To the other side, rose a towering mirror with its edges heavily encrusted in gold.
A platform stood before the mirror. There was a slight indentation at its center and a haze rising above it as if a ghost were standing there.
It was flanked by a half dozen or so breast dummies each wearing a part of some form of dress. One was all dressed up. All dressed up just short of holding the Eucharist in its hands. It even wore the papal miter.
The breast dummies were all of one size. Just a month earlier they had been of another size. He knew in just two weeks time they would be of still another size.
Only he of all of mankind knew this.
For only he could make them change.
Rome
The pension Piccolo recommended was near the Roman Forum, about a fifteen minute walk from the Vatican. I spent three days enjoying the traditional tourist rendition of Rome before finding my way to the Palace of the Holy Office.
I handed Piccolo’s card to the guard at the entrance and he directed me to a corridor where I handed it, again, to a receptionist who sat before two intricately carved doors.
Marcinkus came out to greet me. Much to my surprise, instead of assigning a subordinate, he took me around the Vatican grounds himself. Best of all he took me into the Papal Palace. The Apostolic Palace includes dozens of buildings, thousands of rooms, hundreds of stairways and elevators. But, in the case of the Pope, one has to concentrate on that building which houses the Papal Apartment.
As palaces go, it is not a particularly large building. As palaces go, it is not a particularly beautiful building. That is, from the outside. If located in the downtown section of a midsized city, one could easily mistake it as a retired department store.
It is a perfectly square freestanding sixteenth century building, which facade faces St. Peter’s Square. It is only four stories high but because of the immense ceiling height—thirty feet on each floor—it is as high as is a modern ten-story building.
The ground floor serves as the base of the building and houses the central bank of the Vatican—the Patrimony of the Holy See.
The palace consists only of the top three floors which are referred to as the first, second and third loggias of the palace; yet, they are the second, third and fourth floors of the building.
On the facade side the windows are ten across. They measure eight feet wide and twenty feet high. At the time, there were two glass panels that opened inward within each frame protected by two outer wooden louvered shutters that opened outward.
Paul VI had heavy draperies hung on the windows which were kept closed. He preferred air-conditioning. John Paul I had the draperies removed as they interfered with his opening the windows. He preferred the fresh air.
Of all the places I had the opportunity to visit in Vatican City I remember most vividly my visit to this important building. It is quite different from all the others for the interior of all the others, from St. Peter’s, to the Sistine Chapel, to the Apostolic Library, to the Gallery of Maps, to the Vatican Museum, were very much the same. No matter where you went you were roofed in by an endless array of frescos which in turn were hemmed in by heavily encrusted frames of gilt and gold. If someone were not there to tell you where you were, you would never know where you were. But the Papal Palace is much different. You knew where you were.
Swiss Guards flanked the great studded bronze door which marks the papal entrance to the building. They, like most of the Swiss Guards, are perpetual; they are always there.
One enters into a long white marble corridor running to the rear of the building. The floor is marble, the walls are marble, even the ceiling is marble. The ceiling is arched and the walls are lined with ancient sconces which at one time held gas lamps, candles and other primitive lighting and are now outfitted with electric bulbs. Ashen remains darken the walls just above the sconces.
Although the Vatican contains the largest collection of ancient sculpture in the world, not a statue is to be seen. There is no carpeting here. One walks on the same white marble floor others have walked on for centuries past—through a beautiful white marble tunnel. A few hi-backed chairs ran along the wall and a mahogany desk greeting me as I entered the building. A guard sat there.
I was required to sign in and asked for my passport. Marcinkus was permitted to enter on sight. He told me persons of rank and those who cared for the papal household were not required to sign in; they were free to come and go as they pleased. This included maintenance workers who lived elsewhere in Vatican City.
Toward the far end of the corridor was the only hint of sculpture, an arched framework of cherubs which housed a grand white marble staircase leading up to an imposing door—this one more golden than bronze. Above the door was the papal coat of arms, also in gold.
A Swiss guard stood at the golden door.
He pressed a button and the door slid open. We followed him into what appeared to be a small vestibule. Yet, as we entered, I realized we were not in an apartment at all, but in an elevator. Here the stark white marble had come to an end and the gold and the frescos began.
I looked up at the ceiling and if it were not for the size of the elevator I would not know where I was. For there were the frescos of the heavens above, which to the eye of the novice were every bit as magnificent as were those which looked down from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. I touched its shimmering white marble walls because they were so perfectly pristine I thought them artificial.
I asked the bishop jokingly if this elevator also went down. He was quick to respond that this particular elevator only goes up. He joked there was another one at the other end of the building that went down—it serviced the basement and the first, second and third floors of the building that housed the Vatican bank and some of the Curia but not the fourth floor—the Papal Apartment.
It was a short ride. Exiting the elevator, I heard water gushing in the distance as if someone had left water running in a giant tub. Above our heads, a striking blue and golden leaded glass skylight peered down on the elevator which resembled an ornate golden birdcage sitting on the white marble floor—its golden dome cleverly concealing its mechanisms. Just to our left, a grand white marble staircase was crowned by a matching skylight of leaded glass.
Marcinkus told me the stairway was there to permit one to go from floor to floor without using the elevator. In the days before elevators it had been all that was there.
A Swiss guard sat in front of a towering heavily draped window at a desk—a match of the one that was on the first floor. I mentioned to the bishop they must have gotten two for the price of one.
Marcinkus told me, “A changing of the palace guards takes place every three hours, as the clock strikes twelve, three, six, nine and then twelve again. A guard has no authority to leave his post no matter what the needs. Not even a trip to the restroom is permitted.
“We are in the Papal Apartment. We call it the ‘third loggia.’ Its nineteen rooms occupy the entire top floor. Six people live here, the Pope, his valet and the four nuns who run the place.”
He pointed to stairs just behind the guard. “This leads to the attic. The Pope’s secretaries have their rooms there. There are two dozen other attic rooms, a few of which from time to time are occupied by nuns, and the others are reserved for cardinals should the need for a conclave arise—the ones they paint horror pictures of in the press.”
Turning from the guard, he opened a beautifully carved door with angels at its top poking spears down toward demons at its bottom.
As we entered, though there was no one there, he whispered, “This is the Pope’s chapel. It is restricted to male members of the clergy living in the building.” I later learned when Luciani arrived he extended this privilege to anyone who lived in the building including the nuns, a policy that was reversed when John Paul II took over.
Luciani never said Mass here. Rather he would assign the task to young priests who were studying in the seminary and serve as their acolyte. He would kneel before the pries
t, a practice which caused the priest to tremble. He would tell the young man, “You must not be afraid. In the eyes of Christ, all His children are equal.”
The chapel ceiling boasted a magnificent blue, red and golden leaded glass rendering of The Resurrection.
The room was entirely of marble. It was as if we were enclosed in a giant sarcophagus. Running along either side were golden wall sculptures—The Stations of the Cross.
Ten rows of four beautifully carved red velvet chairs with matching kneelers—two on each side of the aisle—ran the chapel’s length. Up front, directly in the center facing the altar was the Pope’s throne—The Lord’s Prayer carved in Latin on its black leather back.
A life-sized figure of Christ on a wooden cross set before a huge slab of copper colored marble served as a backdrop to the altar.
As we returned to the rear of the chapel, three beautiful arched stained glass windows rose up from the floor. I asked Marcinkus if they were by Chagall as they were predominately blue and reminded me of the ones at Chartres. He told me they were by someone else, someone whom I had never heard of and no longer recall.
He took me to a corner. A half-dozen or so golden chalices sat on a small table. “There are more than five thousand of these in Vatican City. Many are studded with diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls. Any one of them could buy the building we are standing in.”
To one side of the windows was a small door. “The chapel is built here on the roof—an addition to the original building.”
A well manicured roof garden ran toward the front of the building where it took a right turn through a tunnel of overhead latticework laced with vines which ran along the front of the building and then took another turn toward the rear of the building where it took one last turn which dead ended at the side wall of the chapel.
A metal box was affixed to the wall. “This is a part of a system that controls the roving night guard. He carries a key and must clock in at specific times and places or an alarm will go off in the control station. This guard has no usual schedule and can show up anytime.
“There are boxes located throughout Vatican City. In order to reach this one, the guard must pass by the guard at the apartment entrance and pass through the chapel onto the roof—places the apartment guard is not permitted to go lest he abandon his post.”
As we retraced our way back to the door it was clear the only access to the apartment from the roof was through the chapel door.
Marcinkus told me, “The garden encloses the Cortile de Sisto V Courtyard which patio is on the first floor of the palace.”
Returning to the apartment we passed by the guard and headed down a marble corridor. The sound of water gushing grew louder as we headed down its length. Like the one on the first floor, it was lined with bulb-outfitted ancient wall sconces. It was roofed in by an arched ceiling which rose at its pinnacle thirty feet above us.
Unlike the ground floor, it was air-conditioned. Marcinkus told me during the reign of John XXIII a service building was added along the rear of the palace building and the adjoining building of San Damasus together with units which cooled all three floors of the Papal Palace and the corresponding floors of San Damasus.
The addition housed a fire escape and elevator which entrances were concealed behind the altar in the chapel. It had a ground floor entrance which access was limited to Swiss Guards and maintenance workers. Yet, anyone coming from the service building would have to pass through the chapel and by the papal guard to access the apartment.
We proceeded past two sets of wide open doors on our left—a vast room lined with provincial furniture—mostly hi-backed chairs arranged in a half-dozen sitting areas. “This is the salon—the papal living room—the reason the doors are always open.”
Further down we came to a set of richly carved doors on our left. “Here is the office of the Pope’s secretaries. Like those of the salon, its windows look out on the Tiber. It includes a small makeshift operating room where Paul had his prostrate operation. It still serves that purpose for men-of-the-cloth living here or God forbid, should any of them leave here, for embalming.
We came to that point at which the corridor led to two beautifully carved mahogany doors as if they would open to a magnificent cathedral.
“Here are a pope’s private rooms. If you were to turn the doorknob, it would open to an anteroom set up as a study in front of a towering window overlooking the square. There are no locks on any of the doors in the Papal Apartment. After all, everyone lives in the same house. A guard once stood to the right of this door, less than twenty feet from where the Pope sleeps. He became a cost reduction when modern technology moved in.”
“Modern technology?” I repeated in a question.
“Yes, in 1960, a communication system was installed in the papal quarters. Until then, his only communication with the outside world was a phone and a cord that hung over his bed.”
We took a right-turn along the corridor which ran along the front of the building where we came to the valet’s apartment and fitting rooms. Marcinkus told me, “By trade he is a tailor, a dress designer responsible for the design and coordination of the Pope’s wear.
“If we were to enter and pass through his reception room and open a door at its far end, we would find ourselves surrounded by silk and satin in a tailor shop. His windows look onto St. Peter’s Square. His secretaries and valet have the most frequent interaction with the Pope—the reason they are located so close to him.”
We reached the corner of the building, “Now we come to where the women of the house live. In Vatican City, men outnumber women by twenty to one. Here at the top they outnumber the men.
“This door opens to the rooms of the mother nun who runs the place. She looks out at St. Peter’s and the San Damasus Courtyard.”
There appeared a white marble life-sized statue of the Blessed Mother at the far end of the corridor set in a fountain which explained the running water I heard when the elevator door had first opened. He took particular note to tell me this was a dead end.
“Down here on the left are the private rooms of three of the nuns who care for the residence. Each has a small sitting room, bedroom and bath. They do the cooking and housekeeping for the men of the cloth who live on the three floors of the Papal Palace.”
He opened a set of doors. “This is the papal nutrition center.”
An aging wooden table was surrounded by a dozen chairs. An old sideboard stood off to one side and a ragged rug hung on the wall at one end. At the far end was a door that led to the kitchen.
This remained precisely the layout and occupants of the Papal Apartment on the night of John Paul’s death. When John Paul II took over, he hired a world-renowned chef and added a state-of-the-art kitchen. The nuns were relocated to the attic.
Marcinkus went on, “Directly under the quarters of the mother nun and those of the valet is the apartment of the Secretary of State and the Pope’s public office which overlook St. Peter’s Square.
“Directly under the Pope’s bedroom is the apartment of the Dean of the College of Cardinals and beneath the secretaries’ office and the salon are the apartments of the Undersecretary of State and the Foreign Minister who have the privilege of living here only because their offices—the Patrimony and the Council of Public Affairs—are located on the first floor.
“There is a conference room on the first floor where they discuss the problems of the Church, or should I say, where they figure out how to avoid the problems of the Church,” he laughed.
Later the bishop described the Pope’s private rooms. He looked up from St. Peter’s Square and pointed to the windows. He read them from left to right, “These three windows, third, fourth and fifth from the right hand corner of the top floor, front the Pope’s private library located directly above his office which is on the second floor—two of the largest rooms in the building—sixty by forty feet. Dignitaries who visit the Pope in his private quarters find themselves in this room. Its focal point
is Da Vinci’s Ascension, one of the most valuable paintings in the world.
“The window second from the upper right hand corner is his private study. Had we opened the doors to his chambers we would have entered into this room. It is set up as a reception area with an antique desk and chairs. This room serves as a vestibule to his library to one side and his bedroom to the other. There is a sixteenth century bathroom here used by visitors. There is also a door to his secretaries’ office which allows him direct access to his secretaries without going out into the main corridor.
“The window at the top right corner is the Pope’s bedroom.
“Just around the corner, on the side that overlooks the Tiber, are two more bedroom windows and a third window which fronts the Pope’s private bathroom.
“His private bath, as large as is a typical living room, in sharp contrast to the rest of the palace, is modern and has all of the amenities one associates with marble bathrooms found in the luxury suites of five-star hotels including whirlpool jets in an oversized tub and a huge marble shower. Its fittings are entirely solid gold. Until 1965, the space it now occupies was used as a private dining room.”
When John Paul moved in he had exercise equipment installed including a bench press and a treadmill in this bathroom which he had brought with him from Venice.
Nevertheless, Marcinkus told me, “It is these three rooms, which is the private domain of the leader of the largest church in the world.” He described the bedroom in such great detail if a roach had been sitting on a windowsill he wouldn’t have missed it.
The scene of the crime
“As one enters the bedroom, one passes by a massive mahogany armoire which houses the Pope’s everyday attire—his regal attire is stored in the valet’s quarters down the hall. There are no closets in the Papal Apartment, as it was built long before the time of closets.
“In the corner, to the right of the window that looks out onto the square, is a white marble statue of Christ by Bernini fronted by a red velvet kneeler. A perpetual red votive candle burns before the statue.
Murder in the Vatican Page 27