Galileo's Dream (56 page)

Cardinal Maculano's questions were asked, and recorded by the nun, in Latin, while Galileo's answers were made and recorded in Italian. At the first sound of Galileo's Tuscan vernacular, Maculano looked up from the desk, surprised; but after a moment's hesitation he did not stop the answer, or request that Galileo make his replies in Latin. He only spoke his next question in Latin again:

“Did you come of your own accord, or were you called, or were you ordered by someone to come to Rome, and if so, by whom?”

Galileo answered as seriously as if this were the crux of the matter. “In Florence the Father Inquisitor ordered me to come to Rome to present myself to the Holy Office, this being an injunction by the officials of the Holy Office.”

“Do you know, or can you guess, the reason why you were ordered to come to Rome?”

Galileo said, “I imagine that the reason why I have been ordered to present myself to the Holy Office in Rome is to account for my recently printed book. I imagine this because of the injunction to the printer and to myself, a few days before I was ordered to come to Rome, not to issue any more of these books, and similarly because the printer was ordered by the Father Inquisitor to send the original manuscript of my book to the Holy Office in Rome.”

Maculano nodded at this. “Please explain the character of the book on account of which you think you were ordered to come to Rome.”

“It is a book written in dialogue form, and it treats of the constitution of the world—that is, of the two chief systems. Also the arrangements of the heavens and the elements.”

“If you were shown the said book, would you be prepared to identify it as yours?”

“I hope so,” Galileo said. “I hope that if the book is shown to me, I would recognize it.”

Maculano glanced up sharply at him. Was this sarcasm? A feeble attempt at a joke? The accused man's flat tone and innocent expression did not allow an interpretation. He was intent, on point; this was clearly serious business to him, as well it should be. His gaze was transfixed on the face of Maculano. If there was a part inside him struggling against a sharp rejoinder or sarcastic put-down, it was still bottled in him, and escaping perhaps only in quick uncontrollable squirts, odd statements that were the only shards left of a lifelong habit of skewering opponents in debate.

This opponent was too dangerous to be touched. Maculano let a few more moments go by. Was he appreciating Galileo's irony, or warning him that this was no time to fool around? It was just as impossible for Galileo to tell what Maculano was thinking, as it had been for Maculano to determine what Galileo had meant. Impassively they stared at each other. Suddenly those of us watching had it brought home to us what this was going to be like; it was rhetoric as chess, but with an executioner standing behind the man playing the black pieces. He was one of the smartest scientists ever to live, but chess is not science; and this was not exactly chess.

And who was the man playing white? Who was this tall emaciated Maculano from Firenzuola? A Dominican from Pavia, a functionary of the Holy Office, a mediocrity unnoticed by anyone until this moment. Once again a new player had stepped out of the shadows, confounding any sense that the cast of characters was fixed in number, or fully known to anybody involved. Or complete.

“I know this book very well. It is one of those printed in Florence; and I acknowledge it as mine and written by me.”

This was said with no inflection at all, but the inspection of the book had been rather drawn out, as if to match Maculano's delay, perhaps thus to toss Maculano's silent warning back into his face.

Maculano, seeing this, again waited longer than seemed necessary. Finally he said, with a little press of deliberation or emphasis, as if warning Galileo yet again: “Do you likewise acknowledge each and every thing contained in the said book as yours?”

Now Galileo replied quickly, almost impatiently. “I know this book shown to me, for it is one of those printed at Florence. I acknowledge all it contains as having been written by me.”

“When and where did you compose this book, and how long did it take you?”

“In regard to the place,” Galileo said, “I composed it in Florence, beginning ten or twelve years ago. It must have taken me seven or eight years, but not continuously.”

“Were you in Rome any other times, especially in the year 1616, and for what occasion?”

“I
was
in Rome in the year 1616,” Galileo confirmed, as if answering a real question; it had been a very famous visit. He listed all his subsequent trips to Rome as well, explaining that the most recent one was to get permission in person to publish the
Dialogo
. He went on to explain that the visit in 1616 was made of his own accord, because “having heard objections to Nicolaus Copernicus's opinion on the earth's motion, in order to be sure of holding only holy and Catholic opinions, I came to hear what was proper to hold in regard to this topic.”

“Did you come of your own accord, or were you summoned, and what was the reason you were summoned?”

“In 1616 I came of my own accord, without being summoned, for the reason I mentioned,” Galileo said firmly, as if correcting a student's wrong answer in a class. Maculano nodded, and Galileo went on. “I discussed this matter with some cardinals who oversaw the Holy Office at that time, especially with Cardinals Bellarmino, Aracoeli, San Eusebio, Bonsi, and d'Ascoli.”

“And what specifically did you discuss with the above-mentioned cardinals?”

Galileo took a deep breath. “They wanted to be informed about Copernicus's doctrine, his book being very difficult to understand for those who are not professional mathematicians and astronomers. In particular they wanted to understand the arrangement of the heavenly spheres according to Copernicus's hypothesis—how he places the sun at the center of the planets' orbits, how around the sun he places next the orbit of Mercury, around the latter that of Venus, then the moon around the earth, and outside this Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. And in regard to motion, he makes the sun stationary at the center and the earth turn on itself and around the sun, that is, on itself with the diurnal motion, and around the sun with the annual motion.”

Maculano watched Galileo very closely, but the old man said all this as calmly as could be. “What then was decided about this matter?”

“It was decided by the Holy Congregation that this opinion, taken absolutely, is repugnant to Holy Scripture and is to be admitted only
ex suppositione,”
Galileo using the Latin phrase here, as the term had a precise theological and legal meaning. Then he added, “In the way that Copernicus himself takes it.”

This was the first of Galileo's lies under oath. Copernicus had made it quite clear in several places in his books that he regarded his explanation of planetary movement to be both mathematically expedient and also literally true in the physical world. Galileo knew this. Very possibly Maculano knew it also.

If so, Maculano brushed it aside. He said slowly, “And what did the Most Eminent Bellarmino tell you about this decision? Did he say anything else about the matter, and if so, what?”

Galileo replied firmly, “Lord Cardinal Bellarmino told me that Copernicus's opinion could be held
ex suppositione
, as Copernicus himself had held it. His Eminence knew that I held it
ex suppositione
, namely in the way that Copernicus held it.”

Three times the lie, like Peter denying Christ. Now Maculano was frowning heavily. But Galileo forged on. He quoted from the letter Bellarmino had written to the Carmelite Father Foscarini, after the meetings of 1616 had ended; Galileo had brought a copy of this letter with him, and now he pulled it from his small stack of documents to read from it:
“It seems to me that Your Paternity and Signor Galileo are proceeding prudently by limiting yourselves to speaking
ex suppositione
and not absolutely.”

Maculano shrugged this off. “What was decided and then made known to you precisely, in the month of February 1616?”

Galileo answered readily. “In the month of February 1616, Lord Cardinal Bellarmino told me that since Copernicus's opinion, taken absolutely, was contrary to Holy Scripture, it could be neither held nor defended, but it could be taken and used
ex suppositione
. In conformity with this I keep a certificate by Lord Cardinal Bellarmino himself, dated May 26, 1616, in which he says that Copernicus's opinion cannot be held or defended, being against Holy Scripture. I present a copy of this certificate, and here it is.”

With that he showed Maculano a sheet of paper with twelve lines of writing on it. “I have the original of this certificate with me in Rome,” he added, “and it is written all in the hand of the above-mentioned Lord Cardinal Bellarmino.”

Maculano took the copy and entered it as evidence in the case, marking it
Exhibit B
. His face was impassive; one could not tell if this letter's existence was news to him or not. Certainly a signed certificate from Bellarmino allowing Galileo to discuss Copernicanism
ex suppositione
would seem to constitute unassailable evidence that if Galileo had written something hypothetical about Copernicus, the Church had allowed him to write it; which would mean that the accusation that had brought him here was incorrect. Which would make the Holy Office guilty of a mistake—or even of a malicious unfounded attack.

But Maculano did not look disturbed. He asked Galileo how he had been warned by Bellarmino, and if there had been anyone else there to witness it. Galileo described the conversation in Bellarmino's chambers, including Segizzi and the other Dominicans who had been there.

Maculano said, “If I read to you a transcript of what you were ordered, would you remember it?”

“I do not recall that I was told anything else,” Galileo said, with just a trace of uneasiness at this persistence. “Nor can I know whether I shall remember what was then told me, even if it is read to me.”

Maculano then handed him a paper of his own, which he said was the actual text of the injunction given to him by Bellarmino. “You see,” he said while Galileo was quickly reading it, “that this injunction, which was given to you in the presence of witnesses, states that you
cannot in any way whatever
hold, defend, or teach
the said opinion. Do you remember how and by whom you were so ordered?”

Galileo's ruddy complexion had gone pale. He had never seen this document before, and had not known of its existence. Supposedly a record of the warning given in the meeting, it prohibited him from even teaching Copernicus, either orally or in writing. The ban on teaching or discussing was not in Bellarmino's certificate to Galileo.

This new injunction was not actually signed by Bellarmino, however, nor by anyone else. Galileo noted this, and saw also that it had been written on the back side of another document. This, together with the lack of any signature, made him suspicious. Segizzi must have added it to the file without Bellarmino's knowledge. Or possibly it was even a forgery, written later, on the back of a document with a date from that time, and added to the file to give weight to any later case against him. It could have been written the previous week.

Galileo looked quizzically at both sides of the document, turning it back and forth rather ostentatiously. He began his reply very slowly, as if working his way around the edges of a trap. For the first time his answers included some admissions of uncertainty. That he could speak at all after such a shock was yet another testament to his quickness of mind.

“I do not recall that the injunction was given to me any other way than orally by Lord Cardinal Bellarmino. I do remember that the injunction was that I could not hold or defend … and maybe even that I could not teach. I do not recall, further, that there was the phrase
in any way whatever
, but maybe there was. In fact, I did not think about it or keep it in mind, having received a few months thereafter Lord Cardinal Bellarmino's certificate dated 26 May, which I have presented, and in which is explained the order given to me not to hold or defend the said opinion. Regarding the other two phrases in the said injunction now produced, namely
not to teach
and
in any way whatever
, I did not retain them in my memory, I think because they are not contained in the said certificate, which I relied upon and kept as a reminder.”

It was the best he could do, and it was a pretty good defense at that. He had a signed injunction, after all, while the Inquisition did not. He pursed his lips and stared back at Maculano, still a bit pale, and with a sheen of sweat now on his forehead. Probably it had not occurred to
him until that moment that they might forge evidence to get him. It was a bad realization.

Maculano let the moment hang for a while. Then he said, “After the issuing of the said injunction,” gesturing at his document, not Galileo's, “did you obtain any permission to write the book identified by yourself, which you later sent to the printer?”

“After the above-mentioned injunction,” Galileo said, gesturing at his own certificate, not Maculano's, “I did not seek permission to write the above-mentioned book, which I have identified, because I did not think that by writing this book I was contradicting at all the injunction given me not to hold, defend, or teach the said opinion, as after all I was refuting it.”

Maculano had been looking down at the injunction—now his head shot up. Staring incredulously at Galileo, he started to speak, paused; put a forefinger to his lips. He returned his gaze to the papers on the table, stared at them for a long time. He picked up the pages covered by his notes.