Chapter Four: The Ascension
A month passed and the furor of “the miracle” subsided, at least in the press. Occasionally an article would be written giving an update on the progress of the man with a reattached hand. His condition was improving quite beyond expectation, leading Dr. Fournier to believe that his patient would regain partial use of his fingers.
Michel no longer could take his take private walks because he became too well-known, but there were immediate advantages. When he said a public mass to celebrate a holy day or other Church occasion, it was always crowded, and there were unsolicited donations from the wealthy. In fact, all parishes reported increases in both attendance and donations. Requests for him to say special masses were too many to accommodate, and those he could honor had to turn away worshippers. The Archbishop of Paris had become a celebrity.
As Michel knew it would, the call came at midday, six weeks after the "miracle." It was the office of Antonio Cardinal Belli from the Roman Curia. Michel knew only the name. Belli wanted to visit with Michel in Paris. It was, of course, an offer he could not refuse. The pretense for the visit was the Holy Father’s directive to Belli to meet with selected European Church leaders on the continuing rise of secularism and materialism. Michel was sure, however, that Belli was sent to find out first hand about “the miracle."
Naturally Belli would stay at the Archbishop's residence. Two days after the call, the rest of the stairs and the upstairs hall to the guest quarters were carpeted to match the down stairs. Anna Maria thought that it was about time.
Michel explained to his administrative staff the stated reason for the visit and pointed out that he and Belli would take this opportunity to talk about a wide range of Church matters. He would be given the grand tour of the diocese and that would provide all of them with the opportunity to meet an active member of the Curia. Naturally, should Belli want to talk to any of them either casually or in private, he should feel free to be completely open.
“Give him your best thinking on any topic he might want to discuss,” Michel instructed his subordinates. He also instructed his residence staff to go on as usual and to treat the Cardinal with their normal graciousness. Cardinal Belli, he assured them, was most cordial.
The Cardinal arrived Thursday in the evening in time for dinner, which Anna Maria had been preparing for the previous three days. It was simple fare but meticulously presented, and Michel wondered whether an Italian could appreciate the subtleties of French cuisine. He ate as if he could.
After dinner, Michel and Antonio sat in the library in large, well-worn leather chairs. Between them on a small table sat a bottle of Manzanilla Sherry, a 39-year-old palomino fino from Spain. Belli was impressed. Not so much by the relatively high cost of the wine, $60.00, but by Michel’s effort to provide his guest with his favorite wine. It was a treat for Belli but a difficult downing for Michel who not yet acquired a taste for sherry.
Michel knew that Belli had several years earlier visited one of the three other dioceses in France. After calling in Lyon and Tours, Michel learned that Belli had been in Marseilles and that, among other things, Manzanilla was his favorite.
“I suppose one might say that I heard it through the grapevine,” answered Michel with a wry smile when Belli asked him how he knew about the sherry.
Belli was a bit loud and charming but garrulous, and it was a long while before they got down to business.
“It is of course true,” began Belli, “that I was commissioned directly by the Holy Father to prepare a report on suggestions from various church leaders on ways to stem the tide of secularism. And I hope that you will afford me the time later or tomorrow to share your ideas on this topic that has plagued us, of course, since the World Wars. But I am sure you suspect that there is also another reason for my visit. The Holy Father did not want to call you to Rome. That would, of course, only start unnecessary rumors. However, the Holy Father is interested in fully understanding what happened to cause the uproar in the press." He paused to sip his sherry and looking over his glass into Michel’s eyes.
Michel spoke for an hour, with only a few “of course’s” and “certainly’s” from Belli who kept both glasses filled. Michel was completely forthright, and he was careful to say that his vice of private walks in plain clothes was a thing of the past.
“Private walks in any attire is no longer possible now that my picture continues for some reason to appear regularly in the papers. I have managed not to succumb to the television shows which continually call for interviews,” said Michel in his most affable way.
“Of course.” Belli seemed satisfied but did not say so, but when he asked if they could turn their attention to the matter of secularism, Michel felt the worst was over. “Unless the spirits of Spain have gone to your head and you would rather wait until tomorrow,” said Belli with a glint in his eye.
“That would probably be best,” answered Michel who had drunk a quarter of what Belli had and was certainly able to go on.
“Good,” said Belli standing up. “I’ve probably had too much, but I enjoy it so. Tomorrow is another day.” The Cardinal took Michel’s arm and they walked toward the stairs. “I appreciate very much your candor, Michel, and your Italian which is far better than my French.”
After breakfast Michel, in one sentence, told Belli what would necessary to curb the growth of secularism and materialism: “The Church must lead by example.”
“Of course,” said Belli, “but I thought we do.”
“Yes, we do, You Eminence, but there is a great deal more that could and should be done. For example,” said Michel with a touch of fervor, “we cannot be seen, as men of God, to be partaking --- that is we must show our spiritual side, not keep it hidden --- certainly not in palaces fit for kings of the secular world. We must find ways to limit our own materialism, ways to exhibit our spirituality, to be models to our people.”
“And do you know the ways?”
“I believe, Cardinal Antonio, that if we put our minds together, the ways will manifest themselves,” answered Michel.
“Of course.”
Later that day they toured the Pais Inlet, the hospital, and the new high school Michel named after his predecessor who died before he could see his project complete.
Sunday Mass was to be con celebrated at the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Normally there was a simple wooden railing along the step separating the large open area at the back of the Cathedral from the few pews close to the alter. On most Sundays, Mass was celebrated with the hundred or so worshippers in the pews while tourists, being kept quiet by laymen, were allowed to get no closer than the railing.
Michel had the railing removed expecting a large crowd. He had all Pastors announce the Mass in their parishes and stationed the laymen at the entrances to tell tourists that they would be allowed to tour the Cathedral in a few hours, after Mass. Only those who wished to hear Mass were permitted in during the service. It accomplished what Michel wanted. Most went in to hear Mass, parishioners and tourists alike. Belli, impressed with the crowd, nevertheless knew that most of them were there to catch a glimpse of the "miracle worker."
After Mass, Michel hosted a brunch in Belli's honor. His staff and a number of clergy who worked at the office attended. Montaire, who had been raised to monsignor a year before to acknowledge his valuable financial work for the diocese, was given the honor to sit on Belli’s left. The main course was a frittata with scallops, a favorite Italian omelet.
Belli left shortly after brunch. As he was leaving he embraced Michel, thanked him for his hospitality and said: "We will see each other soon, and often I hope." Michel was unsure if the words were a sign of friendship, or the remark of a seasoned diplomat. Then Belli added with a grin, “I look forward to your next miracle.”
“I’m afraid, Cardinal, the only miracle I can work is at Mass.”
“Of course.”
Michel lay in his bed that night trying to relax for the first time in days, but he was still too tense. Images and phrases continually spun in his head, and he grew uncomfortably warm. Even after removing his blanket Michel was unable to rid himself of the heat of the angst which hung over him like a pall.
Had he acquitted himself well enough in Belli’s eyes? Perhaps the sherry seemed too much like pandering. Should he have bought a less expensive brand given his position on materialism? Did he show himself ready for the red hat, or did he appear too ready? And regardless how it appeared, was Michel Abruzzi truly fit to be cardinal?
Of course he was, at least temporally; he was a match for any of the others, he was sure. But why did being cardinal matter so much to him? Was he so egotistical?
Great leaders, of course, needed a strong ego or they would be unable to lead. It was a question of balance. As long as he was sure to put the Church first in all things, to fight with God’s help the wickedness that was, after all, natural to all men, he would be a worthy priest.
It was when Michel decided for the thousandth time to subjugate himself to God’s will that he finally fell asleep.
l
The call from the Papal Nuncio came just four months after Belli's visit. Michel was to be elevated to cardinal. He put the office phone down, stared for a moment at the old elm out the window, and silently hurried to his room. His heart racing, Michel knelt on the bare wood in front of the crucifix and hung his head. It was a long while before he uttered, "Lord I am not worthy to receive this, but only say the word and I will do thy bidding."
The Mass of the Elevation of Cardinals took place in just under six weeks in St. Peter’s. Five were made cardinal that day bringing the number to 120 under the age of eighty who were permitted to vote for the next Pope. Tradition held that those over eighty could not vote. Michel knew that one day he would cast his vote for the Vicar of Christ on earth, and the thought rattled him. How would he ever learn enough about 119 men to make a good choice?
“God will direct you when your time comes,” said the Pope in his homily on the obligation of cardinals. Michel remembered every word of the short sermon, especially the words challenging the five new cardinals to "be ready to spill blood if need be to spread the faith." Could it ever come to that?
The Pope called each one of the five by name and they approached the Pope in turn. They received the red three-cornered hat or biretta and exchanged a few words with the Pope individually. Michel was last because he was the youngest. The Pope’s eyes were kind but tired when he asked Michel who had accompanied him to Rome.
“My sister and three of my staff --- and dearest friends, your Holiness.”
“They must be very proud. Thank you, Cardinal Michel Abruzzi.”
After Mass each new cardinal went to meet the people who came to celebrate with him. Cardinal Abruzzi kept his celebration subdued in keeping with what he thought was proper for a Prince of the Church, but not everyone shared his view of propriety. The new Scottish Cardinal and his group of eighteen they paraded though the streets of Rome near the Vatican. One of the group was waving a saltire, the Scotland national flag. People applauded as they passed.
Michel’s sister, Michele, had wanted a similar display or at least a gala, but Michel would have neither. She had to content herself with a present of Michel’s choosing when they returned. Michel was to give it thought. “It’s not just a birthday present after all, and it has to be worthy of a prince of the Church.”
Michel had the window seat on the plane ride home, and Michele was in the seat next to his.
“So have you decided yet?” she asked her older brother.
“What?”
“What you want --- your gift.”
“Yes.”
“Good, what is it?”
Michel stared into the blank sky from his window and did not answer.
“So? Am I to guess?”
“If you wish.”
“A Winnebago.”
“Close. A statue,” he said turning to catch her eye.
She searched his face to see if he were teasing. He wasn’t.
"I don’t know how you would find it; it will probably have to be commissioned.
“OK.”
“I want to put in the entrance to the residence --- against the wall you first see when you come in. It has to be large --- to fill up the whole space --- a statue of the Archangel Michael. It should be like the picture in the catechism --- with wings and wielding a sword with the fierce look of battle on his face. I would like St. Michael the Archangel doing battle with the devil, maybe in bronze."
"In the vestibule?” she asked a bit incredulously.
“If not,” answered Michel, “Isotoner gloves would be nice. I like the kind that strap at the wrist.”
“They don’t come with straps.”
“They should.”
Their car was waiting for them at Orly and Michel was back at his residence in a half hour. Anna Maria, wearing a new dress and new shoes was at the door, beaming.
"Welcome home Cardinal Abruzzi. It is such a joy to see you. Perhaps one day I will greet you as the Pope.”
Michael laughed and gave her a hug. "I think not; I doubt Rome or the world, for that matter, is ready for a French Pope.”
In fact there had been sixteen French Popes, more than from any other nation except Italy. At one time there were seven French Popes in a row covering seventy-three years. The problem was that the last one was Gregory XI, who died in 1378.
l
In his first year as cardinal, Michel was busier than he had ever been in his life. Normal Church business occupied much of his time, and he wrote often to the bishops, monsignors and pastors under him. He remained careful in his sermons and writings to touch only lightly on the direction he planned to take the Church against its enemies. His was a controversial position, and it would be necessary to unfold his position on these matters gradually. Change of direction, he knew, was bumpy on unpaved roads.
Michele set to work immediately on her new project. Her children were in school and her domestic help provided her with the time and wherewithal to commission a work that would please and impress. Her first contact was with the world famous American sculptor, Seward Johnson, who worked in bronze and whose work she admired. The previous year when she accompanied her eldest son to Princeton University for his junior year abroad she saw one of Johnson’s pieces sitting on a bench by a bus stop in the center of the picturesque town. From across Nassau Street on the college side it actually appeared a man was sitting on the bench enjoying the day. It was not until she crossed the street that she realized the man was bronze.
Johnson had cast several statues like it across the country and abroad, and when she called and spoke with him he agreed to work on it, once he learned it would be for the cardinal of Paris. It would, however, be two or three years before he could begin work, and while the thought of having a world class sculptor create a statue for her brother was attractive, Michele could not wait that long. And she had misgivings about whether, given Michel’s growing asceticism, he would want such a costly and so blatantly tony objet.
A friend of hers and contributor to her charity for autistic children ran the Ginot Gallery and recommended a sculptor who had done fine smaller pieces in bronze. That he was a local was sure to please Michel, and that Ginot had recommended him would be so much the better.
Georges Piradoux came to Michele’s large and well-appointed home dressed in a suit and tie but his attire could not hide the bohemian beneath. He was reedy young man with beady eyes and sorely in need of a shave. His long hair, Michele thought, may have been washed that month. But he seemed sincere and was most anxious to begin immediately.
Piradoux brought a book of photographs of a few of his works, none more than half the size she had imagined for Michel, but they had all been sold and she thought some were most striking. He would, she hoped, be up to the task.
“You said you wanted it to be life-size and that it would be in the home of the Cardinal, at his entry?”
“Yes.”
“Would it be possible for me to see the space? It would be best --- it is always a question of scale.”
“Of course,” she said. “It is a rather large area; but you’ll see for yourself.”
“Did you want the angel to have the likeness of the cardinal?” he asked, his eyes washing over her torso as if she were to be the subject.
“No, but I’m not sure --- it never occurred to me,” she said more to herself than to him as she walked to the fireplace mantel on which a picture of Michel sat. “You probably have seen him. This is one he took when he was in Rome last month.”
Piradoux, in a glance with his artist's eye, noted a heavy but not fat face, aged but not tired. There was a Roman nose and piercing, slightly deep set and unsmiling eyes. The lips were thin and smiling, and there was a thick neck suggesting a sturdy build.
"How tall is he?"
"I don't know,” answered Michele, putting her fingers over her head and making a small gap to show the difference. "Just a soupcon, but it shouldn’t matter, does it?"
“Not at all,” said the sculptor who sensed that the Cardinal, despite what his sister said, would want the statue to have at least some resemblance to its owner. “But statues are often most appreciated when the subject has just a touch of the man who commissioned it.”
“There’s the picture from our catechism,” she said pointing to the open book on the serving table. “It’s from our childhood … quite dramatic, don’t you think?” she said tasking a seat in the armchair alongside the couch.
“This Michael is young and beautiful,” said the sculptor studying the ink drawing. The angel was stepping forward with his left foot on the ground and his right on a rock holding down a serpent underfoot. His wings were long and massive and he wielded a broad sword.
“And,” he said looking up at Michele, “if I may say, looks more like you than the cardinal.”
Michele let out a quiet laugh. “I’m less muscular.”
“Yes, madam, of course. I meant only in visage… and a bit in form. He’s tall and lean.”
“When we were children my father told us that I was born in the mold of Sophia Loren and Michel was born in the mold of Benito Mussolini, Il Duce,” she said with a smile. “He obviously saw me through father’s eyes."
Piradoux nodded, “You have the bones.” Then he turned to the drawing and studied for a few moments. I assume his hands are thick but with short fingers.”
“Yes, he’s more wide than tall.”
“Would it be all right if we kept his youth but made him somewhat shorter and wider, or would it lose its ethereal quality?”
Michele thought a moment. "I think it would be best to follow the picture as closely as we can.”
“Yes, Madam, that would be best. May I take this?”
“Of course, but it is a family heirloom.”
“I will protect it, Madam. I’ll have it for you when you come to see the wax,” he said closing the catechism carefully.
“And when will that be?”
“I’ll start immediately --- probably in a week.” He handed her his card and gave her directions to his studio.
“Shall I pay you something now?”
“That won’t be necessary, Madam,” he said rising, then added, “Perhaps for the wax now. If you like it, then I could use a payment to buy the bronze.”
As she wrote the check, Piradoux suggested that the floor where the statue was to be situated be reinforced and added, “and the lighting --- I may suggest having lights installed; it’s most, most important.”
It was five months from the time Michele first met Piradoux to the time St. Michael the Archangel stood in resplendent glory at the entry to the Cardinal’s entry.
The bronze angel with gilded wings stood on a flat unadorned pedestal only 59 centimeters high. It was inscribed on the front and on both sides as Michel had instructed. On the sides there was a sentence, part on the left side and the rest on the right side and read in Latin: "Be ready to spill blood if need be to spread the Faith. On the front of the pedestal there was single word in fine gothic print: "MICHEAL."
In his mighty right arm the fiery-eyed Adonis wielded his sword in a downward arc at the large fanged serpent beneath his foot. Above Michael’s thick leg and below his robe where his scabbard hung were two punctures dripping blood. Even the mighty Michael could not escape the ferocity of Lucifer.
The sculpture was larger than life, and all who passed were insignificant in its presence. Michel beamed.
Michel began a habit each time he passed the statue and was alone. He would reach up and place his hand over the hand of the Archangel's sensing his power over the arch fiend and deadly enemy of the Church. He did not fail to notice that the statue's hand was thick and wide, much as his own.
l
Michel Cardinal Abruzzi was motoring to Switzerland with his friend and confidant, Monsignor Joseph Montaire. Montaire was tall, a full head taller than Michel, thin to the point of boniness, and introverted. Seeing the two men together recalled Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, but the comparison stopped at the physical. Montaire was no dreamer; he had a precise intellect and the ability to manage several tasks at once without losing composure. As is often the case with such minds, however, he lacked creativity, born no doubt from an absolute fear of failure. He would rather appear ignorant than wrong, yet when asked by Michel for an opinion, he would, albeit tentatively, offer it. Michel admired his ability to strike at the heart of the matter, simply and with apparent ease. Montaire would seldom speak at meetings, which made him uncomfortable, but one on one without the fear of being challenged, he provided convergence of thought which often complimented Michel’s sometimes divergent ideas. Montaire was a proven financial wizard and a steady aide, and for that he had earned Michel’s respect and gratitude. But Michel loved his friend for his complete honesty.
Michel was to address an ecumenical symposium at the University of Geneva and asked Montaire to accompany him. As their banking was also done in Geneva, Michel would use the opportunity to send his financial officer on a private mission. He would also enjoy his company.
The trip from Paris to Geneva is about one hundred and fifty kilometers, an hour and a half to two depending on traffic. The trip is breathtaking beautiful. Geneva, an ancient city dating at least to the time of Julius Cesar, is situated on one of the large lakes in Europe between the Juras and the Alps. A short distance from Geneva is Mont-Blanc, and Michel and Montaire took time to go to see the great tourist attraction. From Mont-Blanc one could see the mountain peaks of France, Italy and Switzerland. Michel had seen it twice before as a youth, so he was the tour guide for Montaire whose frequent trips to the city were always by plane and always direct from the airport to the banking center. That summer the two men enjoyed the incomparable view that an excursion by car could provide.
Returning to the city they crossed the large Mont-Blanc Bridge and entered the area called the Old City. The streets were impossibly narrow, some unable to accommodate auto traffic, and Michel drove allowing Montaire to appreciate the quaint beauty which Michel had walked as a youth. Shops of all kinds dating back hundreds of years lined the immaculate cobblestone streets, and while the traffic was slow, it provided both driver and passenger the opportunity to appreciate the step back in time.
Michel drove along the lake shore where they had a good view of the famous Geneva water fountain, Jet d’eau, which sits alone well out into the lake pumping out a strong jet of water.
“The fountain was built over a century ago when a company put in the equipment to pump water from the lake and circulate it to customers,” said Michel acting the tour guide. “Since they didn’t need the high water pressure at night, engineers devised a method to let some water be drained out of the piping and simply allowed it to be pumped into the air.”
“It’s not terribly attractive,” said Montaire who had been told that the fountain was a must see tourist stop.
“But it is not devoid of interest,” said Michel who pressed on with his travelogue. “The original system created a water jet about a meter high which couldn't be seen in the dark of night. In the 1890’s the city added lights. The interesting aspect of Jet d'eau is that now, after several revisions over the century, the water shoots into the air about one hundred and forty meters. The pump alone uses over two thousand volts.”
“Seems a waste of electricity,” said the accountant.
“I suppose so,” Michel responded with consideration, “especially when compared to the mountains around it that rise out of the lake.”
“Perhaps you have to see it at night,” offered Montaire sensing the wind taken out of Michel’s sails.
In preparing for his lecture at the University Michel was meticulous. John Calvin had preached at Saint Peter's Cathedral in Geneva, known as the Protestant Rome, and had enormous influence on Protestantism which grew even stronger after his death in 1564. Catholics would never have been asked to speak at the University of Geneva had it not been for Pope John XXIII’s overtures to all faiths, and those Catholics who did speak there were careful not to undo the work of the most popular pope. Michel would measure his words.
Speaking without notes, as was his wont, Michel was to talk about birth control in the third world. He would defend the Church’s position against using condoms to stop the spread of AIDS. The gist of his argument was that if something is essentially wrong, it remains wrong even if there can be beneficial side effects. He would be sure to indicate that in his faith, artificial means of stopping birth is a sin. To help counter the spread of HIV, certain sera have been developed and should be used. In addition, he would point out, more research should be encouraged to find other effective antidotes.
“But in the meantime?” asked Montaire tentatively after Michel had reviewed what he was about to say. Montaire had taken over the driving and the devil’s advocacy on their way to the Crowne Plaza hotel.
“In the meantime there are effective HIV treatments.”
“But the death rate is climbing.”
“For a number of reasons,” answered Michel.
“Such as?”
“Such as ignorance; such as licentiousness; such as lack of UN resolve,” Michel answered with an open hand. “It is unjustifiable to pervert the natural law because man is weak.” He paused. “Because a human act is pragmatic it is not ipso facto a worthy act.”
“But they simply don’t believe that birth control violates the natural law, and their intention is truly noble.”
“Then they are wrong in both matters. Their understanding of the natural law is less theological than it is pragmatic, and their noble motives are not justified by their ignoble means,” Michel answered with his usual animation. “If, let’s say, a woman continually beats her child, and a neighbor wishes to protect that child. Can we condone killing the woman to stop the beatings? The intention is worthy, the action not. There are ways of protecting the child without murdering the mother as there are ways of stopping the spread of HIV without destroying life or its potential.”
“Well, I’m convinced,” said Montaire with a grin, “Now convince them.”
“Is it not one of the ironies of ecumenism that we are sure to gather regularly to convince no one but ourselves? We eat a nice meal, exchange pleasantries, and leave knowing the others will never see the light. I confess, Montaire, I don’t know what value there is in my being in Geneva or if I will ever again attend one of these things.”
“I believe you have said that before, though not as cardinal.”
“I understand the politics of it, but the morality…” Michel said gazing out his window at the bright blue sky. He saw himself standing in front of leaders of other religions and considered the whole picture, and the picture was out of focus. He began to speak and by so doing clarify the ideas that in his mind were floating cotton.
“I am convinced that morality exists only within the group --- of those who share the same tenets. Unless there is that acceptance of these principles of faith, there will never be accord. How can abortion be wrong if one does not believe that the soul exists at conception? Either we believe that life exists at conception and that life is precious, or we commit murder and tell ourselves it is for the best. It is really not open to debate; either one believes the Church is the living Christ, that its morality is that of God Himself, or one does not. It matters little what we say to the others.”
“So we pray for them,” offered Montaire flatly.
“Yes, we pray,” he said turning to his friend, “but we live in a time when prayer alone is not sufficient. We are compelled to act.”
Montaire was silent, his eyes fixed intently on the road as cars passed him on both the left and right. Good listeners allow speakers to compose their thoughts and allow them to follow the track they have begun, and Montaire was a good listener.
Michel shifted heavily in his seat. The trip was getting long, and he was getting edgy. “In truth, we stand alone. Tonight I stand alone in defending the natural law. I will say nothing that hasn’t been said before; I will change no minds; and I will be assailed --- not only at the podium tonight but also in their sermons at synagogues, and mosques, and even in the churches. Also in the press, of course, and at universities; and in the streets where they kill our nuns in the name of Allah.”
Montaire nodded in agreement as he lowered the sun visor. Michel did the same.
“As far back as Socrates it was understood that there can be no rational argument until there is agreement of terms. Many reject the notion of natural law altogether while the others define it so broadly that it includes any act in nature. By their definition homosexuality does not offend the natural law because it occurs in nature. Of course, so does rape. They further argue that it is impossible to determine what is “natural” since it depends on “individual interpretation” --- theirs, naturally. They reject Mathew that specifically says only Peter’s church has the right to make such interpretations. Without Mathew there is chaos, and that, Montaire, is what we have --- intellectual and religious chaos. Subjectivism run rampant, solipsism the norm.”
“Yes,” said Montaire. “It has always been so.”
“And what does that mean?” asked Michel. “Do we accept like the Stoics whatever befalls us?”
“There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow,” Montaire responded tentatively.
“Indeed, and if we were discussing sparrows your observation would be apt. Unfortunately we are discussing evil, the evil of subjectivism that leads ultimately to chaos and hatred. It is the devil’s province to deny divine truth, and that is where we must stand our ground and fight.”
“And so you do, when you speak at symposiums like this.”
“Please!” snapped Michel. “This is precisely not a fight --- standing there iterating time and again what they have heard for decades. What this accomplishes is the very opposite of what it is intended to do. No minds are changed, but what it does accomplish is the Church granting equal standing to the others. We reduce the Holy Mother Church to the lowest common denominator, all in an effort to find common ground!” Michel voice had become loud. “Common ground? There is no common ground. Islam does not even agree that it is wrong to kill the innocent in the name of their religion, and yet we sheepishly accord Imams the right to question the majesty of Christ.”
Montaire resisted pointing out that the alternative to ecumenism is isolation, but that was obvious, and to state it then might serve to anger Michel who needed to be at his best that evening.
They drove in silence until Michel broke it with his request. “Before we arrive, let’s get to the main reason we have driven all the way to Geneva.
“I have never told you that the seed money for my grandfather’s bank came at least in part from, let us say, less than honest means. Some of that money was in the form of a loan from Sicilian moneylenders. He paid the loan back, I learned, at considerable interest. I overheard him tell my father that for these lenders, a loan was more than a loan; they took it to mean that they became part of the business, if, of course, it became successful, as his had. And, only if they wanted out was the arrangement ended. How Grandfather Abruzzi got free of them, if ever he did, I never learned, but my father did not speak of them, nor did he seem burdened at all by them. But who knows? I know only that he sold his interest in the bank soon before he died.”
Montaire took a quick look at Michel and returned to the road.
"What I want you to do, Joseph, is this. I want you in your typically discreet manner to inquire among your associates at the Banque Financière de la Cité and at the Amas, perhaps even at Arzi, if you are still in touch with them. Find out if there have been inquires about the ownership of the two accounts, mine or my sister's? I want to know, if I can, who might be interested in the details of these accounts."
"I still have contacts at Arzi,” said Montaire with an understanding nod. “If there has been action, I believe we will learn of it.”
Montaire's job with the Abruzzi family money was simple: he was to decide in what equities the accounts should invest. As senior representative on both of them, Montaire reported semi-annually to Michel and Michele. His goal, figured on a five-year average, was not to lose more than two percent in any year while seeing that each account gain five percent per year, after an annual withdrawal of one-half million American dollars.
Michel retired early after the dinner. It was, he had decided, his final appearance at such a colloquy, especially after noting that he had been the highest-ranking church official present. To give the weight of his office to such a sham was particularly repellent.
While Michel spoke, Montaire made calls to the two associates for whom he had phone numbers. Neither was able to confirm any interest in the accounts. He was at the Amas bank at opening and learned that as with the others, no one had inquired about the accounts and was assured that even if there had been an attempt to get information, none would have been offered. That Monsieur Baume, Montaire’s contact at the bank, offered that bit of information gave him pause. Nevertheless, he told Michel that it was unlikely that information was asked for and most unlikely that it was given.
l
The return trip was made under threatening skies but even so was beautiful in its own way. The mountains were more imposing against the dark gray sky, and that made returning to Paris from their two-day sojourn more comforting.
The men spoke little on their way home as Michel anticipated the arrival of his weekend visitor. Michel was to receive the noted Jesuit theologian, Avery Dulles, and he had plans for the American. Michel hoped to engage the Fordham University Professor in a discussion of the moral aspects of the Crusades, the history of which Michel had become particularly interested. He wanted to learn from Dulles his views on the morality of the Crusades as well as the criteria of a just war. The American theologian’s position might prove useful in providing additional weaponry for his campaign. Even were the criteria for a just war more binding than his own might be, Michel would obtain advance knowledge of the arguments he would have to overcome.
It had been Michel’s habit to make notes of his research, most often in margins of texts but sometimes in notebooks devoted to the subject. The Crusades was a topic that merited its own notebook. In his notes he opined that the time of the Crusades, from 1095 to 1270, was a period of Church history about which it should be proud. It has been a mistake of history to label the period a time of Church ignominy. There had been evil done in the name of good, to be sure, but he believed the effort to free the Eastern Church from Muslim marauders was not only justified but required. The period of the Crusades was a time when the Church identified a great wrong against Christianity and took positive and forceful action to right the wrong. Strong Christians spilled blood to spread the Faith. As Michael the Archangel did battle with the devil in heaven, the faithful did battle with the devil on earth.
In one of his pages, Michel wrote:
"If Islam leaders declare a Jihad against Christians and others they consider infidels, they obviously believe their violence justified. Would it not be a just war to defend ourselves in battle? If they threaten our very existence, as indeed they do, is not our obligation to resist? Christianity will soon need to face this challenge directly and with force. Not to stop the slaughter of innocents is feckless and an homage to our lassitude born of comfort."
It was Michel’s plan as Cardinal, over time but deliberately, to move the Church from the effete to the effectual and so recapture its historical role as proud defenders of the Faith. He had no doubt that his Church was a failing institution moving to the Third World where there was less resistance while ceding its position of greatness in the First.
On another page in his notebook he drafted a letter he thought he might eventually send to other Cardinals asking for advice and comments.
My Dear Brethren in Christ:
As we know, the Church stands at a precipice perhaps deeper and more challenging than any ever faced in the two thousand years of its history. There are living among us men and women of no faith who would do everything in their power to see the Church divided and to see the Faith lost. Also among us are radical adherents of other religions who teach that the way to eternal life is through the killing of our sheep. Of what value is a shepherd who only meekly objects to his flock’s slaughter? These elements have openly declared war on us, and we pray that secular forces, many of whom are actively engaged in our demise, will defend us --- the same secular forces which have failed to derail organizations dedicated to murder, prostitution, the selling of drugs and even trafficking in human beings.
To see these evils is added the harrowing truth that radical Muslims are growing ever stronger and more lethal in directing their youth. And all this in the face of dwindling church attendance and falling vocations.
What, my fellow soldiers of Christ, must we do? Is there no action to be taken by the defenders of the faith? Do we sit comfortably in our parishes going on with deaf ears and atrophied nerves while the dogs of war bark and tear at our very limbs?”
Up to that point, Michel’s call to action was a secret plan that was to be unraveled slowly and with care. On one level, intellectually, he was confident that he was correct: the Church had to change in order to survive the attacks against it. That his plan would meet with strong objection and that he would likely fail to convince the others did not mean he was in error. His superior intelligence and popularity among sheep and shepherds alike were gifts from God, and he was convinced he would not have been granted such gifts if the Lord had not wanted him to use them. He had become a Prince of the Church, one of many, but he believed honestly that he was superior to most if not all of the others. He was obliged to do battle with them, to move the other princes to action despite their aversion to it. His years of study, his honest prayer, and his complete devotion to God and to his church was evidence of his fitness to go forward.
Yet as Michel looked up from his writing with a vacant stare, there was doubt. It was not doubt that he might be wrong but that he might be driven by hubris.
There are two levels of consciousness, a steady stream of thought and a super level, one less linear, less pronounced, but just as palpable. That super level of thought is not conscience, the Freudian super-ego, but rather a metacognitive train of thought that evaluates the first level of thinking. When there is concurrence of the two levels, we are unaware of the super level, but when the two levels diverge, the super level makes itself known. Michel was painfully aware that for him these two levels of consciousness were not functioning in unison. Was his plan wrought by pure judgment of what was best for the Church or was it wrought by a prideful desire to distinguish himself from the others? For the intellectually gifted, pride is a particular disability. It was, after all, the pride of Lucifer that led Michael the Archangel to drive him into perdition.
Still, there was strong reason for Michel to subjugate the super level in favor of the logical, steady steam. Michel Cardinal Abruzzi had gained popularity, not only with his flock, but also with other clergy, especially in Europe and America. It had started, of course, at the time of the "miracle." The international press followed for years the man whose hand was severed but who miraculously gained nearly complete use of his hand again. Always Cardinal Abruzzi's name was mentioned.
At home he was admired for being a Cardinal of the people and was often seen in public among them, at their simple church services on any given Sunday, at their football games, and in their hospitals giving special blessings.
His fellow Cardinals too admired him. They thought of him as a good and loving shepherd as well as a first class intellect. The other and older French Cardinals openly admired Michel's good work, and his pastoral influence and his writings did not go unnoticed in Rome. He was considered a cardinal of the people with a stern attitude toward what he termed “metastasizing secularism.” Since Vatican II, Church attendance throughout the western world was declining and the number of vocations dwindling at an alarming rate. Secularism and decadence was spreading unchecked, and Michel spoke out against it often and with vigor. Some members of the College of Cardinals agreed among themselves with Catholic publishers that Michel Cardinal Abruzzi was a possible papal candidate.
A month passed and the furor of “the miracle” subsided, at least in the press. Occasionally an article would be written giving an update on the progress of the man with a reattached hand. His condition was improving quite beyond expectation, leading Dr. Fournier to believe that his patient would regain partial use of his fingers.
Michel no longer could take his take private walks because he became too well-known, but there were immediate advantages. When he said a public mass to celebrate a holy day or other Church occasion, it was always crowded, and there were unsolicited donations from the wealthy. In fact, all parishes reported increases in both attendance and donations. Requests for him to say special masses were too many to accommodate, and those he could honor had to turn away worshippers. The Archbishop of Paris had become a celebrity.
As Michel knew it would, the call came at midday, six weeks after the "miracle." It was the office of Antonio Cardinal Belli from the Roman Curia. Michel knew only the name. Belli wanted to visit with Michel in Paris. It was, of course, an offer he could not refuse. The pretense for the visit was the Holy Father’s directive to Belli to meet with selected European Church leaders on the continuing rise of secularism and materialism. Michel was sure, however, that Belli was sent to find out first hand about “the miracle."
Naturally Belli would stay at the Archbishop's residence. Two days after the call, the rest of the stairs and the upstairs hall to the guest quarters were carpeted to match the down stairs. Anna Maria thought that it was about time.
Michel explained to his administrative staff the stated reason for the visit and pointed out that he and Belli would take this opportunity to talk about a wide range of Church matters. He would be given the grand tour of the diocese and that would provide all of them with the opportunity to meet an active member of the Curia. Naturally, should Belli want to talk to any of them either casually or in private, he should feel free to be completely open.
“Give him your best thinking on any topic he might want to discuss,” Michel instructed his subordinates. He also instructed his residence staff to go on as usual and to treat the Cardinal with their normal graciousness. Cardinal Belli, he assured them, was most cordial.
The Cardinal arrived Thursday in the evening in time for dinner, which Anna Maria had been preparing for the previous three days. It was simple fare but meticulously presented, and Michel wondered whether an Italian could appreciate the subtleties of French cuisine. He ate as if he could.
After dinner, Michel and Antonio sat in the library in large, well-worn leather chairs. Between them on a small table sat a bottle of Manzanilla Sherry, a 39-year-old palomino fino from Spain. Belli was impressed. Not so much by the relatively high cost of the wine, $60.00, but by Michel’s effort to provide his guest with his favorite wine. It was a treat for Belli but a difficult downing for Michel who not yet acquired a taste for sherry.
Michel knew that Belli had several years earlier visited one of the three other dioceses in France. After calling in Lyon and Tours, Michel learned that Belli had been in Marseilles and that, among other things, Manzanilla was his favorite.
“I suppose one might say that I heard it through the grapevine,” answered Michel with a wry smile when Belli asked him how he knew about the sherry.
Belli was a bit loud and charming but garrulous, and it was a long while before they got down to business.
“It is of course true,” began Belli, “that I was commissioned directly by the Holy Father to prepare a report on suggestions from various church leaders on ways to stem the tide of secularism. And I hope that you will afford me the time later or tomorrow to share your ideas on this topic that has plagued us, of course, since the World Wars. But I am sure you suspect that there is also another reason for my visit. The Holy Father did not want to call you to Rome. That would, of course, only start unnecessary rumors. However, the Holy Father is interested in fully understanding what happened to cause the uproar in the press." He paused to sip his sherry and looking over his glass into Michel’s eyes.
Michel spoke for an hour, with only a few “of course’s” and “certainly’s” from Belli who kept both glasses filled. Michel was completely forthright, and he was careful to say that his vice of private walks in plain clothes was a thing of the past.
“Private walks in any attire is no longer possible now that my picture continues for some reason to appear regularly in the papers. I have managed not to succumb to the television shows which continually call for interviews,” said Michel in his most affable way.
“Of course.” Belli seemed satisfied but did not say so, but when he asked if they could turn their attention to the matter of secularism, Michel felt the worst was over. “Unless the spirits of Spain have gone to your head and you would rather wait until tomorrow,” said Belli with a glint in his eye.
“That would probably be best,” answered Michel who had drunk a quarter of what Belli had and was certainly able to go on.
“Good,” said Belli standing up. “I’ve probably had too much, but I enjoy it so. Tomorrow is another day.” The Cardinal took Michel’s arm and they walked toward the stairs. “I appreciate very much your candor, Michel, and your Italian which is far better than my French.”
After breakfast Michel, in one sentence, told Belli what would necessary to curb the growth of secularism and materialism: “The Church must lead by example.”
“Of course,” said Belli, “but I thought we do.”
“Yes, we do, You Eminence, but there is a great deal more that could and should be done. For example,” said Michel with a touch of fervor, “we cannot be seen, as men of God, to be partaking --- that is we must show our spiritual side, not keep it hidden --- certainly not in palaces fit for kings of the secular world. We must find ways to limit our own materialism, ways to exhibit our spirituality, to be models to our people.”
“And do you know the ways?”
“I believe, Cardinal Antonio, that if we put our minds together, the ways will manifest themselves,” answered Michel.
“Of course.”
Later that day they toured the Pais Inlet, the hospital, and the new high school Michel named after his predecessor who died before he could see his project complete.
Sunday Mass was to be con celebrated at the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Normally there was a simple wooden railing along the step separating the large open area at the back of the Cathedral from the few pews close to the alter. On most Sundays, Mass was celebrated with the hundred or so worshippers in the pews while tourists, being kept quiet by laymen, were allowed to get no closer than the railing.
Michel had the railing removed expecting a large crowd. He had all Pastors announce the Mass in their parishes and stationed the laymen at the entrances to tell tourists that they would be allowed to tour the Cathedral in a few hours, after Mass. Only those who wished to hear Mass were permitted in during the service. It accomplished what Michel wanted. Most went in to hear Mass, parishioners and tourists alike. Belli, impressed with the crowd, nevertheless knew that most of them were there to catch a glimpse of the "miracle worker."
After Mass, Michel hosted a brunch in Belli's honor. His staff and a number of clergy who worked at the office attended. Montaire, who had been raised to monsignor a year before to acknowledge his valuable financial work for the diocese, was given the honor to sit on Belli’s left. The main course was a frittata with scallops, a favorite Italian omelet.
Belli left shortly after brunch. As he was leaving he embraced Michel, thanked him for his hospitality and said: "We will see each other soon, and often I hope." Michel was unsure if the words were a sign of friendship, or the remark of a seasoned diplomat. Then Belli added with a grin, “I look forward to your next miracle.”
“I’m afraid, Cardinal, the only miracle I can work is at Mass.”
“Of course.”
Michel lay in his bed that night trying to relax for the first time in days, but he was still too tense. Images and phrases continually spun in his head, and he grew uncomfortably warm. Even after removing his blanket Michel was unable to rid himself of the heat of the angst which hung over him like a pall.
Had he acquitted himself well enough in Belli’s eyes? Perhaps the sherry seemed too much like pandering. Should he have bought a less expensive brand given his position on materialism? Did he show himself ready for the red hat, or did he appear too ready? And regardless how it appeared, was Michel Abruzzi truly fit to be cardinal?
Of course he was, at least temporally; he was a match for any of the others, he was sure. But why did being cardinal matter so much to him? Was he so egotistical?
Great leaders, of course, needed a strong ego or they would be unable to lead. It was a question of balance. As long as he was sure to put the Church first in all things, to fight with God’s help the wickedness that was, after all, natural to all men, he would be a worthy priest.
It was when Michel decided for the thousandth time to subjugate himself to God’s will that he finally fell asleep.
l
The call from the Papal Nuncio came just four months after Belli's visit. Michel was to be elevated to cardinal. He put the office phone down, stared for a moment at the old elm out the window, and silently hurried to his room. His heart racing, Michel knelt on the bare wood in front of the crucifix and hung his head. It was a long while before he uttered, "Lord I am not worthy to receive this, but only say the word and I will do thy bidding."
The Mass of the Elevation of Cardinals took place in just under six weeks in St. Peter’s. Five were made cardinal that day bringing the number to 120 under the age of eighty who were permitted to vote for the next Pope. Tradition held that those over eighty could not vote. Michel knew that one day he would cast his vote for the Vicar of Christ on earth, and the thought rattled him. How would he ever learn enough about 119 men to make a good choice?
“God will direct you when your time comes,” said the Pope in his homily on the obligation of cardinals. Michel remembered every word of the short sermon, especially the words challenging the five new cardinals to "be ready to spill blood if need be to spread the faith." Could it ever come to that?
The Pope called each one of the five by name and they approached the Pope in turn. They received the red three-cornered hat or biretta and exchanged a few words with the Pope individually. Michel was last because he was the youngest. The Pope’s eyes were kind but tired when he asked Michel who had accompanied him to Rome.
“My sister and three of my staff --- and dearest friends, your Holiness.”
“They must be very proud. Thank you, Cardinal Michel Abruzzi.”
After Mass each new cardinal went to meet the people who came to celebrate with him. Cardinal Abruzzi kept his celebration subdued in keeping with what he thought was proper for a Prince of the Church, but not everyone shared his view of propriety. The new Scottish Cardinal and his group of eighteen they paraded though the streets of Rome near the Vatican. One of the group was waving a saltire, the Scotland national flag. People applauded as they passed.
Michel’s sister, Michele, had wanted a similar display or at least a gala, but Michel would have neither. She had to content herself with a present of Michel’s choosing when they returned. Michel was to give it thought. “It’s not just a birthday present after all, and it has to be worthy of a prince of the Church.”
Michel had the window seat on the plane ride home, and Michele was in the seat next to his.
“So have you decided yet?” she asked her older brother.
“What?”
“What you want --- your gift.”
“Yes.”
“Good, what is it?”
Michel stared into the blank sky from his window and did not answer.
“So? Am I to guess?”
“If you wish.”
“A Winnebago.”
“Close. A statue,” he said turning to catch her eye.
She searched his face to see if he were teasing. He wasn’t.
"I don’t know how you would find it; it will probably have to be commissioned.
“OK.”
“I want to put in the entrance to the residence --- against the wall you first see when you come in. It has to be large --- to fill up the whole space --- a statue of the Archangel Michael. It should be like the picture in the catechism --- with wings and wielding a sword with the fierce look of battle on his face. I would like St. Michael the Archangel doing battle with the devil, maybe in bronze."
"In the vestibule?” she asked a bit incredulously.
“If not,” answered Michel, “Isotoner gloves would be nice. I like the kind that strap at the wrist.”
“They don’t come with straps.”
“They should.”
Their car was waiting for them at Orly and Michel was back at his residence in a half hour. Anna Maria, wearing a new dress and new shoes was at the door, beaming.
"Welcome home Cardinal Abruzzi. It is such a joy to see you. Perhaps one day I will greet you as the Pope.”
Michael laughed and gave her a hug. "I think not; I doubt Rome or the world, for that matter, is ready for a French Pope.”
In fact there had been sixteen French Popes, more than from any other nation except Italy. At one time there were seven French Popes in a row covering seventy-three years. The problem was that the last one was Gregory XI, who died in 1378.
l
In his first year as cardinal, Michel was busier than he had ever been in his life. Normal Church business occupied much of his time, and he wrote often to the bishops, monsignors and pastors under him. He remained careful in his sermons and writings to touch only lightly on the direction he planned to take the Church against its enemies. His was a controversial position, and it would be necessary to unfold his position on these matters gradually. Change of direction, he knew, was bumpy on unpaved roads.
Michele set to work immediately on her new project. Her children were in school and her domestic help provided her with the time and wherewithal to commission a work that would please and impress. Her first contact was with the world famous American sculptor, Seward Johnson, who worked in bronze and whose work she admired. The previous year when she accompanied her eldest son to Princeton University for his junior year abroad she saw one of Johnson’s pieces sitting on a bench by a bus stop in the center of the picturesque town. From across Nassau Street on the college side it actually appeared a man was sitting on the bench enjoying the day. It was not until she crossed the street that she realized the man was bronze.
Johnson had cast several statues like it across the country and abroad, and when she called and spoke with him he agreed to work on it, once he learned it would be for the cardinal of Paris. It would, however, be two or three years before he could begin work, and while the thought of having a world class sculptor create a statue for her brother was attractive, Michele could not wait that long. And she had misgivings about whether, given Michel’s growing asceticism, he would want such a costly and so blatantly tony objet.
A friend of hers and contributor to her charity for autistic children ran the Ginot Gallery and recommended a sculptor who had done fine smaller pieces in bronze. That he was a local was sure to please Michel, and that Ginot had recommended him would be so much the better.
Georges Piradoux came to Michele’s large and well-appointed home dressed in a suit and tie but his attire could not hide the bohemian beneath. He was reedy young man with beady eyes and sorely in need of a shave. His long hair, Michele thought, may have been washed that month. But he seemed sincere and was most anxious to begin immediately.
Piradoux brought a book of photographs of a few of his works, none more than half the size she had imagined for Michel, but they had all been sold and she thought some were most striking. He would, she hoped, be up to the task.
“You said you wanted it to be life-size and that it would be in the home of the Cardinal, at his entry?”
“Yes.”
“Would it be possible for me to see the space? It would be best --- it is always a question of scale.”
“Of course,” she said. “It is a rather large area; but you’ll see for yourself.”
“Did you want the angel to have the likeness of the cardinal?” he asked, his eyes washing over her torso as if she were to be the subject.
“No, but I’m not sure --- it never occurred to me,” she said more to herself than to him as she walked to the fireplace mantel on which a picture of Michel sat. “You probably have seen him. This is one he took when he was in Rome last month.”
Piradoux, in a glance with his artist's eye, noted a heavy but not fat face, aged but not tired. There was a Roman nose and piercing, slightly deep set and unsmiling eyes. The lips were thin and smiling, and there was a thick neck suggesting a sturdy build.
"How tall is he?"
"I don't know,” answered Michele, putting her fingers over her head and making a small gap to show the difference. "Just a soupcon, but it shouldn’t matter, does it?"
“Not at all,” said the sculptor who sensed that the Cardinal, despite what his sister said, would want the statue to have at least some resemblance to its owner. “But statues are often most appreciated when the subject has just a touch of the man who commissioned it.”
“There’s the picture from our catechism,” she said pointing to the open book on the serving table. “It’s from our childhood … quite dramatic, don’t you think?” she said tasking a seat in the armchair alongside the couch.
“This Michael is young and beautiful,” said the sculptor studying the ink drawing. The angel was stepping forward with his left foot on the ground and his right on a rock holding down a serpent underfoot. His wings were long and massive and he wielded a broad sword.
“And,” he said looking up at Michele, “if I may say, looks more like you than the cardinal.”
Michele let out a quiet laugh. “I’m less muscular.”
“Yes, madam, of course. I meant only in visage… and a bit in form. He’s tall and lean.”
“When we were children my father told us that I was born in the mold of Sophia Loren and Michel was born in the mold of Benito Mussolini, Il Duce,” she said with a smile. “He obviously saw me through father’s eyes."
Piradoux nodded, “You have the bones.” Then he turned to the drawing and studied for a few moments. I assume his hands are thick but with short fingers.”
“Yes, he’s more wide than tall.”
“Would it be all right if we kept his youth but made him somewhat shorter and wider, or would it lose its ethereal quality?”
Michele thought a moment. "I think it would be best to follow the picture as closely as we can.”
“Yes, Madam, that would be best. May I take this?”
“Of course, but it is a family heirloom.”
“I will protect it, Madam. I’ll have it for you when you come to see the wax,” he said closing the catechism carefully.
“And when will that be?”
“I’ll start immediately --- probably in a week.” He handed her his card and gave her directions to his studio.
“Shall I pay you something now?”
“That won’t be necessary, Madam,” he said rising, then added, “Perhaps for the wax now. If you like it, then I could use a payment to buy the bronze.”
As she wrote the check, Piradoux suggested that the floor where the statue was to be situated be reinforced and added, “and the lighting --- I may suggest having lights installed; it’s most, most important.”
It was five months from the time Michele first met Piradoux to the time St. Michael the Archangel stood in resplendent glory at the entry to the Cardinal’s entry.
The bronze angel with gilded wings stood on a flat unadorned pedestal only 59 centimeters high. It was inscribed on the front and on both sides as Michel had instructed. On the sides there was a sentence, part on the left side and the rest on the right side and read in Latin: "Be ready to spill blood if need be to spread the Faith. On the front of the pedestal there was single word in fine gothic print: "MICHEAL."
In his mighty right arm the fiery-eyed Adonis wielded his sword in a downward arc at the large fanged serpent beneath his foot. Above Michael’s thick leg and below his robe where his scabbard hung were two punctures dripping blood. Even the mighty Michael could not escape the ferocity of Lucifer.
The sculpture was larger than life, and all who passed were insignificant in its presence. Michel beamed.
Michel began a habit each time he passed the statue and was alone. He would reach up and place his hand over the hand of the Archangel's sensing his power over the arch fiend and deadly enemy of the Church. He did not fail to notice that the statue's hand was thick and wide, much as his own.
l
Michel Cardinal Abruzzi was motoring to Switzerland with his friend and confidant, Monsignor Joseph Montaire. Montaire was tall, a full head taller than Michel, thin to the point of boniness, and introverted. Seeing the two men together recalled Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, but the comparison stopped at the physical. Montaire was no dreamer; he had a precise intellect and the ability to manage several tasks at once without losing composure. As is often the case with such minds, however, he lacked creativity, born no doubt from an absolute fear of failure. He would rather appear ignorant than wrong, yet when asked by Michel for an opinion, he would, albeit tentatively, offer it. Michel admired his ability to strike at the heart of the matter, simply and with apparent ease. Montaire would seldom speak at meetings, which made him uncomfortable, but one on one without the fear of being challenged, he provided convergence of thought which often complimented Michel’s sometimes divergent ideas. Montaire was a proven financial wizard and a steady aide, and for that he had earned Michel’s respect and gratitude. But Michel loved his friend for his complete honesty.
Michel was to address an ecumenical symposium at the University of Geneva and asked Montaire to accompany him. As their banking was also done in Geneva, Michel would use the opportunity to send his financial officer on a private mission. He would also enjoy his company.
The trip from Paris to Geneva is about one hundred and fifty kilometers, an hour and a half to two depending on traffic. The trip is breathtaking beautiful. Geneva, an ancient city dating at least to the time of Julius Cesar, is situated on one of the large lakes in Europe between the Juras and the Alps. A short distance from Geneva is Mont-Blanc, and Michel and Montaire took time to go to see the great tourist attraction. From Mont-Blanc one could see the mountain peaks of France, Italy and Switzerland. Michel had seen it twice before as a youth, so he was the tour guide for Montaire whose frequent trips to the city were always by plane and always direct from the airport to the banking center. That summer the two men enjoyed the incomparable view that an excursion by car could provide.
Returning to the city they crossed the large Mont-Blanc Bridge and entered the area called the Old City. The streets were impossibly narrow, some unable to accommodate auto traffic, and Michel drove allowing Montaire to appreciate the quaint beauty which Michel had walked as a youth. Shops of all kinds dating back hundreds of years lined the immaculate cobblestone streets, and while the traffic was slow, it provided both driver and passenger the opportunity to appreciate the step back in time.
Michel drove along the lake shore where they had a good view of the famous Geneva water fountain, Jet d’eau, which sits alone well out into the lake pumping out a strong jet of water.
“The fountain was built over a century ago when a company put in the equipment to pump water from the lake and circulate it to customers,” said Michel acting the tour guide. “Since they didn’t need the high water pressure at night, engineers devised a method to let some water be drained out of the piping and simply allowed it to be pumped into the air.”
“It’s not terribly attractive,” said Montaire who had been told that the fountain was a must see tourist stop.
“But it is not devoid of interest,” said Michel who pressed on with his travelogue. “The original system created a water jet about a meter high which couldn't be seen in the dark of night. In the 1890’s the city added lights. The interesting aspect of Jet d'eau is that now, after several revisions over the century, the water shoots into the air about one hundred and forty meters. The pump alone uses over two thousand volts.”
“Seems a waste of electricity,” said the accountant.
“I suppose so,” Michel responded with consideration, “especially when compared to the mountains around it that rise out of the lake.”
“Perhaps you have to see it at night,” offered Montaire sensing the wind taken out of Michel’s sails.
In preparing for his lecture at the University Michel was meticulous. John Calvin had preached at Saint Peter's Cathedral in Geneva, known as the Protestant Rome, and had enormous influence on Protestantism which grew even stronger after his death in 1564. Catholics would never have been asked to speak at the University of Geneva had it not been for Pope John XXIII’s overtures to all faiths, and those Catholics who did speak there were careful not to undo the work of the most popular pope. Michel would measure his words.
Speaking without notes, as was his wont, Michel was to talk about birth control in the third world. He would defend the Church’s position against using condoms to stop the spread of AIDS. The gist of his argument was that if something is essentially wrong, it remains wrong even if there can be beneficial side effects. He would be sure to indicate that in his faith, artificial means of stopping birth is a sin. To help counter the spread of HIV, certain sera have been developed and should be used. In addition, he would point out, more research should be encouraged to find other effective antidotes.
“But in the meantime?” asked Montaire tentatively after Michel had reviewed what he was about to say. Montaire had taken over the driving and the devil’s advocacy on their way to the Crowne Plaza hotel.
“In the meantime there are effective HIV treatments.”
“But the death rate is climbing.”
“For a number of reasons,” answered Michel.
“Such as?”
“Such as ignorance; such as licentiousness; such as lack of UN resolve,” Michel answered with an open hand. “It is unjustifiable to pervert the natural law because man is weak.” He paused. “Because a human act is pragmatic it is not ipso facto a worthy act.”
“But they simply don’t believe that birth control violates the natural law, and their intention is truly noble.”
“Then they are wrong in both matters. Their understanding of the natural law is less theological than it is pragmatic, and their noble motives are not justified by their ignoble means,” Michel answered with his usual animation. “If, let’s say, a woman continually beats her child, and a neighbor wishes to protect that child. Can we condone killing the woman to stop the beatings? The intention is worthy, the action not. There are ways of protecting the child without murdering the mother as there are ways of stopping the spread of HIV without destroying life or its potential.”
“Well, I’m convinced,” said Montaire with a grin, “Now convince them.”
“Is it not one of the ironies of ecumenism that we are sure to gather regularly to convince no one but ourselves? We eat a nice meal, exchange pleasantries, and leave knowing the others will never see the light. I confess, Montaire, I don’t know what value there is in my being in Geneva or if I will ever again attend one of these things.”
“I believe you have said that before, though not as cardinal.”
“I understand the politics of it, but the morality…” Michel said gazing out his window at the bright blue sky. He saw himself standing in front of leaders of other religions and considered the whole picture, and the picture was out of focus. He began to speak and by so doing clarify the ideas that in his mind were floating cotton.
“I am convinced that morality exists only within the group --- of those who share the same tenets. Unless there is that acceptance of these principles of faith, there will never be accord. How can abortion be wrong if one does not believe that the soul exists at conception? Either we believe that life exists at conception and that life is precious, or we commit murder and tell ourselves it is for the best. It is really not open to debate; either one believes the Church is the living Christ, that its morality is that of God Himself, or one does not. It matters little what we say to the others.”
“So we pray for them,” offered Montaire flatly.
“Yes, we pray,” he said turning to his friend, “but we live in a time when prayer alone is not sufficient. We are compelled to act.”
Montaire was silent, his eyes fixed intently on the road as cars passed him on both the left and right. Good listeners allow speakers to compose their thoughts and allow them to follow the track they have begun, and Montaire was a good listener.
Michel shifted heavily in his seat. The trip was getting long, and he was getting edgy. “In truth, we stand alone. Tonight I stand alone in defending the natural law. I will say nothing that hasn’t been said before; I will change no minds; and I will be assailed --- not only at the podium tonight but also in their sermons at synagogues, and mosques, and even in the churches. Also in the press, of course, and at universities; and in the streets where they kill our nuns in the name of Allah.”
Montaire nodded in agreement as he lowered the sun visor. Michel did the same.
“As far back as Socrates it was understood that there can be no rational argument until there is agreement of terms. Many reject the notion of natural law altogether while the others define it so broadly that it includes any act in nature. By their definition homosexuality does not offend the natural law because it occurs in nature. Of course, so does rape. They further argue that it is impossible to determine what is “natural” since it depends on “individual interpretation” --- theirs, naturally. They reject Mathew that specifically says only Peter’s church has the right to make such interpretations. Without Mathew there is chaos, and that, Montaire, is what we have --- intellectual and religious chaos. Subjectivism run rampant, solipsism the norm.”
“Yes,” said Montaire. “It has always been so.”
“And what does that mean?” asked Michel. “Do we accept like the Stoics whatever befalls us?”
“There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow,” Montaire responded tentatively.
“Indeed, and if we were discussing sparrows your observation would be apt. Unfortunately we are discussing evil, the evil of subjectivism that leads ultimately to chaos and hatred. It is the devil’s province to deny divine truth, and that is where we must stand our ground and fight.”
“And so you do, when you speak at symposiums like this.”
“Please!” snapped Michel. “This is precisely not a fight --- standing there iterating time and again what they have heard for decades. What this accomplishes is the very opposite of what it is intended to do. No minds are changed, but what it does accomplish is the Church granting equal standing to the others. We reduce the Holy Mother Church to the lowest common denominator, all in an effort to find common ground!” Michel voice had become loud. “Common ground? There is no common ground. Islam does not even agree that it is wrong to kill the innocent in the name of their religion, and yet we sheepishly accord Imams the right to question the majesty of Christ.”
Montaire resisted pointing out that the alternative to ecumenism is isolation, but that was obvious, and to state it then might serve to anger Michel who needed to be at his best that evening.
They drove in silence until Michel broke it with his request. “Before we arrive, let’s get to the main reason we have driven all the way to Geneva.
“I have never told you that the seed money for my grandfather’s bank came at least in part from, let us say, less than honest means. Some of that money was in the form of a loan from Sicilian moneylenders. He paid the loan back, I learned, at considerable interest. I overheard him tell my father that for these lenders, a loan was more than a loan; they took it to mean that they became part of the business, if, of course, it became successful, as his had. And, only if they wanted out was the arrangement ended. How Grandfather Abruzzi got free of them, if ever he did, I never learned, but my father did not speak of them, nor did he seem burdened at all by them. But who knows? I know only that he sold his interest in the bank soon before he died.”
Montaire took a quick look at Michel and returned to the road.
"What I want you to do, Joseph, is this. I want you in your typically discreet manner to inquire among your associates at the Banque Financière de la Cité and at the Amas, perhaps even at Arzi, if you are still in touch with them. Find out if there have been inquires about the ownership of the two accounts, mine or my sister's? I want to know, if I can, who might be interested in the details of these accounts."
"I still have contacts at Arzi,” said Montaire with an understanding nod. “If there has been action, I believe we will learn of it.”
Montaire's job with the Abruzzi family money was simple: he was to decide in what equities the accounts should invest. As senior representative on both of them, Montaire reported semi-annually to Michel and Michele. His goal, figured on a five-year average, was not to lose more than two percent in any year while seeing that each account gain five percent per year, after an annual withdrawal of one-half million American dollars.
Michel retired early after the dinner. It was, he had decided, his final appearance at such a colloquy, especially after noting that he had been the highest-ranking church official present. To give the weight of his office to such a sham was particularly repellent.
While Michel spoke, Montaire made calls to the two associates for whom he had phone numbers. Neither was able to confirm any interest in the accounts. He was at the Amas bank at opening and learned that as with the others, no one had inquired about the accounts and was assured that even if there had been an attempt to get information, none would have been offered. That Monsieur Baume, Montaire’s contact at the bank, offered that bit of information gave him pause. Nevertheless, he told Michel that it was unlikely that information was asked for and most unlikely that it was given.
l
The return trip was made under threatening skies but even so was beautiful in its own way. The mountains were more imposing against the dark gray sky, and that made returning to Paris from their two-day sojourn more comforting.
The men spoke little on their way home as Michel anticipated the arrival of his weekend visitor. Michel was to receive the noted Jesuit theologian, Avery Dulles, and he had plans for the American. Michel hoped to engage the Fordham University Professor in a discussion of the moral aspects of the Crusades, the history of which Michel had become particularly interested. He wanted to learn from Dulles his views on the morality of the Crusades as well as the criteria of a just war. The American theologian’s position might prove useful in providing additional weaponry for his campaign. Even were the criteria for a just war more binding than his own might be, Michel would obtain advance knowledge of the arguments he would have to overcome.
It had been Michel’s habit to make notes of his research, most often in margins of texts but sometimes in notebooks devoted to the subject. The Crusades was a topic that merited its own notebook. In his notes he opined that the time of the Crusades, from 1095 to 1270, was a period of Church history about which it should be proud. It has been a mistake of history to label the period a time of Church ignominy. There had been evil done in the name of good, to be sure, but he believed the effort to free the Eastern Church from Muslim marauders was not only justified but required. The period of the Crusades was a time when the Church identified a great wrong against Christianity and took positive and forceful action to right the wrong. Strong Christians spilled blood to spread the Faith. As Michael the Archangel did battle with the devil in heaven, the faithful did battle with the devil on earth.
In one of his pages, Michel wrote:
"If Islam leaders declare a Jihad against Christians and others they consider infidels, they obviously believe their violence justified. Would it not be a just war to defend ourselves in battle? If they threaten our very existence, as indeed they do, is not our obligation to resist? Christianity will soon need to face this challenge directly and with force. Not to stop the slaughter of innocents is feckless and an homage to our lassitude born of comfort."
It was Michel’s plan as Cardinal, over time but deliberately, to move the Church from the effete to the effectual and so recapture its historical role as proud defenders of the Faith. He had no doubt that his Church was a failing institution moving to the Third World where there was less resistance while ceding its position of greatness in the First.
On another page in his notebook he drafted a letter he thought he might eventually send to other Cardinals asking for advice and comments.
My Dear Brethren in Christ:
As we know, the Church stands at a precipice perhaps deeper and more challenging than any ever faced in the two thousand years of its history. There are living among us men and women of no faith who would do everything in their power to see the Church divided and to see the Faith lost. Also among us are radical adherents of other religions who teach that the way to eternal life is through the killing of our sheep. Of what value is a shepherd who only meekly objects to his flock’s slaughter? These elements have openly declared war on us, and we pray that secular forces, many of whom are actively engaged in our demise, will defend us --- the same secular forces which have failed to derail organizations dedicated to murder, prostitution, the selling of drugs and even trafficking in human beings.
To see these evils is added the harrowing truth that radical Muslims are growing ever stronger and more lethal in directing their youth. And all this in the face of dwindling church attendance and falling vocations.
What, my fellow soldiers of Christ, must we do? Is there no action to be taken by the defenders of the faith? Do we sit comfortably in our parishes going on with deaf ears and atrophied nerves while the dogs of war bark and tear at our very limbs?”
Up to that point, Michel’s call to action was a secret plan that was to be unraveled slowly and with care. On one level, intellectually, he was confident that he was correct: the Church had to change in order to survive the attacks against it. That his plan would meet with strong objection and that he would likely fail to convince the others did not mean he was in error. His superior intelligence and popularity among sheep and shepherds alike were gifts from God, and he was convinced he would not have been granted such gifts if the Lord had not wanted him to use them. He had become a Prince of the Church, one of many, but he believed honestly that he was superior to most if not all of the others. He was obliged to do battle with them, to move the other princes to action despite their aversion to it. His years of study, his honest prayer, and his complete devotion to God and to his church was evidence of his fitness to go forward.
Yet as Michel looked up from his writing with a vacant stare, there was doubt. It was not doubt that he might be wrong but that he might be driven by hubris.
There are two levels of consciousness, a steady stream of thought and a super level, one less linear, less pronounced, but just as palpable. That super level of thought is not conscience, the Freudian super-ego, but rather a metacognitive train of thought that evaluates the first level of thinking. When there is concurrence of the two levels, we are unaware of the super level, but when the two levels diverge, the super level makes itself known. Michel was painfully aware that for him these two levels of consciousness were not functioning in unison. Was his plan wrought by pure judgment of what was best for the Church or was it wrought by a prideful desire to distinguish himself from the others? For the intellectually gifted, pride is a particular disability. It was, after all, the pride of Lucifer that led Michael the Archangel to drive him into perdition.
Still, there was strong reason for Michel to subjugate the super level in favor of the logical, steady steam. Michel Cardinal Abruzzi had gained popularity, not only with his flock, but also with other clergy, especially in Europe and America. It had started, of course, at the time of the "miracle." The international press followed for years the man whose hand was severed but who miraculously gained nearly complete use of his hand again. Always Cardinal Abruzzi's name was mentioned.
At home he was admired for being a Cardinal of the people and was often seen in public among them, at their simple church services on any given Sunday, at their football games, and in their hospitals giving special blessings.
His fellow Cardinals too admired him. They thought of him as a good and loving shepherd as well as a first class intellect. The other and older French Cardinals openly admired Michel's good work, and his pastoral influence and his writings did not go unnoticed in Rome. He was considered a cardinal of the people with a stern attitude toward what he termed “metastasizing secularism.” Since Vatican II, Church attendance throughout the western world was declining and the number of vocations dwindling at an alarming rate. Secularism and decadence was spreading unchecked, and Michel spoke out against it often and with vigor. Some members of the College of Cardinals agreed among themselves with Catholic publishers that Michel Cardinal Abruzzi was a possible papal candidate.
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