In the days after Christmas and before the New Year, Mac spent his days working on the memorandum for the Vatican regarding preserving its neutrality while encouraging peace overtures, and his reports for his handlers in the United States. He spent his evenings with Carla, either at the Inn, or at the DeFelice home. When one of the lawyers at his firm had offered him tickets to the opera the Saturday after Christmas, he jumped at it, not because he loved the opera, but because it was a chance to get out with Carla, without being overwhelmed by her chaperones. Not that Mac was in such a hurry for them to be intimate, but because he just wanted a chance to be alone with his girl.
When Mac asked Alberto if it would be appropriate to take his sister to the opera on Saturday, Alberto laughed, and he replied that such formalities were no longer necessary. Mac was now considered part of the family, as Alberto was satisfied that his intentions were entirely honorable. That Saturday, Mac took Carla to the Tetro Realedell ‘Opera, the opera house of Rome to see La Traviata. Carla was delighted to go, having never been to the opera before.
Carla dressed elegantly in a little black dress, sling back black shoes, and the jewelry that Mac had given her for Christmas. Her hair was up as it had been for the Christmas Ball, but there were two runaway curled strands of her dark curly tresses framing her face. Mac arranged for a car to drop them off at the front entryway of the opera house, with all the other elegant couples attending the performance that night. Mac, dressed in formal eveningwear, held his hand out to help Carla out of the vehicle, and up the red-carpeted marble steps outside.
“Oh Mac, this is so exciting,” whispered Carla. “I feel like I am living a fairytale whenever I am with you. You are so handsome. All the other ladies are staring at you.”
“And their men are all staring at you. You are truly the most beautiful girl in Rome.”
The Teatro Realedell ‘Opera originally opened in 1880, named after the contractor and benefactor that built the opera house, Teatro Constanzi. In 1926, the Constanzi Theatre was bought by the Rome City Council, who did major renovations, including relocating the entrance to the opposite side, on Piazza Beniamino Gigli, along with adding a fourth tier of boxes and a balcony. The interior was redone with new stuccowork, decorations, and a magnificent chandelier, almost twenty feet in diameter, with twenty-seven thousand crystal drops. The plaque commemorating the rebuilding featured King Emmanuele, Benito Mussolini, and other luminaries of the time. Yet, due to the war, this was to be the last performance of the Teatro Realedell ‘Opera for the foreseeable future.
Mac led his beautiful date to their seats in the first tier of boxes at the right side of the stage. The curtains of green velvet were still closed, the crystal chandelier bursting with light. The orchestra below the stage began to play the overture, as Carla wrapped her arm inside Mac's, nestling into the warmth of his body. As the curtain rose, the expression on Carla's face turned to wonderment and girlish excitement.
By the time Violetta died in her lover Alfredo's arms, Carla was bawling like a baby, holding Mac's arm tightly to her chest. All the way home she repeated the lines “Gran Dio!...Morir si giovane,” “Great God!to die so young.” She said nothing more to Mac, as he walked her to her front door, where she hugged him for dear life.
“I’m sorry, Mac. It's this war. Are we all going to die so young? The thought of losing you has me overcome with emotion. Don’t ever leave me, amore mio. Promise me!”
“I am not going anywhere, Carla. I live to love you!”
“Oh, Mac! I love you,” she cried. “The opera is very sad, Mac, but it is wonderful. Thank you!”
“You’re welcome. Your tears are my tears. But I know that you enjoyed it. So did I. Your first time is always special.”
Carla kissed Mac on the lips, with love, if not with passion. Her tears rolled down his face, tasting like the salt of the sea. Although he wanted to stay, he left her there on the doorstep, as he made his way back to the Inn.
Mac delivered his memorandum to Father Leiber the day before New Year's Eve, having gone over it several times to ensure it being well written. One of the other lawyers in the firm had read it as well, complimenting him on his work. When Leiber read the memorandum in his presence, the Father could not hide his pleasure with the job that Mac had done.
“I am going to show this to His Holiness this evening, Tommaso. He will be very pleased with the job you have done. It is not easy to get those Cardinals to sit down in one place, even when a Pope dies, let alone get them to agree on anything. Masterful job, son!”
“Thank you, Father. I appreciate the positive response. I will be seeing you Thursday, for the meeting with the Jewish emissaries?”
“Yes, Mac, and the Pontiff as well. He feels very strongly about their plight, even if he cannot be outwardly demonstrative. He wants to figure out a way to help them.”
“Perhaps, we can rely on the same idea, as we did with the mediation question. The Pope, being separate and distinct from the Holy See, has a right to an opinion. Perhaps, he can stand up and say what he really feels, without jeopardizing the status of the Vatican as a neutral party.”
“That is a bit naïve, my son. Trust me, the Gestapo would think nothing of kidnapping the Pope, or assassinating him. We walk a very fine line here. But my Pope is a very brave man. I have been with him for many years, when he was Nuncio in Munich and in Berlin, when he was Cardinal Pacelli, the Vatican Secretary of State, and now, as Pope. I have been with Pope Pius since 1924. I know what he is thinking before he knows himself. You are familiar with what his public positions have been, from when he served as the Vatican Secretary of State? He was not afraid to say his piece, and he did. It is only a year that has passed since then. He is still the same man, despite his being elevated to the head of our Church, yet with far more responsibility. He is no longer just a man, Tommaso. He is the representative of our Lord here on earth. The cloak he wears is very heavy, my son, very heavy indeed.”
“Well, let's see what the Jewish leaders have as proof, and then we can go from there. If it is significant, perhaps the Pope would want to take a stand?”
“Perhaps. I will see you in a couple of days, Tommaso. God bless you! Your heart is in the right place, and your mind truly walks with God. The Pontiff will be very happy with your work, and he will be most appreciative. Enjoy your New Year's.”
Thank you, Father, you, as well. And God bless you!”
Mac was very much looking forward to his meeting with the Jewish leaders, primarily as he would be sitting in the same room with Pope Pius XII. Mac wrote his family a long letter that evening telling them of his upcoming meeting with the Pope, without revealing the issue, and about his visit with his own family, and that of Carla's, in Palombara Sabina. He announced to them that he believed that Carla was the one, and that he could not wait for them to meet her.
New Year's Eve at the DeFelice house was a muted affair, as compared to what was happening back in New York at the end of 1940. What was “happy days are here again” back in America was not so much here in Rome, where the cauldron of war was already brewing feverishly. Mac was not sure if the Italians did not take New Year's Eve as seriously as the Americans, or if war had a way of tempering any revelries that might have taken place. In any event, Mac was happy to sit on the DeFelice sofa, next to Carla, kissing her at the stroke of midnight.
“Happy New Year, my love,” announced Carla, in the presence of her family.
“Happy New Year to you, sweetheart,” said Mac. “I love you as well,” he announced, as Teresa wiped tears from her eyes, before kissing her own husband.
On the Thursday following New Year's Day, Mac was escorted to the Papal Apartments by the Swiss Guard. The Papal Apartments wrap around the Courtyard of Sixtus V, Cortile di Sisto V, on two sides of the third floor of the Apostolic Palace in Vatican City. The Pope's apartments contain ten large rooms, including a vestibule, a small studio office for the papal secretary, the Pope's private study, the Pope's bedroom, a medical suite, a dining room, a small living room, and a kitchen. There is also a roof garden, and a staff quarters for the Benedictine nuns who run the Prefecture of the Pontifical Household, the Papal household. It is from the window of his small study that the Pope greets and blesses pilgrims to Saint Peter's Square on Sundays.
Mac was led to the private library in the apartments, a rather large room, with the two windows that overlook Saint Peter's Square, a large wooden crucifix between them. Robert Leiber was already sitting at a small mahogany conference table with a cup of coffee in white Vatican china. The chairs around the table had needlepoint cushions, with Pope Pius XII's Papal Coat of Arms.
“Would you like coffee, Tommaso, while we wait for his Excellency?” offered Father Leiber, as he reached for the silver coffee service on the table. “This is where Pope Pius takes his meetings, in the library of his apartments.”
“No, thank you, Father, a glass of water, perhaps. Suddenly, I feel my throat closing.”
Father Leiber got up in his flowing cassock to pour Mac a glass of water from a crystal pitcher that had been freshened on the nearby buffet. The Jesuit had his formal sash tied around his waist, and his jewel adorned cross hanging around his neck, in honor of their important guests this day. His smile was fatherly as he handed Mac the water, his wire rim glasses slipping down on his nose.
“Tommaso do not be nervous, my son. The Pontiff is very impressed with your work. He does not bite. He is only a man, after all, underneath all the robes, and the mystery the Church has bestowed upon him. Just relax, and ease into it. He will be in shortly. The Jewish emissaries will be invited in thereafter. His excellency will start us off; then he will excuse himself, so that he can be spared of the gory details. It is called plausible deniability, Tommaso. We protect his Excellency from such things.”
Mac was wishing Balsieri had returned from Milan, as he had promised, but he steeled himself for what was to come, taking a sip of water. Just then, the other door to the room opened unceremoniously, with Pope Pius XII walking in with no fanfare, nor trumpets. Mac stood to greet the Pontiff, in silence, kissing the ring that was offered in his direction. The Pope was dressed all in white, from is skullcap to his shoes. His garments were unblemished, looking as if they had come right of a box, but for the meticulous pressing that left them with not a wrinkle anywhere. The large cross that hung from his neck was gold, encrusted with colorful, fine gems. He, too, wore wire rim glasses, the same as those worn by Father Leiber.
“Sit,” offered the Pope, as he gathered his robes to sit down himself at the head of the mahogany conference table. “Tommaso Martini, welcome, my son. It was good of you to join us, particularly as you are probably the only attorney left in Rome between Christmas and the New Year,” the Pontiff said with a slight chuckle, belying his reputation as a stern, austere, curmudgeon. “I was very impressed with your work with the Cardinals. They are not an easy bunch, I know. Today, now, today we walk a tightrope over the fires of perdition. It is with deep prayer and good intentions that we sit here to hear of the plight of our Jewish brothers, as we have always tried to be supportive and sympathetic.”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” offered Mac, as he sat back down on the needlepoint cushioned chair bearing the Papal seal. “I am a student of your teachings, Holy Father. I have followed your pronouncements against Nazism as Nuncio of Munich and of Berlin, I have grasped the meaning of Mit Brennonder Sorge, where your predecessor, God rest his soul, was antagonistic to the racism of National-Socialists, a position clearly prepared and advocated by yourself as his Vatican Secretary of State. I am also fully familiar with your Summi Pontificatus, your first papal encyclical, where you expressed dismay at the invasion of Poland, and re-iterated Catholic principles of fighting racism and anti-Semitism.”
“Well, Signore Martini, you do seem quite well versed in the positions of His Grace,” offered Father Leiber. “The problem will be the Jewish leaders’ insistence that he do more than just talk in generalities. They will most likely ask that His Holiness castigate the Germans, and their methods, while specifically bringing to light the atrocities that they have committed against the Polish people. Pope Pius is concerned that such demonstrations will only bring more reprisals on the poor, helpless innocents, both the Jews, and the Catholic clerics, whether they speak out themselves. We have recently seen what happens when His Grace speaks out, as he did in writing to the ruling monarchies in the Low Countries to express his sympathies, as they were being overrun by the Germans. The Germans responded by rounding up the Jews, and the Catholics, and sending them to purported work camps. When they ran over Poland, they murdered thousands of Catholic clerics in their path. The Pope's reluctance to be demonstrative is not out of any concern for himself, it is out of a recognition that his words could make matters worse.”
“I understand, Father,” said Mac, nodding his head toward the Pontiff.
“Let us bring in our guests, Father Leiber,” said the Pontiff. “They have been waiting long enough.”
Robert Leiber got up from the table, and he left the room. Mac was sitting there alone with the Pontiff, who seemed deep in thought, or prayer, in profound silence. When Father Leiber returned to the room, he had two gentlemen with him, both dressed in black suits, and black wide-brimmed fedoras, but otherwise appearing as different as night and day. Yitzhack Halevi Herzog had a long, unkempt beard, payos behind his ears, and round wire rimmed glasses, while Israel Zolli was clean-shaven, with black plastic frame glasses, and trimmed hair. Both men removed their fedoras in the presence of the Pope, but each had on a yarmulke underneath.
“Your Excellency, may I present the Askenazi Chief Rabbi of Palestine, Yitzhack Halevi Herzog, who you have met a year ago, when he was here to intercede on behalf of the Lithuanian Jews, and the Chief Rabbi of Rome, Israel Zolli, whom you have also met most recently at the Quirinal Palace,” said Father Leiber, as the Pope instinctively held out his hand, not necessarily expecting either man to kiss his ring.
“Sit down, gentlemen,” said Pope Pius, as he motioned the men to the available chairs around the table. “You both know Father Leiber, my personal secretary. This is Tommaso Martini, a fine young lawyer from America. He is here for rather obvious reasons. Your plight is the plight of all mankind, not just of us here in Europe. We are all responsible, whether we live with this abomination on mankind, or we live just knowing about it. All God's children must live by his word. Please speak freely and be assured that our thoughts and prayers are with your people, our people.”
“Thank you, Your Excellency. We are here to most humbly beseech Your Grace to help us to save our people from a most certain demise. We are aware of your history in being sympathetic to our people, but most unfortunately, the time for words is over. We need your help, your Excellency, and the help of your Church. We need it now! We have vivid proof of the atrocities being committed by the Germans, which we will be happy to share with your people, after our discussion. These are not the things for which we seek you to be directly involved with, but just to know about. We understand that you cannot come out directly against these barbarians, given the Vatican's neutrality, and because, quite frankly, we believe it would only make matters worse for our people, and for yours as well. What we would most appreciate would be that you, as leader of the Catholic Church, tell your flock to help the Jews in their desperate flight from persecution. Open your doors, the doors of your churches, take us in, help us avoid a most certain death by the sword of Damocles that hangs over the head of our people.”
“Rabbi, I hear your plea,” said Pope Pius, “and I am most sympathetic. I have given this much thought, and deep prayer already. I am prepared to do what you seek, sirs. It will be done. Robert, prepare a proclamation that I will sign on Vatican letterhead, asking that our clergy do whatever they can on behalf of the persecuted Jewish people. Our doors must remain open to all of God's children, for if not, what has our Savior really taught us. Love thy neighbor as thyself. Our doors will be open to you, my friends, as are our hearts!”
“We are eternally grateful, Your Excellency,” said the Chief Rabbi of Rome. “You are truly a most holy and gracious representative of God on Earth. Thank you.”
As the Pope rose to leave the conference room, the two Rabbis now kissed his ring, much to the surprise of Mac.
“Gentlemen, you will have your letter before you leave here; we will disseminate my thoughts to our clergy,” said Pope Pius. “They will be told to read my letter to our people at Sunday Mass. Now, if you excuse me, I will leave you with Father Leiber and Signore Martini, to go over other matters you wish to discuss. You are always welcome within the walls of Saint Peter's, my friends.”
Pope Pius left the room through the door from which he entered. The gentlemen were offered coffee and refreshments, and an opportunity to freshen up before continuing with the meeting.
“Father Leiber, Signore Martini, we come with most distressing proof of the atrocities that are being committed in Poland as we speak,” said Chief Rabbi Herzog. “We have been provided with photographs, smuggled out of Poland at great risk that words cannot properly describe. With your permission, we will allow you to view the photographs, and make your own judgments.”
The Chief Rabbi of Rome opened his briefcase, and he spread an array of eight by ten photographs on the conference table, as the Rabbi Herzog continued to speak.
“These photographs were taken within the past year, outside of Warsaw, in Poland. The film was smuggled out of the Country.”
Mac and Father Leiber politely took the photographs off the table, one at a time, each depicting more heinous, and unspeakable atrocities. Naked people, men, women, and children, standing before an open pit, with German soldiers pointing rifles at their backs. Pictures of these same people, now apparently dead, splayed in pits that had been dug, naked bodies piled on top of each other, men, women, and children, while Polish workers shoveled dirt on top of them.
Mac sat there, his mouth open, a tear forming in his eye. Father Leiber, as well. The graphic nature of each shot was overwhelming, particularly as to the children. One girl held a doll as she stood between her naked parents. The same doll was cradled in her arms, as she lay dead in the pit, bodies piled over and around her, lime and dirt having already been shoveled on her face.
“How were these photographs taken?” asked Leiber.
“From the woods nearby, while the soldiers were there, and up close, afterwards,” said Hertzog. “It was reported that even the German soldiers could not live with what they had been ordered to do, as some vomited, and all quickly left the scene thereafter.”
“Unfortunately, we have more, gentlemen,” said Zolli, reaching into his briefcase to pull out a handwritten document of many soiled pages, handing the document over to Father Leiber. “This is a firsthand account of what is happening in these so-called labor camps the Germans have built all over Eastern Europe. It is mass annihilation, gentlemen. Hitler's apparent solution to the Jewish problem! Work them until they die. If they do not die fast enough, kill them. I challenge you to read this journal without weeping at its content. So outrageous, many will contest its accuracy or authenticity, but gentlemen, we hear this same kind of stories daily from the few that have been able to escape. It is true, gentlemen, it is true.”
Mac and Father Leiber read the firsthand account, wincing at various intervals, looking up at the Rabbis in disbelief.
“May we meet this person?” asked Mac of the Rabbis.
“No, I am afraid not. He has perished, sir,” said Zolli. “Shot dead by Gestapo thugs at a train station in Germany. A friend took the journal off his body, and he got it to us.
“I would like copies of these photographs and the journal to send to America,” said Mac.
“We will get you what you request, but we have already approached the Americans with this proof of the atrocities being committed in Poland. They have done nothing,” said Zolli.
“I can get them to Roosevelt directly,” said Mac. “No promises, but he will see them.”
Rabbi Herzog began to weep softly at the conference table.
“Please, whatever you can do,” said Zolli. “It will only get worse if this goes unanswered. We understand the reluctance of the Pontiff to speak out specifically as to these atrocities, but someone must do something. The barbarians are looking to wipe out the entire Jewish race.”
“You have my word, Rabbi, I will get right on it, and I will not let them ignore this,” said Mac.
“Thank you for sharing with us,” said Father Leiber. “We will inform the Pontiff of what we saw, and of your concerns. Copies, sooner rather than later, would be very helpful. Bring them directly to my office here at the Vatican. If you come upon more proof bring us copies.”
“Thank you, Father Leiber,” said Rabbi Zolli, as he got up from the table.
Rabbi Herzog was still sitting there weeping, as his friend lifted him up by his armpit, and the two Jewish emissaries left the room.
“Tommaso,” said Father Leiber, after the Jewish leaders left the room, “we keep this a secret of the Vatican for now. Do you understand, counselor?” said Father Leiber, reminding Mac of his ethical duties.
“Yes sir, but I have to inform my people of what I saw.”
“After we digest it, and we figure out how we should deal with this. The release of this will cause mass hysteria.”
“Exactly, which is precisely what should happen here. How dare they kill innocents like that? Unbelievable!”
“Precisely, which is why we need to investigate this further, before we just put this kind of thing out there. What if they are fakes? The Rabbis do not even know if they are authentic. A good lawyer never goes off unprepared, Tommaso. The world will no doubt question this unless we have more to back it up. Your initial reaction was correct. Where is the person who wrote the diary? He is conveniently dead? And, yet a friend took his journal off his body? Sounds fishy, Tommaso. We will do the right thing, at the appropriate time, which is when we are sure this evidence is real.”
Yeah, as the innocent people continue to die, Mac thought to himself, suddenly feeling very ill.
“Let's get the copies, and you will brief the Pontiff orally as to what we have seen. Nothing in writing, Tommaso. We will let Pope Pius decide what to do about this.”
“Yes, sir, but I assumed His Excellency had me in the room precisely so I would report back what I have seen, so he could keep his neutrality, and at the same time, get my country to act. Roosevelt will never stand for this, and the Pontiff knows it.”
“Perhaps, Tommaso. But they said they went to the Americans first, and they did nothing. You don’t think that your president knows? I am going to get you an office here, where we can keep these things sequestered. Besides, I have the feeling you are going to be here much of your time, anyway. Maybe, we can even talk you into putting on one of these cassocks one day, young man?”
“Unlikely, Father. Highly, unlikely.”