Magnificat

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “They’re saying that Celestine is another compromise, essentially another Urban.” The interviewer was smiling, feeding the Cardinal the arranged text. He nodded once, prepared to listen to what Cardinal Gemme had to say. The program, originating in Paris, was being sent all over the world via the INS satellite network. The Cardinal’s appearance on the program was his fifth in three years.

  Cardinal Gemme lowered his handsome head, his features serious. “As I am sure everyone is aware, the obligations of the conclave are such that all we do there is, and must remain, secret. If the deliberations were not kept absolutely private, there would be opportunity for influence and manipulation from…oh, many groups, and that would impugn the credibility of the election, which is the manifestation of the Holy Spirit. That is the basis for belief in the Apostolic Succession. However, we are accountable to the Church and to God for the Pope we elect, and it is only fitting that we offer some observations on the new Pontiff. I think that most Catholics know something of Cardinal Folgar’s record, and are waiting to see how he will deal with the more pressing problems that confront the Church, given his previous position on such issues as women priests and family planning.” He folded his hands in his lap. “It is of paramount importance for Catholics the world over to support the Pope, for he is our intermediary to God on earth. We cannot limit our vision to Catholics alone if we are to do the work God has set for us in the world: it is also necessary for people of good will, Catholics or any other faith, to concern themselves with the welfare of their fellow-human beings. Charity is listed as the greatest virtue, no matter in what religious context it is offered. Jesus commanded us to love one another, for if we cannot do that, we cannot love God. He also said that what we do for the least of His people we do for Him as well.”

  The interviewer cocked his head, as if the notion were brand new instead of part of their agreed-upon script. “You are known as a liberal, Your Eminence. The general consensus is that with a conservative in charge, Catholicism will continue to lag behind in necessary reforms, which you appear to advocate.”

  This was the part that Gemme had been waiting for, his chance to begin to build his own support-base with the public. “I pray every morning that the Church will open her heart to the plight of the poor throughout the world and modify her stances on many social issues. I am a true son of the Church, but I am also a citizen of the world, at the end of the twentieth century. In good conscience, I can do no less than support changes, though some of my fellow-Cardinals do not agree with me. There are those who say that it is for the Church to look after the spiritual needs of Catholics before all other issues. Yet for many Catholics, the spiritual and the mundane are one in the same. A poor mother in Guatemala or Rome or Java faces the same problems, and the Church has failed to address them realistically, though we have sufficient evidence to indicate that if such genuine grievances are neglected, it leads to a loss of faith and social upheaval, sometimes to violent revolution.” He looked directly into the lens of the camera, his dark-blue eyes so fixed that it seemed he was truly looking at all those watching the interview instead of the camera. “Catholics have a right to expect their Church to aid them in need, to give them hope and comfort, and to show them the glory that God has prepared for all of us.”

  The interviewer ran his finger under his neat moustache. “Strong sentiments, Cardinal Gemme.”

  “Yes,” he said, as modestly as possible.

  * * *

  “Did you see that idiot Gemme on television last night?” demanded Cardinal Jung as he stormed into the small reception room where the Pope had requested an informal discussion with his Cardinals that evening, to be followed by a dinner. He signaled for a servant and ordered a brandy, then went on. “He wasn’t content to wait! Celestine has been Pope for less than a week, and already Gemme is sniping at him! I’m only sorry we cannot try him for heresy, given what he has done. There is no telling what he will do next.” He stared hard at Cardinal Tayibha. “I wonder what they thought of him in India?”

  “I have heard nothing yet; it is too soon to tell.” The Indian Cardinal shrugged, wanting desperately to avoid the whole issue. He wished Cardinal Cadini had come early, for the benign Genoese had no difficulty in handling Cardinal Jung, or anyone else, for that matter.

  Cardinal Pingari looked up from the magazine he had been reading. “In Manila they liked what he said but not how he said it. My secretary called an hour ago to tell me.”

  “The coronation is barely over, and Gemme is trying to worm his way into the position of heir apparent,” said Cardinal Jung with abhorrence. “He is blatant in his plan.”

  “Meaning he stole the march on you?” suggested Cardinal Belleau.

  “‘He who enters the conclave a Pope comes out a Cardinal,’” quoted Cardinal van Hooven, his smile behind his thick lenses making him look more like an owl than he usually did.

  “There is no saying what he might arrange,” said Cardinal Jung, but with less bluster. “He knows that we cannot afford to ignore public sentiment. He is exploiting our weakness, hoping to use this millennial hysteria to sway Catholics to his support. And we may have to answer him with the same techniques. May God forgive us, but if that were not the case, if the laity were not so torn, we might not have had to destroy those ballots, but could have revealed them for the fraud they were.” He looked around as the servant brought his brandy on a silver tray. Cardinal Jung took the crystal snifter and dismissed the servant with a wave of his hand.

  “Where is Celestine?” asked Cardinal Montebranco, who looked as if he had just awakened from a nap. “An odd choice in names, Celestine. We haven’t had a Celestine in centuries.”

  “We hadn’t had an Urban, either,” Cardinal Tayibha pointed out. “It is a worthy name, with a good heritage. Neither Urban nor Celestine are tainted by recent events, as some others are.”

  “His Holiness will be here shortly, I trust. It is almost the hour he designated,” said Cardinal O’Higgins, setting aside the Spanish-language newspaper he had been skimming. “I don’t like the way the European banks have been reacting to our new Pope. They seem to think the Church and Vatican bank will withdraw its support of European currency.” He stood up; unlike most of the others he was in a suit and tie instead of red or black cassocks. “I spoke with him this afternoon. He called to ask about the rumors of a coup in Honduras.”

  Cardinal Jung put his snifter down. “Is Gemme going to be here this evening? Will we have to see him?”

  “I think he is still in Paris,” said Cardinal Montebranco. “There’s no reason for him to be here in any case. In fact, it would be tactless, given his recent remarks.”

  There were fourteen Cardinals to dine that night, all those remaining in Rome after the coronation of Celestine VI, with the exception of Rafaele, Cardinal Tondocello of Palermo, who was confined to his bed at the Vatican with kidney trouble. Within half an hour of the stated time, all fourteen were gathered in the reception room awaiting the arrival of Celestine VI. Conversation remained desultory; no one wanted to appear inattentive when the Pope joined them.

  At last Father McEllton opened the door and bowed to the assembled Cardinals. “If you will be good enough to accompany me, Eminences?” He indicated the hallway. “His Holiness is ready to receive you.”

  An unpromising sign, thought Cardinal Tayibha. Ottone Folgar had been Pope less than a week and already he was putting distance between himself and the Cardinals. He feared that Celestine had forgot how vulnerable he could be as Pope. The Indian Cardinal rose with the others and permitted himself to be led to the private dining room, knowing that it was a show of favor to dine there and knowing also that he felt slighted by the honor.

  Celestine VI was wearing a white satin cassock and an antique pectoral crucifix glittering with gold and gems. His smile was as reserved and self-satisfied as a cat's. He blessed his Cardinals as they came into the room and gave a formal opening prayer before he indicated where his guests should sit at tab
le. “Come. It is fitting that we dine together, as Our Lord did with His disciples.”

  The service, Cardinal Tayibha noticed, was fine, gold-trimmed porcelain, the utensils heavy baroque silver, the napery damask linen, the complement of four wine-glasses, per setting, of delicate crystal. He doubted that Jesus would recognize such luxury as being in keeping with His standard of entertainment, and quashed the thought even as it formed in his mind. He took his place between Cardinal Pingari and Cardinal Fiorivi, and was momentarily sorry that Cardinal Mendosa had already left for the United States, along with the other six U.S. Cardinals. He bowed his head before Celestine spoke the blessing of their meal.

  The trout had been removed and replaced with collops of spring lamb cooked with a puree of pomegranate and garlic, when Pope Celestine finally began to address the Cardinals. “I have been informed that there is a movement in Latin America to add new Voodoo-like elements to the Mass, as a means of bringing more of the people back to the Church. Now, that smacks of heresy to me. Oh, I know we’re not to use so unpopular a word as heresy in these times, but we must not flinch from our duty. I have informed the Cardinals, Archbishops, and Bishops of Latin America that any such additions or interpolations can be grounds for excommunication.”

  Cardinal O’Higgins made a respectful gesture toward the Pope. “Your Holiness, I believe that you would lose a quarter of the priests in Latin America if you require such restrictions. They are trying to work with the people, in ways the people can understand. This is a difficult time for Latin America, and it will not get easier, not for some years, possibly decades, to come. It was not so long ago that the people of Latin America were little more than slaves to European masters and the Church. It is fitting that we show our—”

  “Are you telling me that there is no way to bring them into the Church except to permit them to pervert their worship with worship of Satan?” Celestine asked, his voice dangerously low. “Can it be that you sympathize with these elements in the Church, my son?”

  The Mexican Cardinal winced but went doggedly on. “No, Your Holiness, I do not sympathize with their philosophy, or their theology, but I do sympathize with their plight. These priests are not attempting to change the Church, believe me, or to pervert the Word of God; they are trying to bring God to their people in the only way people will accept Him.”

  A sudden quiet settled over the table. “I suppose you have given the matter some thought? It would seem that you have formed an opinion, haven’t you?” Celestine inquired politely. “Perhaps you have tolerated it. You deny it, but it may be that in your heart you see no harm in what is being done?”

  Now Cardinal O’Higgins’ impish face froze. “No, that’s not what I meant, Holiness—”

  He was not to be allowed to finish. “Perhaps you are satisfied with Satan being let into the house of God, but I am not.” The Pope was speaking with determination now, and his eyes were as harsh as his voice. “I am a more vigilant warder than you are, my son. I see you have permitted yourself to be misled in this matter. No doubt it is merely from lack of appreciation of the gravity of the situation. I am certain that after a week’s reflection in a proper retreat, you will come to see the wisdom of our decisions; for we have decided to speak officially on this issue, and promptly, before the wickedness becomes more ingrained in the souls of the Latin Americans than it already is.” He gestured to Cardinal O’Higgins. “You have our permission to depart at once, my son. Your retreat will be arranged tonight, when this dinner is concluded. There will be time for your confession and the assignment of penance before you leave. Pax vobiscum.”

  Several of the Cardinals exchanged worried glances as Cardinal O’Higgins rose obediently from the table, went to the Pope to kneel and kiss his ring, then turned away toward the door.

  When Cardinal O’Higgins was gone, Celestine went on. “I was not pleased to read what Cardinal Gemme said at his interview. He has exceeded his authority as a Prince of the Church, and is preaching open sedition. He may not believe that we are aware of this, but he will not continue in this way. We have decided that he must learn humility, and we will set him a task that will develop it, improving his soul.”

  A few of the Cardinals expressed their approval, but most were guarded. Cardinal van Hooven shook his head. “You’re letting the weight of the tiara addle your brain, Ottone,” he said, with the privilege of forty years’ friendship. “You are becoming trapped in the office you occupy.”

  “It is not an office,” said Celestine stiffly.

  “Of course it is—the Papacy is the most rigorously administrative office in the world. You are fascinated by the authority it has given you, but that means nothing if the machinery of the Church does not operate well. They say that Popes come and go, but the Curia is eternal. So is the College of Cardinals. If you do not cooperate with the Curia and the College, the operation of the Church will falter. It has happened before.” This last warning was delivered with a wise nod. “And I will save you the trouble of dismissing me. I know I have overstepped my authority, and my welcome.” He was on his feet, reaching for the cane he had slipped over the back of the chair. He made his way to the head of the table to kneel and kiss Celestine’s ring. “Think about what I’ve said, Ottone. We are in perilous times and we must have a steady hand on the tiller if we are to win through the millennium.” He got to his feet with difficulty and tottered toward the door.

  “Piet—” the Pope began, then gave him a sharp gesture of dismissal. He looked at the remainder of the diners, forcing them to return his gaze. “We wish to discuss,” he said in a tone that would accept no opposition, “the matter of the Protestant Fundamentalists who are preaching the Second Coming. They are finding support among many Catholics, which is most distressing. Even the Separatists with their travesty of the Vatican are saying that Our Lord will return before the year 2001, and the world will be restored to God.”

  “Yes?” said Cardinal Pingari. “What do you wish us to do about it?”

  Celestine cut himself a morsel of lamb. “We must put an end to this absurd claim. It is not fitting that we surrender to the same frenzy that has taken hold in so much of the Protestant community.” He looked directly at Bruno, Cardinal Hauptburger of Salzberg. “You have direct experience with these foolish people, don’t you? What do you recommend?”

  The Austrian Cardinal stopped eating and stared at the Pope. “Nothing I have tried thus far has stopped the madness.”

  “So. We will have to adopt stringent methods.” There was dismay in many of the Cardinals’ faces but Celestine decided to ignore this silent warning. “The millennium is to be set aside for a Jubilee, for the triumph of the Church. That will bring our flocks back, I am sure.”

  “Of course,” said Cardinal Cadini with all his reputed tact, but it was plain that neither he nor most of the rest believed the Pope.

  * * *

  In the VIP lounge at Dulles Airport, Charles, Cardinal Mendosa sat with Alexander, Cardinal Bradeston of Boston, both of them on the last leg of their respective journeys home. Each of them was tired after the conclave, the coronation and then four days in Washington D.C. making the rounds of governmental and diplomatic functions in answer to the endless questions about the new Pontiff. Now, with sour-tasting coffee in their cups, they were content to stare at the television screen on the far side of the room where a celebrated black athlete and a famous Russian ballet dancer discussed their training routines.

  “Must be a slow day for news,” said Cardinal Bradeston. “If this is the best they can come up with at nine-thirty.…” He laughed a bit.

  “Daytime television,” Cardinal Mendosa summed up. “At least it isn’t about the Pope.” He had been up half the night in the wake of another visionary dream; he was having trouble concentrating thanks to his lack of sleep and the faint, ill-defined persistence of what he had seen. “Listen to them, arguing about chicken.”

  Once again Cardinal Bradeston laughed. “I hope the housekeeper is listening.
All she ever does is fry it.” He drank more of the dreadful coffee.

  The interviewer, a young woman dressed in expensive running gear, was in the middle of a long question about health routines when the show was interrupted. The dignified anchorman of INS appeared, neat but flustered. In the background was the dome of Saint Peter’s.

  Cardinal Bradeston groaned. “Now what’s Ottone done?”

  “Probably wants to bring back fasting,” said Cardinal Mendosa flippantly, reaching to turn up the sound. “Just in case.”

  “—have pronounced him dead, only nine days after his coronation.”

  Cardinal Mendosa was on his feet, overturning his coffee. “Bloody hell!”

  “What.…” Cardinal Bradeston said, crossing himself automatically. “Who’s dead?”

  “—had taken the name Celestine VI, was regarded as—”

  “Was?” Cardinal Bradeston echoed.

  “That’s what he said,” Cardinal Mendosa observed grimly, thinking that he would have to return to Rome.

  “—and it was assumed by many that the division between conservatives and liberals within the Church would not be healed during his reign. Death appears to have been the result of a massive stroke. The Vatican has ordered a full autopsy at once, promising a complete disclosure of results, and engaged Interpol and the EECPA to investigate if there is any trace of wrongdoing.”

  Father McEllton’s haggard face appeared on the screen, his name and position beneath him in three languages. “It was so sudden,” he said in a shaken voice. “He was celebrating Mass; he often preferred to wait until midmorning to celebrate Mass, so that more of the congregation could…could.…” He put his hand to his face. “He was about to elevate the Host. He trembled, spilled the wine, and then he fell.”

  Stephen Goldman’s face filled the screen once again. “To repeat: Celestine VI, newly elected Pope of the Roman Catholic Church died minutes ago in Rome, believed to be the victim of a stroke. He succeeded Urban IX, who reigned for twenty-seven months following the death of John-Paul II. INS will continue to keep you up to date as developments occur.” He gave his famous one-sided smile, and the athletes came back on, the young woman looking terribly shocked.