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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?"