Galileo was eager to talk. His voice was louder than Maculano’s, his tone animated, inquisitive, intense. He wanted to know what had been going on, he wanted to know where he stood, he wanted to know why Maculano was visiting him—and all at once.
Maculano sounded conciliatory. He told Galileo that he was there to discuss the next stage of the trial with him, to make sure that Galileo knew where he stood, so that no further problems would accidentally arise as a result of any misunderstandings.
“I appreciate your courtesy,” Galileo said. After a pause, he said, “My student and friend, Fra Benedetto Castelli, conveyed to me that he earlier met and spoke with you about these matters.”
“Yes.”
“He said that you were a good and devout man.”
“I am glad he thought so. I hope it is true.”
“He also wrote that he had spoken to you about my book, and that he had spoken as vehemently as he knew how against any persecution of my book, and in favor of the Copernican view, and that you had said to him that you agreed with him—that you too believed the Copernican explanation.”
“That is neither here nor there,” Maculano said calmly. “I am not before you as Father Vincenzo Maculano di Firenzuola, Dominican. I am before you as Commissary General of the Holy Office of the Inquisition. As such, I need you to understand what is required of you for a successful completion of your trial.”
After a pause, Galileo said, “Tell me then.”
“Privately, then—just between you and me, as men talking over a matter of mutual interest—you made a mistake at the end of your first deposition, by speaking of what you did or did not intend to say with your book. Understand me. If you focus your answers on your intentions, you put yourself more and more in the hands of your enemies. I am not your enemy, but you have enemies. And for reasons of state, they must be satisfied—or better, they must be put off in a way that is not too unsatisfactory to them. A judgment of some kind is going to be rendered against you. If it is a matter of the intention of your book, it will be very easy to convict you of heresy.”
He let that statement hang there for a while.
“If, on the other hand, it is merely a matter of you forgetting to obey in every respect the injunction levied against you in 1616—if you confess to that error, then this is not such a serious thing.”
“But I have the certificate from Bellarmino himself!” Galileo protested.
“There is the other injunction.”
“Nothing of that was ever said to me at the time!”
“That’s not what the other injunction says.”
“I never saw that injunction! It isn’t signed by me or by Cardinal Bellarmino!”
“Nevertheless, it exists.”
A long silence.
“Remember,” Maculano said unctuously, “there has to be something. If the trial moves to the matter of your intentions concerning your book, the decision of the special commission that investigated it is unanimous and overwhelming. You advocated for the Copernican view, not just ex suppositione, but factually and in earnest. You don’t want to try to contest that.”
No reply from Galileo.
“And listen further,” Maculano said with a sharper tone. “Listen closely. Even if the license you received to publish your book, and the disclaiming sentences you added to the first and last pages, were to prevail in our judgment, this might not save you. It might only shift the inquiry into even more dangerous areas.”
“What do you mean?” Galileo exclaimed. “How so?”
“Remember what I said; something must be found. You say there was no second injunction, you say your book was licensed and included the proper disclaimer. Maybe so. But what then? For something must be found.”
No reply from Galileo.
“Well, then,” Maculano said, “something will be found. For there are other problematic areas in your work. There are some, for instance, who insist that the theory of atomism that you advocated in your book Il Saggiatore constitutes a direct contradiction of the doctrine of the transubstantiation as defined by the Council of Trent. This is a very serious heresy, as of course you know.”
“But that has nothing to do with this!”
Maculano let the silence go on for a while. “Something must be found,” he repeated gently, “so you cannot say that. Everything is germane to this case. It is a question of your beliefs, your intentions, your promises, your actions. Your whole life.”
Silence.
“That being the case, the best possible outcome is to stay focused on the procedural issue that you seem to have tripped over, having to do with the injunction of 1616. That you may have inadvertently forgotten an order, and created a misunderstanding concerning the theory of Copernicanism, is, in other words, the least bad of your alternatives.”
“I obeyed the injunction given to me.”
“No. Don’t keep saying that. Recall that if you continue to insist on that point, things get worse. The examinations of the Holy Office include rigorous questioning, as you know, including methods that I would not want to see used in your case. These examinations always yield the answers they desire, and then it is a matter of throwing yourself on the mercy of the Holy Office. That could be lifetime imprisonment in the Castel Sant’Angelo. It has often happened. Or, it could be worse yet. That would be a disaster for all concerned, wouldn’t it.”
“Yes.”
“So, if you were to plead forgetfulness, and perhaps a lapse of judgment—too much pride, or complacency, or carelessness; whatever venial sin you choose—then this would be a basis to go forward. Your punishment could be to recite the seven penitential Psalms weekly for some years, or something like that.”
“But I got the license to publish! I discussed the situation with His Holiness himself!”
It was getting repetitive now, as in one of those endgames in chess where the stronger side has to slowly and patiently grind the opponent’s king into a spot where it has no more options.
“I need to keep reminding you, this is not a good avenue for you to pursue. The book has been read with the closest attention to logic, reason, rhetoric, mathematics, and incidentals, by learned scholars and judges, and their reports have been unanimous in asserting you made a case for the Copernican view. You cannot add a few words to the end of such an argument and hope to change the effect of the whole. Especially not since most of your ameliorative equivocations are put in the mouth of a character named Simplicio, an Aristotelian who has been shown to be foolishly wrong everywhere else in the book. Indeed a kind of dunderhead, a simpleton in fact as well as name! Urban’s words, his doctrine, put into this person’s mouth! It will not do. Your own book, as written, makes things so very clear. You are a good Catholic, and yet you have disobeyed an injunction from the Holy Office, as judged by officials of that Holy Office. This could lead to a disastrous consequence. As I hope you know.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Do you understand me?”
“I understand.”
“And so? What then do you intend to do about it?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know! You tell me what I should do!”
There was a long silence. Who sighed it was hard to tell. Both men were breathing heavily, as if they had been tossing each other around like wrestlers.
“Tell me, then. Tell me what I should do.”
Checkmate.
To His Eminence Cardinal Francesco Barberini:
Yesterday afternoon I had a discussion with Galileo, and, after exchanging innumerable arguments, by the grace of the Lord I accomplished my purpose: I made him grasp his error, so that he clearly recognized that he had erred and gone too far in his book. He expressed everything with heartfelt words, as if he were relieved by the knowledge of his error; and he was ready for a judicial confession. However, he asked me for a little time to think about the way to render his confession honest.