Urban VIII also wanted to impress on the Florentine government that he was doing Galileo a great favor by having his book examined by a Commission of Enquiry instead of turning it over immediately, as was the custom, to the Holy Office. In reporting this to the secretary of state, Ambassador Niccolini urged that the matter be handled gingerly. “When his Holiness gets something in his head, that is the end of the matter,” he wrote from personal experience, “especially if someone tries to resist, oppose or defy him. Then he takes a hard line and shows no consideration whatsoever.”

  Ambassador Niccolini’s report upset the grand duke to the point that the secretary of state wrote back on 9 September to say that he did not know how things would turn out. Meanwhile the ambassador had called on Father Riccardi, who told him that there was no longer any doubt that the Dialogue was an out-and-out defense of Copernicanism. Riccardi had been given the book and he hoped, with his usual optimism, that a few minor changes would be enough. He advised against requesting that Campanella, who had written in praise of Galileo, or Castelli, who was Galileo’s former student, be asked to serve on the commission that the pope had appointed. He vouchsafed two important items of news, however. The first was that the Commission of Enquiry consisted of three persons: himself, Agostino Oregio (the pope’s theologian and a future cardinal), and the Jesuit Melchior Inchofer, whom Riccardi had personally suggested. At first glance, this seemed to be an excellent choice, because Riccardi had worked with him on the other cases.

  The second piece of news was very different. A search in the archives of the Holy Office had turned up the admonition that Galileo had received in 1616 from Cardinal Bellarmine, in the name of the pope and the Holy Office, to abandon the Copernican theory. “This is enough to ruin him completely,” declared Riccardi. Why, the grand duke would not have intervened so strongly in favor of Galileo if he had known of this. Riccardi had guessed correctly. The news of the injunction was a bombshell. The grand duke and his advisers were shocked, and the secretary of state hastily wrote to Ambassador Niccolini on 16 September to ask him to thank Riccardi and assure him that they would henceforth be guided by his advice. The pope had accused Galileo of deception. The scales had tipped; far from being the victim of unscrupulous adversaries, Galileo had become the man who acted under a cloak of secrecy. His silence about the injunction of 1616 now looked more than suspicious.

  The grand duke was to remain friendly toward Galileo, but he took a more cautious stance in dealing with Rome. In fair return, the pope treated Galileo with a leniency that was rare in the seventeenth century. When he was summoned to Rome in 1633, Galileo was lodged at the Tuscan embassy and not placed under arrest in the Holy Office, as would normally be done. The few days that he spent inside the Vatican during his trial were not passed in a prison cell but in the comfortable apartment that the notary had vacated for him. He was not served the usual food but meals prepared by the chef at the Tuscan embassy. After his condemnation, he was not incarcerated but placed under house arrest, first at the Villa Medici, then at the palace of Archbishop Piccolomini in Siena, and finally in his own house in Florence.

  THE MACHINERY OF JUSTICE

  Now that the grand duke knew where he stood, the juridical wheels could begin to turn in earnest. On 18 September 1632, the Florentine Inquisition was informed that the pope wanted both the original manuscript of the Dialogue and the official document authorizing its publication in Florence. The return of the plague had rendered communications with Rome difficult, and the Florentine inquisitor sent the manuscript of the Dialogue to the pope’s brother, Cardinal Antonio Barberini. It arrived with some delay but was in Riccardi’s hands by the beginning of November. Meanwhile, the pope had sent one of his personal secretaries to inform Ambassador Niccolini that he had decided, after hearing the report of the Commission of Enquiry, to have the Dialogue examined by the Holy Office. The secretary stressed that the pope was being exceptionally generous in imparting this information. The ambassador and the grand duke, as well, were enjoined to secrecy since the matter was now before the Holy Office, and no further information was to be divulged.

  On 18 September 1632 the ambassador met with the pope and repeated his plea for leniency toward a man who was the grand duke’s official mathematician. Urban VIII replied, according to the ambassador, “that this was why he went out of his way to accommodate him, that Galileo was still his friend, but that these opinions had been condemned some sixteen years ago, and that Galileo had got himself into a fix that he could have done without.” After the pope had once more called the whole affair “pernicious,” the conversation took what, for the modern reader, is a bizarre turn. The pope said that he was willing to discuss these “troublesome and dangerous” ideas with the ambassador, but that he had to warn him not to mention them even to the grand duke, under penalty of censure. When Niccolini begged to be allowed to inform at least the grand duke about the pope’s views, Urban VIII refused and said that he should “be glad to have heard them from him in confidence, as a friend, not as an ambassador.” It would, of course, be interesting to know what Urban VIII told Niccolini in secrecy. All kinds of conjectures have been put forward, the most recent being that the pope was worried that Galileo’s atomic theory might prove subversive if applied to the mystery of the Eucharist. This would have been a serious problem, but it is much more likely that Urban VIII wanted to discuss the injunction of 1616 and his role at the time.

  The Commission of Enquiry had met five times before recommending that the Dialogue be referred to the Inquisition, and thei
r report was discussed at a meeting of the Holy Office presided by the pope on Thursday, 23 September 1632. Two days later the Florentine inquisitor was instructed to summon Galileo and tell him that he had to be in Rome for the whole month of October. The order was communicated to Galileo in the presence of a notary and two witnesses on 1 October, and Galileo signed a written statement in which he promised to comply.

  Now begins the strategy of dragging things out. On 13 October, Galileo wrote a long letter to Cardinal Francesco Barberini in which he pleaded for mercy on the grounds of his advanced age (he was 68 but said he was 70). He claimed that the poor state of his health, the inclemency of the roads, and the bad weather would not allow him to make it halfway to Rome. Instead he offered to respond to objections in writing or to appear before the Florentine inquisitor, the archbishop, or anyone they should chose to appoint. A copy of this letter was read to the grand duke, who was so moved by the plight of the aged scientist that he sent it to Ambassador Niccolini to show to Cardinal Barberini. A glance at the letter was all Niccolini needed to realize that it would do more harm than good, and on 23 October 1632 he wrote to advise Galileo to refrain from sending it. Unfortunately the letter had already gone out, and the best the ambassador could do was make the round of prelates and senior officials to drum up sympathy. On 13 November Niccolini had an audience with the pope, who had seen Galileo’s letter and had declared at a meeting of the Holy Office two days earlier that he would brook no further delay. He promised, however, to have a word with his nephew, Cardinal Francesco Barberini, and ask him reduce the period of quarantine that had been reintroduced on the borders of the pontifical states and Tuscany. He was willing to allow Galileo to travel in comfort, but travel he must!

  On 20 November Galileo was summoned once again by the Florentine inquisitor and, again before a notary and two witnesses, told to leave within a month. He agreed once more although visibly ill, as the Florentine inquisitor reported to Rome. On December 9, at a meeting of the Holy Office, the pope ordered to write back to Florence that Galileo had to appear in Rome within the prescribed lapse of time. But December found Galileo in bed, and, as the month he had been given was about to elapse, a panel of three prominent doctors was summoned to his bedroom. On 17 December they signed a certificate in which they described their patient as suffering from an intermittent pulse resulting from the general weakness of declining years, frequent dizziness, hypochondriacal melancholy, sluggishness of the stomach, insomnia, pains all over the body, and a serious hernia with rupture of the peritoneum. The slightest change would place him in grave danger of death. In other words, travel would be life threatening.

  The certificate was handed over to the Florentine inquisitor, who sent it to the Holy Office, where it was read at the meeting of 30 December 1632. The pope was outraged and declared that if Galileo did not come to Rome of his own free will, he would be arrested and dragged there in irons. The game was clearly up, but Galileo still hoped that he would be able to postpone the trip. Had not Riccardi told him to drag things out? The grand duke and his advisers felt otherwise, and on 11 January 1633 the secretary of state, Andrea Cioli, wrote to Galileo to say that he must leave for Rome. The grand duke wanted him to travel in comfort and would provide a carriage and a “discreet” driver. Galileo would be allowed to lodge at the embassy in Rome but only “on the assumption that he would not stay over a month.” This was less reassuring since the Holy Office was notoriously slow in its proceedings.

  On 15 January Galileo sent letters to friends in Italy and abroad to inform them that he was being summoned to Rome at the instigation of what he termed his “evil-minded enemies.” Earlier, on 28 September 1632, Ascanio Piccolomini, the archbishop of Siena, had written to say that those whom Galileo had vanquished at the scientific level would now attempt to shift the battle to the theological arena. Piccolomini, who had worked at the Holy Office, knew what he was talking about.

  A PAINFUL JOURNEY

  Galileo left Florence on Thursday, 20 January 1633, and his carriage was halted at Ponte a Centino, near Acquapendente on the border of Tuscany and the papal states. The plague had flared up and rare were those who were spared the full quarantine of 22 days. Galileo was provided with uncomfortable lodgings with only bread, wine, and eggs as food. Nonetheless, when he entered Rome on the first Sunday of Lent, 13 February, he was in surprisingly good health and eager to take up the cudgels. The day after his arrival he rushed out to see Monsignor Alessandro Boccabella, the former assessor of the Holy Office, who was sympathetic to his plight. Upon Boccabella’s advice, he immediately proceeded to call on his successor, Pietro Paolo Febei, and the new commissioner of the Holy Office, Vincenzo Maculano, who happened to be out. This flurry of activity did not please the Holy Office, as we shall see. The following day, 15 February, Galileo turned 69 without fanfare. The event is not even mentioned in the correspondence.

  On 14 February, Ambassador Niccolini had been to see Cardinal Francesco Barberini to ask that Galileo be allowed to stay at the embassy in Palazzo Firenze “given his age, his reputation and his eagerness to obey.”

  He was granted his request but on the condition that Galileo neither receive visitors nor pay visits himself. This restriction was repeated by the commissioner of the Holy Office, Vincenzo Maculano, who softened the blow, however, by saying that he was not issuing a command but simply giving friendly advice. Monsignor Lodovico Serristori, a consultant at the Holy Office, who had been given one of the first copies of the Dialogue that Magalotti had brought to Rome, called twice in an unofficial capacity, but the ambassador suspected that he had been sent to discover Galileo’s line of defense and advise the Holy Office accordingly.

  Ambassador Niccolini continued to do what he could. He went to speak to Cardinal Desiderio Scaglia, and Cardinal Guido Bentivoglio who had attended Galileo’s lectures as a student at the University of Padua. Both cardinals were members of the Holy Office and the ambassador found them well disposed toward the incriminated scientist. At Galileo’s request, the grand duke wrote to them requesting that they facilitate matters for an old and worthy professor, who had made a long and painful trip to show how eager he was to obey the Church authorities.

  Ambassador Niccolini saw the pope on Saturday, 26 February 1633, almost two weeks after Galileo’s arrival, and he mentioned how touched he was by Galileo’s spirit of submission. Urban VIII stressed that he had allowed Galileo to stay at the embassy only because he was a subject of the grand duke. Niccolini showed himself suitably grateful before asking the pope to expedite proceedings in order that Galileo, whose health was poor, might return to Florence. Urban VIII replied that the Holy Office did not proceed with undue haste and that things must take their course. The pope referred to the whole affair as a ciampolata (meaning something engineered or inspired by Ciampoli, who had become his bête noire) and complained that under cover of speaking hypothetically, Galileo had argued that the Earth went around the Sun. This was in flagrant violation of the injunction he had received from Cardinal Bellarmine in 1616. The pope, as the ambassador reported to the Florentine secretary of state, had now been convinced that there was something seriously wrong with Copernicanism. Things were not going well.

  A BET OF FRESH AIR

  Galileo, who was accustomed to take exercise and work in his orchard, found confinement painful, and he asked to be allowed to go occasionally to the Villa Medici to take a stroll in the garden. Niccolini made the request, but on 6 March he was still waiting for an answer, and we do not know whether permission was eventually granted. A month after Galileo’s arrival, on 13 March 1633, the ambassador had another audience with the pope, who declared that Galileo must go before the tribunal of the Inquisition. “There is no way out,” said Urban VIII, “and may God forgive Galileo for meddling in these subjects.” He added that they had been friends and had often dined together, but that what was now at stake was a matter of faith. “There is in an argument,” the pope declared, “that no one has ever been able to answe
r, namely that God, who is omnipotent, can do anything. And if he is omnipotent, who can bind him?” Niccolini replied that he had heard Galileo say that he did not claim that the motion of the Earth was proved but that since God could create the world in innumerable ways, he could have made it in this particular way. This upset the pope so much that the ambassador promptly changed the subject and reiterated that Galileo only wished to obey and retract whatever was considered wrong in his writings.

  Urban VIII was clearly very fond of “his” argument, and Niccolini was wise to back down. The ambassador understood the pope’s sanguine temperament and knew how far he could go. He also understood Galileo’s frame of mind, and when he returned to the embassy he judged it wiser not to tell him that he would not escape a trial. In all this sorry affair, pride was to play at least as great a role as doctrine.

  THE LONG WAIT

  After having been harried to Rome by repeated threats, Galileo was left waiting for weeks to be called for questioning. He became increasingly weary; even Niccolini grew restless. The grand duke had written to Cardinals Scaglia and Bentivoglio. Lest the other cardinals who were members of the Holy Office take offense at being neglected, the ambassador recommended that they also be sent letters. The grand duke agreed and wrote to each asking for clemency for his elderly servant Galileo. Easter, which fell on 27 March that year, came and went without any news from the Holy Office. Galileo kept himself secluded and consoled himself with the letters from his friends, and especially with those from his daughter Maria Celeste, who wrote to him every Saturday.