But Grassi was continuing. “There is that in the Congden Library, yes? That was a child’s library, full of books for the instruction of children, yes? And they teach the Copernican hypothesis to children in the future! To children! And, I might add, I was right about that wretched comet and Galileo was not. Optical illusion, indeed.”
Grassi sat down, evidently much satisfied to have said that last.
“Then where are we in disagreement?” asked Scheiner, spreading his hands in as disarming a manner as he seemed capable of.
“That you want to excuse him his heresy, and excuse him being a bad scientist!” Grassi snapped back. “With these I will never agree.”
“Bad?” Scheiner asked, suddenly wearing the face of a man three steps ahead of the argument. “Because he was once wrong and you were once right?”
Grassi snorted. “Because he holds an opinion he cannot prove at a time when such opinion is heresy.”
“Then,” said Scheiner, “can we perhaps declare his hypothesis true and contrary to Scripture?”
Barberini nearly lost control of his face.
To his credit, Grassi laughed aloud. “Such a contagious heretic, this Galileo! He corrupts his very inquisitors!”
A rumble of chuckles went around the room. Barberini noted that even Borja twitched a corner of his mouth.
“Just so,” said Scheiner. “I think the worst we can lay before him is that he has made a thoroughly misguided attempt to convince the Church of a genuine error. And if it be no error, we can add that he is wrong to his tactlessness, indiscretion, plagiarism and arrogance.”
Grassi struck a pose of astonishment straight out of the commedia dell’arte. “You—after all we did to bring him here? You find that he—that damned winetaster—acted out of the best of motives?”
Scheiner slumped down heavily in his seat, like a puppet with cut strings. “But it is still heresy,” he sighed.
* * *
Neither of the two astronomers said anything further in that meeting. Antonio Barberini was again finding it hard to concentrate. Soon enough, he gave up the effort entirely and went back to the contemplation of matters in which he was an expert.
He was on the verge of deciding to throw his patronage in support of Artemisia Gentileschi. Very generous patronage, to boot. Female or not, the woman was one of the most superb painters of the day. Antonio considered her variant on the famous theme of Judith slaying Holofernes—both her variants, in fact—of being the best ever. Yet neither one of those paintings, magnificent as they were, compared in his opinion to either her youthful Susanna and the Elders or the recent Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting. True, her latest variant on the theme of Cleopatra was perhaps a bit prosaic—but only in comparison to the magnificent version she had painted some ten years earlier.
In truth, Antonio’s remaining hesitation was entirely political, not artistic. Despite her sex, Artemisia Gentileschi now enjoyed the patronage—miserly, to be sure—of no less a figure than King Philip of Spain. King Charles of England too, it was said, as well as the duke of Modena.
But those last two were irrelevant, in political terms. It was Philip who mattered, all the more so now that Gentileschi had moved from Rome to Naples. The Spanish were already aggravated with the Barberini clan. If Cardinal Antonio Barberini, nephew of Pope Urban VIII, were to steal Gentileschi away—perhaps he could even persuade her to move back to Rome . . .
Antonio cast a considering eye on his uncle Maffeo. The pope, as he had throughout these proceedings, was sitting silently and simply listening. His face, utterly impassive to anyone who did not know him well.
For a moment, their eyes met. Then the pope looked away.
But Antonio did know his uncle. Maffeo Barberini, he thought, was on the verge of some great and momentous decision. And Antonio thought he could guess which way he would decide. Underneath it all, the man now known as Urban VIII was something of a gambler.
Why else, Antonio thought wryly, would he had taken the risk of elevating so many of his clan to positions of such prominence in the church? That had risks and well as gains. Looked at the right way, it was almost Antonio’s duty to gamble himself.