This letter and the cleric’s report were sent to Rome. The pope received it angrily, and had word sent back. Galileo must either come to Rome voluntarily or be taken there in chains.

This was too much papal heat for Grand Duke Ferdinando to withstand. He was only twenty, and Urban had already taken the duchy of Urbino away from him by force, replacing the rightful Medici heir with one of his own people. Ferdinando was intimidated, people said. Whatever the reason, he chose to do nothing more to defend Galileo. In truth, it was not a good time to oppose the pope. There had never been a good time for that, of course, but now less than ever, or so Ferdinando’s new secretary Cioli and his men explained to Galileo, there in the courtyard of Il Gioièllo, as they assured him that he would have the grand duke’s full support, that they were going to convey him to Rome in a fine litter, and that he would be put up there as a guest of the grand duke, as he had not been during certain previous visits, so he could live in comfort there at the Villa Medici, and so on. It would be fine. The ambassador Francesco Niccolini was a most canny diplomat, who would help him in every way possible. There was no escaping it, they concluded. He must go.

As this news sank in, Galileo’s face displayed a most curious mix of surprise, dismay, and something like resignation. He knew this moment. His trial had come.

Before his departure for Rome, Galileo went to see Maria Celeste and Arcangela one last time. Arcangela would not speak, of course, and glared at the walls triumphantly, as if she had prayed for this judgment and was happy it had arrived at last. Galileo couldn’t converse with Maria Celeste properly until he had had Arcangela escorted out of the room.

Then they sat in the sunlight coming in the window, holding hands. Maria Celeste survived by belief, he knew; the Church was all to her, and she revered her father as much as she did by making him a saint in her holy pantheon. Now that was all crossed up by this awesome order from the pope, and she wept in short stifled sobs, as if she were being torn in two but trying to hide the fact out of politeness. Her clutched gasping was a sound that recurred to Galileo often in the sleepless months to come. In that moment, however, he had his own torn feelings, his own fears to preoccupy him; he was contracting into himself, and did not have the usual amount of attention to give to her. All that fall he had been calm, one might even have said serene. Cartophilus knew something extraordinary had happened in his last syncope, but he wasn’t saying anything about it, so there had been no way to know if that was what had had this effect. He had seemed to have faith that things would turn out well. Now his look was darker. He patted her head and left for Rome.

IT WAS A HARD WINTER JOURNEY, that January of 1633. It was his sixth trip to Rome, and again everything was the same but everything different. This time the world gone dark, and made all of mud. Plague was abroad, and a half quarantine held him in Acquapendente for twenty days, living on nothing but bread, wine, and eggs. He was in no hurry to get to Rome, but there was too much time to think, to worry, to regret. How he longed then for the tumble of ordinary days.

In Rome, meanwhile, Niccolini requested an audience with the pope to deliver the grand duke’s protest concerning the makeup of the commission of clerics that had been convened to judge Galileo’s book. This was as close as the grand duke could come to protesting the judgment itself, and although it was not likely to be successful, Niccolini could use the meeting to try to find out what was behind the reversed approval of Galileo’s book, and the sudden call for him to come to Rome. Hopefully a clearer understanding of the cause would help in preparing Galileo’s defense.

The meeting was not a success. Back at the Villa Medici, Niccolini wrote a detailed account of it for the young grand duke and his new secretary Cioli. It had taken place, he wrote,

or … in a very emotional atmosphere. I too am beginning to believe, as your Most Illustrious Lordship well expresses it, that the sky is about to fall. While we were discussing the delicate subject of the Holy Office, His Holiness exploded into great anger, and suddenly told me that our Galilei had dared enter where he should not have, into the most serious and dangerous subjects which could be stirred up at this time.

This was strange, because the pope had personally, and more than once in the last few years, assured Galileo that he could write about the Copernican system of the world. As Niccolini in fact had reminded him.

I replied that Signor Galilei had not published without the approval of his ministers, and for that purpose I myself had obtained and sent the prefaces to Florence.

He answered, with the same outburst of rage, that he had been deceived by Galileo and Ciampoli.

And he went on, Niccolini said, to list in quite knowledgeable detail the ways Galileo had promised an acceptable text and not delivered it, and also the ways Ciampoli and Riccardi had likewise promised to make sure it was so, and all of it traduced by the text itself, and by the lies told by everyone involved.

Niccolini had been forced to take this at face value, although it did not make sense to him, given the many assurances Galileo had made in the book that all his theorizing was only ex suppositione. But Niccolini did not know about the anonymous denunciation of The Assayer, which had accused Galileo of denying the doctrine of transubstantiation. Because of that he continued to press the Copernican matter, as being the ostensible cause of the ban and arrest.

I interjected that I knew His Holiness had appointed a Commission for the purpose of investigating Signor Galileo’s book, and that, because it might have members who hate Signor Galilei (as it does), I humbly begged His Holiness to agree to give him the opportunity to justify himself. Then His Holiness answered that in these matters of the Holy Office, the procedure was simply to arrive at a censure and then call the defendant to recant.

But Niccolini had persisted in Galileo’s defense: “Does it thus not seem to Your Holiness that Galileo should know in advance the difficulties and the objections that brought forth the censure, and what the Holy Office is worried about?”

Urban, red-faced, had replied violently. “We say to your Lordship that the Holy Office does not do these things and does not proceed this way, that these things are never given in advance to anyone. Such is not the custom. Besides, he knows very well where the difficulties lie, if he wants to know them, since we have discussed them with him and he had heard them from ourselves.”

Niccolini had tried reminding the pope, “Please I beg you to consider that the book is dedicated to the Grand Duke of Tuscany.”

Urban snapped at that. “We have prohibited work dedicated to our self! In such matters, involving great harm to religion, indeed the worst ever conceived, His Highness the Grand Duke too should contribute to preventing it, being a Christian prince! He should be careful not to get involved, because he would not come out of it honorably.”

Niccolini held firm. “I am sure I will receive orders to trouble Your Holiness again, and I will do it, but I do not believe Your Holiness would bring about the prohibition of the already approved book without at least hearing Signor Galilei first.”

Urban replied darkly, “This is the least ill that can be done to him. He should take care not to be summoned by the Holy Office. We appointed a commission of theologians and other persons versed in various sciences, who are weighing every minutia, word for word, since one is dealing with the most perverse subject one could ever come across. Write to your prince to say the doctrine in question is extremely perverse, and that His Highness should therefore go slow. And we now impose on you the knowledge that this is secret information we are telling you, which you can share with your prince but which he too must then keep secret. We have used every civility with Signor Galilei, we explained to him what we know to be true, and we have not sent the case to the Congregation of the Holy Inquisition, as would be normal, but rather to a special commission newly created. We have used better manners with Galileo than he has used with us, for we have been deceived!”