talk about that,” said Utley.
“This was the first time in my experience when there were no real leaks from Monte Vaticano. Obviously there was some very rough bargaining; but one got the impression there were some very uneasy consciences afterwards.”
“They blackmailed him!” said the man from Die Welt flatly.
“I had the evidence; but I couldn’t publish it.”
“Why not?” The question came from Utley.
“Because I got it from a medical man, one of the doctors they called in to examine him. Obviously he was in no position to make a public statement.”
“Did he tell you his findings?”
“He told me what the Curia wanted him to find: that Gregory XVII was mentally incompetent.”
“Did they put it as bluntly as that?” Mendelius was surprised and dubious.
“No. That was the problem. The Curia were very subtle about it. They asked the medicos there were seven in all to establish, beyond reasonable doubt, whether the Pontiff was mentally and physically competent to carry on the duties of his office in this critical time.”
“That’s a catch-all brief,” said Utley.
“Why did Gregory fall for it?”
“He was caught in a trap. If he refused, he was suspect. If he accepted he was subject to the medical consensus.”
“And what was that?” Mendelius asked.
“My man couldn’t tell me. You see, that was the other smart thing they did. They asked each doctor to render an independent opinion in writing.”
“Which left the Curia free to write its own assessment afterwards.” Bill Utley gave a small dry chuckle.
“Very smart! So what was your man’s verdict?”
“Honest, I believe; but not very helpful to the patient. He was suffering from gross fatigue, constant insomnia and elevated, though not necessarily chronic, blood pressure.
There were clear indications of anxiety and alternating moods of cheerfulness and depression. Obviously if these symptoms persisted in a man of sixty-five, there would be reason to fear graver complications.”
“If the other reports were like that …”
“Or,” said Mendelius softly, “if they were less honest and a shade more slanted …”
“The Cardinals had him in checkmate,” said Georg Rainer.
“They picked the choicest bits of the reports, constructed their own final verdict and presented Gregory with an ultimatum: go or be pushed!”
“Loving God!” Mendelius swore softly.
“What choice did he have?”
“A beautiful piece of statecraft though.” Bill Utley chuckled wryly.
“You can’t impeach a Pope. Short of assassination, how do you get rid of him? You’re right, Georg, it was pure blackmail! I wonder who dreamed up the ploy?”
“Arnaldo, of course. I do know he was the one who instructed the physicians.”
“And now he’s the Pope,” said Carl Mendelius.
“He’ll probably make a very good one,” said Utley with a grin.
“He knows the rules of the game.”
Reluctantly, Carl Mendelius, the one-time Jesuit, was forced to agree with him. He also thought that Georg Rainer was a very smart journalist and that it would pay to cultivate his acquaintance.
That night he made love with Lotte in a huge baroque bed which, Herman swore on his soul, had belonged to the elegant Cardinal Bernis. Whether it had or it hadn’t made small matter. Their mating was the most joyous in a long time. When it was over, Lotte curled up in the crook of his arm and talked in drowsy contentment.
“It’s been a lovely evening everybody so bright and welcoming! I’m glad you made me come. Tubingen’s a nice town but I’d forgotten there was such a lot of world outside.”
“Then let’s start seeing it together.”
“We will, I promise. I feel happier now about the children.
Katrin was very sweet. She told me what you’d said to her and how Franz had taken the news.”
“I didn’t hear about that.”
“Apparently he said: “Your father’s a big man. I’d like to bring him back one good canvas from Paris.””
“This was the first time in my experience when there were no real leaks from Monte Vaticano. Obviously there was some very rough bargaining; but one got the impression there were some very uneasy consciences afterwards.”
“They blackmailed him!” said the man from Die Welt flatly.
“I had the evidence; but I couldn’t publish it.”
“Why not?” The question came from Utley.
“Because I got it from a medical man, one of the doctors they called in to examine him. Obviously he was in no position to make a public statement.”
“Did he tell you his findings?”
“He told me what the Curia wanted him to find: that Gregory XVII was mentally incompetent.”
“Did they put it as bluntly as that?” Mendelius was surprised and dubious.
“No. That was the problem. The Curia were very subtle about it. They asked the medicos there were seven in all to establish, beyond reasonable doubt, whether the Pontiff was mentally and physically competent to carry on the duties of his office in this critical time.”
“That’s a catch-all brief,” said Utley.
“Why did Gregory fall for it?”
“He was caught in a trap. If he refused, he was suspect. If he accepted he was subject to the medical consensus.”
“And what was that?” Mendelius asked.
“My man couldn’t tell me. You see, that was the other smart thing they did. They asked each doctor to render an independent opinion in writing.”
“Which left the Curia free to write its own assessment afterwards.” Bill Utley gave a small dry chuckle.
“Very smart! So what was your man’s verdict?”
“Honest, I believe; but not very helpful to the patient. He was suffering from gross fatigue, constant insomnia and elevated, though not necessarily chronic, blood pressure.
There were clear indications of anxiety and alternating moods of cheerfulness and depression. Obviously if these symptoms persisted in a man of sixty-five, there would be reason to fear graver complications.”
“If the other reports were like that …”
“Or,” said Mendelius softly, “if they were less honest and a shade more slanted …”
“The Cardinals had him in checkmate,” said Georg Rainer.
“They picked the choicest bits of the reports, constructed their own final verdict and presented Gregory with an ultimatum: go or be pushed!”
“Loving God!” Mendelius swore softly.
“What choice did he have?”
“A beautiful piece of statecraft though.” Bill Utley chuckled wryly.
“You can’t impeach a Pope. Short of assassination, how do you get rid of him? You’re right, Georg, it was pure blackmail! I wonder who dreamed up the ploy?”
“Arnaldo, of course. I do know he was the one who instructed the physicians.”
“And now he’s the Pope,” said Carl Mendelius.
“He’ll probably make a very good one,” said Utley with a grin.
“He knows the rules of the game.”
Reluctantly, Carl Mendelius, the one-time Jesuit, was forced to agree with him. He also thought that Georg Rainer was a very smart journalist and that it would pay to cultivate his acquaintance.
That night he made love with Lotte in a huge baroque bed which, Herman swore on his soul, had belonged to the elegant Cardinal Bernis. Whether it had or it hadn’t made small matter. Their mating was the most joyous in a long time. When it was over, Lotte curled up in the crook of his arm and talked in drowsy contentment.
“It’s been a lovely evening everybody so bright and welcoming! I’m glad you made me come. Tubingen’s a nice town but I’d forgotten there was such a lot of world outside.”
“Then let’s start seeing it together.”
“We will, I promise. I feel happier now about the children.
Katrin was very sweet. She told me what you’d said to her and how Franz had taken the news.”
“I didn’t hear about that.”
“Apparently he said: “Your father’s a big man. I’d like to bring him back one good canvas from Paris.””
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