The Corporal of Orvieto

In the ecclesiastical histories of the Roman Catholic Church, the "miracle of Bolsena is treated with a certain reserve But in Orvieto, some 70 miles north of Rome, it is a matter of such vital consequence that last week it precipitated a local political crisis.

The miracle (so runs local legend) concerns a Bohemian priest, Peter of Prague, who, on his way to see the Pope in the year of 1263, was tortured by doubts whether the wafer he consecrated really became Christ's body, as church doctrine said it was. Miraculously at Bolsena, a small town near Orvieto, the Host began to bleed in Peter's hands. At Mass, spots of blood fell from the wafer onto the corporal, a white linen cloth upon which the chalice rests while on the altar.

Pope Urban IV, who was in Orvieto at the time taking refuge from a threatened invasion of Rome from Sicily, ordered the blood-sported corporal brought within the safety of Orvieto's walls. Inspired by the miracle (Orvietans declare), Urban IV instituted the feast of Corpus Christi. He then presented the corporal to the "good people of Orvieto who with much valor and sacrifice saved our person and protected us, thereby fully deserving the honor to protect the Lamb's blood as they saved the Lamb's vicar."

Four Keys to the Reliquary. Orvietans decided to build a cathedral (one of the most beautiful in all Italy) in which to keep their corporal. A Sienese artist, Ugolino di Vieri, was commissioned to make a reliquary to hold the corporal. Made of silver with exquisite enamel representations of Christ's Passion and tiny figures in true gold, the reliquary with the corporal has been Orvieto's proudest possession for more than six centuries. Because of a tendency by Orvieto's bishops to regard the reliquary as the exclusive possession of the church, there have been various papal bulls confirming Pope Urban IV's original directive that it belonged to the people of Orvieto. Ownership is today symbolized by the distribution of the four keys to the reliquary: one is held by the artist who cares for it and one each by the mayor, the town council, and the bishop. The possibility, unforeseen by Urban IV, that the mayor and certain of the town council might some day be Communists had not been considered--until a few weeks ago.

Humble Request. Mario Moretti, an Orvieto jack-of-all-trades, had the idea of exposing the reliquary to the multitudes at Rome in the Corpus Christi procession of this Holy Year. Moretti took his suggestion to Bishop Francesco Piero, who wrote to Pope Pius XII about it, was delighted when the Pope accepted the offer. In a notice posted on the cathedral walls, Orvieto's Bishop Piero announced: " ....Generously condescending to my humble request, His Holiness has granted that Orvieto's precious reliquary be carried in Rome's procession this jubilee year of 1950." Orvietans, gathered in front of the notice, were astounded. They turned to Communist Mayor Giuseppe Gregori for an explanation.

Gregori, a professor of Greek, an intellectual of charm and ability with fine brown eyes and a fine-featured face, disclaimed responsibility. Said he: "I don't know. I learn of it now." People exclaimed: "But aren't you the reliquary's keeper?" Said Mayor Gregori in soft tones: "I am the reliquary's keeper, but who am I to enter into a religious question? I am under a cloud. What can a Communist do against the spiritual power of the church?"

People said: "But you must do something!' Mayor Gregori shook his head. 'Communists aren't in power in Italy. It was your wish that they shouldn't be. I respect your wish. Why, only last night I sent my key back to the bishop as a sign of courtesy."

But Mayor Gregori did express concern for the precedent set by the bishop. He conjectured that any bishop at any time might now send Orvieto's reliquary here, there or anywhere.

"A Really Safe Place." Devout Orvietan women began to show alarm. They were further stirred up when Mayor Gregori enlarged upon the dangers of travel, how shaking might crack the reliquary's enamel. A long unhappy wai went up from the women now crowding about Gregori. Said he: "Of course, you've the comfort that the relic is going to a really safe place." A shout went up filling the square. "They are going to keep our relic in Rome. Orvieto has lost it." Women in the crowd began furiously to beat on the cathedral door. Added Mayor Gregori smoothly: "It isn't for me to head a delegation to the bishop. Communists aren't well received there . . . Really, it's the bishop who should come to see me, but that would be unthinkable, as unthinkable as that the Vatican would send a fake reliquary back in place of our real one."

Lea Pacini, representing the women of Orvieto, went to see the bishop. To the bishop's chancellor, pale, large-cheeked Francesco Troili, she shouted: "What's this about moving and smashing and substituting the reliquary without the people's consent?" Troili answered: "Who are you to question the bishop's decisions?" Pounding her breast, Lea wailed: "That's dictatorship."

In the halls of the ancient Town Council, Mayor Gregori was heard to say that 35 Popes had come to Orvieto to see the corporal. Now it was the corporal, Christ's blood, that was going to a Pope in Rome. "Yes," said Mayor Gregori, "everything is more democratic today. We can only rejoice at that."

To quiet the people, Bishop Piero stood up in the cathedral pulpit. Said he: "I beg you Orvietans ... we live in dire times . . . There is so much suffering . . . in the prisons . . . hospitals . . . streets . . . homes . . . behind the Iron Curtain that has been lowered across Europe. For the sake of our brothers beyond, one of whom saw faith's light because of our corporal, don't be divided by quarrels. Make the sacrifice, however great it may seem, for the sake of our persecuted brothers ... The Bohemian College in Rome has asked us for the honor of being the reliquary's bearers in the papal procession. They've no prospect of seeing any of their own town festivals in the near future . . . Where are your hearts, Orvietans! How will you say no to these Bohemians?"

A Little Hitch. A thunderous applause greeted the bishop. To show that there was no prejudice, tall, dark Monsignor Alibio Ruina announced that the Communist mayor of Bolsena, the little town nearby where the miracle had occurred, would be invited to the procession. The church, which had won the day, could afford to be generous.

But a hitch occurred when the vehicle that was to bear the reliquary to Rome arrived at Orvieto. It was an ordinary closed moving van. The people gathered in the plaza complained that this was not good enough for their relic. They muttered that the reliquary should be taken to Rome in a truck with a glass top and sides, so that all the countryside could see it and realize what a great sacrifice they, the people of Orvieto, had made.

Just as the crowd was working itself into a mood to stop the removal of the reliquary, a cloud drifted over Orvieto. Hail began to rattle down. Quickly, the people understood the sign: the hail would have shattered a glass-roofed truck. The closed truck was best. Maurizio Ravelli, who looks after the reliquary, had built into the truck a triple floor with springs and delicate silver pistons to ease the passage of the reliquary. Driven at 15 m.p.h. over roads strewn with scarlet poppy petals between rows of kneeling, weeping, praying people, the reliquary made its journey to Rome.

In the great Corpus Christi procession from St. Peter's Basilica Thursday of last week, before 300,000 onlookers, the corporal of Orvieto, carried aloft by robed, red-sashed Bohemian priests, moved just in front of Pius XII. It was observed that during the procession the Pope kept his eyes on the reliquary. The Communist mayor of Bolsena, wearing a tri-colored sash, was on hand.

Mayor Gregori of Orvieto was not present.

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