Funeral in a dead city
Shiva Naipaul
Rome Of grief, there was little outward sign. True, the wall-posters (many already defaced) were Up — this is a form of communication the Italians seem to share with the Chinese. The Communists, anxious to proclaim their Peaceful coexistence with the Faith, had bordered their condolences in ostentatious black; the Catholic Action group had theirs done in blue; even the cooperative farmers were moved to public utterance. 'I Coltivatori Diretti Italiani ricordano . con immensa riconoscenza gli incontri, le Parole, i gestid'amore del Pontefice, grande profeta di pace. . .' But Rome in August is an almost dead town. Italians treat their i holidays with utmost seriousness and t was Painfully apparent that not even the death of a Pope was going to persuade them to hang around. The few restaurants that remained open on the Via Veneto were empty — ranks of tables covered with pink cloths tended by surly waiters. Those prostitutes who, in normal times, would cruise along it in their Fiats had vanished to the Se, aiide along with the rest of the citizenry. La dolce vita!' demanded the American Photographer who had come to cover the funeral. 'Where is la dolce vita?' The waiter to whom the question was put shrugged 1112.1telPfully. Tourists too were surprisingly win on the ground, kept at bay by the terrorist threat. However, rumour had it that the terrorists were also on holiday and offered no immediate challenge to the hundreds of armed policemen and soldiers patrolling the streets. Their gay uniforms lent a welcome touch of colour, a welcome touch Of melodrama, to the dead city. , The expressions of grief were, at best, mrrnal, prompted by courtesy rather than feeling A Pope had died, but his death "'ented, somehow, a distant bureaucratic event, arousing not sorrow but controlled curiosity. A Pope had died. Not a man, not a 1:::srs impersonal and mysterious than those s onality, but an abstraction, a being no blank tiers of Vatican masonry rising hind St. Peter's. In the end, it has to be admitted, Pope Paul was not greatly loved. John xXlit remained a lively memory, pre empting affection. Paul had never had the advantage of the comparison. Not even his death could change that. It was all a little !cl. On Friday, the day before the funeral, the great square of St. Peter's was crowded with Pilgrims and sightseers, but not overly h —certainly the crowds were not as big as I _ad assumed they would be. A reasonably oCclered, spacious queue, well-equipped With J apanese and their cameras, filed along 111.e sides of the square towards the Church where the body, removed from its coffin, lay in state, a body already many days dead and whose state of putrefaction was giving rise to ghoulish speculation. Indeed, the city's English-language press was obsessed by the subject. On that Friday in Rome they had been full of it. Papal decomposition, it emerged, had always been something of a problem. It was claimed that the body had begun to turn green, that it had become so 'high' that special fans had had to be installed, the air in the vicinity irradiated with powerful perfumes. I was told that the Swiss Guard was having a rough time — but my source was Irish, inebriated and, therefore, not entirely to be trusted. And yet to me, an outsider, a man trained to the unapproachable, gun-guarded pomp hedging in the bodies of public figures, to me it was strange, comforting and moving that this body, whatever its stage of disintegration, should be so freely exposed, so casually accessible to my profane gaze. We filed in, shuffling along the marbled aisles, mothers shushing their noisy children, Japanese gawking, a hundred cameras being readied for action. `Avanti! Avanti!' chivvied a weary-looking, blue-suited functionary. In side chapels groups of nuns prayed, oblivious of the shuffling throng. 'Avanti! Avanti!' The window above the altar glowed orange; the halberds of the Swiss Guard flashed as they caught the light. A single candle burned by the body, very small, very pale, very dead. Its hands were crossed demurely, the face — as had been said — full of calm repose. Perfume sweetened the air; I thought I heard the whirr of fans, but the sound was muted and!
could not be sure. Cameras clicked and flashed. The Swiss guard stared. I was struck by their youth. `Avanti! Avanti!' I hurried out into the square. A youth, hanging outside the window of a motorcar, was singing at the top of his voice. The car roared out of sight down the Via della Conc iliazione .
In his will, Paul had said, concerning the funeral, 'Let it be pious and simple'. The English press described with relish the elaborate security precautions — the sharpshooters to be stationed on the roof of the colonnade, the circling helicopters — that were being planned for the funeral. Somebody in Naples won the lottery using the numbers derived from the date of the death.
There were, it appeared, other complications and confusions. Certain embas sies were offended because they had not been officially informed of the death. The Vatican, sensitive to the distinction that it draws between itself and the Italian State, was creating difficulties for a number of ambassadors whose countries did not have a separate representative appointed to the Holy See. Seating arrangements were a little confused. The simple service requested by the Pope was, according to one newspaper, going to be the most elaborate affair of its kind in the two thousand year history of the Church. Why hadn't Archbishop Coggan come? — one Irishman wanted to know. Had he fallen out with the Pope? no, no, replied another Irishman: Coggan was busy doing the Lambeth Walk. When the laughter had subsided, another litro was ordered. In any case, it was pointed out, the Vatican wasn't really all that interested in the Church of England. Ecumenism was, at bottom, directed at the Eastern Orthodox Churches. The Monophysite doctrine was briefly expounded.
But it was time to go to the English College, the stronghold, since the Reformation, of English Catholicism in Rome, breedingground of martyrs and saints. However, old • enmities were in abeyance and the College, in true ecumenical spirit, had opened its doors to Michael Ramsey, ex-Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishop of London, a .Canadian representative of the World Council of Churches and Archbishop • Sepaku, the Anglican Primate of Tanzania. We went past the Martyrs' Chapel, mounting shallow flights of stone stairs, designed for measured ecclesiastical tread, to a room on one of the upper floors. The young Anglican who greeted us became embarrassed when I asked for more information about the English College. The English College? Ah! Well. . . you see, we are not the people to ask about that . . we're not ... well, I hope you'll understand ... They have very kindly offered it to us . . . very kindly indeed . . . if you want more information. . . ha! hal. . . there are a number of people I could put you in touch with . . . Michael Ramsey sat under a whitecurtained window, the afternoon light flooding over him, white, whiskery brows beetling. 'I represent no-one,' he says, 'I hold no ecclesiastical office.' But he could not resist coming to Rome for the funeral. I loved Paul. My memories of him go back over twelve years.' Paul had taught men to treat one another with love and knowledge. 'I revere Pope Paul.' He loved and revered him as a man of God, one who possessed 'that deep humility that comes from walking with God.'
The Bishop of London apologised for the absence of Archbishop Coggan. He was preoccupied with the Lambeth Conference.
His own attitude to Pope Paul was one of deep affection and reverence. 'I count it a great privilege to be here to represent Archbishop Coggan and therefore the Church of England.' They were extremely grateful for the mark Paul had left on the ecumenical movement. He sat down. The Primate of Canada spoke next. Meeting the Pope had been a memorable experience.
Working with him in the cause of unity had been a great privilege. He sat down. The Archbishop of Tanzania felt that he had nothing to add and remained silent, lost in solemn reverie. 'Archbishop Sepaku met the Pope in an African situation,' the young Anglican priest observed somewhat mysteriously. What kind of Pope would Ramsey like to see elected? Ramsey laughed. `Let me make it clear that I represent no one but myself. I'm on the shelf so to speak.' Speaking purely personally, he would like the new Pope to be genuinely keen on Christian unity. But he was not interested in superficial solutions. It was not going to be easy. There were many problems. What kind of problems? Papal infallibility for one; the Virgin Mary for another. There were many problems . . . The Canadian Primate hoped that the new Pope would hold the Church together, the Bishop of London talked about the ordination of women and hoped that there would be no backbiting 'between those who decided to go one way and those who decided to go another, between those who do one thing and those who do another . Sepaku remained silent, staring out at the Roman afternoon, perhaps being lulled into somnolence by the Bishop of London's metronomic cadences. Ramsey, brows flaring white in the sun, mouth working, played with the ring Pope Paul had given him.
By early Saturday afternoon the streets round St. Peter's had been closed to traffic. Busloads of armed policemen and soldiers, some in brown uniforms, some in blue uniforms, some in green uniforms, some in black and white uniforms, established their occupation. The square filled slowly — even at the height of the service it was to be no more than two-thirds full. A helicopter circled periodically. The atmosphere was relaxed, bordering on the jovial, the crowd moving freely, laughing, smoking, taking photographs, eating icre-cream. VIPs massed blackly on either side of the improvised altar; the hoi polloi down in the square were less than funereal in their attire — jeans, shorts, bright dresses. When, at 5.30, the bells began to peal somberly, the pigeons rose up, flapping restlessly about the square. Out of the tall central doors they came, the Cross borne aloft. Two by two the Cardinals bent low and kissed the coffin. The powerful Public Address crackled across the square, carrying its message in Italian, English, French and German, aggravating the restlessness of the pigeons. I looked but did not see the marksmen who were supposed to be stationed on the roof of the colonnade. An old woman, dressed in black, dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief: it was the only expression of private grief I was to witness. Later I was told that even those who had lined the balconies of the Vatican had remained dry-eyed. The service went on a long time; the helicopter circled; the crowd processed, moving in and out of the square, drifting down the Via della Conciliazione to buy a beer, an icecream, a sandwich, from one of the bars. A beautiful young woman came and stood next to me, dressed in the briefest of shorts and leading a dog. She looked, grew bored and went away. The cardinals, tall white hats precise against the facade of the Church, resembled nothing so much as a statuesque chorus-line. One had to admire the stamina of these old men — though, apparently, the effort proved too much in the end for a frail Chinese cardinal. Gradually, the sun sunk behind the great dome, shadow invaded the square. Now that the day is setting,' Paul wrote in his Will, 'and everything ends and disappears of this stupendous and dramatic temporal, earthly scene, how can I thank you again, 0 Lord, for the natural gift of life, and the gift, even greater, of faith and of grace, in which, at the end my surviving being is uniquely sheltered?' A small wind stirred the pages of the Bible which had been placed on the coffin. Faith, grace — I had seen so little of either. As the coffin was hoisted on to the shoulders of the bearers to be taken back into the darkness beyond the tall doors, ('for the last time' the Public Address intoned) the crowd applauded. The applause — so it seemed tome—was polite, not enthusiastic. Twilight deepened over the emptying square. Within half an hour the workmen of the municipality were taking down the barriers. Soon the traffic was flowing again. The dramatic, temporal earthly scene quickly reasserted itself.
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