-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 DECLARATION & DISCLAIMER ========== CTRL is a discussion and informational exchange list. 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