The Pope's Last Crusade by Peter Eisner Page B

LaFarge had met in Paris, the leader of the French Jesuit social organization, Action Populaire. The other, Ledóchowski decided, was to be Gustav Gundlach. “The two Guses,” as they became known, were discreet and both had prior experience in preparing such documents. Ledóchowski knew both men’s work and also knew they could be controlled.
    Charming though he might have been, Ledóchowski effectively used his skills to oversee the project. He discussed the need for secrecy and speed. Among other things, if LaFarge’s work was ever made public, “every government in Europe would have people in 24 hours at the Vatican, urging the expression of their ideas.” All the more reason for LaFarge to go to Paris. He was to leave as soon as possible. Any questions, any doubts should be forwarded back directly to Ledóchowski at the Vatican.
    LaFarge mentioned that the Sunday-morning edition of Osservatore Romano had as usual listed the pope’s activities the previous day in a column on the left side of the front page. One could read in small type under audiences: “Giovanni LaFarge, SJ.” His meeting with the pope was no secret—only the subject discussed was closely guarded. Ledóchowski suggested that LaFarge use a cover story—he would say he had decided to work on revisions of Interracial Justice and would be writing and conducting interviews in Paris.
    After the meeting, LaFarge was given access to pertinent documents and diplomatic communications at the Vatican. It was a rather quick review, but long enough to note that political affairs and church relations with Italy and Germany were worse than he expected. Probably out of a sense of excitement or overenthusiasm, he broke almost immediately with the pledge to remain silent. He wrote a letter to Francis Talbot, his editor in New York, that described the situation and discussed his delayed return home, adding that the story must be concealed.
    â€œIf people get nosey, you can say I am working on a possible second edition of my book, collecting notes, seeing people. Etc. That is generally true—and telling them that here.”
    Ledóchowski could consider the meeting with LaFarge as a success. He had followed his precept by making LaFarge think he was getting everything he wanted—full freedom of action. He had established a trusted relationship, and he had employed two known and reliable cowriters who would not stray too far from existing Vatican dogma. And LaFarge’s request to work away from Rome was easy to accept. Ledóchowski was probably much happier to have LaFarge at a distance, not able or likely to approach the pope until the work was finished. This would limit the number of people at the Vatican who might find out about the encyclical or with whom LaFarge might be able to communicate. Ledóchowski could interpose himself between Pius XI and his American ghost writer with hopes of toning down the pope’s recently increasingly virulent rhetoric.
    LaFarge thought he was being given the best possible structure in which to work on one of the most important documents he might ever write. It remained to be seen what the product would be, but LaFarge told a friend that Pius had said: “Remember, you are writing this encyclical for me, not for Ledóchowski.” Even so, LaFarge put his faith in the Jesuit leader, not only out of obedience, but also because of the experiences he had in the past with authority figures.
    â€œI had a curious sensation that I was talking to my own father,” LaFarge recalled about his conversation with the pope. “His gestures were singularly like those of my father, particularly the characteristic one of the joined index and middle finger raised and waved paternally in the air. Little turns of expression remind me of Father, and there was the same atmosphere, as it were, of conversation.” It was easy to understand the comparison between the Holy