Pietro Annigoni: Pope John XXIII

Pietro Annigoni's drawing of Pope John XXIII
for Time magazine 

"The Pope seemed even more weary than usual the morning of his third - and last - sitting and spoke again of his terrible insomnia. He was clearly in no mood for conversation and I expected him to keep dozing off. I had begun to despair of getting anything done, when Monsignor Capovilla adroitly rescued me. During his sleepless night the Holy Father had written a speech which he was to deliver shortly after the sitting ended. Monsignor now offered to read the speech aloud so that he and the Pope could check it together. The offer was welcomed and had the effect of reviving the Pope, who settled down, chin in hands, to listen intently. It was my salvation for, apart from occasional interruptions when he suggested a correction, he kept the pose so well that, at last, I had a passably complete drawing. 

During a brief break, when Monsignor had left us alone, the Holy Father looked at me thoughtfully and said: 'I wrote all that last night and now, re-reading it, I realize that when we ponder over what we are writing we often have the illusion that we are saying a great deal, that we are saying important things. Instead, we miss the essential point. The people who are out there waiting for my speech would be happier if I improvised instead of reading it. Human beings prefer to be looked in the eye when they are spoken to, and I would like to look them in the eye and tell them what comes from the heart. Yes, with simplicity, what really comes from the heart and only from the heart. In their eyes I would see their hearts, and that would help me to discover more profoundly what is in my own. But it is not always possible. Speeches must be written, printed, and preserved.' It seemed to me that as he said this he was suddenly isolated in a remote solitude, utterly alone.

Before leaving he came to look at the drawing and said to Monsignor Capovilla, 'This is someone who knows his business.' Then he pointed to the voluminous ear and commented, 'Even that is really lifelike. When I was in the seminary and was rather thin, my ears seemed even bigger than usual. So much so that my classmates, who saw in them a certain resemblance to the ears of pachyderms, used to call me 'The Elephant.'

As he left, I genuflected properly - no mean feat for a man of my size - and even succeeded in snatching his hand on the wing, that hand which he afterwards laid on my shoulder, saying for his only farewell: 'Courage!' A bad model, but a truly holy man. A sweet serenity emanated from him in spite of his evident suffering. With a few words he could bring a man back to the Eternal and remind him, like no one else I have ever known, of the 'vanitas vanitatum [vanity of vanities].'"

To be continued 

(Excerpted from "Pietro Annigoni: An Artist's Life" by Pietro Annigoni, 1977.)