Pope Benedict XVI on Friday named his first clutch of new cardinals - an event that has stirred the usual stew of speculation about shifting power blocs among the Vatican elite. But for Gammarelli, Vatican tailors par excellence, it has meant just one thing: fitting out the bishops making a beeline for their little shop behind the Pantheon.
Gammarelli has been working around the clock since the papal announcement was made a few weeks ago.
"We had to block all our other work," said head tailor Massimiliano Gammarelli, 43, explaining that all their other customers had been put in a holding pattern until after Friday's ceremony - called a consistory - at which the new cardinals were elevated.
The number of newcomers to the cardinals' college is relatively small compared to John Paul II's time, just 15,
But to keep Vatican snippers happy again, the work has been spread around Rome's other three clerical tailors.
A fair number of them went to Gammarelli's main rival, Euroclero, which scored a coup in the 'battle of the tailors' when Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger announced after his election he would continue to use their services. Gammarelli, however, has retained its official title of tailors to the pope.
And the concistory has again seen Gammarelli, "the Rome-based equivalent of an ecclesiastical Brooks Brothers" in the words of a Catholic website, pip its rivals to the lion's share - just as in 2001 when a pack of 44 incoming cardinals, the biggest consistory in history, gave the bespoke religious outfitters their biggest headache yet. "We're doing just under half of the new cardinals
again," Massimiliano said recently, surrounded by bolts of red and black wool and silk on the shelves of the softly lit, unassuming premises.
Founded in 1798, the Gammarellis have a deserved reputation for immaculate service and the utmost discretion,- they were fuming at an allegation last year that they pride themselves on being able to predict the next pope. The Gammarellis' un-Italian reserve is so watertight that they won't say how much a cardinal's rig costs and won't name their customers.
But it is true that they have to get three sizes of papal gear ready when the college of cardinals is in conclave, choosing a new pope: large, medium and small. There's no truth, however, in the old report that Pope John XXIII, a big man, got the wrong box and nearly burst out of his Gammarelli cassock back in 1958. Asked how many popes the Gammarellis have dressed,
Massimiliano was typically cautious: "The last seven popes for sure...before that things are a bit mistier."
Reporters have said the weirdest things about the Gammarellis: that they use the most exotic plumes of a rare South American bird for part of the pope's white outfit, for instance, or that they use the finest wools from Andean beasts for their cardinals.
All nonsense, of course, Massimiliano says:
"All we use is the best Italian wool: the best, not the rarest." The only other materials are the silk that goes into the sashes, buttons and braids and the linen used for the flowing, embroidered surplices, he said. All the outfits are handmade in the same style and the work is carried out in the time-honoured, lovingly crafted way that maintains the shop's name.
"Our work is the best publicity we have," said 77-year-old Annibale Gammarelli, patriarch of a clan that also includes his other nephew, Filippo, 64.
The tailors' reputation is so high that they are inundated with requests from the laity, some of which they accept: a tuxedo, perhaps, or an officer's uniform. Former French premier Eduard Balladur, a man with refined dress sense, ordered his red socks from the little shop. But officers and premiers have had to take a back seat over the last few weeks. When a consistory is called, the Gammarelli pull out the red wool.
The prime article that a cardinal requires for his big day is a cassock, a blood-red jerkin that symbolises his commitment to defend the Church to the death. But he also needs a red cape to go with it, a special surplice on top of it called a rochet, a red skullcap called a zucchetto, a red three-cornered hat called a biretta marking the cardinal's status as the pope's closest advisor,
and a red sash with a rippled water effect called moire.
Oh, and to complete the head-to-toe effect, there are the red wool socks too, of course. Red is de rigueur for a prince of the church, at least on ceremonial occasions. An Italian daily reported this week that the whole lot - plus a black red-trimmed cassock for everyday use, and a black suit for travelling called a clergyman - would set your average cardinal back something like $3-5,000.
Anyone who really wants to know the price can be sure of one thing: you won't get anything out of the Gammarellis.
You might try asking the people who pay, of course: not the cardinals, but usually relatives and parishioners who are happy to club together and treat their lucky bishop. In exchange, many of them come along for the new cardinal's big day. Several bishops from wealthier nations have booked suites in swish Rome hotels to bring their large entourages to the capital, while Italian bishops have bussed their parishioners in.
The last few days before the consistory were frantic in Gammarelli's workshop above the shop. "A cassock alone takes three or four days to complete," Massimiliano Gammarelli said.
The tailors have been thankful that days of even higher pomp and circumstance were ended by Pope Paul VI in 1969. Out went the wide-brimmed, gold-tasseled velvet hat, the silver-buckled shoes and the 20-foot-long silk moire cape topped with ermine trimmings that made some ceremonies seem like processions of slow-moving, exotic birds.
With the dress code pared down to barer essentials, the Gammarellis have again got their cardinals kitted up in time, even with the consistory stopwatch ticking loud against them. Another Rome institution that was given unusual work was the State Mint, which produced the 15 new rings that set the seal on the cardinals' higher bond with the Church.
