-Caveat Lector-

excerpts from:
La Popesa
Paul I. Murphy©1983
w/R. Rene Arlington.
Warner Books
ISBN
0-446-51258-3
--[1]--
An interesting book. A bio of Sister Pascalina, girl Friday to a
Monsignor/Cardinal Pacelli, who was the Vatican's Secretary of State, then
Pope Pius XII. Knights of Malta, mafia, fascists, big bucks and more. Thanks,
Jim. As always, Caveat Lector.
Om
K
-----
 VI

"We sail for the United States under a cloud of suspicion," Pascalina wrote in
her diary their first night at sea aboard the Italian liner Conte di Savoia on
its maiden voyage from Naples to New York.

Many serious reasons-political and personal-compelled Pacelli publicly to
minimize the significance of the trip. "I am going to America simply on a
vacation," he told the Associated Press in an interview before they sailed. "I
have a great longing to see the United States." In response to reporters'
questions the secretary of state added, "There is no political aspect to my
trip whatever."

But The New York Times and other papers around the world were not convinced
that the Vatican secretary of state would make a historic journey at so
crucial a time in Church history merely for enjoyment. Pacelli was too
responsible, in the press's view, to leave Rome and travel to a foreign land
for an extended period with the Pope in his late seventies and not in the best
health.

Punching holes in the papal announcement that the trip was purely for
pleasure, the Times said that Pacelli was forced to come to America because of
a serious rift that had been developing between the Holy See and the Roosevelt
administration. "He will most certainly visit President Roosevelt," the paper
reported of Pacelli's visit, "and is also expected to investigate the
situation brought about by the Reverend Charles E. Coughlin's radio attacks
against President Roosevelt." The Times further claimed that their
undercurrent of difficulties had finally reached crisis proportions.

The trouble between Church and state had started a few years earlier when a
priest from Canada, bent upon destroying Franklin D. Roosevelt and the New
Deal, took to a radio microphone in Detroit, Michigan, and began attacking the
new President, calling him "a liar," a double-crosser," and "an upstart
dictator in the White House." Though decidedly out of line with the Holy See's
hands-off policies in politics, the rebel priest—Father Charles E. Coughlin so
inflamed emotions among Catholics throughout the United States that he began
to politicize the nation and the Church itself in America.

As mail poured in to the priest—sometimes as many as 350,000 letters in a
single week and almost all supportive—the radio priest, as Coughlin became
known, kept up his tirade against FDR. Every Sunday afternoon from his Shrine
of the Little Flower in Royal Oak, Michigan, the cleric addressed the nation
for a full hour over a growing network of stations. His followers increased
rapidly into the millions, and by the time Roosevelt sought reelection in
1936, the priest's influence on the Catholic vote was considerable.

Though FDR's New Deal policies had the blessing of the nation's vast army of
liberals, millions of conservatives saw their personal freedoms threatened and
were in a crusading mood. For a President whose strategy was to rule through
his hold upon the country's combined minorities, the Catholic vote was
essential. It was this crucial vote, which Coughlin claimed as his, that posed
such a serious threat to Roosevelt. A poll published by the Literary Digest,
the leading news magazine at the time, not only had the Democratic President's
reelection in doubt but predicted his Republican opponent, Governor Alfred M.
Landon of Kansas, as the winner by a landslide.

The Vatican anguished in silence, torn by its strong affinity toward Roosevelt
and by fear of Father Coughlin, who—though merely a priest in the Holy See's
lowliest ranks—had taken extreme hold upon much of the Catholic mind in
America. At the time that Coughlin first came upon the scene in the early
1930s, the Vatican and the White House were seen as having never been closer.
Anxious to continue to build his bridges with American Catholics, FDR had
proposed a plan with Catholic leaders for formal recognition by Washington of
the Vatican as an independent state. The President himself had been quietly
conferring with Joseph P. Kennedy, later to become ambassador to the Court of
St. James, and with Bishop Francis J. Spellman, FDR's favorite Catholic
churchman at the time,*[*During World War I, when FDR was assistant secretary
of the Navy and Spellman was a priest in Boston, Roosevelt had thought so
little of Spellman that he refused the cleric's request for a simple
chaplaincy. After Spellman later appealed, FDR, aggravated by Spellman's
persistent brashness, went out of his way to block the priest's appointment.]
since he was the Vatican secretary of state's intimate friend and choice
confidant in the United States. It was important to the Church that Roosevelt
be reelected, for it appeared that only a short time remained before an
exchange of diplomats between the White House and the papacy would become
official.

Not only had the radio priest driven a wedge into the Church-state diplomatic
discussions, but the Holy See itself started to suffer serious financial
reverses because of Coughlin. Catholics by the millions began pouring dollars
by the tens of millions into support of Coughlin, diverting to the priest
funds they would ordinarily have given to the Church. A serious rift within
the Holy See's membership appeared when American Catholics in ever-increasing
numbers became convinced that Father Coughlin expressed far more interest in
their welfare than their local clergy, whose passive, neutral sermons were
condemned as being more boring than inspiring.

The Catholic hierarchy in the United States for the most part was incensed by
Coughlin's rise to power, but few of the clergy dared to speak out publicly.
The only prelate to have had the nerve to denounce Coughlin from the altar was
William Cardinal O'Connell, archbishop of Boston and dean of the American
hierarchy. The old cardinal was so enraged at seeing collections in his own
diocese drop drastically that he called the radio priest a "demagogue" from
the pulpit of the Cathedral of the Holy Cross in Boston and ordered his flock
to stop listening to the rabble-rousing cleric and send him no more money. But
O'Connell's emotional attack backfired considerably, as droves of Catholics
were infuriated that a prelate would publicly denounce one of his own kind,
and they openly sided with Coughlin. The crusading priest's rectory quickly
overflowed with mailbags loaded with contributions as gifts to the Holy See
dropped even more drastically.

Not surprisingly, The New York Times theorized that Pacelli would "convey to
President Roosevelt formal assurances that the attacks made against him by
Coughlin have received no encouragement from the Vatican," going on to say
that Pacelli's planned visit with the President was expected to "separate the
Vatican's responsibilities from Father Coughlin and prove to the world that
the Catholic Church as a body is in no way hostile to the policies with which
President Roosevelt is identified."

In the Times's view the Church, though walking a tightrope with its
traditional neutral stand, was implying endorsement of Roosevelt's reelection
to the presidency. In return the Holy See expected

Washington officially to recognize the Vatican as an independent state.

On the day Pacelli sailed, Bishop Spellman met secretly with the President in
the White House to arrange a meeting between the two leaders. Since it was
only a few weeks to the November presidential election, Pacelli, as secretary
of state of a neutral religious state, had to exercise extreme diplomacy and
not imply any leaning toward Roosevelt by the Holy See. For the Church to side
with any candidate in any election was to open itself to charges of
impropriety. But now-in the heat of emotions stirred by Coughlin against the
Democratic administration-even the slightest show of goodwill by the Vatican
toward FDR would prove all the more explosive. Pacelli thought of his dilemma
as "the sword of Damocles," for if he were to say anything either way-in favor
of Roosevelt or against the radio priest-during his trip to America, the Holy
See would be in for serious, far-reaching consequences.

Spellman appeared out of breath when he finally contacted the secretary of
state aboard ship; the American bishop's words were infused with ominous
overtones. He reported that the President was in a rage over Father Coughlin.
FDR was convinced, he said, that the priest's increasing attacks against him
were making their mark and had already turned millions of Catholics against
his New Deal. Roosevelt was certain that he'd suffer great losses, as a
result, at the polls in November.

Prior to Pacelli's leaving Rome, Spellman had told him how important it was to
appease the President. He had expressed the opinion that though the Holy See
could not endorse Roosevelt, Pacelli had at least to meet with him. Pacelli
had agreed, but had insisted that everything be kept entirely undercover with
absolutely no leaks; that meant even Spellman's own talk with Roosevelt must
be off the record.

"The President arranged the visit so that no journalists or anyone outside of
the President's immediate household knows of my visit," the bishop reassured
Pacelli in their shore-to-ship conversation. But as they hung up matters still
remained unresolved. Never before had the Church in the new world been in such
great internal turmoil, and the Holy Father expected Pacelli, as secretary of
state, to cool down this boiling pot of political emotions. Rome's problem was
now Pacelli's predicament.

To add to their concern and frustrations, Pacelli and Pascalina had their own
personal worries. Both wondered how impulsive they had been in having her
along with him on a trip that drew so much attention from the press. They had
been together for nearly twenty years and often had quietly vacationed with
each other without drawing public criticism. Always she had traveled with him
in utmost secrecy and had remained a mystery, as unheard-of to the outside
world as if she had never existed. But only they alone knew the full extent of
the care and cleverness that were required to protect their reputations.

It has always been grounds for gossip when a nun vacations with an ordinary
cleric. But for a prelate of Pacelli's stature to defy convention and travel
with a nun on a historic mission-this rash act was a glaring invitation to
scandal. The implications were all the greater because of Edward VIII's
present embarrassing entanglement with Wallis Warfield Simpson. At that very
time the king was being besieged in headlines because of his anticipated
abdication to marry the woman he loved. The public was so emotionally
intrigued by the royal scandal that Pascalina began to envision the
possibilities of the press speculating about Pacelli and herself in the very
same light.

She was confident that officials of the Holy See, were they to find out about
her going along, would never breathe a word to the press or to any outsider.
But had anyone of authority within the papacy learned the truth before they
sailed, he would have tried mightily to dissuade Pacelli, for the Vatican was
inordinately sensitive to Pascalina's potentially explosive role.

Neither had expected the rush of reporters who turned out for their sailing,
and the nun and the prelate concluded, with much despair, that they had become
overly confident in themselves. It was only after anxiety, prayer, and cold
fear that Pascalina believed no one among the press was about to ask any hard
questions about her. In fact, the journalists seemed oblivious to her
traveling at Pacelli's side.

Pacelli had chosen the Conte di Savoia with the understanding that the owners
would protect his privacy. But when an official Of the line leaked the news
and allowed the press aboard ship to interview him, the prelate had become so
piqued that he threatened to cancel their reservations and sail aboard the
Queen Mary, the huge new Cunard liner that had recently made its own maiden
voyage to the United States.

pps 114-119

=====

Choosing the right moment, Pacelli read from a carefully prepared statement:

Despite the private character of my visit I know well that I am expected to
make my little contribution to the representatives of the Press as a sort of
"journalistic tax of entry" into the United States. Accordingly, I am happy to
be able to say that the Holy Father in the midst of the heavy burdens of his
apostolic office, with youthful energy and untiring devotion, ever labors by
every means in his power to extend to all peoples and all nations in their
present difficulties the incomparable aid and encouragement found only in the
teachings of Christ.

The press's quite different view of Pacelli's arrival was expressed by Barrett
McGurn, a news reporter who subsequently covered the
Vatican throughout Pacelli's reign as Pius XII.

"One of my first assignments as a reporter on a New York newspaper had been to
join the crew of ships' news photographers and writers on a chill morning in
1936, sailing down New York Harbor to interview the Cardinal Secretary of
State," McGurn wrote.

We scrambled up the gangplank as the ocean liner docked ... ducked through
narrow hallways and up stairwells. The Cardinal awaited us in one of the
broader corridors. The Vatican dignitary ... smiled cordially but a shade
coolly, inviting none of the rough camaraderie which the ultra democratic
ships' reporters and cameramen considered their privilege. There was a
continental air of courtesy and dignity which impressed and somewhat repressed
all of us.

Pacelli was withdrawn throughout his interview. Aides said he was not the
person the world thought him to be. Some of his most intimate collaborators
said that he was bafflingly difficult for even them to penetrate to the depths
of his soul.

There was reason to suspect that the Vatican prelate, the main assistant of
Pope Pius XI, had come to silence the Michigan priest [Father Coughlin] and to
take the Catholic Church out of the American [presidential] campaign.

The interview was over in minutes. The Cardinal handed out a prepared
statement. It told us that he was on vacation and that he was excited at the
thought of seeing such a dynamic and important new part of the world as the
United States had become. There was no word about the Michigan radio orator.

The deans of our press group tried a few questions about the Detroit priest,
but a distant, inscrutable and determined smile was the only reply. The round-
cheeked young American Monsignor [Spellman] at the Cardinal's side found it
unneccessary to do any coaching. It was evident that in helping with the
cautiously nonpolitical statement, the American priest had already given ample
and shrewd advice.

Dealing with us in that unsatisfactory interview had been two of the most
dominant figures of American and world Catholicism of the generation then
rising.

Despite all the front-page coverage and the explicit detail with which the
cardinal secretary of state's arrival was noted in the press, no mention was
made of Pascalina.

At the precise moment when all attention was upon Governor Herbert Lehman and
Mayor Fiorello La Guardia as they emerged through the gathering of Church
dignitaries to kiss Pacelli's ring, Pascalina stepped unnoticed from the ship,
going alone, swiftly and quietly, down the gangplank. Not once during all the
fanfare of welcome had she emerged into the spotlight, and never for a moment
was she missed. No one had needed to conceal her presence, for she was fully
intent upon remaining inconspicuous. Everyone, even roving, suspicious
reporters who caught a glimpse of her, thought of the nun as merely a lowly
servant, perhaps present to serve Pacelli a cup of coffee.

As the cardinal secretary of state and his imposing entourage later sped off
in a trail of sleek limousines, amid the blaring sirens of motorcycle police,
Pascalina was driven away in a small black Ford.

Bishop Spellman had thoughtfully reserved the car for her. She was ever
grateful for all Spellman's little courtesies, a delightful quality of the
man. She understood too why he had ignored her presence on the liner, a wise
move that her cautious German mind fully appreciated.

While Pacelli paid an official visit to the Madison Avenue residence of New
York's Archbishop Cardinal Patrick Hayes, the nun went directly to the Long
Island residence of wealthy Duchess Genevieve Brady.

Pascalina had never seen anything quite like Inisfada, the Brady estate in
fashionable Manhasset, New York, except among the palaces of the Vatican
itself. It was well after sundown when she arrived, and the long, winding
driveway leading to the imposing mansion was lined with hundreds of towering
candles flickering in the breeze of the calm fall night.

As she entered the castle-like residence there was a welcoming backdrop of
flowers, and the soft, pleasant scent of roses. Scores of guests had already
assembled, among them politicians, philanthropists, and business tycoons,
surrounded by adoring women dressed lavishly in feathers and furs.
Interspersed among this noisily chattering assemblage of the elite were
cardinals and archbishops and bishops in brilliant cinctures and silk
ferraiolone.

A poised lady of wealth and class, obviously Duchess Brady, was receiving her
guests in the great hall beneath a masterpiece depicting Christ and the
Blessed Virgin.

To Pascalina's critical, no-nonsense mind, everyone seemed too giddy and too
well taken care of. The sipping of drinks, the mindless chatter, the too easy
laughter, the blast of organ music, all grated the nun. This was going to be a
trying night of frivolity.

At first glance Pascalina knew that she wasn't going to like Duchess Brady,
nor did she expect to get along with the high-powered socialite. For years the
nun had been hearing stories from members of the Vatican hierarchy of "how
wonderful and kind" the wealthy, middle-aged American heiress was. It seemed
so false, even disgusting, to Pascalina that Genevieve Garvan Brady was
idolized by the higher-ups of the clergy. She never had doubts about the
churchmen's motives. The Duchess was fawned over with such extreme attention
by the hierarchy simply because she had inherited more than $50 million from
her late husband, Nicholas Brady.

The socially fast-moving Bradys had summered year after year in Rome and had
become the darlings of the Vatican's cardinals and archbishops. For years they
had wined and dined the richly robed prelates at their splendid Casa del Sole
estate atop the Janiculum hill. Even in the early days, during the 1920s,
Genevieve and Nicholas Brady, he a convert to Catholicism, were whispered to
be extremely generous to the Church. Genevieve in particular was especially
flush with expensive gifts to her favorites among the cardinals and
archbishops.

        Pascalina wondered what it was about Duchess Brady that instinc-
        tively brought out all the false attention by the Vatican hierarchy.

At first sight the nun thought the woman seemed too intelligent to delude
herself by basking in such foolishness. But what bothered Pascalina even more
was the hierarchy's way of bowing to the Duchess, instead of it being the
other way around, as it always was with those without wealth or influence.

Spellman, a pet of Mrs. Brady's since his early days in Rome, had been at the
root of influencing Pacelli and Pius XI to find some means of conferring honor
upon the woman. The papacy had then proceeded to order the Knights of Malta,
the Church's highest laymen's organization, to make Mrs. Brady a Dame of
Malta; later she was given the papal title of duchess.

At a time when Pacelli seemed most vulnerable to criticism, Pascalina
confronted him squarely about the appellation. "What significance in the eyes
of God does the title of duchess have?" she asked forthrightly. Pacelli was
caught entirely off guard and replied rather sheepishly, "It's merely to
please a whim of Genevieve's."

Pascalina was repulsed. As a nun, and like so many others in religious life,
she had always worked herself to the bone. But not for a moment did she expect
temporal trappings, or empty rewards.

"Ridiculous!" Pascalina muttered to herself as she turned away. She was
speaking of people who she thought were too much into themselves, as well as
of those who contributed to their pamperings.

The nun was barely inside the spacious marbled entranceway of the grand estate
when Duchess Brady came rushing to her side.

"My dear Mother Pascalina!" the woman of title exclaimed, her exuberance too
effervescent for the nun. "What an unexpected pleasure! I hadn't thought you
were allowed to travel with His Eminence."

The Duchess was saying all the wrong things. If there was one word that irked
Pascalina, it was being called "Mother." Though a nun was not supposed to
dwell upon age and beauty, Pascalina's pride in her appearance remained as
intense as any woman's. She knew she was beautiful, and to show herself off,
she carried her person with grace and great poise. Now that she was at the
menopause, she didn't need Duchess Brady to label her "Mother," a term
reserved for old nuns.

Pascalina nodded in greeting and presented a half smile, but her manner could
easily be taken as aloof and her words, though pleasant, were coolly reserved.
The nun was the most attractive woman present, certainly younger-looking and
far more fetching than the Duchess. She was as human as anyone, and it pleased
her ego that men still noticed her radiance. How much nicer, she thought, to
be admired as a person than to be sought out for money or influence.

But those were sinful thoughts for a nun to indulge in, she realized, and for
the moment she felt ashamed. In a flash Pascalina shook all vanity from her
mind. She was there to do her job as Pacelli's protectress, and was hard on
herself for forgetting.

After engaging in the necessary amenities and brief exchange of pleasantries,
she was impatient to get on with her responsibilities.

"I would like to see Eminence's quarters," Pascalina told the Duchess-, her
air of authority quite apparent. "I travel with Eminence for he has been
straining himself too much with work. His health is frail. As you know, I am
Eminence's housekeeper, and my one great responsibility is to see that no one
imposes upon his holy spirit. He must get his rest, and not be bothered with
frivolity."

Pascalina's tone was deliberately biting, even though she knew it would have
been wiser to be less difficult under the circumstances. Certainly it would
have been easier for all, she realized, if she had been more extroverted and
pleasant. But the nun was so filled with nervous energy, so anxious to get
everything done in exact order for the 'arrival of the cardinal secretary of
state, she found it almost impossible to behave otherwise. Then, too, there
was something about Duchess Brady that made it impossible for Pascalina to
relax and smile.

Like a stately queen, Pascalina moved quickly through the flatteringly
attentive circle of guests, with barely a nod and a smile. All heads turned to
follow the haughty nun with the gorgeous ivory skin as she went directly
upstairs.

Pascalina's deliberately scrupulous examination of Pacelli's quarters proved
deflating to her pride. It was abundantly evident that the Duchess had gone to
great lengths in making certain that everything was in perfect order. The
arrangements of red and white roses, Pacelli's favorites, and the burning
vigil lights upon the small altar specially constructed at the far end of the
spacious room could not have been more cleverly inspired. There was absolutely
nothing Pascalina. could find fault with, or that needed her own painstaking
touch. It seemed the Duchess was as much a mother figure as Pascalina herself.

The nun's most crushing blow came later that night when the Duchess personally
escorted the cardinal secretary of state to his quarters. If they had been
back in the Papal Palace, Pacelli, who was so often withdrawn and
unappreciative when they were alone, would have overlooked all the effort
Pascalina had put into enlivening his quarters. But his whole attitude with
Duchess Brady was just the opposite.

"Oh, Duchess, everything is so beautiful"' the cardinal secretary of state
exuded. For the moment Pascalina wished that she weren't a nun and Pacelli a
great prelate.

"I would have gone in there and given His Eminence a piece of my mind," she
recalled years later, a reflective smile lighting her face.

For nearly twenty years her life with Pacelli had been constantly motivated by
Church tradition and principle. As a devoted nun, she fully understood that it
would have shocked all sensibilities for her to be prominently seen in public
with the prelate. It was not unexpected or unusual, therefore, for Pacelli to
tell Pascalina to remain at the Duchess's estate and keep out of sight as much
as possible during this period in the center of the international spotlight.

In the immediate days ahead the nun remained mostly by herself, praying and
meditating, away from the people with whom she felt so uneasy. Pacelli was
off, in the meanwhile, seeing New York City with Spellman and visiting members
of the American hierarchy in the tri-state area of New York, New Jersey, and
Connecticut.

"Eminence went to the top of Empire State Building today," Pascalina wrote.
"When he returned tonight, he looked like a small boy, so excited, telling me
how far off he could see through telescope.... Eminence plans many sight-
seeing trips: Liberty Bell, Washington, D.C., where he will address National
Press Club; Notre Dame to receive honorary degree, Boulder Dam, Grand Canyon,
Hollywood (to watch movies being made), Niagara Falls. I am most happy because
Eminence is so happy."

But the cardinal secretary of state's mission was not all pleasure. In the
three weeks that followed, Pascalina saw little of Pacelli as he crisscrossed
the United States by chartered plane. The busy, anxious prelate covered
sixteen thousand miles, met in serious confidential session with seventy-nine
bishops, and was afterward dubbed by the world press as "the flying cardinal."

She had her suspicions of the political wheeling and dealing that Pacelli was
up to. But it wasn't until he said he was taking her by limousine to Boston
for a special hush-hush meeting with William Cardinal O'Connell that Pascalina
knew for certain their visit to the United States had far graver implications
than even she had guessed.

For years Cardinal O'Connell, who ruled with absolute command over the minds
and lives of the Boston Irish, had intrigued Pascalina. She had never met the
legendary O'Connell, whose power over the Church in America was then so great
that he would not come to Rome. Though he was never officially called to the
Vatican in all the years of Pius XI's reign, the prelate previously had always
found some excuse to make periodic visits to the Eternal City. The Vatican now
felt it was wise-because of the Roosevelt-Coughlin feud-to seek audience with
the towering and resonant O'Connell. The Pope had advised Pacelli that he'd
better confer with the prelate and let him know that the papacy was entirely
behind him over Coughlin.

Whenever the nun had heard the Boston cardinal's name mentioned by any of the
Vatican hierarchy, it was as if the talk centered about another pope, a
greater and more powerful Church ruler than Rome could remember. Though
O'Connell's domain was a single American diocese, this thundering, autocratic
cardinal archibishop was a Church law unto himself. In the eyes of many,
O'Connell considerably dwarfed Pius XI as a man and as an influence, and to
many he seemed a threat to Christ Himself.

At first Pascalina could not reconcile what it was about O'Connell's strange,
sometimes un-Christlike way that stirred such fascination. Everything she had
heard about the aging cardinal archbishop was so unlike Pacelli, the only man
for whom she felt love and great respect. In many ways O'Connell denigrated
the very elements that so attracted her to Pacelli. She knew that the Boston
cardinal was widely disliked among liberals, mainly because of his bard
coercion of Catholics. O'Connell's way was to whip the minds of the Boston
Irish into a fanatical belief in Christ; to instill obsessive fear of Almighty
God and the specter of hell,

Pacelli's manner was quite the opposite. His was the diplomat's technique of
gently steering Catholics into love for Jesus, and he had turned the hearts of
millions with his suave way.

The two cardinals were as physically different as they were temperamentally
apart. Pacelli was frail and gave the appearance of an extremely devout
figure. O'Connell stood huge and tough, Pascalina's idea of a two-fisted Irish
labor leader of the era, always ready to stand ground against man or
institution.

There was, however, one common denominator, other than the wearing of the red
hat, that connected the two prelates and drew in Pascalina. Strangely, both
men had a sometimes crippling mother complex. The nun easily identified with
their obsessions. She, too, was possessed by a weakness of her own, a passion
to mother extraordinary men. Could that be the reason, she wondered, that she
was so anxious to meet Cardinal O'Connell?

During the drive to Boston in a limousine arranged for by Duchess Brady,
Pascalina, sensed an unusual uneasiness on Pacelli's part. She felt that he
had taken her along as moral support for his planned encounter with O'Connell.
Bishop Spellman rode with them, and he, too, seemed fidgety. Cardinal
O'Connell was Spellman's superior, and even though Spellman was very close to
the Pope and Pacelli, his life under O'Connell had become exceedingly trying.

Cardinal O'Connell had never wanted Spellman to be auxiliary bishop of his
diocese. But Pius XI had finally become fed up with the arrogant prelate and
was determined to tweak the old man's nose by

forcing Spellman upon him. The Pontiff had consecrated Spellman bishop of
Boston in 1932, granting him the right of succession to the post of archbishop
upon O'Connell's retirement or death. From that day on Spellman found himself
"in the terrible middle" between the pope and the Boston cardinal,

Even though he had the robes and authority of bishop, Spellman admitted during
the drive that he was being humiliated by O'Connell at the slightest pretense.
The bishop pulled from his pocket a memo by the cardinal and nervously read it
aloud.

"I trust it will not be wasted advice to suggest to you ... not to allow
yourself to get any false conception of your importance," the cardinal had
advised the bishop. "One of your recent letters to me savored of arrogance, a
quality which ill befits a subordinate."

Hours later, when Cardinal Archbishop O'Connell stood in the impressive
archway of his palatial residence on Boston's fashionable Commonwealth Avenue,
beaming an exuberant greeting upon Pacelli, Spellman, and herself, everything
Pascalina had heard about the prelate suddenly seemed absurd. She was
overwhelmed by the graciousness of O'Connell's manner and the charisma that
flowed easily from this most unusual man.

Could this prelate possibly be the cardinal archbishop who had so bitterly
contested the election of Pius XI at the conclave of 1922, she thought to
herself? Years before, Pacelli had told her that O'Connell had boldly accused
his predecessor, Cardinal Secretary of State Gasparri, of deliberately rigging
the papal elections in favor of Achille Ratti, the present Pope.

"This is a great disappointment!" O'Connell had defiantly told Gasparri at the
time, referring to Ratti's election as Pontiff. Pius XI had never forgotten
the unprecedented insult. O'Connell had remained just as bitter and had kept
mostly aloof from the Vatican in the fourteen years that followed.

Ironically, Rome had once been O'Connell's place of great joy. In his early
life he had spent six years in the Eternal City as rector of the North
American College. But during the reign of Pius XI the animosity on both sides
had steadily grown.

"Let malicious tongues wag!" O'Connell had once written Spellman in response
to the Vatican's criticisms of the scandals within his Boston archdiocese.
"What do they really matter," the prelate added, his rancor mounting against
his Vatican critics. "Boston seems to be the butt of jealous maleficence from
the incompetent and the jealous minded, who can only pull down, never build
anything, not even build a Christian conscience."

Finally, after all the years of animosity, the papacy and O'Connell were drawn
together in 1936 by a common enemy, Father Charles Coughlin, the radio priest.

In Pascalina's estimation O'Connell could not have been more indulgent toward
Pacelli. The aged cardinal even went out of his way to flatter Spellman, and
she felt O'Connell was being especially ingratiating toward her. The prelate
had the reputation of treating nuns like so much chattel, yet he insisted upon
sitting down at his grand piano to play a delightful minuet, which he claimed
he himself had composed and was dedicating to her.

As if O'Connell's artistic flourishes weren't surprise enough, Pascalina
actually felt the shock running through Pacelli when the Boston cardinal began
reading aloud a screenplay he had written for Greta Garbo, his favorite
actress.

Bishop Spellman sat nervously on the edge of his seat throughout the reading,
appearing to be entirely engrossed as O'Connell rambled on, page after page.
Knowing Spellman's character so well, Pascalina realized it was easy for the
jolly bishop to chuckle at the least provocation. She was sure that
O'Connell's peculiar behavior was tickling Spellman's funny bone. He looked
like he was about to burst into laughter at any moment, and she could see how
terrified he was for fear of no longer being able to control himself.

All idle chatter ended after dinner, though, when O'Connell's legendary and
demanding pomposity took full command. They were in the library at the time,
sipping brandy, and Pascalina's presence was explained by Pacelli as for the
purpose of taking notes.

It was all very direct and quite brief. Pacelli had come to the United States
upon demand by Cardinal O'Connell and President Roosevelt to silence Father
Coughlin. FDR had insisted for months prior to the election that the Vatican
take firm action against the radio priest. But it was O'Connell, seeing his
own power seriously challenged and his treasury less endowed, who had placed
the greatest demands upon the papacy to dispense with Coughlin.

There was no doubt in Pascalina's mind, after listening to Pacelli's recital
to the Boston cardinal of his secret talks with seventy-nine American bishops,
why O'Connell had been So ingratiating that evening. Pacelli had done a
splendid job of undercutting Coughlin among the entire Catholic hierarchy of
the United States.

It was as if the board of a major corporation had met behind closed doors-the
verdict was that clear. Upstart Coughlin, no matter the nature or substance of
the issues, was out. The public was to be given a veiled excuse for the radio
priest's exit, with Coughlin himself elected to do the explaining. As far as
the press and public were concerned, Pacelli would steadfastly maintain that
he had "a pleasant and blessed vacation in the United States."

As Archbishop Cardinal O'Connell walked Pacelli, Pascalina, and Spellman to
their car, his loyal black Scottie barking away by his cane, the nun easily
understood why O'Connell had become such a power. Once a desperately poor boy
of Irish immigrant parents and now a multimillionaire, he was a complex man of
nerve and gall, a doer and a survivor.

Known as "Gangplank Bill" by his detractors because he was so often seen
boarding or departing pleasure craft to or from the Bahamas, the cardinal had
his darker side. He had suffered three nervous breakdowns. His nephew,
Monsignor J.P.E. O'Connell, whom the cardinal had made chancellor of the
Boston archdiocese, was forced out of the Church in disgrace because of a
sordid sex scandal. But worse still, a bizarre murder had been committed in
the cardinal's own household by one of the male staff.

O'Connell had boldly exercised his immense power to suppress these shadowy
happenings in the Boston media.

Because the encounter with the old prelate had been terribly strained at
times, Pascalina afterward was grateful that Spellman had been along. She had
never known anyone with a more adroit knack for easing the most unpleasant
situations. If it had been just Pacelli and herself, she knew, they would have
remained tense for hours.

They were scarcely settled in the limousine when Spellman put Pacelli and
herself on an entirely different track. The bishop used all manner of
lighthearted persuasion on Pacelli to make the hour's drive down to his
hometown in Whitman. Spellman was practically pleading to show off the "quite
elegant" residence that he had built for his family. Though he was now the
famous auxiliary bishop of Boston,. she realized he still had a very keen
desire, like so many people who came from simple stock, to show the world that
they had arrived. Coming from a humble life herself, she could see how
important it was to Spellman for the cardinal secretary of state to visit his
home. Ever since she had met Spellman, he had spoken proudly of his family's
livelihood being derived solely from a small grocery store.

"Eminence, we go to Whitman," Pascalina urged Pacelli, wanting so much to
please Spellman. "It will do us all good to relax," she added, gently patting
Pacelli's hand.

The cardinal secretary of state was still in a dark mood, but she had seen him
in far worse states of mind and knew exactly, after all those years, how to
take command of any deteriorating situation.

"Driver," the nun said, leaning over the front seat, "take us to His
Excellency's residence in Whitman."

Pacelli looked at Pascalina with a pretense of anger. But she glared defiantly
back at him in an amusing mock reply.

"You are a hard woman!" the prelate said, gently tapping the back of her hand.
All three broke into laughter, Spellman looking quite delighted.

As Pascalina had suspected all along, photographers from the Boston and
Whitman papers, their cameras ready to click, were gathered as their limousine
turned into the circular drive fronting Spellman's impressive mansion. Early
in the trip from Boston she had become suspicious when the bishop, only
moments after leaving Cardinal O'Connell's residence, asked to use the rest
room at a gasoline station. She had watched him go inside the building and use
the public phone. Knowing Spellman's cunning ways so well by then, she had
guessed that he was alerting the press.

Pacelli, as much a publicity-seeker as Spellman, looked entirely relaxed amid
all the snapping away. His smile remained broad just as long as none of the
press asked searching questions about his visit to the United States.

When the photographers attempted to take the nun's picture, the cardinal
secretary of state stopped them immediately. Abruptly raising his hand in
objection, he shook his head in a show of irritation. No one dared after that.
It was always simple for Pacelli, and for most of the hierarchy, to get the
press to back down quickly and without any show of objection.

Spellman's surprisingly luxurious Italian-style villa thoroughly captivated
Pacelli. Using his favorite phrase to describe his feelings upon seeing the
house, the prelate shouted: "Fantastico! Fantastico!"

Pascalina had a different reaction. She wondered to herself how someone such
as Spellman, who had been only a simple priest a few years before, could
possibly afford such a fine mansion. Having lived in the Papal Palace for
nearly six years, Pascalina by then was well acquainted with plush and
splendor. Yet it still was a shock that a rather new bishop had a palatial
residence that he personally owned. Spellman's had eleven bedrooms, but
despite the excessive number of chambers she was more astounded by the
bishop's two exceptional baths on the first floor.

The nun watched Spellman darting breathlessly about the place, showing Pacelli
everything, pointing with obvious pride to the masterpieces of Christ and
other holy figures that were hung throughout. In Pascalina's eyes he was the
preening peacock. She simply had to prick the bishop's balloon, she thought,
for it was her nun's nature to bring anyone, even a member of the papal
hierarchy, down from what she called "the foolishness of the clouds."

At the precise moment when no one was watching, Pascalina led Bishop Spellman
to the most imposing of the bathrooms on the first floor. She chose one that
he himself had designed, a dazzling Hollywood-style affair done in Venetian
black marble with lilac fixtures and ceiling-to-floor mirrors throughout.

Pointing to what she considered "a bizarre toilet," the nun, who had grown up
using outhouses on her father's farm, demanded of the bishop: "What in
Heaven's name is this all about?"

Perhaps for the first time in Spellman's profusely talkative life, the roly-
poly bishop was entirely speechless. Pascalina shook a finger close to his
nose and whispered, "Naughty, naughty, Bishop Spellman!"

As the embarrassed churchman turned all colors, the nun walked away shaking
her head, pretending to be terribly ashamed of a bishop with a bathroom like
that.

On the eve of their return to Rome the cardinal secretary of state was given a
warm, family-style reception by the President of the United States. Pascalina
had hoped she would be invited to the small, private affair at Roosevelt's
Hyde Park home, but she was entirely overlooked. Pacelli and Spellman, she was
certain, had kept her a secret from the President.

It would have been far too political and irregular for Pacelli, as cardinal
secretary of state, to have met with Roosevelt before the election. But with
the President's landslide victory two days past, and with FDR having carried
forty-six of the forty-eight states for a second-term mandate, the Holy See
had everything to gain by joining in a public display of friendship for FDR
and his New Deal.

The press was given no word of the cardinal secretary of state's private talk
with the President. All Pacelli said of his meeting with Roosevelt was "I
enjoyed lunching with a typical American family."

The prelate did reveal to Pascalina in confidence the details of his secret
discussion. "White House recognition of the Vatican is assured," he said upon
returning from his meeting with Roosevelt. "The President is grateful that the
noisy priest will talk no more." Pacelli was gleeful.

Within days Father Coughlin took to the air to announce his complete
withdrawal from public affairs. The radio priest, in answer to a
skeptical,press, denied that any pressure had been placed upon him by the
Church.

But on November 5, 1954, nearly eighteen years later, Coughlin told the truth.
In reply to a query from Father Gannon, the radio priest revealed for the
first time that Pacelli had indeed silenced him. Coughlin also exposed the
devious means by which he had been taken off the air.

"May I set down what I know relative to the incidents associated with me and
the termination of my broadcast," Coughlin wrote in part.

... Cardinal Pacelli visited America and had conversations with our high
government officials, which conversations could be regarded as a type of
informal pact. . . . Small as I was, it was necessary to silence my voice even
though I must be smeared as an anti-Semite, as a pro-Nazi and a bad priest,
when really all I was, outside of trying to be a Christian and an American,
was an anti-Bolshevik, anti-Nazi and an anti-warmonger. . . . Needless to say,
the smear was effective, and I was eliminated by devious ways and means-all
indirect yet more effective than were these ways and means direct.

At the time the priest wrote his letter to Father Gannon, Pacelli had been
Pope Pius XII for fifteen years. Even so, Coughlin pointedly concluded with a
blast at the Holy Father. "You are entirely free to print whatever I have
written for I have no fears from any man living insofar as I have arrived at
that point when it is better to serve the truth than it is to follow
misdirected diplomats."

On November 7, 1936, amid the cheers of thousands, the cardinal secretary of
state, along with his small group of aides, Pascalina included, sailed from
New York for return to Rome.

In his farewell the prelate told America: "We thank the blessed people of the
great land of the United States for the wonderful and most peaceful rest and
vacation, and we will always remember you in our prayers."

Back again in Rome, Pascalina found herself more confused, more at a
crossroads, than ever. The trip to America had certainly not provided the
opportunity she had hoped for a heart-to-heart talk and understanding with
Pacelli. To the contrary, the anything but forthright manner with which Father
Coughlin had been deceptively sealed off by Pacelli did not do credit, in her
estimation, to the character of the Holy See. It was not that she necessarily
agreed with Coughlin's political values, but she most certainly was not in
accord with the Church's failure to act with principle.

A woman already at middle age, Pascalina found herself asking many of the
introspective questions she supposed any sane person of her years might seek
answers to were they in her position. Many years before, at a tender age,
Pascalina had given her life, her most priceless possession, to the Church for
only one reason: She had every faith and confidence in the teachings of
Christ.

Now, day after day during her hours of prayerful meditation, she agonized over
the right and wrong of closing her eyes any longer to the Vatican's expedient,
self-serving tactics. The Coughlin incident, though minor in her estimation to
far more grave violations of truth and integrity by the Vatican, seemed the
catalyst for her increasingly serious soul-searching.

If duplicity, even harrowing lies, had been used against Father Coughlin, she
now believed that any assault on morality and ethics by the Vatican was quite
conceivable. This was hardly out of character in a nun who saw everything in
terms of black and white, while the politically motivated hierarchy dealt in
shades of gray.

Italy's war on Ethiopia fit that conception. For years Mussolini had been
preparing the world for his empire-building. He had boasted time and again to
millions of followers from his famous Rome balcony that Ethiopia was to be his
first "annexation."

The Vatican had a great deal to gain in the fascist take-over of the North
African nation. Though the Holy See historically professed its neutrality with
warring states, and traditionally condemned military force, the Vatican now
suddenly found an exception in what it called a "just war." Ethiopia, also
known at the time as Abyssinia, had been largely Catholic from the fourth
century through the eighth century, when it broke away from the Holy Roman
Catholic Church and followed the beliefs of the Coptic Church (the Egyptian
Christian Church), considered to be heretical by the Vatican. With the country
under fascist rule, the Holy See would be free to proselytize the conquered
people. Mussolini's power as Italy's conquering hero had been greatly
enhanced, a decided advantage for the Church. I1 Duce's fascist regime was
more securely entrenched, and there was far less likelihood of the Italian
nation turning to atheistic communism or reverting to the anticlerical
governments that had plagued the papacy in the past. Then, too, Ethiopia had a
large slave population, which Il Duce pledged to free, a humanitarian stand
that further served the papacy's reasoning.

The virtually defenseless Ethiopians had been terrified at the prospect of war
and had begged the League of Nations to stop Mussolini's expansionist plans.
The world body answered Ethiopia with lip service.

The Holy See had been in a strong psychological position to avert war. Since
Italy was solidly Catholic and the fascists had a pact with the Vatican, it
seemed reasonable that had the papacy spoken out, Mussolini, fearing the brunt
of world opinion, would have backed down.

But even as the war clouds darkened, the Vatican chose to walk a careful
political tightrope, claiming at the time that the Holy See must remain
neutral to maintain credibility in the eyes of the world. On the surface the
Pope struggled to appease both sides by playing the papacy's cards close to
his chest. He finally faced the boiling issue only two months before the
outbreak of war, when little choice remained for him but to bow to the
pressures of world leaders.

"Clouds darken the sky over Italy and Abyssinia," the Pontiff had stated on
July 28, 1935.

No one should deceive himself that they may not contain dire events. We hope
and believe always in the peace of Christ and His realm, and we have complete
confidence that nothing can happen which is not consistent with Truth, Justice
and Love. One thing, however, appears certain to Us-namely that if the need
for expansion is a fact, we must also take into consideration the right of
defense, which also has its limits, and a moderation which must be observed if
the defense is to remain guiltless.

Pius XI's noncommittal words, meaningless to the Ethiopians, were taken as
solace by 11 Duce. Great Britain publicly attacked the Holy Father's
halfhearted position. "The Pope appears to be so timid as to give the
impression that he supports Mussolini," Sir Samuel Hoare, the British foreign
minister, said afterward in his official statement. Still, the British took no
military action.

To Pascalina, who now had intimate awareness of the Vatican's sleight of hand,
it was apparent that the papacy had self-serving motives in its failure to
stand against Mussolini in his seizure of Ethiopia. Though she was petrified
at the thought of doubting the integrity of her own Church, the evidence
against the Holy See seemed more than circumstantial.

In her study of the behind-the-scenes shuffling, it became clear that the
Vatican had secretly backed Mussolini in the fascist conquest of Ethiopia. The
papacy had gone so far as to have used the war to further its own gain. In
snatching the brass ring of opportunity, the Holy See had become a major
stockholder in Italy's largest munitions plants and some of its allied war
industries. During the sixyear period since receiving the $92.1 million
through the Lateran Treaty, the Vatican's shrewd treasurer, Bernardino Nogara,
had pyramided the funds into a vast reserve now estimated at hundreds of
millions of dollars. The ambitious Holy See, having grown more temporal and
capitalistic than spiritual, had turned the tables on the fascist government.
The Church now held large interests in many of Italy's most important
industries: banking, automotive, chemicals, and insurance. Its hold on the
nation's utilities was even greater, with substantial interests in Italgas,
major supplier of gas to thirty-six cities, and in Societa Finanziaria
Telefonica, Italy's main telephone company.

Ironically, Mussolini had been forced to come to the papacy for significant
financing of his unholy war with Ethiopia. Even though Christ was the Prince
of Peace, the Vatican, seeing war as profitable business, had seized the
opportunity and made huge loans to the fascist government.

On the day of Mussolini's invasion of Ethiopia, October 3, 1935, bishops and
priests of the Church had been on hand, sprinkling holy water on the fascist
troops as they left Italy's shores. The Holy See had gone so far as to bless
the guns and tanks and war planes of the aggressor state.

Waving a fascist flag, the archbishop of Siena had taken position before the
military, and in a loud voice praised the Black Shirts to the highest. In his
prayers the archbishop predicted that fate was on Mussolini's side. "Italy,
our great Duce, and the soldiers are about to win victory for truth and
righteousness!" he declared. Another prelate, the bishop of San Miniato, then
stepped forward to shout: "For the victory of Italy, the Italian clergy are
ready to melt down the gold of the churches and the bronze of the bells."

In a cruel conflict that lasted barely nine months, the fascists swept through
Ethiopia, spraying village after village in eight separate attacks with poison
gas. About 250 tons of the deadly gas were used by the fascists between
December 30, 1935 and mid-March 1936. Some 50,000 defenseless citizens were
killed or injured. Said Ildefonso Cardinal Schuster, archbishop of Milan and
close friend of Pius XI: "On the plains of Ethiopia, the Italian standard
carries forward in triumph the Cross of Christ, smashes the chains of slavery,
and opens the way for the missionaries of the Gospel." Cardinal Schuster then
referred to Mussolini as "he who has given Italy to ,God and God to Italy."

To commemorate the fascist victory, the Pope had sent the archbishop of Rhodes
to Ethiopia's capital, Addis Ababa, as his official apostolic visitor to
celebrate a Pontifical Mass. The prelate offered the prayers of the Holy See
for "all the heroic soldiers of the Italian army, which the world admires but
which Heaven has no need to marvel at, since they are God's ally."

pps. 124-140
-----
Aloha, He'Ping,
Om, Shalom, Salaam.
Em Hotep, Peace Be,
Omnia Bona Bonis,
All My Relations.
Adieu, Adios, Aloha.
Amen.
Roads End
Kris

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