September's Pope
I'd like to introduce you to a true act of love: September's Pope, a novel about Pope John Paul I that I wrote and self-published last year.
While not in the running for any awards, I think it’s a pretty good story…and please keep that in mind as you read…it is a story not an historical or biographical piece. I’ve taken various artistic licenses with the Pontiff’s thoughts and psychological makeup, but they are based on what little I saw and read about him in the media. It is not intended to besmirch his character or belittle his faith in any way. In fact, I believe it shows great courage and strong faith. I certainly hope it will not offend anyone. If so, please accept my deepest and humblest apology…but what I’ve written was written with deep respect and admiration for “the Smiling Pope.”
So without further ado…let us begin.
September’s Pope
Prologue
"Pope Paul VI died this evening at his summer residence, Castle Gandolfo. The Pontiff was 80 years old and had been suffering...blah, blah, blah," The radio announcer's voice droned on with highlights and low lights of Paul's reign, but the Cardinal was no longer listening.
On vacation at a seaside convent with his secretary, Father Diego Lorenzi, and his "all 'round caretaker", Sister Vincenza, Albino Cardinal Luciani, the Patriarch of Venice, had been sitting quietly on the balcony of his bedroom, enjoying the evening breeze off the ocean, chuckling over a book of Mark Twain's essays, and listening to classical music softly on a small transistor radio to relax his mind for a good night’s sleep, when the program had suddenly been interrupted by the bulletin that made him sit up and gape at the radio in stunned silence.
"...his fifteen year pontificate will probably be best remembered for the publication of "Humanae..." Click!
"No," the Cardinal said softly to himself, "that's not what it will be remembered for, it's just what the media will choose to rehash and throw up in everyone's face constantly!"
"Don Albino!"
Luciani looked up as his secretary burst into the room, a panic-stricken expression on his face. The Cardinal shook his head and smiled. "Compared with Diego," he thought to himself, "I'm the calmest person on earth."
"Don Albino...the Holy Father...," Lorenzi stammered breathlessly.
"I know Diego," Luciani responded in his gentlest tones, rising to greet the upset young priest. "He is at peace. God rest his soul."
"We must pack," the flustered secretary blurted out. "We must leave for Rome at once...We..."
"We ...," the older man interrupted, "...must assemble the household in the Chapel and offer a mass for the repose of Papa Montini's soul. Yes, Diego?"
Swallowing hard to regain his composure, Lorenzi nodded. "Yes...Of course, Eminence...I'm sorry...I...I...,"
"Good."
The Patriarch put his arm around his secretary's shoulder as they walked to the doorway.
"Go find Sister Vincenza and ask her to round up the others...then come to the chapel. I'll be in the sacristy, preparing."
"Yes, Eminence."
"After the mass, we will make preparations to return to Venice and from there to Rome."
Lorenzi nodded and ran off to find Vincenza and the others.
Cardinal Luciani walked quickly to the chapel and knelt to offer a prayer for his Holy Father and friend, and for their Church, before the others arrived.
"Dear Lord,” he whispered softly, “welcome into your peace your most worthy servant, Paul VI. He served you and your church well. Grant him the rest he so richly deserves. And help those he has left behind to choose as wise and holy a man as his successor."
Chapter 1
Rome had been prematurely awakened from her summer siesta by the Pope's death. Italians knew well to avoid the capital from July through August, when the heat and humidity were at their worst. They gladly left the city in the care of the tourists, who wanted to experience "sunny Italy" at its sunniest, and the few shopkeepers who couldn't resist making a few extra lira off the hapless foreigners. The rest of the population headed for the mountains of the north or to the sea in the south. But now, Pope Paul's death made it necessary to return and deal with the throngs who would be descending on the city for the mourning and burial, and then the conclave and coronation of the new Holy Father.
Hotels were filled to overflowing with reporters, photographers and television technicians from the world-over. The many ecclesiastical colleges and universities which surround the Vatican were having their dormitory facilities pushed to the bursting point by the gathering of the largest College of Cardinals ever assembled.
Into the midst of the many shiny black Mercedes, Alpha Romeos and BMWs bearing the crimson-clad Cardinals, tootled a slightly beaten up and extremely dusty late-model Lancia, which came to rest outside St Monica’s International College. As its passenger disembarked he noticed that someone had playfully written with their finger in the dust on the car's back hood, 'Wash me...Please!' He laughed and leaning down to address the driver said, "I'm afraid our little chariot needs a good bath, Diego...would you see to that please?"
"Yes, Don Albino. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?"
The Cardinal thought a moment and then shook his head. "No...I can't...Yes! Come to think of it...I noticed an odd sound in the motor every time you changed gears...did you hear it?"
The younger man shrugged and shook his head.
"Well...It wouldn't hurt to let a mechanic look at it. I want to get back to Venice as quickly as possible when all this is over...and I don't want to break down on the way back!" he added with a broad grin as he reached into the back seat for his bag.
"Yes, Eminence. Shall I pick you up to go over to St. Peter's, later?"
"Ah...yes...I suppose I should pay my respects in 'full dress uniform,'" the Cardinal responded, referring to his scarlet-trimmed cassock, which was currently packed in the bag he held in his hand. For the sake of comfort he had worn his old plain black 'walking cassock' for the ride up from the Lido. He called it his 'walking cassock' because it was the one he wore when he took his daily constitutional around Venice. He had learned that people were far more likely to strike up a conversation with a priest than with a Cardinal, and so he had saved several of his old cassocks from before his elevation to bishop and wore them whenever he took a walk outside the confines of the Patriarch's palace. Now, they would afford him the same freedom when wandering the streets of Rome in the days before the Conclave, when reporters would be laying in wait around every corner for anyone wearing even a hint of red or purple to appear so they could interview a potential Pope. Luciani wanted no part of it.
Waving to Lorenzi, the Cardinal winced as the secretary sped off into the midst of the traffic, horn blaring away.
"God!" Luciani said, raising his eyes to the heavens, "why do I let him drive?" He stood watching fearfully as the small black car vanished in the crowded streets, shaking his head the whole time.
"May I help you, Father?" A voice said from behind him, making him jump.
A tall, thin young man in the cassock of a seminarian, had come up behind him while he had been watching Lorenzi's death defying departure.
"Oh...Yes...I believe I'm expected," Luciani replied, "I received a wire that I would be housed here until..."
"There must be a mistake." the seminarian interrupted. "Only Cardinals are being housed here, and they've all arrived, save one."
Luciani smiled and asked, "Might the missing one be the Patriarch of Venice?"
"Yes," the young man replied cautiously, watching this odd visitor carefully as he dug in the deep side pocket of his cassock.
"Well, I'm happy to inform you that I'm no longer missing," Luciani announced happily, pulling his red zuchetto from his pocket and plopping it unceremoniously on to the back of his head.
Extending his hand to the young man, who took it hesitantly, he continued the introduction with a chuckle. " I'm Albino Luciani, you already the know the rest."
"But...But...," The seminarian stammered, pointing to the Cardinal's simple attire.
Luciani laughed and put his arm around the young man's shoulders. "I know...It's alright, my young friend...It's my fault...I don't always wear all the finery because I find it too confining...In more ways than one. I really must get in the habit of at least wearing my hat before I meet new people."
The Patriarch's stay at St. Monica’s was both comfortable and pleasant for all concerned, which was a good thing as it turned out to be a fairly long stay, the Cardinals opting to open the conclave on the latest possible date.
Finally, on the 25th of August, the Cardinal packed his bag and Lorenzi came to pick him up and deposit him at the Vatican. Before going into what would be total seclusion, Luciani wanted to share a meal with his Secretary, so the two stopped for lunch before going to St. Peter's.
The meal was, as all meals with Don Albino were, pleasant and social. The Cardinal did not have a hearty appetite, but he ate enough to keep himself going and following the meal he downed a small orange pill under Lorenzi's watchful eye.
As he was about to slip the medication bottle back into his pocket, Luciani looked at it and then up at Lorenzi. "I spoke with Sister Vincenza yesterday...," he told the young man. "...and do you know what the first thing she said to me was?"
"Are you taking your medication," they said in unison and then laughed.
"Ah, dear Vincenza...how I've missed her these past few weeks...and Heaven only knows how much longer it will be before we're released."
"Do you think the conclave will be long, Don Albino?"
"Who can say?" The Cardinal played with his water goblet as he continued, "We have a difficult task ahead of us...filling Paul's shoes...finding someone equal to him...," he shook his head sadly, "...very difficult...it will be very difficult."
"Don Albino?" Lorenzi said hesitantly.
"Yes?"
"Do you think...well...how would you feel...I mean...ah..." Lorenzi couldn't seem to formulate his question.
Luciani looked confused and raising his eyebrows stared intently at his secretary. "What, Diego? What do you want to ask me?"
"Well...do you think you may stand a chance?” the Spaniard finally blurted out.
Luciani erupted into laughter.
"No!" He replied emphatically, between bouts of laughing. "And I thank God that I don't!"
"But why?" Lorenzi persisted, "You're a Cardinal, you stand as good a chance as any, don't you?"
Luciani removed his glasses and wiped his eyes with his fingers. Catching his breath for a few seconds he then began to explain. "It's like I told that reporter the other day, Diego...there are three lists of Cardinals..." He replaced his glasses and counted off on his fingers, "...the 'A' list of those who are the most likely to win, the 'B' list of those who may win if the supporters of those on the 'A' list can't agree and decide to compromise and then there's the 'C' list, those who stand a distant chance because...eh! They're Cardinals."
"And you," Lorenzi prompted.
Luciani smiled broadly. "I'm on the 'C' list...and glad of it. I thank God every day that I am. All I need do is vote, celebrate with the winner and go home. And I can't wait. To go home, that is," he added in clarification and both men laughed.
That evening Cardinal Luciani moved into his 'cell' at the Vatican and took part in the Conclave's opening mass. Voting would begin the following morning, but that evening as the Cardinals processed into the Sistine Chapel and the great doors were sealed, they were officially 'in conclave'.
Luciani went to sleep that night on the thin mattress of his makeshift dormitory bed anxious for the next day's voting to begin.
"The sooner it begins, the sooner it will be over and we can all go home," he murmured to himself as he tossed and turned trying to get comfortable. "And God help the poor fellow we leave behind," he added softly as he finally closed his eyes.
Chapter 2
As the dawn stole over St. Peter's the next morning, the crowd had already begun to arrive. It was early morning, but already the heat and humidity of a late summer day had gotten a foothold. People jockeyed around trying to get a good view of the little chimney that jutted from the roof of the Sistine. This chimney would be the center of attention for the Roman Catholic world until it belched forth white smoke signaling the election of the latest successor to St. Peter.
The crowd was a happy one, filled with expectation and excitement. After all, this was an historic event, and they were here for it...Something like this may not happen again for another 10, 15 maybe 20 years.
Most of the people carried a daily paper, or at least the pullout section with a gallery of all the Cardinals, and were pointing to and, in a few cases making bets, on who they thought would be the winner.
The mood within the walls of the Vatican could not have been in higher contrast. Here too, had gathered a crowd from all over the world, the College of Cardinals. They had risen before dawn to celebrate mass together and sat in solemn silence through the morning meal, still sizing each other up for the great burden one of them would soon be elected to bear.
There were some, the high profile Papabile who were looking forward to getting on with the balloting and see what their chances of winning the crown really were.
There were the younger Cardinals, who had never experienced anything like this before, who had asked the advice of their elder brethren on how to choose the most worthy man. In many cases their votes would reflect the thinking of the 'over eighties', the Cardinals now excluded from the voting by Paul VI's new rules.
There were a few, like Giuseppe Cardinal Siri of Genoa, who had been present not only at the conclave which elected Paul, but, as a newly created Cardinal, had also voted in the one that brought John XXIII to the throne. Always placed high on the 'A' list of Papal hopefuls, Siri had never won, and saw this as his last chance.
And finally, there were the majority of the 111 voting Cardinals, those who had no idea who to vote for and had spent the past two weeks since Paul's funeral meeting and talking with as many of their fellows as possible in order to zero in on one likely candidate.
This was the group Albino Luciani belonged to. And, like the others, he had spoken at length about the church and the condition it was in at this point in time with several of the leading candidates. He had formed a decision on who would be his likely candidate long before this, however: Aloysio Cardinal Lorscheider of Brazil. He had known Aloysio for several years and admired him for the strength of his character, his honesty and his personal holiness. But, ever the open-minded type, he decided it would be only fair to meet with others and garner their views on the church's future before making a final decision. What he learned made him even firmer in his support of the Brazilian prelate.
After breakfast there was a brief break so the Cardinals could vest themselves for the voting.
Finally, at a little after eight AM, the sea of red and white was assembled in the Sistine and the Cardinal Deacon, Pericle Cardinal Filici intoned the rules of the balloting.
Each Cardinal would remove one ballot from the folder on his desk and write the name of the man he felt was best suited to be nominated. This would be folded in half. Then, in order of seniority, they would be called forward, holding the ballot aloft as they walked to the front of the chapel, where they would declare aloud that this was their vote and then deposit the ballot on a gold paten, to be dropped into a large chalice by one of the three bishops assigned as scrutinizers. After the last vote was cast, the first scrutinizer would extract the ballots one by one read the names aloud, pass them on to second scrutinizer, who would, again read each aloud, and then pass it on to the final scrutinizer who after reading the name aloud a final time, would check, double check and then triple check that the vote was entered correctly before piercing it with a gold needle and pushing it on to a string. When all the votes had been strung together and counted again, and results tallied and once more triple checked, the final tally would be given to Cardinal Filici who would announce the results.
If someone had attained the number of votes necessary for nomination, he, Villot, the Prefect of the Papal Household, the Papal Master of Ceremonies and the members of the scrutiny team would approach the nominated man and ask if he accepted the nomination. If he did the conclave would be over. The necessary number of votes for nomination was 75 or more. They would continue with the voting, two ballots in the morning, two in the afternoon, burning the ballots after the second vote was completed, for as long as it took for someone to attain the necessary number of votes.
With this business completed, Filici took his seat, and Villot rose to lead the assembly in a prayer that God would come to their assistance and help them to elect a successor to the See of Peter wisely and swiftly.
A low 'amen' rumbled through the ancient chapel and Villot once more changed places with his portly brother, who instructed the Cardinals to remove the first ballot from their folders, so they could begin.
In the plaza the sun was getting higher, the temperature climbing with it and the sense of anticipation in the crowd was keeping up with both.
People were checking their watches; "They must have begun by now," was the thought in everyone's mind.
Groups were discussing the various Cardinals among themselves and one could hear many a name, Siri, Benelli, Pignidoli, Filici and even Villot, being bandied about along with the qualities that made each a good or bad choice.
"Finding someone to replace Pope Paul won't be easy," a woman in the crowd remarked to her companion.
"Still," the man beside her replied, while fanning himself with his cap, "There's many a Cardinal in there....," he said pointing towards the Sistine, "...who has the brains for it."
"That's very true, sir." An elderly nun who was standing nearby and had overheard the conversation injected. "But he must have more than just 'the brains'. He must have the heart for it too," she concluded, touching her arthritic fingers to the crucifix, which hung over hers.
"Like John XXIII, you mean Sister?" the woman whose statement had started the conversation asked.
"Ah...Well...Yes...In a way..."
"You don't sound very sure about that," the gentleman with the hat stated, as he plopped it back on his head.
"John, God rest his soul, was a great man and a wonderful Holy Father...," the nun said attempting to explain herself. "He was the perfect man...for that moment in time."
The couple nodded in unison, so she continued.
"But now we need someone completely new...not a...a...how would you say it...a retread of any previous pope, but a new pope. One with new ideas, new ways of thinking and looking at things...Someone unique and truly holy."
The woman nodded but the man didn't look convinced and asked, "Do you think there's someone like that in there?"
The nun's wrinkled face crinkled up with a smile as she responded, "Yes!” vehemently. "Oh, he may not be one of the one's the media has been favoring...he could be someone that no one outside his own diocese has ever heard of...but he's there!" She said pointing to the chapel. "And God will find him and inspire his brothers to elect him."
"C'mon, Sister...Oww!" the man cried as his companion dug her elbow into his ribs, a combination of exasperation and embarrassment on her face. But he would not be silenced, and continued his question, while rubbing his sore side. "Do you really believe that?"
Laughing gently the nun shook her head at the young man's question and turning her gaze back to the chapel, responded only with the words, "You'll see, my son...you'll see."
"Koenig - 8; Baggio - 9..." Filici recited the tallied totals for the first round of balloting, "...Pignidoli - 18; Luciani..."
Luciani’s gaze moved quickly to Filici as he intoned the number "23" followed by, "Siri - 25" and then silence. He had come in second on the first ballot. He, who hadn't expected to receive even one vote, had come within two of the leading candidate!
Those seated near the leading contenders whispered their congratulations, while Filici was instructing everyone to prepare for the morning's second ballot.
Siri nodded complacently to his well-wishers, his eyes focused on his closest competitor. "We'll see," he responded to the supporters around him, "We'll see." After all, he'd come this close before, only to have the prize snatched away. "This poor little fellow though, really doesn't seem to want it," he thought to himself as he watched the flustered Luciani reacting to the encouraging words of those around him.
"It's nothing," the Patriarch protested weakly, a nervous smile on his face and his voice, which was always shaky at best, worse than ever. "It's just a summer shower...it will pass...there's no real danger. It's just the first ballot; you'll see...I probably won't even be mentioned this time 'round. (I hope!)," he whispered under his breath as he pulled out his ballot.
Siri finally turned back to his desktop and sedately removed his ballot from the folder. "Poor little man," he reflected, "I almost feel sorry for him."
The crowd was growing more excited by the minute. It was nearly noon, many remarked, checking their watches and then gazing expectantly at the chapel chimney. "Something should happen soon," one man remarked to his companion as he shielded his eyes against the brutal sun with his hand.
"Yeah," his friend agreed, "They'll be breaking for lunch soon, so there should be a signal any minute."
The third scrutinizer finished reading aloud the final ballot and pierced it with the needle. Now there would be a few minutes while they compared notes and wrote up the final count.
Cardinal Siri sat back in his seat, a resigned expression on his face. His name was among the most repeated during this go-round, but someone else had emerged as the clear leader. His eyes shifted, almost lizard-like, to the man who had been chosen over him and he shook his head in a combination of despair at his loss and exasperation at the college's choice. "Why in the world had they decided on him?"
That same thought was on Cardinal Luciani's mind as he waited impatiently to hear the totals and see how close the dread moment of decision may be. He had tried to keep a running count in his head, but once the total passed 25 his mind had begun tallying up all the reasons why he shouldn't be elected rather than the number of votes that were piling up and pulling him closer to the chair of St. Peter.
Now he sat stiffly, his elbows resting on the desk top, his clenched hands pressed tightly to his parched lips, his eyes staring blankly at the Papal seal on the cover of the red leather folder in front of him. The idea of his own coat-of-arms soon resting beneath the triple tiara and the crossed keys of St. Peter did nothing to brighten his spirits.
"This can't really happen," he whispered to himself softly, "Please, God," he prayed softly, closing his eyes to shut out the world for a few seconds. "Please don't let it happen."
"Baggio - 1."
Luciani's eyes shot open and he turned his gaze to Filici who had finally received the final tally and was quickly rattling off the names of those who had received one or two votes. He came quickly the all-important final four: "Wojtyła - 4."
Luciani gave a friendly smile to the young Polish Cardinal who was seated across from him. Wojtyła returned it along with a playful sigh of relief.
"He would make a good Pope," Luciani thought to himself, as he turned his attention back to Filici, "Perhaps when he's a little older."
"Pignidoli - 15," Filici continued.
Luciani's eyes sought out Pignidoli in the assembly. He was smiling, but you could sense his disappointment.
"Siri - 24."
The Patriarch grew stiffer, every muscle in his body seemed to be drawn as taught as possible. If Siri had dropped to second place...
"Luciani - 53," Filici concluded with a broad smile. They were closer to the end of the conclave than anyone had ever expected...just another 22 votes for Luciani and it would all be over.
"22 votes short! Thank God! There's still a chance it won't happen," Luciani whispered to himself as he slumped back into a relaxed heap, his face buried in his hands to hide the tears of relief, while all around him hands were patting him on the back and voices were whispering congratulations on his early lead.
Filici was saying something about burning ballots and breaking for lunch, but all that was going through Luciani's mind was how close he had just come to disaster and that there was still a chance of avoiding it...at least he hoped there was.
Those in charge of the stove had already started the fire. Now the string with the ballots was tossed in followed by the chemicals that would assure that the smoke was black.
The smoke made its way up the aged pipes and ascended into the almost white sky over St. Peters to the combined sighs and shrugs of the thousands present. The outcome of the morning's balloting had been as they expected, indecisive. Slowly, the crowd began to disperse in search of lunch and a cool place to take a siesta before returning to the plaza for the afternoon session, which, the majority felt, would probably have the same outcome.
The Cardinals too had dispersed. Back to their cells to divest themselves of some of the finery they had worn in the chapel. They would reassemble in the dining hall and then break for well deserved siestas before reconvening in the late afternoon.
Food and sleep were the furthest things from Albino Luciani's mind as he sat on the solitary straight-backed chair in his cell, his mind racing over the drama of the morning's session repeatedly; trying to understand what had gone so terribly wrong.
"It's ridiculous!" he finally whispered to himself in frustration. "There's not one good reason...not one," he added emphatically, a single finger stabbing the air to illustrate the fact to no-one except him, "...why I should be elected. I can think of a dozen...no...A million reasons why I shouldn't!"
"Albino," he addressed himself very seriously, "...you're talking to yourself. And, as you know, that's of absolutely no help in this situation." He chuckled to himself and stood. "There are still two more ballots this afternoon...a great deal could change."
He checked himself out in the small mirror over the wash stand. He didn't want to go to lunch looking as nervous as he felt.
"Calm down, Albino...," he commanded his reflection. "You're in God's hands. He knows what is best. You have only to believe that and trust Him."
Feeling his confidence had risen to a sufficient level, he decided to brave the dinning hall. Tossing his zucchetto haphazardly on to the back of his head, he blessed himself, opened the door and stepped into the hall, which was filled with Cardinals making their way to lunch.
A large man with a thick Hungarian accent fell in step beside him, his heavy hand resting on Luciani's shoulder as he poured out words of congratulations and questions about how it felt, knowing he would soon be the Supreme Pontiff.
Luciani smiled and tried to shrug off the idea. "After a good meal and a nap..." he replied, with a slight chuckle and not a small hint of nerves in his voice, "...everyone who voted for me this morning may awaken to realize their mistake!"
The big man beside him roared with laughter and slapped him on the back so hard he nearly doubled over. He did need to grab his glasses, which flew from his nose as though shot from a catapult.
"A Pope with a sense of humor!" the Hungarian said enthusiastically, "What a delightful idea...What a truly God-inspired choice!"
With that the big man smiled and left him to find his seat.
Luciani watched him move away with a sense of relief and hoped he would not have to deal with similar enthusiasm in the course of the meal. He had managed to regain his composure before leaving his room, but now all the discomfort and fear were creeping back into him. As he took his place at table, he could feel every eye in the room on him. Some looked at him with an expression of satisfaction on their faces; others as though they were still sizing him up. Still others, Baggio, Pignidoli and Siri among them, the 'A List' as he had playfully referred to them prior to the conclave, wore expressions of envy that verged on out and out hatred.
Cardinal Villot had risen to lead them in prayer and Luciani used it as an excuse to close his eyes tightly and shut out the penetrating stares of his brothers. The Frenchman quickly rattled off the "Grace before Meals" and then there was the rumbling of the chairs moving as the 111 men took their seats.
The difference in atmosphere from breakfast was astounding. While the room had been almost completely silent and filled with tension at the morning meal, everyone now was talkative and animated. If there were any tension in the room, it was centered in one man, who sat moving the food on his plate from one side to the other, but seldom lifting any to his lips. He was also the main topic of the conversations that surrounded him.
"Another Pope John!" one Cardinal remarked enthusiastically.
"He's the only Italian who truly understands what Vatican II was intended to do...and he will finally bring it to its full realization," said another.
"He is an honestly holy man," another said respectfully, "...a true priest."
"He would be a wonderful pastor for the church," added another.
While the other tables buzzed with such conversations, the subject of all this scrutiny sat stolidly, still playing with his food rather than eating it and downing cup after cup of black coffee as the others at his table took advantage of his presence to bombard him with questions pertaining to his opinions on pertinent subjects: "What do you think about...?" "What is your opinion on...?" "What would you do about...?" The topics alone were enough to make his head swim: collegiality; contraception; discipline within religious communities; married priests; ordination of women; codifying the documents of Vatican II and implementing them, which would mean a complete revision of canon law; ecumenism and the list went on...endlessly it seemed to the rattled Patriarch.
To each questioner he gave a shy smile and a brief reply, if he could, or he simply stated the truth, "I've never really thought about it."
It was with an audible sigh of relief that he heard Cardinal Villot ask for everyone's attention to announce that they would reconvene at 4:30 in the chapel. Then, after reciting the "Grace after Meals", he released everyone for a rest period.
Luciani jumped at the chance to escape from his interrogators. "If you'll excuse me, my dear brothers," he said pushing in his chair and smiling, "I believe I'll go to my cell to reflect on some of your questions and take a brief nap...If I can get to sleep with all this excitement! I'll see you all this afternoon, God willing."
The men at his table watched as he walked quickly towards the door, followed closely by Cardinal Siri, the only other ''serious" contender who had emerged from the morning's voting. Once Siri had caught up and locked arms with Luciani to lead him out and down the hall, the Cardinals who had shared the Patriarch's table began to evaluate him.
"He's a good man, but I'm not sure..."
"Oh...he'll be fine, as long as he has a good Secretary of State to help him settle in and get used to how things run."
"He doesn't know the Vatican...but he does know the Church. He has a feel for what the people want and need. I can think of no one better qualified than that. Really!"
"God's candidate," one of them declared, happily raising his water goblet in salute.
"Yes!" Came the response from the remainder of the table, and they clinked their glasses in a toast to their absent brother.
Meanwhile, "God's candidate" was making his way through the maze of hallways back to his cell, Cardinal Siri clutching his arm and chattering away incessantly about the great responsibility which would soon rest on his narrow shoulders.
"So, Albino," Siri asked cheerfully, "How does it feel to know that you will soon be Pope, eh?"
"If I thought for a moment that could really happen," Luciani responded in his most hopeful tone of voice, "I'd be terrified. But I think everyone will come to their senses this afternoon and start steering a course away from me..." he stopped, hoping to hear Siri agree. When he said nothing Luciani tacked on an optimistic, "Don't you?"
"No," Siri replied flatly, "I think you'll be elected this evening...ah! Here's my cell." He released Luciani's arm, which fell like a dead weight to the Patriarch's side. "Good," Siri thought to himself, "my statement had exactly the effect I had hoped for."
"I tell you, Albino," he continued aloud to the obviously shaken Luciani, "It is a great load off my mind knowing that they've set their sights on you rather than me."
"Indeed," gulped the agitated Patriarch.
Siri smiled at him, but there was no comfort or kindness in it. He honestly seemed to be enjoying the rising level of fear he sensed in his younger brother, as a matter-of fact, he was relishing it.
"Don't worry, Albino," he said in mock comfort, "It will all work out for the best...after all...It's God's will, is it not?"
"God's will..." Luciani whispered hoarsely, "...yes."
"Go to your cell, Albino and rest. You are in God's hands now, there's nothing you can do to change anything...so why worry? "Eh?"
He put his hand on Luciani’s shoulder and turned him in the direction of his room. "Go on now..." he said softly, as if speaking to a child.
He gave Luciani a gentle push to get his stiff legs to move, and the stunned man began to walk slowly away.
"That's better," Siri said, turning to open his own door. "Sleep well...Holy Father," he tacked on as a final stab at the already wounded Cardinal, and then disappeared into his room before Luciani could turn to face him.
Turning dejectedly away from Siri's door, he spied what he thought might be a chance of yet escaping this terrible fate...Down the hall, approaching him with hands behind his back and head bent forward in thought, as always, was his friend Giovanni Bennelli, the Bishop of Florence. He had once been Undersecretary of State to Pope Paul. He knew the "Vatican People" and they would listen to him. If he told them Luciani's election would be a disaster for the church, they would believe him.
"Giovanni?" He called softly as his friend plowed past him down the hall, oblivious to all around him.
Bennelli grunted and raised his eyes to see who dared disturb the intense conversation he was having with himself and smiled broadly when he saw who it was.
"Albino! My dear brother..." he said, throwing his arms around his agitated comrade, "It has been too long...eh? But...what's this," he asked, his eye filled with concern as he held the Patriarch at arm's length and stared deeply into his troubled eyes, "... you're trembling. What's wrong? You're not ill?"
"Yes..." Luciani replied with a sly smile, "...I am ill. I'm having an allergic reaction to all those votes I received this morning!"
"Ah," Benelli laughed, relief washing over him, "You’re joking!”Good!" he added, squeezing his friend's arms firmly. "That means you're all right...and you must be well to assume your new post this evening, eh?"
Luciani’s smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "But...I had hoped... you might...speak with some of the others...," he stammered, "...dissuade them from..."
Benelli had released his grip on Luciani’s arms, his hands traveling behind his back once more and his gaze back to the floor.
"Don't tell me..."
"Yes," Benelli replied raising his eyes to meet those of his flustered friend, "Yes. I am the one who planted this seed..."
Luciani moved back from Benelli until the wall kept him from going any further...shaking his head no to every word that his friend now uttered with rising enthusiasm.
"I planted it...and I have tended it and nurtured it carefully...and now it is about to flower...," he said, moving closer to Luciani, who stared at him as if he were a mad man. But still he went on, hoping his excitement would infect his shocked brother. "It will flower into a papacy like the world has never known! It will be glorious! Magnificent!" Benelli announced jabbing his index finger into his friend's chest.
"It will?" Luciani sighed helplessly.
"Yes! Just think of it...Finally...A real, true priest on the throne of the Apostle. A true man of God and of the people...Does this idea not excite you? Even a little?"
"I'm all aquiver with anticipation," Luciani answered flatly, leaning against the wall, his face a mask of total defeat.
"Albino," Benelli chided, giving his friend a quick shot in the arm with his fist, "Cheer up! The Church needs a man like you right now. These last few years of Paul's reign were so dark, so hopeless; we need someone like you to lead us back in to the light. To give us hope."
"Someone like me...sure...yes..." the distraught Luciani implored, "...but why must it be me?"
"Albino!"
"No! Seriously...there are so many others better suited to the job, more learned, more familiar with the Vatican, with international matters, with..."
"Like who," Benelli interrupted him, "...who would you see elected?"
"Lorscheider..." Luciani blurted out the name of his candidate to absolutely no enthusiasm, so he thought quickly of others he felt were capable, "Wojtyla..."
Benelli sighed.
"Gantin?"
He rolled his eyes.
"What?" Luciani demanded in exasperation, "All three of them are knowledgeable, capable men...Any one of them would be a better choice...What's wrong with them?"
"Number one: none of them are Italian..."
"Neither was St. Peter," Luciani grumbled, but Benelli's sharp stare silenced him.
"Number two: Wojtyla is far too young and as for Gantin..."
"Wrong color?"
"Yes...err...ah...No! Never mind! It's settled...you will be elected...probably this evening."
"I'll refuse to accept."
"That's your right," Benelli said evenly, "But we'll continue to nominate you until you change your mind...That's our right."
Luciani sank back against the wall and shook his head in despair. Giovanni had been his best hope...but now...
"And eventually," the 'pope-maker' continued, seemingly oblivious to his companion's growing discomfort, "Enough of us will vote for you, that everyone will realize that the tide is not going to turn away from you, and then everyone will fall in line with us...which will be an acclamation and that..." he stressed, thrusting his finger firmly into the petrified Luciani's chest, "... you can not refuse!"
"I...I can't?" Luciani asked hoarsely.
"No one ever has!" Benelli responded with an air of complete triumph. But then the true terror that the situation held for his old friend began to dawn on him and he softened. Placing an arm around Luciani’s shoulders, he pried him from the wall and began to walk him down the hallway towards his cell.
"There now...I didn't mean to terrify you like that...I'm sorry," Benelli whispered softly, "Its just that...well...you do need to face the facts. And it is going to happen."
"But why...why me? Is there no one else...? Absolutely no one!"
They'd reached Benelli’s cell by this time and he turned to face his distraught friend speaking with as much compassion as he could muster.
"Albino, believe me, if there were I would do everything in my power to sway the vote away from you...But I did not come to the decision to put your name out for candidacy on a whim. It was the result of a great deal of thought, prayer and reflection...and I was not the only one who thought of you...so please..." He placed his hands again on his companion's trembling shoulders.
"Try to calm down...for your own sake! Go to your room and pray...Pray that God will enlighten your mind and heart and give you the strength and courage to accept His will. And please try to rest a little, huh?"
Luciani smiled numbly and nodded.
"Good," Benelli whispered, giving his friend a gentle pat on the shoulder. "I will see you later in the chapel. Rest, Albino. Rest."
With these final few words he opened the door and vanished. Luciani was left alone in the hallway with his thoughts. And he was not enjoying the company one bit. He turned and looked back towards the dining hall, where a few of the Cardinals were still dawdling over their coffee or glasses of wine. For a moment he considered going back, but then stopped himself, realizing it would become an interrogation session much like lunch had been. No, Giovanni was right. He should go to his room to pray and try to sleep for a while.
He walked quickly down the hallway until he reached the door with the number '60' tacked on it. This was his refuge from the madness he'd experienced all morning.
Entering, he closed the door gently behind him and tossed his zucchetto onto the chair. He started undoing his collar, the conversations he had had with Benelli and Siri chasing each other around in his mind. Finally removing the stiff inner sleeve of his collar he undid the top buttons of his cassock, removed his glasses, poured some cold water into the basin on the wash stand and splashed his face with it, in an attempt not only to cool off a bit, but perhaps to clear his befogged brain as well.
There was no air conditioning in the areas where the conclave was taking place and the air hung still and heavy with humidity. "Perhaps..." Luciani mused, as he scooped up another fistful of water and splashed it on his burning face, "...perhaps it's the extreme discomfort everyone is experiencing that has prompted them to fall in line behind Giovanni so readily in his quest to make me Pope?"
"Certainly, it made it easier for them to be coerced!" he said out loud to himself, wiping his hands uselessly on the non-absorbent little hand towel that hung from the wash stand's rack. Folding the towel he returned it to the rack and reaching into his pocket he pulled out his glasses and put them back on, staring at himself in the mirror, studying himself quite critically.
"Papa Luciani!" he said as regally as he could and then began to chuckle. "God!" he whispered, "If it were not so tragic it would be hilarious!"
Shaking his head, he moved to the small table beside the bed and picked up his breviary, to pray the hours. But he couldn't concentrate on the printed words...those spoken earlier by Siri and Benelli and the repetition of his name that morning during the vote, kept intruding. He tried to read the psalm out loud, but couldn't seem to get past the opening words, "O God, come to my aid, O Lord, make haste to help me."
He needed to pray...this he knew...but not in any prescribed manner. Slowly he closed the book and sat down in the straight-backed wooden chair, burying his face in his hands, all the tension and fear finally releasing itself in tears. "Please Lord..." he pleaded, "...Please don't let this happen. Please."
After a few moments he straightened up and tried to compose himself as best he could. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "Forgive me. I'm weak and afraid. Help me to see your will in this...not Giovanni's, or mine, or anyone else's, but yours. Be my guide...my help, my strength. Show me the way. Grant me courage. Help me, Lord...Please help me."
Sleep did not come quickly or easily for the troubled Luciani, but after much tossing about he finally settled into an uneasy slumber, filled with dreams of the horrible moment when Cardinal Villot would put the awful question to him, and of how his life would be forever altered by his reply. If he said 'no', the Cardinals would see him as rejecting the will of the Almighty, Himself. If he said 'yes'...
"Eminence!"
A pounding on the door and the call of a voice from the hallway startled him from his nap.
"Yes?" he called in response, scrambling from the bed.
"30 minutes, eminence," the voice replied flatly and proceeded to the next door to repeat itself.
Still half asleep, Luciani stood swaying drunkenly in the center of the small room repeating, "30 minutes...30 minutes..."
He reached behind him to be sure the bed was where he thought he had left it, and once reassured that it was, allowed himself to sit down and collect his thoughts, as well as put on his shoes.
"Would they really do it?" he wondered, lacing up the sturdy peasant boots that he found so comfortable.
"And would they do it so soon?" was the next thing that popped into his head, as he buttoned his scarlet cassock and adjusted the sash.
Looking into the mirror to fix his collar, he couldn't help but smile. "I'll make an odd looking Pope..." he said to himself, struggling into the lacy rochet that went over all this, to be topped by a red cloak.
Staring into the mirror again, he shook his head and smiled at how messed up all this rigmarole had left his hair. He pulled his comb through it quickly and decided then and there that if they did elect him he would alter the rules for conclaves so that the Cardinals would be required to wear only their basic cassocks, rather than the "full choir dress". "That," he said to himself, "will probably be the greatest legacy of my papacy!" This idea made him laugh for a moment.
He moved to the chair, and picked up his red zucchetto, fingering it tenderly. Soon it would be exchanged for a white one, if Benelli had his way. And this thought brought him abruptly back to the gravity of the situation.
This was no joke. These men were seriously considering entrusting the future of the Church to him, and the idea made him sick with fear.
"Eminence! 5 minutes!" came the disembodied voice from beyond the door.
"Coming," he called and, as was his habit, threw his zucchetto on to the back of his head with no regard for where or how it landed.
Heading for the door, he snapped up his birth and paused a moment before leaving to whisper one final plea to God, "Please let me see your will, Lord. Please help me." Crossing himself, he opened the door and bolted out, almost straight into the arms of Bernadin Cardinal Gantin.
"I'm so sour...Bernadin! My dear brother! How are you?"
The tall African Cardinal smiled and embraced his old friend warmly. "I'm well, Don Albino," he replied, "And you? How does it feel...?”
"Terrible!" Luciani replied before the young Cardinal could even finish. "I tell you, Bernadin, I wouldn't wish this on the worst enemy I had in the world!"
The two walked arm-in-arm towards the Sistine, the taller Gantin leaning down to hear what his troubled friend was saying.
"There is a terrible storm raging in my mind," Luciani was saying, "I feel completely lost...and alone...Never have I felt so alone..."
They were near the chapel's doorway. Luciani stopped suddenly and turned to his friend. His expression one of desperation.
"Pray for me, my young friend. That I will see God's hand in this and sense His holy presence...because right now...I don't...I swear I don't."
It seemed to Gantin that Luciani was on the verge of breaking down completely. The young Cardinal placed his hands firmly on Luciani's sagging shoulders, wondering if they were, indeed, doing the right thing by subjecting so sensitive a man to such a demanding and isolating post.
"I will pray for you, Albino," he finally assured him, "I will pray that the Lord will give you courage and guidance."
"Thank you," Luciani whispered in reply.
"I must leave you now..." Gantin said and then explained, "I'm seated on the other side of the Chapel."
Luciani smiled and nodded.
"I will pray for you," Gantin said reassuringly, squeezing the Patriarch’s shoulder. "You will find your way, Don Albino. God's not abandoned you...even if it feels that way right now...He'll get you through this."
Again, a smile and a nod.
The two parted company and went to their respective seats, were they stood waiting for latecomers to filter in and then for Villot to lead them in prayer.
Finally, with everyone accounted for, Villot asked God's blessing and guidance and then turned the proceedings over to Filici.
Rising like a hot air balloon from his seat, Filici floated to the microphone and instructed everyone to remove the next ballot from their folders and fill it in so they could begin.
As though in a trance, Luciani obeyed his senior brother's command, removing the ballot from the folder, printing Aloysio Lorschieder's name once more and then folding the ballot in half to await his turn to vote.
He felt odd. His head was pounding and his stomach ached. He thought for certain that he was going to be ill.
When his turn to vote finally came he could feel everyone's eyes on him as he walked quickly to the front of the chapel. Reaching the front, he held the ballot aloft, for all to see, as the rules stipulated, and then made the same pronouncement as did all the others, "I call to witness, Christ the Lord who will be my judge, that my vote is given to the one who before God I consider should be elected Supreme Pontiff."
His voice shook more than usual as he pronounced the words of what should have been merely yet another empty formula, another piece of Roman Catholic ritual. But now the words 'Supreme Pontiff' stuck in his throat and weighed heavily on his mind.
He could hear whispering as he walked back to his place. He tried to keep his eyes aimed straight in front of him, but now and then they strayed to either side, catching a glimpse of someone familiar. Gantin, tall and straight with an encouraging smile; Benelli with a conspiratorial wink and Siri with that self-satisfied smirk.
It seemed to Luciani that even Michelangelo’s painted saints and sinners were staring at him, judging his worthiness. Everyone but God the Father and His Son. One was busy with the creation and the latter with the Final Judgment...they had no time to look down and give comfort to one frightened little Cardinal.
Finally reaching his seat, he slid in behind the small desk and leaned his elbows on the desktop, his clasped hands before him and closed his eyes tightly, as much to block out his surroundings as to pray.
After the final vote had been cast and its owner had returned to his seat, the chalice bearing the votes was placed on the table near the head scrutinizer. The somber Bishop dipped his long fingers into the vessel and pulled out the first ballot, reading it out loud and passing it on to the man seated to his left and then on to the third, each of whom read aloud the name 'Luciani', and then the third pierced it with the needle and slipped it on to the string.
This same scenario, with the same name on the ballot, was repeated many times before the string was broken by a vote for Siri.
Luciani's eyes popped open as Siri’s name was then repeated several times. Perhaps there was a chance...but no. After about six votes for Siri and his own vote for Lorscheider, the repetition of his own name came with only a few more mentions of Siri's.
Luciani rubbed his temples, his head felt like it was about to explode and each vote made the pressure and pain increase. He opened his weary eyes and saw Wojtyła smiling at him sympathetically. He returned the smile and then realized that the room had grown silent. Looking to the front, where the two senior Cardinals of the Curia were seated, he saw that they were awaiting the final tally, and he could feel his body go rigid.
After what seemed a terribly long pause, the bishop at the end of the table rose and presented the folded piece of paper to Villot, who glanced at it, smiled and passed it on to Filici, who, beaming from ear to ear rose to make the announcement.
"The final tally for this ballot is as follows...," he paused to clear his throat.
Luciani could hardly bear the tension. He looked at Siri, who was sitting back calmly in his seat, knowing his chance had once more passed by. His gaze moved to Benelli, who was whispering to the man beside him, as usual.
Luciani stared down at his hands, which were shaking uncontrollably. He clasped them tightly together on his lap under the desk and stared at the still coughing Filici.
"Come on...come on...Get it over with!" he whispered and the man beside him turned.
"Pardon...did you say something, Eminence?"
"No!" Luciani yipped, "Just talking to myself!"
Finally, Filici seemed ready to proceed, "I apologize brothers...something got caught...." he said pointing to his throat, "...now then...the final count is...Lorscheider - 1..."
Luciani smiled to himself, he still felt Aloysio would be the best choice.
"Siri - 11"
Siri nodded complacently and looked directly at the man who had 'stolen' his crown.
"Luciani...."
Albino stiffened.
"...99!"
A cheer went up from the assembly, the same thought on every man's mind: "It's over! We're FREE!"
This thought even crossed Luciani’s mind and he wondered how they would react to his refusal, for that was what he had decided to do. He sank back into his seat, his body trembling, his face flushed, tugging at his collar, which seemed to have grown terribly tight over the last few minutes.
He watched as Villot and Filici, accompanied by the entire "scrutiny team" left their seats and began to process towards him, some enthusiastic Cardinals calling out name suggestions as they went by: "Eugene" someone called out, "Tell him to use Eugene, he was a great Pope and a Venetian."
"John!" Came another voice and yet another offered "Gregory". Villot, finally tiring of all this, waved his hand for silence and said, "First let him accept...then we'll worry about his name."
The procession came to a halt in front of Luciani's desk.
"Oh, God!" the petrified Cardinal whispered as Villot wiggled his fingers at him, indicating that he should stand.
Grasping the edge of the desk the Patriarch of Venice managed to pull himself from his seat, but his head was spinning and his legs felt like they would give out at any second. He stared numbly at Villot as the terrible question was put to him: "Albino Cardinal Luciani," the Frenchman pronounced dramatically and with such a rich French accent that the nerve-racked Patriarch hardly recognized his own name, "...do you accept your canonical nomination as Supreme Pontiff of the Holy Roman Catholic Church?"
Taking a deep breath, Luciani exhaled, "No!"
Villot and Filici stood blinking, first at Albino, then at one another.
"No?!" Villot whispered in disbelief.
"I can't," Luciani responded, realizing he should say more in explanation, not only to Villot and Filici, but to the entire gathering. With the initial refusal said, he now managed to find his voice and continued without hesitation: "I'm deeply honored, truly, and very surprised by this show of confidence, but I'm not equal to the task...I know this..."he added vehemently.”I'm sorry, but I must refuse...." He looked around him, making eye contact with as many of his fellow Cardinals as possible as he added, "Please forgive me?"
Villot smiled at him gently and nodded. "It's alright, Eminence," he said in as comforting a tone as possible, "You're aloud to say no....it's your decision." Still smiling, the big man nodded and pointed to Luciani's chair, much like a teacher telling a student to be seated.
This Albino did gladly. Breathing a sigh of relief and closing his eyes as the little parade headed back to the front of the now completely silent chapel. Reaching their seats, Filici instructed the Cardinals to fill in the last remaining ballot for the day.
Luciani removed the last slip of paper from the folder, wondering what was going through the minds of the others as he stubbornly wrote Lorschieder’s name for the fourth time that day. Folding the slip in half he thought cheerfully to himself, "Now that that's over, maybe Aloysio will stand a chance." Waiting patiently to place his vote, he felt relaxed, as he had when the conclave first started. He had escaped without any fuss and felt himself safely back on the 'C' list. After all, who would vote for him now...after he had turned it down?
The balloting took its usual long period to be completed and finally the last elector returned to his seat and the chalice was presented to Villot and Filici. As the Frenchman read the first ballot, an odd smile crossed his face...a smile that grew wider as he continued. Filici too seemed abnormally pleased with the name that erupted from him over and over: "Luciani."
Luciani jumped at the first mention of his name, but then forced himself to calm down, thinking someone was being as stubborn about him as he was about Aloysio. But then, when the only other name mentioned was Lorschieder’s, the terror he had felt earlier took hold of him again with even more certainty. Benelli's words came back to him,"...we'll continue to nominate you until you change you mind..."
As the number of votes increased an even more terrible thought occurred to him,"...everyone will fall in line with us, which will be an acclamation and that you can not refuse!"
"...you can not refuse..."
"...CAN NOT REFUSE!"
Benelli's words played over in his mind, blocking out the sound of his name being repeated time and again, by Filici.
"No," Luciani whispered, just loud enough for the man beside him to hear and turn, "Please, God...No," he whispered again, closing his eyes in prayer.
The Cardinal who had turned was Jan Willibrands, a pleasant giant of a Dutch man who had been considered a potential pope himself. Leaning over to the obviously troubled Luciani, he placed a hand on the Italian's shoulder and whispered softly, "Don't worry, Albino...If God gives a burden, He also gives you strength to bear it."
Luciani sniffled slightly and tried to smile. Another voice, of a Cardinal he did not know, who sat to his left, now penetrated into his confused brain, "The whole world is praying for the new Pope," the stranger said softly, "All will be well. You'll see."
Folding his hands on the desk before him, Albino smiled and whispered thank you to his two comforters. He felt a little calmer, perhaps they were right, everything would be all right, just relax...Villot handed Filici the final ballot..."Luciani".
The bottom dropped out of the Patriarch's stomach. He had received every vote but his own. It was an acclamation and he could not bring himself to refuse it. They'd trapped him.
He shook his head in disbelief while those around him cheered and the inevitable question, in the person of Cardinal Villot drew closer.
"Why?" he mumbled over and over, "Why me?"
"Eminence?" Villot said softly, intruding on Albino's isolated thoughts. The Camerlingio signaled for him to stand, which he did slowly, whispering, "May God forgive what you have done to me."
Villot ignored this statement and asked his question.
Pulling together every molecule of courage in him, Luciani took a deep breath and then responded in a voice that was clear and surprisingly strong, "I accept."
The Cardinals broke into applause, and Filici turned, one pudgy finger to his lips to signal for silence, so the ritual might continue.
When the room was again silent, Villot continued, "By what name shall you be called?"
Luciani thought for a moment, and then the light seemed to come back into his eyes and for the first time since this madness had begun, he smiled. "John Paul the First," he replied decisively.
Villot smiled. "Brava!" Filici whispered. And the room once more erupted into cheering and applause.
Traditionally, the bishop who heads up the tallying team receives the new pope's old "red hat" along with the understanding that he will be elevated to the College of Cardinals in the near future. In expectation of this, the bishop who was standing to Villot's left, now knelt before Luciani, as Filici presented the former Patriarch with his new white zucchetto. Albino accepted it hesitantly, and removing his red one, uncharacteristically placed the small white circle of silk on his head so carefully that you would have thought it's weight would crush him. Now he looked down at the man kneeling, with head bowed, before him. Leaning down, he placed a hand gently on the bishop's shoulder and whispered, "Let's talk about this when things calm down a little, eh!"
The bishop looked up, a myriad of emotions crossing his face, surprise, disappointment and respect, followed one another in quick succession as he nodded in agreement and rose.
Once Luciani straightened up, Filici took him by the elbow and pulled out from the behind the desk. "Come, Holy Father," he said cheerfully, "we must get you ready for the next step."
Saying this, he passed the confused Pontiff into the keeping of a tall, slightly hunched over bishop, with a pleasant smile, but a long, thin face that reminded Luciani of a vulture. This odd looking fellow, nodded in greeting and then swiftly ushered the Pope into a small side-chapel, where a rack, much like those found in clothing stores, stood looking sadly naked except for three lonely white simars, a garment similar to a cassock, but with a short shoulder cloak attached.
"Take a few moments to collect your thoughts, Holiness," the big man said in a rich French accent similar to Villot's. "The tailors will be arriving any minute now." With that he left the room, shutting all the celebration in the Sistine out with the close of the door.
Luciani stood for a moment in the silent "Chapel of Tears", as it's called, trying to take in and make sense of what had just happened. Turning to face the main altar he moved into a pew and knelt. Shutting his eyes tightly, to fight the tears he knew would come if he gave in, he finally opened them and looked up at the figure on the cross. "Thy will be done..." he whispered, "...on earth as in heaven." Bowing his head and resting it against his tightly clasped hands he repeated, "Thy will. Help me to understand that this is your will, Lord. Help me to be worthy of the sacred trust you have placed in me. Show me your way. Be near to me O Lord, for without your help, I will be completely lost."
Hearing the sound of voices and approaching footsteps, he blessed himself and rose to meet whoever it was with a smile.
The two men, who entered with Filici and the tall bishop, were not smiling but arguing. "I made them to fit the leading candidates, who expected he would to win?!"
"Gentlemen," Filici growled and the two turned their glares upon the Cardinal. "Remember where you are," he added, his face flushed with either anger or excitement.
Meanwhile, the tall man had moved to Luciani's side and taken his arm to lead him, somewhat hesitantly, into the midst of this thorny threesome, explaining as he did so, "Holiness, these are the Gammarelli brothers, tailors to the Papal Household."
"Uh huh," Luciani responded and turned to look quickly at the man looming beside him. "And who are you," he asked with a curious smile.
"Cardinal Filici didn't tell you?"
The new Pope shook his head.
"I'm..."
"Holy Father, please..." one of the 'Papal Tailors' called impatiently, "...we have very little time."
"Coming," Luciani responded.
"Later," he said with a smile to the mysterious bishop, who bowed and smiled in return.
Moving between the two brothers, the Pontiff extended his hand in greeting. "Hello," he said pleasantly.
"How tall are you, Holiness," one brother barked, while the other ran a measuring tape across the Pope's shoulders and then quickly around his waist.
"Pardon," Luciani responded in honest confusion, not sure which way to look or what to do.
"How tall are you," the tailor repeated impatiently, stressing each word.
"Uh...about 5' 9".... I think," the Pope answered, glad that the second brother had left him and was now attacking the rack of robes with his tape.
"5' 9", the other man muttered and flew to his brother's side to join in the mad flurry of measuring and pinning.
Filici and 'the unnamed' moved to stand beside the befuddled Pope.
"Is there a problem," Luciani asked.
"No," Filici laughed softly, "I think it's probably always like this...you see, Holiness," he continued softly, "...they make up the simars to fit one of the leading Papabile, this time all of them were either bigger or smaller than yourself, and now they need to figure out which one will fit you with the least fuss and still look decent for your first appearance."
"Oh," Luciani responded and stifled a giggle. "They're very intense about their work," he observed.
Filici and the bishop both laughed softly.
"Holy Father," one of the tailors called, signaling that they were now ready for him.
The other brother stood holding the most promising of the vestments open, as though he were about to attack someone with it.
Luciani cast a glance back at his two companions and, with a shrug, moved quickly across the room to where the first brother began rapidly to help him remove his present garments and the second, just as speedily, guided his arms into his new robe and began buttoning it, while the other now dropped to the floor with a mouthful of pins and began pining up the hem of the garment, which was much too long.
"We apologize for this being so large, Holiness, but the only one that may have fit you lengthwise was far too small in the shoulders," the buttoning brother explained, as he fastened the top closure and secured the collar. "We have your measurements, and you'll have a full wardrobe by the end of the week...we'll have a properly cut simar to you by the end of the day tomorrow," he added, securing the sash around Luciani's waist and pulling it tight to take up more of the robe's excess cloth.
All the while this was going on, Filici and the bishop had stood watching and smiling, at times giggling softly. It was an amusing scene, two men working furiously on another, who in an attempt to be as cooperative as possible was allowing them to manhandle him almost mercilessly.
Finally satisfied with their creation, the tailors spun him around to a face a mirror on the wall. The sight took Luciani by surprise, so used to seeing himself either in his black or scarlet robes, the new white one seemed like something totally foreign and the man in the mirror, a complete stranger.
"Well..." asked the brother who'd been doing the pinning, "...is it alright, Holiness? Is it comfortable...at least for the time being?"
"Comfortable," Luciani thought to himself, "This will never be comfortable!" But he smiled and nodded; "Yes...it's fine...you did an amazing job, both of you." He turned to face the two men, who had knelt behind him. "You have my thanks and my blessing."
"All right then..." Filici spoke up, "You have done an excellent job, gentlemen," he addressed to the Gammarelli who bowed in acknowledgment, smiles on their faces that seemed to say 'of course we did'. "You're dismissed."
Turning to face the new Pope, they bowed and backed up to the door, where the tall bishop stood waiting. He opened the door and then joined the tailors in bowing and backing out of the room, closing the continuing celebration in the Sistine out with the shutting of the door.
"Who is that," Luciani asked Filici, as the door closed.
"Hmm," Filici responded in confusion.
"The tall fellow...who is he?"
"Oh! I'm sorry, Holiness, I should have introduced him...That's Archbishop Jacques Martin, the Prefect of the Papal Household...you'll be seeing a lot of him."
"I will?"
"Yes," Filici explained, "He pretty much plans your life from here on...and he can call or come to see you whenever he deems it necessary...no appointment needed."
"Uh huh. Okay. So...now what?"
Filici chuckled and took Luciani by the elbow. "Now you receive the obeisance of the Cardinals."
"What?"
"Don't worry...there's nothing to it. You just sit on the throne and each of us comes up and swears his obedience to you as Supreme Pontiff, and you give us each your blessing."
"But the balcony...when do I do that?"
"After this," Filici said opening the door to the now silent chapel. "Don't worry so much, Albino," he said with a broad smile, "We'll do everything that needs doing. Just relax and let us guide you. Okay?"
Luciani smiled and nodded. He allowed Filici to steer him to a throne that had been set up at the front of the hall in place of the table where Filici and Villot had sat with the scrutinizers during the conclave. Two monsignors flanked the throne, Villot and Martin waited at its foot. The other Cardinals were standing at their seats along the sides of the chapel.
Not at all comfortable with any of this, but knowing it to be something he must do, Luciani mounted the few steps up to the throne and took his seat, just on the edge, so he would be able to easily lean forward to speak to each man as he approached.
"Ready, Holy Father," Martin asked softly.
"Yes," the Pontiff responded with a meek smile.
The Bishop raised his hand and the Cardinals rose as one body, forming a line, which stretched the length of the Sistine. One by one, they approached the throne, knelt before the new Pontiff, swore their loyalty and obedience to him, and received his blessing in return.
While all this ceremony was going on in the Sistine, confusion was reigning in the plaza.
In their eagerness to let the world know that the church had a new Holy Father, the Cardinals had shoved anything that would burn into the stove, including both the white and black chemicals. The resulting smoke that belched from the chapel chimney was a nice non-committal shade of gray.
"What color is that?"
"Gray? Does that mean there's a tie?"
"Well...at least it's not black..."
"Yeah, but it isn’t white either!"
"Shush. Listen..."
A group had gathered around a young man with a transistor radio, which he had turned up as loudly as possible so as many people could listen as wanted to. The announcer was saying in a very serious tone that the Vatican had confirmed that the smoke was indeed intended to be either white or black, but since the Cardinals in conclave were the only ones who knew which it should be, all anyone could do was wait. This caused the crowd to explode with laughter. "They know as much as we do," one man said and everyone laughed in agreement.
Among those enjoying the moment was Father Diego Lorenzi, Cardinal Luciani's secretary. He had been part of the crowd since early that morning; after all...what else was there to do?
He had struck up a conversation with a couple just before the smoke had begun to ascend from the chimney and thrown everyone into turmoil. Now the festival feeling had returned, everyone believing that the smoke had indeed been black and that it was time to decide where to go for dinner, since there would be no more voting that day. The couple turned to Lorenzi to resume their conversation.
"Father, are you missioned here in Rome?"
"No, no..."I'm here from Venice."
"What do you do there?"
"This and that...I am secretary to..."
Lorenzi was cut off by the sudden deafening buzz of the loudspeakers that were placed all around the plaza. If they were being activated, it could mean only one thing.
"Perhaps the smoke was white..." Lorenzi observed to his new friends and pointed to the central doorway above the basilica's entrance. It was open and two men had draped the banner bearing the Papal crest over the balustrade. Two others were setting up a microphone. Such preparations could mean only one thing, and the words, "There must be a new Pope," were making their way through the throng.
The workmen vanished from the balcony and the doors shut. People were holding their breath in
expectation. "Could it be? On the first day of the conclave, they've actually elected someone?"
expectation. "Could it be? On the first day of the conclave, they've actually elected someone?"
"Father," one of Lorenzi's companions asked, "...do you really think..."
Lorenzi's eyes were glued to the balcony; he put his finger to his lips and then pointed. The tourists' eyes followed. What they saw along with the rest of the now silent mass of people, was the central door reopening and Cardinal Filici approaching the microphone, while the rest of the College of Cardinals filed out to fill either side of the balcony.
Lorenzi strained his eyes to see if he could spot Don Albino among the men along the sides, but they were too far away for him to distinguish which was 'his' Cardinal.
Content that everyone was in their appointed spot, Filici gazed behind him quickly at the new Pope, now vested in rochet, scarlet cloak and the red and gold Stole of State, who stood pale and unsure of himself, fidgeting with the ring on his finger and licking his parched lips. Filici nodded and Luciani nodded back. He was as ready as he was ever going to be.
Filici stepped up to the microphone and finally announced the much-awaited words: "I announce to you great joyful news. We have a Pope!"
There was a murmur of applause in the crowd then all was silent as everyone waited for the all-important name: "His Most Eminent and Reverend Lordship, Lord Albino..."
"Albino!" Lorenzi's heart jumped into his throat...there was only one Cardinal with the first name of Albino that he knew of....
"....Cardinal of the Holy Roman Church Luciani," Filici continued.
His Cardinal, Lorenzi thought with pride. He had been elected!
"...who has taken for himself the name John Paul I."
The crowd broke into applause and joyful shouts of "Brava, brava! Viva il Papa, Viva il Papa!"
Filici moved back from the microphone and the new Pope took his place, his hands clasped tightly to his lips as he looked out over the piazza filled to the bursting point with cheering people, knowing that this was only a small number of those souls for whom he was now the shepherd.
A priest came forward with the lectionary and held it open. The Pope parted his hands and in a quaking voice, cracking with emotions he was trying desperately to keep in check, he sang the introductory portion of the blessing. “May the holy apostles, Peter and Paul, in whose power and authority we trust, intercede for you with the Lord. May God almighty have mercy on you and forgiving your sins, may Jesus Christ lead you to eternal life. May the almighty Lord grant you indulgence, absolution and pardon for all your sins, time for true and fruitful repentance and an ever-penitent heart and improvement of your lives, the grace and consolation of the Holy Spirit and final perseverance in good deeds.”
Then looking out over the now silent crowd, he traced the Sign of the Cross, "And may the blessing of almighty God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, descend upon you and remain forever.”
"Amen," rumbled back from the crowd. There was a moment of quiet and then they came back to life with cheers and waving.
Lorenzi's eyes were filled with tears. One of his companions put a hand on his shoulder and asked what was wrong.
Turning to the man with a smile, Lorenzi replied, "You asked what I did in Venice...and I had begun to tell you that I was secretary to the Patriarch...but that's no longer true..." he looked up at the small figure, smiling and waving to the crowd.”Now..." he crowed with pride, "I am the secretary to the new Pope!"
Chapter 3
"No."
"But Holy Father..."
"I said no."
Back and forth the dialog went as "Papa
Luciani" walked gingerly down the great hall to view his new apartment, followed by three Cardinals: Villot, Filici and Bagio; two Monsignors, Virgilio Noé and Pasquale Machi; one Archbishop, Martin; and racing to keep up at the rear, his secretary, Lorenzi, who finally broke into a run to get to the apartment door and open it before the Pontiff and the others reached it.
"Thank you, Diego," the Pope said with a smile as he entered the office or study portion of the suite, followed closely by the parade of prelates.
"Burr..." the Pope said, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them playfully, "It's freezing in here!"
Monsignor Noé piped up from the rear, "We took the liberty of having the air conditioning turned on last night, in light of how high the humidity has been the past few days, Holiness...." He hesitated and then added sheepishly, "...perhaps it was a little too high?"
Luciani laughed and, spying the offending device in one of the aged windows, approached it and asked, "Is this the culprit?"
"Yes, Holiness," Noé responded
"Take that," the Pope said sternly, turning the switch to the 'off' position and moving to a window. With a quick motion he had undone the latch and swung it wide open, letting in a blast of hot air that hit the others like a flame thrower. The Pope, however, stood in the window taking a deep breath and then turned to Lorenzi with a wide smile on his face. "Ah...Fresh air...Even if it is warm, it's better than that recycled stuff, eh Diego?"
The priest smiled and nodded half-heartedly. He desperately wished Don Albino would turn the AC back on.
"Open the other windows and we'll get a nice little breeze through here. That'll be comfortable, eh?"
Lorenzi nodded, looked at the others with a sad shrug of his shoulders and began opening windows.
Albino had moved to the desk, a large mahogany affair, and ran his hand over the highly polished surface.
"Nice..." he remarked softly to himself. Villot's throat clearing reminded him he had company.
"Oh yes...the matter of my installation."
"Coronation, Holiness..." Villot corrected him, "It must be a coronation."
"Must be," Luciani echoed, "where does it say it must be anything in particular?"
"Well..." Villot looked at the others, but was met by blank stares. "It's canon law," he finally said, "The Pope must take possession of his See by assuming the throne and the triple tiara of his office. It's always been an extremely regal affair...for centuries..." he looked at the others for support and they all nodded.
Luciani didn't look impressed, however, so Villot continued, "It should remain so...should it not, Holiness?"
"No," the Pope replied bluntly and then raised his hand to the others to wait while he explained his position.
"Yes, it has been an extremely regal affair, but it has also been six hours long! There's no need for that! Tiaras, thrones, ostrich feather fans...my God...what an anachronistic nightmare!"
The Cardinals and other Vatican staff were stunned. Even Lorenzi was taken by surprise. He knew that as a Bishop and then a Cardinal, Luciani had always shied away from the pompous shows of grandiosity that were in many ways a trademark of the Roman Catholic church. Humility was the motto on his coat-of-arms and he lived by it. Simplicity had followed everywhere he went. But surely, not here...not with the Papacy itself...
"What I would like..." Luciani began, "ideally..."he added, drumming his fingers playfully on the desktop, "...would be an installation mass, similar to the one I had when I took possession of Vittorio Venito...after all, that's what's happening...I am becoming a bishop...Bishop of Rome...yes?"
The Vatican people looked first at each other and then at the Pope. They said nothing.
"Yes? Eminencies? Excellency? Monsignors? Anyone?"
"Yes, Holiness..." Martin finally managed to cough up, "...but..."
"Good," the Pope responded, moving quickly into their midst and locking arms with Villot and Martin. "The date will be September 3rd, that much I have settled in my mind and the invitation will read 'INSTALLATION" not 'coronation' It will be a High Mass, celebrated on the front steps of the basilica...that way as many people as wish to attend may...Cardinal Filici," he said placing a hand on Filici's shoulder, "shall place the Pallum upon my shoulders, signifying my elevation as Bishop of the City of Rome and that will be sufficient. We should start at a reasonable hour...say six or so, and the entire ceremony should take no more than two and a half to three hours, depending upon how long it takes to distribute the Eucharist."
He had now wandered away from the shocked staff members and was examining the furnishings and decorations in the room. He finally turned and looked at the huddle of befuddled hierarchs. "Questions?" he asked.
"But...the tiara...the sedia gestatoria..." Monsignor Noé squeaked.
"No tiara, Monsignor," Luciani replied, putting a comforting hand on the aide's shoulder, "I'm a bishop, not a king...as for the Sedia, no man should be carried on the shoulders of others. I have two good...uh...well...fair...legs, and I'm perfectly capable of walking. And as for those ostrich feather things..." he added, wiggling his fingers in illustration, "...definitely, NO!"
"Now...If there's nothing else, I would like to go over some things with Father Lorenz before the Angelus...and time is running short..." he gazed at his watch quickly and began to playfully shoo the staff out the door. "Let me know how the plans for the ceremony are progressing and who I should expect to meet. Okay?"
The entourage moved towards the door as one body, different voices piping up with, "But Holiness..."
"I will be more than happy to hear your suggestions or objections later," Luciani stressed, "But now I need a little time to myself...Please."
Finally shepherding the last man out, he cooed, "Thank you," pleasantly and softly closed the door.
The clerics stood for a few seconds staring at the door in shocked silence, then they all turned on Villot, a barrage of complaints on their lips.
The Secretary of State held up his hand to silence them. "Brothers, BROTHERS! Please..." he pleaded. "The Holy Father has made his decision and whether we agree or not, that's how it shall be."
"But Eminence..."
"Shush! I'm sure, upon reflection, we will all see the wisdom in the Holy Father's decision."
Another "But Eminence" was on the tip of Monsignor Noé's tongue, but Villot's expression made him reconsider and keep still.
"Good. Now then. Let's get on with our duties. We all have much to do."
No one budged.
"Good DAY, Brothers," Villot prodded and the group grudgingly dispersed, still grumbling to themselves or their neighbor. Only Filici remained.
"Our gentle little Venetian is become St. Mark's Lion, eh Jean?"
"So it would seem," the Frenchman responded with a glance at the office door and a shake of his head.
The two started towards the stairway to go down to their respective offices.
"How do you feel, honestly...about this whole...'Installation' matter," Filici asked.
The Frenchman shrugged. "I was against it at first...but you really can't argue with his reasoning...can you?"
They started down the marble steps together as Villot mused aloud, "He is a bishop...not a king. And this is God's church...not an earthly kingdom...perhaps he's right," he concluded pausing a moment on the steps.
"At any rate...we'll have to do this his way...we'll see how the people react to the change...That's when we'll really know if he's right or not."
With that, he continued down the staircase, Filici at his heels.
Meanwhile, the new Pontiff was taking in his surroundings. Making mental notes on each piece of furniture and each decorative object in the room.
Lorenzi eyed him with growing trepidation. "What is he thinking?" he wondered to himself.
Finally, the Pope turned to his secretary and with a weary sigh and a weak grin said, "Fancy. Isn't it?"
Lorenzi was about to voice his defense of the study's rather ostentatious decor, but the Pontiff, still gazing around at the overstuffed chairs and Renaissance style paintings, saved him the trouble when he sighed, "Ah well...I guess I'll have to put up with it."
The secretary was almost visibly relieved. He had feared Luciani would start tossing some of the more garish ornaments into storage boxes, to be put in mothballs along with the tiara and the portable throne. But it seemed he had decided to tolerate it...at least for awhile.
"So," the Pope said pointing to another set of doors that led off from the study. "Where do these go?"
"Well...," Lorenzi said leaping to be of assistance,"...this one leads to the sitting room for private audiences...there are several other audience rooms downstairs..."
"Why? I can only be in one at a time...why can't I just meet people in here?" Luciani asked, pointing back into the study, "...like I did in Venice."
"Uh...I'm not sure Holiness...um...perhaps..." the Spaniard fumbled around for a suitable explanation to give his always practical superior.
"Yes. Perhaps...I'm listening, Diego."
"Well...perhaps...once you're on a regular schedule of private audiences it becomes so busy that they have the parties wait in these various rooms and you move from one to another...perhaps?"
"Bravo, Diego," Luciani responded patting his secretary on the back. "A very well thought out explanation and probably quite correct. Its much easier for me to move about than to shuffle people in and out of my study all day."
Satisfied with Lorenzi's explanation and bored with looking at the audience room, the curious Pontiff moved to another door and opened it.
"What's...ah! Good. I wondered where this was hidden," he remarked with a chuckle as he closed the door on a small bathroom equipped only with a sink and toilet.
"And this one," he asked moving to the next exit.
"That leads to your library, Holiness." Lorenzi responded, deciding it was useless to try to keep up with the wandering Pope.
"Library?! Are there any books in it now?"
"Yes...quite a lovely collection actually...some of Pope Paul's volumes are still here, they haven't had time to remove them yet...but someone will be by for them in the next few days, I'm sure..." Lorenzi droned on while the Pope ran his hand lovingly over the leather binding of several volumes.
"This reminds, Diego...when will my personal belongings be arriving?"
"Today or tomorrow, Holiness."
"Good! That will give me time to rewrite one of my sermons for the general audience next Wednesday."
Lorenzi was taken aback by this statement. And it showed.
"What," the Pope asked, turning from the bookshelves to his non-plussed assistant, "What's this look I'm getting," he asked with the hint of a chuckle.
"Well...it's just that I ...well...aren't they supposed to supply you with addresses for these occasions, Holiness?"
"They? They who? You mean the same people who gave me that dreadful address that I was supposed to read to the College of Cardinals my first morning?'
"It wasn't that bad, Holiness...as a matter of fact...I thought it sounded very much in your style."
"Uh huh..." the Pope grunted, turning back to the shelves, "That's because I stayed up half the night revising it...and the papers still printed the "official" version!" He tacked this last bit of information on, wiggling his fingers to imply quotation marks around the word “official”.
"You did?" Lorenzi sputtered.
"Yes," Luciani responded calmly, pulling a copy of St John of the Cross's 'Dark Night of the Soul' from the shelf. "I couldn't give the speech the way they'd written it...all full of regal 'we's' and thee's and thou's...you know that's not my way."
He began to thumb through the book, while Lorenzi waited impatiently.
"Besides, they didn't cover everything I wanted to say...and they made a point of stressing some things I didn't want to touch on yet. No, no. I will write my own speeches and sermons, Diego. I've never liked using other people's words...and that won't change."
"But, Holiness," Lorenzi pleaded, "How will you find time...with your schedule?"
Luciani snapped the book shut and put it back in its place, replying simply, "I'll make time." Then he continued moving along the shelves, checking the titles.
Lorenzi decided to drop the subject. Don Albino could be a very stubborn man on certain matters and he felt it best to let the "Vatican people" deal with this one themselves.
"Holiness?" he asked.
"Uh huh."
"Do you want to spend more time here and see the bedroom later?"
"Oh no...I'll have plenty of time to spend in here, I'm sure...Where's the bedroom?"
"Through here, Holiness." Lorenzi directed the Pontiff back into the study and then out an adjacent door into the heavily wood-paneled room.
The bedroom was large, with heavy wooden furniture and two beds contending for the occupant's attention. First the huge overstuffed and over fluffed four-poster affair that went with the dresser and amoir. This was the bed John XXIII had used during his Pontificate and it's sunken mattress bore witness to having held the portly Pontiff for five years.
Across from John's, was a smaller, hospital style bed, that almost looked like a cot in comparison, but was, indeed a full-size twin bed. This had been Paul VI's.
Luciani walked over to the four-poster and felt the mattress. "Soft..." he mumbled, "Too soft."
Then moving to Paul's, he repeated the gesture and then sat on the edge and bounced, happily. "Ah...That's better! Diego, let the Sisters know that this is the bed I will be using...that..." he said pointing to the mahogany behemoth across from him,"...is far too soft for my back. I don't even think I could climb out of it if I managed to get in it!"
Lorenzi smiled and nodded.
Taking a quick look at his watch, the Pontiff leaped from the bed, his precariously perched zuchetto flying from his head as he did so. He retrieved it quickly and asked his secretary, "Where do I go to do the Angelus? This window...," he indicated the balconied bedroom window, "...or the study?"
"The study, Holiness."
"Okay...let's go, its almost time."
Striding back into the study, he was surprised to see that the window in question was already occupied by Monsignors Noé and Machi, who were supervising a workman draping the Papal insignia tapestry from the balustrade. it had been removed from the central one and relocated here for the audience.
Standing near by was Archbishop Martin, who snapped to attention when he spied the Pontiff from the corner of his eye. "Holy Father," he said with a deep bow.
"Hello again, Excellency..." Luciani acknowledged, moving forward and craning his neck to see what was happening at the window.
"It’s the Papal crest, Holiness...," Martin explained, divining what the Pope was about to ask. "Its presence indicates to the people which window you will speak from."
"Ah!'
"I'm afraid its still the Sede Vacante crest, but we're expecting the tapestry with yours on it any day now...," the archbishop continued, following the curious Luciani as he wandered over to the window to watch.
"Holiness?" Martin said in a tone indicating he wanted the Pontiff's attention refocused from the activity on the balcony to himself.
"Yes...ah...Excellency, what is your first name again...is it Jacques?"
"Yes, Holiness."
"Then may I call you that? Since we will be working together so closely..." the Pontiff could see that Martin was shocked by the suggestion, "...I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "Perhaps that is too informal. I only meant when we meet privately..." he tried to explain.
Martin nodded. "That would be fine, Holy Father," he said, a little too pleasantly. "Now..." he added swinging a large leather-bound notebook out from behind him and flipping it open to a set of paper clipped sheets which he removed regally and presented to the Pope with his right hand, while snapping the book shut and swinging it behind him again with his left.
Luciani jumped back slightly as the papers were thrust at him. "What...?"
"It's your Angelus address Holiness," Martin explained, pushing the sheets closer to the Pope, who finally took them hesitantly and glanced over them, as he walked towards the desk, where he deposited them on the corner.
Martin watched this with a slightly screwed up mouth. He didn't like the look of it.
Satisfied that the Papal banner was properly displayed, Noé had dismissed the workman and now he and Machi joined Martin in staring at the Pope, who was still flipping through the pages of his proposed address.
Lorenzi sensed a confrontation on the horizon and backed against the bedroom door as though preparing to take cover.
"Thank you, Excellency..." Luciani said pleasantly as he tossed the papers into the middle of the desk. Looking up, he moved towards the three clerics. "And please give my thanks to whoever prepared that talk, also...," he hesitated in thought for a moment and smiled in acknowledgment of Cardinals Villot and Filici who had just appeared at the study door. "Perhaps," he continued, turning back to Martin, "I will be able to use it some other time."
Martin's eyes widened. But he remained silent.
"But today..." the Pope continued,"...I already know what I wish to say."
That said he turned from the prelates who assembled along with Martin and moved quickly to the window, where his appearance was greeted with polite applause and cheers.
Filici had moved up beside Martin, "Well, Excellency...did he accept it?" This was asked in the tone of one who already sensed the answer.
"No, Eminence."
"Just as I told you," the Cardinal replied with a mischievous grin.
At the window, Luciani was still waving and taking in the size of the crowd, which seemed even larger than the one the night before, if that was possible. Finally he reached for the microphone, adjusting it to a comfortable height and the crowd grew silent in expectation.
"Yesterday morning...," he began, but the applause and cheers caused him to stop and laugh, waving to the crowd to quiet down.
These two simple words caused an uproar among the clerics gathered in the study as well, albeit a more subdued and far less positive one.
"What is he doing?" Filici whispered in absolute horror.
"He's going to tell them about the conclave," Martin muttered in disbelief.
"But he can't," Noé cried and turned to Villot, who stood like a stone pillar beside him. "Stop him, Eminence," the monsignor emplored.
Villot looked down at Noé and shifted his glance to Lorenzi, "Father...," he addressed calmly to Diego, who flew to his side at the summons.
"Yes, Eminence?"
Villot pointed a long slender finger at Luciani, who was still trying to silence the crowd.
"Is there any chance that he might be going to tell them something else...aside from..."
"No, Eminence...I'm afraid not."
Machi and Noé looked at one another and then at Lorenzi.
"Is there no chance?" Machi asked
Lorenzi shook his head in resignation.
"Oh God," Noé murmured and he and his companions crossed themselves and looked heavenward as though emploring God to put different words into the Pontiff's mouth. He didn't.
Holding a finger to his lips, Luciani tried to calm the enthusiastic throng. "If you calm down, I'll tell you a funny story...all right?"
The crowd, still with waves and smiles, quieted down and waited.
"There...that's better...now! Yesterday morning, I went to the Sistine to vote...tranquilly...little did I know what was going to happen!"
The mass of people erupted again...he was going to tell them about the conclave! About how it felt to be elected Pope! No Pope had ever done that! Nor had any of the past Pontiffs come out and just begun speaking to the people, like they were his friends...they loved it!
The men standing in the study, with stony expressions, hated it!
"He's breaking the oath of secrecy of the Conclave!" Filici screeched in Villot's ear.
The Frenchman winced and nodded. "I know," was all he replied.
Clearly in a tizzy over this breach of Vatican protocol, Filici turned to Lorenzi, "Can you not stop him!?"
Lorenzi stared dumbly at Filici and pointing impotently at himself shook his head no.
Meanwhile the crowd had once again stilled itself and Luciani was proceeding with his story.
"When the danger had begun to grow for me...," he continued, people in the crowd leaning forward to catch every word that poured from the loud speakers, "...the Cardinals on either side of me tried to give me some comfort. 'Don't worry,' said one, 'if God gives a burden, he also gives the strength to carry it.' The Cardinal on my left added that, 'The whole world is praying for the new Pope.' So reinforced with these thoughts I accepted when the time came."
The crowd applauded, but the Pope's raised hand indicated he had more to tell, so they quieted down again.
"Then they asked what I would call myself, and I had to think for a few moments...and I remembered how John XXIII had made me a bishop and sent me to serve in his city of Venice, a city still filled with his great spirit. And then I remembered how, Paul VI had elevated me to Cardinal and made me blush to the roots of my hair before several thousand people in Venice by removing his stole and placing it on my shoulders. Never was I so embarrassed!" he concluded with a chuckle, and the crowd joined in enthusiastically. After a few moments they grew silent again and he continued in a more serious vein, "Furthermore, during his 15 year Pontificate he showed us, not only me, but the world, how to love, serve, labor and suffer for the church of Christ. For these reasons, I said: I shall be called John Paul the First.
"I have neither the 'Wisdom of Heart' of John, nor the preparation and culture of Paul, but I have their job. I must seek to serve the church, and I hope that you will help me with your prayers."
The thunderous eruption of applause gave the Pontiff the reassurance he so needed and he smiled broadly and waved in thanks. Raising his hand again to quite the multitude, he invited them softly, "Come pray with me...In the name of the Father...."
Cardinal Villot, who had moved to stand just behind the Pontiff was dumbfounded at the Pope's masterful handling of such a huge gathering, and the true sense of intimacy that had developed between this single man and the tens of thousands in the plaza.
"Benelli was right..." he thought to himself, "...Luciani is indeed a unique man and a great communicator." he smiled, in spite of himself, in appreciation of this simple man who was now deeply immersed in prayer with his "friends". "This Pontificate is going to be quite interesting," he thought as he backed from the brightness of the window into the gloom of the study.
A gloom personified by his four cohorts, all shaking their heads in disapproval and whispering to one another. "Scandalous" he overheard Noé sputter to Machi.
Moving close beside Lorenzi, the Frenchman whispered, "Is this...ah...typical?"
Lorenzi shrugged, apologetically and whispered, "I'm afraid so, Your Eminence."
"It won't do, you know," Villot said softly his gaze leading Lorenzi's to the glum quartet on the
other side of the room.
Lorenzi sighed deeply and responded simply with the words, "It may have to."
The Secretary of State jerked his head back as if the Spaniard had struck him. But there was no time to pursue an explanation. The Pope had just given his blessing and the people had once more come to life with cheers and shouts in an attempt to keep him a few moments longer.
Waving and laughing, Luciani admonished them, "Be good now, and calm down!" Then pointing over his shoulder he added, "I have to go back to work." With a shrug of his shoulders and a final wave he backed into the study and closed the shutters.
Turning to face the assembly of somber-faced clergy he smiled and remarked, "That seems to have gone well...eh?"
The flustered prelates shot looks at one another as though trying to decide who would make the first assault.
Puzzled by their reaction, the Pope turned to Villot. "Is something wrong, Eminence?" he asked innocently.
Clearing his throat, the Cardinal replied, "I'm afraid we're all a bit taken aback by the topic you chose for this first address, Holy Father."
The Pontiff looked more confused than before, so the Cardinal tried to elaborate. "To discuss the conclave with the public...well...its...its just...well it’s highly...well."
"Yes Eminence...," Luciani prompted the tongue-tied Cardinal, "Its highly...what?"
"Unorthodox?" Villot offered, for lack of a better word.
A small smile began to turn up the corners of the Pope's mouth, but not for long...Filici now decided to mount an attack of his own.
"Holy Father, the secrecy of the Conclave is a sacred trust...to discuss it so openly is well...it’s just not done," he concluded emphatically and turned to his comrades for support.
The others nodded in agreement. Even Villot.
Lorenzi closed his eyes and shook his head. "Now they've done it," he whispered to himself.
"Not done..." Luciani echoed thoughtfully, as he moved behind his desk, "...not done...Well..." he began, looking Filici straight in the eye. "It has been done...and there is not one good reason why it should not have been done."
Filici was beside himself. "But...you took an oath!" he spat, his rage beginning to get the better of him.
"Yes...I did...We all did..." Luciani responded evenly. "We took a vow to maintain the secrecy of the conclave while it was in session," he added pointedly. I did not break faith with that oath...nor did I really reveal anything about the conclave itself...all I spoke of were my feelings and thoughts at the moment of having to make 'The Decision'," he added, wiggling his fingers to indicate quotation marks around the last two words.
He paused a moment to let this sink in before continuing in the same even tones. "I've broken no vow. Betrayed no trust."
Filici had regained his composure. The others merely stood dumbly as the Pope continued.
"The most sacred trust we have, is the trust which exists between the Church and its people. There is nothing, and I stress that, NOTHING, that should be kept from them. This is their church. We are answerable to them. And we must have no secrets that we withhold from them. After all..." he added, smiling broadly,"...what have we to hide?"
The shifting of eyes, shuffling of feet and clearing of throats among the disgruntled clerics planted a seed of doubt in the Pope's mind...perhaps there were things being hidden...and this thought melted the smile from his face.
"Uh huh," he grunted and picked up a folder from the desk thumbing through it quickly to re-gather his thoughts. Finally he looked up at Villot, "You say I'm 'unorthodox'', Jean..." he stated.
Villot smiled faintly and nodded.
The Pope nodded along with him and continued, "Well, if being open with the people is considered 'unorthodox' by the Vatican, you'd best prepare yourselves for a very unorthodox Papacy. Because I promise you, there will be no secrets in the Vatican as long as I'm here."
This declaration was met with an uncomfortable silence, so the Pontiff pressed on, "Now, if there's nothing else?"
He moved his glance over the faces of the five men before him, each shook his head 'no'.
"Good! Then if you will excuse me, I have some work to attend to. Good day my dear brothers."
The group bowed and began moving towards the door, "Good day, Holy Father" s being mumbled as they moved into the hallway.
Luciani pointed at the Secretary of State and beckoned him to remain. He then nodded to Lorenzi to close the study door as he left.
Once they were alone the Pontiff tossed the folder he'd been holding onto the desk and crossing his hands in front of him contentedly, smiled at the Cardinal and inquired, "Shocked them...yes?"
Villot nodded.
"And you too?"
Villot smiled. "Perhaps not as badly, Holy Father. Giovanni Benelli... 'warned' me about you."
The Pope laughed and moved closer to the Cardinal, so he might place a hand on his shoulder as he walked him to the door.
"That's good," he responded to the Frenchman's statement about Benelli's 'warning'. "And I hope I will not cause those he did not warn undo discomfort in the future...but..." He stopped just short of the door and faced Villot. "...I meant what I said. The Church must be open and honest with the people. If we have nothing to hide, and we should not, then why be so hush, hush about everything, eh?"
Villot shrugged. "I suppose because its the way things have always been done, Holiness," he offered as an excuse.
"Well...it not how they'll be done from now on," the Pope replied decisively. Placing a hand on the big Frenchman's shoulder he added, "You will be a great help to me, Jean...I know you will."
"I will try, Holy Father," Villot responded meekly.
"Thank you for staying on."
"You're welcome, Holy Father."
With these word, the big man bowed and took his leave.
Luciani watched until he vanished down the stairway, Lorenzi watching the Pope from the corner of his eye.
"Diego?"
The Spaniard leapt to his feet, "Yes, Holiness?"
"Relax, Diego...," Luciani said softly, "I just wanted to ask you to call the kitchen and have some coffee sent to my office, okay?"
"Right away, Holiness," the secretary responded.
"There's no rush...," the Pope replied, going back into the study, "Whenever you have time."
He closed the door and returned to his desk, where he was working on the final draft of a book based on a column he had written for the Messenger of St Anthony, in which he wrote letters to 'famous people' from history and literature. The manuscript had arrived in Venice just before his vacation and had accompanied him to the Lido. Now he had finally gotten it back from Lorenzi and begun working on the revisions again. A knock on the door made him look up from his letter to 19th century Italian writer, Alessandro Manzoni. Thinking the knock to be one of the sisters bringing him coffee, he rose to answer the door and relieve the nun of her burden.
"Coming, Sister," he called as he strode energetically across the room and opened the door to see three familiar faces, all of them male and no one with coffee.
"Oh! Hello...I'm sorry, I was expecting, ah! There she is!"
The threesome in the doorway turned to see Sister Gabrielle approaching with a steaming cup of coffee. They parted to allow the Pontiff to pass through and relieve her of the cup and him of the intense headache that had been building ever since his confrontation with Filici and the others earlier.
"Thank you, Sister," he said with a broad smile.
The nun genuflected and left in silence.
Sipping on the life-sustaining elixir, he turned and walked back to the group that awaited him, taking his secretary aside with a polite, "Pardon us for just a few seconds, brothers," in an attempt to find out why, when they had left only a short time ago, both Villot and Machi had returned, the monsignor laden down with two apparently very heavy suitcases.
"Diego, what is all this?" Luciani whispered between gulps of coffee.
"I'm sorry, Holy Father," the Spaniard said, moving close enough to whisper the rest of his reply. "I don't really know what it’s about...they just sort of...materialized and made a bee-line straight for your study. It was all I could do to get them to wait for me to announce them."
"Hmmm....Must be important...Alright, Diego...I'll take care of them...You just see that we're not disturbed, eh?"
"Yes, Holy Father," Lorenzi responded and returned to his desk.
Luciani approached the two waiting clerics happily. "Jean. Pasquale...Please excuse the delay in my greeting you...I just needed to confer with Don Lorenzi for a moment...Please..." he pushed the already open door wider and stood waiting for them to enter,"...Come in. Have seats...Monsignor, do you need help with that?" he asked indicating the two cases.
Machi a smaller and much thinner man than the Pontiff, who was none too big himself, labored to lift the two cases, while Villot glided regally into the study.
"If it would not be too much trouble, Holiness..." the diminutive Monsignor replied hesitantly, expecting the Pope to summon his secretary.
"No trouble at all," the Pope responded, gulping the last drop from the cup and depositing it on a nearby shelf. He then turned to the over-burdened monsignor and took a case from him so quickly that Machi had no time to resist.
"Good grief! This is heavy...," the Pontiff said as he walked to his desk, listing slightly to his right from the weight of the case.
Villot tried to wrest it from him, but he waived off the gesture.
"That's alright, Jean, we can't go much further than this anyway...," the Pontiff said, dropping the case with a dull thud on the oriental carpet.
"Pasquale," he addressed the monsignor, while wiggling his numb fingers back to life, "...where are you going with such heavy bags?"
Villot's laughter made the Monsignor decide to let him field the question, so he merely smiled wanly at the Pontiff and deposited the case he was carrying next to its twin, and then backed away to await further instructions.
Once he had regained his composure, the Cardinal told Machi to place the bags on the coffee table and then leave. This he did, quickly and then bowed and backed from the office, closing the door after him.
Luciani stood and watched, a bemused look of confusion on his face, as Villot approached the suitcases and daintily undid the latches with his thumbs.
"These just arrived from Castle Gandolfo, Holiness," he said cheerfully as he swung the lid open to reveal files. Dozens of files. Hundreds it seemed to the Pope's dazed eyes.
"It's Papa Montini's backlog, Holiness...," the Frenchman explained as he popped the second bag open to reveal more, "...everything that was left undone when he died."
Grabbing a number of the overstuffed folders, he swung around, "I'll pile them up in order...," his eyes had fallen on the shocked Pontiff, who stood staring with glazed eyes at the mountain of paper the Cardinal was about to transfer to his desk. "Oh, come now, Holiness," Villot said cheerfully, "It’s not as bad as it looks!"
"No...," the Pontiff laughed nervously, "...it’s much worse!"
Both men laughed. The Pope somewhat half-heartedly.
"As I was saying, Holiness...I'll put these in priority order...the most important on the top."
Luciani looked sick.
"Really, Holiness...this won't take long for you to go through...," Villot said in as comforting a tone as possible, as he piled the last files from the first case up on the desk. "Then...," he continued, "...we can bring you the rest."
"The rest!?" Luciani squeaked. "You mean there's more?!"
"Oh, yes...," the Frenchman laughed, "...much more!"
"Much...," the Pope echoed and then whispered almost inaudibly, "I think I'm going to be ill."
Indeed, his face had taken on an ashen color that had intensified as the pile of folders mounted.
"Really, Holy Father...," the Cardinal rattled on, as he closed one case and began removing folders from the next, "...this shouldn't take you more than ...oh...," he paused to calculate the workload and the time needed to finish it and declared with a highly definite air that it should take, "...no more than a week to complete."
The Pope wasn't so sure. He gazed at the two piles on his desk and then at the still overflowing case on the coffee table.
"A week?" he said tenuously, "It looks more like a year's worth to me, Eminence," he added with a nervous laugh.
"Noooooooo," Villot cooed happily, as he started a third mound on the desk. "You forget, Holiness...I'll be here to help you with anything you're not sure of..."
The Pope smiled half-heartedly, but didn't look convinced.
"...as a matter of fact...," the Cardinal continued," ...you have an entire staff of people at your beck and call to answer any and all questions you may have. So you see...,” he concluded as he placed the last files on the desk,"...you have nothing to worry about."
"Uh huh," Luciani grunted pulling a folder off the top of a pile and thumbing through its contents, a glum expression on his face.
"There," Villot announced, clicking the case shut and placing it on the floor. "You go through those and we'll get the remainder to you as soon as possible."
"I can hardly wait," the Pope responded sarcastically.
Villot either didn't hear him or pretended not to, and prattled on. "Once you get these loose ends tidied-up, we can move on to your work, eh Holiness?"
"Hmm," Luciani responded none too enthusiastically. "Well...as long as I can depend on you for..."
"Of course, Holiness," the Cardinal gushed and began moving toward the door, "Well I must leave you now."
"What?"
"I have much to today in preparation for you cor...oh, ah sorry. Your installation."
"But I thought...," the Pope pointed helplessly at the tons of paper littering his desk and then looked pleadingly at the Cardinal.
"And I dare say you have plenty to keep you occupied as well, Holiness!"
He'd been backing towards the door the whole time he'd been speaking and reaching behind him he turned the knob in preparation to leave. "Don't worry about the bags, I'll send someone for them..."
"The bags aren't what's worrying me, Jean...I don't know..."
"Good day then, Holy Father."
Opening the door quickly, he slipped out before the agitated Pontiff could spit out another syllable.
"But..."
Luciani stood helplessly in the center of the room for several seconds, trying to make sense of what had just transpired. Earlier, he had the beginning of a slight headache...now he felt like he had a full-blown migraine, and the sight of his overladen desk made it hurt all the more.
He had no idea where to begin or what to do.
"Holy Father?"
Lorenzi's voice seemed miles away to the stunned Pontiff, who stood staring at his desk, shaking his head and mumbling to himself about there being, "...much more to come...how much more?"
"Holiness?"
Lorenzi tried a more strident tone and the informality of tapping the Pope's shoulder in order to penetrate the fog that seemed to have enveloped him.
Luciani jumped slightly at the touch of a hand on his shoulder and turned numbly to the secretary.
"Holiness, what can I do to help you with this?"
"Unfortunately, I don't think you'll be able to, Diego," the Pope responded, a smile spreading slowly over his face, "But I do appreciate the offer."
Moving behind the desk, he took his seat, nearly vanishing behind the mountain range of paper.
"I suppose I'd best get on with it...," he said in a resigned tone. "Diego, when you have a moment, would you please call the kitchen and ask the Sisters..."
"For a cup of coffee, Holiness?" Lorenzi anticipated with a smile.
The Pope chuckled and then responded, "I think a pot would be a better idea...don't you?"
The Spaniard laughed and fingering one of the files asked hesitantly, "Is this all of Pope Paul's backlog, Holiness?"
"No...Cardinal Villot said he'll be sending more next week...probably by the trunk-load, now that the initial shock has passed," the Pontiff added with a hint of amusement, "Oh well...I was sort of expecting it..." he added in resignation, "But I never imaged there would be so much!"
"There must be something I can do...This an inhuman amount of work...even for a Pope!"
Luciani couldn't help but laugh...It was true, and what made it even funnier to him was Villot's expectation that all of it could be finished in a week! He kept this to himself, however, and smiling up at his bemused secretary, tried to give him some hope of proving useful by saying, "Let me go through some of it and then we'll see...perhaps you can help some how."
Lorenzi absolutely beamed.
"But for the time being..."
"I should call for the coffee?"
"Yes...Please...Before my poor head explodes."
"Yes, Holiness."
Lorenzi bowed and started backing toward the door when the Pope suddenly called out to him to stop.
"Diego, I know this backing up business is traditional...I used to do it when I had audiences with John and Paul, but...is it really necessary? I mean...is it written up in some manual of Vatican Protocol? Or is it perhaps possible to...well...make people stop doing it?"
"I've no idea, Holy Father. Why would you want to do that any way?"
"Because its silly," the Pope stated as though it were perfectly obvious.
"It’s a sign of respect, Holiness."
"Yes...Like the nonsense of the Swiss Guards dropping to their knees every time I walk past them...That's another 'tradition' I could do without!"
The Spaniard's eyes grew wide with apprehension. He remembered hearing stories when he first came to work for Luciani in Venice about how he had done away with many of the extraneous trappings of authority and importance that had been part of his office. Was he really going to try to do the same with the Papacy? Would the Curia allow him to? Pushing these ideas to the back of his mind, he cleared his throat and took a stab at changing the subject: "Should I have these bags taken back to Cardinal Villot's office, Holiness?"
"What? Oh! No...He said he would have someone come for them."
"Oh. Alright then. I'll go and call the kitchen then Holiness?"
"Yes. Please, Thank you Diego."
Once his secretary had shut the door behind him, the Pontiff sat back in his chair, pulled off his glasses and gently massaged his eyes with his fingers. His head was pounding and his eyes ached mercilessly.
Opening the top drawer of his desk, he grabbed his bottle of aspirin and popped off the lid, spilling two tablets into the palm of his hand and shooting them quickly into his mouth, swallowing them easily without the aid of water. Replacing the lid, he tossed the bottle unceremoniously back into the drawer and pushed it shut, just as a soft knock came at the door.
"Come in," he called out, as he placed his glasses back on his face and stood to greet whatever was coming at him this time.
Sister Immaculata opened the door, balancing a tray precariously on her free hand that held the Pontiff's precious pot of coffee.
Wondering why Lorenzi had not offered to help the nun, the Pontiff ran to her side. "Here...let me help you with that," he said, as he took the tray carefully from her and carried it to the coffee table. "I'll clear some space off on my desk...Sister, did you notice if my secretary was at his desk?"
"Yes, Holiness," the young woman responded shyly, not used to being addressed by such an important personage let alone assisted by him.
"Hmm," Luciani grunted to himself, a none-too-happy expression on his face. He and Lorenzi were going to have to have a talk.
While the Pope was shuffling files around to create a niche for his cup, the nun busied herself setting up the warming tray and pot on the table. This accomplished, she poured a cup and brought it over to the Pontiff, who had finally managed to clear a small space in all the clutter.
"Thank you, Sister," he sighed gratefully as he accepted the drink from the nun and gulped down a mouthful immediately. "Ah," he exhaled happily. "Please thank the other Sisters for getting this to me so quickly." He placed the cup on the desk and gently taking the young woman's arm, continued as they walked to the door. "It's my elixir of life...I couldn't function without it!" He smiled broadly and received a shy smile in return.
"You're welcome, Holy Father. Will there be anything else?"
"No, thank you Sister." He opened the door and held it for the young woman to leave.
Once she had vanished around the corner, the Pope turned his gaze on his secretary, who could already tell what was coming. Before Luciani could even open his mouth, the Spaniard had begun his sheepish apology.
"I'm sorry, Holiness...I should have helped her. Shouldn't I"
Luciani nodded.
"It won't happen again...," the secretary assured him. "I promise."
"And?" the Pope prompted.
"And...," Lorenzi wasn't sure at first, but then thought he might know what the Pope wanted to hear, so he ventured hesitantly, "...I'll apologize to her when we go for dinner?"
The Pope smiled.
"Good! Diego, I know you're caught up in the...the...I don know...the 'grandness', for lack of a better word, of the situation we're in. But no matter how important one may be...it's not an excuse to be discourteous. All right?"
The secretary nodded.
"Good! Enough about that! I'll see you in a little while."
Reentering the study, the Pope closed the door behind him and stared at the seemingly insurmountable amount of work on his desk. Retrieving his cup, he refilled it and dawdled a few moments over the drink.
"All right, Albino," he said to himself, "You've wasted enough time."
Moving behind the desk he continued his self-directed scolding. "The files won't read themselves." Dropping into his chair, he flipped open the first folder. "Get to work," he admonished himself.
And work he did. Right up until Lorenzi called him for dinner, returning to it after the meal and continuing late into the night, until his weary eyes and pain-racked brain cried out for sleep. Only then, did he switch off the light and retire to his bed.
Chapter 4
Luciani had risen at his usual time and gone about his daily routine. He was a creature of habit and liked it that way. He had no intention of giving up any of his personal morning rituals, from his "wake-up" cup of coffee as soon as he rose, to the English language tape he worked with while shaving. These few familiar things helped ease him into the day... days that now always held some Vatican mystery that needed unraveling, and the help he had been promised by Villot and the others was terribly slow in coming and not terribly helpful. Once the morning mass and breakfast were over and he had returned to his study, he never knew what to expect.
This morning, he had retreated to the study to review and revise his homily for the ceremony that evening. Martin had presented it to him the day before with veiled orders that this was what people would "be expecting" him to say.
Thinking it wise to placate the establishment, whom he had offended so badly with his first Angelus address, he had accepted the speech, but warned Martin that he would most likely make some changes in it, to make it more his own.
This was the task he was working on intently when a knock came on his door a little after 9:30.
"Come in?"
"Holy Father...," Lorenzi began in an apologetic tone, "...please forgive this intrusion, but Sister Vincenza has arrived and she insists on seeing you before going to her quarters. I informed her that you were extremely busy, but...
"No!" the Pope cried, jumping to his feet, "I'm never so busy that I don't have time for a friend...Of course...Please, Diego, show her in.'
Lorenzi's displeasure with this decision was obvious, but he bowed obediently. "Yes, Holy Father," he said flatly and turned to fetch the elderly nun who was sitting impatiently next to his desk in the outer office.
"He'll make time to see you, Sister," the secretary announced in his self-important manner,"...but please keep in mind that he's only able to give you..."
"As much time as possible," the Pope's voice announced gently but firmly from behind the now blushing priest.
"Dear, Vincenza, please come in." Luciani was in the doorway, his arms outstretched to embrace his old friend.
How good it was to finally have her with him again. Over his 12 years as Patriarch, Vincenza had supervised everything for him, from his medication schedule to how much starch went into his shirts. She knew his every mood and could tell what he was thinking even before he was aware of it. She had become his best friend and when he nearly lost her to a heart attack the year before, he feared he would die also from the loneliness her absence would cause.
"Holy Father," Vincenza whispered approaching quickly and at first, taking his hand to kiss his ring.
"What? No hug for your old friend? I've not become that important, Sister."
The nun beamed at this statement and put her arms firmly around the Pontiff's neck, his closing around her in a warm, brotherly embrace.
Lorenzi watched this open display of affection with disapproval and a growing sense of discomfort.
"If someone were to come along right now...God! What a terribly wrong impression they would get!"
After what seemed a long embrace to the secretary finally broke up, the Pontiff and his friend moved into the office, their arms still linked, and closed the door.
Lorenzi made note of the time. He would give them five minutes and then knock. There was too much to be done, especially today, for the Pope to be wasting time on such nonsense.
Almost as the latch of the door clicked in place, Vincenza began to question the Pope on his health: "Have you been taking your medication on time, Holiness?"
"Yes, Sister."
"And you've been eating and sleeping well?"
"Uh..." He hadn't really, but not wishing to upset his friend he 'fudged' a little on the answer. "Fairly well...I have a great deal on my mind, Sister."
"Yes, yes...," she replied impatiently, as she allowed him to gently steer her into one of the wingback chairs. She took her seat and asked, "...and your exercise?" without missing a beat.
The Pontiff leaned against the edge of his desk, his arms folded in front of him, shaking his head and smiling. "You are relentless! You know that?"
Vincenza's lips pursed at this remark and she responded with even more vehemence. "Never mind how relentless I am, Don Albino...Are you exercising daily, as the doctor told you?'
"Yes, Sister," the Pope replied with a deep nod of his head, "I take a two hour walk, every day...though I spend so much time running around in circles trying to make sense out of this place, that I probably don't have to!"
"No, Holiness..." Vincenza said, raising from her seat and moving to his side. "You must walk...every day," she stressed by jabbing her right index finger into her left palm. "And you must be very strict about your medication. If you don't take it properly and on time..." She paused dramatically and dropped her voice slightly, "...well you know what could happen."
"Yes, yes..." Luciani responded wearily. "I'm well aware of 'what could happen'." he said, mimicking her dramatic delivery. "There's no need to remind me, Sister...Though I still detest being a slave to those silly pills! I'd like to take the whole bottle and just toss them out the window," he added with a nonchalant wave of his hand, "...and come what may!"
"Don Albino!" the nun screeched, her hand to her lips, "...Don't say such things!"
"Why not? You know I wouldn't really do it."
"Thank God," the nun responded blessing herself. "You know those pills keep you alive...," she pressed on; "...they keep you alive to serve God and his people."
Luciani turned his eyes away from her. He hated when she went off on one of her tirades. Especially this one.
"Yes, Sister," he mumbled in a bored voice.
"But isn't that a good reason to, as you say, 'be a slave to those pills'? Eh?'
"Yes, Sister," he answered with the same drone.
Vincenza decided she had pushed him too far and it was time for a new topic of conversation.
"Well...anyway...," she said in a more cheerful tone and moved to the window behind the desk to admire the view.
Luciani followed her with his eyes as far as possible and then prompted, "Yes? Anyway...?"
"Everyone in Venice sends you a greeting and a wish of congratulations, Holiness."
A melancholy smile came to the Pope's lips as he whispered softly, "I miss them."
"And they you," the nun responded softly, moving beside him again.
"The night of your election...oh the celebrating!" She went on cheerfully, "Everyone was so excited and happy...Their Cardinal had become Pope! Oh...and the bells! The bells rang so loud and so long, I thought for sure they would shatter into little pieces." She held up her hand, with a tiny space between the thumb and index finger and squinted at it as though looking at one of her imaginary bell shards.
Luciani chuckled at this little demonstration and nodded. "Really? That hard they rang them, eh?"
"Oh yes! It was wonderful. But now...," she continued in a more subdued voice,"...now they worry about what kind of man you will send in your place."
"They needn't worry," the Pontiff replied, shifting his weight to his other foot,"...I'll send them someone who's worthy of them."
Straightening up and smiling, he took his friend's hands in his own. "Now I have taken you away too...You will be homesick...just as I am...Not only for Venice and her people, but for the life we had there...the freedom.'
Releasing her hands, he moved towards the window and pointed to the ornate gardens in the distance.
"Do you realize, Sister...that I can not walk in those gardens without an entourage of guards?"
Vincenza blinked sadly. She could hear the bitterness creeping into his voice.
"And if I manage to get them to fall back a bit, so I may walk and meditate a while, it's almost certain that some Cardinal will spot me and come running out to discuss some highly serious matter with me, making the whole expedition absolutely pointless!"
He gazed longingly out the window and then, with a deep sigh, he turned back and approached Vincenza.
"About the only place I can walk in peace is up on the roof," he said directing the nun's gaze skyward with his raised finger.
"The roof?"
"Yes. There's a 'roof garden', its really just a flat roof with some plants here and there and a fountain that doesn't work, but they call it a garden...that's where I take my daily exercise, walking in circles...," he drew a small circle in the air with his finger, "...like a prisoner," he ended with an unconvincing smile.
Vincenza grimaced at this depressing image, but the Pope laughed softly.
"You know...I had always wondered why they refer to the Pope, sometimes, as the 'prisoner of the Vatican’; he said cheerfully, "Now I'm finding out!"
He laughed again and the nun smiled hesitantly.
"Honestly, Sister...If I poke my nose out the window...It's a media event!"
That made her giggle.
Coming back to her side, Luciani took her arm and the pair began to walk to the door.
"Diego will be knocking any moment now to remind me how important I am and that I have no time for such silliness as a friend's company...He's wrong...but there's no convincing him of it.
"I'll have him show you to your quarters and introduce you to the other Sisters. You have a staff of six to help take care of one old priest."
They came to the door and the Pope put his hand on the knob to open it, but hesitated and turned to Vincenza, a far more serious expression on his face, as if something very important had suddenly popped into his mind.
"Sister...," he began, looking into her eyes with such concern that it startled her.
"Yes, Holy Father...What is it?"
"Sister, if ever you wish to return to Venice, or to be transferred anywhere else for that matter...you must tell me. As much of a comfort as your presence is to me, I don't want you to feel you must stay, just because I'm stuck here."
Vincenza stared at him blankly, so he continued.
"I may be the Vatican's prisoner, but you are not...understand?'
She nodded, not exactly sure of how to react.
"Promise me that you will do that, if you feel the need...Please?"
"I will, Holiness," she replied, "But I doubt that need will ever arise."
"I hope not," the Pope answered softly, just as a firm knock jolted both of them out of their mutual state of melancholia.
"Ah," Luciani said with a laugh, “I guarantee, it's Diego come to tell us we've visited too long."
He pulled the door open just as the secretary was raising his hand to knock again.
"There! You see, Sister...What did I tell you...eh?"
Vincenza smiled and tried to hide a soft giggle.
Lorenzi's eyes shifted between the two of them, and he forced a smile, wondering just what the Pope had told the nun in reference to him.
"Diego, would you please show Sister Vincenza to her quarters and introduce her to the other Sisters?'
"Yes, Holiness," the priest replied, smiling at Vincenza and offering his arm as support for the walk down the hall. "This way please, Sister. I'll be right back, Holy Father," he called over his shoulder as he led the nun away from the study.
"No hurry," replied the Pope, wiggling his fingers at Vincenza as she departed. He watched them disappear around the corner at the end of the hall and then closed the door.
"Thank God she's here," he said to himself as he walked back to his desk, "Now I have someone I can talk to who will actually listen."
Looking quickly at his watch he decided to keep working on the homily a little longer. He wanted that in good shape by the time he met with Villot and the others.
Taking his seat, he picked up his pen and began rereading the speech, making notes and revisions as he went along. He didn't know how long he'd been at it when the intercom suddenly buzzed, making him nearly jump out of his seat.
"Yes, Diego." he called into the machine.
"Sorry to disturb you again, Holiness, but I was just notified that your family has arrived. They're waiting for you in the Consistorial Hall".
"My family! Wonderful! Tell them I'll be right there!"
The Pope leapt from his chair and flew into the hallway.
"Where are they, Diego?"
"I'll show you, Holy Father," the priest replied and couldn't help but smile at the joyful Pontiff. This was the happiest he'd seen Don Albino since his election.
The two made their way through what seemed to Luciani an endless maze of corridors until they finally reached the audience hall. Through the open door, the Pontiff could see his sister and brother and their families. It was the most beautiful sight he'd laid his eyes on since his arrival in Rome.
"Nina! Eduardo!" he called happily as he strode into the room, his arms open to embrace them.
"Uncle Albino," a choir of young voices cried as his nieces and nephews, ranging in age from 10 to young adults, ran to greet him.
Picking up the smallest and then embracing and kissing each young face, he made his way through the crowd to shake the hand of his brother-in-law and kiss the cheek of his brother's wife. Finally, placing his tiny nephew on the floor, he reached out for his sister, who needed no more invitation than his outstretched arms to enter them and embrace him in kind. Her eyes were filled with tears and she sobbed softly into his shoulder as he caressed her and gently rubbed her back to try and soothe her.
"There, there, Nina...don't cry little one,' he whispered softly.
She pulled away from him slightly and looked up at him, tears still streaming down her face, even though she was smiling.
"That's better," her big brother said, with a gentle smile and wiped away a tear with his hand.
"This is a joyful occasion, eh?"
Sniffling, Nina tried to regain her composure as she looked into her brother's dark eyes. "If only Mama could see you now...how proud she would be."
The Pope's hands gently cupped his sister's face as he replied softly, "She sees, Nina...she knows. So does Papa."
Nina nodded. She understood. But now the tears began again and she once more took refuge in her brother's embrace.
Still with an arm wrapped firmly around his sister, the Pope reached out a hand to clasp that of his brother, Eduardo.
The younger man smiled and shook his head. "You never cease to surprise me, Albino...who ever would have thought..."
"Whoever in deed," the Pope replied wistfully.
His sister having finally recovered, straightened up, but still clinging to him for support informed him, "There are five busloads of people from the village coming for the ceremony tonight."
"Five?" Albino held up his outstretched hand in shocked illustration to his sister's statement.
"Yes," Eduardo agreed, "There's at least 350 people, plus the mayor and some of the village council...You're the biggest thing to ever happen to Canale D'Agordo," he concluded, slapping his brother on the back.
"350 people..." the Pope said with a sense of awe and then chuckled, "I didn't think there were that many people in the village!"
"It's almost the whole population," his niece Lina volunteered.
"Amazing," the Pope whispered in disbelief, "Just amazing."
"What's amazing Uncle Albino?"
"That all those people would come all that way...God it has to take over 12 hours to make that trip...on a bus, which isn't very comfortable as we all know, just to attend my installation...it's unbelievable!"
"Installation?" Eduardo was puzzled. "Aren't you getting crowned with that...that," he wiggled his fingers above his head, "...you know that...thing!"
"The big gold beehive," the youngest nephew, Alberto, piped up.
"Well...yeah...that's what it looks like," Eduardo agreed.
"Oh," Albino started to laugh, as he pictured the triple tiara in his mind, "Yes... it does...it does look like a beehive...you're so right, Alberto!" He picked up the youngster and held him firmly in his arms, as he explained, "No...There won't be any "beehives", he said playfully tweaking Alberto's tiny nose so he squealed in delight and giggled, "...nor any thrones...not that portable sedan chair any way...or any of that other nonsense."
His family looked aghast.
"What?"
He winked at the boy in his rams and put him down, looking from one stunned face to another. "What's wrong," he finally asked, "You didn't think I'd have a ceremony like that...did you?"
"We didn't know you had a choice," his sister answered.
"Well...I didn't really...I...ah...I just told them I didn't want it to be too fancy or too long...and after a while they finally agreed to it...though I'll tell you a little secret," he lowered his voice and everyone bent forward slightly to hear. "I don't think they're very happy with me about it."
Everyone exchanged glances and smiled.
"I imagine they're not," Eduardo said with a laugh, "But then you've never been one to do what people expect...have you, Albino?"
Eduardo placed an arm around his brother's shrugging shoulders and squeezed him as he responded simply, "Uh huh."
The room filled with laughter and the visit progressed to other subjects, until Monsignor Noé appeared along with Lorenzi to remind the Pope that there were other matters that required his attention.
The visit with his family had lasted only 20 minutes. And ended on the happy notes of the Pontiff promising to visit his home as soon as he could and his niece Pia, a medical student in Rome, promising to come to see him on a regular basis.
After leaving his family, Luciani returned to his study. Again, he checked his watch, 11:45. He had never been a clock-watcher before, but today was different. He was dreading the ceremony that evening. He desperately wanted time to slow down a little, so he could prepare himself just a bit more...but it continued to move...faster, it seemed, than usual.
Deciding that the few minutes left before his Angelus appearance were useless in regard to getting any work done, he sat down in one of the study's easy chairs and gathered his thoughts for the talk he was about to give.
His mind kept drifting back to the sight of his sister, her eyes overflowing with tears. "Tears of joy," he wondered, "Or concern." Concern that the great weight of responsibility that was being placed on his fragile shoulders, along with the Pallum this evening, would prove too heavy and crush him. He worried about that himself. He'd worried about it from the fateful moment the words "I accept" had escaped his lips. But now it was too late for worry. Now he needed to gather all the strength he had in preparation for what lay ahead.
A knock at the door brought him back to reality.
"Come in," he answered cheerfully, rising from the chair to greet the foursome who seemed always to arrive just in time for his appearances, so they could critique every word he said after it was over.
Lorenzi opened the door and stood at strict attention as the two Cardinals, the bishop and the Monsignors filed by.
"God! But they take themselves far too seriously!" The Pontiff thought. But he smiled and said only "Hello," to each man.
"Well...," he said looking from one somber face to the next, "...shall we go and visit with our friends?"
He nodded to Lorenzi, who had stationed himself by the window and now opened it wide at the Pope's signal. As soon as it opened, the capacity crowd in the plaza erupted into cheers.
As John Paul came into view, the cheers grew into a roar of shouts and applause.
Smiling and waving, the Pope signaled for quiet and adjusted the microphone. Once the people
grew silent, he began.
"Up in the Veneto, I heard it said, 'every good thief has his devotion'...I have a number of them..."
Laughter and applause flowed through the crowd, while the prelates gathered behind the Pontiff glanced at one another in dismay. Once again he had begun informally, speaking of himself in the first person singular, rather than the regal "we". The crowd loved it...they hated it.
Once the laughter had died down, Luciani continued, "...Among others, I have a devotion to St. Gregory the Great, whose feast falls today. In Belluno, the seminary is called 'Gregorian' in his honor. I spent seven years there as a student and twenty as a teacher. It so happens that today, September 3rd, he was elected Pope and I am officially beginning my service to the universal Church."
"He was a Roman, who became first magistrate of the city. Then he gave everything to the poor, entered a monastery and became the Pope's secretary. On the Pope's death, he was elected and tried to refuse. The Emperor and the people intervened and he finally accepted. He later wrote to his friend, the Bishop of Seville: 'I feel like weeping more than talking', and to the emperor's sister, 'the emperor wants a monkey to become a lion.'"
"One sees that in those times, too, it was difficult to be Pope!"
The crowd broke into laughter at this last sentence, even the four prelates who usually stood stony-faced, smiled. Finally, when the laughter had died down he proceeded.
"He was very good to the poor. Converted England. And above all, he wrote beautiful books. One is The Pastoral Rule, which teaches bishops their trade, but in the last part, it has the following words..." He paused a moment to remember the quote correctly and then went on, "I have described the good shepherd...but I am not one. I have shown the shore of perfection at which to arrive, but personally, I am still in the breakers of my faults and short comings, and so, please...throw me a life preserver of prayer, lest I drown.' “Pausing a moment, a smile spreading across his face, the Pontiff added, "I say the same."
Again. Applause and cheers and his simple wave for silence.
"Yet..." he continued, "...It's not just I who need prayers, but the entire world."
"A Spanish writer has written: 'The world is going wrong because there are more battles than prayers!' Let us try to see that there may be more prayer and fewer battles!"
Again, the applause rose from the crowd and the chant, "Viva, Papa!" began to spread trough the multitude.
Luciani smiled and looked out over the vast sea of people, straining his eyes to see the furthest edge of the Plaza and the person who stood at that edge. Waving for silence once more, he raised his hands in the familiar Papal embrace of the crowd, "Come my friends...," he said gently.
Noé closed his eyes, but not in prayer. It was as though the informality of the Pope's words were painful to him. Filici hung his head and shook it from side to side. Martin lowered his gaze.
Villot shot a disapproving look at the Pope's back, but shrugged it off when it became apparent it was having no affect.
Luciani wasn't paying the least bit of attention to him or the others. No, he was talking with his "friends"...100,000 of them--perhaps more, and he was completely immersed in them.
"...Pray with me?" he invited the throng and began with the blessing, the people responding with an "Amen" that rolled like low thunder over the basilica.
Villot followed the prayer almost unconsciously, he was more fascinated by the control the Pope exerted over this huge gathering and the feeling of total intimacy that prevailed throughout the entire address. It was not until after the final blessing, when the people erupted one last time into enthusiastic applause and cheering, that the Frenchman again became aware of his surroundings. Backing out of the window he retreated into the study and waited with the others for the Pope to join them.
"It's truly improper..." Monsignor Noé was whispering to Martin.
"What is?" the tall Bishop asked in an exasperated tone.
"The way he speaks to the public. Do you realize Excellency that he's not used one prepared address?"
"Well aware of it, Monsignor," Martin sighed.
"And..." Noé continued, oblivious to the Prefect's obvious boredom with the topic, "...he simply refuses to use the regal 'We'!"
"Not his style...," Martin observed blandly, watching the Pope wave to the crowd, his admiration for him growing in spite of himself.
"Style or no...," the Monsignor hissed, "...he doesn't speak or act like a Pope! How does he ever expect to earn the people's respect if he's always so informal!?" He spit out the last word as though it were obscene.
"I think he already has their respect, Monsignor...," the big man replied, "...along with something even more important."
"And what might that be?"
"Their love," Martin answered matter-of-factly, looking into the monsignor's eyes.
Noé had no response for this last statement and retreated to compare notes with Filici and Machi. They would agree with him.
Villot walked over to stand beside the Prefect.
"So..,." The Secretary of State whispered,"...He's won you over, eh?"
Martin shifted his eyes from the small figure in the window to the tall man beside him. "Perhaps, not quite completely, Eminence...but he's getting there."
Villot nodded.
Feeling he needed to defend his last statement, Martin continued softly, "Who could help but be won over, I mean...," he waved a hand at the Pontiff, who was still reacting to the cheers of the crowd below, "...He's amazing with the people...Truly amazing," he added in a tone of sincere admiration.
This elicited another nod from Villot, but not even the slightest hint of his feelings on the matter.
Deciding that the only way to disperse the multitude in the plaza was to leave, Luciani waved a final time and began backing into the room as he did so. Lorenzi closed the French doors as soon as he was clear.
"Thank you, Diego," the Pontiff said to his secretary and then turned to face his sullen brothers.
"Oh dear...," he said when he saw their faces, "...I've said something wrong again, eh?"
There was a slight flurry of throat clearing in response, but none of the clerics spoke.
Approaching them slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, the Pontiff settled his gaze on his biggest critic. "What is it, Monsignor," he addressed Noé, with a sly smile, "…are the words of The Pastoral Rule a Vatican secret too?"
Noé blushed a deep red. The Pope wasn't sure if it was from anger or embarrassment. Either way, he regretted having upset him so.
"I'm sorry, Monsignor...," the Pope said softly, placing a hand on Noé's shoulder, as the later stared at him in disbelief, "...I was trying to make a joke...but it wasn't a very good one, and I'm afraid I've upset you instead...I am sorry."
Noé's eyes had grown wide. A Pope apologizing to a Monsignor? NEVER!
"Holiness...," the monsignor stammered to the confused Pontiff. But he was unable to get any other words to follow. He gazed, helplessly at his four companions, but they too stood with their mouths hanging open and glazed eyes.
Luciani followed Noé's glance and it was all he could do to keep from laughing when he caught sight of the startled foursome. A smile quickly crossed his face, but he covered his mouth with his hand and cleared his throat to hide it. "Why make it worse..." he thought to himself, "...whatever it is!"
"Well," the Pope said brightly. "Do you have anything to fill me in on about tonight's big event...or do I know it all?"
"I believe you've been informed about everything, Holy Father," Noé responded, still slightly shaken.
"Good," answered the Pope with a broad smile. "Now..." he continued eagerly, "Who can tell me who I will be meeting tomorrow? I've not seen the final guest list."
The clerics looked puzzled.
"You know..." Luciani continued with his customary flying hands, "Dignitaries and the like..."
Still no answer.
Luciani moved behind his desk and sat down, leaning his elbows on the desktop and resting his chin in his hands.
"Guests, gentlemen...," he prodded, "...You did invite people...yes?"
The five nodded in unison.
"So...who was invited? I do have to meet these people...don't I?"
"Well...yes...," Martin said hesitantly, since no one else was responding.
"Ah! Good! Now we're getting somewhere! So, Jacques, who all is coming. I'd like to be prepared to speak with these people intelligently when I meet them."
The group stared at the Pope blankly again. "Be prepared' for what?" was the thought passing through their collective brains. Just meet them, accept whatever token they present and leave it at that! Surely, he didn't mean to have deep discussions with all the dignitaries?
The Pope leaned his chin wearily in his palm again, and drummed the desk top with his fingers. "This is becoming tiring, Fathers," he remarked, and again focused his gaze on Noé. "Virgilio...,"
Noé snapped to attention at the sound of his name.
"...you're the master of ceremonies, you can provide me with a list...can't you?"
"Ah...Yes, Holiness...But..."
"Good! And you can give me a few names now, just to get a head start on thinking about things to discuss with them."
"But, Holiness...," Martin ventured, "...you're only meeting with each delegation for a very few minutes...What difference does it make?"
The Pope had moved from behind his desk and now stood leaning against it and staring at the big Frenchman. It was his turn to be perplexed.
"What difference does it make?" he echoed. "All the difference in the world! I want these people to know that I and the Church know and share their concerns for the well-being of their citizens. If I have only a few minutes to express this, I must be prepared and know which concerns must be addressed, rather than making some blanket statement to just cover everything and nothing!" he concluded, throwing his hands in the air at the thought of wasting such a precious first meeting on trivialities.
This, of course, was what the staff had expected him to do.
Villot shook his head and smiled, in spite of himself. They should know better than to 'expect' anything ordinary or commonplace from this Pope. He would always end up surprising them.
It was Martin who finally spoke up. "I know the names of the dignitaries, Holy Father...Let's see...There's Dr. Potter, from the World Council of Churches, Greek Orthodox Metropolitan Meliton of Chaledon, Rev. Peter Brodie, from the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland and Bishop Arthur Vogel of the Episcopal Church."
"Good! Good! What a memory you have, Jacques! What about heads of state?"
"The American Vice President, Walter Mondale and his family; King Juan Carlos and Queen Sophia of Spain, Prince Rainier and Princess Grace of Monaco, Prime Minister Trudeau of Canada, West German Chancellor Schmidt and ...ah...Argentinean President Videla...," Martin paused at this point and looked into the angry eyes of the Holy Father.
Luciani had been nodding complacently up until now. Making mental notes on topics to discuss with the various delegates, but the mention of Videla's name had made him look up at the Prefect with a combination of shock and rage.
"Did I not EXPRESSLY instruct that that....That..."
"Holiness," Villot said softly, hoping to calm the Pontiff. "We couldn't very well not extend him an invitation. He is the Catholic leader of a Catholic nation, after all."
The others nodded in agreement.
"The Cath...," Luciani sputtered, "...Oh yes! He's a prime example of a good Catholic ruler!"
Martin gritted his teeth and starred at the floor...He knew the Pope was right.
"He's a Catholic ruler who rules as a tyrant!" the Pope shouted, his voice, which was always slightly shaky, cracking with the emotion that was building within him. "God!" he blurted as he stormed across the room and back. "If someone in Argentina says, 'I think the president should trim his moustache', they disappear! Never to be seen again...unless you consider turning up as a pile of bones with numerous fellow 'disappeared ones' as being seen!"
All eyes joined Martin's in examining the Oriental rug.
Seeing how upset his staff was by this faux pas on their part, the Pontiff relented.
"Ah well," he sighed, “It’s probably just as well that you invited him.
Martin looked up. "Really?"
"Yes, Jacques," Luciani replied, smiling at the big man. "It will give me an opportunity to confront, El Presidente on some of his dirty little tricks."
"Holiness," Filici cooed, "...it would not be a good time for such a confrontation."
"Oh? And just when will there be a good time, Eminence?"
Filici actually looked like he was giving this rhetorical question some thought, prompting the Pope to wave his hand and bark, "Never mind!"
Filici swallowed whatever words were about to escape from his mouth.
"You let me deal with President Videla," Luciani said softly, pointing to himself as he walked back to the desk.
He saw a look of horror on every face in the room, even Lorenzi's.
"Don't worry...," he added with a smile, "I know how to be diplomatic when I have to be."
Villot managed to smile weakly. "Very good, Holy Father," he said in an earnest attempt to bring the rather ugly conversation to a close.
"I have much to think about and to work on, my dear brothers," the Pontiff told his staff, "And..." he added, looking quickly at his watch, "I also have lunch to eat! As I'm sure you do also. So if you will excuse me?"
The group bowed as one body and backed from the room, disappearing almost as quickly as they materialized earlier.
Luciani turned to Lorenzi with a broad smile on his face. "Hungry?"
Lorenzi shrugged and smiled, "I could eat, Holiness."
"Then let's go!"
The Pope took his secretary by the arm and together they walked down the hallway towards the dinning room.
"Now that Vincenza is here, I must try to be on time about my meals," the Pope mused and then added with a chuckle, "Do you remember how cross she would become if I were late for a meal?"
"Yes, Holy Father...and usually she found some way to put the blame on me. But surely, now that you're Pope..."
"Nothing will change. Not with Vincenza!" The Pope laughed as he added, "Thank God!"
The nun did, indeed, shoot angry looks at the two as they entered the dinning room. The majority of them aimed at Lorenzi, who she believed had held the Pope up from getting to lunch on time. But her stern frown became a smile when the Pontiff approached and apologized for his tardiness, assuring her it was entirely his own fault for being too long-winded with his Angelus address.
"I promise it won't happen again Sister...Am I absolved?"
She gave him a mock look of anger and then they both dissolved into laughter. Shaking her head, she walked from the room and instructed the younger Sisters to get on with serving the meal.
Lunch was a fairly busy affair, the discussion moving quickly form the subjects to breach with various dignitaries to the homily for the evening's mass, to what time the "Papal Tailors" would arrive with the new cassocks and vestments for the ceremony.
When the meal was over, Luciani gave a blessing and went to the roof-garden for his afternoon constitutional. He had managed to cover up his nerves over the evening's coming events, but now, alone with his thoughts among the sickly potted palms, the reality of it all finally began to sink in. He paced back-and-forth, as much from nervous tension as from the desire to move the blood through his swollen legs.
Until this moment, everything had been like a dream. An insane dream in which he was caught in the one position he had never wished to be, and had, up until now, been trying to make the best of it, in hope that someone would come along and wake him. But after tonight...it was a reality.
The Pallum would be placed on his shoulders, making him the pastor of millions of souls.
Millions... The idea of such responsibility made him cringe...and he turned to the only person he knew could help him bear it.
"Strengthen me, Lord. Grant me inward peace and strength and empty my heart of all profitless anxiety and care. Let me never be drawn from you by the desire for anything, whether noble or base, help me to realize that all things are passing, myself with them. Nothing in this world is lasting, everything is uncertain. Grant me wisdom, Lord. That above all else I may learn to search for and discover you, to know and love you, to see all things as they really are and as you, in your wisdom have ordered them. Only thus shall I go forward steadily on the road on which you have set me."
"Holy Father?"
Lorenzi's voice hit him like a splash of ice water, bringing him back to reality.
"Yes?"
"You should really begin preparing for the mass, Holiness."
"Already? Yes...yes...I'll be right in."
Lorenzi turned and went to wait by the elevator, sensing Luciani wanted just a few more moments to himself.
The Pope looked out over the plaza. It was empty now save for the workmen putting finishing touches on the altar, the florists arranging the flowers, and the another group of workers setting out the thousands of chairs. Soon it would be alive with people. All there to christen his papacy with their prayers and good wishes.
He closed his eyes and whispered one final prayer, "Lord, you have set my feet upon this path. It is one on which I may never turn back...but only move forward. Help me to walk with firm steps, to be a true shepherd to your people. Guide me Lord, show me your way, lest I lead your flock into danger. Amen."
"Holiness...the elevator's here."
Luciani took one final look out over the empty plaza and then walked swiftly to Lorenzi's side.
"Ah yes, time, tide and elevators wait for no man...not even the Pope!"
Placing his arm around his secretary's shoulders, the two men entered the car.
"Are you excited about this evening, Holy Father?"
"Excited? Ah...yes...I guess you could say that. But I'm also a little frightened."
"Frightened? Of what, Holiness?"
"The future, my young friend," the Pontiff replied wearily, "...the future."
4PM.
All the preparations are finished. Guests are filing into the plaza and taking their seats. Demonstrations are going on in adjoining streets, protesting the presence of the Argentinean president.
Within the apse of St. Peter's the members of the hierarchy of the Catholic Church are being neatly arranged into a double line by Martin and Noé.
"Where is he?" A voice asked suddenly from the line.
"Who?" Martin responded, his eyes spanning the long row of white mitered figures before him, hoping to find the questioner to no avail.
"The Pope of course!" The voice replied from the sea of white.
"He'll be along in a little bit..." Martin replied, giving up on trying to find the inquisitive prelate. "He's praying at the tomb of St Peter."
"How appropriate!" It was Cardinal Benelli who made this observation.
Monsignor Noé was not in full agreement. "If it's so appropriate, Eminence, why has no one done it before?"
"I agree," piped up Cardinal Filici. "The Popes have always prepared themselves for their coronation by praying at the main altar, above the Apostle's tomb...They never saw any need to actually go down into the bowels of the basilica..." he trailed off into inaudible muttering as Bennelli shown a condescending smile in his direction.
"Is anyone with him?" The Bishop of Florence asked Noé.
"His secretary."
Deep within the Vatican's catacombs is the site believed to be the burial spot of St. Peter. A small, simple shrine is set up in front of the niche believed to contain the earthly remains of the Church's first 'Pope'. It was to this place that Albino Luciani, soon to assume the Apostle's mantle, came and knelt in fervent prayer.
"Dear St Peter. Rock upon which Christ chose to build his Church, I come to you to humbly ask your assistance in this dark hour. You and I have something in common...our weakness. When Christ needed you most, you denied even knowing him...not once...but three times! And when he called upon me to succeed you, I refused...at first...but I finally found the courage to accept. Now I ask God to give me the strength I will need to resist any temptation that may cause me to waiver again. I ask you, as you were after this one lapse of faith, to keep before me the realization that all men sometimes fail. Even a saint and martyr can fail. Let me not then, become disheartened or discouraged by my failings, but help me to walk this way of the cross bravely and bear my fate with the same courage with which you bore yours, my blessed predecessor."
Luciani felt a hand on his shoulder. "It's time...Don Albino," Lorenzi said softly.
Luciani nodded. Blessing himself, he stood and looked into his secretary's eyes, which, like his own, were brimming with tears. Placing a hand on the young man's shoulder he pulled him to him and the two embraced for a few moments, neither sure which was being comforted or doing the comforting.
Finally pulling himself up to his fullest height and holding Lorenzi firmly by the arms, Luciani said in as firm a voice as he could muster, "I'm ready."
"C'mon then...," he added cheerfully, squeezing the young man's arm playfully, "Can't keep everyone waiting."
They walked quickly to the main apse of the basilica where the Papal Tailors were waiting to help the Pontiff quickly don his vestments. Lorenzi helped with his miter, handed him his staff, and then left to get into his vestments and join the Pope at the head of the procession.
Luciani's mind was racing. Scenes of Canale D’Agordo, his family, the Seminary at Belluno, his friends and co-workers in the Veneto, his beloved Venice...All of these things were now lost to him. Here Now. This place and these people. This was his present and his future.
Noé signaled for the procession to begin, and Luciani began to move slowly towards the great doors which were being swung open by two workmen, the somber interior of the church slowly being lit by the light of the late afternoon sun.
Luciani heard the bells pealing and the choir singing “Tu Es Petrus” as he drew closer to the doorway, the long parade of Cardinals, bishops and others winding slowly behind him. Finally he reached the door and stepped out into the dying light. As he did, applause and the chant "Viva IL Papa!" were added to the din of the bells and the choir. Smiling, he waved and traced the Sign of the Cross as he made his way up to the throne and turned to face the enthusiastic crowd. 'Don Albino' would soon be no more. Pope John Paul I was about to take his place. His new life was about to begin.
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