More Tragic Than Murder? A Thief in the Night (Part III)
Here is my final installment about Cornwell’s book. I had originally intended another, but will stop here. I’ll explain why at the end of the article. Since I’ve started this series about Pope John Paul I’s death, I’ve had more than 10,000 hits on my blog, an enormous increase. Thanks to everyone who has been reading for your interest.
Cornwell’s claims about the Pope’s death
Cornwell claims that John Paul’s medical problems were ignored by doctors and his co-workers in the Vatican.
In reality, far from experiencing medical neglect, the Pope had a regular physician in the Vatican. In 1993, four years after Cornwell’s book was published, Dr. Antonio Da Ros, Luciani’s personal physician for many years, as well as a close friend, broke his years of silence about his medical care in the days leading up to his death (Neither Cornwell nor Yallop had been able to interview him). Dr. Da Ros stressed that he had visited the Vatican three times between August 26 and September 28. That is, on September 3, September 13, and September 23. (1) The schedule that Dr. Da Ros described was about the same schedule he had of visiting Luciani in Vittorio Veneto and Venice, every week or two. The visits were made as much out of friendship as out of medical considerations. In fact, Dr. Da Ros said that the Pope was not ill in the Vatican at all, except for the slight swelling in his ankles (not his legs, as Cornwell claimed), which the doctor didn’t regard as serious (2). The swelling in his ankles was actually a long-standing condition for him, as far back as the 1960’s when he was bishop of Vittorio Veneto (3).
Da Ros also said that he himself called the papal apartment around 9:00 on September 28. He said: “I chatted with the Pope, but I also spoke to Sister Vincenza Taffarel, who was the Holy Father’s nurse and looked after him. . . . Everything was normal. Even Sister Vincenza did not speak to me of any particular problems. She told me that the Pope had passed the day as usual. We agreed that my next visit would be on the following Wednesday.” (4)
At the time of John Paul I’s death, Dr. Da Ros agreed with the Vatican doctors that he had suffered a heart attack. (5) In 1996, he did not want to discuss the cause of his death any further, nor has he done so since – perhaps for the reason that there was no autopsy. (6)
Cornwell’s only real hard medical information about the Pope’s health comes from his niece, Dr. Lina Petri. He quotes her as saying that the Pope had previously said to her before his election that he was on constant medication for the blood-clotting problem that had led to his embolism. Lina commented that in the confusion and stress at the beginning of his papacy, her uncle “was probably neglecting to take essential medication.”(7) This became a key point of Cornwell’s theory about the Pope’s death.
However, Cornwell’s own interviews with the Pope’s secretaries clearly show that he was not neglecting to take his medication. They did say that they had wanted to call a doctor when he experienced chest pains on September 28, but that the Pope had assured them that the pain was nothing to worry about. Bishop Magee said that when the Pope had a coughing spell and complained of pain in the afternoon, Sister Vincenza had given him a pill, and he had recovered quickly. (8) Certainly no sign of neglect there! Sister Vincenza a trained nurse who had been in Luciani’s household for 12 years, was overseeing his medication, so it would have been nearly impossible for him to have forgotten to take it. Certainly the secretaries knew that the Pope had a nurse looking after him who could make a better medical judgment than they could. And she did not seem at all alarmed. Cornwell was just desperately reaching here for something, anything he could hang a controversy on.
The evidence suggests that whatever the pain was, it was not something new or undiagnosed, since the Pope was already taken medication for it. In fact, as I have explained above in Part V, Luciani had been in a hospital in Venice for medical tests after he began experiencing pains in his chest and elsewhere in 1978, and the doctors had ruled out heart trouble, and had not found any specific cause for the pain. He went sunbathing on the Lido during the last week before he left for the conclave to treat suspected rheumatic troubles. This is how Fr. Senigaglia, Luciani’s secretary in Venice, explained it to me So, if anything, the medication was probably for rheumatic trouble, or possibly the bronchial troubles Luciani was known to suffer from, and which certainly can lead to chest pain (9). Perhaps the pains that the Pope was experiencing on the afternoon and evening of his death were connected with the earlier ones, or perhaps not. They may have been connected with his death, or they may not have been connected with it at all; it’s impossible to know without an autopsy that would have shown clearly what he died of.
The secretaries of totally rejected this accusation of neglect. Shortly after the book came out, Fr. John Magee, by then the bishop of Cloyne, Ireland, commented: “There are people who say that Papa Luciani was left alone, that he suffered from loneliness, that he was actually allowed to die alone, without help from anyone and without the comfort of the sacraments of the Church. They write to create controversy, without any respect for the truth. And even when the whole truth is offered to them they are capable of manipulating it for their own ends.” (10).
While there is still room for disagreement about the precise cause of his death, there is certainly no evidence whatsoever that his was not a natural death. After all, if perfectly healthy-seeming young athletes can drop dead on the track and in the field of brain aneurysms and other causes of which they never gave any previous sign, it shouldn’t surprise anyone if a man of 65 with some known health problems does so. And there is absolutely no evidence that his death was due to neglect.
And what about Cornwell’s statement that John Paul I, burdened by the papacy, spoke of his imminent death on numerous occasions as Pope, and actually prayed for it to happen?
Father Lorenzi said in his interview with Cornwell, as he has elsewhere, that Luciani once said to him in Venice, at the beginning of 1978, at a time when he was very discouraged: “Sometimes I ask the Good Lord to come along and take me away.” Lorenzi believed that the Pope said this because of his desire to meet God. Cornwell quotes him as saying, “This is my own interpretation . . . . I think that this prayer – ‘God take me away’ – was said thousands of times during that month of his papacy. Although, mind you, he said to us many times, ‘I am enjoying a deep peace of mind. I am as light as a feather. I am not unhappy.’” (11)
Lorenzi was obviously talking about a prayer that was made privately, in the Pope’s mind as almost all prayers are. So of course, Lorenzi had no real way of knowing what the Pope had said to God in private. This was his imagination speaking. Cornwell takes these words at face value, forgetting that Lorenzi had preceded this statement with “this is my own interpretation.” Yet later (in what I think is a very suspicious portion of his book), Cornwell has Lorenzi actually claiming that he actually said this repeatedly as Pope. (12) So what is the truth?
I interviewed Fr. Lorenzi myself back in 1985, after the appearance of Yallop’s book, and I later had a number of letters from him. In 1990, after Cornwell’s book came out, he wrote in answer to my query as to whether John Paul had ever said this as Pope: “What you remember . . . is all true: only on one occasion (it was at the end of the evening meal) I heard the Patriarch saying: Ogni tanto chiedo al Signore che mi porti con se. [Every now and then I ask the Lord to take me with him]. If I remember rightly, it could have been during the winter 1977/78 or early in 1978.” In other words, he never heard him say this as Pope. And something he said before becoming Pope should certainly not be quoted as evidence of his state of mind while Pope.
Lorenzi’s letter also corrected the impression given by Cornwell of the new Pope’s inadequacy for the job: “During those 33 days he handled the problems he had to face daily, with competence and good and unsuspected insight, amazing more than one collaborator (i.e. Card. Villot or Msgr. Casaroli, still alive). He was serene and well confident in God. He said once, at supper: ‘I am as light as a feather.’ Beyond the difficulties, he was well aware that the simple folk of Christ was with him, eager to listen to his sermons and instructions.” (13)
As further proof of John Paul I’s desire to die, Cornwell cites a published statement by Sister Vincenza describing a conversation with the Pope. The original text is an article in the Italian edition of Humilitas, an article I myself have translated, and the original of which I have. Once again, however, Cornwell completely mistranslated it to make it say things that aren’t in the Italian text. He has the Pope telling the nun: “Look, Sister, I should not be sitting here in this seat. The Foreign Pope is coming to take my place. I have begged Our Lord.” (14). The original reads in a correct translation: “You see, it isn’t I who should be sitting in this chair, but a foreign Pope! I had asked (avevo pregato) the Lord for it.” (15) That is, he had asked this of God before and during the conclave, at which he had actually voted for a “foreign” cardinal, Aloisio Lorscheider of Brazil. The emphasis on “begged” is also added to the original. It was not a request to die.
The most dramatic testimony, however, is what the papal secretaries said about what occurred at dinner on September 28. But here too there are problems with Cornwell’s account. This is how Father John Magee described the event in an interview with 30 Giorni in 1988, the year before Cornwell’s book came out.
I had decided that night to remind him that he had to choose in advance the person who would direct the Lenten spiritual exercises. He said: “Yes, yes, I have fixed everything, but the retreat that I would like to have now is the retreat for a good death.” It was 8:15 p.m. I tried to say, “But Your Holiness, no.” I was still thinking about the death of Paul VI. I did not want to hear death spoken about again. But he said: “Yes, yes, I would like to have a retreat of this kind.” Don Diego mentioned a prayer [for a good death]. He [the Pope] corrected him. “No, that’s not right. The correct form of this prayer is “Dammi la grazia di accettare la morte nel modo in cui mi colpirà.” [Give me the grace to accept death in whatever way it will strike me] (16)
Now contrast this with Cornwell’s interview with Magee, in which exactly the same Italian phrase is given. Cornwell then has Magee offer this translation: “Lord grant me the grace to accept the DEATH BY WHICH I SHALL BE STRUCK DOWN.” (17) “The death by which I shall be struck down” (capitalized for no reason) is yet another egregious mistranslation of some of the Pope’s words, one that would never have been made even by a first-year student of the language — and this time it is perfectly obvious, because Cornwell quotes the Italian in the text. (For one thing, in order to say “struck down” in Italian, you would say abbattere, not colpire. Colpire usually has a much weaker meaning). That he puts this translation in the mouth of Magee, who speaks Italian fluently, and who would never have translated the words this way, is clear evidence that Cornwell himself altered these words, and therefore altered the text of his interviews.
But what is the real difference between the two translations? Cornwell once more twisted this text to make it seem that John Paul I thought he was going to die immediately. What he really said is that he prayed to accept death whenever and however it happened.
But why did the Pope desire to have a retreat for a good death right then? It should be pointed out that most people don’t make the retreat for a good death because they think death is imminent. Exhortations to think about death in a Christian way are part of many retreats. Luciani himself had included such exhortations about the proper Christian attitude toward death and preparing for it during retreats he gave to his priests as a bishop. (18) He certainly didn’t expect all the priests attending the retreat to die immediately afterward! Rather the retreat is a reminder that death is something that every Christian always has to be mindful of. I think John Paul I, who had had some rather alarming medical symptoms in Venice just before coming to the Vatican, had been thinking about the possibility of his death a great deal. As I recounted in Part V of “Was Pope John Paul I Murdered?” he had told a priest in Venice a few months previously that he had arteriosclerosis, which had probably caused the blood clot in his eye, and that this condition would mean “a quick old age” for him. Having recurring thoughts about death, and wanting to obtain serenity in regard to them, would be a plausible reasoning for wanting such a retreat.
Another unanswered question: why didn’t the Pope want to summon a doctor that night? Why did he not even tell Dr. Da Ros on the phone about the pain he had suffered that day? I think the answer lies in Luciani’s character — and it is a character completely opposite the one Cornwell describes.
Dr. Da Ros stressed in interviews right after his death Luciani’s great devotion to his pastoral ministry, heightened as Pope. He told the Chicago Tribune shortly after John Paul’s death: “He was the type of person who, once he had committed himself to something, gave it everything he had.” He described how he when he came to the Vatican he had cautioned the Pope about the danger of stress and his heavy schedule, saying, “Holiness, you cannot continue at this pace.” The Pope answered “What else can I do?” (19) It should be stressed that Dr. Da Ros – unlike Cornwell and his gossipy sources – had known Luciani intimately for many years. So perhaps he should be believed when he says this. (In Part VII of “Was Pope John Paul I Murdered,” I go into some of Dr. Da Ros’ statements in more detail. Certainly questions can be raised about his lack of detail on some points, but he had better knowledge of the Pope’s medical condition than anyone else).
Many other people who know Luciani have said that he was not one to let illness keep him from his duties. A student of his when he was teaching in the seminary recalled that he put off having a needed operation for a long time so he wouldn’t have to leave his teaching duties (20). Don Francesco Taffarel, who was Luciani’s secretary from 1967 to 1969, when he was bishop of Vittorio Veneto, recalls an episode that dramatically makes the same point. Luciani had previously suffered with liver trouble and had been operated on for gallstones. Taffarel recalls: “Once, after he had celebrated mass in the Italcementi factory in Vittorio Veneto and had spent some time in cordial conversation with the workers, he left around 9:30 by car for Rome, where he was expected for an important meeting with the CEI [the Italian bishops’ conference]. After a few kilometers, he experienced a sharp pain in his liver, so he turned back and immediately met with his doctor. Dr. Antonio Da Ros, who advised him against the trip. But he answered firmly that he absolutely needed to be present, he was given an injection, and stretched out on some pillows in the car.” Fortunately by the time they got to Rome, Luciani was well enough to be able to speak at the meeting (21)
The truth was John Paul I absolutely wanted to carry out his responsibilities as Pope and drove himself to do so. Nothing in the evidence surrounding his death indicates a desire to die or resignation to dying immediately; rather he was working as hard as he could in what he thought might be the short time allotted to him to accomplish his mission. Following his habits of a lifetime, he was not one to let physical pain or illness slow him down. And even though he thought he might have only a short time, there is little indication that he thought that the time would only be a few days, but perhaps a year, or three or five. I don’t think even he could have foreseen how soon his end would come.
This by no means clears up all the mysteries about John Paul I’s death. In particular there is the mystery of his seeming foreknowledge of the “foreign Pope” who was to come to succeed him. The possible connection of his death with Sister Lucia and the third secret of Fatima. What really happened on the night of his death? What was he really reading at the time? These things would take us a long way beyond Cornwell and Yallop. Clearing away their errors, lies and fabrications is painstaking work, but it still more or less puts us right back at the beginning.
I believe that the rest of what I have to say on these subjects should be saved for my biography of John Paul I. In recent months I have begun to work on it again, and I hope to soon get it published. I hope to include material I recently came across about the possible cause of his death which is fascinating, but needs more investigation. I would like to stress about all that this will be a full biography of John Paul I, not just another sensational book about his death.
So please keep coming back here for news about its publication.
(1) “Ore nove. Il Papa sta bene,” interview with Andrea Tornielli, 30 Giorni, no. 9, September 1993): 46-48. Dr. Da Ros had given several interviews immediately after the Pope’s death, but had remained silent since then. I too requested an interview back in 1985, but was refused.
(2) Ibid., p. 48.
(3) “Papa Luciani morì per un embolo,” La Nuova di Venezia, January 3, 2004, p. 9; this was reported by Vincenzio Savio, then the bishop of Belluno, from information obtained from Luciani’s family and friends.
(4) “Ore nove,” p. 47.
(5) Gioacchino Muccin, the former bishop of Belluno, quoting Da Ros, “Ore nove,” p. 46.
(6) Dr. Da Ros spoke again in an interview with Andrea Tornielli in 2003; “Il suo medico personale: “Parlai con lui la sera prima e stava benissimo, Il Giornale, September 27, 2003.
(7) Cornwell, Thief, p. 242.
(8) Cornwell, Thief, pp. 189-90.
(9) Interview with Don Mario Senigaglia, November 2, 1985; for Bishop Gottardi of Trent, see Part VII.
(10) Bishop Magee at a conference in Venice, in Humilitas, (Italian ed.), August 1990, pp. 3 4, 14.
(11) Cornwell, Thief, p. 78.
(12) Cornwell, Thief, p. 211.
(13) Letter of June 6, 1990, emphasis is Lorenzi’s.
(14) Cornwell, Thief, p. 115.
(15) From Humilitas, (Italian ed), May 1986, p. 3.
(16) Magee, 30 Giorni, 9 (August-September 1988), p. 15.
(17) Cornwell, Thief, p. 191.
(18) Se Il Buon Samaritano (Padua: Edizioni Messaggero, 1980, and Opera Omnia 9:140-9) for such an exhortation.
(19) Dr. Antonio Da Ros, Chicago Tribune, exclusive October 3, 1978, p. 1; see also the interview with him in AP story in the Des Moines Register, October 4, 1978, p. 2.
(20) “Una sorgente del suo sorriso,” L’Amico del Popolo, September 30, 1978.
(21) Don Francesco Taffarel, ‘I miei anni con Luciani,” Gente Veneta, September 28, 2008 (The Italian text is available at the online version of the periodical.
