The Confession of Father Cosimo
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I am Cosimo Battista, a priest of the Jesuit order, and this is my tale. It is a tale of being caught, as the saying goes, between the Devil and the deep blue sea, or perhaps between a rock and a hard place. I record it here, that it may offer some help or consolation to others who struggle to make the right choice, and not as confession for my sins, because God knows already the secrets of my heart, and in His mercy forgives us our trespasses. It was the middle days of November, on the feast day of St Allucio, in the year of Our Lord 1566 when I was called to my superior’s office. It was warm, for so late in the year, even for Rome, so I was glad for a reason to go deeper into the cool heart of my order’s complex. I followed a winding route along corridors which overlooked, by turns, the gardens, the river Tiber, and the library. A single story down from the tower rooms that were Father Angelico’s office, a vista of Rome sprawled, baked terracotta and stone, in a breathtaking fashion. Or was that the climb upwards? Within the room, seated around the single table, were my superior, Father Angelico; Monsignore Iacopo Larroca, who I knew to be high up in my order; and another man I knew not. He was wearing the robes and insignia of a papal messenger. Silence had descended as I entered the room, bowed my greeting, and stood awaiting orders. My superior broke it. “With all due respect, Right Reverend Monsignore, Father Cosimo is not qualified for any work beyond these walls, let alone a mission with ramifications that reach to wherever the true church maintains its embrace! We struggle enough against heresy, without the added threat of incompetence.” Monsignore Iacopo Larroca, Secretary to the Presidium of Rome, sighed, and said, “Yet he must be allowed to go. How can we say if he is ready to work out in the world for the Mother church, and for our Order, if you will not let him stray beyond the walls of this place?”
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I took a seat in one of the deep, cushion-covered chairs, and nodded my agreement with his points. I had suspected for some time that Father Angelico harboured a dislike of me, although the reason for this I had not discovered. “I have supervised his studies and prayers,’ Angelico replied. ‘I know whether he is spiritually practised enough, learned enough in the ways of our Order, or in the ways of the Church. He is not.” The papal visitor sat, silent, watching me, while my superiors discussed me as if I were not there. “Well then, who would you send?” “I have my eye on Father Adalberto. He has spent longer learning the ways of our Order, our Faith and our Church than Cosimo, and he has the keenest eye for detail I have seen in a man yet.” “But this man, this Adalberto, is he not an old man, and frail? Would not a younger, fitter man, be better for what we need of this representative? We ask him to head up into the mountains, to talk an old man into handing his land over to our Order rather than another and ... what further was needed?” Monsignore Iacopo flicked his glance to the man who wore the colours of service to the Holy Father. The papal messenger said, “I cannot tell you which priest to send. I cannot tell you what the assignment is, that is contained within this sealed message, which must remain unread by all those who are not charged with its task. But I can tell you this. This assignment will test the integrity, the spiritual strength, of whoever you send. It will test their courage, their intellect, their knowledge, and their faith. It will test their skills of observation. It is not my place to tell you who to pick as your representative, but you must know, and consider, how the duty to our Holy Father will weigh heavy on whoever goes.” Father Angelico bared his teeth in what I could not truly call a smile.
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“Then we must send Adalberto,” he said. “Father Cosimo does not possess those skills or those character traits that this work requires, either the work of our Order or the work of the Holy Father. It must be Adalberto!” The Monsignore replied, with an elegant gesture of dismissal. “Yet, you ignore something more of import. The climate of the Alps is no place for old men with thin cloths. Adalberto might be better skilled, more experienced, although I remain unconvinced that he really is all you say, but should a snowstorm descend, he would be frozen in the hands of Our Lord, long before either of his assignments could be done.” “But if the climate stays mild-“ “If the climate remains mild, if he is all you say, if there is no hidden conflicts within him. If, if, if. We know Father Cosimo is a young man, a fit man. He has done well at his studies, his fellows here speak highly of him and, most importantly, he has the advantage of being from humble origins.” Father Angelico wrinkled his nose, as if at a bad smell. The Monsignore continued speaking. “Who better to convince an elderly man of humble origins to leave us his land, than a young man in whom he might easily see himself? All you say in support of Adalberto is ifs. There is solid fact behind the arguments in support of Cosimo. All there is behind Adalberto is smoke and mirrors.” “So, Monsignore,” Angelico huffed, “you seek to meddle in the affairs of this community, and to cast doubt upon the truth of my word.” “Not at all. This is a task for the whole Order, not a task for this community alone, and I was merely pointing out that your arguments stand on shaky ground. I do not doubt the integrity of your word, rather the facts behind your arguments.” “It is too important a task for this, this fisher boy,” Father Angelico said, waggling a gnarled finger at me.
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