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Title: Hadrian the Seventh

Author: Frederick Rolfe

Release date: February 10, 2022 [eBook #67369]

Language: English

Original publication: United Kingdom: Chatto & Windus, 1904

Credits: Tim Lindell, Graeme Mackreth and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HADRIAN THE SEVENTH ***






HADRIAN THE SEVENTH




 HADRIAN THE SEVENTH

 A ROMANCE

 BY
 FR. ROLFE

 [Illustration]

 LONDON
 CHATTO & WINDUS
 1904




TO MOTHER




_In Obedience to the Decree of URBAN P.M. VIII, I declare that I have
no Intention of attributing any other than a purely human Authority to
the Miracles, Revelations, Favours, & particular Cases, recorded in
this Book; & the same as regards the Titles of Saints & Blessed applied
to Servants of GOD not yet canonized: except in those Cases which have
been confirmed by the Holy Catholic Apostolic Roman See, of which I
declare myself to be an obedient Son; & therefore I submit myself & all
which I have written to her Judgment._

 _Fr. Rolfe._

  _xxij Jul., 1904._




HADRIAN THE SEVENTH


PROOIMION

In mind he was tired, worn out, by years of hope deferred, of
loneliness, of unrewarded toil. In body he was almost prostrate by
the pain of an arm on the tenth day of vaccination. Bodily pain stung
him like a personal affront. "Some one will have to be made miserable
for this," he once said during the throes of a toothache. He was no
stranger to mental fatigue: but, when to that was added corporeal
anguish, he came near collapse. His capacity for work was constricted:
the mere sight of his writing materials filled him with disgust. But,
because he had a horror of being discovered in a state of inaction,
after breakfast he sat down as usual and tried to write. Dazed in a
torrent of ideas, he painfully halted for words: stumbling in a maze
of words, he frequently lost the thread of his argument: now and then,
in sheer exhaustion, his pen remained immobile. He sat in a small low
armchair which was covered with shabby brocade, dull-red and green. An
old drawing-board, of the large size denominated Antiquarian, rested on
his knees. The lower edge frayed the brocade on the arms of the chair.
His little yellow cat Flavio lay asleep on the tilted board, nestling
in the bend of his left elbow. That was the only living creature to
whom he ever spoke with affection as well as with politeness. His left
hand steadied his ms., the sheets of which were clipped together
at the top by a metal clip. At the upper edge of the board a couple
of Publishers' Dummies reposed, having the outward similitude of
six-shilling novels: but he had filled their pages with his archaic
handwriting. The first contained thoughts--not great thoughts, nor
thoughts selected on any particular principle, but phrases and opinions
such as Sophokles' denunciation,

 Ὡ μιαρον ἡθοϛ και γυναικοϛ ὑστερον,

or Gabriele d'Annunzio's sentence

  "Old legitimate monarchies are everywhere declining, and Demos stands
  ready to swallow them down its miry throat."

The second was his private dictionary which, (as an artificer in verbal
expression,) he had compiled, taking Greek words from Liddell-and-Scott
and Latin words from Andrews, enlarging his English vocabulary with
such simple but pregnant formations as the adjective "hybrist" from
ὑβριστηϛ, or the noun "gingilism" from _gingilismus_.

He was looking askance at his ms. In two hours, he had written no more
than fourteen lines; and these were deformed by erasures of words and
sentences, by substitutions and additions. He struck an upward line
from left to right across the sheet: laid down his pen: lifted board,
cat, books, and ms., from his knees; and laid them by. He could not
work.

He poked the little fire burning in the corner of a fire-clayed grate.
He was shivering: for, though March was going out like nine lions,
he was very lightly clad in a blue linen suit such as is worn over
all by engineers. He had an impish predilection for that garb since a
cantankerous red-nosed prelate, anxious to sneer at unhaloed poverty,
inanely had said that he looked like a Neapolitan. He brushed the
accumulation of cigarette-ash from the front of his jacket and seized
a pair of spring-dumb-bells: but at once returned them, warned by
the pain of his left arm-pit. He took up the newspaper which he had
brought with him after breakfast, and read again the news from Rome
and the news of Russia. The former, he could see, was merely the kind
of subterfuge which farthing journalists are wont to use when they are
excluded from a view of facts. It said much, and signified nothing.
"Our Special Correspondent" was being hoodwinked; and knew it: but did
not like to confess it; and so indulged his imagination. Something
was occurring in Rome: something mysterious was occurring in Rome.
That could be deduced from the dispatch: but nothing more. The news of
Russia was a tale of unparalleled ghastliness. It emanated from Berlin:
no direct communication with Russia having taken place for a fortnight.

"How exquisitely horrible it is," he said to Flavio; "and I believe
it's perfectly true. The Tzar,--well, that was to be expected. But
the Tsaritza,--though, if ever a woman bore her fate in her face, she
did, poor creature. Those dreadful haunted eyes of hers! That hard old
young soft face! The innocent babies! How abominably cynically cruel!
Yet there have been omens and portents of just such a tragedy as this
any time these last few years. They must have known it was coming. Or
is this another example of the onlookers seeing most of the game?" He
fetched a book of newspaper cuttings, and turned the pages. "Here you
are, Flavio," he said to the sleeping cat; "and here--and here. If
these are not forewarnings--well!"

He sat down again, and studied certain paragraphs attentively.


EDUCATION BY THE KNOUT.

PETERSBURG.--All Russia is in a state of unrest and seething with
discontent. The very air is alive with the rumours of tumults on the
one hand and of _coups d'état_ on the other. The strangest stories are
being bandied about as to what is taking place at Kiev, Sula, and
all parts of the Empire, in fact, but especially in Moscow. There,
it seems, while students and members of the higher classes are being
thrown into prison by the hundred--not a few of them being packed off
to Siberia--the workers are being treated with quite extraordinary
consideration. They are even allowed to say their say and hold public
meetings without let or hindrance, a thing unheard of in Russia. In
Petersburg itself an ominous state of things prevails, and the city is
completely in the hands of the police and the military. The streets are
thronged with gensdarmes; even private houses are packed with soldiers;
and never a week passes without some disorder arising or some public
demonstration being made. In February a terrible scene occurred in the
house of Nicholas II., a sort of People's Palace. In the course of a
theatrical performance there some students threw down from the gallery
into the body of the hall leaflets in which they demanded redress of
their grievances. The place was crowded with law-abiding people for
the most part; nevertheless the gensdarmerie who are always within
hail, rushed in and simply trampled under foot all who came in their
way. One great fellow was seen to deliberately stamp on the face of a
poor lad who had fallen, cracking it like a nut. How many were injured
is unknown and probably will remain so. On Sunday the state of things
was even worse. During the previous week the students had sent to the
leading journals, and even to the police, a formal announcement that
they intended to hold a demonstration in the Newsky Prospect to demand
in constitutional fashion the redress of their grievances. It was taken
for granted that measures would be taken to prevent the meeting, and
the Newsky was crowded for the occasion with the usual loungers and
pleasure-seekers. But so far as everyone was aware the police seemed
to have done nothing in the matter, and it was known only to a few
that the courtyards of the great houses of the neighbourhood were
filled with gensdarmes and soldiers. Up to twelve o'clock all went
well; then quite suddenly not only students but working men began to
stream into the Newsky from every side-street; and within a very few
minutes the place was one vast crowd. In the square before the Kasan
Cathedral alone there were 3,000 at least. Suddenly seditious cries
were raised, red flags were waved, stones were thrown, and in the midst
of it all the gensdarmes began a mad gallop through the crowd. It was
a ghastly sight, for they slashed right and left with their swords,
even at the bystanders bent only on escaping. Many were wounded, some
were killed--how many no two accounts agree--and in the course of
the following week hundreds of arrests were made. Since then other
demonstrations of the same kind have been held, and will continue to be
held, let the cost be what it may, the students declare, until a clean
sweep has been made of the police regime under which Russia is groaning.


THE GATHERING OF THE STORM.

M. Baltaicheff's murder has drawn the world's attention to the present
state of things in Russia--which is much worse than most people
imagine. The present movement is not confined to the students alone,
though it is that class which makes most noise. The revolutionary
fever has gained a hold of the lower classes--Brains and Brawn as
we said yesterday have combined, and the combination is formidable.
More significant, however, than anything else, if it be true, is the
statement of the _Neue Freie Presse_ that during the demonstrations in
the Kasan Square in Petersburg a detachment of infantry was called upon
to fire upon the crowd, the men thrice refused to obey, were marched
back to barracks, no enquiry being subsequently held, and that similar
incidents have occurred elsewhere. With universal service the Army is
only the people in uniform. Any popular feeling must sooner or later
touch the Army, and if the soldiers cannot be depended upon to shoot,
the game of absolutism is up. The great cataclysm may be nearer at hand
than is generally supposed.


SIGNS OF SMOULDERING REVOLT.

PETERSBURG.--In two of the districts of the Poltava Government
workmans' riots have occurred in consequence of the systematic
repression of "Little Russia" by "Greater Russia." The journal
_Pridjeprowski Krai_ gave the first intimation of the state of affairs,
and was promptly suspended for eight months.

PETERSBURG.--The murder of the Procurator of the Holy Synod is regarded
in a measure as the symptom of the general situation in Russia. It is
reported that the chateau of the Duke of Mecklenburgh in S.E. Russia
has been pillaged and destroyed by rioters.

BERLIN.--On the arrival of the express train from Berlin at Wirballen
on the Russian frontier to-day, a passenger was arrested, and
Nihilist documents were discovered in his trunks. This is the third
Nihilist arrest within the fortnight. The Berlin police have received
information from Petersburg of numerous revolutionists having recently
left France. They are now maintaining from Berlin a vigorous agitation
against the Tsar's Government. From London, too, the whereabouts
of several suspects have been reported. In most cases the Berlin
authorities are powerless to effect arrests, but they always supply
full information to Russia, so that suspicious characters are always
detained in passing the frontier.


ANARCHY ADVANCING.

The _Kreuzzeitung_, which is unusually well-informed in Russian
affairs, expresses the opinion that one of the immediate consequences
of the triumph of Japan will be a general rising of the Russian
peasants against their landlords, and of the army against the
aristocracy. The same paper declares that revolutionary agents of
Social Democratic tendencies have long been systematically poisoning
the minds of the people.

He turned back to THE GATHERING OF THE STORM, and read the ominous
paragraph again. "Warning enough, in all conscience," he said: "first,
the Public Prosecutor assassinated at Odessa, then the Chief of Secret
Police of Petersburg, then the Procurator of the Holy Synod; and now a
hekatombe, sovereign, royalty, aristocracy, government, bureaucracy,
all annihilated, and Anarchy in excelsis. France will take fire at
any minute now, that's absolutely certain. Oh, how horrible! But we're
all Christians, Flavio; and this is only one of the many funny ways in
which we love one another."

He rose and went to the window. The yellow cat deliberately stretched
himself, yawned, and followed; and proceeded to carry out a wonderful
scheme of feints and ambuscades in regard to a ping-pong ball which
was kept for his proper diversion. The man looked on almost lovingly.
Flavio at length captured the ball, took it between his fore-paws,
and posed with all the majesty of a lion of Trafalgar Square. Anon he
uttered a little low gurgle of endearment, fixing the great eloquent
mystery of amber and black velvet eyes, tardy, grave, upon his human
friend. No notice was vouchsafed. Flavio got up; and gently rubbed his
head against the nearest hand.

"My boy!" the man murmured; and he lifted the little cat on to his
shoulder. He went downstairs. He could not work; and he was going
to take an easy; and he wanted a novel, he said to his landlady. He
feared that he had read all the books in the house. Yes, and those
in the drawing-room too. After a quarter of an hour, application to
a neighbour produced three miserable derelicts, a nameless sixpenny
shudder, a Braddon, and an Edna Lyall. Not to seem ungracious, he took
them upstairs; and pitched them into a corner, to be returned upon
occasion. That salient trait of his character, the desire not to be
ungracious, the readiness to be unselfish and self-sacrificing, had
done him incalculable injury. This world is infested by innumerable
packs of half-licked cubs and quarter-cultivated mediocrities who
seem to have nothing better to do than to buzz about harassing and
interfering with their betters. Out of courtesy, out of kindness, he
was used to give way; but all the same he tenaciously knew and clung
to his original purpose. He knew that delay was his enemy: yet he
invariably would stand aside and let himself be delayed. And now
towards the end of his youth, he was poor, lonely, a misanthropic
altruist.

He returned to his armchair, breathing a long sigh of irritation and
exhaustion: broke up three cigarette dottels for a (tobacco famine was
afflicting him), rolled them in a fresh paper, and applied a match.
Flavio, with an indulgent protestant mew, bounded from his knee to a
bedroom chair; and coiled himself up to sleep.

The armchair was placed directly in front of the fireplace, the
ordinary garret-coloured iron fireplace and mantel of a suburban
lodging-house attic. To the grey wall above the mantel a large sheet
of brown packing-paper was tacked. On this background were pinned
photographs of the Hermes of Herculaneum, the terra-cotta Sebastian
of South Kensington, Donatello's liparose David and the vivid David
of Verrocchio, the wax model of Cellini's Perseys, an unknown Rugger
XV. prized for a single example of the rare feline-human type, and
the O.U.D.S. Sebastian of _Twelfth Night_ of 1900. Tucked into the
edges of these were Italian picture post-cards presenting Andrea del
Sarto's young St. John, Alessandro Filipepi's Primavera, a page from
an old Salon catalogue showing Friant's Wrestlers, another from an
old Harper's Magazine shewing Boucher's Runners, a cheap and lovely
chromo of an olive-skinned black-haired cornflower-crowned Pancratius
in white on a gold ground, the visiting-cards of five literary agents,
and a post-card tersely inscribed _Verro precipitevolissimevolmente_.
The mantel-shelf contained stone bottles of ink, pipes, a miniature
in a closed morocco case, a cast of Cardinal Andrea della Valle's
seal from Oxford, two pairs of silver spectacles in shagreen cases,
four tiny ingots of pure copper, a sponge gum bottle, and an open
book with painted covers showing Eros at the knees of Psyche and a
mysterious group of divers in the clear of the moon. The door was at
a yard to the left of the fireplace, at a right-angle. Uncared-for
clothes, black serge and blue linen, hung upon it. A small wooden
wash-stand stood between the door and the armchair, convenient to the
writer's hand. A straw-board covered the hole in its top; and supported
ink-bottles, pens, pen-knife, scissors, a lamp, a biscuit-tin of
cigarette-dottels, sixteen exquisite Greek intaglj. On the lower shelf
stood a row of books-of-reference. Between the wash-stand and the fire
was the chair whereon Flavio slumbered, (if one may use so indelicate
a word of so delicate a cat). About four feet of wall extended on
the right of the fireplace. Pinned there were a pencil design for
a _Diamastigosis_, a black and white panel of young Sophokles as
Choregos after Salamis done on the back of an Admiralty chart, a water
colour of Tarquinio Santacroce and Alexander VI., a pair of foils and
fencing masks, and a curious Greco-Italian seal shewing St. George
as a wing-footed Perseys wearing what looked like the Garter Mantle
and labelled φυλαξ ἁρχηϛ. Substitutes for shelves stood against the
lower part of the wall. A rush-basket, closed and full of letters,
set up on end, supported files of the _American Saturday Review_, the
_Author_, the _Outlook_, the _Salpinx_, _Reynards's_, and the _Pall
Mall Gazette_, and a feather broom for dusting books and papers or
for correcting Flavio when obstreperous. Another rush-basket, placed
lengthwise on a bedroom chair, held a row of books, ms. note-books,
duodecimo classics of Plantin, Estienne, Maittaire, with English and
American editions of the writer's own works. The third wall was pierced
by two small windows, wide open to the full always. A chest of drawers
protruded endways into the room. Its top was used as a standing desk.
The drawers opened towards the fourth wall. Sheaves of letters in metal
clips hung at the end. Between it and the armchair, more shelves were
contrived of rush-baskets placed beneath and upon a small wooden table.
Books-of-reference, lexicons, and a box of blank paper, congregated
here convenient to the writer's hand. The little table drawer
contained note-paper, envelopes, sealing-wax, and stamps. The whole was
arranged so that, when once ensconced in the armchair before the fire
with his writing-board on his knees, the digladiator could reach all
his weapons by a simple extension of his arms. The attic was eleven
feet square, low-pitched, and with half the ceiling slanting to the
fourth foot from the floor on the fourth wall. Here was a camp-bed, a
small mirror, and a towel-rail, three pairs of two- six- and ten-pound
dumb-bells, a pair of boots on trees, a bottle of eucalyptus and a
spray-producer.

His eyes, as they wandered round the room, met these things. He took
a towel, and went downstairs to the bath-room to wash his hands. On
returning he enticed Flavio with a bit of string. The cat was unwilling
to play: gazed at him with innocent imperscrutable round eyes:
elaborately yawned and requested permission to retire. The odour of the
kitchen-dinner was perceptible. The door was opened; and shut.

He put the butt of his cigarette in an earthenware jar on his left
for future use. The maid appeared with his lunch, a basinful of bread
and milk. Following some subconscious train of thought, he stretched
himself, took the little mirror from the wall and went to the window.

"It's one of your bad days, my friend," he commented, regarding his
own image. "You look all your age, and twelve years more. Draw down
those feathered brows, man. Never mind the upright furrow which makes
you look stern. Draw them down; and open your eyes; and look alert. Do
something to counteract the tender thin line of that mouth. You mustn't
let yourself relax like this. It brings out your wrinkles, and shews
the sparseness of your hair. If you had an inch more thigh, and say a
couple of inches more shin, you might look people down a little more:
but with that meek subservient aspect--how Luckock used to chaff about
it!--no wonder everyone takes advantage of you. What's the good of
having your fastidious mind clearly written on that fastidious mouth if
you don't insist on behaving fastidiously. Cultivate the art of looking
as though you were about to say No. You always can say Yes after No.
But, if you begin with Yes, as you always do, you prevent yourself from
ever saying No. That's why everyone can swindle you. You're far too
anxious to give way. Buck up a bit, you ugly little thing! Ugly as you
are, you're neither vulgar nor common-place. Straighten your back, and
open your eyes wide, and pull yourself together."

He put the mirror in its place; and again cast a glance round the room,
seeking something to read, something, anything, that was not too recent
in his mind. He picked up at random one of the rejected novels. It was
called _Donovan_. He remembered having seen (in an ex-tea-pedlar's
magazine) a print of the writer thereof. He also remembered that he
had found her self-conscious pose and labial conformation intensely
antipathetic. His sense of beauty was a great deal more than acute. Let
his predilection (which was for reticent expert virtue in the male and
for innate delicate modesty in the female) once be satisfied, and the
door to his favour lay open.

"However," he argued with himself, "she sells her books by tens of
thousands while we don't sell ours by tens of hundreds. We'll have a
look at her work, and see how she does it."

He ate his bread and milk; and seriously and deliberately set himself
to dissect and analyse the book.

The manner of the portrayal of a youth, of an abnormal type of youth,
the Sentient-Modest type, at once disgusted him by its inadequacy
and superficiality. The male human animal is omnipresent: it is
not difficult for an observant and careful writer to describe the
γνωριμωτερον φυσει, things as they appear. But the author's sex
had prevented her from knowing, and therefore, from describing the
γνωριμωτερον ἡμιν, things as they are. It is doubtful whether Man
ever mentally knew Woman. It is certain that Woman never knew Man:
except in cases of occession--the author of _The Gadfly_ for example.
He found the image of Donovan fairly convincing: not so the real.
Donovan, in his eponymous history, obviously was the creation of a good
sweet-minded woman, who created him in her own image.

The student several times was at the point of closing the book from
sheer annoyance. Only the knowledge that he had nothing else to do,
and the desire to gain instruction, caused him to persevere. His
temper only was logical in so far as it endowed him with the faculty
of pursuance. He began many things: he followed them: oftentimes
the influence of Luna on his environment obliged him to pause: but
invariably he returned to them--even after long years he returned to
them--; and then, slowly, surely, he concluded what he had begun. He
had tenacity--the feline pertinacity of vigorous untainted English
blood. Cigarette after cigarette he rolled, and smoked. He frequently
turned back and read a chapter over again. Flavio mewed for admittance.
He took him on his knee: and continued reading, stroking the little
cat meanwhile, tickling his larynx till he purred content. So the dull
March afternoon passed. At five, the maid brought a tray containing
black coffee and dripping toast. At half-past six, he took a bath and
attended to his appearance, execrating the pain of his swollen arm and
the difficulty of keeping it out of the water. He dined at half-past
seven on some soup, and haricot-beans with butter, and a baked apple.
Meanwhile he counted the split infinitives in the day's _Pall Mall
Gazette_. When he was adolescent, an Oxford tutor had said of him that
he possessed a critical faculty of no mean order. At the time, he had
not understood the saying perfectly: but he cultivated the faculty.
He taught himself in a very bitter school, the arts of selection and
discrimination, and the art of annihilating rubbish. To this perhaps
was due his complete psychical detachment from other men. He trod upon
so many worms. And few things are more exasperating than a man of whom
it truly may be said "A chiel's amang ye takin' notes." After dinner,
he returned to his attic with his cup and the coffee-pot: and resumed
his task. In time, he forgot the pain of his arm: he even forgot the
usual terrified anticipation of the late postman's knock, such was his
faculty for concentration. He smoked cigarettes and sipped black coffee
now and then, oblivious of Flavio who returned from a walk about eleven
and promptly went to sleep on the foot of the bed. A little after
midnight, he reached the end of the book: turned back and examined the
last chapter again; and put it down.

"Yes," he said, "she's a dear good woman. Her book--well--her book is
cheap, awkward, vulgar,--but it's good. It's unpalteringly ugly and
simple and good. Evidently it's best to be good. It pays.... Anyhow
it's bound to pay in the long run."

He pushed Flavio's chair to the wall near the door: by its side he
placed the wash-stand from the left of his armchair. He disposed
the armchair also against the wall, leaving a cleared space of
garret-coloured drugget between the dead fire and the bed. This was his
gymnasium.

"If a book like that pays," he reflected, "it must be that there's a
lot of people who care for books about the Good. Why not do one of that
sort instead of casting folk-lore and history before publishers who
turn and rend you? The pity is that the Good should be so dreadfully
dowdy. Evidently το καλονk and το ἁγαφον are just as distinct as they
were in the days of the Broad-browed One. Sophisms again! Why can't
you be honest and simple instead of subtile and complex? You're just
like your own cat ambuscading a ping-pong ball as strategically and
as scrupulously as though it were a mouse. For goodness' sake don't
try to deceive yourself. It's all very well to pose before the world:
but there's no one here to see you now. Strip, man, strip stark.
You perfectly know that the Good always is admirable, whether it be
dowdy or chic; and that what you call the Beautiful is no more than a
matter of opinion, worth,--well, generally speaking, not worth six and
eight-pence."

He threw all his clothes on the armchair: picked his trousers out of
the heap and folded them lengthwise over the towel-rail: powdered his
arm with borax and bound cotton-wool over it: looked at his dumb-bells
while he brushed his hair: sprayed the room with eucalyptus; and got
into bed. Extreme fatigue and pain rendered him almost hysterical.
His thoughts expressed themselves in ejaculations when he had tied a
handkerchief over his eyes, straightened his legs, and laid his right
cheek on the pillow.

"Yes! It pays to be good--just simple goodness pays. I know, oh I know.
I always knew it.

God, if ever You loved me, hear me, hear me. De profundis ad Te, ad
Te clamavi. Don't I want to be good and clean and happy? What desire
have I cherished since my boyhood save to serve in the number of Your
mystics? What but that have I asked of You Who made me?

Not a chance do You give me--ever--ever----.

Listen! How can I serve You? How be happy, clean, or good, while You
keep me so sequestered?

Oh I know of that psalm where it is written that You set apart for
Yourself the godly. Am I godly? Ah no: nor even goodly. I'm Your
prisoner writhing in my fetters, fettered, impotent, utterly unhappy.

Only he, who is good and clean, is happy. I am clean, God, but neither
good nor happy. Not alone can a man be good or happy. Force, which
generates no one thing, is not force. All intelligence must be active,
potent. I'm intelligent. So, O God, You made me. Therefore I must be
active. Of my nature I must act. For the chance to act, I languish. I
am impotent and inactive always. He, who wishes to be good, strives
to do good. Deeds must be done to others by the doer. Therefore I, in
my loneliness, am futile. Friends? And which of them have You left me
faithful these twelve years of my solitude, God? Not one. Andrews,
faithless; and Aubrey, faithless; Brander, faithless; Lancaster,
faithless; Strages, faithless and perfidious; Scuttle also; Fareham,
Roole, and Nicholas, faithless; Tatham, faithless; that detestable and
deceitful Blackcote who came fawning upon me crying 'Courage! You shall
suffer no more as you have suffered!' and then robbed me of months and
years of labour. Ah! and Lawrence, my little Lawrence, faithless.

Women? What do I know of women. Nothing.

Fiat justitia--well, there's Caerleon. But a bishop is very far above
me; and his friendship is only condescension,--honest, genial, kind,
but--condescension. Still, he wishes me well. I truly think it. But if
only he would believe me, trust me, shew faith in me, and absolutely
trust me,--I might do what the mouse did for the lion.

Strong? But why do I name my splendid master. Strong of nature and
Strong of name and station, Strong of body and Strong of mind,
immensely my superior altogether, knowing all my weakness and all my
imperfection: who, to me, is as much like You as any man can be! It is
only grand indulgence and urbanity on his part which make him know me;
and, when the sun lacks splendour, only then will Megaloprepes need me,
only then Kalos Kagathos perchance may need me.

Why, O God, have You made me strange, uncommon, such a mystery to my
fellow-creatures, not a 'man among men' like other people?

Do I want to appear like other people? No, no, certainly not: but--Lord
God, am I such a ruffian as to merit exile?

Oh of course I'm a sinner, vile and shameful. But, God, look at the
wreck which You have let them make of me and my life. You have some
purpose in it all. Oh you must have, if You are, God; and I know that
You are. O God, I thank You.

But look,--haven't I tried and toiled and suffered? Yet You never allow
me any satisfaction, any gain or reward for all my trouble. No: but You
always let some shameless brigand rob me, snatching the fair fruit of
my labours.

Yes: I know how I dream of certain pleasures, certain luxuries,
cleanness, whiteness, freshness, and simplicity, and the life of quiet
healthful vigorous and serene well-doing, all in secret, and all
unostentatious, which, when once I achieve success, I will have. I know
all about that. But You know also I that never should use success in
that way, if You gave it to me. Now did I ever use success for myself
and not for others? No: I couldn't endure the eternal silent wistful
vision of Your Maiden-Mother.

You know why I want freedom, power, and money--just to make a few
people happy, just to put things right a bit, just to make things easy,
just to straighten out tangled lives whose tangles make me rage because
I myself am helpless. Is that wrong? No--I swear my aim is single and
unselfish. I don't want credit even. You well know that You made me
all-denuded of the power of loving anybody, of the power of being loved
by any. Self-contained, You have made me. I shall always be detached
and apart from others.

Murmur? No. I never have murmured--nor will murmur.

Truly, though, I should like to love, to be loved: but, so long I have
been alone and lonely, I suppose I must go on like that always till
the end. They are frightened of me, even when they come to the very
verge of loving. They are frightened because of certain labels which I
frequently use to put on others: frightened lest I should fit them also
some day with a label. Oh, often they have told me that they wouldn't
like me to be against them.

I will stop that, O God, if You desire it. But, instead of it, what? I
think You mean me not to waste the one talent You have given. Then, I
beg of You, give me scope. I must act.

No: I am not doing well at present--not my best. Oh, I know it, and I
loathe it. All my life is a pose. Somehow or other I have taken the
pose, or stolid stupids force me into the pose, of strange recondite
haughty genius, very subtile, very learned, inaccessible,--everything
that's foolish. God, You know what a sham I am: how silly this is: how
very little I know really. Don't I know it too? Don't I always tell
them? Then they say that I'm modest--me--ha!--modest!

Here's the truth, by my One Hope of Salvation. I am frightened of all
men, known and unknown; and of women I go in violent terror: though I
always do say superb and hard things to the one, and all pretty gentle
soft things to the other, while writing pitilessly of them both:--for
I'm frightened of them, frightened; and I want to avoid them; and to
keep them off me. Therefore I pose. And, therefore also, I provide
an image which they can worship, like, or loathe, as it pleases, or
displeases, or strikes awe--and they generally loathe it. All the time,
while they manifest their feelings, I look on like a child at Punch and
Judy.

Oh, it's wrong, very wrong, wrong altogether. But what can I do? God,
tell me, clearly unmistakeably and distinctly tell me, tell me what I
must do--and make me do it."

He got out of bed: took his rosary from his trousers' pocket; and
returned. During the fifth meditation on the Finding of The Lord in the
Temple, he fell asleep.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Dr. Courtleigh and Dr. Talacryn?" he repeated as a query, in the tone
of one to whom Beelzebub and the Archangel Periel have been announced
at eleven o'clock on the morning of a working day.

"Yes," the maid replied. "Clergymen. One is that bishop who came
before."

"The bishop who came before! And----What's the other like?"

"Oh, quite old and feeble--rather stoutish--but he's been a fine
handsome man in his day. He wears a red necktie under his collar."

"Well--I--am!... Thanks. I'll be down in a minute."

George put his writing-board away and brushed the front of his blue
linen jacket, mentally and corporeally pulling himself together.

"Flavio, I should just like to know the meaning of this. I rather wish
that I had Iulo here to back me up. If they are meditating mischief,
an athletic and quarrelsome youngster, with an eye like a basilisk and
a mouth full of torrential English, would be an excellent trump to
play. Mischief? What nonsense! Don't you give way to your nerves, man.
Respectable epistatai do not habitually engage in mischief, as you are
well aware. You have nothing to fear: so put on a mask--the superior
one with a tinge of disdain in it--and brace yourself up to resist the
devil; and go downstairs at once to see him flee."

The two visitors were in the dining-room, a confined drab and aniline
room rather over-filled with indistinct but useful furniture. When
George entered, they stood up--grave important men, of over forty and
seventy years respectively, dark-haired and robust, white-haired and of
picturesque and supercilious mien. George went straight to the younger
prelate: kneeled; and kissed the episcopal ring.

"Your Eminency will understand that I do not wish to be disrespectful,"
he said to the senior, with as much quiet antipathy as could be crowded
into one man's voice: "but the Bishop of Caerleon calls himself my
friend; and I am at a loss to know to what I may attribute the honour
of Your Eminency's presence, or the manner in which you will allow me
to receive you."

"I hope, Mr. Rose, that you will accept my blessing as well as Dr.
Talacryn's," the Cardinal-Archbishop replied in a voice where hauteur
strangely struggled with timidity. He extended his hand. George
instantly took it; and respectfully kneeled again, noting that this
ring contained a cameo instead of the cardinalitial sapphire. Then he
caused his guests to become seated. The atmosphere seemed to him laden
with the invigorating aroma of possibilities.

"Zmnts[1] wishes to ask you a few questions," the young bishop began;
"and he thought you would not take it amiss if I were present as your
friend."

George shot a glance of would-be affectionate gratitude at the speaker;
and turned, saying "I have been imagining Your Eminency in Rome--in the
Conclave."

"I was there until a fortnight ago; and then,--well, you are said to
be an expert in the annals of conclaves, Mr. Rose, so it will interest
you to know that we stand adjourned."

"For the removal of the Conclave from Rome?"

"Oh dear no! There is no need for removal. The Piedmontese usurpers
treat us with profound respect, I'm bound to say. No. We simply stand
adjourned."

"But this is extremely interesting!" George exclaimed. "Surely it's
unique? And may I ask,--no, I would not venture to inquire the cause:
but, is this generally known? I have seen nothing of it in the papers;
and I am not on speaking terms with any Roman Catholics except the----"

"No. It is not generally known; and it is not intended to make an
official announcement, for reasons which you will understand, and
which, I believe, you will respect."

"I am much honoured by Your Eminency's confidence," George purred.

"Certain affairs required my personal presence in England;" the
cardinal continued. He was a feeble aged man, almost senile sometimes.
He hesitated. He stumbled. But he maintained the progression of the
conversation on its hands and knees, as it were, with "These are very
pregnant times, Mr. Rose."

George went to the door: admitted his cat who was mewing outside; and
resumed his seat. Flavio brushed by cardinalitial and episcopal gaiters
turn by turn: bounded to his friend's knee: couched; and became still,
save for twinkling ears. The prelates exchanged glances.

"But perhaps you will let me say no more on that subject, and come
directly to the point I wished to consult you upon." The cardinal now
seemed to have cleared the obstacles; and he archiepiscopally pranced
along. "It has recently been brought very forcibly to my remembrance
that you were at one time a candidate for Holy Orders, Mr. Rose. I am
cognizant of all the unpleasantness which attended that portion of your
career: but it is only lately that I have realised the fact that you
yourself have never accepted, acquiesced in, the adverse verdict of
your superiors."

"I never have accepted it. I never have acquiesced in it. I never will
accept it. I never will acquiesce in it."

"Would you mind telling me your reasons?"

"I should have to say very disagreeable things, Eminency."

"Never mind. Tell me all the truth. Try to feel that you are confiding
in your spiritual father, whose only desire is to do justice--I may
even say to do justice at the eleventh hour."

"I am inclined indeed to believe that, because you yourself have
condescended to come to me. I wish, in fact, to believe that. But--is
it advisable to rake up old grievances? Is it desirable to scarify
half-healed wounds? And, how did Your Eminency find me after all these
years?" The feline temper of him produced dalliance.

"It certainly was a difficult matter at first. You had completely
disappeared----"

"I object to that," George interrupted. He suddenly saw that this was
the one chance of his life of saying the right thing to the right
person; and he determined to fight every step of the way with this
cardinal before death claimed him. "I object to that," he repeated. "I
neither disappeared nor hid myself in any way. There was no question of
concealment whatever. I found myself most perfidiously deserted; and
I went on my way alone, neither altering my habits, nor changing my
appearance----"

"There was no implication of that kind, Mr. Rose."

"I am very glad to hear Your Eminency say so. But such things are said.
They are the formulæ which spite or indolence or foolishness uses of a
man whom it has not seen for a month. Sometimes they are detrimental.
To me they are offensive; and I am not in a mood to tolerate them."

The cardinal swallowed the cachet; and proceeded, "I first wrote to you
at your publishers; and my letters were returned unopened, and marked
_Refused_."

"That was in accordance with my own explicit directions. A few years
ago, the opportunity was given me of drawing a sharp line across my
life----"

"You mean----"

"I allude to a series of libels which were directed against me in
the newspapers, especially in Catholic newspapers--dirty Keltic
wood-pulp----"

"Precisely. But why was that an occasion for drawing what you call a
sharp line across your life?"

"Eminency," said George, calming down and setting out to be concise and
categorical, "scores of people who had known me all my life must have
seen that those attacks were libellous, and false. You yourself must
have seen that." He stretched out a hand and opened and shut it, as
though claws protruded from velvet and retired. "Yet only a single one
out of all those scores came forward to assure me of friendship in that
dreadful moment. All the rest spewed their bile or licked their lips in
unctuous silence. I was left to bear the brunt alone, except for that
one; and he was not a Catholic. Except from him, I had no sympathy and
no comfort whatever. I don't know any case in all my reading, to say
nothing of my experience, where a man had a better or a clearer or a
more convincing test of the trueness and the falseness of his friends.
Not to do any man an injustice, and that no one might call me rash
or precipitate in my decision, I waited two years--two whole years.
The Bishop of Caerleon came to me in this period of isolation; and one
other Catholic, a man of my own trade. Later, that one betrayed me
again, so I will say no more of him. Women, of course, I neglect. And
the rest unanimously held aloof. Then I published a book; and I told my
publishers to refuse all letters which might be addressed to them for
me. The sharp line was drawn. I wanted no more fair-weather friends,
afraid to stand by me in storms. If, after those two awful years, I
had received overtures from my former acquaintances, I really think I
should have fulminated at them St. Matthew xxv. 41-43----"

"What is that?"

"'I was an hungred and ye gave me no meat' down to 'Depart from me,
ye cursed, into æonial fire.' Yes, the sharp line was drawn across my
life. I had one true friend, a protestant. As for the Faith, I found it
comfortable. As for the Faithful, I found them intolerable. The Bishop
of Caerleon at present is the exception which proves the rule, because
he came to me in the teeth of calumny."

"You are hard, Mr. Rose, very hard."

"I am what you and your Catholics have made me."

"Poor child--poor child," the cardinal adjected.

"I request that Your Eminency will not speak to me in that tone. I
disdain your pity at this date. The catastrophe is complete. I nourish
no grudge, and seek no revenge, no, nor even justice. I am content to
live my own life, avoiding all my brother-Catholics, or treating them
with severe forbearance when circumstances throw them in my path. I
don't squash cockroaches."

"The effect on your own soul?"

"The effect on my own soul is perfectly ghastly. I positively loathe
and distrust all Catholics, known and unknown, with one exception. I
have become a rudderless derelict. I have lost all faith in man, and I
have lost the power of loving."

"How terrible!" the cardinal sighed. "And are there none of us for
whom you have a kindly feeling? At times, I mean? You cannot always be
in a state of white-hot rage, you know. There must be intervals when
the tension of your anger is relaxed, perhaps from sheer fatigue: for
anger is deliberate, the effect of exertion. And, in those intervals,
have you never caught yourself thinking kindly of any of your former
friends?"

"Yes, Eminency, there are very many, clerks and laics both, with whom,
strange to say, when my anger is not dynamic, I sometimes wish to be
reconciled. However, I myself never will approach them; and they afford
me no opportunity. They do not come to me, as you have come." His voice
softened a little; and his smile was an alluring illumination.

"But you would meet them with vituperation; and naturally they don't
want to expose themselves to affronts?"

"Oh, of course if their sense of duty (to say nothing of decency) does
not teach them to risk affronts----But I will not say before hand how
I should meet them beyond this: it would depend on their demeanour to
me. I should do as I am done by. For example," he turned to the ruddy
bishop, "did I heave chairs or china-ware at Your Lordship?"

"Indeed you did not, although I thoroughly deserved both. Yrmnts,"[2]
the young prelate continued, "I believe I understand Mr. Rose's frame
of mind. He has been hit very hard; and he's badly bruised. He is a
burnt child; and he dreads the fire. It's only natural. I'm firmly
convinced that he has been more sinned against than sinning; and,
though I'm sorry to see him practically keeping us at arms' length,
I really don't know what else we can expect until we treat him as we
ourselves would like to be treated."

"True, true," the cardinal conceded.

"But it's a pity all the same," the bishop concluded.

The cardinal audibly thought, "You have perhaps not many very kindly
feelings towards me personally, Mr. Rose."

"I have no kindly feelings at all toward Your Eminency; and I believe
you to be aware of my reasons. I trust that I never should be found
wanting in reverence to your Sacred Purple: but apart from that--"
indignant recollection stiffened and inflamed the speaker--"indeed
I only am speaking civilly to you now because you are the successor
of Augustine and Theodore and Dunstan and Anselm and Chichele and
Chichester, and because my friend the Bishop of Caerleon has made you
my guest for the nonce. My Lord Cardinal, I do not know what you want
of me, nor why you have come to me: but let me tell you that you shall
not entangle me again in my talk. You are going the Catholic way to
work with me; and that is the wrong way. Frankness and open honesty is
the only way to win me--if you want me."

"Well, well! You were going to give me your own view of your Vocation."

"Your Eminency first was about to tell me how you found me after your
letters to my publishers had been returned."

"I applied to several Catholics who, formerly, had been your friends;
and, when they could tell me nothing, I had a letter sent to all the
bishops of my province directing inquisition to be made among the
clergy. Your personality, if not your name, was certain to be known to
at least one of these if you still remained Catholic, you know."

"If I still remained Catholic!" George growled with contemptuous ire.

"People in your position, Mr. Rose, have been known to commit apostasy."

"And it is precisely because people in my position habitually commit
apostasy that I decline to do what is expected of me. No. I'll follow
my cat's example of exclusive singularity. It would be too obliging and
too silly to give you Catholics that weapon to use against me. No, no,
Eminency, rest assured that I rather will be a nuisance and poor, as I
am, than an apostate and rich, as I might be."

The cardinal raised his eyebrows. "I trust you have a worthier motive
than that!"

"I mentioned that I was not in revolt against the Faith, but against
the Faithful."

"And the Grace of God?"

"Oh, of course the Grace of God," George hastened in common courtesy
conventionally to adjoin.

The fine dark brows came down again, and the cardinal continued, "As
soon as I had issued the mandate to my suffragans, Dr. Talacryn at once
furnished the desired information."

"I see," said George. Then, "Where would Your Eminency like me to
begin?"

"Tell me your own tale in your own way, dear child."

George softly and swiftly stroked his little cat. He compelled himself
to think intensely, to marshal salient facts on which he had brooded
day and night unceasingly for years, and to try to eliminate traces of
the acerbity, of the devouring fury, with which they still inspired him.

"Perhaps I'd better tell Mr. Rose, Yrmnts, that we've already gone very
deeply into his case," the bishop said. "It will make it easier for him
to speak when he knows that it is not information we're seeking, but
his personal point of view."

"Indeed it will," said George; "and I sincerely thank Your Lordship.
If you already know the facts, you will be able to check my narrative;
and all I have to do is to state the said facts to the best of my
knowledge and belief. I will begin with my career at Maryvale, where
I was during a scholastic year of eight months as an ecclesiastical
subject of the Bishop of Claughton, and where I received the Tonsure.
At the end of those eight months, my diocesan wrote that he was unable
to make any further plans for me, because there was not (I quote his
words) an unanimous verdict of the superiors in favour of my Vocation.
This was like a bolt from the blue: for the four superiors verbally
had testified the exact contrary to me. Instantly I wrote, inviting
them to explain the discrepancy. It was the Long Vacation. In reply,
the President averred inability to understand my diocesan's statement:
advised me to change my diocese; and volunteered an introduction
to the Bishop of Lambeth, in which he declared that my talents and
energy (I am quoting again) would make me a very valuable priest. The
Vice-president declined to add anything to what he already had told
me. A dark man, he was, who hid inability under a guise of austerity.
The Professor of Dogmatic Theology said that he never had been asked
for, and never had volunteered, an opinion. The Professor of Moral
Theology, who was my confessor, said the same; and, further, he
superintended my subsequent correspondence with my bishop. You will
mark the intentions of that act of his. However, all came to nothing.
The Bishop of Claughton refused to explain, to recede, to afford me
satisfaction. The Bishop of Lambeth refused to look at me, because the
Bishop of Claughton had rejected me. It was my first introduction to
the inexorability of the Roman Machine, inexorable in iniquity as in
righteousness."

"Did you form any opinion at this juncture?" the cardinal inquired,
waving a white hand.

"I formed the opinion that someone carelessly had lied: that someone
clumsily had blundered; and that all concerned were determined not
to own themselves, or anyone else but me, to be in the wrong. A
mistake had been made; and, by quibbles, by evasions, by threats,
by every hole-and-corner means conceivable, the mistake was going
to be perpetuated. Had the case been one of the ordinary type of
ecclesiastical student, (the hebete and half-licked Keltic class I
mean,) either I furiously should have apostatized, or I mildly should
have acquiesced, and should have started-in as a pork-butcher or a
cheesemonger. But those intellectually myopic authorities were unable
to discriminate; and they quite gaily wrecked a life. Oh yes: I formed
an opinion; and I very freely stated it."

"I mean did you form any opinion of your own concerning your Vocation?"

"No. My opinion concerning my Vocation, such as it was and is, had been
formed when I was a boy of fifteen. I was very fervent about that time.
I frankly admit that I played the fool from seventeen to twenty, sowed
my wild oats if you like. But I never relinquished my Divine Gift. I
just neglected it, and said 'Domani' like any Roman. And at twenty-four
I became extremely earnest about it. Yes, my opinion was as now,
unchanged, unchangeable."

"Continue," the cardinal said.

"A year after I left Maryvale, the Archbishop of Agneda was instigated
by one of his priests, a Varsity man who knew me well, to invite me to
volunteer for his archdiocese. I was only too glad. His Grace sent me
to St. Andrew's College in Rome. The priest who recommended me, and
Canon Dugdale, assured me that, in return for my services, my expenses
would be borne by the archbishop. They never were. I was more than one
hundred and twenty pounds out of pocket. After four months in College
I was expelled suddenly and brutally. No reason ever has been given
to me; and I never have been aware of a reason which could justify
so atrocious an outrage. My archbishop maintained absolute silence.
I did hear it said that I had no Vocation. That was the gossip of my
fellow-students, immature cubs mostly, hybrid larrikins given to false
quantities and nasal cacophonies. I took, and take, no account of such
gossip. If my legitimate superiors had had grounds for their action,
grounds which they durst expose to day-light; and, if they frankly
had stated the same to me, I believe I should have given very little
trouble. As it is, I am of course a thorn, or a pest, or a fire-brand,
or a rodent and purulent ulcer--vous en faites votre choix. The case
is a mystery to me, inexplicable, except by an hypothesis connected
with the character of the rector of St. Andrew's College. I remember
the Marquess of Mountstuart reading a leading article about him out
of _The Scotsman_ to me in 1886, and remarking that he was 'an awful
little liar.' But perhaps the right reverend gentleman is known to Your
Eminency?"

"Well known, Mr. Rose, well known. And now tell me of your subsequent
proceedings."

"I made haste to offer my services to other bishops. When I found
every door shut against me, I firmly deliberated never to recede from
my grade of tonsured clerk under any circumstances whatever; and
I determined to occupy my energies with some pursuit for which my
nature fitted me, until the Divine Giver of my Vocation should deign
to manifest it to others as well as to myself. I chose the trade of a
painter. I was just beginning to make headway when the defalcations of
a Catholic ruined me. All that I ever possessed was swallowed up. Even
my tools of trade illegally were seized. I began life again with no
more than the clothes on my back, a Book of Hours, and eight shillings
in my pocket. I obtained, from a certain prelate, whose name I need
not mention, a commission for a series of pictures to illustrate a
scheme which he had conceived for the confounding of Anglicans. He saw
specimens of my handicraft, was satisfied with my ability, provided
me with materials for a beginning and a disused skittle-alley for a
studio; and, a few weeks later, (I quote his secretary) he altered his
mind and determined to put his money in the building of a cathedral. I
think that I need not trouble Your Eminency with further details."

"Quite unnecessary," Mr. Rose.

"I don't know how I kept alive until I got my next commission. I only
remember that I endured that frightful winter of 1894-5 in light summer
clothes unchanged. But I did not die; and, by odds and ends of work, I
managed to recover a great deal of my lost ground. Then a hare-brained
and degenerate priest asked me to undertake another series of pictures.
I worked two years for him: and he valued my productions at fifteen
hundred pounds: in fact he sold them at that rate. Well, he never paid
me. Again I lost all my apparatus, all my work; and was reduced to the
last extreme of penury. Then I began to write, simply because of the
imperious necessity of expressing myself. And I had much to say. Note
please that I asked nothing better than to be a humble chantry-priest,
saying Mass for the dead. It was denied me. I turned to express
beautiful and holy ideals on canvas. Again I was prevented. I must and
will have scope, an outlet for what the President of Maryvale called my
'talent and energy.' Literature is the only outlet which you Catholics
have left me. Blame yourselves: not me. Oh yes, I have very much to
say."

He paused. The cardinal evaded his glance; and intently gazed at the
under-side of well-manicured pink-onyx finger-nails.

"And about your Vocation, Mr. Rose. What is your present opinion?"

George wrenched himself from retrospection. "My opinion, Eminency, as
I already have had the honour of telling you, is the same as it always
has been."

"That is to say?"

"That I have a Divine Vocation to the Priesthood."

"You persist?"

"Eminency, I am not one of your low Erse or pseudo Gaels,
flippertigibbets of frothy flighty fervour, whom you can blow hither
and thither with a sixpence for a fan. Thank The Lord I'm English, born
under Cancer, tenacious, slow and sure. Naturally I persist."

Cardinalitial eyebrows re-ascended. "The man, to whom Divine Providence
vouchsafes a Vocation, is bound to prosecute it."

"I am prosecuting it. I never for one moment have ceased from
prosecuting it."

"But now you have attained a position as an author."

"Yes; in the teeth of you all; and no thanks to anyone but myself.
However that is only the means to an end."

"In what way?"

"In this way. When I shall have earned enough to pay certain debts,
which I incurred on the strength of my faith in the honour of a parcel
of archiepiscopal and episcopal and clerical sharpers, and also a sum
sufficient to produce a small and certain annuity, then I shall go
straight to Rome and square the rector of St. Andrew's College."

"Sh-h!" the bishop sibilated. The cardinal threw up delicate hands.

"Yrmnts mustn't be offended by Mr. Rose's satirical way of putting
it," the bishop hastily put in. "He's a regular phrase-maker. It's his
trade, you know. But at the bottom of his good heart I'm sure he means
nothing but what is right and proper. And, George, you're not the man
to smite the fallen. Monsignor Cateran was deposed seven years ago and
more."

"I beg Your Eminency's pardon if I have spoken inurbanely; and I
thank Your Lordship for interpreting me so generously. I didn't know
that Cateran had come to his Cannae. Really I'm sorry: but, I've been
stabbed and stung so many years that, now I am able to retaliate, I am
as touchy as a hornet with a brand-new sting. I can't help it. I seem
to take an impish delight in making my brother-Catholics, especially
clerks, smart and wince and squirm as I myself have squirmed and winced
and smarted. I'm sorry. I simply meant to say that, when I have made
myself free and independent, then I will try again to give you evidence
of my Vocation."

"Have you approached your diocesan recently?" the cardinal inquired.

"His Grace died soon after my expulsion from St. Andrew's College. I
approached his successor, who refused to hear me; and is dead. I never
have approached the present archbishop, beyond giving him notice of my
existence and persistence; for I certainly will not come before him
with chains on my hands."

"Chains?"

"Debts."

"Have you any special reason for belonging to the archdiocese of
Agneda?"

"There is a certain fascination in the idea of administering to a
horde of unspeakable barbarians, 'the horrible and ultimate Britons,
ferocious to strangers.' Otherwise I have no special reason. I had no
choice. I happen to have been made an ecclesiastical subject of Agneda
at the instance of Mr. George Semphill and at the invitation of the
late Archbishop Smithson. That is all."

"Would you be inclined to offer your services to another bishop now?"

"Eminency, 'it is not I who have lost the Athenians: it is the
Athenians who have lost me.' I would say that in Greek if I thought
you would understand me. When the Athenians want me, they will not
have much difficulty in finding me. But to tell you the truth, I find
these bishop-johnnies excessively tiresome. As I said just now, when
Agneda silently relieved himself of his obligations to me, I offered my
services to half-a-dozen of them, more or less, plainly telling them
my history and my circumstances. What a fool they must have thought
me,--or what a brazen and dangerous scoundrel! Yes, I do believe they
thought me that. I was astonishingly unsophisticate then. I didn't
know a tithe of what I know now; and I solemnly assever that I believe
those owl-like hierarchs to have been completely flabbergasted because
I neither whimpered penitence, nor whined for mercy, but actually had
the effrontery to tell them the blind and naked truth about myself.
Truth nude and unadorned, is such a rare commodity among Catholics,
as you know, and especially among the clergy; and I suppose, as long
as we continue to draw the majority of our spiritual pastors from the
hooligan class, from the scum of the gutter, that the man who tells the
truth in his own despite always emphatically will be condemned as mad,
or bad, or both."

"Really, Mr. Rose!" the cardinal interjected.

"Yes, Eminency: we teach little children that there are three kinds of
lies; and that the Officiose Lie, which is told to excuse oneself or
another--the meanest lie of the lot, I say--is only a Venial Sin. It's
in the catechism. Well, naturally enough the miserable little wretches,
who can't possibly grasp the subtilty of a _distinguo_, put undue
importance on that abominable world 'only'; and they grow up as the
most despicable of all liars. Ouf! I learned all this from a thin thing
named Danielson, just after my return to the faith of my forefathers.
He lied to me. In my innocence I took his word. Then I found him out;
and preached on the enormity of his crime. 'Well, sir,' says he as bold
as brass, 'it's only a Venial Sin!'"

"George, you're beside the point," the bishop said.

"His Eminency will indulge me. What was I saying? Oh,--that I had had
enough of being rebuffed by bishops. I came to that conclusion when His
Lordship of Chadsee blandly told me that I never would get a bishop to
accept my services as long as I continued to tell the truth about my
experiences. I stopped competing for rebuffs then. I do not propose to
begin again until I am the possessor of a cheque-book."

The cardinal was gazing through the leaves of an india-rubber plant out
of the window; his magnificent eyes were drained of all expression.
When the nervose deliberately-hardened and pathetic voice of the
speaker ceased, he brought the argument to a focus with these words,
"George Arthur Rose, I summon you to offer yourself to me."

"I am not ready to offer myself to Your Eminency."

"Not ready?"

"I hoped that I had made it clear to you that, in regard to my
Vocation, I am 'marking time,' until I shall have earned enough to pay
my debts incurred on the strength of my faith in the honour of a parcel
of archiepiscopal and episcopal and clerical sharpers, and also a sum
sufficient to produce me a small and certain annuity----"

"You keep harping upon that string," the cardinal complained.

"It is the only string which you have left unbroken on my lute."

"I see you are a very sensitive subject, Mr. Rose. I think that
long brooding over your wrongs has fixed in you some such pagan and
erroneous idea as that which Juvenal expresses in the verse where he
says that poverty makes a man ridiculous."

"Nothing of the kind," George retorted with all his claws out. "On the
contrary, it is I--the creature of you, my Lord Cardinal, and your
Catholics--who make Holy Poverty look ridiculous!"

"A clever paradox!" The cardinal let a tinge of his normal sneer affect
his voice.

"Not even a paradox. A poor thing: but mine own," George flung in,
glaring through his great-great-grandfather's silver spectacles which
he used indoors.

"Well, well: the money-question need not trouble you," said the
cardinal, turning again to the window. Indifference was his pose.

"But it does trouble me. It vitally troubles me. And your amazing
summons troubles me as well--now. Why do you come to me after all these
years?"

"Precisely, Mr. Rose, after all these years, as you say. It has
been suggested to me, and I am bound to say that I agree with the
suggestion, that we ought to take your singular persistency during all
these years--how many years?"

"Say twenty."

"That we must take your singular persistency during twenty years as a
proof of the genuineness of your Vocation."

George turned his face to the little yellow cat, who had climbed to and
was nestling on his shoulder.

"And therefore," the cardinal continued, "I am here to-day to summon
you to accept Holy Order with no delay beyond the canonical intervals."

"I will respond to that summons within two years."

"Within two years? Life is uncertain, Mr. Rose. We who are here to-day
may be in our graves by then." I myself am an old man.

"I know. Your Eminency is an old man. I, by the grace of God, the
virtue of my ancestors, and my own attention to my physique, am still a
young man; and younger by far than my years. I have not been preserved
in the vigour and freshness of youth by miracle after miracle during
twenty years for nothing. And, when I shall have published three more
books, I will respond to your summons. Not till then."

"I told you that the money-question need not hinder you."

"Yes, Eminency; and my late diocesan said the same thing several years
ago."

"You are suspicious, Mr. Rose."

"I have reason to be suspicacious, Eminency."

The cardinal threw up his hands. The gesture wedded irritation to
despair. "You doubt me?" he all but gasped.

"I trusted Your Eminency in 1894; and----"

The bishop intervened: for cardinalitial human nature burst out in
vermilion flames.

"George," he said, "I am witness of Zmnts's words."

"What's the good of that? Suppose that I take His Eminency's
word! Suppose that in a couple of months he alters his mind,
determines to mistake the large for the great and to perpetrate
another pea-soup-and-streaky-bacon-coloured caricature of an
electric-light-station! What then would be my remedy? Where would be
my contract again? And could I hale a prince of the church before a
secular tribunal? Would I? Could I subpœna Your Lordship to testify
against your Metropolitan and Provincial? Would I? Would you? My Lord
Cardinal, I must speak, and you must hear me, as man to man. You are
offering me Holy Orders on good grounds, on right and legitimate
grounds, on grounds which I knew would be conceded sooner or later. I
thank God for conceding them now.... You also are offering something in
the shape of money." In his agitation, he suddenly rose, to Flavio's
supreme discomfiture; and began to roll a cigarette from dottels in a
tray on the mantel-piece.

"If I correctly interpret you, you are offering to me, who will be no
man's pensioner, who will accept no man's gifts, a gift, a pension----"

"No," the cardinal very mildly interjected: "but restitution."

"Oh!" George ejaculated, suddenly sitting down, and staring like the
martyr who, while yet the pagan pincers were at work upon his tenderest
internals, beheld the angel-bearers of his amaranthine coronal.

"Amends and restitution," the cardinal repeated.

"What am I to say?" George addressed his cat and the bishop.

"You are simply to say in what form you will accept this act of justice
from us," the cardinal responded, taking the question to himself.

"Oh, I must have time to think. You must afford me time to think."

"No, George," said the bishop: "take no time at all. Speak your mind
now. Do make an effort to believe that we are sincerely in earnest; and
that in this matter we are in your hands. I may say that, Yrmnts?" he
inquired.

"Certainly: we place ourselves in Mr. Rose's hands--unreservedly--ha!"
the cardinal affirmed, and gasped with the exertion.

George concentrated his faculties; and recited, rather than spoke,
demurely and deliberately and dynamically. "I must have a written
expression of regret for the wrongs which have been done to me both by
Your Eminency and by others who have followed your advice, command, or
example."

"It is here," the cardinal said, taking a folded paper from the
fascicule of his breviary. "We knew that you would want that. I
may point out that I have written in my own name, and also as the
mouthpiece of the Catholic body."

George took the paper and carefully read it two or three times,
with some flickering of his thin fastidious lips. It certainly
was very handsome. Then he said, "I thank Your Eminency and my
brother-Catholics," and put the document in the fire, where in a moment
it was burned to ash.

"Man alive!" cried the bishop.

"I do not care to preserve a record of my superiors' humiliation," said
George, again in his didactic recitative.

"I see that Mr. Rose knows how to behave nobly, as you said, Frank,"
the cardinal commented.

"Only now and then, Eminency. One cannot be always posing. But I
long ago had arranged to do that, if you ever should give me the
opportunity. And now," he paused--and continued, "you concede my facts?"

"We may not deny them, Mr. Rose."

"Then, now that I in my turn have placed myself in your hands" (again
he was reciting), "I must have a sum of money"--(that paradoxical
"must" was quite in his best manner)--"I must have a sum of money equal
to the value of all the work which I have done since 1892, and of which
I have been--for which I have not been paid. I must have five thousand
pounds."

"And the amount of your debts, and a solatium for the sufferings----"

"You no more can solace me for my sufferings than you can revest me
with ability to love my neighbour. The paltry amount of my debts
concerns me and my creditors, and no one else. If I had been paid for
my work I should have had no debts. When I am paid, I shall pay."

"The five thousand pounds are yours, Mr. Rose."

"But who is being robbed----"

"My dear child!" from the cardinal; and "George!" from the bishop.

"Robbed, Eminency. Don't we all know the Catholic manner of robbing
Peter to pay Paul? I repeat, who is being robbed that I may be paid?
For I refuse to touch a farthing diverted from religious funds, or
extracted from the innocuous devout."

"You need not be alarmed on that score. Your history is well-known
to many of us, as you know: latterly it has deeply concerned some
of us, as perhaps you do not know. And one who used to call himself
your friend, who--ha--promised never to let you sink--and let you
sink,--one who acquiesced when others wronged you, has now been moved
to place ten thousand pounds at my disposal, in retribution, as a
sort of sin-offering. I intend to use it for your rehabilitation, Mr.
Rose,--well then for your enfranchisement. Now that we understand
each other, I shall open an account--have you a banking account
though?--very good: I will open an account in your name at Coutts's on
my way back to Pimlico."

"I must know the name of that penitent sinner: for quite a score have
said as much as Your Eminency has quoted."

"Edward Lancaster."

"I might have guessed it. Well, he never will miss it--it's just a drop
of his ocean--I think I can do as much with it as he can.--Eminency,
give him my love and say that I will take five thousand pounds: not
more. The rest--oh, I know: I hand it to Your Eminency to give to
converted clergymen who are harassed with wives, or to a sensible
secular home for working boys, or to the Bishop of Caerleon for his
dreadful diocese. Yes, divide it between them."

The prelates stood up to go. George kneeled; and received benedictions.

"We shall see you at Archbishop's House, Mr. Rose," said the cardinal
on the doorstep.

"If Your Eminency will telegraph to Agneda at once, you will be able to
get my dimissorials to your archdiocese by to-morrow morning's post.
I will be at Archbishop's House at half-past seven to confess to the
Bishop of Caerleon. Your Eminency says Mass at eight, and will admit me
to Holy Communion. At half-past eight the post will be in; and you will
give me the four minor orders. Then--well, _then_, Eminency" (with a
dear smile.) "You see I am not anxious for delay now. And, meanwhile,
I will go and have a Turkish Bath, and buy a Roman collar, and think
myself back into my new--no--my old life."

       *       *       *       *       *

"What does Yrmnts make of him?" the bishop inquired as the shabby
brougham moved away.

"God knows! God only knows!" the cardinal responded. "I hope----
Well we've done what we set out to do: haven't we? What a most
extraordinary, what a most incomprehensible creature to be sure! I
don't of course like his paganism, nor his flippancy, nor his slang,
nor his readiness to dictate; and he is certainly sadly lacking in
humility. He treated both of us with scant respect, you must admit,
Frank. What was it he called us--ha--'bishop-johnnies'--now you can't
defend that. And 'owl-like hierarchs' too!"

"Indeed no. I believe he hasn't a scrap of reverence for any of us.
After all I don't exactly see that we can expect it. But it may come in
time."

"Do you really think so?" said the cardinal; and the four eyes in the
carriage turned together, met, and struck the spark of a recondite and
mutual smile.

"For my part," the younger prelate continued, "I'm going to try to
make amends for the immense wrong I did him by neglecting him. I can't
get over the feeling of distrust I have of him yet. But I confess I'm
strangely drawn to him. It is such a treat to come across a man who's
not above treating a bishop as his equal."

"Did it strike you that he was acting a part?"

"Indeed yes: I think he was acting a part nearly all the time. But I'm
sure he wasn't conscious of it. He's as transparent and guileless as a
child, whatever."

"It seemed to me that he had all these pungent little speeches cut and
dried. He said them like a lesson."

"Well, poor fellow, he's thought of nothing else for years; and I
find, Yrmnts, that mental concentration, carried to anything like that
extreme, gives a sort of power of prevision. I really believe that he
had foreseen something, and was quite prepared for us."

"Strange," said the cardinal, whose supercilious oblique regard
indicated dearth of interest in ideas that were out of his depth.

"He behaved very well about the money though?"

"Very well indeed. But, what a fool! Well, Frank, we can only pray
that he may turn out well. I think he will. I really think he will.
I hope and trust that we shall find the material of sanctity there.
An unpleasant kind of sanctity perhaps. He will be difficult. That
singular character, and the force which all those self-concentrated
years have given him:--oh, he'll never submit to management, depend
upon it. Frank, I've seen just that type of face among academic
anarchists. It will be our business to watch him, for he will go his
own way; and his way will have to be our way. It won't be the wrong
way: but--oh yes, he will be very difficult. Well:--God only knows!
Will you be on the look-out for a telegraph office, Frank, while I get
through my Little Hours? Perhaps we had better----"

The cardinal opened his breviary at Sext; and made the sign of the
cross.

       *       *       *       *       *

George returned to the dining-room; and sat down in the cane
folding-chair which the cardinal had vacated. He lighted the cigarette
rolled during conversation. Flavio had taken possession of the seat
lately occupied by the bishop, a deep-cushioned wickerwork armchair;
and was very majestically posed, haunches broad and high and yellow as
a cocoon, the beautiful brush displayed at length, fore-paws daintily
tucked inward under the paler breast, the grand head guardant.

A shameless female began to shriek scales and roulades in an opposite
house. George made plans for blasting her with a mammoth gramaphone
which should bray nothing but trumpet-choruses out of his open windows.
He smoked his cigarette to the butt, eyeing the cat. Then he said,

"Boy, where are we?"

Flavio winked and turned away his head, as who should say

"Obviously here."

George accepted the hint. He went upstairs, and changed into black
serge: borrowed a few sovereigns from his landlord: ate his lunch of
bread and milk; and took the L. and N.W. Rail to Highbury. Walking away
from the station amid the blatant and vivacious inurbanity of Islington
Upper Street, he kept his mental processes inactive--the higher mental
processes of induction and deduction, the faculties of criticism and
judgment. His method was Aristotelean, in that he drew his universals
from a consideration of numerous particulars. He had plenty of material
for thought; and he stored it till the time for thinking came. Now,
he was out of doors for the sake of physical exercise. Also, he was
getting the morning's events into perspective. At present his mind
resembled warm wax on a tablet, wherein externals inscribed but
transient impressions--an obese magenta Jewess with new boots which
had a white line round their idiotic high heels--a baby with neglected
nostrils festooned over the side of a mail-cart--a neat boy's leg,
long and singularly well-turned, extended in the act of mounting a
bicycle--an Anglican sister-of-mercy displaying side-spring prunellos
and one eye in a haberdasher's violent window--a venerable shy drudge
of a piano-tuner whose left arm was dragged down by the weight of the
unmistakable little bag of tools--the weary anxious excruciating asking
look in the eyes of all. He made his way south-westward, walking till
he was tired for an hour and a half.

Anon, he was lying face downward in the calidarium of the bath, a slim
white form, evenly muscular, boyishly fine and smooth. His forehead
rested on his crossed arms, veiling his eyes. He came here, because
here he was unknown: the place, with its attendants and frequenters,
was quite strange to him: he would not be bored by the banalities of
familiar tractators; and an encounter with any of his acquaintance
was out of the question. From time to time he refreshed himself in
the shower: but, while his procumbent body was at rest in the hot
oxygenated air, he let his mind work easily and quickly. After two
hours, he concluded his bath with a long cold plunge; and retired
rosily tingling to the unctuarium to smoke. Here he made the following
entries in his pocket-book:

"Have I been fair to them? Yes: but unmerciful. N.B. _For an act to be
really good and meritorious, it must be performed noluntarily and with
self-compulsion._

What have I gained? A verbal promise of priesthood, and a verbal
promise of five thousand pounds. M-ym-ym-ym-ym-ym-ym.

What has he gained? If he's honest, the evacuation of a purulent
abscess, the allegiance of a man who wants to be faithful, and
perhaps the merit of saving a soul. N.B. _There was unwillingness and
self-compulsion in him._

Why was he so timid?

A great part of what I said was gratuitously exasperating. Why did he
stand it?

What does he know that I don't know?

What do I know that he doesn't know?

What salient things have I, in my usual manner, left unsaid?

Did I say more than enough?

Have I given myself away again?

Is he honest?

What was his real motive?

Oh why did he humiliate himself so?

Don't know. Don't know. Don't know.

Now what shall I do? Advance one pace. 'Do ye nexte thynge.'"

As he was powdering his vaccinated arm with borax before dressing, he
said to himself, "Go into Berners Street, and buy a gun-metal stock and
two dozen Roman collars (with a seam down the middle if you can get
them); and then go to Scott's and buy a flat hat. The black serge will
have to do as it is. If they don't like a jacket, let them dislike it.
And then go home and examine your conscience."

       *       *       *       *       *

The bishop locked the parlour-door: took the crucifix from the mantel
and stood it on the table: kissed the cross embroidered on the little
violet stole which he had brought with him, and put it over his
shoulders. He sat down rectangularly to the end of the table, his left
cheek toward the crucifix, his back to the penitent. George kneeled on
the floor by the side of the table, in face of the crucifix: made the
sign of the cross; and began,

"Bless me, O father, for I have sinned."

"May The Lord be in thine heart and on thy lips, that thou with truth
and with humility mayest confess thy sins, ✠ in the Name of the
Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

"I confess to God Almighty, to Blessed Mary Ever-Virgin, to Blessed
Michael Archangel, to Blessed John Baptist, to the Holy Apostles Peter
and Paul, to all Saints, and to thee, O Father, that I excessively have
sinned in thought, in word, and in deed, through my fault, through my
fault, through my very great fault. I last confessed five days ago:
received absolution: performed my penance. Since then I broke the first
commandment, once, by being superstitiously silly enough to come
downstairs in socks because I accidentally put on my left shoe before
my right: twice, by speaking scornfully of and to God's ministers. I
broke the third commandment, once, by omitting to hear mass on Sunday:
twice, by permitting my mind to be distracted by the brogue of the
priest who said mass on Saturday. I broke the fourth commandment, once,
by being pertly pertinacious to my superior: twice, by saying things to
grieve him----"

"Was that wilful?"

"Partly. But I was annoyed by his manner to me."

"What had you to complain of in his manner?"

"Side. He had used me rather badly: he came to make amends: I took
umbrage at what I considered to be the arrogance of his manner. I was
wrong. I confess an ebullition of my own critical intolerant impatient
temper, which I ought to have curbed."

"Is there anything more on your conscience, my son?"

"Lots. I confess that I have broken the sixth commandment, once, by
continuing to read an epigram in the Anthology after I had found out
that it was obscene. I have broken the eighth commandment, once, by
telling a story defamatory of a royal personage now dead: I don't
know whether it was true or false: it was a common story, which I had
heard; and I ought not to have repeated it. I have broken the third
commandment of the Church, once, by eating dripping-toast at tea on
Friday: I was hungry: it was very nice: I made a good meal of it and
couldn't eat any dinner: this was thoughtless at first, then wilful."

"Are you bound to fast this Lent?"

"Yes, Father.... Those are all the sins of which I am conscious
since my last confession. I should like to make a general confession
of the chief sins of my life as well. I am guilty of inattention
and half-heartedness in my spiritual exercises. Sometimes I can
concentrate upon them: sometimes I allow the most paltry things to
distract me. My mind has a twist towards frivolity, towards perversity.
I know the sane; and I love and admire it: but I don't control myself
as I ought to do. I say my prayers at irregular hours. Sometimes I
forget them altogether."

"How many times a week on an average?"

"Not so often as that: not more than once a month, I think. The same
with my Office."

"What Office? You haven't that obligation?"

"Well no: not in a way. But several years ago, when I received the
tonsure, I immediately began to say the Divine Office----"

"Did you make any vow?"

"No, Father: it was one of my private fads. I was awfully anxious
to get on to the priesthood as quickly as possible; and, as soon as
I was admitted to the clerical estate, I busied myself in acquiring
ecclesiastical habits. I wrote the necessary parts of the Liturgy on
large sheets of paper, and pinned them on my bedroom walls; and I used
to learn them by heart while I was dressing. The Office was another
thing. I said it fairly regularly for about three years. Sometimes
a bit of nasty vulgar Latin, for which someone merited a swishing,
shocked me; and I stopped in the middle of a lection--it generally
was a lection:--but I never relinquished the practice for more than
a day. Circumstances deprived me of my breviary: but I kept a little
book-of-hours; and I went on, saying all but mattins and lauds. It
wasn't satisfactory; and I had no _Ordo_; and, after a month or two
I gave it up. Then I began to say the _Little Office_; and that is
of obligation, because I have made my profession in the Third Order
of St. Francis. I added to it the _Office for the Dead_ to make up a
decent quantity. But I have not been regular. The same with my duties.
Generally, I go to confession and communion once a week: but sometimes
I don't go on the proper days. Sometimes I miss mass on holidays for
absurd reasons. Yes, often. I generally hear mass every day; and, when
I fail, it always is on a holiday----"

"Explain, my son."

"I live between two churches: the one is half an hour away: the other,
a quarter----"

"Have you been obliged to live where you do?"

"Yes: as far as one is obliged to do a detestable inconvenient thing.
I did not choose the place. A false friend enticed me there, absconded
with some papers of mine and obliged me to stay there, and rot
there----"

"Continue, my son."

"When I am well disposed, I go to the distant church. When I am
lazy, I don't go at all--this only refers to holidays:--because at
the near one I should have to encounter the scowls of a purse-proud
family who knew me when I was well-off, and who glare at me now as
though I committed some impertinence in using a church which they
have decorated with a chromolithograph. Also I detest kneeling in a
pew like a protestant, with somebody's breath oozing down the back
of my collar. I can hear Mass with devotion as well as with æsthetic
pleasure in a church which has dark corners and no pews. I've never
seen one in this country where I can be unconscious of the hideous
persons and outrageous costumes of the congregation, the appalling
substitute for ecclesiastical music, the tawdry insolence of the place,
the pretentious demeanour of the ministers. Things like these distract
me; and sometimes keep me away altogether. I like to worship my Maker,
alone, from a distance, unseen of all save Him. You see, among the
laity, I am as a fish out of water: because I am a clerk, whose place
is not without but within the _cancelli_. However, I confess that I
habitually more or less am guilty of neglect of duty, on grounds which
I know to be fantastic and sensuous and indefensible. I confess that
I have used irreverent expletives, such as _O my God_ and _Damn_. Not
very often.... I confess that I am imperfectly resigned to the Will
of God. I very often think that I do not know and cannot know what is
God's Will. I generally follow my instincts: not, of course, when I
know them to be sinful. I generally resist those. But, in planning my
life, in trial, when I really want to know God's Will, I have no test
which I can apply to the operations of my intellect. I am not alluding
to dogma. I implicitly take that from the Church. I mean life's little
quandaries. Years ago, I used to consult my confessor. I never got
an apt or an illuminating or even an intelligent response. Time was
short: there were a lot of people waiting outside the confessional:
or His Reverence had been interrupted in the middle of his Office. An
inapplicable platitude was pitched at me; and of course I went away
in a rage. Later, I grew to think that a man ought not to shirk his
personal responsibility: that he ought to be prepared to decide for
himself and face the consequence. I gave up consulting the clergy,
except upon technical points. I do my best, by myself; and I pray God
to be merciful to my mistakes. I earnestly desire to do His Will in all
things: but I often fail. For example, I can't stand pain. It makes me
savage, literally. I don't bear chastisement submissively. I confess
all my failures. I was lacking in filial respect towards my parents.
I have been irreverent and disobedient to my superiors. I have argued
with them, instead of meekly submitting my will to theirs. I have given
them nicknames, labels that stick, that annoy them by revealing mental
and corporeal characteristics of which they are not proud. For example,
I said that the violet legs of my college-rector were formed like
little Jacobean communion-rails; and I nicknamed a certain domestic
prelate the Greek for _Muddy-Mind_, βορβοροθυμοϛ. I haven't done
these things out of really vicious wanton cruelty: but out of pride
in my own powers of penetration and perception, or out of culpable
frivolity. I confess that I have been wanting in love, patience,
sincerity, justice, towards my neighbour. Selfishness, self-will, and
a fatuous desire to be distinct from other people, have caused these
breaches of God's law. That desire nearly always is unconscious or
subconscious: seldom deliberate. I am unkind with my bitter tongue
and pen: for example, I made a jibe of the scrofula of a publisher. I
am impatient with mental or natural weakness: for example I brought
tears into a schoolboy's eyes by my remarks when he recorded Edward
III.'s words to Philippa in reference to the six burgesses of Calais
as 'Dam, I can deny you nothing, but I wish you had been otherwhere.'
I am insincere, sinfully not criminally. I mean that I delight in
bewildering others by posing as a monument of complex erudition, when I
really am a very silly simpleton. I am unjust, in my readiness to judge
on insufficient evidence: by my habit of believing all I hear,--that's
a tremendously salient fault of mine:--and by telling or repeating
detrimental stories. I confess the sin of detraction. I have told
improper stories: not of the ordinary revolting kind, but those which
are exquisite or witty or recondite. The koprolalian kind, those which
are common in colleges and among the clergy, I have had the injustice
to label _Roman Catholic Stories_. If it were necessary to designate
them with particularity, the classic epithet _Milesian_ would serve:
but it is never necessary. I have not often offended in this way: but
now and then, according to the company in which I have happened to
be. I confess that I have sinned against myself--for example, I have
not avoided ease and luxury. I have only been too glad to enjoy them
when they came in my way. I have been fastidious in my person, my
tastes, my dress, affecting delicate habits, likes, and dislikes. I
hate getting up early in the morning; and do it with a bad grace. I
am dainty in my diet. I never have conquered my natural antipathy to
flesh-meat, especially to entrails such as sweet-breads and kidneys.
I abhor fish-meat on account of its abominable stench. Formerly, I
never would sit at a table where fish-meat was served. I can do that
now, with an effort of will: but I could not eat fish without physical
nausea. I never will eat it. Once I made a man sick by the filthy
comparison which I used in regard to some oysters which he was about
to eat.... I have not avoided dangerous occasions of sin: I have not
been prompt to resist temptation. For example, my desire to improve my
knowledge leads me to minute appreciation and analysis of everything
which interests me. In regard to the fine arts, I study the nude,
human anatomy, generally with no emotion beyond passionate admiration
for beauty. I never have been able to find beauty shameful: ugliness,
yes. In regard to literature, I have read prohibited books and
magazines--the _Nineteenth Century_, and books ancient and modern which
are of a certain kind. My motive always has been to inform myself. I
perfectly have known into what areas of temptation I was straying. As
a rule, no effect has been produced on me, save the feeling of disgust
at writers who write grossly for the sake of writing grossly, like
Stratōn, or Pontano. I confess that two or three times in my life I
have delighted in impure thoughts inspired by some lines in Cicero's
Oration for M. Coelius: and, perhaps half a dozen times by a verse of
John Addington Symonds in the _Artist_. I confess that I have dallied
with these thoughts for an instant before dismissing them. There is one
thing which I never have mentioned in confession to my satisfaction.
I mean that I have mentioned it in vague terms only. I have not felt
quite sure about it. I know that I cannot think of it and of the
stainless purity of the Mother-Maid at the same time. Hence I conclude
that I am guilty----"

"Relieve your mind, my son."

"About fourteen years ago, I dined with a woman whose husband was
a great friend of mine. Her two children dined with us--a girl of
fifteen, a boy of thirteen. Her husband was away on business for a
few months. Soon after dinner, she sent the children to bed. A few
minutes later she went to say good-night to them: she was an excellent
mother. I remained in the drawing-room. When she returned, I was
standing to take my departure. As she entered, she closed the door
and switched off the electric light. I instinctively struck a match.
She laughed, apologising for being absent-minded. I said the usual
polite idioms and went away. A fortnight later, I dined there again
by invitation. All went on as before: but this time, when she came
back from saying good-night to the children she was wearing a violet
flannel dressing-gown. I said nothing at all; and instantly left her.
Afterwards, I gave her the cut direct in the street. I never have
spoken to her since. Her husband was a good man, a martyr, and I
immensely admired him. He died a few years later. I have no feeling
for her except detestation. She was wickedly ugly. Vague thoughts
ensued from these incidents; thoughts not connected with her but
with some sensuous idea, some phasma of my imagination. They never
were more than thoughts. I think that I must have delighted in them,
because they returned to me perhaps twelve or fourteen times in as many
years. I confess these sins of thought. Also, I think that I ought
to confess myself lacking in alacrity after the first switching off
of the electric light; and that I never ought to have remained alone
with that woman again. I was ridiculously dense: for, only after the
second event, did I see what the first had portended. I confess that
I have not kept my senses in proper custody. I place no restraint
whatever upon sight, hearing, taste, smell, touch, except in so far
as my natural sympathies or antipathies direct me. I cultivate them
and refine them and sharpen them: but never mortify them. I hardly
ever practise self-denial. Even when I do, I catch myself extracting
elements of æsthetic enjoyment from it. For example, I was present at
the amputation of a leg. Under anæsthetics, directly the saw touched
the marrow of the thigh bone, the other leg began to kick. I was next
to it; and the surgeon told me to hold it still. It was ghastly: but
I did. And then I actually caught myself admiring the exquisite silky
texture of human skin.... Father, I am my Master's most unfaithful
servant. I am a very sorry Christian. I confess all these sins, all the
sins which I cannot remember, all the sins of my life. I implore pardon
of God; and from thee, O Father, penance and absolution. Therefore I
beseech blessed Mary Ever-Virgin, blessed Michael Archangel, Blessed
John Baptist, the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul, all Saints, and thee, O
Father, to pray for me to The Lord our God."

"My son, do you love God?"

From silence, tardily the response emerged, "I don't know. I really
don't know. He is Δημιουῥγοϛ, Maker of the World to me. He is Το Ἁγαθον
to me, Truth and Righteousness and Beauty. He is Πανταναξ, Lord of All
to me. He is First. He is Last. He is Perfect. He is Supreme. I believe
in God, the Father Almighty; I believe in God the Son, Redeemer of
the World; I believe in God the Holy Ghost, the Lord, the Lifegiver;
One God in Trinity and Trinity in Unity. I absolutely believe in Him.
There isn't in my mind the slightest shade of a question about Him. I
unconditionally trust Him. I am not afraid of Him, because I can't
think of Him as anything but righteous and merciful. To think otherwise
would be both absurd and unfair to myself. And I'm quite sure that I'm
ready and willing and delighted to make any kind of sacrifice for Him.
I don't know why. So far, I clearly see. Then, in my mind, there comes
a great gap,--filled with fog."

"Do you love your neighbour?"

"No, I frankly detest him, and her. Let me explain. Most people are
repulsive to me, because they are ugly in person: more, because they
are ugly in manner: many, because they are ugly in mind. Not that I
never met people different to these. I have. People have occurred to me
with whom I should like to be in sympathy. But I have been unable to
get near enough to them. I seem to be a thing apart. I can't understand
my neighbour. What satisfies him does not satisfy me. Once I induced
a young lover to let me read his love-letters. He brought them every
day for a week. His love had appeared to be a perfect idyll, pure and
lovely as a flower. Well--I never read such rot in my life: simply
categories of features and infantile gibberish done in the style of a
housemaid's novelette. It made me sick. This kind of thing annoys me,
terrifies me. You see, I want to understand my neighbour in order to
love him. But I don't think I know what love is. But I want to--badly."

"Do you love yourself?"

"Father, do you mean the essence of me, or the form?"

"Yourself?"

"Well, of course I look after my body, and cultivate my mind: I'm
afraid I don't pay enough attention to my soul. I certainly don't
admire my person. That's all wrong. I can pick out a hundred deviations
from the canon of proportion in it. Lysippos would have had a fit.
And the tint is not quite pure. I make the best of it: but I don't
think it matters much. As for my mind, I suppose I'm clever in a way,
compared with other people: but I'm not half as clever as I'm supposed
to be, or as I should like to be. In fact I'm rather more of a stupid
ignoramus than otherwise. Naturally I stick up for myself, when I
care to, against others: but, to myself, I despise myself. Oh I'm not
interesting. On the whole, I think that I despise myself, body, mind,
and soul. If I thought that they would be any good to anyone else,
I'd throw them away to-morrow--if I could do it neatly and tidily and
completely and with no one there to make remarks. They're no particular
pleasure to me----"

"My son, tell me what would give you pleasure."

"Nothing. Father, I'm tired. Really nothing--except to flee away and be
at rest."

"My son, that is actually the longing of your soul for God whatever.
Cultivate that longing, oh cultivate it with all your powers. It
will lead you to love Him; and then your longing will be satisfied,
for God is love, as St. John tells us. Thank Him with all your heart
for this great gift of longing: besiege Him day and night for an
increase of it. At the same time, remember the words of Christ our
Saviour, how He said, _If ye love Me, keep My Commandments_. Remember
that He definitely commands you to love your neighbour, _This is My
Commandment, that ye love one another as I have loved you_. Mortify
those keen senses of that vile body, which by God's grace you are
already moved to despise. In the words of St. Paul, keep it under
and bring it into subjection. And do try to love your neighbour. Lay
yourself out to be his servant: for Love is Service. Serve the servants
of God; and you will learn to love God; and His servants for His sake.
You have tasted the pleasures of the world, and they are as ashes in
your mouth. You say that there is nothing to give you pleasure. That
is a good sign. Cultivate that detachment from the world which is
but for a moment and then passeth away. In the tremendous dignity to
which you are about to be called--the dignity of the priesthood--be
ever mindful of the vanity of worldly things. As a priest, you will be
subject to fiercer temptations than those which assault you now. Brace
up the great natural strength of your will to resist them. Continue
to despise yourself. Begin to love your neighbour. Continue--yes,
continue--unconsciously, but soon consciously, to love God. My son,
the key to all your difficulties, present and to come, is Love....
For your penance you will say--well, the penance for minor orders is
rather long--for your penance you will say the Divine Praises with the
celebrant after mass. Now renew your sorrow for all your past sins, and
say after me, _O my God--because by my sins I have deserved hell--and
have lost my claim to heaven--I am truly sorry that I have offended
Thee--and I firmly resolve--by Thy Grace--to avoid sin for the time to
come.--O my God--because Thou art infinitely Good--and Most Worthy of
all love--I grieve from my heart for having sinned against Thee--and
I purpose--by Thy Grace--never more to offend Thee for the time to
come_.... ego te absolvo ✠ in Nomine Patris et Filj et Spiritus
Sancti. Amen. Go in peace and pray for me."

       *       *       *       *       *

When, a couple of hours later, George actually found himself
door-keeper, reader, exorcist, and acolyth, he noted also with some
exasperation that he was in his usual nasty morning temper. He sat
down to breakfast with the cardinal and the bishop in anything but
a cheerful frame of mind. They had said a few civil kind-like words
to him after the ceremonies: _ad multos annos_ and a sixpenny rosary
emanated from his new ordinary: but, in the refectory, they left him
to himself while they ate their eggs-and-bacon discussing the news of
the day. He chose a cup of coffee, and soaked some fingers of toast
in it. His idea was to bring himself into harmony with his novel
environment. Environment meant so much to him. Now, he no longer was
an irresponsible vagrant atom, floating in the void at his own will,
or driven into the wilderness by some irresistible human cyclone:
but an officer of a potent corporation, subject to rule, a man under
authority. His pose was to be as simple and innocuous as possible,
alertly to wait for orders; and, at the present moment, to win a merit
from a contemplation of the honour which was his in being received as
a guest at the cardinalitial table. He turned his head to the left,
wondering whether mere accident had placed him at His Eminency's right
hand where the light from the window fell full upon him. He studied the
singularly distinct features of his diocesan, who was reading from the
_Times_ of the outbreak of revolution in France, where General Andrè's
army-reforms of 1902, the blatant scandalous venality of Combes and
Pelletan, and the influence of that frightful society of school-boys
called _Les Frères de la Côte_, had thrown the military power into the
hands of Jaurès and his anarchists, revived the Commune, and broken off
diplomatic relations with the Powers. Dreadful! His Eminency feared
that he would be obliged to return to Rome by the sea-route, unless,
perhaps, he could go comfortably through Germany. Oh, very dreadful!

George listened, regretting that he had not the paper and a cigarette
all to himself: but the coffee was not bad; and the ponderous
irritation of his matutinal headache was disappearing. He took another
cup. He remembered how he had laughed at an Occ. Note in the _Pall
Mall Gazette_ some few months before, to the effect that the old
tradition of antipathy between the two peoples separated by the Channel
was as dead as Georgian England and the era of the Bien-Aimé, and
suggesting that the two leading democracies of the world--(England a
democracy indeed!)--ought to live on terms of good understanding and
neighbourliness, or some such tomfoolery. How could two walk together
unless they were agreed? And on what single permanent and vital
essential were England and France agreed? George could think of none,
any more than Nelson could. Commerce? Yes, perhaps some fools thought
so, forgetful that commerce fluctuates from day to day, and that it is
the spawning-bed of individual and international rivalry. No. He had no
confidence in France. She openly had been accumulating combustibility
these five years; and here was the conflagration. This seemed to
be a thoroughly French revolution, sudden, sanguinary, flamboyant,
engendered by self-esteem on instability, and produced with élan and
theatrical effect. Brisk and prompt to war, soft and not in the least
able to resist calamity, fickle in catching at schemes, and always
striving after novelties--French characteristics remained unaltered
twenty centuries after Julius Cæsar made a note of them for all time.

George detected himself in the very act of affixing a label to a
nation. He brought down his will with a thud on his critical faculty.
The bishop looked at the cardinal, suggesting that Mr. Rose was
accustomed to smoke over his meals.

"Don't you find it bad for the digestion?" the cardinal inquired in the
tone of an archbishop to an acolyth. An access of genial gentlehood,
and something else, to which George at the moment was unable to put a
name, suddenly infused his manner when he had spoken.

"I don't think I have a digestion. At least it never manifests itself
to me."

"Happy man!" the cardinal exclaimed to no one in particular: adding,
"Well perhaps we might go upstairs; and Mr. Rose can have his cigarette
and listen to me at the same time."

The room to which they went was a private cabinet, a very vermilion and
gold room, large, airy, princely. The cardinal took a long envelope
from the bureau. "I think you will find that correct, Mr. Rose," he
said. "You had better open it before we go any further."

The contents were a blank cheque-book, and a bank-book containing
Messrs. Coutts's acknowledgment of the credit of ten thousand pounds to
the current account of the Reverend George Arthur Rose.

Notwithstanding his natural hypersensibility, that peculiar individual
did not become the plaything of his emotions until some time after
the event which brought them into action. At the moment when blows
or blessings fell upon him, he rarely was conscious of more than a
crab is conscious of when its shell is struck or stroked. Later, when
he deliberately set himself to analyse consequences, all his senses
throbbed and tingled. But, at first, he was wont to act, on the impulse
certainly:--but to act. Having acquainted himself with the contents of
the envelope, he took out his beloved Waterman, saying "I'm sure Your
Eminency will let me have the pleasure of writing my first cheque here."

He handed to the cardinal a draft for five thousand pounds, payable to
bearer. It afterwards occurred to him that he could have taken no more
cynical way of testing the reality of this fortune. He felt ashamed
of himself, for he hated cynicism. The act itself merely was the act
of a man awakening from a vivid dream and automatically doing what he
had resolved, before falling asleep, to do. In effect, it was by way
of being a pinch of a kind to himself. There was no doubt whatever
but that it was a pinch of another kind to the cardinal. Followed
alternately disclaimers, stolidity, embarrassment, humility, unction:
the cheque went into the bureau, the cheque-book and the bank-book into
the pocket of George's jacket.

And now, what was the extent of his theological studies? His general
knowledge of course was unexceptional: but special--knowledge theology?
Well, in Dogma he had done the treatises _On Grace_--"a very difficult
treatise, Mr. Rose"--and _On the Church_--"a very important treatise,
Mr. Rose;"--and in Moral Theology he had read Lehmkuhl, especially _On
the Eucharist_ and _On Penance_,--"nothing could be better, Mr. Rose."
These had been the subjects of the professorial lectures at Maryvale.
During the years which had elapsed since then, he had read them again
and again, until he thought he had them at his fingers' ends. As for
Cardinal Franzelin's _De Ecclesia_ (that was the Maryvale text-book),
he found it one of the most fascinating books in the world. In fact,
it was a regular bedside book of his: and by this time he knew it by
heart. Being a man of letters, of course he would like to enlarge
it a little, to put a gloss upon it here and there, perhaps even to
expand the thesis at certain points. St. Augustine's _Encheiridion_ was
another favourite book. And St. Anselm's _Cur Deus Homo_ was another.
His reading was extensive and curious: but, sad to say, desultory
and unsystematic, because undirected. He had read the standard works
as a matter of duty: but he had made a far more exhaustive study of
obscure writers. The occult, white magic _bien entendue_, was intensely
interesting, the book on _Demoniality_ by Fr. Sinistrari of Ameno, for
example. Perhaps it would be desirable for him to tabulate the sum
of his studies, that His Eminency might decide whether to have him
examined in those or to submit him to a fresh course.

"Quite unnecessary, Mr. Rose. And now touching the matter of
ceremonial."

He had made a point of mastering Martinucci, practice as well as
theory. It was astonishing what a lot could be done with a guide-book,
a few household-implements, and imagination. He was aware that he had
practised under difficulties: but a few rehearsals beneath the eye of
an expert----

"And Canon Law?"

"Nothing at all."

"Well, well, just those few treatises in Dogmatic and Moral Theology in
particular, and a large amount of random reading in general. Of course
the Grace of God can supply all our deficiencies. I myself---- Things
which are hidden from the wise and prudent oft-times are revealed
unto--oh yes! Well, Mr. Rose, it is not a large, or, humanly speaking,
an adequate equipment for--for the priesthood, certainly. But we must
consider the years which you have waited. Yes. Well, perhaps we had
better waste no more time now. Go home and pack your bag: and come and
stay with me for a little till we can settle on your future. I shall
give you the subdiaconate to-morrow morning; and you can arrange to say
your first Mass on Sunday in the cathedral."

"My first Mass must be a black mass, Eminency."

The cardinalitial eyebrows would go up.

"It is a long-planned intention, Eminency: it is all I can do."

"I quite understand, Mr. Rose. You would wish to say your first mass
quietly and alone. You shall say it in the private chapel. The Bishop
of Caerleon would like to be your assistant; and--ha--I shall be very
glad if you will allow me to serve you."

George looked from the cardinal to the bishop; and back again. After
storm, this was calm and peace, with a vengeance.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: This onomatopoiia presents the English Catholic
pronunciation of "His Eminency."]

[Footnote 2: This onomatopoiia presents the English Catholic
pronunciation of "Your Eminency."]




CHAPTER I


What was causing the special correspondents in Rome to exude the
subterfuges, with which (as a pis-aller) they are accustomed to gain
their daily bread, was no such recondite matter after all.

Just as Jews are less commercial, and Jesuits less cunning, so
journalists are less capable than they are supposed to be. As a matter
of fact, they are quite unscientific persons, in that they go about
their business in a fortuitous manner trusting to the human element
called "smartness" for producing their effects. They have not yet
realized the instability of all human elements. The superhuman is a
sealed book to them. They mean oh so well: but they have no knowledge
of first principles. They invariably commit the unpardonable error
of confounding universals with particulars: because the influence
of fragile or unworthy authority, custom, the imperfection of
undisciplined senses, and concealment of ignorance by ostentation of
seeming wisdom, are as stumbling-blocks which obstruct their path to
Truth. Add to this a lack of sympathetic intuition and of an historical
knowledge of their subject. They take no end of pains to acquire a
fluid style of writing; and it may be admitted that, within their
limitations, they can describe the superficies of almost anything
which may be shoved under their noses. But, as for giving a scientific
description (under such heads, for example, as the Material, Formal,
Efficient, and Final Causes,) so that one can derive a satisfactory
understanding of the thing described,--that is beyond their power.
And, as for proceeding in a scientific manner, whether by means of
the liberal or the so-called occult arts, to what on the whole is the
essence of their business, viz. the collection of news, why Sir Notyet
Apeer's young men, or Sir Uriah Tepeddle's criminal-investigators,
or the "yearnest" exoletes who fill the _Daily Anagraph_ with food
for literary lionlets and Roman Catholic clergy and nonconforming
philanthropists, have no such adequate ideal of their branch of
literature. Their aim is to please editors or proprietors; and, so, to
earn an as-near-as-may-be-legally honest living. No more.

Consequently, when (during March and April) a score or so of these good
gentlemen found themselves in Rome, with the doors of the Conclave
bricked-up in their faces, the windows boarded and canvas-covered, and
even the chimneys (with one exception) capped, they knew no better
than to curse quite quietly all to themselves, to say that nothing was
happening because they could not see what was happening, and to write
dicaculous descriptions of the crowd, and the seven puffs of smoke
(which on seven separate occasions distracted the said crowd), in the
square of St. Peter's.

For, if there be one place in all this orb of earth, where a secret is
a Secret, that place is a Roman Conclave. It is due to the superlative
incompetency of the spies. Ignorant of their subject, they cannot
seize its saliencies: they cannot move a hair's breadth out of their
conventional groove, notwithstanding that common sense should teach
them the imperative necessity for applying unconventional methods to
unconventional cases. When once we have emerged from the banal blinding
stifling paralysing obfuscation of the nineteenth century, (and that
should be in about ten years' time,) it will be obligatory for "Our
Special Correspondent" to add two things to his professional apparatus.
The first is the power of mind-projection, as well as that other power
of will-projection which, already, up-to-date practical common-sense
men-of-the-world like the Jesuits use to such advantage. The second
is a round matter, of about two-pounds-ten-ounces' avoirdupois
weight including its black-velvet wrapper, which costs forty-two
pounds-sterling at the mineralogists' in Regent Street.




CHAPTER II


Well: this is what was happening in the Roman Conclave.

Cursors had shouted "Extra omnes": fifty-seven cardinals and
three-hundred-and-eleven conclavists had been immured in three
galleries of the Vatican. All the ceremonies ordained in 1274 at the
Council of Lyons by the Bull of Gregory X. had been observed.

The Sacred College was divided into factions. There were five
candidates for the paparchy:--Orezzo, Serafino-Vagellaio,
cardinal-bishops: Ragna, Gentilotto, Fiamma, cardinal-presbyters.
Then came groups representing divers nationalities. The French
were Desbiens, Coucheur, Lanifère, Goëland, Perron, Mâteur, Légat,
Labeur, cardinal-presbyters; and Vaghemestre, cardinal-deacon. The
Germans were Rugscha, Zarvasy, Popk, Niazk, cardinal-presbyters. The
Spaniards were Nascha, Sañasca, Harrera, cardinal-presbyters. The
Erse were O'Dromgoole, O'Tuohy, cardinal-presbyters. The Italians
were Moccolo, Agnello, Vincenzo-Vagellaio, cardinal-bishops: Sarda,
Ferraio, Saviolli, Manco, Ferita, Creta, Anziano, Cassia, Portolano,
Respiro, Riciso, Zafferano, Mantenuti, Gennaio, Bosso, Conella, del
Drudo, di Petra, di Bonti, cardinal-presbyters: Macca, Sega, Pietratta,
Pepato, della Volta, cardinal-deacons. The English and American
cardinal-presbyters Courtleigh and Grace agreed to vote together: so
did the Benedictine cardinal-presbyter Cacciatore, and the Capuchin
and Jesuit cardinal-deacons Vivole and Berstein. The Portuguese
cardinal-prior-presbyter Mundo, and the Bohemian cardinal-presbyter
Nefski (who was carried in a litter) posed as independent voters.
Cardinal-presbyter Capacitato was absent through the infirmities
of age; and, as common report (to say nothing of common knowledge)
credited him with the possession of the Evil Eye, Their Eminencies
were thankful to think that the fingers, which they would need for
inscribing their suffrages, need not be employed in making perpetual
horns.

Once walled-up, and the conclavists having been satisfied about their
comical constitutional privileges, the cardinals spent the evening in
visiting one another in their cells, in discussing the prospects of the
five candidates, in canvassing for and promising suffrages. The five
themselves were divided into two parties which Ferraio, who was a bit
of a wag, denominated in an abstruse jest the Snarlers and the Mewers.
A Roman tradition alleges that the letter R (the _litera canina_)
exercises an indefinable influence over an election, in that it occurs
in the family names of alternate pontiffs. Others declared this
tradition to be grounded upon no more sure warranty than old wives'
fables (anicularum lucubrationes), Serafino-Vagellaio, Gentilotto,
Fiamma, gave expression to that theory. Circumlocution aside, there was
little to choose between the five. Luigi Orezzo was Cardinal-Bishop,
Dean of the Sacred College, Chamberlain of the Holy Roman Church.
Mariano Ragna was Secretary of State. Serafino-Vagellaio had been the
favourite of a pontiff who had had all the world from which to choose.
Hieronimo Gentilotto, nicknamed "The Red Pope" because he was Prefect
of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, only
had the Successor of the Fisherman as his superior. Domenico Fiamma,
Archbishop of Bologna, was in the prime of vigorous life and famous for
his brilliant intellect and noble mind.

A cardinal is prohibited from voting for himself. Orezzo promised his
suffrage to Ragna: Ragna, his to Orezzo: Snarlers should snarl at each
other. Serafino-Vagellaio also promised his suffrage to Ragna, having
the idea that an official is worthy of observance. But Gentilotto
supported Fiamma: and Fiamma, Gentilotto.

Morning saw mass and communion in the Pauline Chapel, and Their
Eminencies proceeding to their thrones in the Xystine Chapel. A long
silence came to pass. Fat wax tapers glimmered on the altar, on the
screen, on the desk before each throne. So the cardinals waited,
smoothing violet robes and the white uncovered rochets which indicated
that supreme spiritual authority was devolved into their hands. No one
was moved to speak. Election was not to be accomplished by the Way of
Inspiration.

Masters-of-ceremonies placed, on the table before the altar, two silver
basons containing little paper billets. The names of the fifty-seven
cardinals were written each on a little snip of parchment. The snips,
rolled up, were tucked in holes in fifty-seven lead balls. The balls
were dropped into a huge violet burse, one by one, counted by the
electors. The burse was well-shaken; and Vaghemestre drew out three.
The first bore the name Moccolo: the second, Popk: the third Harrera.
Thus were elected the Cardinal-Scrutators.

In turn, each cardinal provided himself with a blank billet from
the silver basons: retired to his desk: and set about recording his
suffrage. At the top of the billet, he wrote "I, Cardinal" and his
name: folded it over: sealed it at each side. At the bottom he wrote
his motto: folded it over: sealed it at each side. In the middle, he
wrote "elect to the Supreme Pontificate the Most Reverend Lord my Lord
Cardinal" and the name of the candidate to whom he gave his suffrage.
Scratching of quills, splashing of scattered pounce, punctuated
momentous silence. In obedience to the Bull of Gregory X., some made
efforts to disguise their script. The results were hideous. Last, all
folded their billets to about the breadth of an inch; and, in turn,
each cardinal approached the altar, alone, holding his suffrage at
arms' length between the index and middle fingers of his right hand:
bent his knee: rising, swore "I attest, before Christ, Who is to be my
judge, that I choose him whom I think fittest to be chosen if it be
according to God's will." A great gold chalice covered by a paten stood
on the altar. Each cardinal laid his suffrage on the paten: tipped
it until the suffrage slid into the chalice: replaced the paten; and
returned to his throne.

Cardinal-Scrutator Moccolo took the chalice by the foot: placed one
hand on the paten: and shook, thoroughly to mix the suffrages. The
Cardinal-Dean, the Cardinal-Prior-Priest, and the Cardinal-Archdeacon
brought down the chalice to the table from which the billet-basons
now had been removed. A ciborium stood there. The three Scrutators
sat at one side of the table in face of the Sacred College. Harrera
counted the suffrages, one by one, from the chalice into the ciborium.
There were fifty-seven. A grateful sigh went up. A hitch would have
invalidated the scrutiny, giving Their Eminencies the pains of voting
and sealing and swearing over again. Moccolo drew out one suffrage:
unfolded it without violating the sealed ends: discovered the name of
the candidate to whom the vote was given; and passed it to Popk, who
also looked at the name; and passed it to Harrera, who read the name
aloud.

Each cardinal had on his desk a printed list of the Sacred College.
The names ran down the middle of the sheets. To right and left were
horizontal lines on which a tally of the votes was kept. As Harrera
published the names, he filed each billet, piercing the word "elect"
with a needle through which a skein of violet silk was threaded. When
all were filed, he tied a knot in the silk; and laid the bunch of
suffrages on the altar.

The Way of Scrutiny at first produced the usual result. The fifty-seven
suffrages were so evenly distributed among the five candidates that
no one was elected. Orezzo had eight, viz. Ragna, Moccolo, Agnello,
Manco, Sarda, Macca, Pepato, di Petra. Ragna had thirteen, viz. Orezzo,
Serafino-Vagellaio, Cacciatore, Vivole, Berstein, Nascha, Sañasca,
Harrera, Ferita, Pietratta, Bosso, Sega, Conella. Serafino-Vagellaio
had eleven, viz. his brother Vincenzo, Rugscha, Zarvasy, Popk, Niazk,
Gennaio, Cassia, Anziano, Portolano, Creta, di Bonti. Gentilotto had
twelve, viz. Fiamma, Desbiens, Coucheur, Lanifère, Goëland, Mâteur,
Légat, Perron, Labeur, Vaghemestre, Zafferano, Mantenuti. Fiamma had
thirteen, viz. Gentilotto, Courtleigh, Grace, O'Dromgoole, O'Tuohy,
Saviolli, della Volta, del Drudo, Respiro, Riciso, Nefski, Ferraio,
Mundo. The Way of Access shewed that all still were of the same
opinion; and that each expected the others to change theirs. A bundle
of straw in the stove, the files of pierced suffrages laid thereon, and
fire applied, produced the puff of smoke from the chimney in the Square
of St. Peter's which announced that the Lord God had sent no Pope to
Rome that morning.

The cardinals went to dine in their separate cells. After siesta and
before prayers those who could walk took exercise in the galleries:
others read the _Daily Office_ with their chaplains. There was
conversation, canvassing. In the evening, they sang _Veni Creator_
and went to work again. Orezzo gained Anziano and Portolano, raising
his total to ten. The nine French and the two Erse, with Ferita,
Bosso, Pietratta, Sega, Conella, acceded to Ragna, raising his total
to twenty-four. Serafino-Vagellaio kept but five supporters, viz. his
brother and the four Germans. Gentilotto lost the nine French: but
gained Gennaio, di Bonti, Cassia, Creta, bringing his total to seven.
The defection of the two Erse reduced Fiamma's adherents to eleven. And
once more the puff of smoke emptied the Square of St. Peter's.

Private conferences occupied time: candles burned late into the night.
Violet silk robes sussurated between violet serge curtains everywhere.
There were colloquies, hints, exhortations, arguments, promises,
promises dictated, suggested, given. Ragna took the opinion of his
friends concerning a commodious pontifical name. Vivole offered him
"Formosus the Second" and a pinch of Capuchin snuff out of the pages
of his breviary: but Berstein preferred "Aloysius the First." The
Secretary of State would bear both in mind. Cohesion in clots began.
The French, Germans, Spaniards, and Erse, already were united in four
groups. What the leader of each group would do, the nine, the four, the
three, and the two would do. By demonstrating that cardinal-deacons
occasionally were raised to Titles, or Suburban sees, by Popes Whom
they had elected, Cardinal-Archdeacon Macca collected a little diaconal
fraction of four, himself, Pietratti, Sega, and Pepato. Ten Italians,
viz. Conella, Manco, di Petra, Ferita, Creta, Cassia, Gennaio, di
Bonti, Sarda, Bosso, agreed to vote together. Mundo refused to join
the Spaniards; and Nefski, the Germans, on account of sundry events in
Poland. Ferraio, Archbishop of Milan, would stick to Fiamma under all
circumstances, because they both had been raised to the cardinalature
together. Saviolli threw in his lot with the Keltic and American
cardinals. Della Volta was in sympathy with Saviolli and his friends.
Del Drudo delivered himself of the cryptic sentence that one who had
been a major-domo ought to know a fresh egg from a stale one. And
Cardinal-Vicar Respiro, and Riciso, Archbishop of Turin, agreed with
del Drudo.

So in the morning the third capitular assembly revealed an
extraordinary state of affairs. Orezzo lost all his supporters but
four, viz. Moccolo, Agnello, Anziano, Portolano. Serafino-Vagellaio
lost all votes except his brother's. Gentilotto lost all but three,
viz. Fiamma, Zafferano, Mantenuti. Fiamma retained his loyal eleven.
And Ragna began to score. First, he kept Orezzo and Serafino-Vagellaio,
the Benedictine, the Capuchin, the Jesuit, and the three Spaniards.
The nine French (for a wonder) remained constant to him for two
consecutive days. So did the two Erse: indeed O'Tuohy, who as a student
had vowed that he never would look a woman in the face, (and kept
his vow,) was as persistent as he had been when Leo XIII. had tried
to force him into the primacy of Eblana in the teeth of electors who
rejected him. The four Germans, the four deacons, and the decade of
Italians also joined Ragna, whose tally went in jumps (so to speak)
from two, to five, and eight, and seventeen, and nineteen, and
twenty-three, and twenty-seven, and thirty-seven----

According to the Constitution of Alexander III., made at the Council
of Lateran in the year of the Fructiferous Incarnation of the Son of
God MCLXXX., and confirmed by subsequent Bulls of Gregory XV. and
Urban VIII., the votes of two-thirds of the cardinals present at the
Scrutiny are required for the election of a Pope. Not one of Their
Eminencies was ignorant of the fact that two-thirds of fifty-seven is
thirty-eight. Wherefore, when the tallies shewed thirty-seven votes
for Ragna, and the Junior Scrutator stood up with just one more billet
in his hand, some began stertorously to breathe through their noses:
some went mauve and some magenta: while those of a phlegmatic habit of
body reached for the cords of the canopies above their thrones, which
descend at the manifestation of Christ's Vicar.

Harrera read the name "Ragna."

What happened next happened very quickly. The Scrutators broke the
seals of the billets one by one; and Harrera read aloud the names of
the electors as well as the name of the elected. At the thirteenth, he
read, _I, Cardinal Mariano Ragna, elect to the Supreme Pontificate the
Most Reverend Lord my Lord Cardinal Mariano Ragna_.

This was a horrid example of the clever strong man, who loses control
of his directive faculty, in the moment of excitement. No one could
have done such a thing out of wilful wickedness: for the stringency
of conclavial regulations effectually denies success to nefarious
practices. Everyone knows that. The Secretary of State, by voting for
himself just when he was on the verge of achieving the most tremendous
of all ambitions, forfeited his own suffrage; and his election was
nulled by defect of a single vote. What passions dilacerated his
breast, God only knows. He shut-up himself in his cell during the
rest of the day, horribly snarling. Orezzo, who injudiciously went to
sympathize, suddenly came-away mouthing and tottering.

The fourth Scrutiny began to shew how unpardonable a mistake is.
Ragna's ten Italians and four Germans fled to the faction of Fiamma.
Ragna himself voted for Serafino-Vagellaio. The tally gave Orezzo
four: Ragna, twenty-three: Serafino-Vagellaio, two: Gentilotto, three:
Fiamma, twenty-five.

In the fifth Scrutiny, desertions from Ragna continued. The French nine
voted for Orezzo: the three Spaniards for Gentilotto. The tally gave
Orezzo thirteen: Ragna eleven: Serafino-Vagellaio, two: Gentilotto,
six: Fiamma, twenty-five.

And now the French began to be flighty. In the sixth Scrutiny, they
were seen to have dashed from Orezzo to Gentilotto, making the tally
of Orezzo four: of Ragna, eleven: of Serafino-Vagellaio, two: of
Gentilotto, fifteen: of Fiamma, twenty-five.

Little suburban boys formerly used to satiate their emotions with
a phrenetic and turbulent pastime called General Post. The seventh
Scrutiny indicated a conclavial propensity for a verisimilar species
of energetic dissipation. The four cardinal-deacons, evidently
despairing of Ragna, left him. So did the two Erse cardinal-presbyters.
The diaconate went over to Gentilotto, who lost the French to
Serafino-Vagellaio. The Erse voted for the Cardinal-Chamberlain. The
seventh puff of smoke from the chimney in the Square of St. Peter's was
caused by the burning of fifty-seven suffrages allotted thus: Orezzo
6: Ragna 5: Serafino-Vagellaio 11: Gentilotto 10: Fiamma 25.

Confabulations, to say naught of protocols, became the order of the
day and night. No new candidate was forthcoming. The five candidates
flatly refused to retire, or to alter the disposition of their
suffrages. Moccolo, Agnello, Anziano, Portolano, refused to desert
Orezzo. Zafferano and Mantenuti refused to abandon Gentilotto.
Vincenzo-Vagellaio refused to be false to his brother. The Benedictine,
the Capuchin, and the Jesuit, refused to forsake Ragna. Fiamma's
stalwart twenty-five excited disgust. Ringed and middle fingers were
protruded at it. Although there was not a single clean-bred Englishman
in its ranks, it was said to be getting "quite English"; and that is
a very bitter taunt in the Vatican when the Quirinale is notoriously
Anglophile. As for the Portugal Mundo, its leader--well, everyone
knows that Portugal has been in the King of England's pocket since the
Lisbon extravaganza, said Sañasca. As for the Germans,--well, everybody
knows that Prussians are just as bestially cynical as Jonbulls, said
Coucheur. The Franco-Hispano-Erse faction was quite ready to go
anywhere and vote for anybody who was not "English." The deacons, on
the contrary, remembered that England was very much the fashion; and
began to have respect unto the twenty-five. But the Way of Scrutiny
failed, and the Way of Access also failed, to produce a pontiff.
Fiamma's tally rose to twenty-nine by the accession of the diaconate.
The Franco-Hispano-Erse alliance attached itself by fits and starts
to Orezzo, to Ragna, to Serafino-Vagellaio, to Gentilotto: but the
indispensable two-thirds of fifty-seven never was attained. And, after
a week of errancy, Their Eminencies thought that the whole affair was
rather tiresome.

Ragna's massive prognathous jaw, the colour of porphyry, bulged in
emitting a suggestion. As the College seemed unlikely to come to any
agreement, why not elect an old man, who, in the course of nature,
only could live a year or two, and whose demise would necessitate
another Conclave at an early date? He unselfishly would designate
Orezzo. There, for example, was a cardinal to whom the paparchy was
by way of being owed since 1878, when he actually had lost it to Leo.
Let Orezzo now be elected; and, during his brief pontificature, let
the Most Eminent Lords devote their energies towards arrangements for
giving him a generous glorious and enlightened successor, who, in this
reactionary age, was experienced in all the devious subtilties of
secular diplomacy, and who was under sixty-five years old.

The Sacred College rejected the bare idea. What! Elect a Pope who, out
of sheer personal antipathy, would make it his business to annul the
policy of Leo? What! elect a Pope who had spent more than a quarter
of a century in composing and reciting litanies of complaints against
Leo's management of the Church? What! Elect a Pope who had proved
himself to be purely barbarian by the ferocity of his ritual tapping on
the forehead of the dead Leo? Di meliora!!

Ragna adroitly disclaimed a personal predilection for Orezzo. That idea
was dismissed.

"Then what?" was the general question.

"The Way of Compromise," cooed Vincenzo-Vagellaio.

There was another capitular session in the Xystine Chapel. By means of
the snips of parchment, the lead balls, the huge violet burse, nine
cardinals were chosen by lot and appointed as Cardinal-Compromissaries.
Singularly enough they were Courtleigh, Mundo, Fiamma, Grace, Ferraio,
Saviolli, Nefski, Gentilotto, and della Volta. The College executed a
compromise in writing, no one contradicting or opposing it, whereby
these nine were invested with absolute power and faculty to make
provision of a pastor for the Holy Roman Church.

The Compromissaries conferred. To begin with, they mutually protested
that they would not be understood to give their consent by all sorts
of words or expressions which might fall from them in the heat of
debate, unless they expressly set the same down in writing. Then, they
looked whole inquisitions one at another, saying nothing. And, after
half-an-hour they adjourned till the morrow: gathered up their trains;
and swept each to his separate cell. Stupid conclavists tried to read
their expressions. As well try to find out his thoughts from the sole
of his unworn shoe as from the face of a cardinal. The cardinalitial
mask is as superior (in impenetrable pachydermatosity) to that of the
proverbial public-schoolboy, as is the cuticle of a crocodile to that
of _pulex irritans_.

The task of the Compromissaries was too onerous to be begun until a
chaos of ideas had been set in order. Gentilotto and Fiamma paced up
and down the galleries together. Acceptance of their present office had
nullified their chances of the triple crown. Either would have worn
that gladly and well: neither was inclined to struggle for it. The
Scrutinies dreadfully had annoyed their dignity, the pure and gentle
dignity of Gentilotto, the radiant opulent dignity of Fiamma. To have
escaped from the sweaty turmoil of competition satisfied them. Ferraio
joined them in their perambulation: joined his ideas and sympathies to
theirs. Mundo paid a visit to Courtleigh, and heard his confession:
the Cardinal of Pimlico had no use for the conclavial confessor, who
was a Jesuit. Nefski, pallid and wan, tried a little walk by the aid
of the arm of della Volta: and afterwards, those two said mattins and
lauds together. Saviolli sat-out the evening in Grace's cell, chatting
about the Munroe Doctrine. Courtleigh sat alone in his cell: his hands
were on the arms of his chair: his gaze was fixed on the flame of the
candle. His thoughts whirled: eddyed: and were still. He fell asleep.
His brother, who was his chaplain, peered through the violet curtains,
inquiring his needs. He needed nothing--perhaps he would do a little
writing before saying his night-prayers. Monsignor John placed a
dispatch-box on the table, a couple of new candles on the prickets;
and retired. Anon, His Eminency opened the box with a miniature gold
key hinged to the under-side of the bezel of his cameo ring; and
meditatively turned over and over his archiepiscopal correspondence.
One packet of letters seemed to fascinate him. He held it in his hands
for a long time, fixedly regarding it. He untied the vermilion ribbon;
and began to read. He had read these letters before, just before he
entered the Conclave. He would read them again now: reading helps
thought: it is as a strong arm supporting feeble steps: it is as the
pinions upon which thought can fly: or it is inspiration. Cardinal
Courtleigh read a dozen pages or so. Then he sat with his chin in his
hand, gazing again at the candle-flame. His thoughts were flying. They
were quite personal, quite unconnected with his present situation or
his present office. Orezzo, Ragna, and Serafino-Vagellaio, engaged the
Compromissaries in conversations wherever they met them, in doorways,
on promenades: quite often they called to make perfectly certain that
they lacked no conveniences in their cells.

Morning and evening conferences were occupied by long discussions
on the merits of the three remaining candidates, and of the other
five-and-forty cardinals. The predilections of the Powers were passed
in review. The ambassador of the Emperor had notified that Austria
would look favourably upon Rugscha. But to think of that old man--born
in 1818--nearly ninety years old--oh, quite impossible. The Siege of
Peter needed no more senility, but rather juvence. Old men were so
obstinate, much more obstinate than headstrong youth. The ambassador
of the Catholic King had urged the claims of the Archbishop of
Compostella. True, that one was not so old--but, three-score years and
ten--is it not the Psalmist's limit?

And did any of Their Eminencies desire to assist at another Conclave,
(say) within the next five years? Their Eminencies had had enough
of Conclaves to last them for the span of their mortal lives. The
French ambassador had made no recommendation, seeing that the Commune
had recalled him, torn him out of the train at Modane on the French
frontier and sliced him in pieces. Portugal had plumped for Mundo, who
declared himself unwilling to accept, and as Compromissary incapable of
accepting, the paparchy.

Italy--m-ym-ym-ym-ym--well, Italy? A geographical expression: no more.
Now then the others. The German Emperor? His Majesty had nominated
Courtleigh. Now why? The Cardinal of Pimlico, smiling, really did not
know. He was much obliged, he was sure. Perhaps the young man thought
that, by nominating one of his own uncle's subjects (and a very
unworthy one) he would induce his said uncle to return the compliment
and nominate a German. And would the uncle so oblige? Courtleigh
thought not. The aforesaid uncle was quite as self-willed as, and
infinitely more tactful than, and the last person in the world to let
his leg be pulled by, his imperial nephew. Well then what was the King
of England's attitude? Courtleigh did not know: but he believed--indeed
he had had it from Mr. Chamberlain----Yes, and the Lord Chamberlain
said?--Not the Lord Chamberlain:-- Mister Chamberlain--the Prime
Minister--had said that His Majesty was not by way of meddling with
matters which did not concern him. The Compromissaries pronounced the
King of England's conduct to be most observable. And the Cardinal of
Pimlico added that in any case he (as a Compromissary) was ineligible:
while the Cardinal of Baltimore calculated that America also would
stand out of this deal.

A definite decision evaded capture. Satisfaction seemed to be such a
very long way up in the air. Not one of the nine was sensible of an
overwhelming irresistible impulse to select any particular individual
as Pope. That is such an invidious undertaking: the spirit faints at
its immensity. But the Compromissaries subconsciously were drawing near
and nearer to each other, and away from the rest, who, in their turn
cohered in curiosity. The fourth conference was an unusually futile
one. Mundo frankly and abruptly stated his conviction that the Lord
God was not intending Himself to take a Vicegerent out of the Sacred
College: whereat Their Eminencies laughed; and adjourned, conversing of
other and secular affairs.

Courtleigh went out on della Volta's arm. "Eminency," he said, "I have
known you now for nearly twenty years: and, whenever I see you, I
always fancy that I have met you somewhere in other circumstances. You
have never been in London? I thought not. And I suppose you haven't
what they call a Double? I don't mean that your type is common. Far
from it. But, at times, I seem---- You remind me of---- And yet I do
not know of whom----"

And another night enshrouded the palace on the Vatican Hill.

As Cardinal Courtleigh was trying to shave himself next morning, the
phantom of his friend della Volta invaded his mental vision: suddenly,
resemblance and remembrance clashed together striking a spark. By the
light of it, he saw and knew--something. He laughed shortly: and grew
grave. He was deeply engrossed with his dispatch-box until the hour of
conference. The matters which he laid before the other Compromissaries
caused several precedents to be set aside and some to be created.
And, at 9 p.m., forty-two cardinals, wearing the habits of ordinary
priests, drove away in cabs towards the railway-station: while the
Cardinal-Chamberlain unlocked the inside of the door of the Conclave.
Hereditary-marshal Ghici, summoned from his watching chamber to unlock
the outside, was flabbergasted by an invitation to declare whether the
Vatican was a prison for cardinals as well as for popes? He did hate
being mocked by a boiled lobster!

Fifteen comparatively speechless Eminencies spent a few weeks there in
quiet leisure, reading in the library, admiring the pictures and the
sculptures, sometimes strolling in the gardens. One of them seriously
began to study botany; and the Cardinal-Dean, with a view to a future
Bull, composed a very scathing indictment of that hypocritical anomaly
called Christian Socialism. And all the time the pontifical army
guarded the inside of every entrance, fraternizing through the gratings
with the national army outside. But special correspondents of the
London newspapers in Rome munched vacuity and excreted fibs, after
their kind.

By twos and threes, plain (but very dignified) priests arrived: were
admitted; and changed black for violet. One did not change. He was only
Cardinal Courtleigh's new chaplain. The door of the Conclave was locked
on both sides and bricked-up again.

Ensued another session of the Compromissaries, when their authentic
act was put into prescribed form by apostolic prothonotaries. Ensued
a final capitular assembly, in which the Act of the Compromise was
published. Ensued a tempest of tongues and manners, dissolving (as
storms do) in muttered thunders, less and less convulsive upheavals, a
parcel of broken boughs and chimney-pots, stillness, peace, relief, and
sun-bright April smiles.




CHAPTER III


When their lords had entered the Xystine Chapel for this last exercise,
the conclavists went away about their own affairs; and the door was
shut. The Reverend George Arthur Rose departed with the Bishop of
Caerleon who was acting-chaplain to Cardinal Mundo. They walked in the
royal gallery between the Xystine and the Pauline Chapels. George was
in a mood of silence. His mind (as usual) was receiving impressions:
the historic scene being enacted under his notice: the magnificent
masks veiling the humanity of the actors: the mysterious gloom of
the stage, its smallness, its air of cavernous confinement: the sour
oppressive septic odour of architectural and waxen and human antiquity.
He had been told that he would have to say mass before noon; and his
head ached from fasting in that indescribably stifling effluvia. He
remembered that, in former days necessity frequently had forced him
to abstain from all food for a hundred hours at a time. Often, during
four days in the week, he had eaten nothing: but that was in the open
air, on the shore of a northern sea, or among the heather on moors
and mountains, where the wind and the spray gave life. Here, the
fast of less than twenty hours made him sick and sulky. However, it
had to be tolerated. Semphill once had told him that a course in an
ecclesiastical college, and the first few years of clerical life, were
as disgusting as ten years' penal servitude. He took it at that with
his eyes open. It was part of the business. He determined to go through
with it. Still, he was in a better position now than he ever had
been before. He no longer was alone. Dr. Talacryn had seemed anxious
for his company since that day in London; and George was inclined to
value kindness. The Bishop of Caerleon appeared to be precisely what
the new-fledged priest knew himself to need--a sympathetic expert
subintelligent walking-stick, honest and sturdy as oak. Oh, for the
certainty of fidelity! Presently George took out his cherished edition
of Theokritos by Estienne. In spare moments, he was introducing his
companion to the melody of Greek; and together they read and analyzed
the twelfth idyll.

An hour later, the bishop suggested that they should go into the
Pauline Chapel and say some prayers. George followed him. Prayer is
a mind-cleanser--the best: anyhow it is an effort always due. They
looked for a clean four-feet-of-floor: kneeled side by side; and got
into communication with the Unseen. George's method was intellectual
rather than formal. To him, with his keen and carefully cultivated
sense of the ridiculous, the absurdity of a human individual composing
complacent criticisms of Divine decrees, hashing up scriptural and
liturgical tags with a proper and essentially sensuous pleasure in
patchwork, seemed like gratuitous impertinence. "Dear Jesus, be not to
me a Judge, but a Saviour," was all the form of words which he used. It
included everything, as far as he could see. He repeated it over and
over again and again like a wonderful incantation; and anon it had its
psychic effect. He became in direct communication with the Invisible
Omniscient, to Whom all hearts are open, from Whom no secrets are hid.
It was just his own method, compiled from bitter-sweet experience.
In time, he began to finger his moonstone rosary, concentrating his
meditation on the Mystery of the Annunciation: his mind strenuously
went to work on that: his lips swiftly enunciated the prayers. After
five decades he said _Salve Regina_: and examined his conscience. Was
there any difference in him? He felt more clear: he felt that he
had effected some kind of a difference. That was relief. But was it
worth anything? Wasn't it stained? Was he really strengthened by the
exercise? For example, was he now filled and inflamed with pure Love?
No. Was he any nearer to pure Love, fit to be thought of, even harshly,
by pure Love? No. Well: he had done his best: it would come some day.
God be merciful to us all poor sinners.

He looked at the bishop, two weeks his junior in years, two centuries
his senior in worth of every kind. The cheerful satisfied stolidity
of that one, turning from his prayers and meeting George's gaze with
a homely smile, was something astounding. How different men are! Here
was one envying the other his stolidity, and the other half afraid of
the agility of the one. George realized that this bishop never had had
embarrassments of any kind: nor could have. He saw the great gulph
which is fixed between the simple and the complex.

There was a stir at the door of the chapel. "I think perhaps we'd
better be getting back," said Dr. Talacryn.

Two masters-of-ceremonies appeared in attendance upon
Cardinal-Archdeacon Macca and Cardinal-Deacon Berstein. As George and
his companion approached them, they turned and retraced their steps.
George wished them anywhere but there, impeding him when he ought to
be running-off to the service of his diocesan. They completely blocked
the path as they went before him with superb unconcern. "How stiff, how
antipathetic the elder one looks!" he whispered with acerbity.

"Sh-h-h!" the bishop sibilated.

The door of the Xystine Chapel was open. Conclavists from all quarters
hurried towards it. George and his friend found themselves impelled
through the portals. Beyond the delicate marble screen, gleamed the six
steady flamelets of the candles on the altar. The protentous figures in
the Doom appeared to writhe.

Inside the screen Macca and Berstein went; and paused; and faced the
crowd which followed them.

George was looking about him, vehemently alert. He had felt like
this three times in his life before, at the exsequies of the Queen
of England, at the incoronation of the King of England, at the foot
of the first grave which had opened in his path through life. It
was the feeling of the cognoscente who is permitted, during sixty
seconds, to do his own pleasure in a treasure-chest filled to the
brim with inestimable intagliate gems. It was the feeling of absolute
acquisitiveness. Here was history in the making; and he was in the
front rank of the spectators. There was no time to think of effects.
This was a case of causes; and every detail must be seized and stored.
Selection could come later: appreciation afterwards: but now he
must collect. First, his glance flashed upward to the little square
canopies: they all were in position. Then, to the occupants of the five
and fifty thrones: they were sitting as still as the conscript-fathers
sat in their curule chairs, turned-to and watching the crowd which
oozed through the screen-gates. Unconsciously, George was urged further
and further in. His demeanour was abstrusely unemotional: he continued
violently absorbent of the spectacle. Presently, he whispered to the
bishop, "What is it? What is happening?"

"I think God has given us a Pope."

"Oh! Whom?"

"Wait. We shall know in a minute."

The silence, the stillness, the dim light, where motionless forms of
cardinals curved like the frozen crests of waves carven in white jade
and old ivory on a sea of amethyst, were more than marvellous.

A voice came out of the gloom, an intense voice, reciting some formula.

George did not take the Latin easily from an Italian tongue: he found
himself translating, _Reverend Lord, the Sacred College has elected
thee to be the Successor of St. Peter. Wilt thou accept pontificality?_

"Reverend?" he thought. Why not "Most Eminent"? He instantly turned
to the bishop, with another question on his tongue. The bishop was
kneeling behind him. The crowd also was kneeling. Why in the world did
not he kneel too? Why should he hesitate for a moment? He faced round
once more, a single black figure with an alert weary white face, alone
and erect in the splendour of violet. He glanced again at the canopies.

It was on him, on him, that all eyes were. Why did he not kneel?

Again the voice of the Cardinal-Archdeacon intoned, "Reverend Lord, the
Sacred College has elected thee to be the Successor of St. Peter. Wilt
thou accept pontificality?"

There was no mistake. The awful tremendous question was addressed to
him.

A murmur from the bishop prompted him, "The response is _Volo_--or
_Nolo_."

The surging in his temples, the booming in his ears, miraculously
ceased. He took one long slow breath: crossed right hand over left upon
his breast: became like a piece of a pageant; and responded "I will."

Two hands clapped, and the canopies came down rustling and flapping.
The Sacred College struggled to its feet, as God's Vicegerent passed to
the rear of the high altar.

They offered Him three suits of pontifical white, large, medium, and
small. The large was too large: the small, too small: but the medium
would serve for the present. He began to undress, among the throng of
assistants, with the noncurance of one accustomed to swim in Sandford
Lasher. He forbade all help, refusing to be touched. When He had
assumed the white hosen, cassock, sash, rochet, cape, and cap, the
crimson shoes and stole, the great new gold Ring of The Fisherman,
He went through His former pockets leaving nothing behind: tucked
His handkerchief into His left sleeve; and asked for the Bishop of
Caerleon. While masters-of-ceremonies and the Augustinian sacristan
hurried to prepare altars for the episcopal consecration of the Pope,
Dr. Talacryn was admitted to the Apostolic presence. He made obeisance:
the moment was too enormous for words, but eyes spoke.

"A glass of water," then the Pontiff said.

"The fast, Holy Father----"

"Will not be broken. Remain always close at hand, please." He felt
as though the whole world suddenly had left Him. Not that He Himself
had moved, or changed: but the world, the past, was entirely gone and
blotted out: the future was obscure: the present was all strange. His
unrelated idea was to steady Himself by this one link with the past.
Water was brought. He dipped half His handkerchief: wrang it out:
pressed it on His hot dry eyes.

All through the long ceremony of consecration, He carried Himself with
enigmatical equanimity. Though His eyes saw nothing but the matters
of each moment, and though His bearing seemed to indicate an aloof
indifference, yet, within, His sensibilities were at their tensest.
Nothing escaped Him. And He was mobilizing His forces: planning His
campaign. He was looking-down, He was surveying, the opening vista. Two
or three moves on the apostolic chess-board He already could foresee.

At the conferring of the episcopal ring, He drew-back His hand; and
demanded an amethyst instead of the proffered emerald. The ceremony
halted till the canonical stone came. Cardinals noted the first
manifestation of pontifical will, with much concern, and with some
annoyance. Ragna muttered of ignoble upstarts: Vivole, of boyish
arrogance: Berstein, of beggars on horseback. "He, who is born of
a hen, always scratches the ground," asserted the Benedictine
Cacciatore: and "He, who was a frog, is now a king," Labeur quoted from
the _Satyricon_ of Petronius Arbiter.

They brought Him before the altar; and set Him in a crimson-velvet
chair, asking what pontifical name He would choose.

"Hadrian the Seventh:" the response came unhesitatingly,
undemonstratively.

"Your Holiness would perhaps prefer to be called Leo, or Pius, or
Gregory, as is the modern manner?" the Cardinal-Dean inquired with
imperious suavity.

"The previous English pontiff was Hadrian the Fourth: the present
English pontiff is Hadrian the Seventh. It pleases Us; and so, by Our
Own impulse, We command."

Then there was no more to be said. The election of Hadrian the Seventh
was proclaimed in the Conclave. They came to the ceremony of adoration.
One by one, Their Eminencies kissed the Supreme Pontiff's foot and
hand and cheek. Contact with senile humanity made His juvenile soul
shudder. All the time he was saying in His mind "Not unto Us, O Lord,
not unto Us...." Yet that seemed such a silly inadequate thing to say.
It was not humility, it was physical loathing which nauseated Him all
secretly. Some had the breaths of bustards, and all but one were hot.
He would have liked to tear off His Own cheek with clawed tongs. By
a peculiar mental gymnastic, He vaulted to the verse, "Who sweeps an
house as in Thy Sight makes that and th' action fine." He clutched the
thought and clung to it. "Greatest and Best, or by what other Name Thou
wishest to be called, I am only Thy means. This horrible osculation is
no more than a chance for them to benefit themselves by honouring Thee
through me. Let them. I will be the means--Thy means to all men. Ouf!
How it hurts!" His external serenity was unflinchingly feline. He just
tolerated attention. The arrows of cardinalitial eyes impinged upon
Him; and glanced off the ice of His mail. He withdrew His sensibilities
from the surface; and concentrated them in the inmost recesses of his
soul, foreseeing, forescheming. "One step's enough for me" was another
tag, which became detached from the bundles of His memory to float in
the ocean of His counsels. He made sure of the one step: fearlessly
strode and stood; and prepared for the next. He never looked behind.
The amethyst, the pontifical name, and now----? Yes! "Begin as you mean
to go on," He advised Himself.

When the huge princes of the church bourgeoned in ermine and vermilion,
Hadrian, mitred and coped in silver and gold, followed Macca who bore
the triple cross. Tumultuous sumptuous splendour proceeded through the
Conclave into the gallery of benediction over the porch of St. Peter's.
Masons were removing brickwork from a blocked window leading to a
balcony on the right hand, half-way down the long gallery. The Supreme
Pontiff beckoned Orezzo.

"Lord Cardinal, this balcony looks-into the church?"

"Into the church, Holiness."

"Which window looks-out over the City?"

"The window on the left."

"Let the window on the left be opened."

The Sacred College swung together as to a scrum.

Pressure never had influenced George Arthur Rose. He used to say that
you might squash him to death, if you could: but you never should make
him do what you were too lazy, or too proud, or too silly, to persuade
him to do. He would wait a century for his own way; and, unless you
actually and literally had removed him from the face of the earth by
the usual methods of assassination, you would find him still implacably
persistent at the end of the said century. He had learned the trick
from Flavio: observing that, if he would not open the door when the
cat mewed to go out, the creature remained in the room, but would not
come and sit on his friend's neck, nor agree to anything except the
opening of the door. And Hadrian the Seventh was quite prepared to be
hustled and hullabaloed-at, as Leo the Thirteenth had been hullabaloed
at and hustled in 1878: but no earthly power should extort Apostolic
Benediction from His hand and lips, except at a place and a time of
His Own choosing. They might push this Pope on to the inner balcony;
and they might lead a horse to the water: but not even the College of
Cardinals arrayed in all its glory could make the one drink, the other
bless.

"Holiness, that window was bricked-up in 1870; and has not been opened
since."

"Let it now be opened."

Ragna snarled and burst out of the phalanx. There was a tinge of
truculence about him. "Holiness, Pope Leo wished to have had it opened
on the day of His Own election; but it was impossible. Impossible!
Capisce? The rust of the stanchions, the solidity of the cement----"

"All that We know. The gentleness of Pope Leo was persuaded. We are not
gentle; and We are not to be persuaded by violence."

Orezzo, though secretly inchanted that anyone should act differently
to his one antipathy, Pope Leo, was rather shocked at the notion
of blessing the City and the World while (what he held to be) the
Piedmontese Usurper was occupying Peter's so-called Patrimony and
Intangible Rome. It is an ingrained idea with his school that peoples
should excruciate for the petty spites of potentates. But he tried
urbanity. "Holy Father have pity upon us; and deliver us as soon as
possible from the miseries which afflict us in this Conclave. Deign
blessings to the faithful in the church to-day; and we will see what
can be done about the other affair to-morrow."

Hadrian looked a little amused. The Bishop of Caerleon thought that he
never had seen more cruelly dispassionate inflexibility. At a sign
from the Pope, the master-mason came forward and fell on his knees.
Hadrian stooped.

"Son, open that window."

Through and through vermilion billows the masons dived and thrust
across the breadth of the gallery, conveying ladders, crowbars,
hammers. Conclavial porters threw down rolls of carpet which they were
about to spread, and sat upon them. Berstein squawked and expectorated.
Hadrian winced: and marked the man. At the clang of hammers, masonry
began to fall: a white dust hovered in the air: the vermilion college
swept away with the white Pope. Some went to the end of the gallery,
where loud voices became protestant: midway, the Germans halted with
most of the Italians: they conversed more moderately. A few paces
beyond the range of operations, the Pope remained quite still: by His
side, He detained Macca with His cross: behind Him, congregated the
Bishop of Caerleon and the nine Cardinal-Compromissaries.

In a break of the clang of the hammers, Hadrian intoned "Kyrie
eleēson." Mundo gave prompt response. The assemblage at first failed
to catch the idea: but, by degrees, voice acceded to voice; and the
_Litanies of the Saints_ magniloquently reverberated through the
gallery.

Outside, in the Square of St. Peter's, only a few hundreds of people
were collected. Interest in the proceedings of the Conclave was
nearly dead; and several special correspondents were beginning to
think seriously of the superior excitements of a murder-trial at New
Bailey. But many old-fashioned Romans wished to be able to tell their
grand-children that they themselves had been in the square when the
Pope was proclaimed in the church; and, again, on the morning of St
George's Day, no smoke had been vomited from the Xystine chimney. The
affair was very mysterious! What combinations behind those white walls!

Inside the basilica, there were thousands of expectant people,
officials of the Vatican, cardinalitial familiars, prelates,
penitentiaries, beneficiaries, who had not been immured in the
Conclave. Also there were lords and ladies of eminent quality
belonging to the Black (or clerical) Party, who had been admitted with
meticulous secrecy (in broad day-light and in face of all Rome) by a
privy door. Every day for weeks, they had come and waited, hoping to
be among the first to salute the Pope. To go to St. Peter's in the
morning before dinner, and in the evening before supper, had become
the mode in a society which has few and futile dissipations of its
own and to which the comity of the Quirinale and White Society is
forbidden fruit. Some, who were near the great doorway, thought they
heard faint tappings in the gallery over-head. Rumour protruded her
tongue: certainly there were tappings, more ponderous, more insistent.
Certainly the balcony was being opened. Then the crashing ceased.
In the hush, surmises were born; and stifled: or nurtured. A loose
Benedictine with a face of a flesher, who was leaning against one of
the great piers, suddenly asseverated that the tapping had begun again:
but in another place--further away, he said. An honorary decurial
chamberlain-of-the-cloak-and-sword sniffed long-nosedly, picking a
vandyke beardlet; and stuttered, "They're n-n-never o-opening the outer
b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-balcony." That notion resembled the spark between
negative and positive poles. It vibrated and glittered; and fell upon a
heap of human combustibles.

"Then what are we waiting here for?" shouted Prince Clenalotti; and he
made a dash at the door by which he had entered. Naturally he led a
stampede.

The crowd in the Square stood obliquely to the church, with all its
eyes directed to the Vatican: when, round from Via della Sagrestia
poured a stream of half-wild creatures, shooting instant glances at
the vacant balcony, and bringing amazing news. The two crowds flew
together, thronging the wide stone steps and the open space beneath.
The military rigesced to attention. The special correspondents (as
one man) made for the obelisk in the centre, or the basins of the
fountains, and set-up portable pairs of steps. And, of course,
motor-cars and cabs, and Caio and Tizio and also Sempronio, not to
mention Maria and Elena and Yolanda and also Margherita, began to issue
from every Borgo avenue.

There was nothing to be seen, except the empty balcony over the porch.
It was neither canopied nor decorated: but someone said that there was
movement behind the window. That was concisely true. More. The window
itself was moving. The sun-flashed panes of glass turned dull, as it
swung on its hinges, inward. The Italian army presented arms. Rome
kneeled on the stones. The special correspondents ascended their pairs
of steps: directed phonographic and kinematographic machines: pressed
buttons and revolved wheels.

A tiny figure splashed a web of cloth-of-gold over the balcony; and
a tiny ermine and vermilion figure ascended, placing a tiny triple
cross. Came in a stentorian megaphonic roar a proclamation by the
Cardinal-Archdeacon,

"I announce to you great joy. We have for a Pope the Lord George of the
Roses of England, Who has imposed upon Himself the name of Hadrian the
Seventh."

He gave place to another tiny figure, silver and gold, irradiant in the
sun. A clear thin thread of a voice sang, "Our help is in the Name of
the Lord."

Phonographs recorded the sonorous response, "Who hath made heaven and
earth."

Hadrian the Seventh raised His hand and sang again, "May Almighty God,
✠ ✠ ✠ Father, ✠ ✠ ✠ Son, ✠ ✠ ✠ and Holy Ghost, bless you."

It was the Apostolic Benediction of the City and the World.




CHAPTER IV


Now things went briskly. There was a brain which schemed and a
will to be obeyed. The hands began to realize that they would have
to act manually. Dear deliberate Rome simply gasped at a Pontiff
Who said "To-morrow" and meant it. The Sacred College found that
it had no option. Naturally it looked as black as night. But the
Cardinal-Archdeacon could not refuse point-blank to crown; and,
when Hadrian announced that His incoronation would take place in
the morning on the steps of St. Peter's, futile effort suggested
difficulty preventing possibility. That was the only course open to the
opposition. Three cardinals in turn alleged that there would not be
time to give notice of the ceremony, to arrange the church, to issue
tickets of admission. Hadrian swept these ideas aside, as rubbish.
Another courted catastrophe saying that there was no time to summon the
proper officials. He heard that there were sixteen hours in which to
summon those who actually were indispensable. A fifth said that, owing
to the antichristian tendencies of the times, no representatives of the
King of France, of the Holy Roman Emperor, of the First Conservator
of the Roman people, were forthcoming; and he politely inquired how
the quadruplex lavation could be performed in their absence? The
Pope responded that He was capable of washing His hands four times
without any assistance, in the absence of legitimate assistants: but
the General of the Church was not to seek: the modern Syndic of Rome
was the equivalent of the ancient First Conservator: the Austrian
Ambassador could represent the Empire: while, as for wretched kingless
unkingly France--let someone instantly go out into the streets of Rome
and catch the first Christian Frenchman there encountered. Anyhow, the
quadruplex lavation was accidental. The essential was that the Supreme
Pontiff should sing a pontifical mass at the high altar of St. Peter's,
and should receive the triple crown. These things would be done at
eight o'clock on the following morning. All the doors of the basilica
were to be fixed open at midnight; and so remain. No official notice
need be published. And that was all. Then the Pope shut-up Himself in
His predecessor's gorgeous rooms, inspecting them till they gave him a
pain in His eyes. Luckily He had secured his pouchfull of tobacco and
a book of cigarette-papers: He smoked, and thought, looking out of the
windows over Rome.

After sunset, He ate some cutlets and a salad: placed two chairs face
to face near the right-hand window; and sent for the Bishop of Caerleon
and a large jug of milk. His interior arrangements were as disreputably
healthy as those of a school-boy.

Dr. Talacryn came, and observed the forms. Hadrian sent him to clear
the antechambers and to close the doors. He returned and remained
standing. The Pope was sitting in one of the splendidly uncomfortable
red chairs.

"We have sent for Your Lordship because We have occasion for your
special services."

"I am at all times very ready and willing to serve Your Holiness."

Hadrian was attracted to this bishop. Lots of his acts He loathed: but
He liked the man, and believed him honest. The bishop was attracted
to the Pope. He liked Him: but he could not understand Him, and was a
little frightened of Him: but still--it was as well to know all that
could be known and that might be useful.

"We placed this chair for Your Lordship," said Hadrian.

Dr. Talacryn was astonished: but not more than much. His trained placid
nature stood him in good stead at a mark of favour which would have
abashed many, and rendered others presumptuous.

"I thank Your Holiness," he simply said. It appeared that the ship was
cleared for action.

The Pope continued in His usual concise monotone. He spoke in the key
of E♭ minor, very quickly indeed, slurring the letter r, clipping
some words and every final g, enunciating others with emphasis, in a
manner curiously suggestive of fur and india-rubber and talons. As for
His matter, He seemed to be arguing with Himself by the way in which He
arrayed His ideas, disclosing His process of thought.

"We have very much to do, and We are confronted by the physical
impossibility of carrying out Our schemes. We find Ourself surprizingly
placed at the head of affairs. We believe that We should not have been
placed there unless the service, which We are able to do, had been
deemed desirable. Therefore We feel bound to act. But, though We know
(or shall know) what to do, yet We cannot do it with this one pair
of hands. We must have assistants with whom we can be intimate, and
who themselves can be sympathetic. First of all, We wish to have Your
Lordship."

The bishop was quite honest enough to get a little rosier with pleasure.

"Very pleased, whatever," he said.

"Next, We need information. Do you know the circumstances which led to
Our election?"

"In the main they are known to me, Holiness. Indeed, I may say that
they are generally known--except to the Supreme Pontiff Himself," the
bishop added, with an episcopally roguish smile.

Hadrian enjoyed the point. "Please bear this dogma carefully and
continually in mind:--the Pope well-informed is wiser than the Pope
ill-informed. Remember also that Hadrian at all times desires to know
everything. At present He wishes to know what you know about His
election. Briefly: the details can be given later."

"Briefly, the Conclave found no Pope by the ordinary means; and
committed the task to certain Cardinal-Compromissaries. These chose
Your Holiness."

"But why?"

"Cardinal Courtleigh----"

"Was he a Compromissary? How many were there?"

"He was one of nine. The others were----"

"Never mind their names for the moment. Now We take it that these nine
cardinals are well-disposed toward Us?"

"Most assuredly, Holy Father."

"Good! Nine! The names please?"

"Courtleigh, Grace----"

"Archbishop of Baltimore. Yes?"

"Saviolli----"

"What is he? He formerly was nuncio or something in America, was he
not? Please give the status of each."

"He was Archbishop of Lepanto and Pontifical Ablegate to the United
States of America. Now he is one of the curia. Then came della Volta,
formerly Major-domo, also of the curia: he, by the bye, is Your
Holiness's Double, according to Cardinal Courtfield."

"How delicious!" Hadrian vivaciously put in.

"Mundo, who led the Compromissaries, is Patriarch of Lisbon. Nefski is
Archbishop of Prague, poor fellow----"

"Why 'poor fellow'?"

"Oh he was nearly killed by the anarchists.--Well then, Ferraio is
Archbishop of Milan: Gentilotto is Prefect-General of the Society for
the Propagation of the Faith, and Fiamma is Archbishop of Bologna. The
two last were candidates at first, but gave it up by consenting to
become Compromissaries."

"These, you say, are well-disposed to Us?"

"Yes, Holy Father."

"A Kelt: an American: a Portugal: five Italians: and a Pole."

"No, a Bohemian, Holiness."

"Oh?" Hadrian directed the bishop to a writing-table. "Now, whether
this be in accordance with regulations or not, We neither know
nor care. Please write"--He sipped a glass of milk; and began
to dictate--"'Hadrian VII.--Bishop,--Servant of the servants of
God,--wills that you immediately shall come--to Him--in the Vatican
Palace--at Rome. Nothing--except the gravest physical inability--or
your duty to your family--if such there be--is to impede you.
All Catholics--are to afford you--the comfort--conveyance--and
assistance--of which you may stand in need.' Please sign it with your
own name and make five copies of it."

The bishop, sighing for his typewriter, diligently wrote in an
angular oblique almost illegible hand. Electric lights sprang up in
the City. The Pope lighted candles, closed the curtains, and rolled
a cigarette. Then He came and sat by the table, looking at the
manuscripts--considering the huge ring on His Own index-finger. Smiling
to Himself, He took a taper and a stick of sealing-wax; and produced
the _Little-Peter-in-a-Boat_ at the foot of the six sheets.

"Address them," He continued, "to the Reverend George Semphill,
St. Gowff's, North Britain:--Reverend James Sterling, Oakheath,
Stafford:--Reverend George Leighton, Shorham, Sussex:--Reverend Gerald
Whitehead, Wilton, Warwick:--Reverend Robert Carvale, Duntellin,
Ayrshire:--and--yes, do you know that eighteen years ago he had the
most exquisitely beautiful face and the most exquisitely beautiful
soul and the most exquisitely horrible voice of any boy in the
college,--address the sixth to Percy Van Kristen, 2023 Madison Avenue,
New York."

While Dr. Talacryn was closing the envelopes, the Pope Himself wrote on
a sheet of paper which, also, He sealed:

_Hadrianus P.M. VII. dilectissimo filio Francisco Talacryni Caerleonis
Episcopo._

_Te in cardinalem Designamus et Approbamus: quod tamen sub silentio
tenebis donec tempus idoneum aderit._

_Datum Romae. Sub annulo Piscatoris. Anno pontificatus Nostri I., a.d.
viiii Kal. Mai._

"Now please come and kneel here," He said.

The bishop looked an inquiry: but he came round the table, and kneeled
before the Pope, Who addressed him in these words:--

"Well-beloved son, Francis Talacryn, Bishop of Caerleon, We appoint
thee to, and confirm thee in, the cardinalature. But thou shalt not
disclose the fact until the proper time."

So saying, He lightly pinched-together the bishop's lips, putting the
breve into his hand.

"Silence," the Pontiff continued. "Now will you yourself go to San
Silvestro,--not to the post-office here,--and stamp and post those
letters. One thing more. There will be no hitch to-morrow? Right.
Then, after leaving San Silvestro, will you find Prince Pilastro and
Prince Orso, and tell them----We certainly shall have the support
of these nine? Good.--Well, quite informally let those princes (as
Princes-Assistant at the Pontifical Throne) know of Our insuing
incoronation. When you have named that to Prince Pilastro, say, also
informally, that the Supreme Pontiff wishes the Syndic of Rome to know
that, when He has received the crowns, He intends to go to Lateran to
take possession of His episcopal see. No. There is to be no fuss. We
will go as simply as possible and on foot. Will you always be quite
near? We name you train-bearer; and will make your office a sinecure.
God bless you. Da b'och a dibechod."

Hadrian remained standing at the antechamber-door, watching the
bishop's big figure disappear along the corridor. He thought it a pity
that a tendency to corpulency was not checked by healthy physical
exercise. A detachment of the Swiss Guard stood armed and motionless
at regular intervals. "For me," was His plebeian thought. A small
man appeared, bowing. He had a servile air. Hadrian's second glance
recognised him. "Is there an apartment on the top storey above this?"
He inquired.

"But yes, Holiness, a large apartment of smaller rooms not having the
altitude of these."

"You will cause them to be emptied by noon to-morrow. Now you can go
to bed. Please take care that no one comes inside this door until the
morning."

The Pope closed the door: and returned through the antechambers and
the throne-room to the table where He had been working. He sat on the
edge of the table for about an hour, swinging a leg, thinking, and
sipping milk. Then He took a candle, and went into a dressing-room with
huge oak clothes-presses. Opening their doors, He looked for a cloak
among piles and festoons of new clothes. There were several of crimson
velvet. After vainly searching for something plain, He put on one of
these and proceeded to the outer door, taking a breviary from the table
on the way. Out in the corridor, He signed to the nearest guard. The
black-red-yellow-and-steel figure came and kneeled.

"Do you know the way into St. Peter's?" the Pope said.

"But yes, Most Holy Father."

"Procure what keys are necessary and conduct Us thither, son."

"But securely, Most Holy Father."

The Swiss went on before. Hadrian followed, feeling annoyed by the
salutes with which He was received along the way. He had been so long
unnoted that notice irritated and abashed Him. Life would be unbearable
if trumpets and quaint halberds greeted every movement. He had not the
stolidity of born personages. Presently, He threw back His cloak and
kept head and hand raised in a gesture which petrified. They passed
through innumerable passages and descended stairs, emerging in a chapel
where lights burned about a tabernacle of gilded bronze and lapis
lazuli. Here He paused, while His escort unlocked the gates of the
screen. Once through that, He sent-back the guard to his station: but
He Himself went-on into the vast obscurity of the basilica. He walked
very slowly: it was as though His eyes were wrapped in clear black
velvet, so intense and so immense was the darkness. Then, very far away
to the right, He saw as it were a coronal of dim stars glimmering,--on
the floor, they seemed to be. He was in the mighty nave; and the stars
were the ever-burning lamps surrounding the Confession. He slowly
approached them. As He passed within them, He took one from its golden
branch and descended the marble steps. Here, He spread the cloak on the
floor; placed the lamp beside it: and fell to prayer. Outside, in the
City and the World, men played, or worked, or sinned, or slept. Inside
at the very tomb of the Apostle the Apostle prayed.

At midnight, bolts of great doors clanged, and fell. A cool air crept
in. Subsacristans set-up iron candlesticks, huge, antique, here and
there upon the marmoreal pavement. The burning torch of each made a
little oasis of light in the immeasurable gloom. From far away, a
slim white form which carried a crimson cloak swiftly came, shedding
benedictions on the startled beholders; and disappeared in the chapel
of the Sacrament.

On returning to His apartment, Hadrian went straight to bed, invoking
the souls in purgatory to awaken Him at six o'clock. He slept instantly
and well.

At seven o'clock He had paid His debt with the _De Profundis_; and
was dressed and waiting in the throne-room. Entered to Him a dozen
cardinals, two by two. Opening their ranks, they disclosed the
Cardinal-Prior-Priest solemnly ostending the image of a cock in
silver-gilt. Hadrian stood on the steps of the throne, still, erect,
vivid. He seemed so brimming over with restrained energy that He
resembled a white flame. Not a sound was uttered. In silence they came;
and they went away in silence. When the Pontiff was alone again, He
strode and stopped in the middle of the floor.

"No, Lord, I never will deny Thee--never!" He exclaimed with tremendous
emphasis. "But keep me and teach me and govern me, that I may govern
and teach and keep Thy Flock, O Thou Shepherd of the people."

When the Bishop of Caerleon conveyed the extraordinary news to the
Syndic of Rome, Prince Pilastro at once inquired what arrangements were
made.

"No arrangements are made."

"But look here," said Marcantonio, who affected English brusqueness,
"of course we are very happy that the Holy Father should come among
us: but, you know, we are bound by our own guarantees to give Him
all the honours of a sovereign-regnant. We shall be shamed in the
eyes of Europe if we omit those. What I mean by that is this is a
state-progress; and we shall have to turn out the troops, and stop the
traffic and line the streets----"

"I don't think His Holiness expects you to do all that, Prince. I'm not
speaking officially; and I'm not bringing you an official request for
anything of the kind which you name. The Holy Father says He is going
quite simply--on foot, in fact."

"Now I should just like to know what the devil (if Your Splendour will
excuse the French) that means."

"Perhaps His Holiness thinks that the movement of the sedia gestatoria,
or of a litter, will make Him sick. It did with Leo, you know."

"What's the matter with a white mule?"

"I happen to know that He cannot ride."

"Peuh! No sportsman, then! And yet He's English?"

"Yes: but not the kind of sportsman you mean, Prince."

"Well: what does He want me to do?"

"Let's say that I am sent to warn you of His intention, in order that
you may arrest Him for disturbing the traffic, if you choose."

"Of course we shan't do that."

"No: of course you won't. That's only my way of putting it. I think He
really means to advise you beforehand, so that it can never be said
that He played you a trick, took you unawares, stole a march on you, so
to speak."

"I see. Well, this is one of the amazing things which you English do
as a matter of course. It's either frantic madness, or---- Will His
Holiness go in any sort of state?"

"I think not. You see time is short; and (between ourselves) I'm not at
all sure that we're all of one mind over there."

"By rights, you know, I ought to walk with Orso, just before the
ambassadors. Does Orso know about this walking business?"

"No. Only of the incoronation."

"That means that there will be no formal procession. It is well. You
see, as Pilastro, I walk with Orso in the Pope's progress: while, as
Syndic of Rome, I ought to walk at the head of the pontifical pages who
precede His Blessedness. I can't do both, can I? Well, I request Your
Splendour to convey my respects to our Holy Father; and to say that
Prince Pilastro will assist at the throne during the incoronation, and
the Syndic of Rome will go before the Pope to Lateran."

"You will not take the chance of coming to blows with Prince Orso on
the question of precedence then?" joked the bishop.

"But no. During the incoronation I shall secure the right hand; and
the Pope will be between us. Afterward, no question of precedence will
arise, because Orso may or may not join in this promenade to Lateran;
and in each case the Syndic will have the more honourable position. I
may not be the rose: but at least I shall be near the Rose--a great
deal nearer than Orso," punned the versatile Marcantonio.

At eight in the morning, Hadrian descended to St. Peter's.
Miscellaneous multitudes paved the spaces with tumultuous eyes. He came
down in ruddy vesture, gleaming with rubies and garnets and carbuncles
like a fire borne high above the crowd, slowly, deliberately, dropping
benedictions. His English phlegm was much admired. They roared at
Him, _Long live the Pope-King_. Instantly He stopped His bearers;
and the very air of Him struck sudden silence. People stared, and
forgot to shout: the wave of acclamation ebbed in the great nave and
transepts. He moved onward, sitting erect, god-like, with a frozen mien
prohibiting personal homage. Mitred and enthroned, He was the servant
of those who would serve Him: that was the import of His demeanour. A
child acolyth of the lowest rank held up before him a salver containing
flax: set it on fire; and shrilled,

"Behold most Holy Father, how that the glory of this world passeth
away."

His features shewed no emotion. He well knew all about that. He
was accepting, even insisting on, the observance of all rites to
consolidate Him in the Supreme Pontificature: not that He cared for
them, but that He might be free to act. It was not the glory of the
world which He craved: but the combat, the combat--because one rests so
much more sweetly after strife.

Slowly, and with all the unspeakable solemnity accumulated during
centuries, the mass was sung. The Apostle elevated the Host to the four
quarters of the globe. Cardinals ruffled like huge flamingoes round
Him. He always was white and still. At the end, the Cardinal-Archpriest
of St. Peter's brought Him a damask purse containing twenty-five gold
coins, honorarium for a mass well-sung. He bestowed it on della Volta
and Sega, who had intoned the Gospel in Greek and Latin; and they
passed it to their train-bearers. Down the nave, He went again toward
the great porch. Out of the crowd a voice cried "Christus regnat." As
He sat enthroned amid the surging peoples, Macca crowned Him, saying,

"Receive this tiara adorned with three crowns, and know Thyself to be
the Ruler of the World, the Father of Princes and Kings, the earthly
Vicar of Jesus Christ our Saviour."

Hadrian understood the formula in no metaphorical, but in the plain and
literal, sense of the words. He neither minimised nor magnified their
significance. He had an opportunity which was entirely grateful to Him.
He was Ruler, Father, Vicar. And He was altogether unafraid. He stood
up, and blessed the City and the World.

In the Xystine Chapel, they relieved Him of the pontifical regalia, and
the voluminous far-flowing petticoat of white taffetas, which is so
sumptuous to the eye of the beholden and so ridiculously cumbersome to
the legs of the wearer; and He ate some apples while Orezzo, on behalf
of the Sacred College, recited time-honoured compliments.

"Lord Cardinals," said Hadrian, "We thank you for your service: and We
invite those of you who are able and willing to attend Us, now, when We
go to take possession of Our episcopal see."

He moved towards the door. The short train of His cassock trailed
behind Him, and the Bishop of Caerleon stooped to it.

Ragna had something to howl.

"Holiness, this is suicide for You and murder for us. The City is full
of Jews and Freemasons; and we shall most assuredly be stabbed, or
shot, or shattered to pieces with bombs, or drenched with vitrol----"

"The Church wants a martyr badly. Your Eminency is invited, not
commanded."

Berstein muttered to Vivole, in a scandalized tone, that the Pope was
courting popularity. Pepato, with a note of admiration, commented on
the mad English. Word of the invitation rushed on ahead. Of the crowd
of officials, many began to arrange themselves in a certain order:
others had pressing calls elsewhere. Masters-of-ceremonies, wracking
their brains for long forgotten details, flew hither and thither with
instructions and pushes. Poor old Grani sat down in a recess; and wept
to think that there was no time to get out the white gennets annually
presented by the King of Spain. Hadrian came on slowly, chatting with
Caerleon, giving people a chance of making up their minds. When He
emerged from the colonnade in the Square of St. Peter's, the Syndic
of Rome fell into the ranks just before the Pope; and a royal escort
of the Prætorian Guard surrounded Him. Hadrian stopped; and beckoned
Prince Pilastro.

"Sir Syndic, are We free?" He mewed.

"But free, Holy Father."

"Let your soldiers precede and not surround Us; and let no one come
within ten paces of Us. We go by Via Giulia and Monte Celio."

The squadron moved to the head of the line. The Pope took His train
from the Bishop: threw it over His left arm: and came-on alone. Acting
as though the ideal were real, He made it real. If Jews and Freemasons
would slay Him, well and good: it was part of the day's work, no doubt.
He was by no means anxious to be martyred; and He sincerely hoped that,
if it should come to Him, it would not be very painful or distorting.
But, as it was His Own affair, a piece of the part He was fulfilling,
He displayed Himself alone. Ten paces before Him went Prince Pilastro,
looking back from time to time. Ten paces behind Him came the bishop,
ruddy and strong in white and purple, wondering. The vermilion nine
followed in a compact phalanx, very venerable and grand; and, after a
great deal of bustle and noise, seventeen other cardinals added their
magnificence. A motley of patriarchs, archbishops, bishops, prelates,
and pontifical guards closed the rear.

A tremendous shout greeted Hadrian's first appearance in the square.
It was quite incoherent: for the real significance of the pageant was
not immediately realized. No Pope had set His foot in Rome since 1870:
but here undoubtedly was the Pope, with a gentle inflexible face,--a
lonely white figure Whose left hand lay on the little cross on His
breast, Whose right hand gravely scattered the same sign. This crowd
was not the even human parallels which authority is wont to describe
on streets when the Great go by. It was a concurrence from side-ways
coalescing with loafers and ordinary passers-by, suddenly dipping its
knees, gazing, panting, and emitting howls of delirious onomatopes.
Cabs and carts swept to the side of the road; and the drivers kneeled
on the boxes. Here and there, some dowdy alien said "What mockery"
and patronizingly explained that the Salvation Army did these things
much more properly. Here and there, some sour sorry incapable stood
spitting in praise of secret societies. Here and there some godless
worldling scoffed in an undertone. But Hadrian went-on, walking at that
deceptive pace of His, which seemed so leisurely and was so swift. His
movements resembled the running of a perfectly-geared machine: they
had the smooth and forceful grace of the athlete whose muscles are
supple and strong: even the occasional impulse had no jerkiness. It was
the manner with which He disguised His natural timidity. He sometimes
glanced from side to side. Once He smiled at a bare-legged rascalt of
brown boys who kneeled by one of Bernini's angels on the parapet of the
bridge. He adored children, although He was so desperately afraid of
them. Going up the hill by the Church of Sts. John and Paul, a little
girl dabbed an indescribable rag on her head: rushed into the road,
dashing primroses; and remained transfixed by her own audacity. He led
her by the hand to her mother; and blessed them both. All His life long
He had yearned to be giving. Now, under any circumstances, He always
had something to give, ten words and a gesture; and people seemed so
thankful for it. He was glad.

In the porch of the Mother and Mistress of All Churches in the City
and the World, He sat on the low throne while canons made shift to
intone, _He raiseth up the poor out of the dust, and lifteth the needy
out of the dung-hill; that He may set Him with the Princes, even with
the princes of His people_. They gave Him gold and silver keys. They
attended Him to the throne of precious marbles in the centre of the
apse. They intoned _Te Deum_. Ascending to the lodge of benediction, He
blessed the mobile vulgar in the Square of St. John; and anon returned
in the way by which He came, Bishop of Rome in act and deed, and
Supreme Pontiff.




CHAPTER V


Being physically tired with the exertion of withstanding the
concentrated gaze of Rome, He rested all the afternoon. The palace was
a scene of commotion. Cardinals and their familiars cackled and cooed
and squeaked and growled in corners: or arranged for return to their
distant sees. Workmen cleared-away the structure of the Conclave.
Hadrian made an attempt to get-into the gardens with a book: but,
obsequious black velvet chamberlains with their heads in frills like
saucers made themselves so extremely necessary, and Auditors of the
Ruota scudded along bye-paths with such obvious secrecy and bounded
out of box-hedges before Him by carefully calculated accident so very
frequently, that at last He took refuge in the pontifical apartment. He
rang the gong and sent for Caerleon.

"We have a more or less distinct remembrance of a place on the Lake of
Albano, called Castel something."

"Castel Gandolfo, Holiness."

"Yes. And it used to be a pontifical villa?"

"It is a pontifical villa now: but since 1870 an order of religious
women have used part of it as a convent."

"Which part?"

"They, I believe, keep the pontifical suite in statu quo, hoping for
the day when the Holy Father shall come to His Own again."

"Good. Now will you at once telegraph to those nuns that the Pope
is coming to His Own to-morrow for the inside of a week. And please
arrange everything on a plain and private scale. That is the first
thing."

"Perhaps I'd better do that at once whatever."

"Yes, but don't be long."

When the bishop returned, Hadrian invited him to take a tour of
observation round the rooms. They were accentedly antipathetic, too
red, too ormolu, too floridly renascent, too distractingly rococo. He
could not work in them. Yes, work,--nothing was going to interfere
with that. How, in the name of heaven, could anyone work under these
painted ceilings, among all these violently ineffectual curves? Now
that He was able, He must have what He wanted. He was going to move on
to the top-floor, where people could not stamp on His head, and where
there was a better view from the windows. He would have clean bare
spaces and simplicity without frippery. Then His mind could move. By
the clothes-presses, He damned red velvet. That should go. The feeling
of it made Him squirm. The sight of it on His person reminded Him of
the barking of malodorous dogs and the braying of assertive donkeys.
White was all right, if it fitted properly. He would stick to white,
soft flannelly white, not this shiny cloth: with a decent surplice
(which did not resemble the garments of David's servants after the
attentions of the children of Ammon)--a surplice and the pallium, and
the pontifical red stole in public: but no lace--that should be left
to ladies. How delicious to have plenty of white clothes to wear! How
delicious to wear white in the sun! Well, He was going to work to earn
all these amenities. And now, talking of work, something would have
to be done to the rooms upstairs: and certain things would have to be
settled regarding the domestic arrangements. To what official ought
directions to be given?

"The Major-domo is the head of the household; and the Master of the
Chamber has immediate charge of Your Holiness's person."

"That set man? Look now, he shall continue to be Master of the
Chamber. We will not repeat the mistake of Pius IX., or interfere with
any of their offices. But he must not come near Us. We should feel
bound to assist his decrepitude; and Our idea is to be so free from
secular cares that We can concentrate undivided attention upon Our
Apostolature. There is the root of the matter. That man is a stranger:
his age makes it certain that he has got into a groove: he is full
of prior experiences and opinions which he cannot, and ought not to
be expected to, change for a newcomer. But, if he remains here, it
will be Ourself Who will have to obey him. That would distract Us.
Therefore, We must interpose someone whom We know--someone who is young
enough to suit himself to Us. There are two young ruffians of about
twenty-five years old, who, like most of his other acquaintances,
formerly loved and hated George Arthur Rose. Their circumstances are
disagreeable: they never had a chance: they are hot-headed passionate
people, always in love with some woman or other, because they have
no means of amusing themselves innocently, being tied and bound with
the chains of respectable poverty. They really have no opportunity of
leading godly righteous and sober lives. They're insane, unhealthy,
because civilization gives them no opportunity to live sane healthy
lives unless they crush all the most salient and most admirable
characteristics of their individuality. Please send for them--John
Devine, 107, Arkwright Street, Preston--Iulo Carrino, 95, Bloomsbury
Square, London,--and let Us give them some service and much freedom,
and a little wholesome neglect to strengthen and develop their
characters and to give play to their individual natures, as good old
Jowett says. We believe in making it, not difficult but, easy to be
good---- Look, Frank, tell Iulo Carrino to bring with him that yellow
cat which you may remember. By the bye, both these men cannot move
without money. Take this cheque for George Arthur Rose's balance at
Coutts's: use what is generous--generous, mind you,--and account to Us
later. And now, about the other things, We had better see Centrina and
the Major-domo upstairs."

The Pope and the bishop inspected a series of empty rooms on the
top-floor. They occupied the N.E. and the S.E. sides of the palace.
Hadrian chose the large room in the angle with windows on two sides,
for the secret chamber. It was approached from the N.E. corridor by
way of fifteen antechambers and a large room suitable for private
receptions. Beyond the antechambers there was another series of
apartments which He also took. The private room in the angle,
sitting-room, or workshop (as He called it), led into some smaller
rooms on the S.E. face of the palace. Here he fixed upon a bedroom,
bath-room, dressing-room, oratory, and sundry store-rooms, accessible
by a single door in the last room which led into the corridor
over-looking the court of St. Damasus.

The Major-domo and the Master-of-the-Chamber attended. The latter was
quaking about his situation. Hadrian rapidly reassured him and came
to the point. "You are confirmed in your benefice until such time
as you choose to retire. The emoluments and the pension are at your
disposal. In a few days, two gentlemen will arrive from England. You
will prepare a parlour and a bedroom for each, adjoining the first
antechamber. Fix a bell in each parlour communicating with this room.
(They were standing in the room which had been selected as a workshop.)
You will provide two servants for them. They will take their meals in
their parlours. After their arrival, Our commandments will come to you
through them." (He turned and addressed Himself to the Major-domo.)
"These two gentlemen must be given some official status."

"If I understand aright, Your Holiness is appointing two
Gentlemen-in-Waiting-in-the-Apostolic-Chamber."

"That will do. When they arrive, see that they have diplomas of
appointment as Gentlemen of the Apostolic Chamber. The Bishop of
Caerleon will arrange with you about their emoluments. Now, let Us
furnish these rooms."

They went out into the corridor; and re-entered the apartment by the
first antechamber.

"Cover all the walls and ceilings with brown-packing paper--yes,
brown-packing paper--carta straccia," the Pope repeated. "Stain all
the woodwork with a darker shade of brown. The gilding of the cornices
can remain as it is. No carpets. These small greenish-blue tiles are
clean; and they soothe the eye. Curtains? You may hang very voluminous
linen curtains on the doors and windows, greenish-blue linen to
match the tiles, and without borders. Furnish all those antechambers
with rush chairs and oaken tables. Remember that everything is to
be plain, without ornament.--In this room you may place the usual
throne and canopy: and that crucifix from downstairs--(how exquisite
the mother-of-pearl Figure is!)--and the stools, and twelve large
candlesticks--iron or brass.--Now this room is to be a workshop. Let Us
have a couch and three armchairs, all large and low and well-cushioned,
covered with undyed leather. Get some of those large plain wooden
tables which are used in kitchens, about three yards long and
one-and-a-half wide. Put writing-materials on one of them, there, on
the right of the window. Leave the middle of the room empty. Put three
small book-cases against that wall and a cupboard here.--Make a bedroom
of this room. Let the bed be narrow and long, with a husk mattress;
and let the back of the head be toward the window. Put one of the large
wooden tables here and a dozen rush-chairs.--(He spoke to the bishop.)
Do you know that there is no water here at all, except in little jugs?
(He continued to the Major-domo.) Line the walls of this room with
greenish-blue tiles, like those on the floor. Put several pegs on both
doors. In this corner put a drain-pipe covered with a grating; and, six
feet above it, let a waterpipe and tap project rectangularly two feet
from the wall. Yes. Six feet from the floor, two feet from the wall;
and let there be a constant and copious supply of water--rain-water, if
possible. Do you understand?"

The Major-domo understood. The Master-of-the-Chamber shivered.

"And lamps. Get two plain oil-lamps for each room, with copper shades:
large lamps, to give a very strong light. Paint over both doors of
the bedroom, on the outside of each, _Intrantes excommunicantur
ipso facto_. When We have finished here," (He addressed the
Master-of-the-Chamber again),

"you will parade your staff; and We will select one person and provide
him with a dispensation from that rule as long as he behaves himself
well. He will have charge of the bedroom and the sole right to enter
it." (The Pope passed into the next room: paused, and whispered
explicit directions to the Major-domo; and moved on to the farther
room.)

"The clothes-presses from downstairs can be moved into this room. They
will serve. And you had better make a door here, so that it can be
entered from the corridor." (He went on again.) "This room is to be the
vestry;--and this the oratory. Let Us have a plain stone altar and the
stations, and the bare necessaries for mass, all of the simplest. Let
everything, walls, floor, ceiling, everything, be white--natural white,
not painted; and make a door here, also leading into the corridor,
a large double-door convenient for the faithful who assist at the
pontifical mass. The rooms beyond--you will take order about them at a
convenient occasion."

Hadrian and the bishop returned to the pontifical apartments downstairs.

"Your Holiness will excuse me----"

"Yes?"

"--but have You ever contemplated the present situation?"

"No. Why?"

"Well, Your Holiness seems to have everything cut and dried."

The Pope laughed. "You shall know that George Arthur Rose has had
plenty of time for thinking and scheming. His schemes never came to
anything, except once; and he certainly never schemed for this. But you
understand perhaps that the last twenty years have rendered Hadrian
conscious both of His abilities and His limitations, as well as of His
requirements; and hence He is able at a glance to describe in detail
what He wants. When He wants something, without knowing what He wants,
He asks questions. For example, what is that hinged arrangement under
Cardinal Courtleigh's ring?"

"A master-key, Holiness; I have just got one too." The bishop shewed
his own ring.

"What is that?"

"I have several places which I have to keep locked, safes, cupboards,
and that sort of thing; and the keys, which are all different, have to
be entrusted to my various chaplains, and so on. Well, each of these
can only open the lock of the thing which concerns him: but, with that
master-key, I can unlock everything and no one else in the world can do
that."

"Capital! Where do you get these things made?"

"At a place in Band Street--Brahma I think the name is."

"Tell them to----" The voice sank, for some scarlet gentleman began
to bring in tables with the sealed dishes of the pontifical supper.
Hadrian's eyes lingered on the intruders for a moment. They were so
slim, so robust, so deft, so grave, so Roman. He drew the bishop into
the embrasure of a window.

"Aren't they lovely?" He said. "Isn't the world full of lovely things,
lovely live things? It's the dead and the stagnant that are ugly."

This was so rapid a change of mood that Talacryn could not follow it.
As soon as the servants were gone, Hadrian continued, returning the
episcopal ring "Tell your Brahma people to fit all the doors upstairs
with locks which have separate keys, and to send another score of locks
also with separate keys; and also to send a man here who is capable of
making an episcopal ring for Us which shall contain a master-key to all
those locks."

"Very well, Holy Father."

"Don't go. Supper can wait a minute Look here: We desire to be in
direct communication with the Sacred College. We chiefly are curious
to know the nine compromissaries: but distinctions sometimes are
invidious. At all events, We must have a long and secret conference
with Cardinal Courtleigh. So will you please make it known to Their
Eminencies that We will receive them after supper. Ask Pimlico to
remain after the others. And--who manages the finances here?"

"The Cardinal-Deacon of Santa Maria Nuova is Apostolic Treasurer; and
the Major-domo is responsible for the household expenses."

"Ask the Treasurer particularly to come? Don't come yourself.
Good-night: God bless you."

Caerleon firmly had believed that he knew George Arthur Rose to be
charming--perhaps somewhat incomprehensible, and therefore perhaps
somewhat dangerous. But as for Hadrian--Caerleon felt about him as M.
and Mme. Curie felt when they first put a penny on a piece of radium
and observed the penetrative energy incessantly thrown off from a
source which was both concrete and inexhaustible.

The Pope's evening party was well attended. Some of the older members
of the Sacred College, who really had suffered from the discomforts
of the Conclave, had left the Vatican. Most of the French absented
themselves, as they had every right to do in view of the informality
of the invitation. The Secretary of State stayed away on a plea of
business. But a mixed motive, in which inquisitiveness was the dominant
ingredient, impelled thirty-two vermilion princes into the Pontiff's
throne-room. The Cardinal-Dean, notwithstanding his age and infirmity,
came with glee. Next to succeeding to the paparchy himself, nothing
suited him better than to have a perfect stranger for a Pope, Who
evidently was about to subvert every single act of Leo's. He said
almost as much to Hadrian, bustling up to the throne and using a stool.

"We take it very kindly that Your Eminency should come to Us; and
We let you know that We summon Our first consistory to meet on the
thirtieth day of April," said the Pope, in a tone which was a skilful
blend of the World's Ruler's with that of youth to age, of a newcomer
to an old stager.

Orezzo was pleased. He took the ball of conversation and set it
rolling. "It is a fortunate event, Holiness," he said, "that the Divine
Leo--may His soul rest in a cool place--never carried out His intention
of nominating His successors."

"Ah!" the Pope responded. "We remember reading about that in an English
newspaper, the _Pall Mall Gazette_, a few years back. Perhaps Your
Eminency can tell Us what truth there was in the report?"

"The facts, Holy Father, were these. Leo so firmly believed that the
policy, which He had seen fit to pursue during His long reign, was
essential to the welfare of the Church, that He wished to be assured of
its continuance; and He would have had each of us to promise Him that,
upon election, we would not depart from His example. Some of us--I name
no names--were unwilling to bind ourselves; and, being unable to secure
unanimous assurance, Leo declared that He would use the plenitude of
the apostolic power and nominate His successors."

The other cardinals, attracted by these words, drew nearer to the
throne. Some sat on stools: others remained standing: all intently
listened to Orezzo: all intently gazed at Hadrian. The aspect of the
Pontiff did not give satisfaction. It was not listless: it was not
inattentive, for, as a matter of fact, it indicated very vivid ardent
studiose concern, a perfect perception of being "among the Doctors":
but Hadrian seemed to be treating the matter too impersonally, too much
from the view-point of the outsider. He gave no sign whatever that He
was conscious how very nearly this thing touched Himself.

"He reminds one of a surgeon probing for a bullet in a body which is
not his," said Mundo to Fiamma.

"And He will find that bullet," the Archbishop of Bologna replied.

Hadrian (Who could see as far through a brick wall as most men, and a
great deal further than some), was not by any means unconscious of the
situation, and was avidly curious after information. He pursued the
inquiry. Many thought it would have been more delicate to drop it.

"Yes. That was the gist of the statement in the paper," He continued to
Orezzo. "We remember it well: because We wondered whether or not such a
privilege was included in that 'plenitude of apostolic power.' We could
not find a precedent; and none of the authorities whom We consulted
could provide one. Advise Us, Lord Cardinal."

If Orezzo had not been Cardinal-Bishop of Ostia and Velletri, Dean of
the Sacred College, and Chamberlain of the Holy Roman Church, he would
have grinned. He found the moment unmitigatedly delectable.

"Holiness, there is a pious opinion, represented (I believe) by the
Cardinal-Penitentiary"--(Serafino-Vagellaio violently flushed)--"to the
effect that the Divine Leo was not in error. Also, there is another
pious opinion, represented (I happen to know) by the rest of the
College, that on this point the said Divine Leo erred as infallibly as
possible."

This was thin ice indeed.

"Your Eminency's exposition hath been most sound. The matter is one
for the theologians," said Hadrian, ceasing to lean forward. "But why,
Lord Cardinal, do you call it fortunate that the nomination was not
effected?"

"Because if it had been effected, we might not have experienced the
pleasure of saluting a Pontiff Who, according to the Cardinal of
Pimlico, is an academic anarchist."

Hadrian candidly and simply laughed, with a friendly look at
Courtleigh, who did not at all like being the second victim of Orezzo's
caustic tongue.

"His Eminency has taken that bad habit of labelling people from Us,"
He said. "But, although We give due weight to the epithet 'academic,'
We abhor from and cannot away with the term 'anarchist.' Aristocrat
We are not: the mere word Democrat fills Us with repugnance. Such as
it is, Our philosophy is individualistic altruism. But, Eminencies,
is not the labelling of matter which is in a state of flux, humanity
for example, somewhat futile? Even supposing the labelled matter to be
static, do not the very words on the label change their meaning with
the course of time? But deeds remain; and the motive of a deed is that
by which it must, and will, be judged. Give Us then the benefit of your
holy prayers, Lord Cardinals, that Our motives may be pure, and Our
acts acceptable to Him Who has deigned to Our unworthy hands the awful
office of His Vicegerent here on earth."

He leaned back in His chair for the moment after this little
out-burst. The sense of His enormous responsibility was upon Him. In
an indefinite shadowy sort of way, it had been in His mind to utter
some such allocution to the cardinals by way of explaining to them His
Own conception of His task: but He had intended to make it more of a
deliberate formal pronouncement. The instant when the words had passed
His lips, however, He perceived that in one sentence He had said all.
He also perceived that the gaiety of the beginning, and the solemnity
of the conclusion, sufficed to give His utterance distinction. He said
no more. There was no doubt but that He had created an impression:
an impression which differed, it is true, according to the temper
of the impressed--but still He had created an impression. Those
Eminencies, who were more formal than vital, assumed that professional
abstraction of demeanour which marks a conference of clergy while one
of their number is "talking shop." Those two or three, who were devout
enthusiasts, blessed themselves and exhibited the white cornea beneath
the iris of their eyes. The majority, (who combined the qualities of
the dignified fine-gentleman-of-the-old-school, with those of the
scholar, the teacher, and the practical Christian) beamed instant
approbation. Their verdict was that the utterance was very correct and
proper. Nothing could be more true.

The assemblage split-up into groups; and separate conversations were
begun. The Pope sat, still and grave. Orezzo gracefully pleaded his age
and the hour of night: kissed the Apostle's knee; and retired.

Hadrian beckoned the Cardinal-Deacon of Santa Maria Nuova; and
addressed him in a confidential manner.

"We understand that the expenses of Our household pass through the
hands of the Major-domo. Are they paid from some fund particularly
allotted to the purpose?"

"Yes, Most Holy Lord; from----"

"The details are unimportant. And the expenses of the paparchy in
general?"

"There are numerous funds, Most Holy Lord, which are administered by
numerous departments under my supervision."

"And those funds---- Some suffice; and some do not suffice. They vary,
no doubt?"

"Most Holy Lord, they vary."

"Is there any particular fund over which We have exclusive control?"

"The whole revenue, Most Holy Lord, is subject to Your pleasure: but
Peter's Pence belong to the pontiff-regnant personally. They are His
private property--salary--honorarium, I should say."

"In eight days, Your Eminency will be good enough to let Us know the
annual average of that income, say for the last twenty years."

"It shall be done, Most Holy Lord."

"Meanwhile, what money is at Our disposal at this moment?"

"There has been accumulated a large reserve, the exact amount of which
is known only to the bankers. It is Yours, Most Holy Lord."

"What approximately is the sum?"

"In round numbers, Most Holy Lord, it cannot be less than five
millions."

"Lire?"

"Pounds sterling, Most Holy Lord."

Hadrian's eyes sparkled. "Where is it?"

"The bulk is in the Bank of England, Most Holy Lord: but there is much
gold in the safe."

"Which safe?"

"The safe in the bedroom wall, Most Holy Lord."

"Where is the key?"

"The Cardinal-Chamberlain holds all keys, Most Holy Lord."

"To-morrow Your Eminency will be good enough to cause the safe in the
bedroom-wall to be removed to a similar position in the bedroom which
We have instructed the Major-domo to prepare on the upper storey. And
now please follow the Cardinal-Chamberlain: obtain the key of the safe;
and bring it to Us."

The Apostolic Treasurer rose; and went out. Hadrian also stood up. The
company, understanding that the reception was ended, made obeisance and
began to move away. The Pope detained Courtleigh.

"Eminency," He said, "We have many things to say to you: but We will
not detain you now. To-morrow We go to Castel Gandolfo. Come with Us.
A few tired priests are sure of a hospitable welcome there. Yes, come
with Us. Who is that young cardinal by the door?"

"That is Monsignor Nefski, Holiness,--the Archbishop of Prague."

"He is marked by some fearful sorrow?"

"A most fearful sorrow indeed."

"Once, in a man's rooms at Oxford, a young undergraduate happened to
enter. He had just that deadly pallor, that dense black hair, that
rigidity of feature, that bleached bleak fixity of gaze. When he was
gone, We remarked on his appearance. Our host said that he had been
seeing his best friend drowned. They were on a cliff, somewhere in Your
Eminency's native-land, taking photographs of breakers in the height
of a storm. The friend was on the very verge. Suddenly the cliff gave
way; and he fell into the raging sea. He was a magnificent swimmer.
He struggled with the billows for more than half an hour. There was
no help within five miles; and, finally, the breath was battered out
of him. The other perforce had to stand by, and watch it all. It
indelibly marked him. Cardinal Nefski, you say, is marked by a fearful
experience. Lately? Was it as fearful as that?"

"Ten weeks ago, Holiness; and a much more fearful experience."

"Eminency, bring him also to Castel Gandolfo. Some of you must attend
the Pope. Let Us have those to whom We can be useful."

When he was alone, Hadrian examined the safe in the bedroom wall. It
added to His consciousness of His immense potentiality. What a number
of long-planned things He could do now! With its contents, He would
open a current account at the Bank of Italy. With that, and another
at the Bank of England----He acquainted Himself with the tools of
His new trade. Truly, Caerleon did not altogether err in calling Him
an incomprehensible creature. On the one hand, with His principle of
giving He could not even grasp a problem which involved taking: while,
on the other hand, He utterly failed to realize that most people are
averse from giving. As for Himself, He took freely; and, as freely, He
was going to give. As for the Bishop of Caerleon's opinion--it is so
easy and so satisfactory to call a man "an incomprehensible creature,"
when one is mentally incapable of comprehending, or unwilling to try to
comprehend, the "creature."




CHAPTER VI


He spent the first day at Castel Gandolfo in the garden, writing,
enjoying the loveliness of late spring. He produced a score of sheets
of swiftly-scribbled manuscript bristling with emendations. The second
day He summoned Cardinal Courtleigh directly after breakfast; and
addressed him with some formality.

"We desire to establish relations with Your Eminency, chiefly because
You hold so responsible a position in England, a country dear above
all countries to Us which We design to treat with singular favour. In
pursuance of Our intention, and of Our desire, certain matters must be
defined. If Our words are unpleasing, Your Eminency must take them in
the light of Our said intention and desire."

The cardinal put on his cardinalitial mask. He was to hear and to note
this rash young man. If anything needed to be said, he was there to say
it.

"It is Our wish to make England 'a people prepared for The Lord.'
We will attempt it of the whole world; and for this reason We begin
with the race which dominates the world. We find Ourself impeded at
the outset by the present habitude and conduct of English Catholics,
especially of the aboriginal English Catholics."

At this unexpected fulguration, this feline scratch, the cardinalitial
eyebrows shot upward with a jerk and horizontally came down again. His
Eminency slightly bowed, and attended. The Pope fingered a volume of
cuts from English newspapers: selected a cut; and continued,

"Kindly let Us have your opinion of this statement:--_A remarkable
petition has been prepared for presentation to Parliament. The
petitioners are the Roman Catholic laity resident in England; and they
pray Parliament to set up some control over Roman Catholic moneys and
interests. It is pointed out that the total capital invested in the
Roman Catholic clergy in the United Kingdom must amount to nearly
£50,000,000. It is alleged that no account is afforded by the Roman
Catholic bishops of the management or disbursements of such property
and moneys. And the petitioners also call attention to gross injustices
which are of daily occurrence._"

"That emanated from a priest of my archdiocese, Holiness. It was
a terrible scandal: but we were successful in preventing it from
spreading."

"Then there was such a petition? At first, We were prepared to ascribe
it to the imagination of one of Sir Notyet Apeer's young men. And
really were there many supporters of the petition?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Then you have rebellion within the camp. And was there any ground for
these statements?"

"There was no ground whatever for the insinuation that we habitually
misuse our trusteeship. The man had a grievance. His agitation was
merely a means to compel us to solace him. He trusted, by making
himself unpleasant to us, to make us pleasant to him. So he attacked
our financial arrangements. It was a wicked stroke: for, you know, Holy
Father, that we cannot be expected to account to any Tom-Dick-and-Harry
for bequests and endowments which we administer."

"Your accounts are properly audited, no doubt?"

"To a great extent, yes."

"But not invariably? You trust much to the honesty and the financial
ability of individual clerks? We do not presume for a moment that there
is any systematic malversation of trust. You have had a lesson on that
subject."

"Lesson?"

"Yes: in 1886: after the notorious Carvale Case, when the infatuated
imbecility of the Gaelic and Pictish bishops was shewn to render
them undesirable as trustees, the clergy simply dare not stray into
illegal paths. Oh no. But are the clergy actually capable of financial
administration?"

"As capable, I suppose, as other men."

"Priests are not 'as other men.' However, We take it that you all
believe yourselves to have acted conscientiously. We also take it
that, in view of the power and influence which the position of trustee
affords, your clergy eagerly become trustees and are unwilling to
submit to supervision or to criticism. That is quite human. We entirely
disapprove of it."

"But what would your Holiness have?"

"We cannot say it in one sentence. You must collect Our mind from
Our conduct as well as from our words. We entirely disapprove of the
clergy competing for or using any secular power or dominance whatever,
especially such power as inheres in the command of money. The clergy
are ministers--ministers--not masters. And as to the other charge--'the
gross injustices which are of daily occurrence'?"

"That, of course, is simply the scream of an opponent. It is spite."

"Does Your Eminency mean that there are no injustices? Don't you know
of gross injustices?"

"'It needs must that offences come.'"

"'But woe to him by whom the offence cometh.' Eminency, why not
frankly face the predicament? The clergy are more than less human;
and they certainly are not even the pick of humanity. Now, don't they
attempt too much in the first instance; and, in the second, don't they
invariably refuse to admit or amend their blunders? Listen to this.
The _Pall Mall Gazette_ states, on the authority of the _Missiones
Catholicae_ that, in Australia, during the last five years, we have
increased our numbers from 3,008,399 to 4,507,980. But the government
census taken last year gives the total population of Australia at
4,555,803. That leaves only 47,823 for the other religious and
irreligious bodies. As a matter of fact, the latest Roman Catholic
record is 916,880. Therefore an overstatement of 3,591,100 has been
made. Which is absurd. And perpetuated. Which is damnable."

"I do not precisely see Your Holiness's point."

"No? Well, let us go to another." The Pope produced a small green
ticket on which was printed, _Church of the Sacred Heart_--_Quest
Road_--_Admit Bearer to_--_Midnight Service_--_New Year's Eve
1900_--_Middle Seat 6d._ "This comes from Your Eminency's archdiocese,"
he said.

The cardinal looked at the thing, as one looks at the grass of the
field. There it is. One has seen it all before.

"We disapprove of that," said the Pope.

"What would Your Holiness suggest then to prevent improper persons from
attending these services?"

"Improper persons should be encouraged to attend. No obstacle should be
placed in their way."

The cardinal was irritated. "Then we should have scenes of disorder, to
say nothing of profanation."

"That is where Your Eminency and all the aboriginals err. Your
opinion is formed upon the apprehensive sentimentality of pious
old-ladies-of-both-sexes whose ideal of Right is the Not-obviously
Wrong. When a thing is unpleasant, they go up a turning: wipe their
mouths; and mistake evasion for annihilation. They don't annihilate the
evil: they avoid it. Now, we are here to seek and to save that which
was lost: and our churches must be more free to the lost than to the
saved--if any be saved. Experience proves that your pious fears have no
sure warranty. Wesleyan schismatics have performed Watch-night services
for more than a century. Anglican schismatics have done the same: and,
in later years, they have celebrated their mysteries at midnight on
Christmas Eve. We Ourself have assisted at these functions. The temples
were open and free: and We never saw or heard a sign of the profanation
of which you speak. Sots and harlots undoubtedly were present: but
they were not disorderly: they were cowed, they were sleepy, they were
curious, but they made no noise. Even though they had shouted, it only
would have been in protest against some human ordinance; and a human
ordinance must give way the moment it becomes a barrier between one
soul and that soul's Creator. Supposing means of grace to be obtainable
in a church, who durst deny them to those who chiefly need them? The
position which you clergy take up is an essentially false one. We are
not here to establish conventions, or to enforce conformity. We are
here to serve--only to serve. We especially disapprove of any system
which bars access to the church, or which makes it difficult;--this
admission-fee, for example."

"Holy Father, the clergy must live."

"You lead Us to infer that they cannot live without these sixpences?"

"We are so poor: we have no endowments: the fee is no more than a
pew-rent for a single service----"

"Lord Cardinal, be accurate. You have endowments: not equal to those
of which you are thinking, the 'stolen property' enjoyed by the
Church-of-England-as-by-Law-Established: but you have endowments. You
mean that they are meagre. But pew-rents are abominable: so are pews,
for that matter. Abolish them both."

"I am bound to obey Your Holiness: but I must say that this quixotic
impossible idealism will be the ruin of the Church----"

"That is impossible: because Her Founder promised to be with Her always
even unto the end of the world."

"God helps those who help themselves----"

"But not those who help themselves out of other people's pockets."

"The workman is worthy of his hire----"

"Perfectly. But he accepts the wage: he does not dictate it. The
builder of London's new concert-hall in Denambrose Avenue did not let
his masons domineer. He offered work at a certain wage. They took
it, or left it. You confuse the functions of the buyer with those of
the seller, as the clergy always do. Besides, as you seem fond of
Scripture, 'provide neither gold nor silver nor brass in your purses,'
and 'take no thought for the morrow----'"

"This is simply Tolstoy!"

"No. We never have read a line of Tolstoy. We studiously avoid doing
so. We give you the commands of Christ Himself as reported by St.
Matthew. Lord Cardinal, you are all wrong----"

"Your Holiness speaks as though You were not one of us."

"Oh no! The head looks down at the hands; and says 'Your knuckles and
your nails are dirty.'"

The cardinal really was angry. Hadrian paused: fixed him with a
taming look: and continued "Is it right or even desirable that the
clergy should engage in trade--actually engage in trade? Look at
your _Catholic Directory_; and see the advertisement of a priest
who, with archiepiscopal sanction, is prepared to pay bank interest
on investments, in plain words to borrow money upon usury in direct
contravention of St. Luke's statement of The Lord's words on this
subject. Look at the _Catholic Hour_; and see the advertisement of a
priest who actually trades as a tobacconist. Look in the precincts of
your churches; and see the tables of the Fenian-literature-sellers and
the seats of them that sell tickets for stage-plays and bazaars where
palmistry is practiced----"

"I merely interrupt to remind Your Holiness that Your august
predecessor traded as a fisherman."

"Very neat," the Pope applauded, enjoying the retort: "but not neat
enough. A fisherman's trade is an open-air trade, and a healthy trade,
by the way: but--did Our predecessor St. Peter trade as a fisherman
after He had entered upon the work of the apostolature? We think not.
No, Lord Cardinal, the clergy attempt too much. They might be excellent
priests. As tradesmen, variety-entertainers, entrepreneurs, they are
failures. As a combination, they are catastrophes. These two things
must be kept apart, the clerical and the secular, God and Mammon.
The difference must be emphasized. By attempts at compromise, the
clergy fail in both. As priests, they are mocked: and as for their
penny-farthing peddling----"

"But Holy Father, do think for one minute. What are the clergy to live
on?"

"The free-will offerings of the faithful; and one must keep the other."

"But suppose the faithful do not give free-will offerings?"

"Then starve and go to Heaven, as Ruskin says. That is what We are
going to do, if possible."

"How are we to build our churches?"

"Don't build them, unless you have the means freely given. Avoid
beggary. That way you sicken the faithful--you prevent generosity----"

"How shall we keep up those we have? For example, the cathedral----"

"Yes, the cathedral,--a futile monument of one vain man's desire for
notoriety. How many lives has it ruined? One, at least, We know. How
many evil passions has it inspired?--the passion for advertisement
by means of the farthing journalist, the critical passion which is
destroying our creative faculty, the passions of envy and covetousness,
the passion of competition, the passion of derision,--for you know
that the world is mocking the ugly veneered pretentious monstrosity
now. Better that it never had been. As it is, and in regard to the
churches which exist, you must do what you can. If the faithful freely
give you enough, then let them stand. If not, you must let them go.
England never will lack altars. In any case, encumber yourselves
with no more unpaid-for buildings. Accept what is given: but ask for
nothing and suggest nothing. Lord Cardinal, the clergy do not act as
though they trusted the Divine Disposer of Events. They mean well: but
their whole aim and object seems to be to serve God by conciliating
Mammon. There is nothing more criminally futile. Instead of winning
England's admiration, you secure Her scornful toleration. Instead of
consolidating the faithful, multitudes have become disaffected, and
multitudes leave you day by day. Instead of improving the clerical
character, (and, by consequence, the character of all who look to
the clergy for example,) the clergy ever more and more assimilate
themselves to the laity. The clergy should cultivate the virtues, not
the vices, of humanity. Not one of us can tell which of our actions
is important or unimportant. By a thoughtless word or deed, we may
lead-astray a brother for whom Christ died. That is what is to be
feared from your worldly clergy. Teach them that _magna ars_ which St.
Thomas of Aquino says _est conversari Jesu_. Teach them to rise above
the world."

"Surely, Holy Father, they do."

"Some members of the clergy do, no doubt. We never met them. The tone
of the clergy is distinctly worldly. Here is an illustration from your
own newspaper. The very first thing which _The Slab_ thinks worthy
of note is _How Monsignor Cateran signally vindicated his honour and
suitably punished his traducer, the proprietor of 'The Fatherland.' The
terms of the apology which Sir Frederick Smithers has had to publish in
his own journal are set forth as a warning to evil-doers._ It is on p.
397. You know the particulars?"

"I have read them."

"You cannot approve of the savage triumph of the letter on p. 416, in
which Monsignor Cateran describes his victory: you cannot approve of
the sneer at his enemy who _could not be punished by damages--he has no
means to pay_, or the gibe at the freemasonry of the libeller, or the
vicious malignant spite of the whole disgraceful document----"

"But, Holiness, the libel was a dreadful one and grossly unjust."

"But, Eminency, the accused was bound by his Christianity to suffer
revilings and persecutions and the saying of all manner of evil
falsely. He forgot that. In vindicating himself, he behaved, not as
a minister of God but, as a common human animal. However, besides
the so-called triumphant vindication of Monsignor Cateran, which
_The Slab_ glorifies in three separate columns, this same number
bristles with improprieties. On p. 415, you have Dominican and Jesuit
controversialists calling each other liars, and otherwise politely
hating and abusing one another----"

"Oh, Jesuits and Dominicans!"

The Pope put down the paper, and looked. The cardinal collected himself
for a sally in force.

"Your Holiness will permit me to say that all this is extremely
unusual. I myself was consecrated bishop in 1872, fourteen years before
You were a Christian; and it seems to me that You should give Your
seniors credit for having consciences at least----"

"Dear Lord Cardinal, if We had seen a sign of the said consciences----"

The cardinal tottered: but made one more thrust.

"I am not the only member of the Sacred College who thinks
that Your Holiness's attitude partakes of--shall I say
singularity--and--ha--arrogance."

"Singularity? Oh, We sincerely hope so. But arrogance--We cannot call
it arrogance to assume that We know more of a particular subject, which
We eagerly have studied from Our childhood, than those do who never
have studied it at all. Eminency, We began by saying that We desired to
establish relations with you. Now, have We shewn you something of Our
frame of mind?"

"Certainly, Holy Father: You wish me to----"

"We wish you to act upon the sum of Our words and conduct, in order
that England may have a good and not a bad example from English
Catholics. No more than that. We may call Ourselves Christendom till
We are black in the face: but the true character of a Christendom
is wanting to Us because the great promises of prophecy still lack
fulfilment. The Barque of Peter has been trying to reach harbour.
Muting within, storms without, have driven Her hither and thither. Is
She as far-off from port to-day as ever? Who knows? But the new captain
is trying to set the course again from the old chart. His look is no
longer backward but onward. Lord Cardinal, can the captain count on the
loyal support of his lieutenant?"

"Holy Father, I assure You that You may count on me." It was an immense
effort: but, when it came to so fine a point, the nature and the pride
of the man gave way to the grace of his Divine Vocation.

"Well now, only one more blow from the flail, and then We will take up
the crook. Do stop your Catholics from toadying the German Emperor.
Read that. It's perfectly absurd for them to tell him that _the whole
Catholic world would be delighted if the protection of Catholics in
the Orient were confided to him_. He's an admirable person: but We
are not going to confide the protection of Catholics in the Orient to
him. England is the only power which can manage Orientals. And what
right have these Erse and Gaelic Catholics to speak for 'the whole
Catholic world'? Do neither England nor Italy count? Do make these
pious fat-wits mind their own business--make them understand that
when they tell the Kaiser that _they will exert themselves to remove
all misunderstandings between Germany and England_--England last, you
note--they would be comical if they were not impertinent and entirely
stupid,--and of course disloyal as usual."

Hadrian collected His documents and the book of newspaper-cuts: swept
them all into a portfolio; and abruptly changed the subject.

"Will Your Eminency be good enough to tell Us the circumstances which
led to Our extraordinary election?"

Barely recovered from his commotion of mind, and posed point-blank like
this, Cardinal Courtfield hesitated and said something about the Acts
of the Conclave. His aboriginally tardy temperament was incapable of
keeping pace with the feline agility of the Pontiff. Hadrian perceived
his difficulty, and intently pursued the inquiry from another footing.

"We know all about the Acts of the Conclave, which We shall read at
Our leisure. But We want the more human light which Your Eminency
can throw upon the subject. Perhaps it will be simpler if We use the
Sokratic method. By what means did Our name, did the mere fact of Our
existence become known to the Sacred College?"

"By my means, Holiness."

"We understand that Your Eminency actually proposed us to the Conclave?"

"That is so."

"And We infer that you also recommended Us: or at least described Us in
such a way that the cardinals knew whom they were electing?"

"Yes, Holy Father."

"Why did Your Eminency propose Us?" the Pope purred.

The cardinal seemed to be at a loss again. He appeared to have a
difficulty in expression, not a lack of material for expression.
Hadrian made a dash for the rudiments.

"There were other names before the College? Why were none of their
owners chosen?"

"It was impossible to agree about their merits, Holiness."

"Several attempts, no doubt, were made?"

"The Ways of Scrutiny and Access were tried seven times."

"And then?"

"And then came a deadlock. None of the candidates obtained a
sufficiency of suffrages: and none of the electors were willing to
change their opinion."

"And then?"

"The Way of Compromise was tried."

"And, through Your Eminency's means, the compromissaries were induced
to impose Us on the Sacred College?"

"Yes, Holiness."

"Eminency, at the time when the Conclave first was immured, We hardly
can have been in Your mind. It is improbable that you could have
thought of Us then in this connection. At what point did We come into
your calculations?"

"I ought perhaps to say that Your name had been brought before me some
weeks before the demise of Holiness's predecessor."

"That would be in connection with the matter of which we treated in
London."

"Yes."

"Precisely in what way was Our name brought before Your Eminency?"

"It was brought before me in a letter from Edward Lancaster--a
perfectly frantic letter accusing himself of all sorts of crimes. Your
Holiness perhaps is aware what a queer person he is, rather inclined to
be scrupulous, and most impulsive."

"Yes, We know him. We Ourself would have said 'unscrupulous': Your
Eminency uses the word 'scrupulous' in the Catholic sense, whereas We
prefer frank English."

"I mean that he is given to tormenting himself about fancied sins----"

"And We mean that as a rule, he does nothing of the kind: but, like a
good many others, is singularly successful in lulling his conscience.
At least, for fifteen years he contrived to do so in this case.
However, he now has made amends; and there is nothing more to be said.
Let us continue. You received a self-accusing letter from Edward
Lancaster. And then?"

"Not one letter, Holiness: a dozen at least. The injustice, of which
You had been the victim, was on his nerves. He wrote me several
letters; and came to see me several times. He is, as you know, a
person of some importance and a great benefactor to the Church; and so
I was obliged to take the matter up. I promised to investigate the case
myself."

"Yes. And you did."

"I instituted an inquisitorial process among some of the persons who
had had to do with Your Holiness; and I am bound to say that their
replies gave me grounds for thought."

"Why?"

"They differed materially as to the details of Your history; and yet
their opinion of You seemed to be fairly unanimous."

"It was not a desirable opinion."

"No, Holiness."

"It would not be. We never were able to arrange to be loved. To be
disagreeable was a sort of habit of Ours. But is Your Eminency able,
from memory, to give Us an idea of these differences in regard to
facts? Opinions do not matter."

The cardinal pondered for a minute. "Yes, Holiness, I can give you
three examples from Oxford. Fr. Benedict Bart said that he had met You
twice personally: but that he had heard much of You from his friends,
priests as well as laymen. He stated that all that could be done for
You had been done; and that You were--ha--Your Holiness will pardon
me--a very incapable and ungrateful person."

The Pope gave the little leaden weight of His pallium a swing: and
beamed with delight. The cardinal went on.

"Fr. Perkins who received You into the Church said 'I'm afraid he's a
genius, poor fellow!'"

"What rank blasphemy!"

"Blasphemy, Holiness?"

"Yes: blasphemy. Almighty God happens to make something a little out of
the common; and, instead of praising Him for the privilege of tending
a singular work of His, Fr. Perkins actually bewails the fact! But
continue."

"I confess I never thought of it in that light before----"

"No: nor did Fr. Perkins. Continue."

"I also took the opinion of a certain Dr. Strong who appears to be one
of the superiors of the university."

"He was senior Public Examiner in Honour Greats, if you know what that
means."

"Quite so. Well: he said that You had been his intimate and valued
friend for more than twenty years, that You had had no influential
friends to encourage You, and that Your abilities were no less
distinguished than Your moral character."

The Pope laughed again. "Dr. Strong is an experienced writer of
testimonials."

"But I should hardly think that a man in his position----"

"Certainly not. Dr. Strong is one of the two honest men known to
Us. Well: and how did the discrepancy between his statement and Fr.
Benedict's strike you?"

"It struck me in this way. How did so many worthy priests arrive at
practically the same opinion, (for what Fr. Benedict said, others
said also,) when their knowledge of facts seemed to be so superficial
and so doubtful. I mean, Fr. Benedict and the rest spoke from an
exceedingly casual acquaintance: but Dr. Strong from more than twenty
years' intimacy. However, just when I was pondering these contradictory
statements, Your Holiness's predecessor died; and I was obliged to come
to Rome."

"Did Your Eminency ever note that very few clergymen are
capable--capable--of forming an unprejudiced proper original
opinion--of judging on the evidence before them and on nothing else."

"I have excellent reason to believe that what Your Holiness says is
correct."

"It is so much easier to echo than to discriminate. Now, if you please,
we will go back to the Compromise. What brought Us again to Your
Eminency's remembrance in the Conclave?"

"Holy Father, that was most strange. We compromissaries were quite as
unable to agree as the Sacred College had been. And then, at the end
of one of our sessions, I was struck by the extraordinary likeness of
Cardinal della Volta to someone whom I remembered having seen, but
whose name I had forgotten. It was the merest accident: but I came away
wracking my brains about it. Another curious thing happened the same
night. Having some papers to sign, I happened to go to my dispatch-box;
and, quite by accident, I came across Edward Lancaster's letters about
Your Holiness----"

"We do not call these things 'accidents.'"

"Nor do I, Holy Father, now. Well: for want of something better to do,
I suppose, I looked over half-a-dozen of the letters: and I determined
to go further into the matter on my return to England. But, early the
very next morning, it suddenly flashed across my mind that I myself had
seen Your Holiness----"

"In 1894."

"Ah yes, in 1894; and that Cardinal della Volta was Your Holiness's
Double. This sent me back to the letters again; and I became more and
more convinced that an immense and almost irreparable wrong had been
done. I cannot tell You how strongly I felt that, Holy Father."

"But what made you--well, practically impose Us on the compromissaries?"

"That I cannot say: although in my own mind there is very little doubt
but that----However, these are the facts. I was so full of the case,
that I narrated it at our morning conference as an instance of the
fallibility of what--I think it was Your Holiness Who gave it the
name--yes, it was,--as an instance of the fallibility of the Machine. I
shall never forget the effect of my words upon Cardinal Mundo. It was
most extraordinary. He said--I shall remember what he said as long as
I live--he said 'My Lord Cardinal, you owe it to that man to propose
him for the paparchy; yes you owe it!' He rather upset me. I replied
that Your Holiness was not even in sacred orders. He answered 'Whose
fault is that?' I may say that the point was a very keen one. No one
could fail to perceive its relevancy. To use a vulgar expression, it
touched the thing with a needle. The others did not help me at all; and
I considered the matter for a few minutes. Mundo went on, 'If that man
had a real Vocation, he will have persevered: if he has persevered, the
twenty years or more of waiting will have purified----'"

"Pray do not quote Cardinal Mundo."

"Well, in short, I was irresistibly moved to propose Your Holiness----"

"And then, because no other candidate was forthcoming: because--We
understand. You came to Us, found Us persistent----"

"Yes, Holiness."

"Well: shall we take a little stroll in the garden, and say some
Office?"

Cardinal Courtleigh jumped. "I'm sure--if Your Holiness doesn't mind
walking by the side of my bath-chair----"

"Oh, but We do. It is Our invariable custom to walk behind bath-chairs
and push them."

"Indeed I could not for one moment permit----"

"No: but for an hour you will submit. Nonsense man, do you suppose that
one never has pushed a bath-chair before! Now sit-down quietly and open
your breviary and read the Office; and We will look over your shoulder
and make the responses. It's awfully good exercise, you know."




CHAPTER VII


After his morning's exertions in the way of taming and domesticating
a prince of the church, Hadrian was conscious that He required a
change of emotions. His thoughts went to the next thing on His
list--the matter of Cardinal Nefski. That would be an exceedingly
interesting experience. He did not want to intrude upon grief: but
He was attracted by all singular phenomena; and the pathos of the
pale young prelate seemed to be quite exemplary. Once in His secular
life, George Arthur Rose had been taken by a doctor to see a man who
had severed his throat in an unusual manner, using a broken pen-knife
and cutting a jagged triangle, of which the apex missed the larynx,
and the base the sterno-kleido-mastoid, avoiding by a hair's breadth
carotid and jugular. The doctor wanted a diagram of the wound made for
the enlightenment of the jury which was to pronounce upon attempted
suicide; and George had made the sketch from the staring speechless
life, noted the furniture of the room and the aspect of his model,
quite untouched by the man's sensations or the horror of the event.
Hadrian approached Cardinal Nefski with similar feelings. He was
curious, He was psychically apart: but, at the same time, something of
subconscious sympathy in His manner elicited the desired revelation.
It was a ghastly one. Nefski, Cardinal Archbishop, had rushed to a
little city in Russian Poland, occupied by anarchists, for the purpose
of pleading with them. He arrived at sunset. There was a college there
where a hundred and twenty lads of noble birth were being educated:
among them, his own youngest brother, just seventeen years old. The
cardinal was seized and crucified with ropes to the fountain in the
market-square. Anarchists burst into the college: stripped its inmates
naked; and flung them into the street before his eyes. He absolved
each one dashed from the lofty windows. Some instantly were smashed
and killed: others, who fell on others, were broken and shattered, but
not killed outright. All night long, Nefski remained crucified. The
anarchists must have forgotten him: for they left him; and at dawn
some one, whom he did not know, came and cut him down. He remembered
nothing more, until he found himself paralyzed, in a waggon with two
priests, en route for Prague. Then he came on to Rome, hoping to lose
the phantasm which continually occupied his sight and hearing--the
heap in the dark night, the growing groaning heap on red stones of
white young bodies and writhing limbs like maggots in cheese, the pale
forms strained and curved, the flying hair, the fixed eyes, continually
falling, the cut-off shrieks, the thudding bounding ooze of that
falling, the interminable white writhing. It was a ghastly tale, quite
unimpassionately told. The young man still was in that stupor which
benignant Nature sends by the side of extreme pain. His paralysis was
passing away. He could walk easily now--only he saw and heard. He spoke
affectionately of his murdered brother: but he did not mourn for him.

Hadrian was moved. He put all the human kindness which he had, and it
was not much, into His voice and manner. He really tried to comfort the
cardinal. He quoted the splendid verses of the herald in the _Seven
against Thebes_,

 "being pure in respect to the sacred rites of his country,
 blameless hath he fallen, where 'tis glorious for the young to fall."

Nefski seemed grateful. The Pontiff offered to remove him from Prague;
and to attach him to the Court of Rome: but he preferred to return
to his archbishopric for the present, at least, he said, until this
tyranny be overpast. And, anon, he asked permission to retire. The
sunlight dazzled him.

During the rest of the time at Castel Gandolfo, the Pope seldom was
seen. A boatman rowed Him out on Lake Albano for an hour or two in
the afternoon, while He occupied Himself in pencilling corrections on
manuscript. But the white figure, set in the blaze of the sunny blue
water, did not escape the notice of passers-by on the high road near
the Riformati; and, finding Himself under observation, He returned to
the seclusion of the garden. His memory flew back to the time when
people used to jeer at Him for His habit of writing letters, letters
which explained a great deal too much, to blind men who could not see,
to deaf adders who would not hear. He chuckled at the thought that
those same people would read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest, every
word and every dotted _i_ of His letters now--letters which were not
going to be painfully voluminously conscientiously persuasive any more:
but dictatorial. He wrote sheet after sheet; and emended them: He
returned to His room and burned all the rejected preliminaries; and He
took a fair copy with Him to Rome on the night of the twenty-eighth of
April.

Early on the morning of the thirtieth, at a secret audience in the new
throne-room, Caerleon introduced five rather startled very dishevelled
and travel-stained priests, five priests who had undergone a mental
shock. Mr. Semphill, with a white close-cropped head and the face of
a clean pink school-boy, contrived to remind himself that he was in
the presence of the most amusing man he ever had met. He bucked-up;
and made his obeisance with an aplomb which was a combination of
the Service, Teddy Hall, an Anglican curacy and a Pictish rectory.
Mr. Sterling, a stalwart brown schoolmaster, very handsome except
for a mole on his nose, hid his feelings in calm inscrutability.
Mr. Whitehead, a level-headed common-sense Saxon, golden-hearted,
who never had had any wild oats for sowing, observed reticence in
a matter which was beyond his comprehension. Mr. Leighton, plump,
clean, curly-haired, blinked genially and waited. Mr. Carvale, a lithe
intense little Gael, with the black hair and rose-white skin and the
delicate lips and self-contained mien of a dreamer, looked upon his
old college-acquaintance with clear eyes of burning blue. Some of the
five had the remembrance of sins of omission at the back of their
minds. None remembered sins of commission. All were wondering what was
required of them,--what the devil it all meant, as Semphill secularly
put it. If any of them expected allusion to the past, they must have
been disappointed. Hadrian gave them no sign of recognition. It was the
Supreme Pontiff Who very apostolically received them and addressed them.

"Reverend Sirs, Our will is to have such assistance in the work of Our
Apostolature as the organs of sense can render to the mind, or as the
experimentalist can render to the theorist. For reasons known unto
Ourself, We have selected you. Believing you to be single-hearted in
this one thing, namely the service of God, We call upon you to devote
yourselves actually to the service of His Vicegerent. To this end, We
would attach you to Our Person in a singular and intimate connection,
by raising you to the cardinal-diaconate. Those of you who believe
yourselves unable to do God-service better in this than in your present
capacity, can depart without forfeiting Our good-will. The conscience
of each man is his own sole true light. Far be it from Us to interfere
with any man's prerogative as his own director in so grave a matter."

The five remained standing, saying nothing. Semphill was
sincerely delighted: the literary quality, the tops-i'-th'-turfy
straightforwardness of the allocution gave him the keenest joy. The
others felt obedience to be their plain duty: for George Arthur Rose
never had been wantonly fantastic, there always had been a fundamental
element of reason about his eccentricities, he never had revolved at
random but always round some deliberately fixed point. And, to plain
priests, the voice of the Successor of St. Peter was a call, to be
answered, and obeyed.

The Pope addressed Semphill. "Your Reverency quite legitimately hoped
to end your days at St. Gowff's?"

"True--(hum!)--Holiness: but I may be translated elsewhere by a
telegraph's notice from my diocesan."

"You are not yet a missionary-rector?"

"Merely a poor master-of-arts of Oxford."

"But you have been at St. Gowff's as long as We can remember."

Mr. Semphill choked a chuckle. "Having a little patrimony, Holiness, I
made my will in favour of the archdiocese of St. Gowff's and Agneda;
and I did not omit to mention the fact to my archbishop. I happened
also to say that, in the event of my being moved from St. Gowff's,
I should be compelled to make another will: but of course I did not
contemplate being moved as far as Rome."

Hadrian turned to Mr. Sterling. "The last words, which We said to Your
Reverency, were that you had cause to be ashamed of yourself."

"One had cause, Holy Father."

"To you, Our invitation is a means of repairing a single small defect
in a praiseworthy career."

"It shall be repaired, Holy Father."

To the others the Pope said nothing: for He saw their clean souls.

In the Sacred Consistory, the Supreme Pontiff dictated to consistorial
advocates a pontifical act, denouncing the Lord Francis Talacryn,
Bishop of Caerleon, as Cardinal-presbyter of the Title of the Four
Holy Crowned Ones:--the Lord George Semphill as Cardinal-deacon of
St. Mary-in-Broad Street:--the Lord James Sterling as Cardinal-deacon
of St. Nicholas-in-the-Jail-of-Tully:--the Lord George Leighton as
Cardinal-deacon of The Holy Angel-in-the-Fish-Market:--the Lord Gerald
Whitehead as Cardinal-deacon of St. George-of-the-Golden-Sail:--the
Lord Robert Carvale as Cardinal-deacon of St. Cosmas and St. Damian.
Then the six were brought in, and sworn of the College: their heads
were hatted, their fingers ringed with sapphires, their mouths were
closed and opened by the Pope; and they retired in ermine and vermilion.

What their emotions were, need not be inquired. Indeed, they had little
time for emotion, seeing that during the rest of the day they sat in
the secret chamber, writing writing writing from Hadrian's dictation.
In the evening, Whitehead and Carvale put on their old cassocks and
posted a carriage-full of letters at San Silvestro. These all were
sealed with the Fisherman's Ring; and, as they were addressed to kings,
emperors, prime-ministers, editors of newspapers, and heads of various
religious denominations, it was considered undesirable to trouble
Prince Minimo, the pontifical post-master, with material for gossip.
Meanwhile Hadrian and Cardinal Semphill sat in the Vatican marconigraph
office alone with the operators; and the Pope dictated, while the
experts' fingers expressed His words in dots and dashes in London and
New York. By consequence, what His Holiness called 'the five decent
newspapers' came out on the first of May with an apostolic epistle, a
pontifical bull, and editorial leaders thereupon.

The world found the _Epistle to All Christians_ very piquant, not on
account of novelty, but because of the nude vivid candour with which
old and trite truths were enunciated dogmatically. Christianity, the
Pope proclaimed, was a great deal more than a mere ritual service.
It extended to every part of human life; and its rules must regulate
Christians in all matters of principle and practice. He laid great
stress on the assertion of the principle of the Personal Responsibility
of the Individual. It was quite unavoidable, quite incapable of being
shifted on to societies or servants. Each soul would have to render
its own account to its Creator. In connection with the last doctrine,
He denounced as damnable nonsense the fashionable heresy which is
crystallized in the Quatrains of Edward Fitzgerald,

 _"O Thou, Who didst with pitfall and with gin
 "Beset the road I was to wander in,
     "Thou wilt not, with predestined evil, round
 "Enmesh; and then impute my fall to sin.
 "O Thou, Who man of baser earth didst make;
 "And, e'en with paradise, devise the snake;--
     "For all the sin, wherewith the face of man
 "Is blackened, man's forgiveness give,--and take!"_

He described those lines as the whine of a whimpering coward:
pertinently inquiring whether a human father would be blameable, who,
having taught his boy to swim, should fling him into the sea that he
might have the merit of fighting his own way to shore where the rope
was ready at hand? He condemned all attempts at uniformity as unnatural
crimes, because they insulted the Divine intelligence Which had deigned
to differentiate His creatures. He declared that God's servants were to
be known by their broad minds, generous hearts, and staunch wills.

"The Church of God is not narrow, nor 'Liberal,' but Catholic with room
for all: for 'there are diversities of gifts.'"

It was the individual soul which must be saved; and it was that which
was addressed in the Evangel. He considered the immense strength of the
single verse,

"Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind." Hence He would
have no barrier erected between Christians of the Roman Obedience and
Christians of other denominations. The following passage, containing
His Own idea of His relation to other men, attracted much attention:--

"It is in no man's power to believe what he list. No man is to be
blamed for reasoning in support of his own religion: for he only is
accountable. 'Other sheep I have, which are not of this fold'; and
these deserve more care and love, but not cheap pity, nor insulting
patronage, nor irritated persecution: for if, as has been said, a man
shall follow Christ's Law, and shall believe His Words according to his
conscientious sense of their meaning, he will be a member of Christ's
Flock although he be not within the Fold. And, though We know that
he understands Christ's Words amiss, yet that is no reason for Our
claiming any kind of superiority over an honest man, the purpose of
whose heart and mind is to obey and to be guided by Christ. Such an one
is a Christian and Our good brother, a servant of God; and, if he will
have Us, We, by virtue of Our Apostolature, are his servant also."

The conclusion of the _Epistle_ contained a very striking admonition
addressed to members of His Own communion, to the effect that the
being Christian did not confer any title to physical or external
dominion, but rather the contrary. Perhaps the peroration is worthy of
quotation:--

"Persuade, if ye can persuade, and if the world will permit you to
persuade: but seek not to persuade. Better to live so that men will
convince themselves through the contemplation of your ensample. That
way only satisfaction lies. Accept, but claim not, obedience. Seek
not suffering, nor avoid it: but, when it is deigned to you, most
stringently conceal it and tolerate it with jubilation, remembering
the words of Plato where it is written 'Help cometh through pain and
suffering, nor can we be freed from our iniquity by any other means!'
Scorn not the trite. Scorn no brother-man. Scorn no thing. Yet, if ye
(being men) must scorn, then scorn the enemies of God and the King,
which be the Devil and Dishonour and Death."

An even greater sensation, than that caused by the _Epistle to All
Christians_, attended the simultaneous publication of the Bull _Regnum
Meum_. It personally was addressed to the very last person in all the
world by whom, under ordinary circumstances, a communication from the
Vatican might have been expected. Hadrian VII., Bishop, Servant of
the servants of God, sent Greeting and Apostolic Benediction to His
Well-beloved Son--the Majesty of Victor Emanuel III., King of Italy.
"My Kingdom is not of this world" was the text of the Bull, which
the Pope began with an unwavering defence of the Divine Revelation,
the Church, Peter, and the Power of the Keys. So far, He spoke as
a theologian. Then, with lightning swiftness, He assumed the rôle
of the historian. His theme was the Forged Decretals or Donation
of Constantine, which first were promulgated in a breve which His
Holiness's predecessor, Hadrian I., addressed to His Majesty's
predecessor (in a certain sense), the Emperor Charlemagne. He recited
the well-known facts that these Decretals, though undoubtedly forged,
had been forged merely as the intellectual pastime of an exiled
archbishop's idle hours, and with no nefarious intent whatever.
He shewed how that, during four centuries, no doubt as to their
authenticity had been entertained; and how that three more centuries
had elapsed before evidence had been collected sufficing to justify
their being thrown overboard from the Barque of Peter to lighten the
ship. Then, He continued, the Pope was the sovereign of a patrimony
of which He held no title-deeds. A right more inexpugnable than
prescriptive right was deemed desirable; and Alexander VI. and Julius
II. bound the Patrimony to Peter by military conquest. So it remained
until the unification of Italy under the House of Savoy, when those
territories, formerly known as the States of the Church, were absorbed
by the new kingdom. Thus far Hadrian pursued the argument; and then
turned to a disquisition on the worldly rights of Christians, the
purport of which perhaps most luminously is expressed in the following
sentences:--

"We use worldly things till they are wanted by the world: then we will
relinquish them without even so much as a backward thought. For we all
are clearly marked to get that which we give. Nothing is irrevocable on
this orb of earth. Nothing is final: for, after this world is the world
to come. Therefore, let us move, let us gladly move, move with the
times, really move. God always is merciful."

Hence, as Supreme Pontiff, Hadrian would practise the principle of
renunciation. He would renounce everything which another would take,
because "My Kingdom is not of this world." And, first of all, in order
to remove a bone of contention, He made a formal and unconditional
renunciation of the claim to temporal sovereignty and of the civil-list
provided by the Law of Guarantees. At the same time, He would not be
understood as casting any slight upon His predecessors Who had followed
other counsels:--

"They were responsible to God: They knew it: He and They were the
judges of Their acts. We, on Our part, in Our turn, act as We deem
best. We know Our responsibility and shrink not. We are God's
Vicegerent; and this is Our will. Given at Rome, at St. Peter's by the
Vatican, on this ninth day of Our Supreme Pontificate."

The formal publication of the _Epistle_ and the _Bull_ occurred in the
second consistory which met at the abnormal hour of 6 a.m. on May-day.
Hadrian read the two documents in that distinct minor monotone of
His which was so intensely and yet so impersonally magisterial. By
itself the tone was aggravating. The matter also was exasperating; and
the pontifical manner added exacerbation. He seemed to be expecting
opposition. That came from Ragna. If the Pope no longer was a
sovereign, where did the Secretary of State come in? Was he dismissed?
Oh dear no, he certainly was not dismissed: only, instead of playing at
statesmanship in regard to states over which he had no control at all,
and which were really rather commodiously managed by the secular power,
he was requested to turn his attention to the increase of business
which inevitably now would come into his department.

"The world is sick for the Church," said Hadrian; "but She never would
confess it as long as the Church posed as Her rival."

Nevertheless the thing was a blow, a blow that was heavy and strong.
Half the College put on an indifferent non-committal air: the other
half roared anathemas and execrations. And Ragna howled,

"Judas, Judas, this shall not be!"

In a lull, Hadrian coldly mewed "It is; and it shall be."

He flung down the steps of the throne a bundle of advance-copies of the
Roman morning journals. Vermilion faces stooped to them. There were
the _Epistle_ and the _Bull_ in the vernacular. Serafino-Vagellaio
pounced-upon an announcement in _Il Popolo Romano_ to the effect that
enabled to present to our readers these authentic and momentous acts
simultaneously with the _Times_, the _Morning Post_, the _Globe_, the
_St. James's Gazette_, and the _New York Times_, the splendid journals
of the magnanimous English, to which race (the sempiternal friend of
Italy) we owe so grand and so enlightened a pontiff.

Undoubtedly the thing was done: for the world knew it; and, knowing it,
would not let it be undone. There was no cardinal, however infuriated,
who was not sufficiently serpentine to recognise the columbine as
the attitude most appropriate to the circumstances. The first mad
idea which had seized the rebellious ones, the idea of suppressing
the pontifical decrees by physical force, was laid aside. There no
doubt were other means of nullifying them later. And Their Eminencies
dispersed to say their masses with an air which made the Pope feel like
a very naughty tiresome little boy indeed, said Hadrian to Cardinal
Leighton.

The question of Edward Lancaster worried Hadrian considerably: for
the simple reason that, while He did not want to tire Himself by a
renewal of relations with this individual, decency demanded something.
He discussed the position with Courtfield and Talacryn, neither of
whom were able to appreciate His difficulty. Thrown back upon His Own
resources, He made a cigarette very carefully, a long fat one with the
tobacco tucked into the paper cylinder with a pencil, and with neatly
twisted ends, resembling a small white sausage; and smoked it through.
Then He wrote a letter, telling Lancaster that his offering had been
accepted and applied, assuring him of the pontifical good-will and of
a pleasant reception in case he should feel bound to present himself
in Rome, and conferring Apostolic Benediction and a plenary indulgence
at the hour of death. This, He enclosed in a gold snuff-box with a
device of diamonds on the lid, which the recipient might put upon his
mantel-piece with other curious monstrosities.

Orezzo and Ragna appeared to have exchanged ethics: for, whereas the
latter had been a pontifical right hand while Orezzo had shut-up
himself in the Chancery, now it was Orezzo who watched the Pope
while Ragna kept aloof in vermilion sulks. It was not that his
occupation was gone: but he wished to emphasize (by withdrawing it)
his indispensability. As for the others, they wonderfully retired
into their shells. Hadrian kept his new creatures in fairly close
attendance; and the nine Compromissaries always were ready to make
themselves agreeable when they were in Rome. The Pope wished and tried
to be on friendly terms with them; and failed, as He always failed. He
could not shew Himself friendly.

Crowds of English visitors appeared; and would have been distracting.
They dotted themselves about the Ducal Hall and Hadrian walked among
them. At one of these receptions, the pontifical glance lighted, on
entering, on a dark gaunt Titan seamed with concealed pain, who was
accompanied by a quiet fastidious English lady (wife and mother), and
three children, two glorious girls and a proud shy English boy. They
were a typical group, typical of all that is best,--trial, culture,
moderate success, and English quality. Hadrian at once shook hands with
them.

"Please wait till the others are gone," He said; and passed on to
a cocky little gentleman with a pink eye, and a plump bare-faced
party who tried to stand easily in the cross-legged pose of the male
photograph of 1864. These sank to their knees, but stood up again at a
word.

"Well, Holy Father, who would have thought," etcetera, from the first;
and "Oh, I'm sure I shall never dare to call Your Holiness 'Boffin'
again" from the second.

"Yes you do," replied Hadrian; and gave them a blessing, to which the
plump one nervously responded,

"Quite so, I'm sure, as it were!"

Another couple kneeled, a weird brief-bodied man in a pince-nez and a
small suppressed woman with beautiful short-sighted eyes. They were
raised; and the man would chatter like a hail-storm, wittily and with
Gallic gesticulation, and quite insincerely. They were blessed; and the
Pontiff went-on (with some elevation of gait) to the others.

When the audience was over a slim gentleman in scarlet, with the
delicate pensive beauty of a St. John the Divine by Gian Bellini,
conducted the English family to the apostolic antechamber. Here Hadrian
offered them some fruit and wine; and shewed them the view from the
windows.

"Now perhaps Mrs. Strong would like to see the garden," He presently
said.

It was a very happy thought. His Holiness carried His little yellow
cat, and they all went down together; and strolled about the woods
and the box-alleys and the vineyards. They picked the flowers; and
the children picked the fruit. They admired the peacocks: and rested
on white marble hemicycles in the sun-flecked shade of cypresses; and
they talked of this, that, and the other, as well as these and those. A
chamberlain came through the trees, and delivered a small veiled salver
to the gentleman who followed the pontifical party at fifty paces. At
the moment of departure he came near. The salver contained five little
crosses of gold and chrysoberyls set in diamonds. Three were elaborate
and two severely plain. Hadrian presented them to His guests.

"You will accept a memorial of this happy day; and of course" (with
that rare dear smile of His) "you will not expect the Pope to give you
anything but popery. Good-bye, dear friends, good-bye."

"How He has improved!" said the dark girl, as they went out.

"O mother, and did you see the buckles on His shoes!" said the fair one.

"I call Him a topper," said the boy.

"He isn't a bit changed," said the wife to the silent husband.

"I think that He has found His proper niche at last," the great man
answered.

Percy Van Kristen arrived; and was brought into the secret chamber.
Though only a little over thirty, he looked as old as Hadrian. The
glowing freshness of his olive-skin had faded: but his superb eyes were
as brightly expectant and his small round head as cleanly black as
ever. He looked tired, but wholesome; and he was immaculately groomed.
The Pope said a few words of greeting and of remembrance; and asked
him to speak of himself. Van Kristen was shy: but not unwilling.
Leading questions elicited that he was one of that pitiable class of
men for whom the gods have provided everything but a career. Majority
had brought him three-quarters of a million sterling. There was no
necessity for him to go into commerce. Politics were impossible for
respectable persons. He was too old for the services. The fact was,
he had not the natural energy which would have hewn out a career--a
career in the worldly sense--for himself; and by consequence, the
world had shoved him aside on to the shelf of objects whose functions
are purely decorative. His mode of life was that of a man of fashion,
simple, exquisite. Perhaps he read a great deal; and, of course, his
home took up most of his time--but that was a secret. Hadrian deftly
extracted from him that he had founded and was maintaining a home for
a hundred boys of his city, where he provided a complete training in
electrical engineering and a fair start in life. His splendid eyes
glittered as he spoke of this. It seemed that he had kept his own
world in entire ignorance of his ardent effort to be useful; and one
naturally enjoys talking of one's own affairs when the proper listener
at last is encountered. No: he never had felt inclined to marry and
rear a family of his own. He did not think that that sort of thing was
much in his line. Yes: after leaving Oxford, he had had some thoughts
of the priesthood. But Archbishop Corrie had laughed him out of that.
He was not clever enough for the priesthood. That was the real truth,
in his private opinion. Oh yes, he would like it very well,--as much
as anything: but really he hardly felt himself equal to it. He didn't
want to seem to push himself forward in any way. Yes: the Dynam House
could get on quite well without him. They were fortunate in having a
capable manager whom every one liked; and his own share didn't amount
to much more than playing fives with the boys, and paying the bills,
and finding out and getting all the latest dodges. If he could run over
and look round the place, say twice a year, say two months in the
year, he was quite willing to take up his abode with Hadrian, if His
Holiness really wanted him. As a cardinal-deacon? Oh, that would be a
daisy! But--sorry: he never did understand chaff. Hadrian was serious.
Van Kristen's grand virginal eyes attentively considered the Pontiff.
Then, with that strangely courtly gracious manner which was his natural
gift, (and due to the perfect proportion of his skeleton), contrasting
so weirdly with the normal nasality of his speech, he said,

"Wal: I expect I won't be much good to You: but You're the master; and,
if You really want me, I guess I'll have a try."

And he went straight into retreat at the Passionists' on the Celian
Hill.




CHAPTER VII


"The key to all your difficulties, present and to come, is Love."
Hadrian was at His old self-analytical games again; and the aphorism,
which He had gleaned in the most memorable confession of His lifetime,
suddenly came back to Him. He went over a lot of things once more. He
was convinced that, so far, He did not even know what Love was. People
seemed to like Him. Up to a point there were certain people whom He
liked. But, Love---- He admitted to Himself that men mostly were quite
unknown to Him. Perhaps that was His fault. Perhaps He could not get
near enough to them to love them simply because He did not admit them
to sufficient intimacy--did not study them closely enough. That was a
fault which could be mended. He summoned His fifteen cardinals to spend
an hour with Him in the Vineyard of Leo. The day was a glorious Roman
day of opening summer. The Pope desired to use Their Eminencies for
the discussion of affairs, to sharpen His wits against theirs, to pick
their brains in order to assist in the formation of His Own opinions.

Gentilotto gently remarked that, if His Holiness would state a case,
they would do their best to help Him. He designated the renunciation of
the temporal power; and struck them dumb. Of course, in most of their
own minds, they disapproved of it. It had shocked them. One and all of
them had been brought up in the fatuous notion that the success of the
Church was to be gauged by the extent of Her temporalities. An idea of
that species, especially when it is inherited, is not dug-up by the
roots and tossed-out in a moment, even by a Pontifical Bull. Hadrian
understood that His supporters (as well as His opponents) disliked that
audacity of His.

"Holiness, we don't presume to condemn it: but we don't praise it. Yet
You must have had reasons?" Fiamma at length said.

The Pope had not His reasons ready on the surface: they were
fundamental. And the temper of Him used to lead Him to disguise the
sacrosanct with a veil of frivolity: that is to say, when His arcana
seemed likely to be violated, He was wont to divert attention by some
gay paradox or witticism. A little roguish glimmer lit His thin lips;
and a suspicion of a merry little twinkle came in the corners of His
half-shut eyes.

"Once upon a time We used to know a certain writer of amatory novels.
The sentimental balderdash, which he put into the mouths of his
marionettes (he only had one set of them), influenced Us greatly. He
had a living to get. He thought He could get it by recommending the
Temporal Power. He was a very clever worldly Catholic indeed: but the
arguments, which he produced in so vital a matter as the earning of
his living, were so sterile and so curatical, that We summed up the
Temporal Power as negligible. Then there was the disgracefully spiteful
tone of the Catholic newspapers--gloating over the misfortunes of
hard-working well-meaning people, prophesying revolution and national
bankruptcy for this dear Italy, and so on. Well: Our sympathy naturally
went, not to the malignant but, to the maligned. Oh yes, We had
reasons."

"That is enough. One's hands obey one's head," said Sterling.

"For my part, I think that if the temporal Power is worth having it
is worth fighting-for. Lord Ralph Kerrison, who's a British general,
once told me that, if the Pope cares to call-upon Catholics throughout
the world and order military operations, he is quite ready to throw-up
his commission to-morrow and enlist in the pontifical army," Semphill
asserted.

"No?" Mundo with big eyes inquired.

"Fact: I assure you," Semphill asservated.

"But is it worth fighting-for?"

"Of course, Holy Father, the possession would confer a certain status,"
put in Saviolli.

The Pope smiled. "'Certain'--and 'status'? Oh really!"

Talacryn was annoyed. He considered the query too sarcastic.

"His Holiness perhaps leans upon the theory that the Church never was
more powerful than She is now," della Volta ventured.

"I calculate that's fact, not theory!" exclaimed Grace.

"Well then?"

"I see. In these thirty-odd years without the Temporal Power, the
Church has increased in power. It might be argued on that that Temporal
Power is not essential."

"Prosecute that argument, and----"

"Has anyone a theory as to what precisely is the chief obstacle in Our
way here in Italy?" the Pope interpolated.

"The secret societies."

"Atheism."

"Poverty."

"Socialism."

"Corrupt politicians."

"What do we new comers know of Italy?" asked Whitehead of Leighton, who
had made the last remark.

"The newspapers say----"

"The newspapers!" Carvale ejaculated. "Don't we know how the newspapers
are written? Has no one of us ever contributed a paragraph? Well
then----"

"Please view the question from this stand-point. On the one side, you
have the Paparchy and the Kingdom, Church and State, Soul and Body. On
the other, you have the enemies of those. What is necessary?"

"The destruction of the enemies."

"Or the conversion of them into friends. But how?"

"How shall two walk together unless they be agreed?" the Pope inquired.

"The Paparchy and the Kingdom are not agreed," said Courtleigh.

"Your Holiness means that they should be agreed: that they should unite
forces?" Ferraio asked.

"It is Our will and Our hope to be reconciled with the King of Italy."

"But is His Majesty willing?"

"We know not: but We have shewn that We will not block the way."

"Certainly the Pope and the King together would have almost unbounded
influence for good," Ferraio reflected.

"Then Your Holiness does not think the Temporal Power to be worth
fighting-for?" Sterling concluded.

Hadrian's eyes no longer were half-shut. "No," He answered. "Try,
Venerable Fathers, to believe that the time has come for stripping.
We have added and added; and yet we have not converted the world. Ask
yourselves whether we really are as successful as we ought to be:
or whether, on the whole, we really are not abject and lamentable
failures. If we are the latter, then let us try the other road, the
road of simplicity, of apostolic simplicity. At least let us try. It's
an idea; and for Our Own part We are glad to have a chance of realizing
it, the idea of simplicity, going to the root of the matter."

"Your Holiness is not afraid of going too far?" inquired Talacryn.

"William Blake says that truth lies in extremes. To the humdrum
champion of the so-called golden mean, (which generally is a great deal
more mean than golden), that maxim is nothing less than scandalous. All
the same, it is as sound as a bell, Eminency, and nowhere does it ring
more soundly than in the principle of the union of Church with State."

As they were going in to dinner, Mundo whispered to Fiamma "Have we a
saint or a madman for a Pope?"

"Two-thirds of the one and one-third of the other," replied the radiant
Archbishop of Bologna.

After one of the receptions of English pilgrims, Hadrian privately
received an unusual visitor in the last antechamber. She was brought
in by a gentleman, who remained outside one of the doors during the
interview, while his fellow guarded the outside of the other. It was
as secret an audience as ever has been deigned to a sovereign; and it
was accorded to a woman of the lower-middle class, about sixty years
old, who looked like an excessively worthy cook. She flopped on her
knees when the Pontiff came to her: mentioned her joints when assisted
to rise; and made bones about using the chair which He placed for her.
Hadrian's manner was absolutely divested of pontificality. No one
would have taken him for anything but a plain Englishman, perhaps of
a slightly superior type, and perhaps rather oddly attired. He spoke
kindly and easily; and gradually brought His guest from a glaring
twitching state of terror and obsequious joy to her honest ordinary
self.

"Ee-e-h," she burbled, "but I can never tell Your 'oly Majesty what
I felt when I knew that You was going to let me come and see You. Oh
thank You and God bless You, Sir. And I always knew You'ld come to
it. And, O 'oly Father, ain't You very 'appy to think of all the good
You're doing? Just fancy that ever I should say that to Your 'igh
'oliness and me sitting on one of your own chairs. God bless You Mr.
Rose, Sir, as if You was my own boy. Well now, I knew in a minute who
it was that sent it me. Why 'oly Father? Why because Your 'oly 'ighness
named that very amount years ago as what You'ld give me if You was
paid properly. Yes 'oly Father: I've done what You wished me. I got
it cheaper than we thought because it's been empty so long. Thirteen
'undred pound cash on the nail for the 'ouse: a 'undred for doing it
up: four 'undred and two for furniture and things: and please 'oly
Father I've brought the change."

She lugged out a great bank-bag containing one hundred and ninety-eight
English sovereigns.

"Oh but, you dear good soul, you shouldn't have done that. It was all
yours."

"All mine, 'oly Father? But I tell You I got it cheaper than we
thought."

"Well then you see you're a hundred and ninety-eight pounds to the
good. You have the house and the furniture; and, if you can get the
lodgers, you're safe for life."

"If I can get lodgers, 'oly Father? Why I'm filled up, and turning them
away."

"Good! Well, put that in the bank for the winter."

"But then I shall have oceans of money I've made in the summer, 'oly
Father."

"Look here, Mrs. Dixon. Do you remember cooking two dinners one
Christmas Day? One, we ate. The other, you carried under your apron to
some carpenter who was out of work. Don't you remember who caught you
pretending that you weren't spilling the gravy on your frock?"

"Oh, Mr. Rose, Sir, how You do recollect things!"

"Well now, you stinted yourself then, didn't you?"

"Well perhaps a little."

"Now don't stint yourself any more; and give away as many dinners as
you like. See?"

The tears were streaming from her glaring eyes and running down her
kitchen-scorched cheeks. She certainly was looking frowsy.

"See? I should think I did. Mr. Rose Sir, if I say it to Your face,
saint was what I always said of You. Dear! Dear! To think of me
giving way like this. Well, well, You're too good for this world,
Your Majesty. Oh and I've taken the liberty of bringing you a jar of
pickled samphire like what You used to fancy. I've picked it and did it
up myself with my own 'ands;--and I thought perhaps You wouldn't mind
'aving this antimacassar which I've worked for You, 'oly Father. I knew
all Your 'oly chairs'ld be red, because I've seen pictures of them; and
I thought that the grey and the orange would brighten up a dark corner
for You."

Hadrian thanked her kindly; and took her little offerings as though He
prized them more than His tiara; and made her infinitely happy.

"Well now I won't detain Your Majesty, because I know there must be no
end of grand people waiting about to see You, and me occupying Your
time like this, 'oly Father. So I'll just ask You to pray for me and
give me a blessing; and thank You Sir for all You've done for me, and
I'll say a prayer for You every day as long as I'm spared."

She got on her knees: and the Pontiff blessed her. Then He said,

"When do you go back, Mrs. Dixon?"

"Well, Your 'oly Majesty, I was thinking of looking about a bit while
I'm 'ere, so as to have plenty to say to the lodgers: but I can't stay
more than a week longer."

Hadrian wrote on a card, _The bearer, Mrs. Agnes Dixon, is Our guest.
Receive and assist her._ He signed it; and gave it to her, saying, "You
know this place is full of lovely things, pictures and so on. And there
are heaps of sacred relics in the churches. Well now, that card will
admit you to see everything."

"Will they let me see the fans?"

"Which fans?"

"Them they fan You with when You're glorified?"

"Oh yes. Shew that card to the gentleman who is going to take you down
stairs and tell him what you want to see."

"Will they want me to give the card up at the door?"

"No. Not if you want to keep it."

"Ah well, I'll see everything; and I'll keep the card till I'm laid
out, 'oly Father. Oh what ever can I say! You'll excuse me Sir, and I'm
an honest woman: but I must kiss Your 'oly Majesty's anointed 'and. Oh
bless You, my dear, bless You!"

Hadrian paced through and through the apartment as soon as He was
alone. "Dear good ugly righteous creature," He commented. Passing
the safe in the bedroom, He let-out with His left and punched the
iron door. "That's what use you are," He said; and put glycerine on
His bleeding knuckles. Catching a glimpse of His face in the mirror,
"Beastly hypocrite" He sneered at Himself.

Very disagreeable talk went on in Ragna's circle. The pontifical
acts of Hadrian were vile enough, but His private ones were simply
criminal. A Pope who asked you the hour and the date and the place
of your birth, drew diagrams on paper, and then told you your secret
vices and virtues, was a practisant of arts unholy. Doubtless that
frightful yellow cat, which He took into the gardens every morning, was
His familiar spirit. It had cursed Cacciatore in a corridor, almost
articulately. Balbo, the chamberlain, was prepared to swear two things,
which he had gathered from the gentlemen of the secret chamber. First,
that His Holiness stood under a tap in His bedroom every morning and
evening, and sometimes during the day as well. Undoubtedly that was
to allay the fervence of the demon who possessed Him. Secondly, that
His Holiness sat up half the night writing or reading, and yet the
pontifical waste-paper basket always was empty. Not even a torn shred
of paper remained. But then, the ashes in the fireplace. Ah! The
disposition was to refer to lunacy, or stupidity, or knavishness, or
vileness, whatsoever was novel to the understanding. The Pontiff's
aggressive personality, His ostentatious inconsistency, His peculiarly
ideal conception of His apostolic character, His moral earnestness, His
practical and uncomfortable embodiment of His views in His conduct,
caused Him to be as loathed by Ragna's set as He was loved by the nine
and the six. He was accused of an anarchistical kind of enthusiasm.
When He heard that, He said,

"We are conservative in all Our instincts, and only contrive to become
otherwise by an effort of reason or principle, as We contrive to
overcome all Our other vicious propensities."

That was considered an additional indecorum. His quaintly correct
and archaic diction exasperated men who had no means of expressing
their thoughts except in the fluid allusive clipped verbosity of the
day. Objections were made to His hendecasyllabical allocutions,
by mediocrities who could not away with a man who discoursed in
ithyphallics. His autocratic dogmatism, which really was due to His
entire occession by His office, shocked the opportunist, irritated
the worldly-prudent. Outside in the world too, He was by no means a
complete success. People, who were not of His Communion, thought it
rather a liberty that a Pope should have the Authorized Version at His
fingers' ends. At first, a lot of fantastic instabilities prepared
to hail Him as a Reformer: but He gave dire offence to them, and to
all pious fat-wits, by flatly refusing His countenance to any kind of
Scheme or Society. "The Church suffices for this life," He said; and
His sentence "Cultivate, and help to cultivate individuality, at your
own expense if possible, but never at the expense of your brother,"
was highly disapproved of. Where did the Rights of Man come in? But
then Hadrian was quite certain that Christians actually had no worldly
"rights" at all. Arraigned on the question of superstition by the
stolidly common-sense Talacryn, He said "Extra-belief, superstition,
that which we hope or augur or imagine, is the poetry of life;" and His
utterance was regarded as almost heretical. His utter lack of personal
swagger or even dignity, His habit of rolling and smoking continual
cigarettes, His natural and patently unprofessional manner, offended
many outsiders who only could think of the Pope as partaking of the
dual character of an Immeasurably Ambitious Clergyman and a Scarlet
Impossible Person. He had enemies at home and abroad. And He remained
quite alone, psychically detached: to a very great extent unconscious
of, certainly uninterested in, the impression which He personally was
creating; and altogether uninfluenced by any other mind or any other
creature.

A parcel of curial malcontents waited-on the Pope; and poured forth
flocculent interrogations and sophomoric criticisms to their hearts'
content. Hadrian sat perfectly motionless except for an occasional
twinkle of His ears--a muscular trick which He had forced Himself
to learn for the disconcerting of more than usually oxymorose
fools. He was mute: He was grave. He looked, with large omniscient
imperscrutable eyes, with the countenance open, with the thoughts
restrained. Cavillers recited grievances--His refusal to wear the
pontifical pectoral-cross of great diamonds, or any gems except His
episcopal amethyst, was one;--and appended sentences beginning "Now
surely----," or "And the scandal----," or "Ought we not rather----" He
was mute: He was grave: He was attentive. His intelligent silence had
its calculated effect of causing errancy from points which primarily
had been deemed important. Anon, only one objection remained: an
objection to the new form of pontifical stole. No one complained of
its colour. Red was canonically correct. But the silk should have been
satin. Also, the pattern of the gold embroidery was uncommon. A rich
design, of conventional foliage and grotesques enclosing armorials
and keys, was what custom demanded. (Hadrian had no armorials. Years
before, while discussing heraldic blazons with an aged clergyman,
he had burst out with "My shield is white." "Keep it so," the other
replied. And Hadrian's shield was Argent.) But this narrow strip,
no wider than a ribbon, severely adorned with little fylfot crosses
("a Buddhist emblem" Berstein sneered) in little rectangular panels,
with no expansive ends, and a scanty fringe, was hardly at all the
kind of stole to inspire either the admiration or the homage of the
faithful. Still Hadrian sat immobile, great-eyed, all-absorbent; and
let them furiously rage, and imagine very vain things. And at the end
of three-quarters of an hour, He merely murmured "Your Eminencies have
permission to retire;" and stalked into the secret chamber.

It was felt that something ought to be done. Ragna put a case to Vivole
and Cacciatore. The Oecumenical Council of the Vatican stood adjourned
since 1870: but, if the Sacred College should demand---- They found the
notion excellent: communicated it to Berstein, and the French: plumed
themselves; and went about mysteriously with their noses in the air.
And there were intrigues in holes and corners.

Hadrian went up to the Church on the Celian Hill; and conferred
diaconate on Percy Van Kristen. The Passionists liked that one for his
stately shyness which did not wear away. It was the mark of a soul
verisimilar to his patron's own, of a soul knit to no other: but,
whereas the soul of Hadrian had been torn out of seclusion and bitterly
buffeted by the world, the soul of Percy Van Kristen preserved its
pristine tenderness. The Pope perforce went armed. His deacon remained
by the altar.

The consistory was summoned for the twenty-fourth of May. That morning
Hadrian woke just on these words of a dream, Oecumenical Council,
Pseudopontiff, Heretic. A man with an active brain like His naturally
suffers much unconscious cerebration. Very often it happened to
Him vividly to dream some scrap or other of something apparently
unconnected with the present. He used to wonder at it: mentally
note it: generally forget it. Now and then, an event (of which it
was the tip) immediately followed; and He scored. Hadrian named to
the consistory the Lord Percy of New York as Cardinal-deacon of St.
Kyriak-at-the-Baths-of-Diocletian. His Eminency became resplendent in
vermilion, tall, refined, reticent, with dark wide dewy eyes. He was
admired in silence. The Pope by some accident turned His gaze to Ragna:
he had such an aspect as caused His Holiness to look more intently.
Ragna's great strong jaw moved as though to munch; and his glance
defiantly shifted.

"Your Eminency is free to address Us," the Supreme Pontiff said to Him.

"I wish rather to address the Sacred College," Ragna answered, rising.

Hadrian had an intuition: His face became austere, His voice deliberate.

"On the subject of an Oecumenical Council where you may denounce Us as
pseudopontiff and heretic?"

Ragna hurriedly sat down twitching. Berstein and Vivole muttered of
divination and necromancy.

"That generally is done," the Pope continued in the tone of one
merely selecting fringe for footstools,--"That generally is done by
oblique-eyed cardinals" (He meant 'envious' but He used the Latin
of Horace) "who cannot accustom themselves to new pontiffs. Rovere
ululated for an Oecumenical Council when he found Our predecessor
Alexander antipathetic; and there be other examples. But Lord
Cardinals, if such an idea should present itself or should be presented
to you, be ye mindful that none but the Supreme Pontiff can convoke
an Oecumenical Council, and also that the decrees of an Oecumenical
Council are ineffective unless they be promulgated with the express
sanction of the Supreme Pontiff. Who would sanction decrees ordaining
his own deposition? Who could? If We pronounce Ourself to be a
pseudopontiff, what would be the value of such pronunciation? Ye were
Our electors. We did not force you to elect Us. If We be Pontiff, We
will not, and, if We be pseudopontiff, We cannot, depose Ourself. We
are conscious of your love and of your loathing for Our person and
Our acts. We value the one; and regret the other. But ye voluntarily
have sworn obedience to Us; and We claim it. 'Subordination,' so the
adage runs" (He was citing the Greek to every Latin's disgust) "'is
the mother of saving counsel.' Nothing must and nothing shall obstruct
Us. Let that be known. And We should welcome co-operation. Wherefore,
Most Eminent Lords and Venerable Fathers, let not the sheep of Christ's
Flock be neglected in order that the shepherds may exchange anathemas."

Mundo and Fiamma rose by impulse: went to the throne; and renewed
their allegiance. The new cardinals mixed with the others and began to
talk, while the rest of the Compromissaries approached the Pontiff.
Orezzo moved that way with eight Italians. Then the seven brought each
a companion. When, at last, the Benedictine struggled to his feet,
opposition died. Ragna toed the line.

"His Holiness has averted a schism," said Orezzo to Moccolo.

"One has to admire even where one hardly approves."

"And to hobble-after even when one cannot keep-up-with the pace."

"Saint or madman?" Mundo repeated to Fiamma.

"One-third saint, one-sixth madman, one-sixth genius, one-sixth
dreamer, one-sixth diplomatist----"

"No. All George Arthur Rose plus Peter," Talacryn put in. "He said as
much Himself to me once, whatever!"

Hadrian went out to take the air. Under His cloak He carried a pickle
bottle, the label of which He had washed off and destroyed. As He went
along, He picked up a trowel left by some gardener in a flower-bed. He
found a solitary corner filled with rose-acacias and lavender-bushes
behind the Leonine Villa. He looked up at the cupola of St. Peter's
and saw no Americans levelling binoculars. Then He dug a little hole;
and buried pickles; and hid the bottle a few yards away beneath the
bee-hives by the lavender-bushes, mauve-bloomed, very sweet to smell.
The solemn odour stimulated his brain; and He returned to chat with His
gentlemen. They were engaged in physical exercises in a parlour. The
Italian, who was one of nature's athletes, with so tremendous a power
of chest-inflation that his ribs seemed unconnected with his sternum,
interminably floated down and up and down to the floor on one leg, with
the other leg and both arms extended rectangularly before him. The
Englishman, a student, graceful and slim but not muscular, watched him
and would imitate. His sinews had not the elastic force rhythmically
to lower and raise him. He could get down but not up. He often lost
balance, and rolled over in frantic failure. "You must have thighs made
of whipcord and steel to do it," he was saying. Then they saw their
visitor and attended. Hadrian asked what the exercise was and whence it
came.

"Santità, from the bersaglieri," Iulo responded. "That they do, during
an hour of each day for the fortification of their legs. From which
they run."

"It is beautiful. And are you going to emulate the bersaglieri?"

"My comrade goes to educate my mind. I go to discipline the physic of
him," the gymnast said.

"Oh, I'm going to help him rub up his classics as far as my poor
knowledge lets me, Holiness: that's all:" the student added.

"Very good indeed," Hadrian pronounced. "Well now, something is going
to happen to you. Go and escort the Secretary of State to the secret
chamber."

Ragna and the young men appeared within the quarter-hour. The Pope was
seated; and a couple of Noble Guards stood behind His chair.

"Eminency," He said, "it is Our will to give these gentlemen the rank
of Cavaliere--in English 'knight'----"

"Nai-tah," Ragna repeated.

"Your Eminency will cause letters patent to be prepared----"

"But this is the act of a sovereign!"

"And We, having no temporal sovereignty, exercise Our prerogative as
Father of princes and kings." He beckoned the gentlemen to kneel, took
a sword from the guard on His left, and struck them on the shoulder in
turn, saying "To the honour of God, of His Maiden Mother, and of St.
George, We make thee knight. Be faithful. Rise, Sir John. To the honour
of God, of His Maiden Mother, and of St. Maurice, We make thee knight.
Rise, Sir Iulo."

The cardinal retired mumbling. In the first antechamber, Sir Iulo cut
a caper. "Oh but that I should come to know such a one as this!" he
chortled. Sir John went to his own room: opened an interlinear crib of
Horace; and could not see one letter.




CHAPTER VIII


Hadrian knew that He was becoming confirmed in His pose of director.
Not that He was inflated by His exaltation to the apostolature. He
was conscious that people, except a few enthusiasts, were become
indifferent to religion. He knew the danger of indifference to be so
great that it was no time to strain at gnats. He could not trouble
about rats in the ship's hold while the torpedo was approaching. He
was thought to share the abominable heresy of Tolstoy, whose works
He never would touch with tongs. He saw that most men lived in mist;
and preferred it: that most men durst not see clearly, because their
business and their social interest would not stand it. He was not
absolutely certain that He Himself could see the remedy: but He was
certain that blindness was no remedy. So He put forth the evangelic
counsels for obedience. "Strip; and obey those" appeared to be
sufficient for the present; and He would not fiddle-faddle with human
doctrines or empirical experiments. He had the big vision, the seeing
eye, the hearing ear, wit, perverseness, daring, and the lonely heart,
and the contempt of the world. The effect of His entire freedom of
action was to inspire Him physically and mentally with the thrilling
vigour of a pentathlete. He had the violent energy of the minute
electron in the enormous atom. He felt Himself strong. He knew that
His forces were tensely strung; and in their melody He was very glad.
Sometimes He caught Himself wondering how long He could maintain the
pitch: but from that thought He turned away. It was enough that He was
able. He would not spare Himself. The night cometh when no man can work.

"Let it come," he said to Cardinal Sterling: "but, while day lasts, We
work."

A splendid sentence of Mommsen's bit into his brain. _Cæsar ruled as
King of Rome for five years and a half ...; in the intervals of seven
great campaigns, which allowed him to stay not more than fifteen months
altogether in the capital of the empire, he regulated the destinies
of the world for the present and the future.... Precisely because
the building was an endless one, the master, as long as he lived,
restlessly added stone to stone, with always the same dexterity and
always the same elasticity busy at his work, without ever overturning
or postponing, just as though there were for him merely to-day and no
to-morrow. Thus he worked and created as never did any mortal before or
after him; and, as a worker and creator, he still, after two thousand
years, lives in the memory of the nations--the first, and withal
unique, Imperator Cæsar._--And Julius, also, had been Pontifex Maximus.
Hadrian took a white umbrella for a walk as far as the black-lava fort
on the Appian Way.

He considered the horrible condition of France and Russia. It was
a menace to the world. Of Russia, He could learn nothing new.
Thews and Thought together had abolished authority and gone mad in
butchery. The information, which He had obtained from the French
Cardinals, was not of a rather useful nature. Elements of emotional
sentiment and archaic conventionalism rendered their opinions well
nigh worthless. They were tolutiloquent in expressing horror at the
impiety of mob-rule which had deprived them of the right to military
salutes ordained by the Concordat. They made the blood boil by their
heart-rending descriptions of holocausts of priests and nuns--earnest
heroic enthusiasts absolutely incapable of doing anything really
practical in the way of eradicating that demoniality of which they
became the victims. Nothing would please Their Eminencies better than
to hasten to their distracted native-land, to offer up themselves
as martyrs to the devils of their dioceses. They were no cowards--if
desire to rush on death be bravery:--but they were picturesque, and
dithyrambic,--mainly picturesque, with their long hair and their rabats
edged with white beads. That would not do as an essential. Out of
the mellay of matter laid before Him, the Pontiff extracted certain
points. France, quâ France, no longer was Christian. The Devil was in
power. Christians who were able to cross frontiers, did so. Spain,
Italy, Switzerland, Germany, received them. England, America, Japan,
blockaded Toulon, Brest, Cherbourg. Their liners tapped the coasts;
and carried thousands into freedom. Poverty afflicted the emigrants:
those left behind were butchers, or subject to butchery. Dom Jaime de
Bourbon having perished, the Pope sent for the Duke of Orleans;--and
dismissed him with austere disgust. He subsequently withered away. His
Holiness gave audience to a score of the French nobility; and spent
some days picking the brains of emigrants fortuitously collected. Then,
He again convened the French cardinals, and declared the pontifical
will. They all were deposed from their episcopal sees, and nominated
Apostolic Missionaries. Their charge was the cure, first of the bodies,
second of the souls, of Frenchmen everywhere. The Cardinal-Missionary
of Paris would go to London with the Cardinal-Archbishop of Pimlico,
having powers to draw one million sterling from the pontifical treasure
in the Bank of England: which sum, in halves, was to be the nucleus
of two funds, an English and a German, for French Christians in their
need. Each cardinal-missionary also received a breve authorizing him,
and persons delegated by him, to collect money in every Christian
country for the said funds. It was not to be a clerical charity. The
Lord Mayor of London and the German Emperor were willing to administer
it, each independently. Further Their Eminencies were to use their own
discretion about adventuring themselves in the diabolical dominion. If
they best could serve God there, then in God's Name, and with God's
Vicegerent's benediction, let them go: but they most straitly were
bidden to keep one only object before them, viz. the service of God
through the relief and comfort of His servants. Nothing was to prevent
them in that.

The world began to concentrate the corner of its eye on Hadrian.
Holland and Belgium fell into the arms of anarchical France. The
vigorous bold brilliant young Sultan Ismail, having failed to win
Morocco to his Pan-Islamic scheme, was intriguing for an alliance with
the other great Muhammedan power, England. His Majesty's murdered
predecessor, by the aid of Germany, had formed an army of a million and
a half, full of fanatical valour and the wonderful natural adaptability
of the Turk, the rawest recruit of which had a greater fighting-value
than was possessed by the conscripts of any other nation. This force
was available for active service at fifteen minutes' notice. The
Turkish alliance was worth anyone's while; and was coveted. Germany had
trained the Ottoman squadrons: but was not to profit thereby. Teutonic
stolidity had been outwitted by the wily Oriental. Islam could only and
only would mate with Islam--as might have been foreseen. The rest of
the continent of Europe ringed frontiers under arms. Each nation feared
the other; and all feared France and Russia.

Hadrian watched the diplomatic processes with interest. He knew that
England was quite capable of taking care of Herself, with or without
the Mussulman. He grasped the theory that Muhammedanism, arising six
hundred years after Christ, justified the Wisdom of God in Judaism,
proving that the Oriental mind could bear nothing more perfect; and
He conceived a sort of sympathy with Islam. His conversations with
ambassadors became known in courts, (the King of Prussia's legate
wrote amazing things to the German Emperor:) from courts, descriptions
of opinions, tastes, habits, descended until they were discussed in
clubs and miscellaneous congeries. Hadrian's custom of walking about
unattended, looking-at the excavations in the Forum, visiting the sick
in hospitals, sensuously delighting Himself with the glories of sunset
seen from the Pincian Hill, were the themes of common conversation.
And when, one evening, He got-in a left hander (from the shoulder)
on a socialist, who spat at Him in Borgo Nuovo; and then, (on the
filthy beast's bursting into tears and collapsing with the effects of
the blow upon semi-starvation), pressing upon him His pectoral cross
and chain, His gold spectacles, and all the coins left in His pocket
after a couple of hours in Rome,--then the English race began to find
the Pope observable; and English newspapers started columns called
_Rome Day by Day_. How the special correspondents spread themselves!
She of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ got the usual exclusive information of
the Borgo Nuovo affair; and split nine infinitives in describing the
myopic Pontiff narrowing His eyes to slits, groping His way along the
colonnades with His fainting assailant; His passionate denunciation
of the farce of organized charity, which had let a man become so
degraded; His agitation until Cardinal Carvale came running with His
spare pair of spectacles; His strangely pathetic thankfulness for the
gift of sight which they afforded; His anguish at the defilement of His
garment; and His tender invitation to the starving socialist to be His
guest in Vatican. All this suited the English temper to a T,--being
English. But there was created a profound and perdurable impression.
The King of Prussia's legate wrote more amazing things to the German
Emperor. Hadrian became regarded in cabinets and chancelleries as
one who cared or strove neither for loss nor gain, neither for life
nor death--as the one Potentate who rightly or wrongly knew his own
mind--as a Power with whom a reckoning might have to be made. After
all, it merely was the effect of simplicity upon complexity, of
felinity upon caninity.

He was sitting alone, thinking, and carefully unravelling a woollen
antimacassar. It had been crocheted in five bossy strips, three of
orange hue and two of grey, alternately arranged. He had unravelled
two orange and two grey strips; and had the wool neatly rolled in four
balls beside Him. The next time He should go into the City, some little
girl would be made happy with two nice balls of grey wool and a lira
to buy knitting needles; and, the time after that, another little girl
would have three balls of orange wool and a lira also; and pontifical
eyes would not be scorched by ghastly antimacassars any more, nor
would the kind heart of anyone be wounded. He finished the job; and
went to talk to his socialist. That one turned out to be a goldsmith,
with the ideals and the brains and the fingers of Cellini, but not the
acquisitiveness. Hence straits, socialism, sophistries, starvation.
They walked about the sculpture-galleries for coolness; and spoke of
Beautiful Things. Hadrian revelled. His guest was a man of taste; and
talked-on-a-trot with wonderful gestures, making and moulding ideal
images which the mind's eye could see. They came to the Apoxyomenos:
stood: raved; and became dumb, feasting on the lithe majesty of perfect
proportion. The artificer first spoke.

"Holiness," he said, "can You see that body and those limbs crucified?"

Hadrian's mind caught the idea. The splendid forms of the marble seemed
to re-arrange themselves in the new pose. His eyes came slowly round to
His questioner.

"Yes," He answered: "but soaring and triumphing, 'reigning from the
tree,' not drooping and dying--and not the head and bust." He took the
goldsmith's arm and hurried him to the Antinous of the Belvedere; and
began to speak very quickly.

"Sir," He said, "you will be pleased to stay here; and, with the
materials which will be provided, you will make a new cross for Us. The
cross will be of the kind called Potent, elongate: the Figure will
combine the body and limbs of the Apoxyomenos with the head and bust of
the Antinous, but posed as We have described. On the completion of this
master-piece, you will be offered an appointment as goldsmith in the
pontifical household----"

"Ah, Padrone."

Hadrian returned to the secret chamber, happy in anticipation of an
emblem which would not offend His taste. True, He was glad (in a way)
that a tangled life so easily could be made straight: but it was the
visionary ideal of Beauty which really inspired joy.




CHAPTER IX


That aggregation of intellectually purblind and covetous dullards,
who formed the socialistic sect of the King of England's subjects,
presently began in their rough rude way to perpend the Pope of Rome.
It had been a moot point with these discontented sentimentalists
whether it would or would not be profitable to unite with French
and Russian anarchy, and attain their ends that way: but one Julia,
in the _Salpinx_ screamed such excruciating tales about slaughtered
French babies, that that was "off." Also, it was remembered that a
certain Comrade Dymoke, the only capable fighting man ever possessed
by socialism, had been spunged upon for fifteen years by socialistic
cadgers, sucked dry, ruined, and cast out, a victim of socialistic
jealousy and treachery. In the plans laid for a Social Revolution,
towards the end of the nineteenth century, that man had been named
commander-in-chief. Now he was not available; and his place was vacant:
for a military expert rarely errs into the purlieus of socialism.

But one thing had been done. The Social Democratic Federation had
been induced, at the National "Liberal" Club, to coalesce with the
Independent "Labour" Party. The coalition called itself the "Liblab
Fellowship": the _Salpinx_ and _Reynards's_ were its organs; and
a parcel of Bobs and Bens and Bills and Bounders its prophets. It
concluded that it would score by toadying the Supreme Pontiff. The
brainless monster of socialism always was hunting for a brain to
direct its forces. By some perverted process, it arrived at the
feeling that a Pope, Who could indite the _Epistle to All Christians_,
would be likely to lend Himself to the furtherance of its crude designs
on other people's property. A week later, Cardinal Whitehead called
Hadrian's attention to the current issue of the afore-named journals,
which contained an _Open Letter to the Pope_ praising the "enlightened
humanitarianism" of His Holiness's recent utterance, inviting Him to
have courage of His opinions, and to bring His _Epistle_ to (what was
called) "a logical conclusion" by a formal authoritative declaration
of the doctrine of Equality. Popes, as a rule, do not notice _Open
Letters_. Hadrian, however, had learned from the _Pall Mall Gazette_
that the fashion was for copious artists in words to lecture the Roman
Pontiff. He anticipated the being told by that elegant journal that He
knew as much about the true inwardness of Catholicism as a cow knows of
a clean shirt. But He privately was of opinion that more harm may be
done by leaving some things unsaid. But, Love----! Was it possible that
He could love, could like (even), hyenas who screeched such ditties as
this on the same page:

 _"They will tax the baked potatoes,
     "They will tax our blessed swipes,
 "They will tax our blooming hot pea-soup,
     "The leather, and the tripes,
 "They will tax the coster's donkey,
     "They will tax the Derby 'orse
 "And they're going to tax the devil
     "When he lives at Charing Crorse."_

Ouf! No. It was quite impossible. Yet----: there were people whom He
could like, if not love: people in His Own environment. These He would
make easy, happy. To these He could set an example. They, in turn,
would do as much for the rank below them: and so on, and so on. Thus,
perhaps, by Nature's own method, might Love be brought down among men.
So with a stern and trenchant rebuff He rebuked presumption. On the
following Sunday, a Pontifical Breve was read from every Catholic
pulpit in the Kingdom of England at home and beyond the seas. It
proclaimed the dogma of Equality as scientifically, historically, and
obviously false and impracticable: as a diabolical delusion for the
ruin of souls. Hadrian did not soar away in metaphysical intricacies,
but confined His argument to the broad highway whereon the ordinary
man might walk at ease. Infinite difference, He said, was the note of
the Divine Creator's scheme. Not equality, but diversity, of physique,
of intellect, of condition, was man's birthright. One man was not as
good as another: he generally was a great deal better,--as every man
well knew. The claim to equality was so indecently unjust that it only
could emanate from inferiors who hoped to gain by degrading their
superiors. Socialists, who claimed equality, solely were actuated by
the lust of improving their own condition at the expense of their
brother. That was selfishness, and unchristian, and (by consequence)
damnable heresy. The servants of God were bidden to avoid it. The
Vicar of Christ repeated Christ's commands "Love one another--Love
your enemies." Only by Love could be attained the happiness which all
desired. That the classes did care for the masses, futile and indolent
though their method might be, was undeniable: but the attitude of the
masses to the classes was unmitigated hatred. The accident of birth to
poverty or wealth was not a fault, for it was inevitable. The principle
of Aristos "The Best" was to be upheld. The strength of Aristos was
incalculable because it acted through the relations of private life,
which were permanent: whereas the political excitement of socialism
was essentially ephemeral. Rights, inherited, meritorious, conferred
by legitimate authority, were sacred. Only the holders of such rights
of their own free will could depose themselves or abdicate their
rights; and, as Christians, they were expected to behave themselves
Christianly: but to deprive them of such rights, at the will of those
who did not confer them, would be an outrage. The socialistic idea,
which suggested such iniquity, was essentially selfish and venal.
Hadrian severely denounced the newspapers in which the _Open Letter to
the Pope_ appeared. He said that the thoughtful reading of a newspaper
was one of the most solemn and painful studies in the world, for it
was little more than a category of sin and suffering, of incitements
to sin, of efforts to acquire filthy lucre honestly and dishonestly.
He copiously quoted the advertisements, the Cyclorama page, the Motor
Notes page, the Stageland, the Woman's Letter, and the Leaders, of
the one, in order to show that the socialistic outcry by no means
was the bitter groan of oppressed poverty, but rather the grumbling
vituperation of envious discontented mediocrity anxious to affect an
appearance, which was sham and not its own, and to wallow in luxurious
conditions which it had not earned. Especially He noted the Socialistic
Programme, "_We suggest that the nation should own ALL the ships ALL
the railways ALL the factories ALL the buildings ALL the land and ALL
the requisites of national life and defence_," as a plain declaration
that robbery of private property created by individual industry
and genius--robbery, pure and unadulterated, was the basis of the
socialistic scheme. He denounced the paper as being written for amateur
agnostics by dilettante atheists. He pungently derided attempts made,
by pseudoscientists of the obsolete school of Haeckel, to popularize
among mistaken but serious secularists the science of yesterday and the
destructive criticism of the day before that. As for the other paper,
He likened it to a _cloaca_ wherein filth of all kinds is committed and
collected. The news of the day was reported only in so far as it was
susceptible of filthy presentation. Pages were devoted to diffusing
refuse from police-courts; and, (under the head of Secret History) to
calumnious inventions or distortions of fact connected with any and
every man or woman who was not of the dregs of humanity. As a method of
earning a living by journalism, this pandering to the basest passions
was disgraceful, and damnable in the full sense of the word. Not by
such means were the bodies and souls of men to be improved or profited.
Not by such means could happiness, here or hereafter, be attained.
"Let men raise themselves if they will; and let each man help himself
by helping his brother to the utmost: there shall be no limit to your
resurrection, well-beloved sons, if ye rise, not on other men but, upon
your own dead selves," the Pope concluded.

In accordance with instructions, the Cardinal-Prefect of the
Congregation of Sacred Rites presented to the Pontiff certain completed
processes and petitions for the beatification of the Venerable Servants
of God, Alfred the Great, King and Confessor,--Henry VI. of Lancaster,
King and Confessor,--Mary Stewart of England, France, and Scotland,
Queen and Martyr. Assent was deigned to these petitions; and pictures,
each with a golden nimbus, were unveiled in the Vatican Basilica. The
bull of beatification decreed the addition of the following words to
the Roman Martyrology, the official roll of sanctity:--

  This day, in England, is kept the festival of the Blessed Alfred,
  King and Confessor, who by the acclamation of his own people is
  named Great: memorable as a father of his fatherland, a lover of his
  brother, a true servant of God.

  This day, in England, is kept the festival of the Blessed Henry
  VI. of Lancaster, King and Confessor: memorable for meekness, for
  suffering, for purity of heart, for the gift of prayer.

  This day, in Scotland, is kept the festival of the Blessed Mary
  Stewart, Queen and Martyr: memorable for womanly fragility, for
  nineteen years' atonement in prison, for choosing death rather than
  infidelity.

Semphill and Carvale had urged Hadrian to impose the Proper Office and
Mass of the last upon England as well as Scotland. His Holiness would
know why?

"Because Her Majesty was the rightful Queen of England as well as of
Scotland;" Semphill responded with the air of one who has invented a
new sauce.

"Display your premisses, Lord Cardinal;" said the Pope.

"They are simply historical facts, known to everyone."

"But the conclusions which may be drawn from historical facts, mainly
depend upon the sequence or method of arrangement of the said facts.
Display yours, Lord Cardinal."

"The Blessed Mary Stewart was heiress of James V., who was heir of
Margaret Tudor wife of James IV. of Scotland and daughter of Henry VII.
of England. Henry VII.'s heir was his son Henry VIII., who married
Katherine of Aragona and had issue Mary Tudor. Subsequently, failing
to obtain annulment of this marriage from Your Holiness's predecessor
Clement VII., Henry VIII. lived in sin with Anne Bullen and Jane
Seymour by whom he had issue Elizabeth and Edward. Canonically this
prince and princess were illegitimate and incapable of succession.
Therefore, on the death of Henry VIII. the crown of England demised to
his sole legitimate issue, Mary Tudor----"

"But Parliament had passed an Act, 28 Hen. VIII. c. 7, giving the
English Sovereign power to limit the crown by letters-patent or by his
last will to such person or persons as he should judge expedient."

"Surely, Holiness, that ought not to count. However, on the death of
Mary Tudor without issue, I argue that the crown of England demised _de
jure_ though not _de facto_ to the next legitimate Tudor who was Mary
Stewart, heiress of Margaret Tudor."

Hadrian turned to Carvale.

"Of course, Most Holy Lord, I feel with Cardinal Semphill. I
think"--his beautiful blue eyes blazed with the fire of his dreams--"I
think that the time has come for doing justice to the memory of 'that
predestined victim of uncounted treasons, of unnumbered wrongs, wrongs
which warped and maddened and bewildered her noble nature, but never
quenched her courage, never deadened her gratitude to a servant, never
shook her loyalty to a friend, never made her false to her faith.' O
think, Holiness, of all that the Stewarts have suffered!"

Hadrian Himself had a very tender and romantic feeling of attachment
towards the Stewarts: but He responded, "Our office is not to stir up
strife. We Englishmen happen to have made an ideal of Elizabeth. With
that delightful capability for making our own ideals and maintaining
them in the teeth of realities, we have chosen to forget the fact that
no sovereign of ordinary intelligence could have helped being gilded
by the really abnormal galaxy of talent which illumined the age of
Elizabeth. It was those gigantic geniuses who made the glory of England
then. England happened to be personified by Elizabeth. Therefore,
in English eyes, Elizabeth was great and glorious and all the rest.
No one" (he turned to Semphill) "can quarrel with your statement of
blind and naked fact; and no one, who is right-minded, will. But, We
desire to reconcile, not to exasperate, though We never will refuse
to exasperate upon an apt occasion. Therefore We will not assert now
that which need not be asserted. Be content that We raise your lovely
martyred queen to the honours of the altars of your country. Ask
Almighty God to look upon your land with favour for His Son's sake, and
for the sake of her who in the Strength of that Son was faithful unto
death. Call upon Mary in Heaven to add her prayers to those which ye
offer to God on earth. Precious in the sight of The Lord.--If it be His
Will to confirm with signs and wonders these your invocations----"

Their Eminencies gazed at the Pope with ecstasy. That He, whom they
had known before, not always agreeably, that He--"Oh, really," said
Semphill to Carvale as they left the Presence, "I don't know whether
I'm sleeping or waking." And Hadrian, alone, rolled a cigarette, saying
to Another than Himself, "Is that what You wish me to do in this case?"

Simultaneously with the beatificatory bull _Laudemus insignes_, was
issued the _Epistle to the English_. The Pope affirmed that the
English Race naturally was fitted to give an example to humanity.
In particular, He categorically distinguished its solid worth, its
dignified good sense, its deliberate tenacity, its imperturbable habit,
its superb impassiveness in reverses, its stoical firmness under the
most cruel deceptions, its unshaken determination to conquer under any
circumstances. In general, He noted its faculties of self-restraint,
of construction, of administration, and (among the upper and middle
classes) of altruism. He indulged no vain regrets: but dealt entirely
with the present and the future. He addressed the Race, as the Race
would wish to be addressed, with perfect sincerity. In spite, He said,
of the scum which floats, and is called "Smart": in spite of the dregs
which goes a-mafficking, and is called "Hooligan" the English people
at heart were as sound as ever. Millions, rich and not rich, gentle
and simple, in town and country, led clean and wholesome lives. No
newspaper paragraphs proclaimed that these good souls were bringing-up
their children to be ladies and gentlemen, were solicitous for the
welfare of their inferiors, had respect unto themselves. No flaming
headlines screeched, announcing that they were paying their way,
marrying and giving in marriage, rejoicing and sorrowing, like the
brave honest common-place people that they were. No Society Gossip told
of Robert and William and Nicholas and James and Frederick and Herbert
and Percy and Alfred, day-labourers for a too scanty wage, who never
drank nor fought nor swindled nor yelled for their rights, but who led
decent noble lives under circumstances often cruelly unjust and always
rigorously hard. Of such as these, said Hadrian, was the English Race
composed. He reminded England that she had received more from the Latin
Church than any other nation: that her gains had been direct before
1534: indirect after that date, when her natural enemies were dragged
down by the corruptions of Rome. (He thought they would enjoy that
point.) He assumed nothing, not even a prejudice. He advised without
commanding: He directed without trespassing. The latter half of the
_Epistle_ concerned those who owed Him spiritual allegiance: to these
He spoke with all authority. He blamed their phrenetic anxiety to enter
into worldly competition. He pointed out that the Penal Laws, which
from 1534 to 1829 had deprived them of "that culture which contact with
a wider world alone can give," had rendered the Catholic aborigines
corporeally effete and intellectually inferior to the rest of the
nation. He did not blame noluntary defects: but facts were facts, and
only fools would refuse to face them. These defects would find their
remedy in the influx of new and vigorous blood and unexhausted brains.
He quoted the words of a great critic who said that the religious
movement of our day would be almost droll if it were not, from the
tempers and actions which it excited, so extremely irreligious. It had
taken four centuries to produce the present position of Catholics in
England; and, as no man has a right to expect miracles, it might take
four centuries more to restore them to a corporeal and intellectual
equality with the average of their fellow-countrymen. To this end, He
bade them to welcome and to comfort accessions to their number, not
(as was the present custom) with slavering sentimentality giving place
to slights, snubs, slanders, and sneers: but with brotherly love,
putting in practice the Faith which they professed; and _letting_ their
light shine, instead of advertising comparatively paltry efforts at
illumination. He reminded them that,

"God made man right, but he had sought out many abstruse reasonings
and, for a society of Christians to pretend to be "the world" or "of
the world" was an incongruous monstrosity. He warned them that the kind
of conscience which they cultivated, the conscience which descends
from its high personal plane, which consents to haggle and discuss how
far resistance to temptation must be carried, which deigns to consider
consequences, to weigh possibilities, and to guard against disaster,
was the proximate occasion for the well-founded charges of hypocrisy
and humbug brought against all religion by lewd fellows of the baser
sort. As for those of the clergy, whose comportment elicited from
outsiders testimonials to the effect that they were "thorough men of
the world having nothing clerical about them except their collars" or
"thoroughly good chaps who take their glass and enjoy a smutty story
like ordinary beings,"--His Holiness assured Their Right Reverencies,
Their Very Reverencies, and Their Reverencies, that they completely
misconceived their sacred character.

"Our citizenship is in heaven (ἡ πολιτεια ἡμων ἑν οὑῥανωι.) If then in
very truth, ye look for a city which is an heavenly, ye must esteem
yourselves as being 'in the world' as strangers (ξενοι), or resident
aliens (μετοικοι); and so ye ought not to be 'curiosi in aliena
republica.'"

He ordained that married Anglican clergy (whose wives were alive and
who possessed the grace of a Divine Vocation) on resuming allegiance
to the See of Peter, should be admitted to the priesthood and serve
secular churches: but faculties for hearing confessions were not to be
disposed to married priests; and each such priest, having charge of
a mission, must nominate and maintain at least one Regular as curate
whose sole duty should be the administration of the sacrament of
penance. Finally, the Supreme Pontiff commanded the sacrifice of that
phantom uniformity which had been the curse of Catholicism for four
centuries, and the retention and cultivation of national and local
rites and uses. And He commended England to St. George, Protector of
the Kingdom.

The Archsocialists were bitterly chagrined by the pontifical
denunciation of their _Open Letter_; but the _Epistle to the English_
made them gnash their teeth. In print, they gibbered at first, and
vomited after their manner. In congress, each one suspected his
neighbour of being a "traitor to the Cause" whose treachery had taken
the form of urging his comrades corporately to attract the pontifical
fulmination. There was a dreadful scene at West Ham and a free fight
at Battersea. Comrade Pete Quillet threatened to 'ave Comrade Bill
Meggin's blighted ear; and had as much of the left one as twenty-seven
unclean gorgonzola-coloured fangs could tear off, before he succumbed
to six boots, a bottle, and a harness-buckle. At head quarters, the
demagogues did behave with outward decency: not disguising their
disappointment, but casting about for a new lead. The curious thing was
that not one of them now but was more than ever anxious for alliance
with the Power which disdained and damned them. It was the Power
which they coveted--and admired, in the first intention of the word.
Their attitude to the Pope was that of those who lick the hand that
lashes them. The Pope was not a Penrhyn, against whose liberty they
could invoke the laws at which otherwise they girded: He was to them
something immense, intangible, potent, detestable--and most desirable.

While they were debating as to the precise posture in which they next
should cringe, Comrade Jerry Sant communicated startling news. He
was a delegate from the north: by profession, first a haberdasher's
bagman, secondly a socialist; Socialism appearing to him an easy way of
self-aggrandisement. As a rule, he did not push forward, working in the
background, anonymously writing for the papers, watching for a chance
to snatch. He whispered a word to his neighbour at the table.

"Rot!" said the latter.

"Rot yersel'!" Jerry retorted.

The other Fellowshipper guffawed. "Here, I say, Mr. Chairman, this
Comrade says he used to know that old Pope!"

Jerry Sant became observed. He had the haggard florid aspect, the
red-lidded prominent eyes, the pendulous lip of a sorry sort of
man. He stood up and began to speak, sometimes dragging a sandy
rag of moustache or fingering shiny conical temples, but generally
holding on by the lapels of a short-skirted broad-cloth frock-coat,
protruding black-nailed thumbs through the button-holes in a manner
acquired during a week in Paris. His style was geological, so to
speak, consisting of various strata deposited at various periods.
The surface stratum, representing the Kainozoic Time, consisted of
the platitudinous bombast characteristic of the common or oratorical
demagogue. Below that, corresponding to the Mesozoic Time, came the
ridiculous obsequious slang of the bagman of commerce. Below that
again, corresponding to the Paleozoic Time, appeared the gelded English
which muscleless feckless unfit-for-handicraft little sciolists
acquire in school-board spawning-beds. And these rested on stratum of
the Azoic Time, to wit the native Pictish Presbyterian jargon of Mr.
Sant's sententious pettifogging spiteful self. These different strata
occurred as irregularly as natural strata. They ran one into the other
like veins in a fissure, causing displacements resembling those which
technically are called Faults; and the tracing and stripping of the
same is a task for the ingenious geophilologist.

"It's a gospel-truth, comrades. I had used to fhat ye might call know
the Pope a few years ago fhen he was just George Arthur Rose and not
a pound-note in his purse. I was running the _Social Standard_ oot o'
my own pocket, and many's the bit o' work I've let him have. He was
trying his hand at journalism then, and gey glad to get it. I may take
this opportunity of saying that he owes his footing to me; and most
ungrateful he has treated me, comrades, as is the nature of him, proud
aristocrat as he is. Not that I look for gratitude in such: but I've
often thought when I've heard of him getting on--I mean before as he
was fhat he is now--as perhaps he might like to remember him as gave
him his first leg up. But no, not a bit of it though. I advised him of
as much, once; and he rounds on me and cheeks me cruel. And I'm not the
only one neither: I can tell you something else about him. There's a
lady-friend of mine----"

"Here stop a bit," the chairman interrupted. "You're getting on a bit
too fast. What did you let him write for the _Social Standard_ for?
Was he a comrade, I.L.P., or S.D.F., or Fabian p'raps? He seems to be
rather a high sort from what you say."

"A comrade! Tits, man! ma pairsonal opeenion is that he was nothing bit
a ... Tory spy. I always thought he was a Jesuit in disguise and now of
course I know it. Fhen I knew him first he was pals with the traitor
Dymoke----"

"Dymoke!!!" Teeth gritted; and the social equivalent for the Roman
"Anathema sit" was snarled.

"Comrades, it wasn't me that was to blame there you know. Wait a minute
before we meaninglessly divide oursels. I have some most important
developments to lay before the meeting as you'll all cordially endorse.
Don't someone remember I was the one that stopped the traitor's letters
and give information of his treachery? If it hadna have been for me
he would have bought the bally show with his Tory gold. It was me as
put my spoke in his wheel and got him expelled in time. Well, as I
was remarking, fhen I knew Rose he was gey thick with Dymoke. Fhat
for did I let him write for us? Wy, because he could write the verra
blusterous epithets which'ld make the enemy wince. Of course I went
over all that he wrote though, just to see that he was economically
correct. If I hadna have done that I might just as well have shut
up shop. But I was going to say, comrades, there's a lady-friend of
mine he's treated shameful--made love to her while her man was alive,
borrowed twenty-pound notes of her, had to be forbid the hoose, and
then fhen she was left a widdy-wumman with a family he cuts her dead
at a picture-gallery. That's fhat I mean by ungrateful, the swine,
fit to make a man retch with his mumping cant. What I was about to
observe--no, she's not a Fellowshipper yet. I met her in the way of
business if you know what I mean: but I expect she'll join before long.
I know she will if I can only bring off fhat I'm talking about. She's
got a pension, and she takes paying guests, quite high-toned and all.
That's how I got to know her. I've put up there fhen I've come down
to London these five year. Well, the moment I first come ben her best
parlour I spots his photo on the cheffonier. 'Hech,' says I, 'I know
that chap.' 'Then you know a very mauvy soojy,' says she, for she knows
the French fine, and a' thing as genteel as you can think. So we had
a bit crack; and fhat with fhat she told me and fhat I knew aboot him
before, I may inform you that if we want to get anything out of him now
I'm the man that can secure his entire acquiescence to any proposal we
like to submit to him. Here's my plan, comrades, and if anyone's got a
better let him out with it or else for ever after hold his peace and
stand out of the way of them that has. Comrades, the hour has struck
when tyranny will be no more for I've got the tyrant between ma legs
and A'm going to squeeze him off my own bat, supposing as I'm properly
supported. Cautious though, very cautious we must be: for Rose fhen I
knew him was fine and slippery. Artful? E-e-e-e-e-eh! Dinna ye talk
about his artfulness! Aye and proud too! He was the most haughty don't
care sort of chap ye can think. I mind his eyes were like lowin' coals
somewhens.

You shouldn't nail him anyhow. Insolence I call it; and I'd have pulled
his nose for him many times only he wasn't worth it. Starving I've
known him: yet if you'll believe me he'd give himsel' a wash and a
brush up and go out of an afternoon looking as smart as you please in
his old clothes and with a fag always in his mouth like the masher he
is. That fag! I'll let ye know it was aye the same fag. He hadna used
to light it ever. He lit it once and put it out directly after; and
then he used to stick it in his face every afternoon and shew himself
as usual, so that no one should know he hadna had a bit fhite fish,
na naething to ca' a moothfu' o' flesher's meat wi' his piece the
week past. He felled it me himsel' when I got to know him. And now,
comrades, there's that feller sitting on the seven hills of Rome with
three gold crowns on his head, as has been put in the papers, damning
us for all he's worth. Comrades, fhat I wish to call the attention of
this meeting to this evening is--I'll just speir if ye think that Rose
should like to have his past life gave away by me and my lady-friend?
Mrs. Crowe, her name is."

Jerry paused for a reply; and realized that he had possession of the
meeting's ear: He mopped the lumps on his forehead: helped himself
out of the chairman's whiskey-bottle: gulped a dram; and continued.
His assumption of the rhetorical manner was consciously enormous now.
"Comrades, as in the east when the golden light of dawn shews that
sunrise is about to come, so this poor feeble voice of mine shews that
the tyrant's thrones are tottering to their overthrow. But, comrades,
we maun beware. Snares beset our path. Once we have let oursel's be
caught by his infernal Jesuitical machinations and he has scornfully
crrrushed us to the earth. This is how Labor is treated, and thus shall
Labor be treated as long as we go cap in hand and ask for our rights
instead of demanding them and taking them as Comrade Matchwood says
in the _Salpinx_. Comrades, this time we maun conquer or expire. If
we want the former, we must fight our enemy with his own tools. Fhat
are his tools? Comrades, his tools are Jesuitical Tory tools. His
emissaries are everywhere, his spies beset our path on every hand I
should say infest our road. Even in this hall to-night, a Tory eye may
be upon us, a Jesuitical ear may be protruded to catch these whispers
falling from this feeble tongue and pass them on to that arch-pariah
in Rome who is drunk with the blood of working-men and battened on
unearned increment. Comrades, we maun take a leaf out of his book:
we maun hoist him up on his own Jesuitical petard. We oursels maun
become Jesuitical for the sake of the Cause. Comrades, there in Rome
sits the Abominable Desolation and I'll let ye know ye'll find him
fhat ye may call a fikey customer. Day by day his satellites prostrate
their forms before his so-called holy toe, and let him know a' things
which they've found out by base and underhand sneaking means. That is
whit way he is so powerful. His slaves tell him so much that he knows
everything. Look fhat with an entire lack of consistency he said about
the _Salpinx_. Could he have said that if he hadna been informed? No,
I repeat, a thousand times no. Comrades we maun do the same. He knows
our secrets and uses them against us most unfair. We maun worm his
out too, and use them to bend his proud knee to the people's will.
Comrades, I, me, know his secrets. I am the man and Mrs. Crowe is the
woman fhat shall shame him before all his silken harems and cardinals
and potentates--upset his apple-cart if I may use a colloquious
impression. We only have got to show the despot our two faces, and
I'll let ye know he'll quail as sure's death. We shan't need say a
word. At the mere sight of me and my lady-friend the monster'll howl
for mercy. Then we will be able to have our revenge for his recent
most insulting remarks. We will dictate fhat he shall have to do to
win our favour. All the starch and haughtiness shall go out of him
like steam out of a toddy-jug when he sees us two; and he shall pay
any price to gain our smile. And then I'll let you know what my plans
are. Comrades, we're agreed aren't we that the only way in which the
Cause can triumph over Capital is by having a Labor majority in the
House of Commons. Fhat I mean by that is this. At that magnificent
demonstration of Labor's irresistible electoral might, in the words
of the _Salpinx_, we can make the Tories and our friends the Liberals
pass our bills to pay us our proper salaries; and we will wrestle from
the reluctant rich the mines and the railways and the mills and all
the paying industries, and we shall even nationalize the land itself
which our bloated aristocracy have robbed us of and mafficked in and
wallowed in our gore. Comrades, I shall not detain you much longer for
I see the hour is getting on. Fhat I mean to say is this is the point.
There are, in this Great Britain and Ireland of ours the night, no less
than 8,452,637 deluded papists with parliamentary votes. I obtained
those figures carefully from statistics. You have to be careful about
details like this if you mean to do yersel' any good at a'. Now,
Comrades, all those 8,452,637 papists shall gladly drop their 8,452,637
votes into candidates' ballot boxes which will be put forward by the
Liblab Fellowship. They shall do it at one word from their Pope, at one
penstroke of his, such is the besotted state of slavery in which they
exist. Refuse they dare not, or they should languish in the horrors
of the Spanish Inquisition or light the Fires of Smithfield and the
Massacres of the so-called Saint Bartholomew. Comrades, it is that one
word and penstroke which the sight of me and Mrs. Crowe shall squeeze
out of their haughty Pope. We'd better have a proper deputation to go
to wait on him with us for safety's sake; and happen we'd better have
a sort of address to present, explaining how matters stand, just to
make things look pleasant and polite, as it were. That's only a matter
of form though. The main thing'll be to see him fall back toes over tip
on his judgment-seat like him as was struck with worms when he sees
who's in the deputation. Laugh? I won't ever have laughed like I will
laugh at him then! Well now, comrades, I've said my say and I say no
more leaving the matter to your esteemed consideration. Comrades, think
of all the insults which he and his myrmidons has made us groan under
so long. Revenge is now at your disposal. This weak hand of mine has
pointed out whit way. Seize it, oh seize it in the name of Freedom is
all I ask. For myself I ask nothing, not a penny if you was to offer
it me. Comrades, I'm fighting for the Cause. For the Cause I'd give my
life as far as in me lies. That's my aim: that's my game, as the poet
remarks. Comrades I shall not detain you longer I shall now sit down."
And the raucous gentleman panted into the next Fellowshipper's chair.




CHAPTER X


 "Dear Mrs. Crowe,

 _Secret and Confidential._

 _Please burn it when you have concluded reading._

  Referring to our numerous enjoyable conversations on the subject
  of Socialism in which you have evinced entire acquiescence, I am
  directed by the Council of the Liblab Fellowship to call your
  attention to the advantages obtainable from comradeship as per
  enclosed. The entrance fee is two and six and the subscription five
  shillings per ann. payable in June and Dec. I may add that those
  are special terms which I have exerted my influence to obtain in
  your favour and I trust I shall meet with your esteemed approval.
  Would you decide to join, kindly notify me of the same per wire for
  wh. I enclose six stamps. Yes or No will answer all purposes, but
  personally I feel sure that it shall be yes. On receipt of your
  anticipated favour will at once propose and have you seconded at
  our evening meeting to take place on the night of the same day when
  you get this letter. Should your reply be in the affirmative I am
  to let you know that you shall at once be nominated as a member of
  a deputation, which I have the honour to be a member of as well,
  which is about to proceed to Rome for the purpose of diplomatically
  interviewing our mutual friend the Pope. The expenses of the trip
  will be borne by the Liblab funds so there is no need to worry
  on that score. You are aware that travel especially to such a
  famous town as Rome is considered advantageous in every respect.
  The Italian sky the numerous old ancient edifices and the Romans
  themselves in their native monasteries cannot fail to amuse the
  eye of the beholder. The excursion is entirely gratis and so that
  difficulty is removed. But in addition to what I have said there is
  also the prospect of renewing our acquaintance with his so-called
  'Holiness!!!!! And I may say for certain of having private interviews
  with him in the innermost recesses of his haunts. More I shall not
  now add. The mission of the deputation is strictly diplomatic and
  connected with political affairs, and I am of course not at liberty
  to divulge the details to anyone but fellow-shippers, it would be
  hardly prudent. Ah would that you dear Mrs. Crowe was one. But I
  may without any breach of confidence inform you _in the strictest
  confidence_ that Rose alias Hadrian _is in our power_ and therefore
  putting politics out of the question it shall go hard if you and me
  cannot do a little private business with him on our own account.
  Hoping to hear from you soon as per enclosed blank form and thanking
  you in anticipation

 I remain
 Yours truly in the Cause (I hope)
 Jeremiah Sant.

  P.S. Now burn this without fail."

Sant's lady-friend sat at the breakfast table, pondering this letter
while her kidney grew cold. The four lodgers were gone to business;
and she was alone except for the presence of her son. He was one of
those beautiful speechless cow-eyed youths who seem born to serve as
butts. Most people exercise some influence, assert some personal note.
Alaric Crowe did neither. A course of female rule had produced him
with about as much individuality as a cushion. He ate his breakfast in
delicate silence. His mother was wrapt in thought. She found Sant's
letter delectable. The consuming passion of her whole life was for
George Arthur Rose. Next to him, she desired fame, notoriety, as a
leader in suburban literary and artistic "circles." By perseverance, an
undeniable amount of clever organizing power, a certain stock of third
or fourth class talent, and any quantity of "push," she had established
a sort of salon where little lions hebdomadally roared. But she never
had won the faintest regard from the man for whom she burned. The
violence of her passion had caused her to make an irremediable mistake
with him. She had not realized the feline temper which had caused him
to repel advances as obvious as abrupt and as shameless as a dog's.
He had ceased to be aware of her existence. Then she had blundered
further. Still ignorant of his peculiarity, she had treated him as the
female animal treats the male of her desire. Finding him unapproachable
by blandishments, she had turned to persecution. She would make him
come to her and beg. Here, she also failed. In vain did she defame him
to her followers: in vain did she libel him to the publishers from
whom he earned his scanty subsistence: in vain did she force herself
upon his few friends with stories of his evil deeds. He let those who
listened to her leave him. He tolerated the ill-will or stupidity of
Bar-abbas. He never said a word in his own defence. And he kept her
severely and entirely at a distance, giving no sign that he even knew
of her manœuvres. It was galling to the last degree. Of course he was
egregiously wrong. "Neither in woes nor in welcome prosperity, may I
be associated with women: for, when they prevail, one cannot tolerate
their audacity; and, when they are frightened, they are a still greater
mischief to their house and their city." His feeling to women was that
of Eteokles in the _Seven against Thebes_. It caused him to make the
tremendous mistake of his life. A woman of this colour never can be
neglected: she must be taken--or smashed. That, he knew: but he would
not take her, ever; and, a certain chivalrous delicacy, mingled with
a certain mercifulness of heart, and a certain fastidious shrinking
from a loathsome object, prevented him from prosecuting her with the
rigour of the law. "Wrong must thou do, or wrong must suffer. Then,
grant, O blind dumb gods, that we, rather the sufferers than the doers
be," expressed his attitude. It annoyed himself: it made her fierce
and furibund: and it was absolutely futile.--And now, he had leaped
at a bound from impotent lonely penury to the terrible altitude of
Peter's Throne. He was famous, mighty, rich, and the idol of her
adoration, despite the great gulph fixed between her insignificance and
His Supremacy. Oh, what would she not give--for a curse, for a blow
from Him. The emotion thrilled and dazzled her. Not one hour during
twelve years had she been without the thought of Him. It was a case of
complete obcession.

Her daughter flowed into the room in a pink wrapper, finishing a florid
cadenza. A touch on the tea-pot and a glance under the dish-cover
revealed astringent and coagulate tepidity. She rang the bell.

"Mother, why aren't you eating any breakfast?"

"I am eating it. I only just stopped a minute to read my letters."

"A pretty long minute, I should think. Everything's stone-cold. Why
you've only got one letter! Who's it from?"

"Mr. Sant. He wants me to go to Rome with him."

"Oh mother, you can't you know."

"I'm sure I don't know anything of the kind. In fact I think I will go.
There'll be a party of us."

"Well, if it's a party---- But what's going to become of the house?"

"I'm sure Big Ann is capable of looking after the house, Amelia. If
I can't have a fortnight's holiday now and then I might just as well
go and drown myself. I'm sick to death of Oriel Street. I want to go
about a bit. Yes, I will go. And the house must get on the best way it
can. Anybody would think you were all a pack of machines that wouldn't
work if I'm not here to wind you up."

"Oh, all right, mother, go and have a fling by all means if you like.
But what about the cost? I'm sure I can't help you as long as I only
get these three-guinea engagements. And I simply can't wear that
eau-de-nil again. The bodice is quite gone under the arms."

"You're not asked to help. Mr. Sant pays all expenses. And, Amelia, if
I can do what I'm going to try to do, you shall have as many new frocks
as you can wear. We're going to see the Pope."

"Going to see the Pope?"

"Yes, you silly girl--the Pope,--Rose!"

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I say."

"But you can't."

"Nonsense. Of course I can."

"Well I mean of course you can see Him the same as other people do: but
you'll be in the crowd, and He---- I can't understand you at all this
morning. Let's look at Sant's letter---- How vilely the man writes!
Like a---- You don't mean to say you'll join these people? M-ym-ym.
Yes, I see the game.--Yes.--But d'you think you really could?--Well:
if you like the idea still, it's worth trying anyhow.--Silly little
mother! Why I believe you're in love with Rose even now. Ah, you're
blushing. Mother, you look a dear like that!"

"Amelia, don't be stupid. Mind your own business."

"Oh I'm not going to interfere. You needn't be jealous of me. I'm sure
I never saw anything particular in Him myself."

They spoke as though they were alone. Alaric went quite unnoted. He
folded his napkin and rose from the table.

"A--and, mother," he mooed, slowly, with a slight hesitation, in a
virginal baritone voice, resonant and low; "if you go to Rome, don't be
nasty to Mr. Rose?"

Both the women whirled round toward him. They hardly could have been
astounded if the kidneys had commented on their complexions.

"Alaric! how dare you sir!"

"A-and I only say if you go to Rome I hope you won't be nasty to Mr.
Rose."

"Did you ever hear such nonsense, Amelia? Why not, I should like to
know?"

"A-and he taught me to swim."

"So he did me. At least he tried to. And what of that?" snapped the
girl.

"A-and I don't think it's fair. I liked him. A-and father liked him."

"Yes indeed, he's just the sort of man your father would have liked,
unfortunately. He liked that sonnet-man, too. A pretty kind of person!
All I can say is, Alaric, if I were to let you see the letters I've got
of his and the albums full----: but there, you don't know as much as I
do about your father!"

The boy bellowed. "A-and don't you dare say anything against father!
I won't stand it. Amelia knows I won't stand it from her; and I won't
from anyone, not even from you, mother. I won't, I tell you! I'll go
right away if I have another word. Mother, I'm sorry: but you oughtn't.
A-and I don't want you to be nasty to Mr. Rose, because I liked him,
a-and father liked him," concluded Alaric departing.

Mother and daughter looked at each other. "Who'd have expected Alaric
to burst out like that? I'm sure it's very hard, after all I've gone
through, to have my own children turning against me."

"I am not turning against you, mother. I think--well of course I can't
see why you care for Rose: but if you do you'd be a fool to miss a
chance like this. What does Mr. Sant mean about having him in his
power?"

"I don't quite know. I suppose Georgie must have got himself entangled
with these people somehow; and they think he wouldn't like it to come
out. That's very possible. He's been mixed up with several shady
characters in his time. However, we shall see. Amelia, do you know what
I've been thinking? That mauve frock of my aunt Sarah's--now I believe
I could make that up for myself for evenings and save a new one, you
know. It's lovely silk. You can't get anything as good as that anywhere
now-a-days."

"What the one with the fringe?"

"Well, isn't fringe coming in again now? I think I know how to use
every bit of it. The only difficulty 'll be with the sleeves. I wish
someone would invent a sleeve that only covers the lower part of one's
arms. You see the best part of mine's about the shoulders."

"Why don't you simply carry the fringe over the shoulders like straps;
and wear long gloves?"

"Yes, of course I might do that. And Amelia, I really must have a new
transformation; all things considered I think I will go to Du Schob and
Hamingill's for it this time. I'm afraid they're rather dear: but when
you look what a chance this is and how much depends ... Then there's
another reason why I should go. People are beginning to neglect our
Wednesdays. Well now, if I go to Rome with these whats-his-names it's
sure to be in the papers; and then when I come back all our old friends
are sure to want to know."

So this precious pair of would-be blackmailers accompanied the
deputation from the Liblab Fellowship to God's Vicegerent. Much of the
formality prescribed for pontifical audiences had fallen into abeyance.
Hadrian received ambassadors or personages with various degrees of
ceremony: but, almost every day, He was to be found pacing to and fro
in the portico of St. Peter's; and then He was accessible to all the
world. When, however, the Socialists applied for an audience, it was
intimated that the Supreme Pontiff would deign to receive them at
ten o'clock on the following morning; and the Vatican officials were
instructed that the reception would be carried out with full state. It
was George Arthur Rose's birthday. For twenty years no one had cared
to remember it. Now there were scores who cared; and none who dared.
Hadrian was more remote than George Arthur Rose had been.

A nervous little group of twenty obvious plebeians, male and female,
awaited Him in the Ducal Hall. Superb chamberlains shewed them the door
by which the Pope would enter, and instructed them to approach the
throne when He should have taken His seat. The great red curtains at
the end of the Hall were drawn-back; and cardinals, prelates, guards
and chamberlains, flowed-in like a wave whose white crest was Hadrian.
As the procession passed, Sant growled to Mrs. Crowe,

"Does Himself well, don't He?"

"Oh isn't He just splendid!" she yapped.

Then chamberlains manœuvred the Liblabs into position at the foot of
the throne steps. Jerry by common consent had been chosen spokesman;
and the united intellect of the Fellowship had drawn up the address
which he, with ostentatious calmness, began to read. The Pope's ringed
hand lay on His knee: His left elbow rested on the crimson chair
and the hand supported the keen unfathomable face. He had prepared
His plans: but He alertly was listening, lest unforeseen necessity
for alteration should arise. He was watching with half-shut eyes and
wide-open mind for an opportunity. None came. His prevision had been
singularly accurate. The Liblab Fellowship really had nothing to say
to Him, beyond turgid sesquipedalian verbosity expressive of its
own disinterestedness, and fulsome adulation calculated (according
to the Fellowshippers' lights) to tickle the conceit of any average
man. It would have been funny, if it had not been terribly tiresome:
impertinent, if it had not been pitiable. Sant's tongue clacked on his
drying palate. To himself, his voice sounded quite strange in that
atmosphere of splendid colour and fragrant odour. Mrs. Crowe quivered;
and wondered. The others were in a torpor. No one listened to the
reader, except the Pope. The curia rustled and whispered, exchanging
jewelled snuff-boxes. The guards resembled tinted statues tipped with
steel.

"We have the honour to remain, in the cause of humanity," concluded
Jerry Sant, reciting the common-place names of the signatories, "On
behalf of the Liblab Fellowship." He refolded the foolscap sheets,
and drew them through his fingers, looking as though he were about
to hand them with a flourish to the Pope. A frilled black-velvet
flunkey took them from him, gave them to a purple prelate, who passed
them to a vermilion cardinal, who kneeled and presented them. The
stately Cardinal Van Kristen moved from the side presenting a second
manuscript. Hadrian unfolded it and began to read His reply. It was
courteous and concise, distant and independent, simply an allocution
on the distinction necessary to be drawn between Demagogues and Demos,
the worthiness of the latter, the doubtfulness of the former. At the
end there was a silence. Chamberlains discreetly made it known to the
Fellowshippers that homage might be rendered by any who desired to
render it; and gave instructions as to the customary manner. Twelve
of the demagogues preferred a non-committal pose, having fear of the
snorts of the _Salpinx_; and, of these, two found it convenient to
glare uncompromisingly, letting it be seen that they regarded their
host as the Man of Sin. But eight approached the throne. Five of them
bowed, as over the counter: one kneeled on one knee and read his
maker's name in his hat: Sant held his own elbows and looked along his
nose; and Mrs. Crowe laid her lips on the cross gold-embroidered on the
Pontiff's crimson shoe. That was all. These people were bewildered,
almost inebriated by the magnificence of the scene, by the more than
regal ceremonial, by the immense psychical distance which divided them
from the clean white exquisitely simple figure under the lofty canopy,
by the quiet fastidious voice purring unknown words from an unimagined
world, by the delphic splendour of Apostolic Benediction waved from the
_sedia gestatoria_ retiring in a pageant of flabellifers. On leaving
the Vatican, they were thoroughly dazed: they knew not whether their
diplomacy had been successful or unsuccessful. Jerry Sant had an
indistinct notion that he might expect to be summoned after night-fall;
and surreptitiously introduced to some pontifical hole or corner in
order to be bribed. Mrs. Crowe exulted in a new emotion. She actually
had touched Him: and she thrilled: and she was sure that this was only
a beginning.

When Hadrian was about to descend alone into St. Peter's to say His
night prayers, He observed one of His gentlemen practising a new and
curious gymnastic in the first antechamber. Sir Iulo was in solitude;
and he did not hear the feline footfall which came near. He had a
longish knife in his right hand, held behind his back. Then, with his
teeth clenched, and his eyes firmly fixed on an imaginary pair of eyes
in front of him, and every sinew of him at its tensest, he suddenly
whipped hand and knife face-high to the front hilt-upward, down to
arms' length and forward-up again point-upward, all with frightful
force and rapidity. Hadrian watched him during five performances.
Then Sir Iulo became aware of the Presence; and relaxed into upright
stillness, grinning and glittering.

"What is this game?" the Pope enquired.

"Not game: but for the protection of You."

"Protection? Protection from what?"

"From those most horrible peoples who have been to-day here pursuing
some vendettaccia."

"Do you mean those Liblabs?"

"But yes, those Libberlabberersser: especially a Libberlabber who has
read, and a she-Libberlabber who goes with him. It is I who have seen
of them both the eye. From which I vibrate a knife most commodious for
the bellies of those. His Holiness can rest secure."

"Do you mean that you are going to rip them up?"

"But yes, in the manner which I have learned of the chef from Naples.
Now I watch them. When I shall have seen them make a movement, behold
the tripes of them sliced precipitatissimamente!"

"Iulo. No. Understand? No."

"There is not of dishonour! First like this, I demonstrate the
knife--they view the mode of their deaths. There is in it nothing of
sly---- Next, I give them the death which they have merit. That is not
the deed of a dishonourable."

"You are commanded not to give death--not to think of giving death.
It is prohibited. O Viniti, quo vadis? Understand? Bury the knife in
the garden. Sotterratelo nel giardino, Vinizio mio. Capisce? Break it
first. Then bury it in the garden---- If you wish to be protector of
Hadrian, learn to fight with fists--pugni. Understand?

Tell John to buy a punching-bag--punching-bag--and practise on that."

"Bai a punnertchingerbagger," repeated the devout murderer-in-posse
with disappointment, as the Pope left him limp.

A sign drew Cardinal Van Kristen to walk by Hadrian's side on the
return from San Pietro and Vincula on Lammas Day. From time to time,
his shy grand eyes turned to the Pope as they rhythmically paced along.
From time to time, a blessing fluttered from the Apostle's hand to some
stranger by the road-side.

"Holiness," at length he said, "do you remember the saint You used to
worship on this day at Maryvale?"

Hadrian detached Himself from a reverie. "Little Saint Hugh? Fancy your
remembering that!" And He again dived into silence.

"One would hardly fail to remember anything You said or did in those
days, Holy Father."

The Pope said nothing. He was thinking of something else.

"I put the picture you painted of Little Saint Hugh up in our refectory
at Dynam House."

No answer came. The cardinal's long eyelashes lifted a little as
he looked at his companion. He was not sure that his attempt at
conversation was welcome.

"Your Holiness does not care to be reminded perhaps. I did not mean to
intrude. Sorry."

Hadrian put out a hand. "No, Percy, you don't intrude. We were
wondering how long this King is going to be."

"Which King?"

"Italy."

"Oh. Yes?"

"Things are at a standstill."

"For example?"

"Everything--at least in Italy--as long as something better than sulky
peace is lacking. We want friendship, collaboration. See whether you
can follow this. The personal influence of His Majesty is enormous.
Although his acts are quite constitutional, yet, such is his magnetic
force of character that he actually rules. No matter which party is in
power, the King's Majesty rules. Practically he is an autocrat; and he,
so far, has not made a single mistake, nor done a single unjust or even
ungenerous deed. Now We also have some power, some personal influence.
These people seem to like Us. They're charmingly polite. They run about
after Us. We do not doubt but that they would obey if We commanded--if
We ordained that no woman should cover her hair with a terrible
handkerchief when she goes into a church--if We substituted silver
sand for those abominably insane sponges in the holy-water fonts, for
example--but how many of them would obey Us if We ordered them to cease
from drying their linen at their windows, or to stop spitting? Do you
follow?"

"No, Holiness."

"Our influence is over particulars, is sentimental, is ideal. The
influence of the King's Majesty is over universals, is practical, is
real----"

"Yes, I see that."

"Well, then----"

"You mean that Your influence and the King's----"

"Could do a great deal more for this dear delightful country than----"

"Do you think that this King knows of Your desire for reconciliation?"

"Victor Emanuel is one of the four cleverest men in the world. It
is impossible that he should not have understood the _Regnum Meum_.
Besides, We addressed him by name. He owes Us the civility of a
response."

"Holiness, let me have that news conveyed to him. Guido Attendolo----"

"No. We Ourself have not yet seen clearly the next move. We believe
that His Majesty of his own initiative ought to have approached
Us--the son to the Father--before now. We have given him a token of
Our good-will. There the matter rests. He cannot have a doubt as to
what Our purpose is. But--His Majesty must do as he pleases. We think
that We have done Our part so far. At present, We are not moved to
proceed further. When We are moved--and that is what occupies Us now.
An idea seems to be forming in Our mind: but as yet,---- Percy, do ask
Our friends to tea in the Garden of the Pine-Cone at half-past sixteen
o'clock to-day."

The same afternoon after siesta, Hadrian sat at one end of the great
white-marble arc-shaped seat. A yard away sixteen cardinals spread
their vermilion along the same seat. Little tables stood before them
with tea, goat's milk, triscuits and raisins. The Pope preferred to sit
here where the pavement was of marble: because lizards avoided it, and
their creepy-crawly jerks on grass or gravel shocked his nerves. He was
sure that reptiles were diabolical and unclean; and His taste was for
the angelic and the clean. He smoked a cigarette; and flung a subject
to His Court, as one flings corn to chickens.

"Was not the question of requiems for Non-Catholics settled two or
three years ago?" replied Courtleigh.

"Yes:" said Talacryn. "It was declared impossible, profane,
inconsistent."

"Why?" Hadrian's predilection was for the inconsistent, rather than for
that undevelopable fossil which goes by the name of consistency.

"It would be inconsistent, Holiness, for the Church to proclaim, by the
most solemn act of Her ministry, as a child submissive to Her, one who
always refused; or certainly never consented, to recognise Her as a
mother--one who, while alive, would have rejected any such recognition
as a grave insult and an irreparable misfortune;" Talacryn responded.

"I don't follow Your Eminency," said Whitehead: "it's eloquent--but
it's only eloquence."

"Isn't Cardinal Talacryn rather begging the question, Holiness?"
Leighton enquired. "Who spoke of proclaiming as a submissive child one
who never was submissive?"

"Holy Mass is the public and solemn testimony of visible communion;
the _tessera communionis_, if I may use the term; and, therefore, the
Church can only offer publicly for those who have departed this life as
members of that visible communion:" Talacryn persisted.

"Holy Mass is a great deal more than that!" interjected Carvale.

"Yes?"

"Holiness, it is not for me to tell Cardinal Talacryn that Holy
Mass is not only a sacrament for the sanctification of souls, but
a sacrifice--the Real Sacrifice of Calvary, offered by our Divine
Redeemer and pleaded in His Name by us His vicars. It is not another
sacrifice, but the Sacrifice of the Cross applied. It is the Clean
Oblation, offered to God for all Christians quick and dead, for all for
whom Christ died."

"Would not the bonafides of the Non-Catholic in question come in?" said
Semphill. "Take for instance the Divine Victoria----"

"'Divine'?" queried della Volta.

"Yes, 'Divine.' You say 'Divus Julius' and 'Divus Calixtus,' meaning
'the late Julius' and 'the late Calixtus.' Very well, then I say 'the
Divine Victoria' for a more thoroughly, worthy woman----"

"Well, but that would mean that on the death of such and such a
Non-Catholic, we should have to institute a process of inquisition, and
adjudicate on his or her life and career:" Ferraio ventured.

Hadrian threw His cigarette-end at a lizard on the gravel, and laughed
shortly. "'Pippety-pew, me mammy me slew, me daddy me ate, me sister
Kate gathered a' me baines----'" He quoted with deliciously feline
inconsequence. "How you theological people do split straws, to be sure!
Go on, though. You're intensely interesting."

The Patriarch of Lisbon slapped his knee.

"Holiness, there are several decrees which are supposed to bear on the
subject," Gentilotto gently put in.

"Can Your Eminency remember them?"

"Innocent III. ruled that communion might not be held with those
deceased, with whom it had not been held when they were alive."

"I concede it. But it doesn't touch the point. I distinguish. Holy Mass
is more than mere communion. Besides, we don't communicate with, but on
behalf of, the deceased. It's not a concession to the deceased. It's
our duty to God and to our neighbour," Carvale persisted.

"Then there was the case of Gregory XVI. and Queen Caroline of
Bavaria," Gentilotto continued. "The argument is the same: but perhaps
it has been expanded a little. It definitely prohibits persons, who
have died in the eternal and notorious profession of heresy, from being
honoured with Catholic rites."

"Another point occurs to me," Talacryn went on. "Supposing that we sing
requiems for Non-Catholics, we should imply that one religion is as
good as another."

"I guess I deny the consequence," Grace retorted. "Of course people
would infer all sorts of things which ought not to be inferred: but I
can't see that that need concern us."

"One might imperil the salient and sacred aloofness which marks off
God's Work from man's work, the Church's unmistakeable contrast to the
whole world," said the Cardinal of St. Nicholas-in-the-Jail-of-Tully.

"And her complete discordance from the world by all the difference
which separates the Divine Institution from the human, the Church of
God from the churches of men," Saviolli appended.

"All the same I think I go with the Cardinal of St. Cosmas and St.
Damian," said Mundo.

"There would not be any real ground," Sterling continued, "for
suspecting one of disloyalty to the Church, if one were to recognize
the Invincibly Ignorant as the 'other sheep' which His Holiness
mentioned in His first Epistle. One is not going to take part in their
worship, or frequent their services: because one knows better. And one
is not going to accept the principle of a conglomerate Church of the
'common-christianity' type any more than one is going to accept an
Olympos of gods for a Divinity. But one confesses that one can see no
reason why one should not pray for outsiders, offer Mass for outsiders,
recognize them in short, as His Holiness seems to ordain. They don't
know us; and, naturally, they invent a caricature of us, as things are.
Yes, on the whole, perhaps one ought to support Carvale."

"Well: if we're taking sides, I'll follow you," said Semphill.

Their Eminencies rose and surrounded Cardinal Carvale. Talacryn was
left alone at the other end of the seat; and Percy moved a few inches
nearer to the Pope.

"Now Percy?" said Talacryn with invitation. The youngest cardinal shook
his grand head in the negative.

"And will not you yourself join the majority?" Hadrian inquired of the
single minority.

"I shall follow your Holiness," Talacryn answered. The others looked
their interest.

The Pope smiled. "Note please, that We are not uttering infallible
dogma, but the fallible opinion of a private clergyman, weak-kneed
perhaps, or worldly. We know no more than this,--that Christ died for
all men." Rising He began to throw on his white cloak, for it was the
hour before sunset and the air was cooler. "Eminencies," He continued,
"We learn much from you. This discussion was an accident, due to Our
negligence. The case which We intended to submit to you was not the
case of an outsider: but, while you have been talking, We have reached
the solution of Our problem by another road. We request you immediately
to publish the news that to-morrow at ten o'clock the Supreme Pontiff
will sing a requiem in St. Peter's for the repose of the soul of
Umberto the Fearless King of Italy."

An English Catholic painter came to paint the Pope's portrait. Hadrian
knew him for a vulgar and officious liar: detested him; and, at the
first application, had refused to sit to him. His Holiness was not at
all in love with His Own aspect. It annoyed Him because it just missed
the ideal which He admired; and He did not want to be perpetuated.
Also, He loathed the cad's Herkomeresque-cum-Camera esque technique and
his quite earthy imagination: from that palette, the spiritual, the
intellectual, the noble, could not come. But, He thought of the man's
pinched asking face, of his dreadful nagging wife, of his children--of
the rejection of all his pictures by the Academy this year, of the fact
that he was being supplanted by younger grander minds. Ousted from
livelihood! Horrible! Love your enemies! Ouf! The Pontiff would give
six sittings of one hour each, on condition that He might read all the
time.

The privilege alone was an inestimable advertisement. Alfred Elms
looked upon himself as likely to become the fashion. Hadrian sat in the
garden for six siestas; and He read in Plato's Phaidōn, which is the
perfection of human language, until His lineaments were composed in
an expression of keen gentle fastidious rapture. Elms's professional
efforts at conversation were annulled quietly and incisively. The Pope
blessed him and handfuls of rosaries at the end of every sitting.
Sometimes His Holiness was so elated with the beauty of the Greek of
His book, that He even was able with a little self-compulsion to utter
a few kindly and intelligent criticisms of the painter's work. That
was startlingly real, mirror-like. The varied whiteness of marble and
flannel and vellum and the healthy pallor of flesh, gained purity from
the notes of the reddish-brown hair and the translucent violet of the
amethyst. The clean light of the thing was admirably rendered. The
painter could delineate, and tint with his hand, that which his eyes
beheld, with blameless accuracy. What his eyes did not see, the soul,
the mind, the habit of his model, he as accurately omitted. Hadrian
made him glad with a compliment on the perfection of the connection
between his directive brain and his executive fingers. At the end of
the last sitting also He gave him two hundred pounds, and the picture,
and a written indulgence in the hour of death. The painter went away
quite happy, and with his fortune made. He never knew how vehemently
his work was detested, how profoundly he himself was scorned.

August was deliciously warm. The Pope moved the Court for a few weeks
to the palace on the Nemorensian lake which the Prince of Cinthyanum
lent. It was a vast barrack of a palace. Although three sides of it
actually were in the little city, and a public thoroughfare pierced its
central archway, yet it suited Hadrian admirably. Approached through
numerous antechambers and picture-galleries, there was a huge room
frescoed in simulation of a princely tent. Here they placed a throne
for receptions. There was a great balcony high above the porch, facing
a two-mile avenue of elms. When the faithful congregated (as they often
did) the Pope could shew Himself. There were innumerable chambers of
state and private suites, where the curial cardinals took up their
abode. But high on the fourth side of the palace, with no access except
by several little private stairs, Hadrian found an apartment of five
small rooms which was quite secluded. From its windows, (the palace
stood on the crest of the cliff) a stone might be dropped into the
fathomless lake three hundred feet below; and, beyond the lake, the eye
soared to Diana's Forest of oaks and the spurs of the Alban Mount. A
private stair and passage led to the incomparable (and almost unknown)
gardens, which crowned the rocks with verdure and descended by winding
paths to the mirrored waters of the lake. Here the Pontiff established
Himself, with the noise of the world of men and its limitations on the
one side; and, on the other, quiet and illimitable space wherein the
soul might spread wings and explore the empyrean.

Half-way down the cliff, a little ruined shrine stood in the garden.
The broken grey-brown tracery of the window framed an exquisite
panorama of water and distant hills, brilliantly blue and green.
The nook stood away from the main path; and was quite enclosed by
sun-kissed foliage, and canopied with vines and ivy. Hadrian was
spending a morning here, alone with cigarettes and the _Epinikia_ of
Pindaros and His thoughts. The air was fragrant with the perfume of
southernwood and the generous sun. He rested in a low cane-chair,
soaking Himself in light and peace. His eyes were turned to the far
distant shore where the great grove of ilex cast deep tralucid shadows
in the water. A tiny slip of pink shot from sunlight to shade: another
followed: two tiny splashes of silver spray arose, and vanished:
two blue-black dots appeared in the rippled mirror. Hadrian envied
the young swimmers. He remembered all the wild unfettered boundless
sensuous joy of only a little while ago. Was the fisherman still down
there with his boat and the brown boy who rowed it? He wondered what
the world would say if the Pope were to swim in sunlit Nemi--or in
moonlit. Ah, the mild tepidity of moonlit water, the clean cold caress
of moonlit air! Not that He cared jot or tittle for what the world
might say--personally. No. But---- No. If He were to ask for the use
of the boat, tongues would clack. And He could not go alone with the
deliberate intention. Still--didn't Peter swim in Galilee. Weren't
the Attendolo gardens private? Some night He might stroll down to the
shore: the water was fathomless at once: there need be no wading with
the ripples horribly creeping up one's flesh--Yaff! But the toads on
the path, and the lizards and the serpents in the grass--oh no. Then,
thus it must be: the Pope must not go to seek His pleasure: if God
should deign to afford His Vicegerent the recreation of swimming, an
opportunity would be provided. Otherwise----

Little footsteps pattered down the glade. His retreat was about to be
invaded.

Three children burst through the shrubs--and stood transfixed.
They were a couple of black-eyed black-haired girls, and a very
pale-coloured very delicately-articulated slim and stalwart baby-boy
with dark-star-like eyes and brows superbly drawn. All Hadrian's
fearful terror of children paralyzed Him. These limpid glances made
Him feel such a hackneyed old sinner. But He shewed no outward tremor,
looking gently and genially at His visitors, and wondering what (in
the name of all the gods) He ought to say or do. Three nurses and an
athletic tailor-made lady added their presence.

"A thousand pardons, sir," a nurse exclaimed;--"O Santissimo
Padre!"--Six knees flopped on the ground.

"Missy," the boy announced, "I have found a white father. Why have I
seen a white father before never?" His utterance was very deliberate,
and his English quite devoid of accented syllables.

The tailor-made lady rose to the occasion with an intuition which only
could be feminine and a self-possession which only could be English.
She bowed to the Pope, saying "Your Holiness will pardon the intrusion.
The children escaped us at the fork in the path----"

"But it is a pleasure," Hadrian hypocritically put in: "it is a
pleasure," He repeated, seeing that she was about to withdraw her
charges; "and it would be a greater pleasure to know the names of these
little ones."

"The Prince Filiberto, the Princess Yolanda, and the Princess Mafalda,"
the lady replied: "the Queen is giving a children's picnic in Lady
Demochede's woods; and we took the liberty of trespassing here in
search of wild-flowers. Of course we had no idea----"

"Missy," said the boy again, "I wish to speak to this white father." He
was standing with his exquisite fair little legs wide-apart, his little
body splendidly poised; and his glance was the glance of a young lion.

"Is it permitted?" Hadrian inquired of the governess.

"Oh surely;" she assented with perfection of manner.

"I wish to ask this white father whether he can speak English words
like me;" the youngster proclaimed, keeping at a distance until he had
reconnoitred the position.

"Don't be silly 'Berto, of course he can. This is Papa Inglese, I
think;" said the Princess Yolanda with the daintiest air of regality.
She was a very stately little person, and quite aware of herself; and
her great black eyes were wonderful. Her younger sister sucked a silent
thumb.

"Then I wish to know whether I may kiss that ring--the big one. I
always kiss rings when fathers wear them," her brother continued. He
quite ingenuously offered his little token of regard, giving reasons
for the same in the manner of one who is too noble to take advantage of
ignorance or even of blind good-nature. Hadrian had not the faintest
notion of what to say. He never in His life had spoken to a Royal
Highness; and the childhood of the child had tied His tongue. He would
not have hesitated for one moment to converse with an angel: indeed He
would have been rather more than garrulous. But with a human baby boy!
He extended His right hand.

The princelet took it: looked at it: looked from the great gold
Little-Peter-in-a-Boat to the great amethyst; and pondered them.
"I think I will kiss them both;" he said at length. The full soft
rose-leaf of his lips flitted from the pontifical to the episcopal
ring. He lifted his bright head; and boldly looked into the Pope's
eyes, with a smile disclosing the most wonderful little teeth--with a
gaze which told of a pact of friendship sealed.

"God bless you, little boy;" said the Apostle.

"Oh, He can speak my English words!" the youngster shouted with
delight. "Yolanda, come and kiss these rings, and hear Him say 'God
bless you, little boy' again--no,--girl I mean, Missy dear;" with a
side-look at the governess.

The princess came forward like a lady; and paid her respects. Her
brother intently watched.

"God bless you, Princess," said the Apostle.

"Oh but listen," the Prince of Naples shrieked, jumping up and down;
"He knows all the words ezattually, just like my own father. He said
to me 'boy,' and to Yolanda 'princess.' Now go you too, Mafalda, and I
will listen again."

The tiny maid went. "God bless you, little Princess;" the Apostle said.

"That is right," the boy cried: "he said 'little princess' because----"
There he stopped a moment. Then, "White Father, why for have
You--no,--why did not You say 'prince' to me? I am Prince Filiberto,
aged five, Quirinale, Rome. Do You know that, White Father?"

"Yes, Prince. But you are a boy."

"Well, I think so. Also I am a sailor, like Uncle Luigi. Cannot You see
that, White Father? Do You know what thing is a sailor?" He stood by
the chair, leaning against Hadrian's knee, deliciously rosily maritime
in white flannel.

"Oh yes: We know many sailors:" the Pope responded.

"Are they English?" The question possessed importance. His Royal
Highness evidently was by way of verifying certain information.

"Most of them are English."

"My father says that all good sailors are English, or like English."

"And are you a good sailor?" The Pope switched the argument away from
the Majesty of Italy, for reasons.

"But yes, I am very good this morning. But I always am a sailor--even
when I am--not quite good;" the candid baby said with a little
hesitation.

"Do you like being 'not quite good'?"

"Oh but yes--I should say, sometimes. I think I like it then: but not
now. No--I do not like being 'not quite good.'" He settled the matter
like that; and nobly lifted himself upon it.

"Won't you try to be a good sailor?" (Hadrian hated Himself for
preaching. But such a chance! To make a white mark on the heir to a
throne!)

"But of course I always try,--except----" and there seemed to be the
difficulty. The child drooped a little.

"You always do try to be a good sailor--and to give no trouble----"

"Give no trouble? What not to father?" the prince inquired, as though
the very notion clashed with his preconceived idea of the uses of
fathers.

"No: not to your father."

"Nor to Missy?" The round face became a little longer.

"No: never to ladies on any account."

"To whom then may I give trouble, if I may not give it to father nor to
Missy?" He felt that he had put a poser.

"Don't give it."

"What not to anybody?" This was a matter, a dreadful matter, which
anyhow must be pursued to the bitter end.

"Not to anybody."

The child's great brave eyes considered the Apostle attentively: then
they wandered to his sisters, to the governess, to the nurses; and came
back again. Hadrian returned his gaze, very gently, quite inflexibly.
The boy must learn his lesson now. Prince Filiberto pondered the novel
doctrine from all his little points of view; and at last he grasped the
consequence like a man.

"Ah well, then I suppose I had better keep it myself. I am sorry that I
gave it to you, Missy, yesterday."

Hadrian experienced the strangest-possible rigour of the throat.
Another moment and something in Him would have spoiled all. He rose:
blessed His visitors; and passed swiftly away through the trees to the
left.

"Missy, I am liking that white father. When shall I see Him again?"
came after Him in the incomparable voice of innocence.

He quickly went up the winding path, along the private passage, up
the stairs to the terrace. He dragged a chair out there and sat down.
"God!" He exclaimed aloud, with tremendous expiration, to the wide
expanse of water and earth and sky which yawned before Him. Tears
welled in His eyes: and the constriction of His throat was relaxed. He
took His handkerchief from His sleeve. Thank heaven He was alone! And
He became calm and analytical and infinitely happy. Verses of Melagros
of Gadara streamed through his mind:

 _"Our Lady of desire brought me to thee, Theokles,
 "me to thee;
 "and delicate-sandalled Love hath stripped and strewed me
 "at thy feet:_

 _"a lightning-flash of his sweet beauty!
 "flames from his eyes he darteth!
 "Hath Love revealed a Child who fighteth with thunderbolts?_

 _"the splendour of twin fires did scorch me through and through:
 "one flame indeed was from the sun, and one was love
 "from a child's eyes."_

His ecstasy was admiration of the lovely little person and the noble
little soul. The clean and vivid candour, the delicate proportion,
the pure tint, aroused in Him a desire to own. The frank self-hood,
the unerring truth, the courageous tranquillity of self-renunciation,
aroused in Him a sense of emulation. He, the Supreme Pontiff, was
prostrate before the seraphic majesty of the Child. And, as though a
curtain had been lifted, He had a peep into the human heart. Now, He
thought that He could see and understand one cause, perhaps the chief
cause, of human society--the ability to say "This is mine, mine: for I
did it." He began to understand that the human mind must have external
as well as internal operation--and much beside. As for Himself, He
was making experiment of the first personal emotion of undiluted
enjoyment of human society which He could remember. "Then I can love,
after all;" He reflected. Though He mixed freely and absolutely
independently with all men, yet, in the tender inner soul of Him, He
shrank more shudderingly than ever from the contact. Every single act
of urbanity, of courtesy, was a violent effort to Him. His feeling for
His fellow-creatures was repugnance pure and simple. But, in the case
of this yellow-haired mannikin, there was a difference. He would like
to own such a radiant little piece of the Divine-Human as that fair
Prince Filiberto. He would appreciate the honour and the joy of tending
such a treasure. But He could not seek; and it never had been offered.
Perhaps He would shrink if it were offered. That was His peculiar
nature. Had He ever wished to exert for intimate relations with anyone?
No: plainly no. He was a thing apart. More, He was a thing to be
avoided. He remembered how many times he aimlessly had strolled through
London, watching His species gambolling in Piccadilly, or at the
Marble Arch on a Sunday where the fierce lanky spiky sallow Anarchist
raved, and the coy Catholic barrister cracked correct jests out of a
shiny black exercise-book, and the bright-eyed clean Church-Army youth
spoke with genuine conviction. He had moved through partner-seeking
mobs everywhere, lazily, vigilantly, studiously: yet no one ever had
addressed him. He was seen. He was avoided. Yes, He was a thing apart.
That was His trouble. And--what did the boy say?--"I had better keep
it myself." The content of that saying was to Hadrian just like a
thunderbolt. It was Love--yes, that was quintessential Love, from the
clear eyes and the stainless lips of childhood,--to keep one's troubles
oneself. For in that way one relieved others. And the Servant of the
servants of God must---- He continued to sit in the sunlight in a sort
of rapture. The lake and the hills and the turquoise sky faded from
His vision. He was alone with His thoughts, His ideals, His soul....
After the noon-angelus, He went in to His solitary meal. Later in the
afternoon, when He had slept and washed, and put on fresh garments, He
descended to chat with His court. His demeanour was observed to be more
warm, more human. His eyes had an unusual and more usual glow. He did
not seem to be so very very far away.

"I guess the air of this village suits you, Holy Father," said young
Cardinal Percy. "You look like twenty cents this evening."

"Yes, the air is delicious enough: but it is not the air." Hadrian
narrated the incident of the morning, ending, "and We have recognised
in Ourself a new and unknown power, a perfectly strange capability. We
have made experience of a feeling which--well, which We suppose--at any
rate will pass for--Love."

He plunged again into business. He had noted three men for a
purpose. Archbishop Ilario della Valla was a young and exquisitely
polished prelate, son of an ambassador, thoroughly expert in the
English language and habit. Signor Gargouille Grice was one of those
nondescripts devoid of Divine Vocation, who fondly are believed to
occupy an important place at the pontifical court, (equivalent at least
to the English office of Lord Chamberlain) but, which in reality is
that of a flunkey. Prince Guido Attendolo was a young Italian of very
generous birth, who, as younger son of a younger son not over-burdened
with wealth, led an inconspicuous impotent uninteresting life. With
the idea of giving these three a chance, the Pope dispatched them to
America with the red hat for the American Archbishop Erin, whom He
named Cardinal-presbyter of the Title of St. Mary-of-the-People. It
was merely an incident, intended to keep them from stagnation, to give
them that scope which human nature must have if it is to do itself
justice, if it is not to become a public nuisance. At the same time, He
was satisfied that the sympathy of the prelate, the antiquity of the
decurial chamberlain, and the urbanity (to say nothing of the perfect
Greek profile) of the prince, would recommend them as ambassadors
from the oldest power to the newest nation. On the arrival of the
Apostolic Ablegate in New York, Hadrian published the _Epistle to the
Americans_. He praised their exuberant vigour and individualistic
unconventionality, while He warned them of their obligations to their
race and of the evils of oligarchical tyranny. He begged them not to
live in the desperate hurry which was instanced in their carelessness
in details. He advised them not to be too proud to learn from the
history of other nations, dwelling on the principle of the intermittent
tendency of human nature. He pointed out that, as effect is due to
cause, and as the scope and quantity of human ideas is very far from
being illimitable, so, as human types recur, human ideas and the
situations produced by them are bound to recur. "Yet," He continued,
"human nature itself, when inspired by Divine Grace, being so very
fine and so very potent a force, is capable of immense development.
It has Will, Free-will, which, rightly directed can rule itself, can
control natural laws, can dispose events." Wherefore, He admonished the
Americans to divest themselves of juvenile arrogance and selfishness,
in order that (having learned the causes which produce effects) they
might know the rules and play the game. He spoke to them, not only with
the authority of His apostolature, but with the affection of a comrade
who wished to serve them from the experience (inherited and acquired)
of a member of the older nations. He concluded with delicious slyness,
"The young ones think the old are fools: the old ones know the young
ones are."

America was openly delighted, not only by the consideration which the
Pope shewed in addressing Her next to England but, by the pungent vivid
validity of His remarks. She said that He had a dead cinch on things,
that He was on to His job, that as a skypilot He suited Her to a gnat's
bristle; and She began to regard Him with close attention.

The death of Francis Joseph, Austrian Emperor and King of Hungary,
in September, had its not unexpected consequences. The confusion of
Europe was worse confounded by conflict between Hungarian national
sentiment and the Pan-germanic League. Francis Joseph's successor did
not inspire his multilingual subjects with the same respectful devotion
as that which had been paid to the old Emperor on account of the triple
prestige of his dignity, his long reign, his many sorrows. Hungary
cried for a Magyar king. Bohemia cried for a Czech king. Russian Poland
also cried aloud for a Polish king; and German Poland would have
cried with her, had she dared. As it was, she opened longing eyes and
waited. The Germans of Austria appealed to the German Emperor to come
to their aid and take them into his mailed fist. The Habsburgh dynasty
was tottering. Servia was a small hell. Turkey and Roumania viewed the
prospect of Germany's expansion with favour: Turkey, because she found
it easy to outwit the Teuton: Roumania, because the power by whose
favour she existed was possessed by devils. Albania, Montenegro, and
Greece, strongly disapproved: they prized their individual national
existence, and the idea of being reduced to dependency upon the Gothic
Michael did not suit them. The distracted state of Austria, and her
inability to keep her obligations to Germany and Italy, caused the
lapse of the Triple Alliance. Yet Italy made no sign and Germany made
no sign. There was an interval of intense and silent vigilance.

Hadrian read in the _Times_ that Signor Panciera, Italian Ambassador
at the Court of St. James's, was leaving town for Rome for a few
weeks. Cardinal Fiamma sought-out His Excellency; and brought him
privately and unofficially to the Pope's apartment. His Holiness was
very happy to renew acquaintances with so genial and so solid and so
trusty a man. (It was comparatively easy to love such an one.) The
ambassador bowed; and wondered what was expected. The Pope put it
patently. He was profoundly interested in affairs: He pried into no
secrets: He did desire to collect facts and opinions from experts
and secular statesmen: the six ambassadors left to the Vatican were
sterile: if Signor Panciera could see his way to converse of current
events, without betraying his sovereign's confidence, but simply as
between two men whose motives were pure and patriotic, he would confer
a favour upon, (or, if he preferred it the other way, he would render
a service to) the Pope. His Excellency bowed in reciprocation of the
honour. Privately noting that His Holiness was concealing nothing,
and (in fact) was unable to conceal, he thought that there would be
no difficulty. This was not a matter of diplomacy or state-craft. The
crystalline candour of the Pope made Him negligible as a statesman:
as a mere man He was charming, perfectly transparent: He wanted, not
state-secrets but, the opinion of a man-of-affairs upon affairs.
Signor Panciera was quite delighted. The state of Europe as revealed
in the newspapers was passed under review. His Excellency thought that
Germany was looking east and west rather than elsewhere. What could be
expected? Naturally she would look that way where were her two natural
enemies. As for Austria--peuh!--a secondary matter. Austria would not
be touched by Germany as long as danger threatened from France and
Russia. Italy? Well, Italy now was independent. No longer bound to
Germany and Austria, Italy's attitude was that of the lion on guard (in
the words of the immortal Dante).

"Naturally," Hadrian interpolated, "Italy would watch events and direct
her policy in accordance with her interest."

"But securely," the ambassador responded.

The Pontiff spoke of Spain. Signor Panciera chopped his right wrist
with his left hand. Spain was finished. Portugal? Portugal was English.
England? England was England. The Pope and the ambassador produced
a smile a-piece: the one meant triumphant pride of race: the other,
boundless and intelligent admiration. Hadrian swooped eastwards: the
Balkan States? His Excellency began to discriminate: that little group
of separate sovereignties was very difficult. He seemed to hesitate,
to pick his words:--of course the subject interested him very greatly.
The Pope was quite singularly still. Now and again, as His massive
dark guest passed Him in pacing, He plumped in a question. The Balkan
States? Signor Panciera strode on toward the window, as though seeking
the response there: came back: began a reply: returned to the window:
came back again with a fresh half-dozen of unilluminating words.
Hadrian went to one of his cupboards: took out two little brown
bagatelle-balls; and placed them in the royal ambassador's hands.
"Your Excellency's aid to conversation," He purred with a recondite
smile. "Don't be discomposed. All men have some trick of this kind.
Ours is to play with Our rings or to push up Our glasses. Your friend
Fiamma plaits the fringe of his sash. The Cardinal-Dean strokes the
mother-of-pearl disk which stands on his wig for the tonsure. The
Secretary of State munches his new teeth. And you like to click a pair
of bagatelle-balls, if We rightly remember. You were saying that that
little group of separate sovereignties was very difficult. Because of
their present autonomy?"

Click-click-click went the balls on the brown palm: and the ambassador
tralated their clicking. "Yes Holiness, for that reason: but also, I
think, because they are racially distinct from the nations with which
they expect to be incorporated."

"Russia, Germany, Austria, Turkey, for example?"

(Click) "I think we may neglect Russia."

"Yes? In the case of Roumania?"

"I think that Roumanian sentiment has veered round toward Germany."

"Well now, let us ignore opinions; and go to these racial differences
of which you speak."

"I am of opinion that the Roumanian people find themselves in sympathy
with the German peoples," Signor Panciera persisted.

"Bulgaria then?"

Signor Panciera took two or three journeys to the window and back,
vigorously clicking the balls. "Holiness, You do not ask for my
opinion; and I only can give You the speculations of an amateur
ethnologist." (Click-click) "I have----" (Click) "I can tell You what
my studies have taught me--no more."

"But that is most interesting, Signore. We are all students. Some are
anxious to learn: some are not: but both are better off than the man
who knows that he has nothing more to learn. Tell Us what your studies
have taught you."

"I really believe that the principalities south of the Danube contain
the descendants of those Byzantines who were pushed northward by the
incursion of Turks in the fifteenth century."

"Why?"

(Click) "First from physiognomy:" (Click) "second from the structure of
their languages."

"Wonderful! And you have noted points of similarity?"

"I will go further than that, Holiness. I ought to say that my
attention was attracted to this subject by my Lord the King, who, you
know, deigned to marry a Montenegrin Princess. His Majesty used to
speak much at one time on this point to me and also to the Minister of
Public Instruction----"

"That is Signor Cabelli?"

"Surely. We examined the matter for His Majesty; and our investigations
all seemed to point to the fact that the Turks, in coming from
Asia, swept across the Byzantine Empire in a westerly and northerly
direction. Then, examining the outlets and the fringes, we found
Byzantine characteristics all along the northern boundary of Turkey,
that is to say not in Bulgaria which is Slav, but in Albania,
Herzegovina, Bosnia, and Montenegro; and, more, we found them along
the Adriatic coast of Italy. Your Holiness will see that these places
are of a contiguity which would render them likely refuges for the
Christians who fled before, or were expelled by, the Muslim."

"Yes."

"There is one thing more. We found traces of an earlier migration than
the Byzantine. We believe that in Eastern Italy from Taranto to Ortona,
and also in Southern Albania, may be seen the lineal descendants of the
Athenians of Perikles' day."

"But Greece, Excellency?"

"Holiness, the Greeks of to-day are degenerate from the dirty-knuckled
Laconians crossed with the Ottoman Infidel, their conquistators."

"That is splendid, Signore. And it marches with an opinion which We
formed some dozen years ago, at least in regard to your Italian Greeks.
We have seen those with Our Own eyes. In Apulia, for instance, the
Elgin Marbles have their living counterfeits: the charcoal-burners
and the fishermen look as though they had stepped out of the Frieze
of the Parthenon. Once We heard a fisherman summon his boy by the
word 'Páddy'--to give it an English form. An Italian would have cried
'Putto.' But 'Páddy,'--what vocative is that but 'Παιδε,' pronounced
as Alkibiades would have pronounced it? Oh, We see your point. And is
your Lord the King still interested in the subject?"

"I believe that His Majesty is intensely interested. I hope I may
venture to repeat the corroboration which Your Holiness has given me. I
am sure that His Majesty----"

"By all means. Of course you merely will repeat the conversation.
You will not intrude Us before the King's Majesty in Our apostolic
character: but merely----"

"Your Holiness's wish shall be respected."

"But to resume:--We agree to identify those states south of the Danube
with the Byzantines in general; and Montenegro and South Albania with
the Greeks in particular. What about North Albania?"

(Click) "That is Turkish."

"All Albania is Turkish."

"But South Albania is Christian. And all Albania, Christian and Muslim,
reverences Madonna--'Panagia,' Παναγια, 'Lady of All,' they call her."

"How very extraordinary! Well now let us take their present situation.
Suppose, Signore Panciera, that we reverse our positions. Instead of
hearing your opinion, We will state Ours; and you shall comment on it.
Is that fair? Is that agreeable?"

"Most fair: most agreeable. I always learn from Englishmen and I shall
learn from Your Holiness."

"Good. We believe that Montenegro is happy and contented under the
paternal rule of Prince Nicholas."

(Click-click-click) "That is so, Holiness."

"We hear that Albania is shaping well under Prince Ghin Kastriotis."

(Click: a walk to the window and back; and more clicks) "Since the
murder of Abdul Hamid, and the erection of Albania into a principality,
progress has been astounding. The beautiful country, (click) the
splendid people, are a prize to any ruler. Sultan Ismail is the only
cloud in the sky. He does not approve of the loss of that slice of his
empire. But Albania will take care of herself."

"Servia, and her yearning for the restoration of the Servian Empire?"

"Impossible. A nation which murders two kings in four years cannot be
an Empire."

"Quite impossible. Bulgaria, a country of heretics of the most
notorious and dreadful kind, atrocious brigands to a man, ruled (or
rather not ruled) by a foreigner who is a contemptible cur."

"Your Holiness would propose----"

"The deposition of Prince Ferdinand--an easy task now that Russia
has her hands full,--and the annexation of Bulgaria and Servia by
Montenegro under the protection of Italy."

(Click-click-click) "There, Holiness, we come to the ground of high
politics." (Click-click-click-click) "One must walk very warily."

"Yes," Hadrian mewed: "until Italy and Germany have made up their
minds."

The ambassador bowed.

"Please leave the bagatelle-balls, Excellency; and accept Our thanks
for your very agreeable conversation," said the Pope.

In giving an account of this interview to the king, the ambassador
concluded "and, Sire, His Holiness spoke like an Englishman."

"Oh did He," said Victor Emanuel. "In what way?"

"Majesty, he was profound and limpid, He was large and particular, He
was bold and careful."

"Basta! Go again as often as you please; and let me hear more of this
Englishman."

"With the favour of Your Majesty."




CHAPTER XI


The Liblab deputation had returned to England: but Jerry Sant and Mrs.
Crowe hung on at a decent little hotel in Two Shambles Street, which
was convenient to the English quarter. Their idea was to wait for an
opportunity to push their scheme of blackmail. Most of each day, Mrs.
Crowe was in the Square of St. Peter's, looking up at the Vatican,
hoping for the apparition of Hadrian at His window. In the evenings,
she saw Him walking to and fro on the steps of the basilica. There
always was something of a crowd there. The poorest of the poor, by the
common consent of the most courteous of nations, were placed in front;
and she used to see the Pope giving words and gold to persons whom she
deemed disreputable. She would have sacrificed her new wig for one of
those coins. Once, she pushed into the front row and kneeled with the
riff-raff. She heard a blind boy tell his miserable tale: she heard the
Apostle's gentle words and saw the munificent careless gift. It was her
turn. She felt the distant inflexible eyes on her bent head: "God bless
you, daughter; go in peace" dropped on her; and Hadrian passed on. The
poor girl on her left bitterly wept--the police-doctor had refused
her certificate--her occupation was gone.--Hadrian's kind of charity
did not appeal to Mrs. Crowe: she called it "disgusting" and "highly
improper" to the table d'hôte. There were several quaint visitors
at the Hotel Nike. They chiefly were English; and they listened in
silence, with shy strange eyes, when she vented her views. Afterwards,
though, she used to find herself the recipient of the confidence of
weird old-maids and worn-out matrons, who drew her into corners of the
garden away from the cabin where Sant smoked, and nervously whispered,
"My dear, I'm sure you'll excuse me addressing you, but I feel bound
to say I think I'm right in saying that I owe everything to Him Whom
you're speaking about. I hope you don't mind me saying this but I feel
sure you wouldn't wish to do anyone an injustice. You see I used to
know Him years ago and, I hardly know how to put it, but a certain
sum was named between us which would make me safe for life; and just
now, since last April you see, that very sum, a regular income all my
days, my dear, has come to me through the Bank of England; and I feel
sure it's Him, for there isn't another soul in the world able to do
such a thing: and, my dear, although of course I can't approve of the
indiscriminate charity you've named, I thought I'd just mention this to
you because the fact is I've come here to try and see Him and let him
know how thankful I am."

Tired wan clean men, with corns on their right-middle-fingers and
jackets bulging along their lower edges, addressed her as "Madam"
and mentioned similar experiences; and, when two straight-limbed
straight-eyed boys of sixteen, twins, orphans, were fierce with the
same story, she began to feel uncomfortable, envious. That He should do
these things for these scarecrows and nothing for her! People avoided
her; and she was lonely. Sant, and the cosmopolitan bagmen with whom
he fraternized, were no companions for her. She expected something a
little more select in the way of society. She conceived the notion that
she would stand a better chance of coming into contact with the Pope by
means of some of the English in Rome. And,--would it not be as well if
she became a Catholic? The hotel-people told her that very few English
were in Rome: they began to come in October and to go away in June:
July, August, September, saw no English except at the colleges and a
few residents. She found her way to St. Andrea delle Fratte, where
she had heard of some Englishwoman's tomb; and saw no one who looked
like an Englishman. She had the same experience at the church by the
G.P.O. Then she discerned a little English affair in Little Sebastian
Street, a convent of sorts; and she made herself conspicuous to the
sisters. Those good creatures were only too happy to discover a chatty
Englishwoman; and, when Mrs. Crowe quite accidentally let out that she
had known George Arthur Rose, they precipitately produced candied fruit
and orangeade. Mrs. Crowe gossiped with discretion. She won hearts by
listening attentively to monasterial rhapsodies. When she was permitted
to slip in a word edgeways, she took care that it was a telling word.
In all their lives the sisters never had heard anything so edifying
as her description of the Holy Father's former predilection for white
flannel shirts, white knitted socks and night-caps. They thought it
heavenly of Him to have refused to wear any colours but white or black
while He was living in the world; and the details of a black corduroy
shooting-suit filled them with ecstatic rapture. In the course of
these improving conversations it came out that Mrs. Crowe herself
was an agnostic--an unwilling agnostic, she whined,--oh, if only she
could believe what her audience believed, it would be such a comfort
to her! Naturally the sisters gladly would help her to that kind of
comfort. They gave her an aluminium medal; and promised prayers. She
turned-up regularly at mass and benediction; and they had great hopes
of her. She thanked them so much. Now, wouldn't she just like to have
a little talk with Father Dawkins--such a holy man? She would like
nothing better. She had a little talk with Father Dawkins: that is to
say that (frequently during the next few weeks) His Reverency exhorted
for three-quarters of an hour on end in the convent parlour; and she
punctuated his discourses with "Ah yes," "How true," "Why did I never
hear this before," etc. The sisters lent her "Thresholds," and other
violently cerulean books. She pronounced them quite convincing. And
then she asked to be received into the Church.

She became seen at parties at the English pensions; and duly was
slavered. She met cardinals and prelates at receptions. She was the
excitement of the moment. Her pose of the interesting widow, fond
mother of the dearest little girl and boy, clever writer of vers de
société in _The Maid, and Matron_, was much commended: but it was as
the woman whose dear departed had been the Holy Father's most intimate
friend that she chiefly scored. For His Holiness she always had had
the highest admiration. He had been a peculiar man, certainly, but
never anything but most distinguished. She remembered Him in poverty,
going in the shabbiest of garbs: but His gait and carriage always had
been the gait and carriage of nobility of soul. At all times, she
herself had predicted some extraordinary fate for Him. She told the
most adorable little stories of His wit, His humour, His pathos, and
His dumb-bells. She dilated on a boil which had afflicted the back of
His neck. She had heard that He slept in glycerined gloves for the
softening of His chapped hands. Yes, He had been quite a friend of
theirs. He was so earnest, so brilliant, so learned, that she never had
been able to understand why a man of His ability should be a Catholic.
Of course that was when she herself had been in outer darkness. Now
that she was in the inner light, she perfectly could see why. Mrs.
Crowe was voted to be a very charming person; and became a great
success.

Sant approved of her procedure. Neither he nor she could see their way
to another direct approach to Hadrian. They must bide a wee. Meanwhile,
no harm was done and much good might be done by cultivating the English
quarter. And, perhaps it would be as well to keep socialism in the
background for the present. Jerry would stay where he was; and she
had better set-up for herself elsewhere: they occasionally could meet
to compare notes; and, if anything particular happed, why they could
write. So Mrs. Crowe took a little flat on Baboon Street, and displayed
herself at the Spain Square tea-shop and the English sisterhood.

At the back of her brain there was a well-defined desire. She kept it
there to gloat over in private and at intervals: for she was far too
clever a woman to let her passion master her at this stage. It was the
mainspring of her acts, the goal of her thoughts, the ultimate of her
existence: but she kept it well concealed and controlled. Now and then,
in the lonely depth of night, it surged to her oppression: but dawn and
the respectability of her temper, brought it within bounds. She played
a careful game, adding to her counters as opportunity occurred. She had
the Liblabs and their four pounds a week to support her: she had (what
she called) the secret history of the Pope in her possession: she was
capturing the pious English. And then, one evening she acquired quite a
priceless item of scandal which, sooner or later, she would use for the
procuration of her Georgie.

She had been wandering about alone in some of those new streets on the
Viminal Hill, which Modern Rome built in imitation of the suburban
residences of British merchants: streets where comfortable red-brick
detached mansions stand each in a railed garden. As she was passing
one of these fine but homely residences, the electric light sprang up
in the drawing-room; and she was aware of three figures seated in the
bay-window. An afternoon-tea-table was between them. They were two
gorgeous white women with fair hair, evidently mother and daughter.
Those she did not know: but the third was George Arthur Rose. She
peered between the gilded bronze bars of the gate. It was dusk. No one
but herself was in the street. And there, not twenty yards away, behind
a pane of glass, was the man she worshipped. She gave up herself
to her emotions during one minute. Then he and the women retired to
the back of the room; and a decorous black-coated lacquey closed the
curtains. For a moment, she felt like battering at the gate. Her heart
violently palpitated. The connotation of the experience suddenly
struck her. What was the Pope doing here? She knew that He went about
everywhere: but they said that He never ate or drank in company; and
she had seen Him finish a cup of tea. How dainty the elevation of that
left little finger was! Ah! Why was He not dressed in white as usual?
Disguised--taking tea in a private house--with two nameless women!
Ah, why indeed! She focussed her fury. The number on the gate--yes.
She ran to the end of the street and read "Via Morino." She crossed
the road and returned; and found a niche where she could hide in the
shadow of a pillared wall. Here, she watched and waited as a terrier
waits on and watches a kitten demure in a tree--yapping and yelping
almost inaudibly, well-nigh bursting with suppressed impulse to pounce.
Perhaps she waited half-an-hour. Then a couple of lacqueys came-down
to the gate: opened it; and obsequiously bowed to an ecclesiastic who
passed out into the street flinging the right fold of his cloak over
his left shoulder. He swiftly walked towards Via Nationale; and she
followed him. As he came into the more brilliant light, he drew the
fold of his cloak closer across his mouth. That act decided her. She
knew that her Georgie abhorred from every kind of muffling. That he
should muffle now was natural enough. He did not wish to be recognised.
He was incognito, for an evil purpose. That he should have chosen
openly to walk through the biggest street in Rome, when he might have
sneaked down bye-ways, or might have taken a cab, only added to the
evidence. Her Georgie was the most frantically daring of men, she knew.
Precaution on the one hand, nullified by extreme audacity on the other,
she had noted in him before. She nearly lost him as he made his way by
the Austrian Embassy and the Gesù into Corso Vittorio Emanuele. At the
Oratory he crossed and went by the little Piazza into Banchi, where he
left a card with the porter of the Palazzo Attendolo. Again, he muffled
his face and went on, crossing the temporary bridge, and going by Borgo
Vecchio straight to the gate of the Vatican. Here, he was admitted; and
Mrs. Crowe was left alone in agony and in hilarity. She turned-out of
the Colonnade into the square cursing herself for not speaking to him,
writhing because she had caught her loved one secretly visiting another
woman. Then she laughed at the thought that she had found His Holiness
the Pope engaged in vulgar intrigue. The barb of the one emotion
lacerated her. The barb of the other she would save to dilacerate Him.




CHAPTER XII


On the night of the second of October, the German Emperor sat in the
Imperial box at the Berlin Schauspielhaus. They were playing _Wilhelm
Tell_. William II. looked-on at the mummer pourtraying the audacious
genius who, by skill and courage, delivered a people from tyranny.
He looked on the presented incident with a humorous sense of its
coincidence with his present intention: for, in the imperial mind--that
agile predominant mind at which inferior minds (led by the _Pall Mall
Gazette_) were used to mock--was stored certain knowledge of another
scene yet to be enacted in which he himself would play the part of the
deliverer. An aide-de-camp entered during the interval, while the house
gave itself up to conversation, apples, nuts, pfefferkuchen. He handed
a locked portfolio to the Kaiser.

"The papers are all here?"

"Yes, Sire."

"The manager attends?"

"He is at the door, Sire."

"He has received my commands?"

"Your Majesty's commands have been executed."

"Good. I will follow him. Go now to the newspaper-offices; and bring
the specials to me after supper. Mahlzeit!"

The curtain went up for the last act. The audience was stricken with
sudden paralyzed amazement. On the stage, actors, scene-shifters, the
whole theatre staff, were grouped in an immense semicircle. In the
chord of the semicircle, one figure stood alone, grimly dominant. At
first, it was taken for a daringly realistic caricature of the Emperor;
and fear of the penalties of lèse-majesté dawned in the minds of the
beholders. But the figure spoke, and doubt fled. It _was_ the Emperor.
Everyone knew that vigorous vocative "Germans!" The said Germans were
used to manifestations of their ruler's omniscience and omnipresence;
and they automatically stood to listen. He quoted the assertion of Herr
Bebmarck in the Reichstag, that every speech by the Kaiser against
Socialists meant a socialist gain of 100,000 votes at the elections.
Then he flung out a challenge. He said that the insuing elections
meant war to the knife, not between him and his people but, between
him and the handful of venal demagogues unworthy to bear the sacred
name of Germans who led his people astray. He opened his portfolio.
Socialism, he said, commanded four million votes. One-third of the
German Army was Socialist. Socialism was the largest political party
in the Empire; and increased each year at the expense of every other
party. It was a vast and important body. A body needed a brain to
direct its functions. Who, after all, was the head? The demagogues,
or the Kaiser? At a moment like the present, when the Fatherland was
menaced on both sides by anarchy and hereditary enemies, the glorious
German nation must not be harassed by intestine feuds. Hitherto, a
great part of his people had been taught to obstruct his schemes for
German welfare. Thereby they had hurt themselves. They had had the
pleasure of opposing him: but they had delayed their own betterment:
for his alone was the will which should rule Germany. Yet, he would
not blame his people. They had been betrayed by liars, deceived by
treacherous pseudophilanthropists. He would not blame the tempted,
but the tempters. The names of the tempters, the human Satans, were
August Bebmarck, turner: Grillerbergen, locksmith: Raue, Bulermolken,
Reistem, saddlers: Varmol, ex-post-official: Steinbern, lawyer:
Volkenberg, territorial-magnate: Singenmann, capitalist. He arraigned
these men on a charge of having deluded the good heart of four million
German people by professions of disinterestedness, of benevolence,
by promises of universal betterment. He denounced their professions
and their promises as false, and their practices as corrupt enough to
have obtained the attention of the police. The socialist demagogues
were traitors to the very cause which they professed to serve. Their
object was not the improvement of the social conditions of the people:
it was personal aggrandisement. He brought proofs from his portfolio.
Bebmarck, Grillenberger, Varmol had accepted bribes of M. 100,000,
M. 45,000, M. 40,000 respectively from the communist government of
France. Raue, Bulermolken, Reistem had accepted the post of saddlery
contractors to the French army. Each of the foregoing had given a
written promise to influence the Socialist vote. The Kaiser read and
exhibited the promises; and continued. Steinbern had sold the minute
books of various Socialist committees in Hanover for M. 300,000. (The
books were produced by an imperial aide.) Volkenberg had scouted the
proposal to municipalize his own vast possessions: Singenmann was
proved to have derived his riches from ill-paid sweated labour.

"These be thy gods, O Socialism," the Emperor cried: "the mere
possession of important private property, of what is called a stake
in the country, has revealed their brazen faces and feet of clay. The
mere offer of the price of blood has revealed the Iscariots of the
Fatherland."

He commanded his hearers to remember that in 1890 he himself had
abrogated the laws against socialism and had dismissed the persecutor
Bismarck, saying _Die Social Democratie überlassen sie mir; mit der
werdeich gang alleine fertig_. He said that his method had been to
leave them free to work out their own salvation: but in vain. A bad
tree does not bring forth good fruit. It had not been socialism,
nor parliamentary majorities and resolutions, which had welded
together the German Empire: but the army and he, the Emperor, the
representative of that power in the state which, not only created
German unity in the teeth of those who pretended to represent the
people but, thereby carried into every German home the sense of
national power. Finally, he demanded, did the innocent industrious
great-hearted dupes of the socialist demagogues intend in this crisis
of German history to follow and obey the behests of low-born traitors,
never-sufficiently-to-be-damned-and-despised sweaters, infamous
Rabagases: or would they give loyal allegiance to him, their divinely
appointed and legitimate Kaiser, the heir of Friedrich the Noble and of
Wilhelm the Good and of Friedrich the Great,--to him, the Father of the
fatherland, whose whole life and energy was devoted and consecrated to
"Deutschland Deutschland über alles."

With that, he left the stage and the theatre. The audience, a typically
middle-class one, the very class of all others to which such an
oration would appeal, was stirred down to the depths of its phlegmatic
Teutonic soul. As the Kaiser departed, not a "Hoch" was uttered: but
multitudes of stem-faced converts poured out, silently saluting him
with the fire of loyalty lighted in their eyes. Germans are logical
by nature. Display indefeasible premisses; and it is not a German who
will err from the just conclusion. All night long, all the newspapers
except the _Vorwaerts_ issued special editions containing the Emperor's
speech. During the next few days William II. himself repeated it in
the great cities of his empire. At Essen and Breslau his reception
partook of the nature of an ovation. Everywhere the press spread his
epoch-making words to all who actually did not hear them. German good
sense preferred honesty, vigorous masterly honesty, even hare-brained
honesty, to the base treachery which is actuated by no motive except
personal gain. German good sense could see that the Kaiser himself
was the hardest-working man in the Empire: that his simply amazing
diligence and toil were absolutely unselfish, absolutely impersonal:
that he gained no tangible reward whatever: that his life, which quite
easily might have been one of irresponsible pleasure and ease, was an
incessant round of mental and physical exertion for the good of others.
German honour admired and German generosity repaid. The fascinating
personality of William II. at last was recognized as the chief element
of the nation's power. His splendid and unique confidence in himself
and his imperial vocation inspired his subjects with confidence in him.
The device of the secret ballot, and the now-unfettered ability of
every German to vote according to his conscience, had the calculated
effect. The elections shewed that the enormous prestige of the Emperor
had won the Socialist vote, and the Catholic vote, and the votes of the
Right and the Left, in support of his paramount authority. The English
newspapers ceased from jeering; and the _Pall Mall Gazette_ split
subjunctives as well as infinitives in applause of success.

The lay-Major-domo of the Apostolic Palace found occasion to invite
Cardinals Talacryn and Semphill to inspect certain accounts. "I feel it
my duty to call Your Eminencies' attention to the fact," said he, "that
our Most Holy Lord consumes about seven and sixpence worth, of food and
drink a week upon the average. It is shocking. Also it is ridiculous.
Kindly cast your eyes over these documents. They are the accounts
covering the past six months. Note how many times His dinner consists
of three raw carrots and two poached eggs. Meat, you see, He eats not
more than twice a week. Fish, He refuses. I understand that He will
take the lean of beef, the fat of pork, the breast of a bird, and chew
them for an hour."

"That accounts for His magnificent digestion," said Talacryn; "and I
know that He eats raw carrots for the sake of His white skin. But fat
pork! Semphill, could you digest fat pork when you were His age? I
can't even now."

"Condescend to consider the wine," Count Piccino added. "His Holiness
quite fails to appreciate fine wine----"

"All I can say is I can remember seeing Him thoroughly enjoy a
teaspoonful of my peach-brandy sometimes after dinner. That was twenty
years ago though," said Semphill.

"He used to enjoy peach-brandy! Eminency, a thousand thanks. He shall
have a bottle. I never thought of it. Until now, He has taken what we
give Him: but He has no palate whatever for superior brands. He's quite
content with a plain red wine from Citta Lavinia or Cinthyanum; and He
drinks about as much of it in a week as another man would drink at a
meal. But cream, and goat's milk,--I believe He bathes in those."

"No, no," said Semphill; "He drinks them day and night, that's all.
He's got the digestion of a baby for milk. Shall I ever forget seeing
Him drink a pint of thick cream--a whole pint--at a farm-house once
when we were out walking? I thought He'd die there. I begged Him to
take some of my pills. I offered to make Him free of my collection. No.
He laughed at me; and goes on rejoicing."

"But, Eminencies, do you think His Holiness can live on this meagre
diet?"

"Chi lo sa? I couldn't. He may."

"He's a most incomprehensible creature whatever:" Talacryn concluded.

       *       *       *       *       *

Armed with the allegiance of an united empire, the Kaiser scoured
away across the continent to Rome. He travelled incognito as the
Duke of Königsberg and put up at the Palazzo Caffarelli. The world
looked on and wondered. No news of his intentions were vouchsafed;
and, as a rule, journalists had the decency to refrain themselves
from suppositions. The exception to the rule was French, of course.
"Religion is the great preoccupation of William II. Beneath the
spangled uniform of this Emperor there is the soul of a clergyman, or
rather the visionary soul of an initiate of even vaguer mysteries. The
Kaiser only waits for an opportunity to achieve in Rome what he has
already achieved in the east, that is to say, to oust France," shrieked
M. Jean de Bonnefon in the Paris _Éclair_. _La Patrie_ instantly
yelled in comment, "Let Germany take the Holy See. It will be the end
of Germany and the beginning of revenge for Sedan. The Paparchy is an
acid which will dissolve the badly cemented parts of an empire which is
still too new."

But it was not precisely religion which dictated the Kaiser's movement.
He had the sense to know that religion is personal; and, though he
never lost an opportunity of asserting his personal religious opinions,
the idea of making them the rule for all men never entered his
eminently practical mind. No: he had other plans; and he was seeking
material wherewith to build. He conferred long and secretly with the
King of Italy, a man after his own heart, a born ruler, a natural
autocrat, who himself had been a slave. They discussed needs. William
II. wanted room for a population which had increased by twenty millions
in thirty years. Victor Emanuel III. wanted money and time--money to
make easier the life of his people--time to mature improvements--give
him those and he could laugh at Italy's enemies, the secret societies,
and the clergy----

"Clergy?" the Kaiser demurred. "Now are you really sure that the clergy
are your enemies?"

"Yes, in their heart of hearts. Don't you understand that we robbed
them? Don't you know that this very palace of the Quirinale, in which
I am receiving Your Imperial Majesty, is stolen property?"

"Yes, yes. But this Englishman? Surely He makes a difference?"

"To some extent. But He cannot extirpate in a moment the hatred and
envy with which my House and I are regarded by the clergy whom we
dispossessed. For nearly forty years, to hate us has been part of the
clerical education. A weed of that kind cannot be rooted up at once. It
is ingrained. Perhaps in another generation--Basta!"

"Meanwhile?"

"Meanwhile what?"

"Well, hasn't the Pope made things easier for you?"

"Yes, in a way. But what is His object? What concession, for
example----"

"He doesn't seem to have left Himself any opening for extorting
concessions."

"But did Your Imperial Majesty ever hear of a priest who gave something
for nothing?"

"One of my cardinals tells me that this is a madman, whose pose is to
be primitive, apostolic."

"Ha! For a primitive apostle He has a singularly dictatorial method.
Have you read His _Epistles_, and His denunciations of the socialists,
for example?"

"I have. I entirely approve of them. They have assisted me greatly in
dealing with some rebels of my own."

"Oh no one could find fault with His sentiments--so far. But they
are so unusual, so extra-pontifical, that one wonders what they are
concealing."

"Is Your Majesty sure that they conceal something?"

"No, I'm not. Of course I have no means of arriving at certainty. That
could only be obtained from the Pope Himself; and only from Him if He
were willing to give it."

"Has Your Majesty asked Him?"

"Certainly not. We continue to misunderstand one another. Your Imperial
Majesty knows that there is no means of communication between my
government and the Vatican. All we get is hearsay; and all they get is
gossip."

"Why do you not request Hadrian to receive you--you yourself? I imagine
that He would not refuse."

"Perhaps not. I believe that He has been preparing for me some such
trap as that. But I distrust the Greeks even when they bear gifts. They
say He says His prayers in Greek, by the bye."

"I am about to request His Holiness to receive me."

"Your Imperial Majesty's case is different. You are not likely to have
fresh insults and fresh humiliations offered to you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I cherish the memory of all ecclesiastical pin-pricks
which formerly were administered to my father and grandfather."

"Pin-pricks? What do you call pin-pricks?"

"For example, in 1878, Pio Nono, from His Own deathbed, sent to
reconcile my excommunicated grandfather, who was enabled to die in the
Embrace of The Lord. A little later, died also Pio Nono. My father
voluntarily returned the courtesy, sending his adjutant to offer
condolence to the Conclave. Leone, who then was Chamberlain, ordered
the Swiss Guard to refuse entrance to the royal envoy at the bronze
gates--to refuse the message even."

"Very clerical!" the Emperor said; and pondered a moment. Then "Will
Your Majesty go to the Vatican with me?"

"No, Sire: I never will go to the Vatican," the King replied.

A telegram signed "Wilhelm I.R." addressed to the Prince-Bishop of
Breslau brought Cardinal Popk to his sovereign at the German Embassy
in Rome. On hearing the Kaiser's intention, he did his very best to
persuade him away from it; and curtly was required to explain himself.

"Majesty," said His Eminency, "no good can come of such a meeting, and
much harm may. Our Most Holy Father is English; and, being English,
He has the English quality of cynicism. With Him it is 'Et Petro et
Nobis' in the highest degree. He is a man of strong likes and dislikes,
fervently patriotic and therefore fervently anti-German----"

"Your Eminency knows that?"

"I have no explicit information: but, seeing the estimation in which
those islanders hold us, I judge so. Sire, I beseech you to pause. I
beseech you, I beseech you on behalf of your loyal Catholic subjects,
that you will not expose your imperial person to the risk of an
affront."

"An affront, indeed!"

"Majesty, remember what happened when you first visited Pope Leo."

William II. laughed. "Cardinal, you are a very good German, and
a--well, queer Roman."

"Sire, I distinguish. I implicitly obey Hadrian as Vicar of Christ: I
dislike Him as a cynical Englishman. I am anxious that Your Majesty
may not have occasion to dislike this Englishman who is the spiritual
director of your loyal Catholic subjects."

"Your Eminency's solicitude is most creditable. But I have met
Englishmen whom I immensely admire for certain qualities which they
possess and which we Germans lack. What you have said piques my
curiosity. I wish to meet this particular Englishman; and I wish
Your Eminency to arrange it. I promise you that, whether He affronts
me or not, I will not afflict my Catholic subjects with another
Kulturkampf--if that is what you fear. However, if you still hesitate
to oblige your Kaiser, I will apply through my legation: or, better,
I will apply through the Cardinal-bishop of Albano who used to be at
Munich."

The Cardinal-Prince-Bishop of Breslau went to the Vatican without any
more ado; and the Supreme Pontiff consented to receive.

Hadrian endured an hour of terror. The task of dealing with an
emperor--He was inclined to put it from Him as being too great a thing
for Him. But He felt inquisitive to know what the Kaiser wanted. He Who
sits upon the throne of Peter looks at all the world, knowing that He
will see either enemies--or suitors. Hadrian also was inquisitive to
see the person and the mind of the man whom He invariably had defended
as being the only sovereign in Europe whose conduct indicated belief
in his own divine right to sovereignty, and as being one of the few
delightful persons in the world who can contemplate their own minds and
behold they are very good. Hadrian was interested in William II. as
an extremely fine specimen of the absolute type. Yet--He hesitated to
come to close relations with him, because--well, for one thing, because
He disliked being domineered over, and this military Michael from the
high Hohenzollem hill-top was certain to smack of the barracks. All the
same, popes had received emperors before now; and it had not always
been the emperors who had domineered. But could He love him? Well, at
any rate, He could try to save him trouble. Then what was the Kaiser's
object? He knew that something or other was wanted of Him; and He
feared--feared lest He should say, as usual, more than He meant to say,
and give, as usual, more than He need give. That, though, could be
prevented. He would make this rule for the occasion:--Listen little,
inquire less, affirm least, and concede nothing now. Good! It should
be done. He had a couple of easy chairs placed in the throne-room,
and a small table with cigarettes, cigarette-papers and tobacco, the
Crab Mixture which George Arthur Rose had invented. He sat-down in one
of the chairs by the window: took out the little gold pyx from His
bosom; and held it in His hands while He awaited the Emperor's arrival.
His eyes became still and grave. His lips moved swiftly. A singular
serenity inspired Him.... The introducer-of-sovereigns announced,

"The Duke of Königsberg."

"Your Majesty's visit gives Us great pleasure," was the Apostle's
greeting to the Kaiser, uttered in that clear young minor voice
which was so well known in Rome. The two potentates took each the
other's measure in a glance. The Emperor, smartly groomed in plain
evening-dress with riband, cross, and star, had that slightly conical
head which marks the thinker and the single-minded obstinate man.
The Pope, a year his junior, gave an impression of clean simplicity
with His white habit and His keen white face. There was a distance, a
reticence, in His gaze. He had remembered William's Teutonic osculation
of His indignant predecessor; and, as the Kaiser approached Him, He
took the imperial hand and shook it in the glad-to-see-you-but-keep-off
English fashion. Spring-dumb-bells had given the Pope a grip like a
vice and an arm like a steel piston-rod. The Emperor blinked once.

"I am grateful to Your Holiness for receiving me in this informal
manner."

The Pope inclined His head: motioned His guest to a chair; and offered
cigarettes. He Himself rolled one: lighted it; and sat down.

"I have the pleasure of personally congratulating Your Holiness on Your
election; and I trust that God will grant You many years in which to
rule Your section of His people wisely and well."

"It is Our sincere hope that Our endeavour to feed Christ's flock may
be acceptable."

"I have many Catholics in my empire; and I may say that their virtues
merit my fullest approbation."

The Pope again inclined His head.

"I understand that Your Holiness has never been in Germany?"

"No. Our life hitherto has been an unimportant one. We are almost
ignorant of the world and of men, except perhaps from the view-point of
the outside observer and student."

"My sainted mother used to quote an English proverb which says that
Onlookers see most of the game."

"All English proverbs, which are positive, have their correspondent
negative--'Absence makes the heart grow fonder'--'Out of sight out of
mind.'--Your Majesty's proverb is contradicted by 'Only the toad under
the harrow has counted the spikes.' We mean that We have learned much
of what is done, but very little of the details of the doing."

"Ah, that of course comes by heredity or by practice----"

"Or by occession."

"I fear that I do not quite follow."

The Pope suddenly was afraid that He had been guilty of a sort of
appeal for this mighty emperor's pity and consideration toward His
plebeian origin and inexperience. Was this keeping His troubles to
Himself? He hastened to divert the conversation from Himself.

"Our predecessor St. Peter was an illiterate plebeian of no importance:
but, by the occession of Divine Grace, His Holiness was enabled to
wield the keys of the kingdom of Heaven, and to win the unfading palm
down there by the obelisk."

"Ah yes. And I trust that Your Holiness may be similarly enabled. I
have very little doubt but that You will be. The favour of the Almighty
seems to be with men of our nation in a pre-eminent degree."

"Our nation?"

"Yes. Surely Your Holiness remembers that, by birth, I am half-English?"

"Oh indeed yes. But, Majesty, in England you are thought of as being
wholly German."

"I am much misunderstood in England." Again the head inclined in
silence led the Emperor on. "And also I have been much misunderstood in
Germany. The English suspect me of plotting mischief against England;
and my empire has been suspecting me of such leanings toward England
as to interfere with my proper duty of attending to the interests of
Germany!"

"And both suspicions are equally gratuitous."

"Both. As a matter of duty, I think first of the interests of Germany:
but, for the sake of those very interests, I am anxious to cultivate
the friendship of England. Personally I have a great appreciation of
many English qualities, as my many English friends know. And of course,
although she was a somewhat terrible person, I had an immense and
genuine admiration for my never-sufficiently-to-be-lauded grandmother,
your great Queen Victoria. Now there was a Woman, a Queen----"

"In that matter Your Majesty's behaviour was magnificent. We Ourself
saw you at her exsequies: We noted the signs of your countenance and
your comportment; and We honoured your splendid piety. There only was
one feeling in England toward Your Majesty then."

The Kaiser was moved: his left arm twitched once or twice. "Your
Holiness's words"--he shook his ferocious eyes--"are very grateful to
me. But what have I done since--to lose----"

"Majesty, in the English mind, you are incarnate Germany."

"I am Germany."

"It is not Your Majesty whom England distrusts, but the Germans."

"But why, but why?"

"Englishmen say 'It is all very well to dissemble your love but why
did you kick me downstairs?' They don't believe in Your Majesty's
friendliness because they commit the common error of confounding the
particular with the universal. Your Majesty is the scape-goat. They lay
upon you the sins of execrable taste on the part of your journalists
and of shady diplomacy on the part of your statesmen; and they drive
you out into the wilderness."

"Is Your Holiness cognizant of the difficulties which I have to contend
with?"

"We are perfectly astounded at the inertia, the stolidity, the
volatility, the inconstancy of the material which rulers have to
direct, to curb, to shape. We entirely sympathize with Your Majesty in
the matter of the difficulties which fill your life. Also, to descend
to particulars, We know and approve of your masterly method of dealing
with demagogues."

"I am very glad to hear this. I am pleased to know that there is one
point on which I can agree with Your Holiness."

"We trust that there are many points on which We cannot agree with Your
Majesty."

The Kaiser was taken aback. "I do not understand," he said.

"Complete agreement signifies complete stagnation. Disagreement at
least postulates activity; and only by activity is The Best made
manifest and approved."

"Holiness, I beg Your pardon. I see the point. That is a very grand and
at-all-times-to-be-remembered doctrine. I must try to remember Your
beautiful words: for it is The Best which I am seeking for Germany."

"And Germany never will find it in the socialism which aims at that
ridiculous impossibility called Equality, meaning the acquisition
by lazy B of that which active A has won. All history shews that
Aristos only emerges from conflict. That is a truth which must be
insisted-on. At the same time, We rejoice to see that Your Majesty has
been inspired to distinguish between the charlatans and their dupes.
Much unrighteousness is done to suffering humanity by those who will
not take the trouble to remember that, when the natural man is hurt,
he howls and seizes the salve which is nearest. The wise ruler works
to benefit his subjects by going directly to the root of the matter,
removing the cause of injury. But We are not to preach to Your Majesty.
You, no doubt, had some definite object in coming to Us."

"Yes: I certainly had a definite object: but I had no idea that I was
to discuss it with a Pontiff Who had so complete an intuition of my own
imperial sentiments."

"Our office is to become in sympathy with all who strive for The Best."

"The kindness with which Your Holiness has received me, and the
never-to-be-forgotten truths which You so nobly have enunciated make
my task much easier. I desired to consult Your Holiness, to obtain
knowledge of Your feelings, in certain matters. At the present moment,
You are aware, my eastern frontier is menaced by Russia, my western
frontier by France; and, on my southern frontier there is a third and a
more miscellaneous difficulty. The Germans of Austria have petitioned
for admission to the Germanic Empire."

"Can you admit--annex--them? Will it be well for you to do that?"

"Holiness, I must:--as German Emperor, I must protect Germans. While
Francis Joseph lived, his German subjects were content to live in
Austria as Austrians. Now that Bohemia and Hungary are separating
themselves from Austria, they no longer are content. Austria is no
more. The fragments which composed her are for ever disunited; and----"

"Poland?"

"Holiness, in my empire there is no Poland."

"No? Your Majesty believes that the German Austrians would be happier
under your rule. Are you likely to meet with opposition if you annex
them?"

"With tremendous opposition. France and Russia instantly will declare
war."

"With what chance of success?"

"With no chance of success. My glorious German navy and army will
conquer France and Russia."

"Majesty! Majesty! And yet--you have endeared yourself to hundreds of
thousands of French refugees."

"Thanks to Your Holiness's gracious initiative, You may take it that
all Christian France is willing to become German--or English--out of
sheer gratitude."

"But Russia--Russia is immense--immensely powerful."

"Pardon me, Holiness, but do You read the English newspapers?"

"Nineteen, studiously: thirty-seven, from which cuts are selected for
Our perusal."

"The English newspapers are well-informed, trustworthy?"

"Penny and threepenny dailies, threepenny weeklies, shilling and
half-crown monthlies, generally are well-informed, generally are
trustworthy."

"So. Then I shall tell Your Holiness, from an English penny daily,
that Russia is not powerful in a military sense. The large majority of
her officers are abjectly incapable. The ranks are recruited entirely
from the peasantry; and are, on the admission of their own generals,
entirely unreliable. They have neither intelligence nor initiative;
and they no more know how to obey than their officers know how to
command. Russia's defeat by Japan taught her nothing. Also there has
been for years among patriotic Russians, north, south, east, and west,
a singular yearning for an overwhelming defeat by an European power.
That way only, they say, can they be delivered from the crushing
anarchic tyranny under which the whole country labours. Even supposing
Russia to be united--which she is not--I say that she has no chance
of ultimate success against the German navy and army. I say that her
numbers have inspired a wholly unfounded and exaggerated apprehension
of her military power. I say that bounce--Bounce, if Your Holiness will
permit me to say it--bounce alone has served her purpose well. She will
continue to use bounce until she is opposed by a resolute determination
which there is no possibility of mistaking. Fear of Russia resembles
the fear of a child at an ugly mask. If Russia were to cross my
frontiers, she would march to her final overthrow. And, best of all,
the Russians know that as well as I do."

"Your Majesty appears to have made out a case. Well: you will conquer
France and Russia. And then?"

"I shall annex them to my empire."

"Are you likely to meet with any opposition then?"

"I do not know. I am about to proceed to discuss the point with my
uncle. Meanwhile my ambassadors are consulting Mr. Chamberlain and
Mr. Roosevelt; and I myself am consulting my royal cousin the King of
Italy."

"Ah--the King of Italy!--And what does Your Majesty desire from Us?"

"I should be glad to know the attitude which Your Holiness will
prescribe for the Catholics of my empire, as well as for other
Catholics, in the event of my engaging in these schemes."

"Why?"

"Because at present my Catholic subjects are loyal. I should not permit
any of my subjects to be disloyal. I wish to give them all freedom
in religious matters: but I should not tolerate opposition to my
state-policy."

"Touching the matter of Poland----"

"There is no Poland."

The Pope put His hand on the table--pontifically. "Will Your Majesty,
for the purposes of argument, consent to imagine a place called Poland,
partly Russian, partly German, inhabited by a race which is neither
German nor Russian, a race very tenacious of its traditions. In the
event of your annexation of France, and Russia, for example,--and
Austria which is composed of sixteen distinct races speaking thirty-two
distinct languages, the various Slavonic nationalities of Parthians,
Medes, and Elamites----"

"Parthians, Medes, and Elamites?"

"Well: Croats, Slovenes, Dalmatians, and the dwellers in Bosnia and
Herzegovina, to say nothing of the Czechs and the Magyars,--in the
event of your annexation of all these, you would be obliged to have
regard unto the racial characteristics of your new subjects. Now, at
the same time, would you not be well advised to regard the racial
characteristics of Poland?"

"In what way?"

"For example, would you concede to Poland, the Polish language, and a
Polish king and constitution under your imperial suzerainty?"

"Your Holiness means something of the nature of federation, such as
Your Own country so successfully has adopted?"

"Concisely."

"I had not thought of it. It merits my profound consideration."

"And what would happen to the other fragments of Austria, and to the
Balkan States?"

"I do not know. The Sultan would have something to say."

"And what will he say?"

"I must tell Your Holiness that I am much disappointed in Turkey.
I looked upon it as the military power, whose ability to hold back
Russia, and to prevent the political strangulation of Germany in Europe
by keeping-open the gates of the East, must be strengthened at all
costs. Hence I practically re-armed the Sultan's forces; and passed
numbers of young Turkish officers through my military schools. You may
say that I made the Turkish Army. All to no purpose. The new Sultan has
played me false. I am afraid now that Turkey will be more influenced by
England and by Italy than by me."

"Is that king blind?"

"My uncle?"

"No. Italy."

"Not that I am aware of. Why does Your Holiness ask?"

  The Supreme Pontiff stood up. "We thank Your Majesty for the
  sincerity of Your conversation; and assure you of Our good-will. We
  will ponder the matters which you have laid before Us."

"I hoped to have had----" But there was no mistaking the sealed face.
And William II. was one of the cleverest men in the world; and he also
was half an Englishman. "I should be greatly obliged if Your Holiness
would write down that doctrine of Aristos. I should prize it greatly."

The Pope went to a writing table and produced a couple of lines in His
wonderful fifteenth-century script.

"I will make this one of the heirlooms of Hohenzollern" said the Kaiser.

"May God guide you, well-beloved son."

Hadrian walked that afternoon with Cardinal Semphill on Nomentana, as
far as St. Agnes beyond-the-Walls. It was one of those deliberately
lovely Roman autumn afternoons, when walking is a climax of crisp joy
with the thought of a cup of tea as the fine finial. They talked of
books, especially of novels; and His Eminency asserted that the novels
of Anthony Trollope gave him on the whole the keenest satisfaction.
There was a great deal more in them than generally was supposed, he
said. The Pope agreed that they were very pleasant easy reading,
deliciously anodynic. His Own preference was for Thackeray's Esmond.
He, however, would not commit Himself to approval of all the works
of any one writer, simply because no man was capable of being always
at his best. As they passed through Porta Pia into Venti Settembre,
Hadrian pointed to the palace on the left of the gate, saying, "Have
you ever been there?"

"No, Holiness. At least, not since I've been wearing this." He
indicated his vermilion ferraiuola.

"Don't you think if we asked them very nicely they would give us a cup
of tea?"

The cardinal mischievously chuckled. "I am of opinion that the English
Ambassador would be very pleased to make Your Holiness's acquaintance
over a cup of tea."

Hadrian rang the bell. "Semphill," He said as they waited at the gate,
"if there be any ladies about, will you kindly talk to them and leave
the Ambassador to Us."

Sir Francis was at home. And much honoured. So were two secretaries.
And no ladies. And there was tea. Cardinal Semphill devoted himself
to the secretaries; and told them funny stories about clergymen.
They laughed hugely at the tales, (which were witty), and at the
wittier clergyman who told them. The Pope mentioned to the Ambassador
that He had had a call from the Duke of Königsberg that morning;
and drifted-off into an inquiry as to where reliable maps were to
be procured. Sir Francis named Stanford of Longacre; and was much
interested. Was there any map in particular which His Holiness desired
to consult. They were fairly well-off for maps at the embassy. Perhaps
the Holy Father would condescend----

"No thank you, Sir Francis. They would ask questions about you in
parliament if We were to borrow your maps. Why, Lady Wimborne will have
a fit as it is, when she hears that you have entertained the Ten-horned
Beast with tea."

"I am not afraid of that, Holiness."

"No, of course not. But Stanford will give Us all the information which
We need,--unless you will tell Us" (the interest concentrated) "what
England is going to do in the present crisis?"

"I can tell Your Holiness one thing which She has done; and which will
appear in to-morrow morning's _Times_. England and Turkey, the two
great Muhammedan Powers, have entered into an offensive and defensive
alliance to-day."

"Which means that England's interests lie in Asia and Africa; and not
in Europe."

The Ambassador slightly started. "May I know why Your Holiness thinks
that?"

Hadrian rose and shook hands. "Because of England's previous alliance
with Japan: because of Her conscious sympathy with the barbaric. Read
'success' for 'sympathy' in the last sentence, if you prefer it. And
please remember that this is not an infallible utterance."

"It's an astonishingly smart one, all the same," said the Ambassador
with a genial grin.

"Thank you very much for your tea. Stanford, you said? Good-bye. And,
Sir Francis--there are no closed doors in the Vatican."

Hadrian chattered at large during the remainder of the evening; and
industriously dreamed all night, first of certain portents connected
with emperors' knuckles: then of tremendous maps on which one crawled:
and finally His usual and favourite dream of being invisible and
stark-naked and fitted with great white feathery wings, flying with the
movement of swimming among and above men, seeing and seeing and seeing,
easily and enormously swooping. In the morning reaction supervened. He
was listless: He wanted to be alone. They left Him alone; and during
several days He was inaccessible, writing, and burning much writing.
The palace, with its fifty separate buildings, its eleven thousand
rooms, its fourteen courtyards hummed with the life of a population
of a small town. Up in the series of small chambers under the eaves,
in the large and lovely pleasaunce on the slopes of the Vatican hill,
He found quiet and peace. He thought for hours at a stretch, smoking
cigarette after cigarette, gazing out of the window or across autumnal
lawns. Sometimes He remained rapt in contemplation of the perfect
beauty of His new cross, gently stroking it with delicate finger. A
portfolio of vast maps arrived from London. He pinned them on His blank
brown walls and pored over them. In the night He often would rise and
stand before them till His breast ached and His arms were stiff with
the weight of the lamp. He sent a holograph letter to the King of
Spain; and received a reply which lightened His brow. He concentrated
His mind on the future. He began to form His plans.

At the beginning of November, He signed the decree of canonization of
Madame Jehane de Lys, commonly called Joan of Arc; and simultaneously
issued the _Epistle to the Germans_. Very few perceived the true
inwardness of the paradox. Those Frenchmen who remained Christian
were so overjoyed, at the honour accorded to their national heroine,
that they failed to appreciate the significance of the _Epistle_. The
Germans were so occupied with the contents of the _Epistle_, that the
glorification of a Frenchwoman passed unnoted. In England, it was
thought that the Pontiff was feeling his way. The _Worldly Christian_
asked what you would expect of a Jesuit; and the _Daily Anagraph_
compared Him to Machiavelli. Certainly The _Epistle to the Germans_
was remarkable not so much for its matter as for its suggestion. It
was a master-piece of what Walt Whitman calls revelation by faint
indirections. The Kaiser did not know whether to be satisfied or
dissatisfied with it. Hadrian praised the Teutonic race for its poetic
(in the Greek sense of "creative") and diligent habits. He dwelled
with admiration upon the many benefits which civilization owes to the
German constructive faculty. But He indicated the want of the "open air
and fresh water" element in all departments, physical and intellectual,
of German life. "Scope is what ye need, free movement of mind and body.
Stagnation breeds purulence, rancorous, suffocating, sour. Brooding
never can bring satisfaction, nor can iron, nor can blood: but only
the gold of Love. Wherefore, well-beloved sons, seek your salvation in
Love. Love one another first: be patient, knowing that Love is manifest
in obedience, and hath exceeding great reward."




CHAPTER XIII


Jerry Sant saw Mrs. Crowe driving in victorias with people who wore
smartish bonnets. Professional experience enables him to recognize
real ospreys. Three or four times he met her in her mauve, going to an
evening party. From this he deduced that she was enjoying herself; and,
it being quite contrary to the principles of socialism that any one
should enjoy themselves except under socialist supervision, he put on
a red necktie and paid her a visit. It was a wet day: she had nothing
particular to do; and she was not unwilling to chat about herself.
Looking at his florid sweaty vulgarity, it soothed her vanity to tell
this plebeian of the patricians whom she had captured, the Honble. Mrs.
This, the Baroness von That, and Lady Whatshemame of the Other. They
were so kind. Their kettledrums and bridge-routs were so shick. You met
such thoroughly Nice people you know. And the American millionairesses
were so amusing. They had such shocking manners. Mrs. Crowe actually
had seen one drinking soup out of a plate. Jerry had been getting more
and more morose while she chattered; and now he burst out:

"I know better than to sup my soup out of the plate. I sup them with a
spoon."

"Of course you do, Mr. Sant. But these American women have no manners
whatever."

"Ah weel now, we've had enough of that. Look ye now, I've been letting
ye go your own way a bit; and I think the time's come when ye might
introduce me to some of your gran' friens. A'm none too gey at the
hotel; and besides that, it's me due."

She found the man a sudden and accented nuisance: but she couldn't
possibly quarrel with the keeper of the purse. "I'm sure, if you think
it advisable, I don't want to keep you back. I don't quite see though
how I can take you with me, as you say. You see you don't know any of
these people."

"Well and fhat of that?"

"Why you silly man of course you've got to be introduced."

"How did you get introduced yersel'?"

"Oh, why, I was converted, you see."

"Imphm! Well, I'll let ye know I'm not for being converted, as ye call
it."

"No, I suppose not. I think it rather a pity, you know; because I'm
sure you'd have no difficulty afterwards."

"A willna!"

"Perhaps if I were to hint that you were thinking about it----"

"Ah weel, ye might do that now. Look here ma wumman. Why can't ye
introduce me yersel'?"

"Oh I couldn't. People would want to know what you were to me----"

"I'm your paymaster."

"Oh how can you say such things!"

"Because I am."

"Yes I know you are: but you needn't say it out so bluntly. I'll tell
you what I might do. You be at the tea-place in Piazzer Dispaggner
every afternoon from four to five. I'm sure to come in to-morrow or the
next day with a few friends; and, if you were to bow to me, I might
recognize you and ask you to our table."

"Wumman A'll dae't. Who pays for the tea, though?"

"Sometimes I do; and sometimes whoever I come with."

"Well then I'm coming. And I'll let you know to have a good blow out,
plenty o' scones and bit-cakeys an' a' that. I'll pay; and I don't mind
if it costs me three shilling, so long as ye introduce me to some of
these mashers."

"Very well. But remember, you're thinking about becoming Catholic."

"A'm not."

"Dear me, Mr. Sant, but you must be. Then they'll take an interest in
you and ask you to their parties." "Ah weel then, I am."

"Who _is_ this Mr. Sant?" said a Pict to an Erse (who called himself
"The" before his surname). The italicized question was asked at a
reception in Mrs. O'Jade's flat on Palazzo Campello, about a fortnight
after the previous confabulation.

"I really don't quite know, beyond that he's a friend of that Mrs.
Crowe who was converted the other day."

"Is he a convert too?"

"No, not yet: but they say he's likely to be. They're both Liblabs, you
know."

"Oh, yes of course, I read about them in the papers. What a score it
will be for the Church! Well, what do you make of him?"

"Oh he seems earnest enough: but he's hardly got a word to say for
himself. And I don't think he's quite a gentleman, you know."

Hadrian sat at the end of one of His long bare tables. On both sides
of Him were two great numbered baskets. At the other end of the
table was a huge leathern sack containing the pontifical mail. At
the sides of the table stood the two Gentlemen of the Apostolic
Chamber with stilettos. The Pope unlocked the sack; and Sir John and
Sir Iulo in turn drew out a handful of letters and displayed them
before Him. He scanned the handwriting of each; and named a numbered
basket into which the designated missive was cast. When the sack was
empty, the contents of the baskets were dealt with. All the letters
in the first were addressed "To His Holiness the Pope, Prefect of
the Holy Roman and Universal Inquisition." Hadrian took the stiletto
from Sir Iulo; and slit open each envelope which Sir John presented.
Thus they were returned to the basket, and sent to be perused by the
Cardinal-Secretary-of-State. The two gentlemen seated themselves at the
table: cut-open the envelopes of the second basketful; and pushed them
within the Pope's reach. These were addressed in known hand-writings.
Hadrian read the letters, and sorted them in separate heaps before Him:
each heap was weighted by a miniature ingot of pure copper, the colour
of which He immensely admired. Two letters were placed face downwards
by themselves. The envelopes from the third basket were opened, and
the letters extracted by the gentlemen: Hadrian only looked-at and
arranged them. The fourth basket contained newspapers, which Sir John
opened and examined for marked paragraphs. If any such were found, Sir
Iulo folded the paper open and placed it: otherwise the paper was torn
and returned to the basket. Meanwhile the Pope more closely inspected
the letters which He had retained. The gentlemen placed a couple of
phonographs on the table: inserted new cylinders; and retired. Hadrian
got up and locked the doors. He took the little heaps of letters from
under the ingots; and spoke into the machine formal acknowledgments of
receipt and a short blessing, or definite instructions for detailed
responses, until all had received attention except the two letters
which lay by themselves, and three others. He unlocked the door. The
gentlemen entered; and carried the instruments with the articulate
cylinders to Cardinals Sterling, Whitehead, Leighton, della Volta, and
Fiamma, who acted as pontifical secretaries in the ninth antechamber.
Hadrian Himself wrote to His well-beloved son William, to His beloved
son Edmund Earl Marshal of England, and to His beloved son A. Panciera.
These being enclosed and addressed, He was left alone. He took the two
remaining letters to the easy-chair by the window; rolled and lighted a
cigarette; and considered them.

 "Reverend and Dear Sir,

  Since our late esteemed interview when I had the pleasure of
  addressing your lordship on the subject of Socialism I have been
  anxiously awaiting the favour of an acknowledgment of same. In case
  the subject has slipped your memory I should remind you that I
  informed you previously on behalf of the Liblab Fellowship that we
  were not averse to give our careful consideration to any proposal
  that you may see fit to make, with a view to co-operation with us
  against the horde of cosmopolitan gold-pigs who monopolise the means
  of existence production distribution and exchange in order to procure
  a complete change in the entire social organism. I am quite at a
  loss to understand on what grounds you have not favored me with a
  direct reply unless there is anything on which you would like farther
  explanations, in that case I will be most happy to call on you per
  previous appointment for which I am now waiting at the above address
  neglecting my business at considerable expense and inconvenience
  to myself which a man in my humble position compared with yours
  (!) cannot be expected to incur and common courtesy demands should
  be made good. I therefore trust that in view of the not altogether
  pleasant facts that are in my possession your lordship shall see fit
  to send me a private interview at your earliest convenience. Hopeing
  that I will not have occasion to feel myself compelled to proceed
  farther in this matter if you leave me no option but to do so, and
  assuring your lordship that your valued instructions as to time and
  place of meeting will have my fullest and promptest attention.

 I remain Sir,

 Yours truly,

 Comrade Jeremiah Sant. L.F.

  P.S. Perhaps I may mention by way of hint that we might be able to
  come to some arrangement for our mutual advantage not altogether on
  the above lines, and I beg to advise your most reverent lordship that
  I would be willing to meet your wishes if the terms are suitable.
  Asking to hear from you soon and hoping that any misunderstandings
  may presently be cleared up.

 J.S."

 "Dearest dearest Georgie

  For although you have no more the old sweet name my heart is ever
  faithfull and will not let me call you by any other. Does it not
  remind you of that day of long ago when the floods were out in the
  meadows and you and I and Joseph were coming home from the Bellamys,
  and you lifted me in your strong arms and carried me through the
  water that covered the path. How Joseph laughed. He never thought
  it worth his while to take care of me as you did. But I knew that
  it was because you loved me and my heart went out to you then and
  never has been my own since. If only you knew how deeply I regret
  the unpleasantness which arose since then I think you would pity me
  a little. Georgie do forgive me. It is my love which made me mad. I
  hate myself for what I did and would give the world to undo it. I was
  a mad fool then. I did not know what I was doing or how you would
  take it so seriously. Georgie you were always good and I was wicked.
  But haven't you punished me enough. Think of what I have suffered all
  these years apart from you. Every time you have refused to notice me
  has been like a stab in my heart. Georgie take pity on me. Do you
  know that I watch your window every day and watch you walk about the
  town. Several times you have brushed against me in the street without
  knowing it for I will do nothing to damage you any more, dearest
  Georgie. I know very well that ladies are not admitted to your palace
  for I have had myself made a Catholic in order to get a little nearer
  you, but all priests have housekeepers. Georgie do let me come and be
  your housekeeper. I promise on my word of honour that I will serve
  you faithfully in any and every way. We might be so happy. Nothing
  would give me greater joy than to work my fingers to the bone for
  you. Georgie do believe me when you see how I am willing to humiliate
  myself so for you. Of course I never speak of our former relations
  except that I say I knew you slightly when Joe was alive. But as for
  love I never mention it for it was nipped in the bud by my wickedness
  and never has been anything but a trial to me, and I should not wish
  my love to do you any harm. Don't think that last sentence means
  anything spiteful, it is not so indeed but I know you distrust me. I
  only mean that it would be better for both of us if you would not go
  on being so cruel heartless dreadful and neglectful of

 Your devoted and distracted

 N.

  P.S. I have a suspicion that the man who is with me is no friend of
  yours. Georgie, be wise and let me see you at least and tell you what
  I suspect. It is only your welfare I have at heart, don't refuse me
  Georgie don't."

Hadrian read these letters through two or three times, noting the
yapping and the yowling of the one, the panting and the whining of
the other, the barking of both. He turned to the window and looked at
nothing until He had finished His cigarette. His thin lips stiffened
in scorn and drew downward into the straight inflexible line. His
impulse was to make an end of the male animal in a tank of aquafortis,
if such a convenience only had formed part of the pontifical
paraphernalia: as for the female, he remembered George Meredith's
sentence, and would have liked to squeeze all the acid out of her at
one grip and toss her to the divinities who collect exhausted lemons.
The next minute, "The dogs, the dirty abject obscene dogs." He spat
suddenly; and carried the letters to the safe in the bedroom where He
locked them up. He prohibited Himself from taking further note of them.
He was conscious that this course was quite wrong. But there it was. He
had a busy afternoon before Him; and He diligently read in His breviary
to prepare for Himself a convenient frame of mind. Pursuing His policy
of emphasizing the difference between the Church and the World, He
had summoned the generals of religious orders. To each of these He
wished to say some words of admonition, words which would remain in the
memory, and be passed from mind to mind, from mystic to thyrsos-bearer,
from general to postulant. He rather enjoyed the sticking of labels on
people and things now, because He could do it to some purpose. On the
other hand, He had a feeling that He only was touching surfaces. Still,
here and there the surface might be soft and capable of receiving
impression: or here and there might be a crevice or a gap which He
could fill with a cartridge. Somehow, anyhow, His words and acts must
be made to penetrate to the roots of things, to influence fundamentals.

At fifteen o'clock He mounted the small throne. One by one the
generals passed into the Presence: heard apostolic words; and passed
out again--Servites, Premonstratensians, Augustinians, Cistercians,
Carthusians, Oblates, Marists, Passionists, Carmelites, Dominicans.
To the General of Trinitarians, He commended Africa; and ordained
that twenty friars should preach as of old in the market-places
of England, Canada, and Australasia, for African missions. To the
General of the Order of Charity, He would not say anything at present
concerning the condemned Forty Propositions: but He would say Love your
enemies the Jesuits, and "turn not away thine eye from the needy and
give none occasion to curse thee." To the General of Benedictines, He
gave command to keep his monks in their monasteries, and to prohibit
them from appearing in the correspondence-columns of newspapers,
either under their religious names or their renounced secular
styles. He reminded the Minister-General of Capuchins of the second
minister-general, the apostate Ochino, who had preferred worldly things
and had preached polygamy; and also of the fact that playing fast and
loose with worldly things continued to produce apostate Capuchins. To
the Minister-General of Franciscans, He commended Asia; and ordained
that fifty friars should preach as of old in the market-places of
England, Canada, and Australasia, for Asiatic missions. Then He shewed
the grey scapular and cord which He was wearing next to His skin;
and asked that the brotherhood should name Him to Blessed Brother
Francis as a little brother who was not gay but sad, not lively but
weary, and who had but little love. Hadrian, as Brother Serafino of
the Third Order, kissed the Minister-General's naked feet, and begged
a blessing. Returning to the throne, the Supreme Pontiff imparted
apostolic benediction. And Brother Peter Baptist went out into the
noisy antechambers with his clean bright face all-glorious, and light
in his serene blue eyes. The Prepositor-general of Jesuits entered
with ostentation of the knowledge that, if Hadrian the Seventh was the
English White Pope, he himself was the English Black Pope. He had that
benevolently truculent manner which women deem adorable. As he made his
obeisance, Hadrian noted a little lacquered snuff-box in his hand and a
frightful bandanna oozing from the pocket of his cassock. His Holiness
instantly carried war into the camp, by reminding Father St. Albans of
the bulls of Urban VIII. and Innocent X. which prohibit snuff-taking on
pain of excommunication.

"No doubt those bulls are obsolete: but Your Reverency will have the
goodness to abstain from practising the filthy habit in Our Presence."

The sallow General pocketed his snuff-box; and produced the stony
mild smile which is used upon eccentricity. The Pope remarked that
the Company of Jesus appeared to be in a verisimilar position to the
Wesleyans, in that they had departed a very long way from the will
and spirit of their founder. He used His slowly biting monotone,
because He wished to save this General the trouble of misunderstanding
Him. He said that, with the word "Borgia" and the word "Nero," the
word "Jesuit" perhaps was the eponym for all that was vilest in the
world. That was very undesirable. Not that the good opinion of the
world was desirable. Far from that. But Christians ought not to enjoy
anything, not even an evil reputation, under false pretences. He
wished to do something to rectify the erroneous opinion which the
world had formed about the Company of Jesus, to straighten-out the
tangle, correcting and directing; and, as men were wont to judge more
by actions than by words, He did not propose to beat the air with vain
expostulations, explanations, expositions of virtue, and so forth.
It had been done a thousand times before. Historic calumnies had
been refuted from pulpits and in pamphlets with unanswerable logic:
but still the man-in-the-street said "Jesuit" when he meant "a foxy
wolf." The Pontiff was not going to try to persuade the world away
from its nonsense. He wished the Company of Jesus to give the world a
proximate occasion of persuading itself. Therefore, He proposed to the
General, in private, a return to the observance of the good old rule
and a cultivation of the saintly spirit of St. Iñigo Lopez de Recalde.
He wished the Jesuits to reconsider their position, as it were: to
surcease from the--not always mortally sinful--not always tangibly
illegal--but perhaps--generally shady transactions----

The General interrupted. He was prepared to bully.

Hadrian froze him with a glance of blazing supremacy. "Make no
mistake," the Pope said: "We are not intending Ourself to punish your
Company, nor to degrade your Companions who so diligently degrade
themselves, nor to confer fictitious and unmerited importance upon
you by decrees of dissolution or suppression. We do not forget the
badness of the agents in the goodness of the cause nor the goodness of
the cause in the badness of the agents." He was looking through His
all-observant half-shut eyes straight at the bridge of the General's
fine nose. That is the most exacerbating form of regard: for, while
it holds the hearer rigid and intense, it effectually prevents
retaliation. Much may be done with the eye in wordy warfare. You may
challenge: you may intimidate: you may quell: but you may do none of
these things while your opponent refuses to lend his eye to yours. So
this sleek General found. The Pontiff held him with an eye which gazed
so nearly into his, that he perforce was obliged to lie in wait for the
flicker when his own could seize it. Hadrian knew the dodge. He had not
watched and dichotomized men and Jesuits from the observatory and in
the dissecting-room of His loneliness during twenty years for nothing.
At the end of His sentence, His gaze swept right away. He rose and went
to the window. Looking out over the roofs of Golden and Immortal Rome,
He continued in a milder tone, "We have cited Your Reverency only to
hear Our paternal chiding of your naughty ways, to the end that ye may
amend the same, returning of your own free will to the observance of
the spirit as well as of the letter of those rules of life and conduct
which your Father, St. Ignatius, made for you."

He paused. The General, who would have preferred wheeling manure in a
barrow at the behest of a novice (A.M.D.G. of course) to listening to
this rodent exhortation, took it that the audience was ended; and made
shift to get on to his knees.

But the Pope went on. "For, it is of the nature of all human things
to deteriorate; and ye have made yourselves a scorn and hissing among
men. The _Nouvelle Revue_ states that ye are in great decadence. The
statement may be one of your own devices for distracting the attention
of the world from your nefarious machinations. Or it may be a fact. In
both cases it is damnable and damnatory." He paused again.

"Jube, Domine, benedicere," the General intoned, with a determination
to force the apostolic benediction, and to get back to the Via del
Seminario as soon as possible. He felt that he had some very important
things to say to his socii.

But the pitiless voice probed him again: "Wherefore We admonish you
that ye set your house in order while ye have time."

The General's oval jaw took an extra lateral crease. His hands twitched
and pattered down and up and down in a talpine manner. Suddenly the
inflexible fathomless eyes flashed on him. Axioms like sleet tersely
lashed him.

"Remember that ye only exist on sufferance. Dismiss delusions; and see
yourselves as ye really are. Strip, man, strip. Search out your own
weaknesses: lest, not the Father but, the Enemy discover the sores, and
the diamonds, which ye are hiding. For ye do not merit the reputation,
which is associated with your name, on the strength of which ye trade."

The glossy black priest jerked to his feet: genuflected; and was
backing from the white Presence. The Pontiff, whose mood had become
quite pythian, stepped up to him, laying a firm hand on the bow of the
ribbons of his ferraiuola. "Wince not, dear son. Three-fourths of you
trade upon the reputation of your Company for cunning and learning.
One-fourth of you is the Christians of the world. At least be frank
with yourselves. Let us have more of the flower of your Christianity.
Let us have less of your false pretences. Your erudition is showy
enough. Oh yes. But it is so superficial. Your machinations are sly
enough. Oh yes. But they are so silly. Ye are not geniuses. Ye are not
monsters either of vice or of virtue: but only ridiculous mediocrities,
always pitifully burrowing, burrowing like assiduous moles, always
seeing your pains mis-spent, your elaborate schemes wrecked, except
sometimes, when--to complete the metaphor--quite by accident, ye chance
to kill a king. This is not to the Greater Glory of God. Then stop.
Stop, here and now."

They were by the door. The Black Pope had one hand under the blue-linen
curtain, and was fumbling for the handle. The White Pope quickly
clinched His admonition. "Don't pretend to be Superior Persons. Don't
give yourselves such airs. Don't gad about in hansom cabs quite so
much. Don't play billiards in public-houses. Don't nurture jackals. Try
to be honest. Don't oppress the poor. Don't adore the rich. Don't cheat
either. Tell the truth: or try to. Love all men, and learn to serve.
And don't be vulgar."

Father St. Albans had got the door open. He looked like a flat female
with chlorosis. He was green and quite speechless. But he bowed
profoundly as the decurial chamberlains came forward to escort him
through the antechambers.

"Benedicat te Omnipotens Deus.... Go in peace and pray for Us," purred
the Supreme Pontiff, rubbing His left hand with His pocket handkerchief
and returning to the window.




CHAPTER XIV


Hadrian was mooning about in the Treasury one morning, wondering why
people will persist in using diamonds by themselves instead of as a
setting for coloured gems: grieving at the excessive ugliness of most
modern goldsmiths' monstrous work: turning with disgust from huge
brazenly vulgar masses of bullion shaped like bad dreams of chalices,
pyxes, staves, croziers, mitres, tiaras, dishes, jugs, (not beds),
and basons. He bathed in the beauty of sea-blue beryls, corundrums,
catseyes, and chalcedonyx. A vast rose-alexandrolith mysteriously
changed from myrtle-green to purple as He turned it from sunlight to
candle-light. He moved to a great round table-moonstone, transparent
as water one way: brilliantly clouded with the ethereal blue of a
summer-morning sky, the other. These two stones had not the blatant
ostentation, the inevitable noisy obviousness of rubies, emeralds,
diamonds and pearls. They were apart, chaste, recondite, serene, and
permanent. He enjoyed them. His glance again passed over the flaring
cupboards. A plan began to crawl out of one of his brain-cells. He
took the alexandrolith and the moonstone in His two hands; and sat
down profoundly meditating, gazing into the lovely silent mystery in
the stones. So He sat for half-an-hour, while His plan unfolded its
convolutions. To Him entered Cardinal Semphill, rather ruddier than a
cherry, carrying the day-before-yesterday's _Times_. "Holiness," he
said with some animation, "I hope I don't interrupt You. Thank God
we've got a King of England at last!" He read from the paper, "'The
King's Majesty has been graciously pleased to send autograph letters
to all the European sovereigns and prime ministers inviting them to
assemble with the President of the United States and the Japanese
Emperor at Windsor Castle, in order to concert measures for terminating
the present lamentable condition of affairs.'"

"That explains the length of the Japanese Emperor's visit to England,
and Roosevelt's arrival last week. Yes, it's very king-like.
Statesmanship is all very well up to a point. Then, its force seems to
fade; and kingship's chance comes. Lucky England to have a real King!"

"I thought Your Holiness would be pleased. And now what will be the
outcome?"

"Who knows?" Hadrian thought for a minute; and then mounted an
imaginary pulpit, and preached like a purposeful literary man. "First,
they'll quarrel terribly for certain: because five of them are distinct
entities, and the others (the nonentities) out of sheer terror will
make themselves a nuisance. Secondly, when the nonentities have been
reassured, or squashed, the five entities will have to reach a common
ground. If they do that, We shall be very much surprised. Thirdly,
supposing an agreement to have been reached, Their Majesties and the
President will have to get it constitutionally confirmed. Autocracy is
supposed to be dead; and the usual constitutional farce will have to be
performed."

"Why do You say 'autocracy is supposed to be dead,' Holy Father?"

"Oh because the euphuism 'constitutional monarchy' has taken its place.
The twentieth century doesn't like the word Autocrat; and pretends that
the thing does not exist. But it does: not in the old hereditary form:
but Aristos, the Strong Man, invariably dominates. It's in the order
of nature. And Demos likes him for it, only the silly thing won't say
so. That's all. Semphill, you might send a marconigraph to the Earl
Marshal. We require news of this Congress of Windsor at least once a
day."

The Pope returned the gems to the beneficiato in attendance: took the
_Times_ with Him and went across the basilica into the gardens. A
tramontana bit Him to the bone; and He tightly wrapped His cloak round
Him, facing the wind and the blinding glare of the sun. He briskly
walked a couple of miles, until blood-warmth stung his mind into
activity. By Leo IV.'s ruined wall, He met Cardinal Carvale engaged
in a similar exercise, his delicate cheeks fervid and flushed, and
his grave eyes blazing. Good priests generally retain their bloom
through the full five-and-forty years of youth. Hadrian invited his
companionship and conversation for the return to Vatican. They were
a pair, these two medium-sized slim athletic men, the one in white
and the other in vermilion, both very brilliant in the sunlight, with
vivid aspect and vivid gait. They looked like men who really were
alive. Their discourse was just the vigorous rather epigrammatic talk
of wholesome well-bred men. As they turned into the court of the
Belvedere, His Eminency said "Oh, by the bye, Holy Father, perhaps I
ought to tell you that they cannot understand at St. Andrew's College
why You never have been to see them."

"But you understand:" Hadrian promptly put in.

"Well--yes:" the cardinal responded. In his candid gaze there was
intuition, sympathy--and something else.

The Pontiff read it. "When did they tell you that?"

"Yesterday."

"Oh. Do you often go there?"

"About once a fortnight, Holiness."

"Carvale, do you like going there?"

"--Yes, on the whole I do. The youngsters are glad to see me; and the
older men" (a radiant smile disclosed his exquisite teeth as he spread
an arm)--"they like vermilion to take note of them. And I think it does
my soul good" (he spoke gravely) "to visit the old place. I put it
off as long as I could: I would have been glad to forget the horrors.
Strange to say, I forgot them after I had been there a few times."

Hadrian's heart informed Him. He understood it all quite well. "Carvale
let us go to St. Andrew's now. We can get there in time for dinner."

The cardinal instantly looked happy; and the two continued to walk
swiftly through the City, going by Tordinona, Orso, Piazza Colonna and
the Trevi Fountain. As they passed the crucifix at the corner of an
alley, Hadrian bowed. His Eminency did not. "Why don't you salute our
Divine Redeemer?" the Pope inquired.

"Well of course I always raise my hat to The Lord in the tabernacle
when I pass a church----"

"And you bow to Us, and even to Our handwriting: but---- Listen,
Carvale: 'It is idolatry to talk about Holy Church and Holy Father, to
bow to fallible sinful man, if you do not bend knee and lip and heart
to every thought and image of God manifest as Man----' Is that explicit
enough? Well; it was a protestant parson who wrote it--one Arnold of
Rugby."

"He was right, Holiness;" said the cardinal turning back and bowing.

They walked on in silence. The Pope was doing a thing which He could
not away with. It might be thought that He, a former student, was
come to the college (which had expelled Him) to swagger. Of course it
would be thought. Let it be thought. Then the hateful memory of every
nook and corner, in which, as a student, He had been so fearfully
unhappy, surged in His mind: the gaudy chapel where He had received
this snub, the ugly refectory where He received that, the corridor
where the rector had made coarse jests about His mundity to obsequious
grinners, the library where He had found impossible dust-begrimed
books, the stairs up which He had staggered in lonely weakness, the
dreadful gaunt room which had been His homeless home, the altogether
pestilent pretentious bestial insanity of the place--He knew and winced
at every stone of it; and wrenched Himself from retrospection. They
were going up the narrow Avigonesi. Fifty yards in front, a double file
of students in violet cassocks and black sopranos preceded them. A
little group of ragamuffins shouted cattivi verbi at the file; and one
caught hold of the conventional sleeve of a student's soprano which was
streaming in the wind. Cheap cloth rent at a tug. The ragamuffin rushed
off with his spoils. But the bereft one furiously followed: retrieved
his streamer; and clouted a head which howled, resuming his place in
the camerata all unconscious that his act had been observed.

"History repeats itself:" the Pope said, and laughed.

Carvale smiled in reply. "Fancy remembering that."

"We forget no one thing of those days," said Hadrian: "also, the rape
of Your Eminency's streamer was effected on one of the only two days
when We were permitted to accompany the others to the University.
Naturally We remember that. Besides, Carvale, you were in such a blind
and naked rage; and We had deemed you such a virtuous little mouse."

"Was I?" the cardinal said. "One had to lie low, as a rule: but
sometimes the old Adam----"

"We owe Our one moment of mirth in St. Andrew's College to that old
Adam."

"I had to keep in coll. for a week though, afterwards. The boy's father
was waiting for me with a knife."

"Yes. Italy had not got over her taste for steel."

"Will she ever get over it, Holiness?"

"Of course She will--when She has killed you--or Us. Nothing but a
tragedy will break a habit of centuries:" the Pope said, as He rang the
bell at the door of the college.

The old porter Aurelio opened, gasped, dropped on his knees. Hadrian
and Cardinal Carvale entered. A long corridor extended right and left.
In front, on the right, a wide stone stair ascended: on the left,
another stair descended a little way to a glass door leading to a
shabby shrubbery. Some students were on the stairs: others were in the
shrubbery: two or three lingered in the corridor. At the Pontiff's
entrance they all inquisitively turned, gasped, and flopped. It was
awfully funny. They resembled violet hares on their forms, rigid,
goggle-eyed, ready-to-bound. At the turn of the landing, a sturdy
black-a-vised Gael fled upstairs to summon the superiors. The Apostle
blessed the others with a shy smile which would be kind, and a wave of
the hand which emptied space,--except for an obese little spectacled
sharpnosed creature like a violet sparrow who hopped about pertly
obsequious. Down came flying the superiors as a bell began to ring and
intonations sounded in the upper corridors. The rector was annoyed at
being taken unawares: but he presented his vice-rector, a mild anemic
of thirty with the face of a good young woman.

"We are come to accept your hospitality, Monsignore, without any
ceremony," said Hadrian. They passed into the refectory to the high
table. Twenty-nine students followed: and arranged themselves in two
lines down the sides of the centre, and in a third line across the end.
The dean-of-students intoned the Grace: the rest responded. The Pope
placed Himself on the rector's right, with the vice-rector on His Own
right: Carvale supported the rector on the left. Soup, boiled meat,
vegetables, baked-meat, cheese, apples, appeared and disappeared.
The rector conceded to Hadrian the right of signalling to the reader
in the pulpit: the Pope kept him reading, because He did not want to
talk platitudes, and because He did want to look at the men. He ate
little. The food was abundant in quantity: indelicate in quality.
They offered Him the best black wine from the college-vineyards: but
He preferred a student's little cruet of red, a coarse wine with some
body and no bouquet whatever--an unsophisticate wine such as Fabrizio
Colonna might have used at the end of the fifteenth century. Most of
the diners assiduously and emphatically dined, with one eye on the
high table, a nose in their own plate, and the other eye in their
neighbour's. Hadrian noted all their physiognomies; and began to
select those with whom He would have a word. He passed the weak young
thin-nosed dean at the top of the right table, the tall quiet man in
black who looked already sacerdotal, the old bald amiability with an
air of conventionality who might have been a parson,--yes He would
speak to him of the others,--the blubber-lipped gorger who mopped
up gravy with a crumb-wedge and gulched the sop--no: the fastidious
person who ate bread and drank water and looked so hungry--yes: the
florid giant with the fiery wiry mop--no: the dark man with the cruel
face of a Redemptorist--no: the sallow lath who had the manners of an
attaché--no. On the left, colourless mediocrities--no. Across the end,
youngsters:--His Holiness distinguished a black-haired white-skinned
one with wet black eyes, certainly an Erse: a crisp-brown-haired
muscular hobbledehoy with shining grey eyes and a tanned skin, who
would look well in a farm-yard: a big bloom of boyhood yellow-haired,
blue-eyed, scarlet and moist-lipped, ardent and modest. The Pope tapped
on the table. The reader, to whom no one had listened, ceased; and came
down to his dinner. A low murmur of conversation arose. Everybody began
to think furiously of what he would do or demand if he had a chance.

"This is a great day for the college, Holy Father," the rector said.
The Pope slightly bowed. "Had we known that You intended to honour us,
Holy Father, a proper reception----"

"Unnecessary," Hadrian quietly interrupted. "We do not wish to disturb.
Our children expect to see Us; and We are here to be seen. They all
shall be able to say that they have seen and heard and handled Us, if
they please." He spoke lowly, and (the rector perceived) unwillingly,
but very officially. They were eating wind-fallen apples. The rector
offered an enormous silver snuff-box. Hadrian passed it to the
vice-rector, who took a pinch with blushing alacrity. It went the round
of the tables; and returned on the rector's left. Hadrian carefully
noted the takers. Some took snuff perfunctorily, some customarily,
others horribly. The fiery wiry giant stood up and ostentatiously
absorbed it with a cringe to the high table. Those to whom the Pope was
resolved to speak took none: the fastidious person disdained it. The
meal was finished. The students ranked for Grace; and all proceeded
to the chapel to visit The Lord in the Sacrament. After five minutes'
silent prayer, they emerged on the first corridor. There seemed to be
uncertainty: the men congregated on the descent expecting directions.
In the ordinary course of things, some would be going to Propaganda for
lectures; others, to their own rooms for study or siesta: but, for the
next few moments, perhaps a dozen would enjoy horse-play in the shabby
shrubbery. A group of the last collected at the stair-head, by the
reception-room (with the red-velvet settees and the sham Venetian glass
chandeliers), into which the rector was endeavouring to entice the
Pope. But Hadrian was looking at the students, mischievously smiling
at them. "It is to be hoped that you are not going into the garden to
murder a cat:" He said.

Everybody instantly became as red as a scalding-hot capsicum, some
with shame, one with disgust, others from sheer fear. Church-students
easily are frightened, because there generally is less grace than
nature in them; and you only have to disclose a knowledge of the latter
for them to desire (as phrenetically as possible) the predominance of
the former. This makes for uneasiness, often for hypocrisy--in both
cases, for mental and corporeal effort and a sudden flux of blood to
the extremities.

"To murder a cat, Holy Father?" the vice-rector ejaculated. He was
responsible for discipline.

"Yes. They used to murder stray cats here, just to pass the time. We
have seen it. The one thing, which We remember in connection with
your shrubbery, is a rush of ramping infuriated boys with spades and
pitchforks, chasing and smashing a poor stray cat. We can see the
horror now, with its broken back, and one eye hanging out on its
whiskers. We can hear its dreadful heart-rending yells. Boys, don't do
such things--to cats of all creatures!"

He spoke with fervence. Some savages wondered what the blazes He was
driving at. There was a little silence. No one seemed to know how to
break it. Then the sparrow-like student appeared with a red chair
which he had taken the liberty of extracting from the reception-room;
and dragged it behind the Pontiff at the stair-head. It was a welcome
interruption. Hadrian sat down; and dismissed Cardinal Car vale
with the superiors. He was going to have the college to Himself for
half-an-hour. The improvised throne stood alone in the bare corridor:
the students clustered up the stairs below it. Hadrian perceived the
inevitable odour of hot boy. He produced a sentence wherewith to
address them.

"Dear children," he said, feeling as old as Methuselah for the moment,
"do learn to love: don't be hard, don't be cruel to any living
creature." And that was all.

He beckoned the dean who came and kneeled before Him: laid His hand
on the young man's head; and blessed him. The others followed in
rotation. In a secret voice, He invited each one to ask a favour. Most
asked Him to pray for them and held up their beads for a blessing: some
asked for the apostolic benediction in the hour of death for themselves
and their relations: the fastidious person asked for nothing.

"Nothing?" the Pope whispered.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" (very tenderly)

"Everything, O Sanctity:" the stoic responded with a sob and a stony
glare. Hadrian inquired for the number of his room; and put a similar
question to the other four whom He had noted. When He had blessed all,
He sent them away, and sat alone for a minute or two. Then He went to
visit the big boy: who looked at Him bravely, with tearful innocent
eyes. To Hadrian, it was wonderful to see this great virile virgin
of nineteen. He elicited a not unusual and simple tale: a little
Gaelic farm, always Catholic through all persecutions, the third of
eight sons, the Vocation at twelve years of age, the mother wanted to
confess to her own son. It was idyllic. It would come exquisitely in
the objective bucolic manner of Theokritos. The long shapely limbs
trembled before Him; the grand shoulders bowed. He gave the boy His
Own white sash as a present for his mother: bade him be a good priest;
and left him wallowing in happiness. Hadrian stopped in the corridor,
disappointed because the lad came from a farm: He had placed him beside
the sea, and had conceived a mental image of him, bare-legged, in a
blue guernsey, at the rudder of a fishing-smack. But the next, the
muscular hobbledehoy, really did come from a farm: his skin had the
unmistakable tan of the sun on a wheat-field: and his front was bovine.
So was his manner. He was so frightened by the importance of his
visitor that he spoke with surliness, and in the voice of a child of
thirteen. Hadrian was astonished at the discrepancy between the voice
and the speaker: He made him less uncomfortable by substituting an
official manner for His friendly one (which the hobbledehoy could not
understand) asking his name and ordinary questions about his status and
addressing him as Mr. Macleod. It was a magnificent animal, incapable
of the finer sentimental emotions, likely to conceal fat in a cassock
(or in corduroy, if on a farm) before the age of thirty. Privately the
Pope wondered what in the world was the sign of this one's Vocation.
He Himself could perceive none: but then He was inexperienced; and the
youth was secretive. Hadrian tried to draw him out. Was he happy? Oh
yes. Did he want anything? Oh no. To what diocese did he belong? To
Devana. When did he expect the priesthood? A look of wild terror came
into the grey eyes. Hadrian perceived a clue; and pressed on, repeating
his inquiry. "I never will be," the creature shrilled.

"Why not?"

No answer: but a rush to the bedside and a face hidden. Hadrian took
him by the shoulders, and made an act of will. "Why not?"

"I cannot:" and then the fountains of the great deep were discovered.
His veneer of English peeled off: he spoke with the sibilate dental,
the clipped deliberation of the Gael. No one ever had told him. He
did not know till a month ago. No one knew. He had not mentioned it
to his confessor, because it was not a sin. He read of it in Lehmkuhl
and Togni. He would be obliged to go back and work on his uncle's farm
where he had been brought up. They belonged to the Free Kirk there. He
was an orphan. It was his uncle by marriage. Hadrian looked steadily
into his eyes:

"Is this the truth, as though you were speaking before kings?"

"It wass the truth ass though she wass speaking pefore kings," the
response came in the strongest form of asseveration known to a Gael,
deliberately selected and offered by Him Who knew so little, and so
much of so many little things. Hadrian comforted him; and bade him pack
his bag. His secret was safe. Vatican was the place for him, until some
sort of useful happy life could be planned for him.

The Pope very slowly went-up the last two flights of stairs to the top
corridor. No man can come into a human tragedy without some vibrance of
sentiment; and Hadrian's senses, keen by nature, were intensified by
art. He entered the room of the black-haired Erse, who most certainly
had kissed the blarney-stone. Och! Blessins on the Howly Forther's
blessid head and might the howly saints receive Him into glory. The
Pope wrote a blessing in a garish birthday book; and got out of the
room as quickly as possible. That such a lovely bit of colour and
litheness should be so abject on the floor! His Holiness shut-down the
lid on memory; and knocked at another door.

"Come."

He entered a large bare square room with a window which displayed the
City from the Quirinal to St. Peter's. He noted the bed, the chest of
drawers whose top was arranged as a dressing-table, the writing table,
book case, and two chairs. A bath stood under the bed; and there were
two large tin cans of water against the wall. The fastidious inmate
offered a chair; and remained standing in the Presence. Hadrian signed
to him to be seated also.

"Dear son, you are one of the unhappy ones. Will you tell Us your
grief?"

"Sanctity, I have not complained."

"No. But, complain."

"I will not complain." The Pope liked him for that; and for an air of
distinction which was not breeding. Dialectic should be tried.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine."

"In which month were you born?"

"In July."

"In England?"

"In England." A rapid horoscopical calculation let Hadrian know the
lines on which to proceed.

"You find your environment disagreeable?"

"All environments are more or less disagreeable to me."

"All which you have tried up to the present, perhaps. Perhaps the
future may be more propitious."

"Sanctity, I earnestly hope so: but I do not expect it."

"Why not?"

"I do not know."

"Don't you find that your circumstances influence your conduct? Don't
you find that they prevent you from doing yourself justice?"

"Always."

"In this college, you have found no kindred spirit?"

"That may be my fault."

"More likely your misfortune--and misfortunes are not faults, no
matter what fools say. Note that. Note also that misfortunes may be
overcome.--But, they do not understand you here?"

"No."

"They mock you?---- They do. Why did they mock you to-day?"

"They did not mock me to-day."

"Yesterday?"

"Because I carry those two cans full of water up two-hundred-and-two
steps every day."

"Do you mean to say that there are no baths in this college yet?"

"We may have footbaths once a week, if we apply to the infirmarian.
There is nothing else. And I like to tub decently."

"No doubt they say that you must be a very unclean person to need so
much washing?"

"Sanctity, You are quoting the rector."

The Pope abruptly laughed. "Have they ever put a snake--a snake--in
your water-cans?"

"No they have not done that."

"They did in Ours."

The distance between the two now became considerably lessened. The
fastidious person began to feel more at ease. His fastidy evidently was
only a chevaux de frise for the discomfiture of intruders; and this
delicate tender inquisitor was no intruder, but a very welcome--Apostle.

The Pope continued. "Isn't it very absurd?"

"It is very absurd. Also, it is very disconcerting."

"Of course you try not to let it disconcert you?"

"I try: but I fail. My heart always is on my sleeve; and the daws peck
it. At present, I am trying to contain myself and to use myself in
isolation."

"That they call 'sulkiness'?"

"Yes."

"How much longer must you remain here?"

"Perhaps one year: perhaps two."

"Can you persecute, can you hold out so long?"

"Oh, I will hold out. Nothing shall deter me. Sanctity, it is not that
which makes me afraid."

"Dear son, what makes you afraid?"

"The afterwards. These people are to be my superiors or
equals--colleagues for life. I am not afraid of poverty or wickedness
among the people to whom I am to minister: but, my brother-priests--I
shall be at the orders of some of these people, my rectors, my
diocesans even. That makes me afraid."

"Did you not know what kind of people----"

"Yes, I did know: but I did not realize it till I came here."

"Yet you choose to persevere?"

"Sanctity, I must. I am called."

"You are sure of that?"

"It is the only thing in all the world of which I am sure."

"Do you always live on bread and water?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I think the food beastly. I have been into the kitchen; and I have
seen--things. I am afraid to eat anything except boiled eggs. They
cannot deposit--sputum inside the shells of boiled eggs. But the
servants complained of the extra trouble in boiling eggs especially for
me. The bread is not made in the college. In order not to be singular,
I eat and drink what I can eat and drink of that which is set before
me; and I am deemed more singular than ever."

"Have you said this to the rector?"

"Yes."

"Do you like bread and water?"

"I think them both exceedingly nasty."

"Does it affect your health?"

"Not in the least. It makes my head ache. But I am as strong as a
panther."

"Why 'panther'?"

"I really don't know. It seemed to be the just word."

"And you believe that you are able to go on?"

"I intend to go on."

"You know that this college is not the place for you?"

"I suppose not: but my diocesan sent me here; and I intend to serve my
sentence."

"Dear son, what is your ambition?"

"Priesthood."

"With a small patrimony, you would be on a more satisfactory footing
here; and afterward you need not take the mission oath. The mere
fact of the possession of a patrimony would purchase courtesy and
consideration for you during your college-life: and would give you an
opportunity of cultivating your individuality independently when you
reach the priesthood."

"Oh, yes. But I am a church-student."

"So were We."

"And Your Sanctity persevered?"

"Yes."

"So will I."

"What is your name?"

"William Jameson."

Hadrian took a sheet of paper and wrote the apostolic benediction to
William Jameson. "You will like to have this? Persevere, dear son; and
pray for Us as for your brother-in-the-Lord. And--do you know Cardinal
Sterling? Well: come to Vatican whenever you please and make his
acquaintance. He will expect you. Good-bye. God bless you."

The Pope went down to the bald old amiability, who was correct and
mild enough in expressing a profound sense of the honour. Hadrian
spoke to him of himself; and found that a public-school, university,
and Anglican parsonage, had dulled what capability of emotion he ever
had had, or had taught him the rare art of self-concealment. He was
a capital specimen of the ordinary man, stinted, limited: one whose
instinct prevented him from asserting an individuality. But he was a
gentleman; and a Christian of a kind, actuated by the best intentions,
paralysed by the worst conventions.

"We wish to speak to you of Jameson:" at length the Apostle said.

"Ah, poor fellow!"

"Now why do you say that, Mr. Guthrie?"

"Well, Holiness, I'm afraid he's in a most uncomfortable position. I'm
sure this is not the place for him. You see he doesn't get on with the
men."

"Does he quarrel with them?"

"Oh, dear me no! But he avoids them."

"Perhaps he has his reasons."

"Well, I'm afraid he has. But then it doesn't do to shew them. I often
tell him so--try to chaff him into a more come-at-able frame of mind,
you know, Holy Father."

"That hardly would be the way."

"No I'm afraid it wasn't. He's so very sensitive, you see. Why he
actually got quite angry with me."

"What did he say?"

"Well, he said that he really did think I ought to have known better."

"And what did you say then?"

"Oh I called him a----but I couldn't possibly tell You what I called
him, Holy Father."

"Why not?"

"Well really it was too dreadful. I've been regretting it ever since."

"What did you call him?"

"Oh it's quite impossible that I should repeat it to You, Holy Father.
I should never be able to hold up my head again."

"Nonsense, Mr. Guthrie. We desire to know it."

"I'm sure I don't know what You'll think of me, Holy Father: but the
fact is I went so far as to call him a--no, really I cannot--well--I'm
sure I can't think what possessed me to use such an opprobrious term
but I was excessively annoyed You see at the moment and the word
slipped out before I was quite conscious of what I was saying----"

"What did you call him?"

"Well really if You must have it, Holy Father, I called him a Goose!"

"Oh.... And what did he do to you?"

"Burst into a roar of laughter and shut his door in my face."

"Did you feel pained?"

"Well perhaps just a little at the time: but not when I came to think
it over. You see I really can't help feeling sorry for him."

"Why?"

"Well because really he must be very unhappy, You know, Holy Father."

"In your opinion, Mr. Guthrie, he himself is the cause of his own
unhappiness?"

"Quite so, Holy Father. You see he doesn't seem to be able to rub along
with the other men. He can't come down to their level so to speak. He
keeps himself too much to himself: won't or can't conciliate the least
little bit. Of course they all think it's pride on his part; and they
pay him out with practical jokes of a rather doubtful kind I'm afraid.
He's good and kind and clever and all that sort of thing: but he hasn't
the slightest idea of making himself popular as a church-student
should be among church-students. You see, he's what I may call (if I
may be quite frank about him) such a Beastly Fool. The rector doesn't
like it I'm sure."

"Then perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the fault is not so
much in the man as in his environment?"

"That's what I've always said, Holy Father. His present environment
is quite unsuitable for a man of that kind. He must find it extremely
unpleasant."

"Mr. Guthrie, won't you try to make it more pleasant for him? Bear
with him: defend him: don't seem to form a party with him against the
others: but don't give the others the idea that you approve of their
attitude to him. Will you do as much as that?"

"I'm sure I'll do anything in my power, Holy Father."

"That at least is in your power.--God bless you."

The Pope went on to the reception room to fetch Cardinal Carvale. Not
to neglect the superiors, (although He was very tired) He allowed them
to show Him rather dubious and very ugly treasures; and tolerated
half-an-hour of vapid conversation. They thought Him so nice. He was
bored to death. After conferring the usual favours, He obtained a whole
playday for the college: notified the rector that He was carrying off a
student: arranged for Mr. Jameson to visit Cardinal Sterling; and took
His departure. He put His acquisition into a victoria, and bade him
drive to the obelisk in St. Peter's Square.

"Dreadful place!" Hadrian ejaculated to Carvale as they turned down
Tritone. "Do you think you could make it decent if you were rector?"

"I would try, Holiness."

"Well: We do not see how We can make you rector, because of Monsignor
What's-his-name. But you might do something as protector----"

"Gentilotto is protector, Holiness. St. Andrew's is subject to the
Cardinal-Prefect of Propaganda."

"Only for the present, Carvale. You will find that dear old Gentilotto
is quite willing. And you yourself are a Kelt. Yes, that's right!
A Keltic college should have a Keltic protector. Carvale, you are
Protector of St. Andrew's College from this moment, and you shall have
your breve directly We get back to Vatican. Now, first of all, go to
Oxford and ask Dr. Strong to put you up for a week in coll.: and keep
your eyes open. Do that with your first spare fortnight. Then come back
and turn your rivers Peneios and Alpheios through that Aygeian stable.
Give them baths and sanity, for goodness' sake; and try to get them
into cleanly habits. You might make that shrubbery into a gymnasium
and swimming bath with a lovely terrace on the top. And, O Carvale, do
make friends with them, and see what you can do to take that horrible
secretive suppressed look out of their young eyes. Understand?"

"I think so, Holiness."

"We give you a year. If We live as long as this day twelvemonth, We
will go again to mark your progress. Remember, you have a free hand.
Now here's something else. Tell Sterling that a--but no--We Ourself
will tell him."

At the obelisk they picked up Hamish Macleod. Hadrian marched him
straight up to the quarters of the gentlemen of the secret chamber. Sir
John and Sir Iulo, stripped to the buff were punching a bag.

"John," said the Pope, "Mr. Macleod will be your guest for the present.
Get him a room near your own and make him comfortable." He drew the
young man outside while Sir Iulo was lavishing his lovely English on
the visitor. "And John, reorganize his wardrobe on the scale of your
own; and teach him your business."

To Cardinal Sterling, who came to the secret chamber, Hadrian explained
the case of William Jameson.

"You have your opportunity," He said to His Eminency.

"And one will not repeat one's previous mistake, Holiness," was the
remarkable and thankful reply.

"No, for mercy's sake, don't. And now listen. The Treasurer will pay
you on this order the sum of £10,500. You will invest it in the Bank of
England on these terms. The transaction is to be secret. The interest
on £10,000 is to be paid quarterly to William Jameson as long as he
lives. On his death the capital is to revert to the Treasurer for the
time being of the Apostolic See. Instruct the bank instantly to send
£500 and the vouchers to Jameson, with a statement that it is his
patrimony; and to give him no further information."

Then Hadrian shut-up Himself and rested, smoking and reading the
_Reviews of Unwritten Books_ in some old numbers of the _Monthly
Review_. One of them caused Him to think. It was called _Thucydides'
Report of Pericles' Oration at the Incoronation of King Edward the
Seventh_.




CHAPTER XV


Jerry Sant gnawed his rag of a moustache for a fortnight or so, till
it was dripping and jagged. He began to have a notion that Mrs. Crowe
would like to have him elsewhere. That did not disturb him: for he
knew that he always could compel her services, when he wanted them, by
means of a pull on the purse-strings. The mildly elegant exiguity of
the circle in which she moved, had no attraction for him. There were
not many saxpences there; and he felt out of his depth in a company
which he could not lead by the nose. "In the kingdom of the blind, the
one-eyed man is king." He knew himself to be "a one-eyed man"; and, in
the kingdom of the Liblabs, he naturally had been one of the kings.
Here, among the English and Keltic Catholics in Rome, he was no more
than tolerated--and awfully worried by people who offered him tracts,
of which, for the life of him, he could make neither head nor tail.
Further he really seriously was annoyed that the Pope had not accepted
his handsome offer--had not even answered his letter. He thought it
most rude. It is a fatal and futile thing to leave letters unanswered,
especially impertinent letters. Silence does not "choke off": in
ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, it breeds bile which is bound to be
spurted sooner or later. It is a poor kind of a man who cannot indite
a letter which is a guillotine, a closure about which there can be no
possible mistake. By this means, uncertainty and its vile consequences
are prevented. Hadrian perfectly knew how to deliver Himself. His
faculty for finding-out other people's thumb-screws had provided
Him with blasting powder, if He had desired to be dynamic; and He
possessed Bishop Bagshawe's celebrated three-line formula, which never
has been known to fail of throttling an importunate correspondent. But
He no more could have touched Sant, even with a letter, than He could
have touched tripe with tongs. His feeling for the man was ultimate
antipathy, which led Him to commit the common error of ignoring what
ought to have been annihilated. Hence Sant's sense of spleen. Finally
Jerry had the Liblabs to keep quiet. Those extraordinary persons
were asking for something definite in the shape of news; and he had
no news at all to give them. That was the worst of it. Soon, some
treachery or other would be hatched against him behind his back, in
the most approved Liblab manner: he would be asked for explanations,
for a statement of accounts: he would be hauled over the coals, and
so on:--oh he obviously could not let it come to that. He must make
a fresh effort. The time had come for playing his next card. And for
three days he sat at the Hotel Nike, writing press-copy.

It was the Cardinal-Secretary-of-State who did himself the pleasure of
acquainting the Holy Father with the result of Jerry Sant's manœuvre.
His Eminency, on the whole, never had had a more congenial duty to
perform in all his life. He swirled into the Presence one evening at
dusk when Hadrian was waiting for the lamps, sitting by the undraped
window watching the dark figures passing over the grey square and the
specks of yellow light springing in the houses of the Borgo. Ragna
brought a newspaper which he thrust into the Pope's hands.

"See what a scoundrel you are!" he truculently snarled. "Fly! All is
discovered! The _Catholic Hour_ is exposing you finely!"

"Oh," said Hadrian, unimpassionately turning from the window, and
speaking with extreme frigidity.

"Light some candles, please." He took the paper: put up His left
hand to shade His eyes; and looked at the sheet. As He read His
pontifical name and His secular name, His blood began to tingle: for
He still loathed publicity. As He read on, His blood began to boil.
It was a frightful tale which He was reading--frightful, because He
saw at a glance that it was quite unanswerable. It was unanswerable
because there are some things of which the merest whisper suffices
to destroy--whose effect does not depend on truthfulness. It was
unanswerable because it was anonymous. It was unanswerable because He
never could bring Himself to condescend.... Who could have attacked
Him with such malignant ingenuity? The names of half a dozen filthy
hounds occurred to Him in as many seconds: but He was not able to
recognise any particular paw. He read on. He was conscious that His
face was a-flame with indignation: but it was in shadow. Coming to
a clear chronological error, He chuckled. That taught Him that His
voice was under control; and He remembered that the invidious eyes
of Ragna were upon Him. From time to time thereafter, He produced a
short contemptuous word or laugh by way of commentary as He came to
excessive absurdities; and, so, gradually He possessed Himself again.
Thus, He skimmed the article. At the end He looked up at the cardinal.
"Yes," He said, "We appear to be a very disreputable character. Now
We will go through the thing again, and note the actual errors of
fact." He returned to the top of the first column: and began to read
more analytically. In progress, He counted aloud "One, two,"--up to
"thirty-three absolute and deliberate lies, exclusive of gratuitous or
ignorant mispresentations of fact, in a column and three-quarters of
print.--Well?" He inquired, with a full straight gaze at the attendant
cardinal.

"What are You going to do now?"

"We will ponder the matter which Your Eminency has submitted to Us; and
at a convenient time We will declare Our pleasure. The paper may be
left with Us. Your Eminency has permission to retire." Ragna strode
towards the door. At the threshold, he turned and bayed, "Abdicate!"

"No: We will not abdicate," said Hadrian.

The Secretary-of-State rushed away. As he went swishing, snarling at
all and sundry, through the antechamber where the gentlemen were in
waiting, Sir Iulo suddenly shot-out his arms straight and rectangularly
level with his shoulders, swung-up a stiff right leg in a verisimilar
fashion, rigidly sank on his left toes till he sat on his left heel,
recovered his first position with a jerk, changed legs and repeated
the performance with the right. It was done in a second of time; and
his white teeth glittered in a grin as his muscles relaxed. There are
few more nerve-shattering spectacles than this of a lithe and graceful
young gentleman in scarlet behaving, without any warning whatever,
exactly like a monkey on a stick, manifesting the same startling
descendent and ascendent angularity, the same imperturbable inevitable
intolerable agility. Cardinal Ragna denounced him as a devil where he
stood; and swirled away in a vermilion billow of watered-silk.

As soon as He was left alone, Hadrian made the very firmest possible
act of will determining neither to bend nor to break. This done, He ate
His supper with careful deliberation; sent-away the tray; and ordered
a large pot-full of black coffee. Then He locked all doors and allowed
Himself a period of disintegration preparatory to redintegration, a
period of slackness preparatory to intensification. Now He severely
suffered. He read the article on the _Strange Career of the Pope_ again
and again, till His head swam with the horror of it. This was the
worst thing which ever had happened to Him. His previous experience
of newspaper libels was as nothing in comparison. All through the
bitter bitter years of His struggle for life, He had known Himself for
a fighter. As a fighter, He had expected blows in return for those
which He gave. And, when all was said and done, his fighting had not
been to Him a source of unmitigated pain. For one thing, He had had
pleasure in knowing that He scrupulously fought unscrupulous foes, that
He fought a losing battle, that he fought a million times His weight,
that He fought bare-handed against armed champions all the time. That
knowledge it was--the knowledge that He had contended (not as a hero
but) as heroes have contended--which alone had upheld him. And now----
But this---- It depicted Him as simply contemptible. Inspection of
the image of Himself, which the _Catholic Hour_ with such ferocious
flocculence delineated, brought Him to the verge of physical nausea.
But it was not true, real. It was not Himself. No, no. It was an
atrocious caricature. Oh yes, it was an atrocious caricature. Everybody
would know it for that---- Would they? How many had known the previous
libels for libels? How many had dared to proclaim the previous libels
for libels? One--out of hundreds.---- Oh how beastly, how beastly! He
read the thing again;--and dashed the paper to the ground. If it only
had made Him look wicked--or even ridiculous! But no. He categorically
was damned, as despicable, low, vulgar, abject, mean, everything which
merited contempt. Only a strenuous effort kept Him from shrieking in
hysteria. "God, God, am I really like that?" He moaned aloud, with
His palms stretched upward and outward and His eyes intent in agony.
He lost faith in Himself. Perhaps He was such an one. Perhaps His
imagination after all had been deluding Him, and He really was an
indefensible creature. It was possible. "Oh, have I ever been such a
dirty--beast. Have I?" He moaned again. And then all the being of Him
suffused--and whirled--and outraged Nature took Him in hand. The blow
to His self-respect, the shattering onslaught on His sensibilities,
were more than even His valid virile body could bear. He lay back in
His low chair; and swooned into oblivion.

After the lapse of an hour, He began to revive. It would appear that He
instantly knew what had happened: for He staggered to the open window
that the cold night air might reinvigorate him. Full consciousness by
slow degrees returned; and, with it, some measure of serenity. He took
up the argument at the point where He had left it.

No: He was not like that. Before Jesus in the pyx on His breast, He was
not like that. So He gradually calmed Himself. He had done desperate
deeds and foolish deeds: but never ignoble deeds:--stay:--once:--that
had nothing whatever to do with the present matter: nor was that one
ignoble deed ignoble in the esteem of anyone except Himself: it was
"smart" or "clever" in mundane phraseology: no one had been injured
by it: it had been atoned-for: but, according to the ideal code which
He had made for His Own guidance, it was ignoble. However it was not
known, except to Himself, and God, and His angel-guardian: it was not
even known to His confessor, for it was not even a venial sin. Well
then---- No. No. He had not merited the gibbet of the world's contempt.

Who had gibbeted Him?

He very carefully read the paper again. Who in the world could have
collected such a mass of apparently convincing evidence? He was
beginning to study the question from His usual stand-point of personal
unconcern. His own written words were cited in proof of the allegations
here made against Him. He knew them for His own written words. Who in
the world so ingeniously could have distorted their signification:
so skilfully could have mispresented Him? At some time in His life,
He (perhaps inadvertently) must have trodden upon some human worm;
and the worm now had turned and stung Him. He sought for a sign, a
trace;--and found it---- Of course;--and the motive simultaneously
leaped to light. It was payment of a grudge, owed to Him by a detected
letter-thief, a professional infidel, whom He had scathed with barbed
sarcasms about ten years ago. There was something more than that.
Again He studied the paper for corroboration. How came the _Catholic
Hour_, of all papers, to publish a denunciation of Him? He noted that
the _Catholic Hour_ pretended its denunciation as being copied from
the _Devana Radical_. And the letter-thief resided at Devana; and
engaged in job-journalism: also, he had access to more than much of
the information here misused. Not to all of it though. Here and there
in the article, Hadrian's literary faculty enabled Him to perceive a
change of touch. Here and there were technical opinions and technical
modes of expression which could not have emanated from that one. Who
was responsible for these? The Pope, of all men on God's fair earth,
was qualified to recognize "the fine Roman hand"--the fine Roman hand
at least of one of His Own contemporaries at St. Andrew's College,
whom He had afflicted with a ridiculous label, a harmless jibe simply
composed of the man's own initial and surname joined together:--the
fine Roman hand of a pseudonymous editor with whom He had refused to
have dealings. Yes, and there too was the obscene touch of the female.
"Spretae injuri formae" over again!

At last, He summed up:--

  Material Cause. Information, possessed (the gods knew by what means)
  by the detected letter-thief and the female. Opinions, collected from
  (perhaps proffered by) Spite desirous of stabbing Scorn in the back.

  Formal Cause. Calumny, that is to say Slander which is False.

  Efficient Cause. The pontifical treatment of the representatives of
  the Liblab Fellowship now in the City.

  Final Cause. (_a_) Intimidation. (_b_) Revenge.

It was as clear as day-light.

Hadrian sat back in his chair; and blamed--Himself. His mind went
straight to the root of the matter. It was His Own fault. He had
not loved His neighbour. He had been hard, unkind, austere. He had
cultivated His natural faculty for rubbing salt upon His neighbour's
rawest and most secret sore,--salt in the shape of biting words,
satire, sarcasm, corrosive irony, labels which adhered. But, He had
done this when fighting, stark-naked and alone, against long odds!
No matter. It was part of the struggle for life! No matter. But He
would have been killed--not metaphorically but--literally killed, long
ago---- How did He know that?--Like all men, He had been trusting in
Himself, not in the Maker of the Stars. As a matter of fact, He did not
and could not know.--In His Own eyes, as His Own judge, each point of
His defence failed. He pleaded guilty. He had not loved His neighbour.

His soul fled up to the divinities who severely sit upon the awful
bench: but there was no solace to be obtained from them. He took the
beautiful crucifix from His neck: the pyx from His breast: laid them on
the table; and kneeled before the Sovereign of the seraphim. He made
an act of contrition. He acknowledged His sin: acknowledged that He
had merited condign punishment. He very humbly thanked God for giving
Him His punishment in this world. "O that my lot might lead me in the
path of holy innocence of thought and deed, the path which august laws
ordain, laws which had their birth in the highest heaven, neither did
the race of mortal man beget them, nor shall oblivion ever put them
to sleep: for the Power of God is mighty in them," He prayed, in the
verses of Sophokles.

He sent for His confessor.

It had been a dreadful experience. He was conscious of having been
shaken seriously. He felt quite old. His youth and strength, His
nerve, seemed to have been torn-out of Him. The world seemed to have
slipped-away from under Him. Yes--the world---- How should He meet the
world?--With equanimity and fortitude. What should He say and do?
Nothing.... Nothing....

His confessor arrived; and He confessed that, since His last confession
on the previous day, He had been guilty of the sin of anger. Also, He
renewed His sorrow for a sin of His past life. He had not loved His
neighbour. The bare-footed friar absolved Him; and commanded Him to
say, for His penance, one mass for the present and eternal welfare of
all whom He had offended.

Hadrian laid-open the _Catholic Hour_ on a table where it was not
concealed and whence it would not be removed: tried to turn away His
thought and to leave the incident behind Him. That the effect of it
would become manifest, that the memory of it would recur, He knew: but
neither memory nor effect ever should delay His progress. He spent the
rest of the evening in meditation on the future. At bed-time He did
not go down to St. Peter's: but said His prayers by His bedside with
child-like simplicity and feebleness. And care-dispersing sleep lit on
His eyelids, unwakeful, very pleasant, the nearest like death.




CHAPTER XVI


In the morning, Hadrian summoned Gentilotto, Sterling, Whitehead,
Carvale, della Volta, Semphill, Van Kristen. He fancied that the
gentlemen-of-the-chamber curiously eyed Him. That was so. He guessed
in a moment that now He always would have to stand the fire of curious
eyes, to overhear the ostentatious whispers of people who wished to be
known for nasty thinkers--of people who wished to see the Roman Pontiff
wriggling on a white-hot gridiron. Very well. He would stand fire:
perhaps, up to a certain point, He would answer questions of general
(but not of particular) interest. But there should be no merely human
contortuplications.

Their Eminencies came into the throne-room, where the Pope was sitting
rather rigidly in a hieratic attitude, His hands on the arms of the
chair, His feet and knees closed, His back straight and His head erect.
He was a shade more pallid than usual. They each paid their respects in
a different manner. Gentilotto's mild pure visage expressed compassion
mingled with a sense of personal injury. The assailants of the Pope
also had wounded him. Sterling's dark face was locked-up with the look
of one who is determined to be righteous under all circumstances,
while willing to forward to the proper quarter a recommendation to
mercy on behalf of the prisoner at the bar. The Cardinal of St.
George-of-the-Golden-Sail contained himself in personal innocence
which precluded him from prancing to believe in the guilt of others.
Della Volta's pose indicated ordinary but sympathetic curiosity.
Carvale was white, and Semphill was red, with impatient indignation.
Like Gentilotto, they both were hurt by the attack on their superior:
but they were up in arms. Van Kristen was very very sad. His great
melancholy eyes swam in a mist of commiseration; and Hadrian noted
that his lips rested just an instant longer than usual on the cold
pontifical hand.

Chamberlains placed stools for the cardinals and retired. The Pope
began to speak in His usual swift and concise tone. By way of
emphasizing the essential difference between the Church (a purely
missionary association) and the World, He had determined to disperse
the Vatican treasures. This was not at all what Their Eminences had
expected to hear; and they were rather taken aback. Hadrian gave them a
moment; and then went-on.

"Does anyone know whether dear old Cabelli is Minister of Public
instruction now?"

Della Volta gave a negative.

"So much the better, because he will be at leisure to do Us a favour.
And now" (His Holiness directly addressed the last speaker) "We
place this matter in Your Eminency's hands. You shall have a breve
of commission; and this is what you will do. First, you will collect
Cabelli and Longhi and Manciani as your board of advisers. Secondly,
with their assistance, you will procure the services of the chief
experts of the world--say five. Thirdly, you will cause these five
experts to estimate the maximum and minimum values of each separate
piece in the treasury. This list of values you will submit to Us.
Fourthly, you will have the pieces arranged, (and the arrangement
must be indicated on the list of values,) in three divisions, the
historic, the artistic, and the merely valuable on account of weight or
character. Fifthly, you instantly will publish everywhere a note to the
effect that the sale at fixed prices of these things will take place
here from the first to the sixth of January following."

He paused: for He saw that people wanted to speak. He conceded the word
to Gentilotto.

"Has Your Holiness considered," said the Red Pope, "that most of the
treasures are consecrated to the service of the Church?"

"Yes. We also have considered that the Church exists for the service of
God in His creatures: that She does not serve either by keeping pretty
and costly things shut-up in cupboards: that the Church which set these
things apart by consecration, also can restore them to usefulness by
desecration. Technically things consecrate can become desecrate by
tapping them with intent to desecrate: We soon will descend to the
treasury; and will tap all the sacred things into gems and bullion."

"That can be done;" the Cardinal-Prefect of Propaganda said. His heart
pulled him one way: heredity and ecclesiastical prejudice, the other.

"There is one thing which I think it right to mention," put in della
Volta: "the present officials of the treasury, and the buildings:--what
will become of them?"

"The officials will continue to enjoy the stipends of their benefices.
They will have other and more useful occupation than the furbishing of
plate provided for them. As for the building--when the cupboards are
empty they will be removed; and, the treasury being no longer there,
the building will remain the sacristy."

"I should like to get a word in edgeways if I may;" said Semphill.
"Doesn't Your Holiness think that the Italian Government will
interfere? Isn't there some law which prevents works-of-art from going
out of Italy?"

"We should like to see the Italian Government interfere with Us:"
Hadrian responded with a strong and illuminating smile. "The Italian
Government is neither a Fenian nor a fool."

"No, but----" the cardinal pursued.

"Your Eminency need fear no opposition from that quarter."

"Is nothing to be exempted from this sale?" Sterling thoughtfully asked.

"There will be some exemptions." The Pope turned to Cardinal della
Volta. "You will reserve one silver-gilt chalice and paten for every
priest in the palace: one silver-gilt pyx for every tabernacle; and one
plain set of pontifical regalia which We will indicate to you. Nothing
more. Hereafter, the court can use ornaments which are the private
possessions of individuals."

"I must say that I think the pontifical regalia deserves a better fate
than conversion into bullion and gems," said Gentilotto.

"Nonsense," the Pope sharply retorted. "The pontifical regalia is not
sacrosanct like the Carthaginian zaïmph." The frayed edges of His
nerves shewed themselves.

"I concede it," the cardinal admitted.

Hadrian rose. "We have summoned the Sacred Consistory for to-morrow
morning, when We will issue Our decrees in this matter."

Semphill no longer could contain himself. He exploded with "Of course
Your Holiness has seen the _Catholic Hour_?"

Hadrian thought that He particularly liked this cardinal to-day for
some reason. Yes of course, His Eminency looked better during Advent.
The ordinary vermilion made his chubby rubicundity appear too blue.
That was the reason.

"Oh, yes:" the Pontiff replied.

"Well really I never read anything more abominable in my life!"

"Nor did We."

All the cardinalitial eyes were directed toward the Pope. He remained
standing on the step of the throne; and seemed to be changing into
alabaster. Semphill lashing himself to fury, continued "I should like
to think that something will be done about it."

"So should We."

Semphill prolapsed and stared. "But surely Your Holiness will do
something?"

"No."

"What? Not answer them?"

"No."

"One would have thought that there would be some canonical means of
bringing the _Catholic Hour_ to book for aspersions against the Pope:"
Sterling said.

"There is the bull _Exsecrabilis_ of Pius II. But it is not the Pope
Who is aspersed. It is George Arthur Rose:" imperturbably said Hadrian.

"That's drawing it rather fine:" Whitehead said, looking up for the
first time.

"Fine enough:" Carvale put in, with appreciation of the distinction.

"Excommunicate the editor, printer, and publisher, by name, I say!"
ejaculated Semphill.

Sterling went on, "One finds it difficult to understand what can have
persuaded the _Catholic Hour_ to insert----"

Hadrian interrupted, "Just ask yourself this. Is it likely that an Erse
periodical,--and, when We say an Erse periodical, We mean a clerical
periodical, (for, according to McCarthy, the Erse clergy hold the
Catholic press in the hollow of their hand,)--is it likely that an Erse
periodical, which has the infernal cheek to dub itself the 'Organ of
Catholic Opinion,' and which once called Cardinal Semphill a--what was
it, Eminency?--ah yes, 'a scented masher,'--could be expected to forego
an opportunity of increasing its circulation at the expense of the
Vicar of Christ?"

"Oh very good indeed!" exclaimed Semphill, with a hearty reminiscent
shout of laughter.

"But, Holiness," Sterling gravely continued, "one knows that the
statements are not true. One knows that the article mispresents You
entirely."

"They are not wholly true; and the article entirely mispresents Us."

"One would recommend that that should be made known."

"It is known. Hundreds know it. They are not prevented from saying what
they know.--If they dare." Hadrian came down from the throne. A grey
shadow hardened the sharpness of the face. The brows and the eyes were
drawn into parallels, the latter half-shut; and the thin lips were
straight and cruel. Their Eminencies mindfully retired. Van Kristen
lingered till the others were gone. "Holy Father," he said, "I guess
that You're feeling it about as bad as the next man?"

Hadrian pressed the slim brown hand, on which the cardinalitial
sapphire looked so absolutely lovely,

"Perhaps, Percy:" He said.

"I think I won't go back to Dynam House this fall," the cardinal
continued. "They can do without me, Holiness. If I'm any good to You
here, I'm no quitter so long as my eyes remain black."

"You always are good and useful to Us, Venerable Father," the Pope very
stiffly said, as He quickly passed through the curtains of the secret
antechamber.

Now the world had something to talk about beside the chances of
universal war, and the inferiority of the present Pope. When the
dispersal of the treasures of the Vatican was announced in the Sacred
Consistory, five cardinals walked straight out to swear, four burst
into tears, eight spoke their minds quite freely and (in the case
of two) at the top of their voices, and the rest were dumb. Ragna,
Berstein, Cacciatore, and Vivole came to the conclusion that Hadrian's
new move was a pontifical red-herring intended to divert the scent from
the newspaper-calumnies against George Arthur Rose. They went about
trying to make people see the thing from their point of view. Kelts
and Catholics throughout the world set up howls; and compared Hadrian
to Honorius to the advantage of the latter. "From a Catholic point of
view," wrote one clerical gentleman (who in youth, as an attaché in
Paris, had been known as La Belle Anthropophage), "it is impossible to
blame Hadrian too severely." He was ruined, they said with unctuous
rectitude; and He was going to sell the Vatican Treasures in order to
provide an iniquitous provision for a disreputable and private old age.
Naturally they judged by their own standard. All Catholics do.

The Liblab Fellowship congratulated itself on the possession of such
a Fellowshipper as Sant. His diplomacy was thought cute. Socialists
hourly expected to hear that the Scarlet Unutterable, in sheer despair,
had asked to be allowed to seek a refuge in their ranks. Jerry Sant
sat-up all night at the Hotel Nike, in case the Pope should be moved to
escape from a throne which had been made too hot for Him. In the event
of such an escape, of course "His Most Reverent Lordship" would come
and try and make peace with them as He had put to so much unnecessary
trouble and expense. So the Liblab cut and dried his plans. He would
administer the oaths to God's Vicegerent: take His entrance-fee and
annual subscription in advance; and admit Him as a Fellowshipper.
Then, as His senior comrade, He would order Him back to Vatican to
use His popery for carrying out the schemes of Labor against Capital.
Incidentally he would take the opportunity of transferring some of the
pontifical capital from a man as didn't to a man as did deserve it.
However, Jerry gave himself two sleepless nights for nothing. He would
have been better, though perhaps not quite so comely, in bed. And then,
on the third day, Mrs. Crowe rushed in, displaying a tantrum which was
a blend of joy and hate and fear.

"I suppose this is your work, Mr. Sant?" she said, bringing a cutting
from the _Catholic Hour_ out of her chain-bag.

"Imphm," Jerry grinned like an oblong gargoyle.

"Oh how could you say such things about Him! I do think it shocking of
you!"

"Wumman, hae ye nat telled me maist o' they things yersel'?"

"Yes of course. But I never thought you'd put it all in the papers."

"A havena pit them a'. There's a plenty more--if He hasna had His paiks
yet."

"O but I'm sure He has, I expect you've simply stunned Him."

"Maybe I have."

"Haven't you heard from Him yet?"

"A havena. A'm expecting to hear the now."

"Mr. Sant if you've killed my George I'll--I don't know what I'll do:
but I'll never forgive you."

"Hech wumman, that won't kill Him: but it may make Him a bit sore and
I'll let you know that He'll come here for His plaster."

"I don't mind Him being sore. He deserves it after the way He's behaved
to me. But----"

"Now just you tak' yersel' away. I can't have you messing about here
when Rose comes. When I'm through with Him I'll forward Him to you. So
you be off with you."

"Clumsy beast!" said Mrs. Crowe to herself when she stood in Two
Shambles Street again. "You'd much better have left it to me to
arrange. I shouldn't be surprised if Georgie did something desperate
now. It 'ld be just like Him. And I believe I could have coaxed
Him----" She hailed a victoria; and drove to St. Peter's Square to have
another look at the window.

The Pope gave the holy order of priesthood to Cardinal Van Kristen on
Innocents' Day. His Holiness felt that the sacerdotal prayer of so
innocent a one would benefit all. The English and American invasion of
Rome beat the record for the winter season. At a carp-and-punch supper
at Palazzo Caffarelli on Christmas Eve, it was remarked that the City
just then contained all the world's multimillionaires. If war had been
carried on in the antique manner, _i.e._ for ransoms and spoils, and if
any power had possessed a sufficient military equipment, a new sack of
Rome would have been an exceedingly lucrative undertaking. However, as
it was, Rome sacked the multimillionaires. Despite the fact that the
coming spring was likely to see the dawn of Armageddon, an astonishing
number of people was unable to resist the temptation to purchase the
treasures of the Vatican. The list of prices assigned by the experts
had been submitted to Hadrian, Who struck the mean between maximum and
minimum, greatly to the disgust of curialists who (when once the idea
was grasped) were anxious to drive good bargains. They suggested an
auction, which the Pope incontinently refused, saying that He was going
to compete neither with tradesmen nor with brigands. He made it easy
for museums to acquire historic specimens: the merely artistic chiefly
went to private collectors; and the world acquired the valuables. The
collection of lace alone fetched £785,000; and the total takings,
amounting to four-and-thirty millions sterling, were deposited in the
Bank of Italy.

Signor Panciera made it a great deal more than convenient to accept
another invitation to the Vatican. This time, it was a short visit
which he paid, and a fairly momentous one. The Pope did all the
talking. His Holiness spoke dryly and concisely from a sheet of
manuscript which He afterwards handed to the ambassador, and seemed
to be consumed by some internal fire, the signs of which appeared in
His white pain-drawn face. He said that He had noted with approbation
the scheme of Signor Gigliotti, by which innoculated convicts were
employed in the reclamation of malarious Apulia and Calabria. He wished
Italy to establish and endow farm-colonies in eucalyptus groves on the
Roman Campagna, where a wholesome and industrious life could be found
for inoculated boys and girls. He wished Italy to establish and endow
almshouses for old people, and free schools where handicrafts would be
taught to children. He wished Italy to establish and endow scholarships
for the study of Italian archæology, the idea being to foster a spirit
of enthusiastic patriotism, by excavating and studying and preserving
the buried cities and monuments and treasures of antiquity with which
the sacred and glorious and inviolate soil of Italy simply teems.
Lastly, He wished Italy to give rewards, say of a thousand lire in
cash to every man and woman between twenty and thirty years of age,
who had served one master or secular firm since Lady-day 1899, and who
cared to claim such a reward. To give effect to His four wishes, He
handed to Signor Panciera an order on the Bank of Italy payable to the
Prime Minister of Italy for the time being. The value of the order was
thirty-three millions sterling. It was an offering in honour of the
thirty-three years during which God as Man had laboured for the Love
of men. It was to be the nucleus of a national fund which was to be
called "The Household of Christ." This fund was to be administered, on
the lines stated, by one male member of the Royal Family of Italy, the
Prime Minister, and the Minister of the Interior for the time being,
and by nine trustees drawn in rotation from the list of nobles in the
Golden Book. The first of these twelve was to hold his trusteeship
for life, and was to be nominated by the King's Majesty within one
year from the present date. The second and third were to be ex-officio
trusteeships. Of the nine nobles three would retire each year; and
the next three on the roll would succeed them. No ecclesiastics were
to be concerned with the fund in any way, unless they were nobles
eligible for trusteeship, or unless they were paid servants appointed
as chaplains by the Trustees. Hadrian's particular desire was that the
"Household of Christ" should become in every sense a department of the
government of Italy.

Signor Panciera came out reeling; and furiously drove in the direction
of Monte Citorio. Here, he picked up Signor Zanatello; and the two
carried their little basketful of news to the Queen-Regent in the
Quirinale. Eleven minutes in Her Majesty's music-room sufficed to
send the three quickly through the Hall of Birds, and upstairs to the
marconigraph office, by which means they announced the scheme to Victor
Emanuel at Windsor Castle. The Sovereign's reply was characteristically
Italian, and (therefore) splendid.

"I add a million: the Queen adds a million: the Prince of Naples adds a
million: all sterling."

The Prime Minister sent the nation's thanks and asked His Majesty to
nominate himself as trustee. He got this gorgeous answer.

"The Trustees will be nicknamed the Pope's Twelve Apostles. The _Voce
della Verità_ and the _Osservatore Romano_ instantly would assign to me
the rôle of Judas."

Signor Panciera sent this message "Sire, there was a thirteenth
apostle."

The King retorted "But he was an after-thought." That made Queen Elena
laugh. The King continued. "Zanatello, take this money; give a receipt
in the name of Italy. The Queen-Regent will issue a royal decree
constituting the Household of Christ as a government department: I
nominate the Duke of Aosta as the royal trustee: this scheme is just
what Italy wants at this moment: give it effect at once."

Zanatello implored His Majesty to become trustee. "No," came the final
response. "I will assist most strenuously in an unofficial capacity:
when there is room for a thirteenth apostle, I will perpend: meanwhile
I engage to double the fund within one year. The King of England will
assist."

Hadrian first read about the acceptance of the gift to Italy in the
next day's _Populo Romano_--one of the most respectable papers in the
world, He used to say. He felt that He had achieved another step;
and instantly proceeded to the next. He summoned the Syndic of Rome,
and made over to him, as a free gift to the City, all the moveable
sculpture, paintings, tapestry, and archæological specimens then
present in the Vatican. Simultaneously, He canonized Dom Bosco and
Dante Alighieri and published the _Epistle to the Italians_. This
document was mainly hortatory, and directed against disbelief and
secret societies. He bade Italy to consider Herself as the temple of
art in Europe; and to set Herself, by the contemplation of masterpieces
of human workmanship already in her possession, or to be added to Her
possession by future discovery, to produce Herself as a country and a
people prepared for The Lord Who is Altogether Lovely. He spoke of the
"Mafia" with admiration and with horror. It was a brotherhood rather
than a society, He said. It was a brotherhood of individualists each
devoted to the service of his brother. Its essential virtues were
honesty, mutual help, self-restraint. Nothing could be better. But
the Devil had distorted the operation of so excellent a scheme. His
Iniquity tempted the "Mafiosi" not only to help each other in good
deeds, but in evil--chiefly in evil deeds. They murdered and screened
murderers; and forgot "Thou shalt do no murder." They robbed and
screened robbers; and forgot "Thou shalt not steal." They alleged that
Mazzini had welded them into a corporate body for political purposes;
and had given them for a motto "Mazzini Autorizza Furti Incendi
Avvelenamenti," from the initials of which phrase they drew their
corporate name. In place of that wicked and abominable sentence, He
gave them "Madonnina Applaude Fraternità Individualita Amore." Let the
Mafia flourish with that motto for its ruling principle.

Italy was seeing the burden of poverty removed from Her children,
was seeing Her youth enabled to cultivate talents, was seeing the
honest labour of Her manhood and womanhood rewarded, was seeing refuge
and provision prepared for old age. Rome set herself nobly to work
at housing the treasures of art which Hadrian had given. Immense
and splendid palaces were planned for them and began to rise on the
Esquiline and Celian Hills; and the gracious forms of the old gods were
to stand beneath arcades of marble, white and pure as lilies without,
mosaic of bright gold within, amid the groves upon Janiculum. Honest
men came by their own. There were no unemployed. Consequently, no
hearts were soured while hands were used; and anarchy began to fade
away into the obscurity of bad old rubbish rejected. The _Epistle
to the Italians_ too! They were in the mood to listen to anything
and everything from that dear little piece of omniscient omnipotent
omnipresent aloofness whom they called "Papa Inglese." To the strong
and simple Italian temper, His words carried conviction by reason of
their own essential simplicity and strength.

"He speaks like one's own conscience!" said Caio and Tizio and also
Sempronio.

"Hearken and obey Him, then," invected Maria and Elena and also
Margherita.




CHAPTER XVII


Italy was not first in the heart of Hadrian. She was third. He served
Her, because He saw Her instant need. The second of His loved lands
did not know Herself to be in need of Him: hence, He offered Her no
more than courtesy. He did not want America to tell Him not to monkey
with the buzz-saw. And England was first. And what could He do for
England? The thought, that He might do something, alone sustained Him
now. Life among the millions of articulately-speaking men had become
an ever-present horror to Him. He frequently wondered what prevented
Him from hurling Himself from the windows on to the stones of Rome. He
actually sent for a case of safety-razors, and banished knives from the
pontifical apartments. "O for the wings, for the wings of a dove: then
far away, far away, would I fly." There was a boy named Roebuck who
sang that, in New College Chapel in Commemoration week five and twenty
years before. The golden voice, the incomparable young voice came back
to Him in Golden Rome where He was longing to be at rest.

A scarlet arm held back the blue-linen curtain of the door, and
Cardinal Leighton entered. "I think we missed this, Holy Father," he
said, and offered a more-than-a-month-old copy of the _Catholic Hour_.

Hadrian in a moment dragged Himself erect physically and psychically:
He took the paper and read:

"We have received a long letter from 'D.J.' taking us to task for
exposing George Arthur Rose in a way which he calls 'savagely cruel.'
He says,

'I thank God that I cannot appreciate the humour which speaks gaily
of a man enduring eighteen months of semi-starvation, and at the same
time struggling hard to earn a livelihood by his pen--for the honesty
of his strugglings I can vouch. Whatever his past may have been--and
I believe that your article is in the main erroneous--surely it is
better to leave it as past. As a convert, he had to endure for the
faith that is in him. Once before in his chequered career, at a moment
when he had a means of living by his own hands within his grasp, a
gratuitous newspaper attack snatched from him the support which he
had made himself to lean on. At the present time he is leading an
existence which is bitter enough to himself and quite harmless (not to
say beneficial) to others; and I feel compelled to tell you that I look
upon your onslaught as both criminal and disgraceful.'

Another correspondent writes, 'I was much grieved at your article
called _Strange Career_ etc. in your issue of Nov. 18th because I am a
great admirer of some books which George Arthur Rose published before
he was made Pope. Those books did more to convert me to Catholicism
than any others and I am very sorry to read the account that you have
printed of their author.'

Yet another correspondent writes, 'It may be well to inform your
readers that the Austin White who wrote the very offensive letters
headed _Rhypokondylose Religion_ in the _Jecorian Courier_ some few
years back is the George Arthur Rose alias the Pope of Rome about whom
your readers were so amply enlightened in the columns of your issue of
18th November.'

In reply to 'D.J.' we may say that we hold in our hand a letter which
Rose addressed to an excellent priest in 1898. It concludes 'I regret
for your sake the exposure which inevitably must take place when her
brother-in-law, the bishop, becomes cognizant of the undue influence
which you use in order to embezzle these sums from Lady Mostingham. I
beg you to make amends and to withdraw from such degrading transactions
before it is too late.' If our correspondent 'D.J.' still thinks it was
not advisable for us to savagely and cruelly denounce the author of
that last letter, we can only say we differ from him."

Hadrian read the screed with indignant scorn. It was the beastly
English of the vulgar thing, more than the vile sentiments expressed,
which put Him into such a violent rictus of contempt. He looked out of
the window at nothing for a moment, to conceal His disgust. Finding
that Cardinal Leighton waited, He controlled Himself; and turned round
with a gaze of frigid inquiry.

"Yes?" He said.

"'Would to Heaven that You would grant me a trifling favour,'" His
Eminency quoted in Greek.

It was a most artful and invariably successful dodge to approach the
Pontiff in His favourite tongue. He recognized the quotation; and
capped it with the succeeding verse.

"'Tell me as quickly as you can; and I at once shall know.'"

"May I ask a question? Did You write that letter, Holy Father?"

"Which? The last? Yes."

"What did you know?"

"Everything."

"May I say that the amount of knowledge of men which You seem always to
possess is quite extraordinary:" said the cardinal, blinking.

"No it is not. 'To those who indeed suffer, Righteousness bringeth
knowledge.'" the Pontiff quoted from Aischylos again. "'The greater
the detachment from the world, over worldly things the greater power
is gained,' some true poet sings. We never were 'a man among men.' We
had five senses and We used them. And all the men whom We ever met
habitually and voluntarily came and told Us their secrets. We never
sought them. They were laid bare before Us. And Our senses perceived
them. That is all."

The pontifical voice was hard and cruel: the face was harder and more
cruel and also more terrible. The very Presence was like a candent
flame. Good honest innocent Leighton looked at Him as at something
inhuman: but he persevered.

"Holiness, I want to go on. Do You know who wrote the other letters?"

"Oh yes. D.J. was another 'excellent priest.' He was in philosophy when
We were in theology at Maryvale. Why you know him too, Leighton,--he
took his B.A. with Ambrose."

"What, 'Gionde'? Yes, of course I knew him."

"That's the man. We have not heard from him for years: but he evidently
thought it right to defend Us. Poor chap! A snub rewards him. The
_Catholic Hour_ 'differs from him.' ... A tipsy publican wrote the
second; and the third was written by a Jesuit jackal, in return for the
custom of, and most likely at the dictation of, the very detestable
scoundrel to whom We wrote the last."

"What became of him? The bad priest I mean?"

"He ruined himself, as We predicted. He persisted in his career
of crime till his bishop found him out. Then he was broken, and
disappeared--Maison de santé or something of that sort for a time. He's
in one of the colonies now; and he might have been---- Lord Cardinal,
We have said too much. It is not Our Will and pleasure to move in this
matter."

"But the advantage I derive from hearing Your Holiness--if it is
not impertinent--Holiness, I venture to assure you of my eternal
fidelity----" Leighton stammered with emotion.

Hadrian shewed him no face: turned to the window which displayed the
panorama of Intangible Rome; and presently was alone.

"God! God!" He exclaimed, shaking the paper with
terrific violence. "Do you see this brutal cynical
unrighteousness--prejudged,--condemned,--the mere suggestion of defence
derided and fleered-at----in England, fair-minded England--England the
land of the free----"

No: it was not England, but just a handful of the vicious vermin which
infest her. England--the word summoned Him to His apostolature again.
What was the mind of England now? That question occupied Him. He wished
that England would declare Her mind to Him through ambassadors, the
mind of the statesmen of England. He had no official acquaintance with
any one of them. He could not ask for England's confidence: for, being
English, He knew that asking slams the door. Humanly speaking, He had
nothing to guide Him in the cosmic crisis of the present, the crisis in
which He was certain to be consulted--as a last resort--but certain to
be consulted. Of that, He was convinced. A short calculation displayed
Jupiter passing through Aries, which signified immense benefit to
England. Oh, very good. Then what should be His course of action?
He got up and went round the room, looking at the maps and noting
them, until it seemed that His mental horizon expanded and enlarged,
and He had the whole of the orb of the earth within His vision. What
should He say, or do, for England, when she was too shy, too proud,
to give Him a sign as to what She wanted Him to say, or do? England,
England!--"Land of hope and glory,--how shall We extol thee Who are
born of thee?--wider still and wider shall thy bounds be set: God, Who
made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet!"

He would say and do that which was given to Him to say or do. As an
Englishman, He had His intuitions. And He required no confidences.
England, the shy, the proud, should be served by Her shy proud son,
the Servant of the servants of God. The divine afflatus of patriotism
inspired Him, brightening His eyes, erecting His head. He sat down
again: took His writing-board on His knees; and wrote. Anon, He rang
the bell and gave some orders. Also, He sent some written slips of
cyphers to the operators in the Vatican marconigraph office.

On the twenty-second of January, the Supreme Pontiff descended to
the basilica of St. Peter-by-the-Vatican; and sang mass for the
repose of the soul of Queen Victoria, the Great, the Good. The same
day, the English newspapers announced that His Holiness had sent a
cardinal-ablegate to place the Golden Rose, the pontifical tribute to
virtuose queens, on Her Majesty's tomb in the mausoleum at Frogmore.




CHAPTER XVIII


The Italian Socialists having been won for Italy, and the German
Socialists by the German Emperor, the British Socialists began to
wonder where they themselves came in. The predilection for forming
societies which is to be met-with among all the degenerate and
hysterical, may assume different forms. Criminals unite in bands,
as Lombroso expressly establishes. Hence the British Socialists (in
their quandary) held fatuous meetings hoping to generate a policy in
an atmosphere of hot envious man. They really did want to know their
exact position: for, in some indefinable way, they were beginning
to feel that they were by no means as necessary to the universe as
they had imagined themselves to be. It seemed as though this planet
(for one) were moving quite easily without them, and (what was more
annoying) on a path which was quite strange to them, a comfortable
path and a desirable. They felt that they were being left out in the
cold; and, as their nature was, they looked about for some safe person
on whom to void their spleen. They began with the Roman Pontiff. That
an archaic potentate of His calibre, should prove to be fresh and
actual and vigorous, struck them as something of a nuisance. They had
deemed Him hardly worth consideration, a decayed relic of antiquity,
useful perhaps as a monument of the bad old days when the world was
drowned in damnable idolatry: but nothing more. That any man whose
reputation so publicly had been besmirched as His had been, should
dare to hold up his head, to live and move and have his being, to
dispose of millions of money and of the minds of nations, struck them
as simply atrocious. He had refused the honour of their alliance,
had scorned their overtures with contemptuous silence. They would
return Him scorn for scorn: they would shew Him what He had lost. If
He flattered Himself that His so called _Epistles_ to this that and
the other would have any influence, the sooner He was undeceived the
better. The Liblab Fellowship soon would let 'an unhappy old drawler
of platitudinous flapdoodle like Hadrian' know His place, quoth the
blameless Comrade Bob Matchwood. All the same, amid all the rhapsodic
rhodomontade of sound and fury signifying nothing, there remained
among the fellow-shippers just enough intellect to perceive one thing.
Comrade Frank Conollan put on his pince-nez; and, with a spasm of jerks
and twitches, was delivered of the opinion that the Liblab Fellowship
could not hope to recover anything like a respectable position in the
popular estimation as long as it remained where it was. He said that to
blink the fact, that Liblabbery had taken a false step in approaching
the Pope of Rome, was not a bit of good. Liblabbery had courted a snub;
and had been smitten with the snubbiest of snubs. If he might use a
metaphorical expression, he would say that Liblabbery had been enticed
into a bog and made to look unspeakably silly. If he might use a
poetical expression from Shakespeare, he would say 'like unback'd colts
they pricked their ears, advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses,
and calf-like follow'd through tooth'd briers, pricking goss, and
thorns, which enter'd their frail skins, into the filthy mantled pool,
where, dancing up to the chins, the foul lake o'er-stunk their feet.'

(It began to dawn upon the Liblabs that the Comrade was doing the very
thing desired. He was leading up to the customary denunciation of
some traitor. He was about to provide them with the name of the usual
scape-goat. They prolonged pleased ears in his direction.)

He would go further. He would say, still using the expressions of the
immortal bard of Avon, "Your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy,
has done little better than played the Jack with us."

(This was something like! The meeting's ears positively flapped.)

And then, being unable to keep-on his pince-nez any longer by reason of
a steamed nose, he brought his climax to an abrupt term by demanding
the instant and public expulsion of Comrade Jerry Sant. That was voted
nem. con. The Liblab Fellowship shook-off the dust of its dirty feet
at the traitor; and Comrade Mat Matchwood said some very slighting
things about him in the _Salpinx_. No one is so facile and energetic
about believing evil as a Pessimist, that is to say a Socialist;
and, when one traitor is detected, what could be more natural than
for others to be suspected. It happened so. The mutual jealousy, the
flaring incompetency, the sordid selfishness, which always infected
the socialist demagogues, and (of course) the essentially sandy
foundation upon which the socialist system was based, led to further
and more fatal dissensions. Suspicion mated with Baffled Purpose.
Recrimination was the offspring of the match. The fellow-shippers, who
had connived at the scheme of Jerry Sant, found themselves accused as
his accomplices, and denounced and expelled in turn. From dissension
it was no more than one step to disunion. Each demagogue, fearful
lest he should have to take up an honest trade for a livelihood,
devoted persuasive loquacity to the attracting of personal supporters.
Burnson battened on Battersea. West Ham went a-whoring after strange
Bills. Glasgow got into the galley of Kerardy. And Devana succumbed
to a split-thumb-nailed and anarchistic plumber. Schisms within
schisms insued. Dens and caves received the remnants of the Liblab
Fellowship. Mutual damnation was the order of the day. The Socialists
were almost Christian. The ranks were thinned by internecine war.
Then came desertions. Socialism didn't pay; and socialists openly
asked conservative agents for tory gold. When it was refused, they
swore (after their kind). Labor (without the u) looked about for the
patronage of Capital. And British Socialism was in a fair way to perish
of its own radical fatuity, and instability.

Hadrian watched the process of disintegration from His tower in Rome,
watched the natural absorption of the more respectable socialists
by the more respectable community; and He was glad. Very soon now
the silly obscene heresy would die and disappear, with the obsolete
delusions of Gymnosophists, Anabaptists, Picards, Adamites and
Turlupins. Hadrian was glad. Then came the _Times_, announcing that
Australia, Canada, and South Africa had armed all healthy males
between the ages of 17 and 50; and that England was mobilizing
the sea-and-land-forces of her Empire. Now the whole world was in
battle array. He took out His pyx again, and prayed the prayer of
the Danaides, "O King of kings, Most Blessed of the blessed, Most
Perfect Mighty One of the perfect, be persuaded and let this come to
pass,--avert from Thy race the insolence of men who (for a reason)
hate it; and plunge the black-benched pest into the dark abyss." It
was a pagan enough prayer for a Pope to utter. It was a fierce enough
sentiment for an altruist to express. It was an entirely comprehensible
suggestion of a misanthrope and misogynist, tired by, impatient of,
armed against, the tiresome divarication of little silly people. The
thing which troubled Him most was the irreconcilability of the King
of Italy. He had tried hard to give Victor Emanuel to understand
that, not rebuff but, welcome waited for him. He knew the benefits
which co-operation of Pope and King would bring. Yet the expression
of the Persian fatalist in Herodotus,--ἑχθιστη ὁδυνη πολλα φρονεοντα
μηδενοϛ κραΤεειν--the bitterest of all griefs, to see clearly and yet
to be unable to do anything, might have stood as the motto of His
whole mind, as often before in His life, so most emphatically now. He
recalled the Cardinal of Caerleon.

The blameless Sant and his companion were in a pretty pickle. Expulsion
from the Liblab Fellowship included, not only the withdrawal of funds
but also, a threat of prosecution on a charge of obtaining money on
false pretences. The last they could afford to laugh at. No English
court of law could or would convict upon the evidence producible. The
first was tiresome: but of course they had a little put by. And with
regard to the future? Mrs. Crowe now was quite certain that Jerry
had made a mess of things. She began to think with longing of her
lodging-house. What was the good of staying on in Rome? Yes, and who
was going to pay her expenses, she would like to know? She impatiently
put that point before her paymaster. He did-on a forensic air; and
asked for time to advise himself of the matter. She demanded how long
he would require. He remarked on the feminine propensity for kicking a
man who has been knocked down; and ramped and raved till he thoroughly
frightened her. Your Pict is a truly awesome figure when he is red with
damp rage. She shrank into a corner whimpering, for she thought he was
going to strike her. Instead of that he cooled to sudden wheedling; and
anon he cuddled her. She permitted. It was better than nothing; and
she felt as though she really needed something of the sort. How could
she so misunderstand him? Of course he was not going to desert her.
They both were in the same boat; and must sink or swim together. For
his part, he intended to swim. She might have known that he was not
the man to give up when matters had proceeded so far. But, she urged,
what could they do? Do? They could do a fair lot of things. To begin
with, they could go and wait on a lot of they old cardinals and mak'
theirsels a nuisance. They went to Ragna, and told him very pretty
stories. Their statements were as a treat of almonds to him; but he
gave no sign of that. He was suave, polite: said that he would see
what could be done; and bowed them away. They went to Whitehead and
got no satisfaction. Caerleon thought that they had better let matters
rest. Carvale denied himself to them. Sterling listened to them with
judicial gravity and gave them no response. Semphill blazed at them;
and dismissed them shattered as to their nerves. They returned to the
Hotel Nike to wait for Ragna.

The cardinals discussed them with the Pope. The Secretary of State
was insinuatory. He spoke of the terrible scandal; and let it be
understood that, in his opinion, payments should be made to stop
it. He hinted at the impossibility of defending the indefensible.
Better to use that million, the balance of the sale of the Vatican
treasure. That million had paid the expenses of the sale and of the
restoration of the sacristy; and had endowed St. George's College of
historical researchers under the presidency of Dr. Richard Barnett:
it was accounted for in della Volta's balance-sheet, Hadrian put in.
Carvale added that payment never stopped scandal. Caerleon earnestly
hoped that nothing would be done: it would rake up the past and involve
so many people. Semphill yearned for the good old days, faggots,
tongue-tearing, hand-chopping, ear-cropping, head-cutting, eye-gouging,
maiming, and stoning, and the groaning with much wailing of those
impaled by the spine, and all that sort of thing out of the Eymenides.
He loudly said so; and was silenced by a look from the Pontiff's
scornful anguished face. Discussion languished. Then Hadrian said
"Bring them here."

Sir Iulo pit-pit-pit-pitted across the City on a motor-bicycle, and
burst into Via Due Macelli, a scarlet Hermes, with the annunciation,
"You are summoned to attend our Most Holy Father in the Vatican."
Mrs. Crowe hiccoughed "At last"; and bolted upstairs to put on her
most fetching hat. Jerry Sant grinned spikily through a tattered
moustache. The two got into a hired victoria; and followed the
gentleman-of-the-secret-chamber.

Hadrian received them in the throne-room. He did not occupy the
throne, but the central chair of a semi-circular group of five. Ragna,
Sterling, Leighton, and Caerleon used the others. The latter had a
pigskin portfolio on his knee. In front of the ecclesiastics were two
chairs of equal importance. The man and woman lounged there. It was
quite a family gathering. But between the Church and the World, Sir
John stood by a little table furnished with the pontifical phonographs.

"We have summoned you, in order that ye may speak your minds to Us,"
the Supreme Pontiff said: "but ye shall know that We will not hold any
communication with you except Our utterances and yours be recorded by
these instruments." His voice was very frigid: but there was neither
menace nor offence in it. His quiet tone totally was at variance
with the furious defiance of the matter of His words. The paradox
disconcerted his hearers. Sant went magenta with wrath: remembered
how much he had at stake; and was canny enough not to demur. With an
attempt at an easy laugh, he said that it was a little unusual, not
quite what he expected, but he didn't want to be unpleasant to His
Lordship, and so he had no objection he was sure. And he lolled in his
armchair, as who should say "A'm fair easy." Mrs. Crowe bit her upper
lip: but said that she had no objection either. Hadrian waved His hand;
and the pontifical gentleman sat down and set the machines in motion.

The Pope put the woman to the question: "Madam, what do you want?"

Face to face with that she failed to put her want in words. It was an
acrid pungent permanent want, not-to-be-named. She bit at her upper lip
again; and looked at Jerry for a lead. He proceeded "I think, Reverend
Sir, that it will be more advantageous for all parties if I was to
speak for Mrs. Crowe."

"We will concede the point. Sir, what do you want?" the Pontiff said.

Then the virtuous Jerry also began to flounder. Want? Eh, but he wanted
several things.

"Name them:" the Pope commanded.

"Well:--reparation--damages."

"For what?" the Pope inquired.

"For ma loss of time whiles I've had to be here and for ma business
which Ye may say's gone ta th dogs; and for the loss of ma Liblab
Fellowship."

"To what extent have you suffered?"

"To fhat extent? Well, I'll let Ye know. I've been here since last
July, say eight months, say forty weeks, say three hundred days; and I
take ordinarily a pound-note per day on journeys for expenses: but it's
cost me a heap more than that this trip. Ye can call it five hundred
pounds for out-of-pocket expenses. Then there's ma business which
I've had to neglect, eight months, better say a year at one-fifty for
salary, and commissions--say another fifty. There's eight hundreds.
Then they've had the cheek to expel me as a Fellowshipper, as I
suppose Ye've heard. Of course that's very damaging to ma prestige,
say to the extent of a couple of thousands. Fhat's that come to? Two
thousands eight hundreds--may as well call it three thousands. And of
course there's fhat old Krooger named moral and intellectual damage--I
don't know fhat tae pit that at, I'm sure--but Ye might tot it all up
together and call it twenty thousands."

"And your companion?"

"Aweel, Ye'd better double it and we'll both ca' quits. Forty thousands
cash!"

The Pope cast a slight look round upon his cardinals. They returned it.
"You are demanding that We should pay you forty thousand pounds," He
said to the expectant Jerry.

"That's correct."

"Why do you demand this sum of Us?"

"Why? Why because we've run into all these expenses on your account. If
Ye hadna have been here, neither would we have come and have had all
this fuss and bother. Who's to indemnify us for that but Yersel', I'm
asking Ye. I'll let Ye know we've fair ruined oursels----"

The Bald She interrupted. "If I could have a private word with Your
Holiness."

The motive did not escape Hadrian's notice. "Daughter, your conduct and
your notorious proclivities debar you from a private interview with any
clergyman, except in the open confessional."

"Then in the confessional."

The Pope rose and beckoned her to follow. He beckoned Sir John to stop
the machines and remain: the others to follow. They descended into
St. Peter's. There, He turned out the English Confessor; and took his
place, while the woman kneeled at the left side. Just out of earshot,
the four cardinals stayed with Sant, who fumed in his inward parts.
Fhat blathers was this going on under their very noses? The half-door
and the window both were open: only the lateral partition divided
the priest from the penitent. The grating was between their faces;
and, though they were perfectly visible, they were visible apart and
separate.

Hadrian in a low tone recited "May the Lord be in thine heart and on
thy lips"--; and put Himself to listen.

Through the grating there came a whine,--

"Georgie!"

"My child, there is no Georgie here, but only your Judge. Confess your
sins, if you will,--only to Almighty God. Shew contrition. And, by His
authority committed to me His minister, I will absolve."

Then the Devil entered into her. She incoherently spluttered "I have
no sins--if I had, I wouldn't tell You.--You reject me?--Oh I'll make
You regret it--I'll make You suffer as I have--I'll shew you up for
what You are----" She stiffened and rushed across to Jerry "Now do your
worst," she said; and her face was livid.

Sant gripped the lapels of his grotesque frock-coat and approached
the white figure which emerged from the central compartment of the
confessional.

"I should like to mak' an end of this matter," he said.

Hadrian led the way to the throne-room: the phonographs were set to
work; and the conference was resumed.

"Now," said Jerry, "I'm thinking that Your Right Reverence had better
let us know definitely fhat Ye intend to do."

The Pope spoke rather more slowly and with more singular mildness than
before. "You demand that We should pay you forty thousand pounds in
reparation for damage which, you say, We have caused."

"That's so."

"It is useless to point out to you that We did not ask you to waste
your time in Rome----"

"I should have been surprised if Ye had have."

"And that We did not force you, or induce you, to neglect your
business----"

"Nae! Ye never thought I'd have dared to face Ye as I have."

"And that We were in no wise concerned with your expulsion from the
Liblab Fellowship----"

"But Ye were! If Ye'd have had the civility to give the deputation a
satisfactory answer, or even to have satisfied the fellow-shippers
afterwards, or to have made it all right with me so as I could have
settled them, then there wouldn't have been all this trouble and
unpleasantness, my Lord."

"Some men are gifted with an abnormal capability for making the
greatest possible fools of themselves. For the credit of the human
race, it must be said that indecent exhibitions of this kind are rare.
Mr. Sant, does it not occur to you that you are engaging in a very
foolish and a very dirty business?"

"Dirty business Yersel'! Who're Ye talking to? Ma hands are as clean
as Yours any day. Who owes twenty pound notes to this lady I'm brought
with me?"

"We do not know."

"Imphm. Well, suppose I was to say it was Yersel'?"

"You would tell an officious lie, Mr. Sant." The Pope turned to the
woman. "Madam, do We owe you twenty pounds?"

"You owe me a great deal more than that:" she barked.

"Mr. Sant alludes to a specific sum of twenty pounds odd which was due
to this lady's deceased husband for books, newspapers, and stationery,
supplied some years ago when he kept a shop:" the Pope explained to
the cardinals, with a gesture to Talacryn. The Cardinal of Caerleon
extracted a slip from the portfolio; and read a receipt for the
amount named plus 5 per cent. interest. This document was dated the
thirty-first of the previous March. The Pope continued, "You know,
Madam, that We paid this bill the moment We were in a position to pay
it. You also know that payment was long delayed solely because you
yourself, by calumniating and libelling Us to Our employers and to
those who called themselves Our friends, prevented Us from earning more
than a bare sustenance----"

Jerry burst in, "Well, if Ye've paid her why shouldn't Ye pay me?"

"Because We do not owe you anything."

"Then Ye mean me ta pit some more about Ye in the papers?"

"Listen, Mr. Sant. We look upon you as a deeply injured man----"

"Hech! Now that's something like!"

"We look upon you as a deeply injured man, injured by himself. You have
been your own enemy. You have suffered loss and damage simply because
you have allowed yourself to persist in doing silly things and wicked
things. Now, is it useless to ask you to change all that? Will you turn
over a new leaf and begin your life again? You shall not be left alone.
You shall be helped."

"A want ma money."

"If you wish to do well for yourself, if you wish honestly to earn
a better living than you ever have earned, you shall have the
opportunity."

An appeal to a goodness which is not in him is, to a vain and sensitive
soul, a stinging insult. Jerry's face became wetter and redder. "And
fhat about damages for the past?" he barked.

"You shall have a chance for the future."

"Then Ye willna pay! Ye want me to shew Ye up in the papers again?"

"You may put what you please in the papers. We will not pay even a
farthing to prevent you, Mr. Sant,--not one farthing."

"Then I'm not to get anything?"

"At a threat? No. Nothing!" Defiance hurled denial at the brute.

"Fhat are we waiting here for, wumman?" Sant snarled at Mrs. Crowe.
"Here let's get out of this. He makes me fair sick with His holy
preaching!" At the door, he turned round, bragging boldly like a cock
beside his partlet; and waved his bowler hat, "E-e-e-h but A'll mak' Ye
squirm, Ye ... inseck!" he foamed.

Ragna was furious. "Holiness, why don't You shoot them at once? You are
Sovereign within these walls. Give order for their arrest before they
leave the palace, Holiness; and have them shot!"

"It is Our will that they be left to the common executioner," the
Pope disdainfully ordained, sitting very hieratically in his chair,
young, rigid, and terrific as the Flamen Virbialis. The audience had
been a fresh phase of agony to Him: He had tried to merge His humanity
in His apostolature, and had failed; and the failure was torment,
physical, poignant. He was indignant; and He was dangerous. Their
Eminencies inquiringly looked at Him. Leighton blinked; and thought it
a dreadful pity. Talacryn was for running out and trying to persuade
the blackmailers even at some cost,--anything was better than scandal,
he said. The Pope told him not to be a stupid fool with his infernal
hankerings after compromise. "Fancy paying for silence!" His Holiness
scornfully adjoined.

"No but Holy Father, I think if You were to leave them to me, I could
find some way of silencing them. Silence is what we want indeed,
whatever."

"Your Eminency is well skilled in the art of silencing people, bad and
good. It is by no means an honourable art; and you are prohibited from
practising it. We believed that you had ceased to practise it in 1899.
Were We in error?"

"No indeed no, indeed, Holiness. It was merely a suggestion of mine,
indeed," the cardinal burbled.

"Drop it then!" the Pontiff slammed at him.

"Indeed I do, Holiness, indeed I do, whatever."

"One would hardly have believed that such blatant wickedness could have
existed in the world," Sterling gravely meditated.

"Holy Father, it will all begin again," Leighton sadly sighed.

"Let it begin again!" Hadrian challenged, white-flaming, irate,
retiring to the secret chamber.

Their Eminencies went out through the other door. They were not at
all pleased with the Pope. In the first antechamber several cardinals
were congregated anxious for news, Orezzo and Courtleigh each in
a sedan-chair, Percy, Fiamma, della Volta, Semphill, Carvale, and
Whitehead. Ragna was of opinion that the charges ought publicly to be
answered, that is to say if they could be answered: but---- Could the
accusations satisfactorily be disposed of? No one put the question: but
the aroma of the idea of it was in the air.

"There was so much mystery about His Holiness:" Orezzo said.

"There always has been. He is a most incomprehensible creature,
indeed:" Talacryn pronounced.

"One might expect anything, everything of Him: the height and depth of
good and bad: extreme virtue, extreme vice: one almost could believe
Him to be capable of anything:" Sterling adjudicated.

"Oh yes, until you have heard Him explain," little Carvale put in. "Did
none of Your Eminencies ever watch Him in His talk? I have. Shall I
tell you the difference between our Holy Father and ourselves? We see
things from a single view-point. He sees things from several. We decide
that the thing is as we see it. But He has seen it otherwise, and He
presents it as a more or less complete coaction of its qualities. See
this sapphire. Well, you see the face of it: underneath, if I take it
off my finger, there are a number of facets to be seen and a number
more which are hidden by the gold of the setting. Now my meaning is
that our Holy Father has seen all the facets as well as the table of
the sapphire, or the thing. Consequently He knows a great deal more
about the sapphire, or the thing, than we do. You must have noted that
in Him. You must have noted how that every now and then, when He deigns
to explain, He makes mysteries appear most wonderfully lucid."

"But, if one might venture to ask, how often does He condescend to
explain--except to His cat?" Sterling interjected.

"I'm bound to admit that He opened my eyes considerably during that
fortnight we spent together in town just before His election,"
Courtleigh threw out of his chair. Ragna went to him and spoke of the
desirability of capital punishment.

"Well, anyhow, I believe in Him," Whitehead murmured.

"Yes:" Leighton energetically blinked. "You'll excuse me if I'm shoppy,
but I say with St. Anselm, 'Neque enim quæro intelligere ut credam:
sed credo ut intelligam. Nam et hoc credo quia nisi credidero non
intelligam.'"

The gong in the secret chamber loudly and suddenly sounded. The scarlet
limbs of Sir John and Sir Iulo darted towards it. Talacryn was shaking
an unwilling dubious head. Van Kristen gave him a tall look of disgust.
"Well, I guess Your Eminency will feel pretty small some day if you
don't believe in Him too. There are no flies on Hadrian:" and he
stalked away with the dignity of a grand boy honourably enraged.

"No no, Percy," said Talacryn, running after him. "Of course I believe
in Him: but just for that reason I don't want Him to defend Himself. I
want to keep Him quiet. I think it unwise to rake up the past. There
would be so many frightful scandals, whatever."

"Have you told Him that?"

"Have I not indeed."

"And what did He say?"

Talacryn once more shook his head.

"Well then I advise Your Eminency to go 'way back and sit down,' as we
say in the States."

Newspaper tirades did begin again. The previous attacks on the
Pope almost were forgotten, (horribly pungently palate-tickling
though they were,) at a time when men's minds were filled with wars
and rumours of wars. But the Fleet Street fishers, who knew their
business, were aware that the public appetite is capricious and must
be tempted with a variety of bait. Even wars and rumours of wars are
apt to pall. One must not cry "Wolf" too often. Tired of Black-gnats,
trout must be tried with May-flies: for newspapers must be sold,
or the soap-and-cocoa people will quake; and newspapers will not
sell unless their news are new. So, when the editor of the _Daily
Anagraph_ received a couple of letters from Jerry Sant and Mrs. Crowe,
proffering certain tasty information, and asking for an offer for
same, he consulted his proprietors. The subject certainly was not
entirely novel: but what had gone before merely had been so to speak
an appetizer. This was the strong meat, the pièce de résistance in the
banquet of garbage. Sant was in possession of exclusive information.
The publication of it would mean a boom for the paper. Editors cannot
afford to be curious about the morals of their contributors, or
indeed of anything bar the quality of their contributions. Neither
proprietors nor editor were actuated by any sort of malice, personal or
professional, in defaming the Pope. Their motive was merely commercial.
Therefore, they offered £4,000 a-piece to Sant and his accomplice; and
they invested a similar sum in amateur investigations. At intervals
during the next few weeks, the _Daily Anagraph_ published articles
reflecting on the character of God's Vicegerent; and two columns daily
were set apart for anonymous ex-parte statements concerning His career.
Oh, it all began again! The points insisted on were that He was, and
never had been anything but, a lazy luxurious (the second intention
was "debauched") jesuitical machiavellian and false-pretentious
ignoramus.--Oh it all indubitably began again. Mediocrities, entrusted
with power over their fellow-creatures, invariably develop into
tyrants. All history proves it: the tyranny of the clergy was bad
enough: but it was as nothing in comparison with the sordid tyranny of
the Press which we now complacently tolerate.

Calumny culminated with a concoction of the calvous Crowe's. It
was admitted that the high-water mark was reached. Hitherto, the
very virulence of the assaults had engendered a certain amount of
unexpressed sympathy among stock-brokers, naval, Varsity, and other
thoughtful men. "Our Representative" had called at Archbishop's
House, had interviewed Monsignor this and Monsignor Canon that,
inviting the candid expression of opinion on the subject of Pontifical
Infallibility, as viewed in the fight of recent journalistic enterprize
and research. The distinction between infallibility and impeccability
had been impressed upon "Our Representative": but that was all. No
defence was offered either by the Pope or by His poor benighted
papists. Then, by slow degrees, the elect, the intelligent, began to
persuade themselves that, after all, the early misdemeanours of George
Arthur Rose, if they were as stated, were altogether apart from the
pontifical acts of Hadrian the Seventh. The latter distinctly were
admired throughout the world: the former--well, they were a pity. So,
public opinion was. And then came Mrs. Crowe. She had a song to sing
(oh!) of secret debauchery on the part of Hadrian the Seventh. She
was concise in the matter of names and dates and places. She alleged
that, at dusk on a certain evening in September, the 29th, she herself
had seen the Pope, disguised in black like an ordinary priest, taking
tea--He Who never ate in public--with two nameless women (far too
beautiful to be respectable in her opinion) in a house on Via Morino.
She was in the street. His so-called Holiness and His female companions
were by the lighted window. Presently the blinds were closed; and she
knew not what went on behind them. She watched the house for an hour
and a half; and then the Pope came out muffling His face, (a thing He
never at any other time had been known to do, but necessary on this
occasion to complete His disguise). He walked away; and she followed
Him: saw Him stop at the Attendolo Palace, and (finally) enter the
Vatican saluted by the guards at the bronze gates. She related the
incident with such particularity and in such a manner, that a great
many people fancied that they thoroughly understood. In a sort of way
the good lady did more than most people have done towards effecting
the Reunion of Christendom: for _The Cliff_ deliriously discursed
(from Revelations) of a great red dragon and seven heads and ten horns
and seven crowns upon his heads, and of a beast rising out of the sea
and seven heads and ten horns and ten crowns on his horns; and _The
Catholic Hour_ simultaneously washed its hands in innocency advertizing
unctuous rectitude in a leading article entitled "The Third Borgia."




CHAPTER XIX


While the dwarves were diverting themselves as aforesaid, their rulers
were in council together. And one day Sir Francis Bertram found no
closed doors at the Vatican. He was granted an audience which was
friendly and unofficial and secret: so secret in fact that no news of
it "transpired." It was treated as the return visit of an Englishman
to an Englishman. He came in an electric brougham, quite unattended.
No one noted that he brought a small dispatch-box with him: or that he
did not carry it away with him: but some of the senior cardinals, who
kindly came to discuss the latest effusions of the _Daily Anagraph_
with Hadrian in the evening, found His Holiness brimful of gaiety.
They remarked that the visit of the ambassador had done Him no end of
good. His bearing was vivid, serene, and youthful: His conversation
was witty, limpid, facile: no one would have taken Him for the person
described in the newspapers. He read those which obligingly were handed
to him: but shewed no emotion whatever, although very eager expert eyes
searched for some trace from which to lead theories and hypotheses. Nor
did He utter any comment. He read: He laid down the paper; and resumed
the conversation. Before Their Eminencies withdrew, He summoned the
Sacred Consistory to meet at noon on the morrow; and that was the only
noteworthy event of the evening.

Hadrian mounted the throne; and the vermilion college displayed itself
before Him. A pigskin kit-bag, which a gentleman-of-the-secret-chamber
had placed by the pontifical footstool before the doors were locked,
did not escape the notice of the more observant. The Pontiff Himself
was in singularly good form: and this was incomprehensible, for He
carried in His hand a copy of the very newspaper which everyone had
read and retched-over. That He should be so aggressively cheerful,
so vividly dominant, with that in His hand, was considered hardly
decorous. Even among those who firmly were determined to force
themselves to believe in Him, that He should not bend His neck to the
smiter now, did not tally at all with conceptions of propriety. With
these sentiments, Their Eminencies composed themselves to listen.

After the formal opening of the session, a Consistorial Advocate (in
garments of a violet colour and furred with ermine about the neck) was
commanded to read aloud, from the _Daily Anagraph_, the account of the
Pope's visit in disguise to the house on Via Morino. He was to read
it, first, in English, then, in Latin. It was not a long lection: for
journalistic instinct had perceived that the facts stated would be more
damnatory in their nakedness. With that inscrutable incomprehensible
vivid gleam of hilarity irradiating His face, Hadrian checked the
Consistorial Advocate from time to time, preventing him from drifting
into the monotonous gabble, which is used for the formal reading of
documents whose contents already are known informally; and, if His
object was to cause each deadly detail of the charge against Himself
to come out clearly, with all the contours definite and all the
tints brilliantly varnished, it must be admitted that His method was
pontifically successful.

"Ebbene dunque?" muttered Cardinal Ragna.

Hadrian darted a word at the Cardinal-Prefect-of-Propaganda: "Will
Your Eminency have the goodness to describe, to the Sacred College,
your acts of the afternoon and evening of the festival of St. Michael
Archangel?"

The naming of the festival of Michaelmas was like a touch on the latch
of the Red Pope's memory. His pure and gentle face lighted up: for
he perceived the connotation; and that inspired him with a joy so
delectable that he paused to pick his words, tasting them deliberately,
lingering over them. "After siesta on the festival of St. Michael
Archangel,--and that would be about 15-1/2 hours of the clock, not
later,--I came to Vatican and was received by Your Holiness. I was
admitted to the secret chamber. I sat opposite to Your Holiness, by the
window. I remember that, for a reason. I spoke to Your Holiness on the
subject of removing England from the control of Propaganda. I said that
I had pondered Your Holiness's proposition. I said that it appeared to
me, as it already had appeared to Your Holiness, that the necessity for
treating England as a barbarous uncivilized savage country, in which
the Faith is preached by missionaries, no longer existed. I added my
own opinion, that to continue to treat England as a savage uncivilized
barbarous country, now, amounted to perennial insult. I received Your
Holiness's thanks. I am giving only the heads of this conversation,
which was prolonged until the seventeenth hour. Then, the pontifical
pages brought in a tray containing fruit and triscuits and some English
tea. I told Your Holiness that tea astringed my nerves, remarking on
the difference between English nerves and Italian. I was permitted to
make a few jokes. In the midst of these very diverting burlesques, I
ate a little fruit--perhaps a fig and a half--and I drank a little
wine of Cinthyanum. Afterwards, I proceeded to discuss another case
with Your Holiness. That case was the removal, from the spiritual rule
of Propaganda, of the other countries which are under the secular
rule of the Excellent King of England. It was a complication; and the
discussion of it occupied some hours. I said, in sum, that sufficient
information as to the nature and character and national history
of the natives of those countries, especially Scotland, Ireland,
and Wales, officially had not been laid before me. I requested Your
Holiness to afford me longer time for the collection of information and
investigation of the subject. I permitted myself to note that, while
we were talking, Your Holiness made and smoked nineteen cigarettes. I
remember that, when at length I rose to pay my respects, Your Holiness
drew me nearer to the window by which we had been sitting; and deigned
to indicate the image of St. Michael Archangel which poises itself on
the summit of the Mola. The metal of which the said image is formed
appeared to be burnished, owing to radiance from the lights of the
City. I said that it resembled an angelic apparition in the obscure sky
of night. I remember that Your Holiness said 'May the Prince, of the
angels who do service in heaven, succour and defend us on earth.' I
responded 'Amen.' Your Holiness added some words in the Greek tongue,
which You deigned to explain as signifying 'O god of the golden helm,
look upon, look upon the City which thou once didst hold well-beloved.'
To that prayer, I also responded 'Amen.' And I was permitted to retire
at the same moment when the pages were bringing in Your Holiness's
supper, which was at 20-1/2 hours of the clock."

Cardinal Gentilotto sat down; and the eyes of the Sacred College
twinkled like talc. The Pope, Who had receded to His more usual distant
reticent gravity, gave them a silent moment for appreciation; and then
darted a verisimilar word to Cardinal della Volta.

"Will Your Eminency have the goodness to describe, to the Sacred
College, your acts of the afternoon and evening of the festival of St.
Michael Archangel."

The ex-major-domo of the apostolic palace hemmed;--and prayed
for permission to send for his diary. Then he bravely proceeded.
"M-ym-ym-ym: Twenty-ninth September. At 15 o'clock, I drove by the
Fort of Monte Mario to the Milvian Bridge: and walked a little in the
fields. The sky was cloudy. Afterwards I drove by Via Flaminia and
Pincio to Countess Demochede's villino; and sent away my carriage. I
obtained news of the German Emperor. Her Excellency's daughter the
Princess Neri was there. Tea and very agreeable conversation. The
Princess expatiated on the virtues of pedestrianism. She and her
beautiful mother derided me when I said that I was about to walk to
Vatican. I went to Palazzo Attendolo to inquire for Don Umberto. He
had bought a new horse, a strawberry-roan, and was gone to Cinthyanum
to try him. That young man always is buying horses--m-ym-ym.
Returned to Vatican at 19 o'clock. Said Mattins and Lauds. Wrote
to--m-ym-ym,--wrote four letters, Holiness. Supper, capretto ai ferri
and zuppa inglese. Gave my news of the German Emperor to our Most Holy
Lord. Read Chap. IX., 1, of Matthew Arnold's _Literature and Dogma_
with Δ. Semphill. Conversed with that deacon about it till bed-time.
He says that it is not a book to fear. In my opinion it is a wonderful
book but shocking, and likely to cause misunderstanding except among
the English: but it is not damnable, though many will think so. Sancte
Francisce, ora pro me."

He was about to sit-down; and the College was about to open
twenty-three mouths: but Hadrian with the left hand signed him to
approach the throne, and with the right simultaneously beckoned a
master-of-ceremonies in a red habit and a violet cloak.

Cardinal Berstein interpolated with a recondite sneer, "The phenomenon
of bi-location, as exemplified in the case of St. Philip Neri, is
well-known. But this is not the case of a saint."

Hadrian wiped the floor with the sneerer. "Nor was the case of Samian
Pythagoras, divine, golden-thighed, (if Your Eminency ever heard of
him), the case of a saint. Yet, inasmuch as Pythagoras was heard to
lecture at Metapontion and Tayromenion on the same day and at the same
hour, he would appear to have been an exemplification of the phenomenon
of bi-location. However, this is neither the case of a saint, as you so
acutely have observed: nor a case of bi-location, as you so hilariously
would pretend." He flung the retort at the cardinal with such force
that Berstein sought his seat with not innocuous concussion.

"Lord Cardinals, the voice of the snake and the voice of the goose are
one and the same. They both hiss:" the Pope added before moving again.

A feeling that His Holiness was dynamic, picric, dangerous, pervaded
the assembly. Each most eminent lord wondered who would be the next
victim of that quiet shrill velvet claw which tore the brain. The
Pontiff bent His head to the master-of-ceremonies, signifying that he
should remove the mitre. Also He unclasped the morse of His cope; and
addressed Cardinal della Volta.

"Can Your Eminency remember what habit you wore during the afternoon
and evening of the twenty-ninth of September?"

"Yes, Holy Father, I wore the plain habit which we commonly wear."

"Like this?" Hadrian stooped and opened the kit-bag; and drew from it
a black cassock with red buttons, a red sash, and a black cloth cloak,
and a black three-cornered beaver-hat with thin red cord and tassels.

"But yes: precisely like that."

"Would Your Eminency do Us the extreme favour of putting on these
garments now?"

Della Volta smiled: but he made the change, and stood on the
throne-steps pulling out the folds, stretching his arms in the new
sleeves. The Pope took another and a similar suit from the kit-bag; and
changed His Own white for black. Then He descended to the cardinal's
side; and faced the college. They were as like each other as two
blots of ink. And the college roared. Of course, everyone instantly
remembered Courtleigh's allegation that della Volta was the Pope's
Double: but no one until now had seen the two side by side and garbed
alike. And the college roared--roared chiefly with delight at dismissal
of tragedy by comedy.

The Pope and the Cardinal resumed their proper habits; and Hadrian
again enthroned Himself. His aspect had become very cold, very hard. He
spoke a few words in the dry incisive tone which slapped like sleet,
from the far distance of His misanthropic soul snatched away to that
remote place shared with wounded beasts who creep to die alone. He
began swiftly; and intensified the value of His words by the gradual
monotonous deceleration which marked their close. "Lord Cardinals,"
He said, "know that, if We desire to intrigue, Our experience of the
extreme stupidity of intriguers has taught Us to avoid their pitifully
trite folly. Know also that intrigues, disguises, tricks, artifices,
stratagems, and deceptions, are repugnant to Us. And finally know
this, that We never will derogate Our pontifical paraphernalia or
authority to another." After a moment, He changed His manner; and in
a formal tone announced that the Congress of Windsor had invited the
intervention of the Roman Pontiff as Supreme Arbitrator. It was the
appeal of Cæsar to Peter. He made known the contents of the dispatch,
which Sir Francis Bertram had brought; and read the names of sovereign
and presidential signatories. And, without waiting for comment, He
uttered the ceremonial form which closed the Consistory; and was borne
away.

Acclamations followed Him. Vermilion tumbled over ermine in an effort
to get at Him. What a number of things everybody urgently desired to
know! What was He going to do? Would He not take this magnificent
opportunity of reclaiming Peter's Patrimony? He could not be denied it
now. That was Ragna's notion. The two Vagellaii agreed with it: Italy
could be compensated by the cession of Italia Irredenta, said Serafino.
Little minds expatiated on an infinity of little things. Then, some
began about the calumnies. What was He going to do about them? Oh, for
certain He had disproved the charge made against Hadrian the Seventh;
and most likely he could disprove the others. "Could He?" Berstein
cynically guffawed. Well, was He going to publish this disproval?
"Who knows?" asked Fiamma. The English and American cardinals
energetically asseverated that, for their part, they neither were going
to consult His Holiness on the subject, nor to consider themselves
bound to secrecy in regard to the refutation which they had heard and
witnessed. It was Carvale who hurriedly collected and expressed the
opinions of his colleagues. "What d'ye mean?" neighed the long faced
Capuchin. "I'll tell you what we mean" said Semphill. "With the help
of my friends here, we'll have an authentic copy of the acts of this
consistory sent to every newspaper on earth." "And, you can bet, right
now!" Van Kristen cried. The Cardinal-Archdeacon and nine Italians
vociferated approval of the scheme. Talacryn trumpeted with the others,
gambolling gaily along. Then he put down an elephantine foot--he was
not quite sure that it was advisable: down at the back of his heart he
felt the old distrust of Hadrian--he did not want to be involved by
seeming to support--His Holiness was a most difficult man to get rid
of, if one wanted to get rid of Him, whatever. But, still, the Cardinal
of Caerleon trampled along with the others. Their Eminencies surged
upstairs, chattering like a tygendis of magpies; and flowed along
galleries, screeching like a muster of peacocks, until they reached
the approach to the pontifical antechambers. The approach was closed,
guarded by skewbald harlequins of Swiss with halberds. Before it stood
the two gentlemen-of-the-apostolic-chamber, who formally responded to
inquiry, "Our Most Holy Lord is in secret."

They had to make what they could of that. Those with sense went about
their business without ado. Some, however, lingered to resent rebuff:
or in the hope of obtaining quasi-accidental admission by bribery.
Ragna panted up to four thousand lire in Sir John's ear; and departed
cursing. The door was barred by "Our Most Holy Lord is in secret."

In secret Hadrian was kneeling upright in His chapel. "God, I am very
worldly. I have enjoyed the triumph." That was the confession which
He made, not precisely with sorrow but, with a consuming contempt for
Himself. He had done such an ordinary deed: He despised Himself for
doing it. He remained in contemplation of His disgusting humanity for
some time.

By degrees, His mind detached itself from that; and attached itself
to the next subject which He had prepared. He went into His workshop:
covered the chairs around His armchair with sheets of ms. notes: drew
the writing-board on His knees: laid out blank paper: rolled and
lighted a cigarette; and began to read and amend His notes. From time
to time, He sat back in His chair, gazing out of the window at nothing,
working at problems in His brain. Now and then, He scribbled a note, a
word, a phrase, a sentence.

At length He began to cover sheet after sheet. He wrote for hours
and hours together, day after day: burning most of what He wrote,
amending more, rewriting much. Anon, an acrid torpor astringed
and benumbed His right arm from elbow to finger-tip, announcing
the advent of scrivener's palsy. It was evening, about two hours
after the Angelus. He put-down His pen; and summoned the first
gentleman-of-the-secret-chamber. Sir John sat in front of Him:
rolled-up the sleeve; and gave the arm and hand a gentle friction.
Hadrian silently watched his busy hands. They were beautiful hands,
very white, very slim, very soft,--yes, singularly soft and soothing.
Yet they were strong hands, firm and lissome. They did not tire with
that continued searching movement, moulding and defining tired muscles
and aching sinews, working the fatigue and ache gradually downward to
dismissal at the finger-tips. Also the bent head was a good head, small
and round, covered with close-cropped hair, black-purple, hyacinthine.
And the healthy pallor of the face, the delicately cloven chin, the
extremely fine grey eyes, the vigorous form, the exquisitely chaste and
intelligent aspect--fancy expecting such an one to roll pills and fill
capsules for ever in a chymist's shop! No: he was better as he was.

"John," the Pope inquired, "how do you get on with Macleod?"

"Oh, very well. I think I like him very much."

"Is he comfortable?"

"Oh I think so. He seems so at any rate."

"Has he got anything to say for himself?"

"Oh yes:--now. He was a bit frightened at first: but he's got over that
now."

"To whom does he talk most freely?"

"Oh to me. Not but what he has plenty to say to Iulo too. But he'll
tell me anything."

"What do you mean by 'anything'?"

"Oh everything about himself."

"John, look-up into these eyes a moment." The shy grey eyes readily
soared into the shy brown eyes.

"How much has he told you about himself?"

"Oh everything: that's all."

"Everything?"

A fine flush tinged the fresh ivory face with coral: but the grey eyes
did not waver. "Oh yes, everything."

"Can he sing?"

"Oh no, not a note--thank Heaven."

Hadrian withdrew His gaze. "And you think you like him very much?"

"Oh yes,--I don't think: I know. I'm so awfully sorry for him."

"And pity is akin to----"

"Oh but it's not pity and it's not love. It's something else
altogether. It makes me in such a rage. I don't think I can make You
understand, that's all."

"Try."

"Oh well--do You remember Max Alvary?"

"The singer-man? Yes. Why?"

"Oh, don't You know what I said when I saw him in 'Siegfried.' You see,
first I saw the splendour of his beauty; and then, when it came to the
'Idyll,' I got into a rage and I said 'and that voice too.'"

"What did you mean?"

"Oh it seemed so abominably unrighteous--all that beauty, and all that
voice as well. That he should have two gifts;--and that others,--I, for
instance,--should have not one!"

"What has this to do with Macleod?"

"Oh, a lot, in a topsyturvy kind of way. Look what a fine chap he is
to look at,--just like that lovely Figure on Your cross. And he's
clever too. Well, You'd think him fortunate enough, wouldn't You? Then
comes Fate and spoils him--spoils him completely. That's what makes me
furious. To have to class him with Mustafa. I wonder he doesn't kill
himself."

"Go gently with that wrist, please. Have you told him that?"

"Oh no, I should hope not. Sorry. I want to do everything in the world
to keep him from knowing what I think--to keep him from hitting on that
line of thought by accident, by himself, even. It would drive the poor
chap mad: that's all."

"John you're a brick. Now listen to this. Thoughts you know, are
things. If you think such thoughts, they'll be in the air about you;
and it's as likely as not that Macleod's senses will perceive them. So
you'd better extirpate them hic et nunc--if you like him and want to
help him."

"Oh do You think so? Well, I will then: because I really do want to
help him."

"Good. And now what's to be done with him?"

"Oh but why should anything be done with him? He's very happy here."

"Thanks to your goodness, John. Silence! But first of all We must give
him a reason for being here: and then We must remember that 'here
we have no continuing city.' Now listen attentively. When you have
finished that hand, you will go to the Secretary of State, and tell His
Eminency to issue a patent to Mr. Macleod as third gentleman of the
chamber--emolument half yours--no knighthood. Will that do?"

"Oh finely!"

"Good. Well now let's go back a bit. Suppose Macleod wasn't here.
Where, in your opinion, would he be best?"

"Oh I hardly know what to say to that."

"You know your Meredith? Well then, favour Us with the outline of your
ideas. Pour them out pell-mell, intelligibly or not, no matter. We
undertake to catch hold of something."

"Oh well, I think he'd do well in a garden. He's quite learned about
flowers; and, if You ever saw him handle one, You'd wonder however a
chap with a chest and arms like a blacksmith, as his are, could be so
tender. There's a lot more force and there's a lot more gentleness in
him than You'd think. Same with trees. He looks at them as we look
at other chaps--just as though he could speak to them and make them
understand him if he wanted to. He'd do well at anything out of doors,
farming perhaps. I did think at first of the sea----"

"Because of his wonderful eyes?"

"Oh yes I suppose that was the reason. Did ever You see such a blue,
a blue that makes you want to strip and dive,--just the eyes for a
sailor, aren't they? That's simply my romance though. But I haven't
talked to him much about the sea. Do You know what I should like to
do? I should like to go a long sea-voyage with him in one of those old
sailing-ships, and take the Pliny and the Sophokles which You gave me,
and a lexicon, and a dictionary, and read them with him, right away
from--of course I don't mean what You think I mean."

"No: of course you don't. And then, when you come back from your long
sea-voyage in a sailing ship, you think that Macleod could be useful
and happy on a flower-farm, with orchards, and all that sort of rot,
while you could sit in the shade of medlar-trees and rose-bushes, and
look after him so that no one should insult him, and read books, (write
them too perhaps,) and dream dreams, (and certainly write those,) and
live happily in a dear old-fashioned farm-house ever after----"

"Oh You're laughing at me now!"

"Not at all." The bright brown eyes became grave. "John, what are you
going to do with yourself when Hadrian is dead?"

"Oh but You're not going to die----"

"How do you know? Answer the question."

"Oh I haven't thought about it. I don't want to think about it: that's
all."

"Nonsense. Think about it; and be done with it. John, when We are
dead, if you have a place like that, and means to work it, means to
move about and use yourself--will you use yourself? And will you take
Macleod and be a brother--not a real but the Ideal Brother to him?"

"Oh of course I would: but----"

"Will you promise?"

"Oh yes, I promise You most faithfully. But I hope to God I'll never
have the chance----"

"Well, no one knows when you will have the chance: but you shall have
it. Bring the pen here, and the writing-board." Hadrian pulled down
His sleeve, and stroked the cat for a minute or two, thoughtfully
looking-out of the window. Then He wrote, putting what He wrote into an
envelope which He gave to the shaking sprig of virtue who stood before
Him. "You will take this to Plowden, after you have been to Ragna.
You will obtain his formal acknowledgment. See that it is made out in
your name; and keep it secretly till the time comes for using it. On
Our death you will present it; and Plowden will pay you five thousand
pounds, and take your receipt for it. With that sum, you will buy, and
stock, such a place as We have described. As long as you and Macleod
live, Plowden will pay you a regular income, so that you never can come
to want, and always can have something to give away. Every quarter-day
he will pay a hundred pounds to you, and fifty to Macleod; and you
can make as much more as you like out of your farm. That, remember,
is yours; and you may do what you please with it. When you both die,
the capital which provides your incomes will return to the pontifical
treasury: so if you want to marry, and beget a family, and leave
something more than real property--the farm--behind you, you must earn
it. We give you a chance, and perfect freedom. Do you follow?"

"Oh I never shall forget a single word. Holy Father, I can't take it.
What have I done to deserve it? What could I ever do to deserve it?"

"Boy, you have done this to deserve it. You have wished to bear or to
share another's burden. You shall have your wish; and you shall have a
little reward here and a very great reward--There,--if you carry out
your wish. That's what you have done and what you can do. You are good,
and you are trusted. And that's all. Now go away at once because We
have a lot of writing yet to do."

"John," cried Hadrian, just before the door closed. "By the bye, you
had better tell Macleod of his appointment; and see about his uniforms
at once: but keep the other matter to yourself till--you know when.
Oh--and please make him understand that We shall call him 'James.' That
Gaelic 'Hamish' is a little too much. And he had better be Mr. James to
the others."

Outside the closed door, Sir John struck his own hands together. "And
the maddening thing is that there is nothing in the whole world that
I can do for Him. If I were to give Him a little present, like a
baccy-pouch, ten to one it wouldn't be precisely to His taste--anyhow
it 'ld only be like giving Him a calf of His Own cow. Oh damn! It's
like a wax match offering a light to the sun." He suddenly faced to the
door again; and his words came in the form of a solemn pledge. "Lord, I
promise." He remained entranced for several moments: and anon went on
his way with steadfast brow.




CHAPTER XX


The Cardinal-deacon of St. Cosmas and St. Damian did it. The acts
of the consistory, in so far as they related to the calumny against
the Pope, duly appeared in the _Times_ and the _Globe_ and the
_New York Times_ as news which was fit to print. Innumerable other
papers lifted them with acknowledgments. No comment was made. The
collared-puppy-in-the-Tube, and the spectacled-person-in-the-motor-car,
and the female-with-the-loaf-coloured-hat-at-the-bargain-sale, forgot
all about George Arthur Rose: paid no attention whatever to the
Pope; and violently sat up on their hind-legs regarding the Supreme
Arbitrator. France and Russia emitted caricatures and howls; and
prepared to invade Belgium and Sweden, with the intention of descending
on Germany from three sides.

Mrs. Crowe became conscious that she had lost rather than had gained
by her connection with Jerry Sant. The English Catholics treated her
as they are wont to treat converts after the first three months; and
shewed her the cold shoulder. The refutation of her latest calumny had
made her look foolish--and something dirtier than foolish. She was
mortified: she was angry with herself; and she naturally yearned to
tear and mangle everybody else. She thought that the best thing which
she could do would be to pose as a much deceived woman, to break that
disastrous connection with the Liblabs, and to return (if possible) to
the status quo ante. So she went and fell upon Jerry, vituperating him
for the accented failure of his schemes--for leading an innocent lady
astray with his nastiness, and his pig-headed stupidity, and all that.
She frankly told him that he had gone too far. The precious pair "had
words"; and finally separated. Jerry remained at his hotel, dumb and
dangerous, brooding. As for the lady, respectable mediocrity allured
her by the prospect which it offered of a not unfamiliar obscurity,
where she might try to piece-together the shreds and tatters of her
reputation. She had a little money left--and with economy----She would
stay just a little longer. Who knew what might happen?

One by one, cardinals received summons to the secret chamber. Their
brains were picked and their opinions heard. Nefski of the ashen
pallor and the haunted eyes admitted that Poland might be happier as a
constitutional monarchy and a member of a federation. Pushed to it, he
promised to use all his influence to persuade. Mundo, cleanly, rotund
and sparkling, spoke of Portugal's long and illustrious alliance with
the Lord of the Sea. His compact vivid nation had no grievances. Grace
looked silently vigorous; and praised the Munroe doctrine. If only----.
The French cardinals chattered: were aghast: sobbed: were quite limp;
and became picturesquely and dithyrambically resigned. Oh they were
so excellent:--and so futile! Courtleigh pleaded age, infirmity.
Circumstances had become more than he could manage. He had begun to
think that he never had been anything but a decorative figure-head:
that he never once had gripped the rudder of affairs since the Prince
of Wales had been so--well, rude to him. He was old: he was garrulous:
craving for greetings. He begged leave to go and end his days in the
college which he had founded, if the Holy Father would but deign to
relieve him of his archbishopric. Hadrian did deign; and summoned
Talacryn, to whom He said "We are about to fulfil the ambition of Your
Eminency's life by preconizing you to the archbishopric of Pimlico."

The cardinal said something about being unworthy of the honour.

"That of course," the Pontiff responded: "but We place you there
because you know or ought to know more of Our mind than any man: and
your task is to make that known to England. It at least never can be
said, if you should err, that you erred through ignorance of Our will.
You have health, you have youth, you have a dominant presence. People
will listen to you. Your danger and your fault are due to your national
habit of suspicion. That can be conquered. Act up to your name: be
frank: suspect no one: be ready to renounce:--but your heart should
tell you all that We would say. Now for Caerleon. Whom would you like
to succeed Your Eminency there?"

Talacryn said something about the right of the clergy to elect: but
that was swept aside. Then he dwelled on the difficulty of finding a
suitable priest who could speak the native language.

"The last is not essential," said Hadrian: "you yourself cannot speak
and cannot even learn that frightful jargon, although you are a native
of the dreadful place: and, after your habit of suspecting people,
and--yes, it had better be said,--a slight tendency to the habit of
officious lying--(the cardinal went purple)--there, it is said and
done with: you have had your lesson, and you know better now:--after
those things, the only reason why your episcopate has not been a very
brilliant one is that you started with the false idea of the necessity
of speaking that corrupt and obsolete dialect."

"But does not Your Holiness think that a foreigner----"

"No: England is the dominant race: her language is the language of all
her colonies. Why a triplet of little conquered countries should refuse
to learn English--should be permitted to insist on their barbarous and
unliterary languages, We never could understand. They are conquered
countries, annexed to their conqueror. They have lost their national
existence for centuries. They have no national existence, or any kind
of existence apart from England. No. Nationality does not come into the
question of your successor at all. That is where the Church of Christ
differs from all religions. Rome can do, and does do, what no other
ecclesiastical power durst do. Our predecessors sent an Italian to
Canterbury, and even a Greek, Theodore; and We are sending a Kelt to
Pimlico. As for Caerleon--do you remember John Jennifer, the priest of
Selce? You do:--he was a white man at Mary vale:--and since? Good. He
is Bishop of Caerleon."

"He speaks the language, Holy Father," said Talacryn, laughing.

"The merest accident. We selected him for his steadfast sturdy goodness
under great difficulty at Maryvale. Oh, we remember----"

And the Pope's gaze went far away into the past.

Cardinal Talacryn mentioned that the Secretary of State desired to know
whether His Holiness would require the services of the Patriarch of
Byzantion at the present juncture.

"The Patriarch of Byzantion?"

"It was thought that as he had negotiated with England during the reign
of Your Holiness's predecessors----"

"Oh. Then, no. The services of the Patriarch of Byzantion are not
required. When His Grace is not smirking in 'black' drawing-rooms, or
writing defamatory letters to duchesses----"

"Defamatory letters, Holy Father!"

"Yes: defamatory letters, such as this one which he wrote in 1890."

The Pope got up, took off His episcopal ring, unlocked and dived into
an alphabetical letter-case, and handed a most ingeniously suggestive
and lethific note to the cardinal. "Well, when His Grace is not engaged
in these disedifying pastimes, he has his patriarchate to attend-to.
In fact unless he can see his way to become a resident patriarch in
Byzantion within the month, he may look for a decree of deposition."
The Supreme Pontiff's aspect was austere. "Your Eminency will convey
that response to Cardinal Ragna's obliging suggestion."

Talacryn made haste to kneel. "Give me a blessing, Holy Father, and I
will immediately proceed to my new see, whatever."

Hadrian smiled. "God bless you, son. But do not go yet. Pimlico has
been in the hands of the Vicar-General and the Coadjutor for years;
and the Vicar-Capitular can manage for the present. Stay here a little
while. We shall need you. We shall not need you long."

And Talacryn went out from the Presence, glad, yet grave.

During a few days, questions and answers incessantly passed between the
Vatican and Windsor Castle. Hadrian consulted sovereigns: discussed
difficulties with statesmen. Baron de Boucert expressed the opinion
that it would be futile to oppose the inevitable expansion of Germany.
Signor Barconi himself officiated at an instrument installed in the
apostolic antechamber, until he was carried away in nervous collapse.
Hadrian envied him: and forced Himself to resist temptation. He had
much to do yet. Messages, messages, study of maps, collation of ms.
notes, filled a score of each twenty-four hours. There was need of
profound thought, so that the clairvoyant undazzled eye like a diver
might reach the bottom of deep-preserving thought. The four hours which
remained chiefly were spent at the tomb of St. Peter in the basilica.
The Arbitrator slept not at all in these days. He ate while at work;
and only sought refreshment under the ice-cold tap in the bath-room.
A squadron of English cruisers escorted a procession of royal yachts
and battleships, which conveyed the Congress of Windsor to Golden and
immortal Rome.

Then came the issue of the _Epistle to the Princes_, in which the
Apostle reiterated the evangelic counsels, predicating a scheme of
utter self-sacrifice and non-resistance in imitation of the "sweet
reasonableness of Christ." This would mean, said He, the deliberate
loosening and casting away of all conventions which bound society
together. It was right: it was straight: it was the most direct road
to heaven. But it was not in accordance with the human will: it would
be called utopian, and unconventional; and it would be derided more
than followed: it would cause confusion inconceivable if it were
attempted on the grand scale. Truth more quickly emerges from error
than from confusion. Men, being what they are, _i.e._ bound to err,
would be better for having their errancy guided. They would diverge
from the road: but they should not leave it out of sight; and, properly
guided, their movement at least could be made to tend towards the
Point Desirable. Individuality so long had been suppressed, that its
efforts required administration. Therefore the Pontiff shewed, as well
as an unconventional, a conventional way of approaching that Point
Desirable. He maintained the aristocratic and monarchic principle
in strict integrity. A rebel was worse than the worst prince, and
rebellion was worse than the worst government of the worst prince that
hitherto had been. He proclaimed the anarchy of France and Russia to be
a manifestation of diabolic ebullience, which ought to be restrained
and stamped out by all right means, even the most stringent. France and
Russia, having forfeited the right of being deemed capable of ruling
themselves, henceforth must submit to be ruled. Satan finds mischief
for idle hands to do. Occupation, and scope for occupation, alone
will enable individuals and nations to work out their own salvation
humanly speaking. Men _must_ use themselves:--for good or ill. Most
human ills were caused by the lack of scope for energy. Sitting on,
or screwing down, the safety valve invariably was fatal:--a doctrine
which He enforced on the attention and obedience of the clergy. These
principles involved a re-arrangement of various spheres of influence.
The Ruler of the World, Peter, the Supreme Arbitrator, decreed that the
only nations, in which the "facultas regendi" survived in undiminished
energy, were England, America, Japan, Germany, Italy. Some of the old
monarchies, however, had not yet reached that point of decay when
their extinction would become desirable: they were Norway, Sweden,
Denmark, the German kingdoms and principalities and duchies, Spain,
Portugal, Greece, Roumania, Albania, Montenegro, the republics of
Switzerland and San Marino. These were to be maintained as sovereign
states and to preserve their national characters. Some also of the
old monarchies, which had tolerated unmerited suppression, were to
be given an opportunity of proving themselves worthy of corporate
existence. These were Hungary, Bohemia, and Russian and German Poland.
They were revived as kingdoms; and required to provide themselves
with constitutions (after the manner of England), and to elect their
respective monarchical dynasties. Switzerland and San Marino were
confirmed as republics. The Sultan at the instigation of England, his
ally, would move his capital to Damascus, in order to concentrate the
main force of Islam in Asia. Servia was added to the Principality of
Montenegro. Turkey-in-Europe and Bulgaria would become merged in the
kingdom of Greece. So far for particulars.

Hadrian denounced, as bad and idle dreams, the plans of recent
political schemers who had adumbrated ideas of a federation of the
English-speaking and the Teutonic races. He dwelled upon the essential
differences which divided Germany from America, and both from
England. No blend was possible between the English and the Germans;
and Americans were not qualified for bonds. Each one of the three
was unique; and each would stand alone. Three such enormous powers
must have each its own separate and singular existence and sphere of
action. Three such spheres must be found, in which the three nations
independently might thrive. It was room for independent development
which must be sought out, and assigned.

He stated the case of the continent of Europe. Belgium had 228
inhabitants to the square-kilometre: Holland, 160: Germany, 104:
Austria, 87: France, 72: Russia was so sparsely populated that only a
migration of 109,000,000 people from the rest of Europe would raise her
to the European average. Hence, the Pope proclaimed the instauration
of the Roman Empire, under two Emperors, a Northern Emperor and a
Southern Emperor; and confirmed the same to the King of Prussia and
the King of Italy as representatives of the dynasties of Hohenzollern
and Savoy respectively. He ordained that this instauration should not
be deemed 'the ghost of the dead Roman Empire sitting crowned upon
the grave thereof, but its legitimate heir and successor, justified
by the ancient virtues of the Romans, the beneficence of their rule,'
and the vigorous aspiration to well-doing which characterized their
present representatives. The Northern Emperor William would nominate
sovereign dynasties for Belgium and Holland. He might replace the
present exiled monarchs on their respective thrones: or he might depose
them and substitute members of his Imperial family. He then would
extend the borders of Germany, eastward to the Ural Mountains by the
inclusion of Russia, westward to the English Channel and Bay of Biscay
by the inclusion of France, southward to the Danube by the inclusion
of Austria. At the same time, he would federate the constitutional
monarchies of Norway and Sweden, Denmark, Holland, Belgium, Hungary,
Bohemia, Poland, Roumania, and the republic of Switzerland with the
other sovereign states already under his suzerainty: while the Southern
Emperor Victor Emanuel would federate the constitutional monarchies of
Portugal, Spain, the extended kingdom of Greece, the principalities
of Montenegro and Albania, and the republic of San Marino, with the
kingdom of Italy, which last now was to include Italia Redenta. The
frontier dividing the Northern Empire from the Southern was to be
formed by the Pyrenees, Alps, Danube, and Black Sea.

The case of America was defined. The United States were to be increased
by the inclusion of all the states and republics of the two Americas
from the present northern frontier of the United States to Cape Horn.

The Japanese Empire was authorized to annex Siberia.

All Asia (except Siberia), Africa, Canada, Australia, New Zealand and
All Islands, were erected into five constitutional kingdoms, and added
to the dominions of the King of England, Ireland, Wales, and Scotland.
The title "Emperor" being antipathetic to the English Race (on account
of its primary significance "War-Lord"), the official style of the
Majesty of England, Ireland, Wales, Scotland, Asia, Africa, Canada,
Australia, New Zealand and All Islands, henceforth would be "The
Ninefold King."

Thus the Supreme Arbitrator provided the human race with scope and
opportunity for energy. The provisions of the _Epistle to the Princes_
were drawn up in the form of Treaty dividing the world, till midnight
(G.T.) of December 31st (N.S.) of the year 2000 of the Fructiferous
Incarnation of the Son of God, into the Ninefold Kingdom, the American
Republic, the Japanese Empire and the Roman Empire. This Treaty was
signed, in the Square of St. Peter's at Rome, by the Pontiff, the
Sovereigns and the Presidents, on the Festival of the Annunciation
of Our Lady the Virgin; and the armies and navies of the signatories
instantly set about the pacification of France and Russia by martial
law.




CHAPTER XXI


April brought to Hadrian an experience of one of those periods of
psychical disturbance which are incidental to the weakness of humanity,
and inevitable by a man of His particular temper. Things lost their
significance to Him, persons lost their personality, events their
importance; and time was not. He kept a straight face, and forced
Himself to courteous demeanour: but He was living in a world in which
He felt Himself to be just off the floor and floating, a world in which
everything was strange and everybody was quite strange, a world where
nobody and nothing mattered the least little bit. He had the sense at
the beginning to include Himself in secret behind guarded doors; and
also to hold His tongue when His attendants were in the Presence. He
simply sat and wondered--wondered who He was, how He came there, who
dressed Him like that, and when;--and decided that it did not matter.
He nursed His cat, cooing and mewing and talking cat-language in a most
enjoyable manner. When the creature went away,--it did not matter. He
used to gaze at His cross by the hour together, planning combinations
of lights and shades and backgrounds of book-backs: placing the golden
symbol there, and revelling in the supple splendour of the Form, its
dignity, its grace, the majestic youth of the Face, noble and grave.
He would close His eyes and learn the lovely planes and contours with
delicate reverent touch. It pleased Him to think that He had created
a type of incarnate divinity, which neither was the Orpheys of the
catacombs, nor the Tragic Mask of the Vernicle, nor the gross sexless
indecencies wherewith pious Catholics in their churches insult the One
among ten thousand, the Altogether Lovely. That thought brought Him
back to Space and Time. Indignation at images at least eleven heads
long, proportioned like female fashion-plates, visaged like emasculate
noodles whom you would slap in the face on sight, simply for their
tepid attenuate silliness, if you met them in the flesh--this drew
down Hadrian to realities and life.--He felt utterly exhausted. An
exposition of sleep seized Him. He was always drowsy; and would fall
asleep in the day-time over the writing and reading which He put
Himself to do, in His armchair by the window, in His favourite seat
by the old wall in the garden where He spent the vivid afternoons of
spring. Only toward night-fall, was He able to write that beautiful
clear script of His, to bring any of His usual alertness to bear upon
affairs: even then that alertness was extraordinarily diluted. His
intellect was nebulous, uncertain. He could not select saliencies,
could not concentrate his thoughts: His constructive faculty was in
abeyance: His imagination was in chains. He spent a long time over
His scanty meals, chewing, chewing, reading, reading, and remembering
nothing which He read. In an inert perfunctory way, He blamed Himself
for waste of time; and continued to waste it. No doubt it was divine
nature's will. Let it be understood that He was not slothful in the
confessional sense of the word. He was merely lethargic, dulled,
blunted, listless, eager for nothing, except to flee away and be at
rest--at rest.

From this stupor, He awoke in panic, as though nympholeptose,
lymphatic, driven to phrenzy by some unknown external agency. He became
inspired with an appalling consciousness of the absolute necessity
for instant active continuous exertion,--if He were to continue alive
upon this earth. He felt that, if He were to permit Himself to relax
for one instant, if for one instant He were to abdicate command of
His physical forces, to let Himself go,--that instant would be His
last. With this in His mind, He prepared for momentary unconscious
lapses from violent activity. He posed with care, so that, if Death
should seize Him unawares, He might not present a disedifying or untidy
spectacle to the finders of His corpse. He carefully avoided postures
from which, when He should be reft from the body, His form would fall
indecorously. He did not trouble His confessor more often than twice
a week as usual: but His one prayer, His incantation, always was on
His lips, "Dear Jesus, be not to me a Judge, but a Saviour." He was
losing hold of the world. Continually, through every hour of the day
and night, His head rang with the reverberating boom--boom--boom--boom
of His strong heart's beating. The rhythm was maddening. He used to
count the pulsations, wondering, after "fourteen," whether He would be
able to say "fifteen": after "ninety-seven," whether He would be in
Rome to say "ninety-eight": expecting the sudden wrench of self from
body: conjecturing the nature of that unique experience. Once, He put
Himself to the question "Was He afraid?" He answered, No, because He
dared to hope; and, Yes, because He had not been there before. But
Sokrates had said that death was our greatest possession on earth; and
Seneca said that death was the best of the inventions of life; and
Seneca's friend Saint Paul said "to die is gain." On the whole, He was
not afraid, afraid, of death. But, He did not dare to go--to go--to
sleep now. At night, He used to lie in bed, first on His right side,
then at full length on His back with the pillow under His neck, and His
hands crossed on the breast which had been tattoed with a cross when He
was a boy, and His ankles crossed like a crusader, rigid, as He wished
to lie in His coffin,--and His brain active, active, counting physical
pulsations, meditating on the future, scheming, planning, counting each
breath, and waiting for the last--and death.

Sometimes He wondered whether it was all worth while: whether it was in
accordance with God's Will that He should be so will-full. He decided
to risk an affirmative to that, on the ground of the existence of His
will. He knew that He tried rightly to use it. He hoped for mercy on
account of lapses. One point He determined. With all due respect to
Sokrates and Seneca, Death came by Sin, and Sin was God's enemy, and
God's friends must fight God's enemies to the bitter end. To relax
was suicide, and suicide was sin; and, tired with conflict as He was,
eager for rest and peace as He was, it certainly was not worth while
to add to His tale of sin: it was not worth while to exchange tiresome
earth for untiring hell: to lose, what Petrarch calls 'the splendour
of the angelic smile.' He had no steel in His possession except
safety-razors: knives and scissors He had abolished long ago; and now
He had light strong gratings fixed to all His windows. He would not go
into temptation. 'I am fawned upon by hope. Ah, would that she had a
voice which I could understand, a voice like that of a herald, that I
might not be agitated by distracting thought,' He said to Himself in
the words of Elektra at the tomb of Agamemnōn. Had He been trained in
boyhood at a public-school, in adolescence at an university, had His
lines been cast in service, He would not have had to put so severe
restraint upon Himself. The occasion would not have arisen. A simple
and perhaps a stolid character would have been formed of His temper,
potent and brilliant enough to distinguish Him from the mob, but
incapable of hypersensation. Instead, His frightfully self-concentrated
and lonely life, denied the ordinary opportunities of action, had
developed this heart-rending complexity: had trained him in mental
gymnastics to a degree of excellence which was inhuman, abominable,
(in the first intention of the words), in its facile flexible solert
dexterity. He was not restrained by any sense whatever of modesty or of
decorum. He had no sense of those things. He knew it; and regretted
it. He was Himself. He distrusted that self, rejoiced in it, and
determined to deal well and righteously with it. Dr Guido Cabelli, at
length summoned, found Him positively furious with the pain of physical
and intellectual struggles. The physician exhibited Pot. Brom., Tinct.
Valerian. Am., Tinct. Zinzil., Sp. Chlorof., Aq. Menth. Pip., once
every three hours. It made the Pontiff conscious that He stank like
a male cat in early summer: but He heard no more boom-booming in his
ears. It strung-up His nervous system for the time. He put on His
pontifical mask; and addressed Himself from the ideal to the real.

He put the affairs of nations on one side. They, the nations all were
tumbling over one another in their eagerness to re-arrange themselves
upon the pattern which He had devised for them. If He adopted the
Pythagorean rôle of an uninterested spectator, either He would be
annoyed by something ugly or something silly, or He would have a chance
of glorifying Himself on account of some success. And He wished to do
otherwise than that. "In this world, God and His angels only may be
spectators."

The affairs of religion, as far as He could see, amounted to the
service of others and the cultivation of personal holiness, the
correspondence with Divine Love. Someone had told Him that--yes,
Talacryn in confession, of course,--that the key to all His
difficulties, present and to come, was Love. That was all very pretty
and theological on the part of the bishop, the cardinal-archbishop:
but it was the baby who had taught Him the secret of the method. He
would, He really would keep His troubles to Himself. His office was the
office of leader and exemplar. Nothing must interfere. He put Himself
to review the first year of His pontificate: and a black enough tale it
seemed to Him. Without surprize, without emotion, He noted the blurs
of impatience, pride,--pride,--humanity.--Retrospection was the most
wearisome most fatuous banality. Onward!

Leader and exemplar! One thing was clear. He must come down among the
led and following. He must be seen of men. And He was not seen. No.
Peculiar personal preference kept Him apart, mysterious. He rather
enjoyed (not the being misunderstood but) the not being understood;
and, at the same time, He had been doing a lot of people the gross
injustice of crediting them with the possession of intelligence similar
to His Own, of perspicacity equal to His Own, of the ability to keep
up with His rapid pace and abrupt manœuvres. That was unrighteous. No
doubt it had been all very fine and noble and so forth to sit down
silent under calumny, for example. One could afford to do that when one
was innocent. But, when millions of people (to give the devils their
due) actually wanted to believe one innocent, and would be grieved
and perhaps injured because the opportunity to believe innocence was
withheld, was it righteous to refuse to condescend? No, such a pose was
mere pride. The Servant of the servants of God must not fear to soil
the whiteness of His robe in any kind of ordure. Also, to save others
was the best way of retrieving oneself.

He sent for the nearest cardinals. Ragna, Saviolli, Semphill, Sterling,
Talacryn, Carvale, Van Kristen, Gentilotto, Leighton, Whitehead,
responded to the summons. Hadrian received them in the throne-room,
but without formality; and contrived to give them an easy and genial
greeting. They thought Him to be looking seriously ill. There was the
dead whiteness of a gardenia in the hue of His face and hands: His
reddish-brown hair was going grey over the left ear: His intense and
rigid mask was the sign of pain. His whole aspect also was diaphanous,
wasted. But His manner was vivid: He was not inaccessible. Their
Eminencies gave Him their attention; and wondered what He was going to
bring-out of the dispatch box by His side. He was extremely glad to
see the Secretary of State: for He knew how antipathetic He was to that
one; and now He was going to try to give him satisfaction. At least it
should not be His fault if Ragna's ordinary attitude of discreet and
convulsive brutality remained unmitigated.

"Lord Cardinals," the Supreme Pontiff said, "it has occurred to Us that
ye have many things to say: that there be many things which ye desire
to know. We, on Our part, are ready to hear; and We are willing to
respond to questions."

Questions instantly were born in each man's brain. Ragna was the first
to deliver Himself of his. "Holiness, will You answer a question about
the _Epistle to the Princes_?"

"Yes."

Ragna collected himself. "I am curious to know why the rights of France
in Egypt were not even named. I can see that the very nature of Your
Holiness's counsels demanded that Africa as a whole should pass to
England: but I cannot understand why Germany, in taking over France,
should not also have taken-over the condominium of Egypt. Why did that
fall to England; and why did Germany consent to its falling to England?"

Hadrian made an effort to conquer His natural incapacity for coming
near a subject at the first attempt; and put Himself to be concise.
"Your Eminency knows that since--We forget the exact date--but since a
very short time ago, no international obligations have existed which
could restrain Egypt from legitimate attempts at emancipation. Nothing
but Ottoman firmans held her. Very well. We discovered that when the
King of England and the Sultan, last October, made alliance, the
latter issued a firman in which England was named Protector of Egypt.
Then (the speaker slightly smiled), when the task of arbitration was
submitted to Us, We found that the German colonies in Africa, not only
did not pay their way but, required a yearly subsidy of £1,500,000;
and therefore, taking one thing with another, We arranged to give
Germany sufficient employment for a century nearer home. She promptly
recognized that 'megli' è fringuello in man' che tordo in frasca.'
The fact is that she was only too glad to be rid of her own parasitic
colonies, which had severed their connection from the parent stem, and
derived their nutriment from other states: while the colonies of France
which were epiphytic, having no existence apart from the source from
which they sprang, were wiped out (as French colonies) when France was
wiped out."

"And no doubt Germany, in her pretty Gothic way, was in such a
desperate hurry to grab France, that she forgot all about Egypt. D'ye
know they say she's going to call her conquest Gallia again?" Semphill
put in with a sniff. "And now I'll ask a question. Holy Father, may I
smoke?"

"But smoke!" Hadrian assented with pleasure; and held-out His Own hand
for a cigarette. Some of the others did likewise; and the gear began to
run much more easily. Van Kristen expressed joy that the Germans were
not to have chances of doing more monkey business on the Erechtheion
and the Akropolis at Athens.

"Yes," Ragna meditatively continued: "I suppose I ought to have
understood all that. But now, Holiness, there's another thing: why did
the Sultan consent to evacuate Europe?"

"Simply because, with all the examples which he has had lately, he goes
in mortal terror of assassination. He has managed to persuade himself
that he only can be warranted against that, as long as he is under
the ægis of England. Well: seeing England and Turkey allied, We moved
England and England moved Ismail. The former had sense: the latter,
sentiment. But Ismail really is not half bad: in fact he's rather
decent. If We only had another dear charming child-like naked Christian
like Blessed Brother Francis----"

"What?" said Carvale with animation. He happened to have noted that,
when Hadrian rioted in superlatives, it meant no more than positives:
but, when He negligently drawled comparatives, "not half bad" or
"rather decent," the ultimate of praise was signified. "What?" the
cardinal repeated.

"We would send him to give points to Ismail's mollahs and dervishes."

"St. Francis has innumerable sons, Holiness," Saviolli put in.

"And We only know one who in the slightest degree resembles his
father," the Pope responded, waving away the subject.

"One would like to know," said Sterling, "whether Your Holiness is not
really of the opinion that the _Epistle to the Princes_ was perhaps a
trifle too sentimental and----"

"Sentimental? Yes. The Ruler, who rules sentiment out of his
calculations, ignores one of the most potent forces in human affairs.
Too sentimental? No. And what else was Your Eminency about to say--a
trifle too sentimental and----"

"One would have said perhaps a trifle too arbitrary."

"Dear man----" the Pope gleefully began.

But Ragna interrupted "Nothing of the kind. That particular _Epistle_
was replete with pontifical dignity: it was the finest thing----"

Hadrian stopped him "We were about to remind Cardinal Sterling that
when the Ruler of the World geographically rules the world, He is
accustomed to do His ruling with a ruler. Our predecessor Alexander VI.
used a ruler on a celebrated occasion on the Atlantic Ocean."

Everybody burst out laughing: laughed for a few moments; and returned
to a serious demeanour. There was a question, an important question,
which sat upon all tongues, wing-preened, ready to fly. But His
Holiness already had refused to discuss it. Those, who had tried to
persuade, so seriously had been hurt by His icy reticence or by His
blunt aloofness, that no one now was temerarious enough to attempt
the re-opening of so unsavoury and so personal a matter, except upon
explicit invitation. Knowing what he did of men, Hadrian had expected
hesitation: but, seeing that His purpose was likely to fail of
completion; and, being determined that it should not fail, He slowly
and significantly drew-off the pontifical ring from His first finger,
and put it in His pocket. "Gentlemen," He said with quite a change
of manner, "some of you would like to put George Arthur Rose to the
question?"

They would indeed. They would whatever. They would like it so much
that they all spoke in unison. The sum of their words amounted to a
request that George Arthur Rose would give them some sort of statement
concerning newspaper calumnies, some sort of statement by way of
support to their contention that he had been grossly wronged and
mispresented.

It was George the Digladiator who responded. He seemed to step down
into the arena, naked, lithe, agile, with bright open eyes, and ready
to fight for life. "Very well," he said--"I will give that statement to
you: but understand that I will not defend myself in the newspapers.
If I were a layman, I should have whipped in a writ for libel, and
have given my damages to Nazareth House. I should have preferred to
trust my reputation rather to an English judge and jury, than to the
nameless editors of Erse or Radical newspapers. Fancy having one's
letters edited by the _Catholic Hour_, for example: fancy having one's
letters, which are one's defence, nefariously garbled by a nameless
creature who is one's prosecutor, and one's judge, and one's jury, all
in one! However, not being a layman, I cannot go to law; and I will not
condescend to have dealings with those newspapers. Understand also,
that I tell you what I am about to tell you, not because I have been
provoked, abused, calumniated, traduced, assailed with insinuation,
innuendo, mispresentation, lies: not because my life has been held
up to ridicule, and to most inferior contempt: not because the most
preposterous stories to my detriment have been invented, hawked about,
believed. No. Please understand that I am not going to speak in my
own defence, even to you. I personally and of predilection, can be
indifferent to opinions. But officially I must correct error. So I will
give you some information. You may take it, or leave it: believe it or
disbelieve it. You shall have as photographic a picture as I can give
you of my life, and of the majestic immobility by which you clergy tire
out--assassinate a man's body--perhaps his soul. You are free to use it
or abuse it. When I shall have finished speaking, I never will return
to this subject."

"Of course we shall believe what you say," Semphill rather nervously
intercalated. "I'm sure we believe it unsaid. We take it as said, you
know. But if you could see your way to give us details, say on half a
dozen points, that would be quite enough."

"The _Daily Anagraph_ has not apologized for its latest slander,"
Carvale put in.

"Why should it?" George inquired.

"Well, I sent an authenticated account of what happened in the last
consistory. The other papers printed it; and I should have thought the
least the _Daily Anagraph_ could have done would be----"

"Carvale, you're making a mistake. The _Daily Anagraph_ has no personal
grudge against me: although the last editor had, because I once
innocently asked him whether historical accuracy came within the scope
of a Radical periodical. That was years ago, at the time of the second
Dreyfus case. I know that he was furious; because Bertram Blighter,
the novel-man, told me that that editor in revenge was going to put
me on the newspaper black-list, whatever that may be. No, it is not a
personal matter, a matter in which an apology is customary. It's simply
an example of the ethics of commercial journalism. The man wanted to
increase the sale of his paper. I happened by chance to be before the
world just then. And he took the liberty of increasing his circulation
at my expense. Actually that is all. You can't (at least I don't),
expect an editor, who is capable of doing such a thing, to apologize
for doing it. The case of the other papers is verisimilar: except
of course the _Catholic Hour_. That simply exists on sycophanty by
sycophants for sycophantophagists, as Semphill knows."

"Yes I know," said Semphill. "And I don't allow the thing to enter my
house."

"But the others--in their case it's not lurid malignance, but legal
malfeasance. Did you say that they apologized?"

"No. None of those, which printed the calumnies, apologized. They just
kept silence. But all the respectable papers, which had not calumniated
you, printed my refutation of the _Daily Anagraph_."

George made a gesture of scorn, of satisfaction, of dismissal. "Then
the Pope is clear;" he said. "Now I will try to tell you, as briefly as
possible, what you want to know about the other person." He produced
a sheaf of newspaper-cuts. He was in such a white rage at having to
do what he was about to do, that he wreaked his anger on those who
listened to him, piercingly eyeing them, speaking with swift fury as
one would speak to foes. "The _Catholic Hour_ states that in 1886 I
was under an under-master at Grandholme School: that I had to leave
my master-ship because I became Catholic. That is true in substance
and absolutely false in connotation. I was an under-master: but as I
also had charge of the school-house, I was called the house-master.
You also perhaps may be aware that there is only one head-master in a
school; and that all the rest are under-masters. But, when slander is
your object, 'under-master' is a nice disgraceful dab of mud to sling
at your victim for a beginning. Well: I resigned my house-mastership
of my own free and unaided will for the reason alleged; and I have yet
to learn that the becoming Catholic is an extraordinarily slimy deed.
Further, note this, far from my resignation being the dishonourable
affair which the _Catholic Hour_ implies, the head-master of Grandholme
School remained my dear and intimate and honoured friend through thick
and thin, for more than twenty years, and is my only dear and intimate
friend at this moment."

Semphill and Carvale looked up, and then down. Sterling looked down,
down. Van Kristen looked up. The others, anywhere. Talacryn looked
annoyed. The taunt was flung out; and the flying voice went-on. "The
_Catholic Hour_ thus casts its diatribe in a key of depreciation. Next,
I am said to have gone to a school for outcasts, to have quarrelled
with the two priest-chaplains; and presently to have been 'again out.'
The idea being to infer evil, it is rather cleverly done in that
statement of the case. But here are the facts. The school perhaps
might be called a school for outcasts. But I, a young inexperienced
Catholic of six months, was lured by innumerable false pretences, on
the part of the eccentric party who offered me the post, to accept
what he called the Head-mastership of a Cathedral Choir School. He did
not tell me that he was forcing the establishment on the bishop of
the diocese, nor that the Head-mastership had been refused by several
distinguished priests simply on account of the impossible conditions.
I bought my experience. That I quarrelled with the chaplains is quite
true. I did not quarrel effectually though. They were a Belgian and
a Frenchman. They drank themselves drunk on beer, out of decanters,
chased each other round the refectory tables in a tipsy fight, defied
my authority and compelled the ragamuffins of the school to do the
same. I naturally resigned that post as quickly as possible. Then
follows a pseudo-history of the beginning of my ecclesiastical career
at Maryvale. Talacryn knows all about that; and can tell you at your
leisure. Afterwards, I came across, (I am quoting), 'came across a
certain Pictish lairdie, and was maintained by him for three or four
months----'"

"And I know all about that," Semphill interrupted: "You gave a great
deal more than you got."

"The fallacies connected with my career at and expulsion from St.
Andrew's College are known?"

"Thoroughly," assented Semphill, Talacryn, and Carvale in a breath.

"The statement that I contracted large debts there----"

"What about those debts?" Ragna asked.

Carvale told him. "They all were contracted under the personal
supervision of the Vice-Rector. They were quite insignificant. Besides
that, they would not have been contracted but for the promise of
Archbishop Smithson and the advice of Canon Dugdale----"

"And the advice of me," Semphill added in a low tone.

"Oh, you at length acknowledge it?" George fiercely thrust at him.

"Yes, I acknowledge it."

"Well then, we're quits now:" George quietly and mysteriously mewed.

"One confesses that the question of the pseudonym interests one,"
Sterling judicially said.

"I had half-a-dozen. You see when I was kicked out from college,
without a farthing or a friend at hand, I literally became an
adventurer. Thank God Who gave me the pluck to face my adventures. I
was obliged to live by my wits. Thank God again Who gave me wits to
live by."

Cardinal Leighton was standing-up, blinking and blushing with
indignation which distorted his honest placid features. "Holy
Father, don't say another word." He twitched round towards his
fellow-collegians. "How can you torture the man so!" he cried. "Can't
you see what you're doing, wracking the poor soul like this, pulling
him in little pieces all over again? Shame on ye!--Holy Father don't
say another word."

"Oh if I had only known!" cried Van Kristen.

"You did! I told you myself; and you didn't believe me!" George
fulminated.

The youngest cardinal wept into his handkerchief, shaking with sobs.
George neither saw nor noted anyone. He was glaring like a python.
Demurrers to Leighton's remarks arose. No one wanted to wrack anybody.
Questions had been invited. Of course no one believed. But it would be
so much more satisfactory--Ragna added. George sat violently still in
his chair while they talked: let them talk; and prepared to resume.

"If Your Holiness would condescend----" Carvale began.

"There is no Holiness here," George interrupted, in that cold white
candent voice which was more caustic than silver nitrate and more
thrilling than a scream.

"If you would do us the favour of just noticing a few heads."

"As you please," George chucked at him: "agree among yourselves as to
those heads; and you shall have bodies and limbs and finger-nails and
teeth to fit them."

Their Eminencies began agreeing. George meanwhile went into the secret
chamber for ten minutes or so: and returned with his cat on his neck,
and his own tobacco-pouch. He was beginning a cigarette; and his gait
was the gait of a challenged lion. Sterling presented him with a
pencilled slip of paper. He read aloud "Pseudonym: begging letters:
debts: luxurious living: idleness: false pretences as to means and
position."

"I think it right to say that I myself am perfectly satisfied on all
those points," said Semphill. "I've read the calumnies--and I call them
dastardly calumnies--in the light of my own knowledge of the facts; and
I can only say that the worst thing which they've alleged against you
is that you've been used to go-about bilking landlords. All the rest is
excusable, not to say harmless."

"Gracious Heavens!" George exclaimed in a rictus of rage. "Do you
suppose that a man of my description goes-about bilking landlords for
the sake of the fun of the thing? It's no such deliriously jolly work,
I can tell you. However, I've never bilked any landlords if that's
what you want to know. Never. They saw that I worked like nineteen
galley-slaves; and they offered to trust me. I voluminously explained
my exact position and prospects to them. I was foolish enough to
believe that you Catholics would keep your promises and pay me for
the work which I did at your orders. So I accepted credit. I wish I
had died. When at length I was defrauded, legally, mind!--for, as my
employers were Catholics and sometimes priests, I trusted to their
honour, and obtained no stamped agreement:--when I was defrauded of my
wages, my landlords lost patience (poor things--I don't blame them,)
harried me, reproached me, at length turned me out, and so prevented
me from paying them. I dug myself out of the gutter with these bare
hands again and again; and started anew to earn enough to pay my
debts. Debts! They never were off my chest for twenty years, no matter
what these vile liars say. Debts! They say that I incurred them for
luxurious living, unjustifiably----"

His passionate voice subsided: he became frightfully cool and tense
and terse, analytical, quite merciless to himself. Their Eminencies
never before had seen a surgical knife at work in a human heart
and brain. They sat all vigilant and attentive, as self-dissection
proceeded. "They say that I gorged myself with sumptuous banquets at
grand hotels. Once, after several days' absolute starvation, I got
a long earned guinea; and I went and had an omelette and a bed at a
place which called itself a grand hotel. It wasn't particularly grand
in the ordinary sense of the term; and my entertainment there cost me
no more than it would have cost me elsewhere, and it was infinitely
cleaner and tastier. They say that I ate daintily, and had elaborate
dishes made from a cookery book of my own. The recipes, (there may
have been a score of them,) were cut-out of a penny weekly, current
among the working classes. The dishes were lentils, carrots, anything
that was cheapest, cleanest, easiest, and most filling--nourishing--at
the price. Each dish cost something under a penny; and I sometimes
had one each day. As I was living on credit, I tried to injure no
one but myself. That's the story of my luxurious living. Let me add
though that I was extravagant, in proportion to my means, in one thing.
Whenever I earned a little bit, I reserved some of it for apparatus
conducing to personal cleanliness, soap, baths, tooth-things, and so
on. I'm not a bit ashamed of that. Why did I use credit? Because it
was offered: because I hoped: because---- That I did not abuse it you
may see, actually see, by my style of living,--here are the receipted
bills;--and by the number and quantity and quality of the works of
my hands. I never was idle. I worked at one thing after another. The
_Catholic Hour_ admits my skill; and mispresents that as a crime. At
the same time, I myself don't claim my indefatigability as a virtue.
Nothing of the kind. It's something lower than that. It's comical to
say it: but my indefatigability was nothing but a purely selfish pose,
put-on solely to make philanthropists look unspeakably silly, to give
the lie direct to all their idiotic iniquitous shibboleths. It wasn't
that I _couldn't_ stop working: but that I _wouldn't_. The fact is
that I long, I burn, I yearn, I thirst, I most earnestly desire, to do
absolutely nothing. I am so tired. I have such a genius for elaborate
repose. But convention always alleges idleness, or drunkenness, or
lechery, or luxury, to be the causa causans of scoundrelism and of
poverty. That's a specimen of the 'Eidola Specus,' the systematizing
spirit which damns half the world. People never stop to think that
there may be other causes--that men of parts become rakes, or
scoundrels, or paupers, for lack of opportunity to live decently and
cleanly. Look at François Villon, and Christopher Marlowe, and Sir
Richard Steele, and Leo di Giovanni, and heaps of others. Well: I
resolutely determined that you never righteously should allege those
things of me. Simply to deprive you of that excuse for your failure to
do your duty to your neighbour--simply to deprive you of the chance
of classifying me among the ruck which your neglect has made--I
courted semi-starvation and starvation, I scrupulously avoided drink,
I hardly ever even spoke civilly to a woman; and I laboured like a
driven slave. No: I never was idle. But I was a most abject fool. I
used to think that this diligent ascetic life eventually would pay
me best. I made the mistake of omitting to give its due importance to
the word 'own' in the adage 'Virtue is its own reward.' I had no other
reward, except my unwillingly cultivated but altogether undeniable
virtue. A diabolic brute once said to me 'If I had your brains I would
be earning a thousand a year.' I replied 'Take them: tell me what to
do: give me orders, and I implicitly will obey you. Then, take that
thousand a year, and give me two hundred; and I'll bless you all my
days.' He said nothing; and he did nothing. He was just a fatuous
liar. I mocked him: caught him stealing my correspondence--there is
his written confession;--and, he wrote these anonymous calumnies in
long cherished revenge." The dreadful lambent voice flickered for a
moment;--and more rapidly flashed-on. "I repeat, I never was idle. I
did work after work. I designed furniture, and fire-irons. I delineated
saints and seraphim, and sinners, chiefly the former: a series of
rather interesting and polyonomous devils in a period of desperate
revolt. I slaved as a professional photographer, making (from French
prints) a set of negatives for lantern-slides of the Holy Land which
were advertised as being 'from original negatives'--'messing about' the
_Catholic Hour_ elegantly denominates that portion of my purgatory.
Well I admit it was messy, and insanitary within the meaning of the act
too--but then you see I was working for a Catholic. I did journalism,
reported inquests for eighteen pence. I wrote for magazines. I wrote
books. I invented a score of things. Experts used to tell me that
there was a fortune waiting for me in these inventions: that any
capitalist would help me to exploit them. They were small people
themselves, these experts,--small, in that they were not obliged to
pay income tax: they had no capital to invest: but they recommended
me, and advised me, to apply to lots of people who had:--gave me
their names and addresses, dictated the letters of application which
I wrote. I trusted them, for they were 'business men' and I knew
that I was not of that species. I quieted my repugnance; and I laid
invention after invention, scheme after scheme, work after work,
before capitalist after capitalist. I was assured that it was correct
to do so. I despised and detested myself for doing it. I scoured the
round world for a 'patron.' These were my 'begging letters.'--At that
time I was totally ignorant of the fact that there are thousands of
people who live by inviting patronage; and that most of them really
have nothing to be patronized: while the rest are cranks. I knew
that I had done such and such a new thing: that I had exhausted
myself and my resources in doing it: that my deed was approved by
specialists who thoroughly knew the subject. I was very ashamed
to ask for help to make my invention profitable: but I was quite
honest--generous: I always offered a share in the profits--always. I
did not ask for, and I did not expect, something for nothing. I had
done so much; and I wanted so little: but I did want that little,--for
my creditors,--for giving ease to some slaves of my acquaintance.
I was a fool, a sanguine ignorant abject fool! I never learned by
experience. I still kept on. A haggard shabby shy priestly-visaged
individual, such as I was, could not hope to win the confidence of men
who daily were approached by splendid plausible cadgers. My requests
were too diffident, too modest. I made the mistake of appealing to
brains rather than to bowels, to reason rather than to sentiment. I
wanted hundreds, or thousands--say two: others wanted and got tens
and hundreds of thousands. A cotton-waste merchant could not risk
fifteen-hundred on my work, although he liked me personally and said
that he believed in the value of my inventions: but, at the same time,
he cheerfully lost twelve-thousand in a scheme for 'ventilated boots.'
I myself was wearing ventilated boots, then: but the ventilated-boot
man wore resplendent patent leather Cardinals' secretaries could
live at the rate of two-thousand-two-hundred-and-ninety pounds
a year and borrow three-thousand-and-sixty pounds, on a salary
of two-hundred pounds a year; and they could become bankrupt for
four-thousand-one-hundred-and-twenty pounds with one-hundred-and-eighty
pounds worth of assets. But I,--I could not get my due from that man,
one of whose secretaries wrote his business to me on the franked
note-paper of the late Queen of England's Treasury: while the other,
the bankrupt, gave me a winter of starvation, because his lord had
altered his mind, quoth he, about the job on which I was working,
and had determined to put his money into a cathedral. No. I never
accomplished the whole art and mystery of mendicity. I perfectly could
see what was required of him who would be a successful swindler. I was
not that one. I was playing another kind of game--unfortunately an
honest one. Take that 'unfortunately' for irony, please. I mean--but
you perfectly know what I mean.--I made nothing of my inventions.
By degrees, I had the mortification of seeing others arrive at the
discovery which I had made years before. They contrived to turn it
into gold and fame. That way, one after another of my inventions
became nulled to me. I think I am right in saying that there are
only four remaining at the present moment. Finance them now? Engage
in trade like a monk or a nun? No. No. I shall give them to--that
doesn't matter. It shall be done to-day.--Idle? Idle? When I think of
all the violently fatuous frantic excellent things I've done in the
course of my struggles for an honest living--ouf! It makes me sick!
Oh yes, I have been helped. God forgive me for bedaubing myself with
that indelible blur. I had not the courage to sit-down and fold my
hands and die. A brute once said that he supposed that I looked upon
the world as mine oyster. I did not. I worked; and I wanted my wages.
When they were withheld, people encouraged me to hope on; and offered
me a guinea for the present. I took the filthy guinea. God forgive
me for becoming so degraded. Not because I wanted to take it: but
because they said that they would be so pained at my refusal. But one
can't pay all one's debts, and lead a godly righteous sober life for
ever after on a guinea. I was offered help: but help in teaspoonfuls:
just enough to keep me alive and chained in the mire: never enough to
enable me to raise myself out of it. I asked for work, and they gave
me a guinea,--and a tacit request to go and agonize elsewhere. My
weakness, my fault was that I did not die murdered at Maryvale, at St.
Andrew's College. The normal man, treated as I was ill-treated, would
have made no bones whatever about doing so. But I was abnormal. I took
help, when it was offered gently. I'm thankful to say that I flung
it back when it was offered charitably, as the Bishop of Claughton
offered it, and Monsignor--you know whom I mean, Talacryn,--and John
Newcastle of the _Weekly Tabule_. I'll tell you about the last. He
said that, being anxious to do me a good turn, he had deposited ten
pounds with a printer-man, who would be a kind friend to me, and would
consult me as to how that sum could be expended in procuring permanent
employment for me. I took seven specimens of my handicraft to that
printer-man. He admired them: offered me a loan of five pounds on
their security. With that, I fulfilled a temporary engagement. Then
I consulted the printer-man, the 'kind friend.' He proposed to give
me a new suit of clothes, (I was to do without shirts or socks), to
accept my services at no salary, and to teach me the business of a
printer's reader for three months; and, then, to recommend me for a
situation as reader to some other printer. But, I said, why waste
three months in learning a new trade when I already had four trades
at my fingers' ends? But, I said, what was I to live on during those
three months? But, I said, what certainty was there at the end of
those three months? But, he said, that he would 'have none of' my
'lip, for' he 'knew all' my 'capers'; and he bade me begone and take
away my drawings. Those were ruined: he had let them lie on his dirty
office floor for months. Oh I admit that I have been helped--quite
brutally and quite uselessly. Helped? Yes. Once, when they told me at
the hospital that I was on the verge of a nervous collapse, a Jesuit
offered to help me. He would procure my admission to a certain House of
Rest, if I would consent to go there. By the Mercy of God I remembered
that it was a licensed madhouse, where they imprisoned you by force
and tortured you. Fact! There had been a fearful disclosure of their
methods in the _P.M.G._ Well: I refused to go. Rather than add that
brand to what I had incurred through being Catholic, I made an effort
of will; and contrived to escape that danger: contrived to recover
my nerves; and I continued my battle.--Regarding my pseudonyms--my
numerous pseudonyms--think of this: I was a tonsured clerk, intending
to persist in my Divine Vocation, but forced for a time, to engage in
secular pursuits both to earn my living and to pay my debts. I had
a shuddering repugnance from associating my name, the name by which
I certainly some day should be known in the priesthood, with these
secular pursuits. I think that was rather absurd: but I am quite sure
that it was not dishonourable. However, for that reason I adopted
pseudonyms. I took advice about adopting them: for, in those days,
I used to take advice about everything, not being man enough to act
upon my own responsibility. Also, the idea of using pseudonyms was
suggested to me; and the first one was selected for me. As time went
on, and Catholic malfeasance drove me from one trade to another--for
you know--Talacryn--Carvale--Semphill--Sterling--that two excellent
priests declared in so many words that they would prevent me from
ever earning a living--legal assassination, you see definitely was
contemplated--I say as Catholic malfeasance drove me from one trade, I
invented another, and another; and I carried on each of these under a
separate pseudonym. In fact I split up my personality. As Rose I was a
tonsured clerk: as King Clement, I wrote and painted and photographed:
as Austin White, I designed decorations: as Francis Engle, I did
journalism. There were four of me at least. I always have thought it
so inexplicable that none of the authorities--you, Talacryn, with
your pretended confidence in me and your majestic immobility towards
me,--that none of you ever realized the tremendous amount of energy
which was being expended, misdirected, if you like. Certainly no one of
you ever made a practical attempt to direct that energy. I was a like
a wild colt careering round and round a large meadow. You all looked
on and sneered 'Erratic!' Of course I was erratic, for you all did
your very best, by stolidity, hints, insinuations, commands, to create
obstacles over which I had to jump, through which I had to tear a way;
and there was no one to bit and bridle me, to ride me, and to share his
couch with me. And of course my pseudonymity has been misunderstood
by the stupid, as well as mispresented by the invidious. Most people
have only half developed their single personalities. That a man should
split his into four and more; and should develop each separately and
perfectly, was so abnormal that many normals failed to understand it.
So when 'false pretences' and similar shibboleths were shrieked, they
also took alarm and howled. But, there were no false pretences. I told
my name to everyone whom it concerned. I am not the only person who
has traded under pseudonyms or technikryms. Take, for example, the
man whose shop I am said to have offered to buy. He himself used a
trade-name. He begged for my acquaintance when I was openly living as a
tonsured clerk, about a couple of years before my first pseudonym even
was thought of. Take, for another example, those priests, Fr. Aleck of
Beal, and the Order of Divine Love, who are alleged to have 'charitably
maintained' me. By the way, they never did that. They always were paid
for my entertainment, in hard coin, and their own price--always. And
the Fathers of Divine Love refused me shelter for one night in 1892
at the very time when they are said to have 'charitably maintained'
me. They did suggest a common lodging-house at fourpence, though; and
I flung back the suggestion in their faces and walked the streets all
night. But all these people knew all about me and my pseudonyms. In
fact, the very priest who suggested the common lodging-house, was the
man on whose advice I adopted my first pseudonym. It was invented by
an old lady who chose to call herself my grandmother: she was that
priest's patron and penitent. It was approved by him and adopted by me.
And there you have the blind and naked truth on that point. It now is
pretended that 'King Clement' was a jesuitical machiavellian device of
mine, implying royalty, dominions, wealth, and interminable nonsense.
I think that the pretension is due to malice and imbecillity. It is
malignant now: but I firmly believe that it began by being imbecile. I
confess that the name, taken together with my domineering manner, my
pedantic diction, my austere and (shall I say) exclusive habit, was
liable to misconstruction by the low coarse half-educated uncultured
boors among whom I lived. It's an example of the 'Eidola Fori,' the
strange power of words and phrases over the mind. I think it really was
believed, in some vague way, that I was an exiled sovereign or some
rot of that sort. I believe that I perceived it; and laughed to myself
about it. But I did my best to disabuse the fools of their foolery.
That made things worse. Liars themselves, they could not conceive of
a man speaking truth to his own detriment. My disclaimer was taken
for a lie; and they honoured me the more for it; and chuckled at the
thought of their own perspicacity:--that is to say, when what I said
was intelligible to them. You see I used to be a great talker. I have
had many experiences; and I used freely to talk of them. It amused and
instructed; and I like to amuse and to instruct. You will understand
that my voice and my manner of speech did not resemble the voice and
the manner of speech of the ruffians with whom I worked and lived.
Live as poorly as I would, dress as shabbily as I would, the moment I
opened my mouth I was discovered to be different to those people. They
perceived it; and I never could disguise my speech. Also, I'm quite
sure that they could not understand my speech--follow my argument. I
used words which were strange to them to express ideas unimagined by
them, while their half-developed minds were more than half occupied,
not in listening to me but, in contemplating me, and in trying to form
their particular idea of me by the aid of the 'Vulgi sensus imperiti,'
the imperfection of undisciplined senses, at their disposal. I called
that Imbecillity. Perhaps Ignorance is the apter term. The Malice is
to be found among people who ought to know better: people to whom I
have told the exact truth about myself, exact at the time of telling:
people, who being possessed by a desire to think evil, think evil:
people who read between, instead of on, the lines: people, prone to
folly, whom I have not helped to avoid their predilection. I tried to
be simple and plain, to sulk (if you like) in my own corner by myself.
It was no good. Anyhow, I told no tales of realms or wealth as mine.
I made no false pretences. I myself was grossly deceived: barbarously
man-woman-and-priest-handled. I was foolish to try to explain myself. I
was foolish to try to work with, to live with, to equal myself in every
respect with, verminous persons within the meaning of the act. I ought
to have died. But I did not die. That is all. It is not half. Now you
know. Make what you please of it."

"Tell me," Gentilotto instantly said: "Why did you never go to the
Trappists?"

"Because I went to something worse, to something infinitely terribly
more ghastly. Trappists live in beautiful silent solitude; they
have clean water, beds, regular meals, and peace. I went to live in
intellectual silence and solitude in an ugly obscene mob, where clean
water was a difficulty, food and a bed an uncertainty, and where I had
the inevitable certainty of ceaseless and furious conflict."

He hurled the words like javelins, and drew back in his chair. The old
bitter feeling of disgust with himself inspired him. He feared lest
perhaps he might have seemed to be pleading for sympathy. So he angrily
watched to detect any signs of a wish to insult him with sympathy. But
he really had gone far, far beyond the realm of human sympathy. _There
was not a man on the earth who would have dared to risk rebuff, to
persist against rebuff, to soar to him with that blessed salve of human
sympathy--for which,--underneath his armour,--and behind his warlike
mien,--he yearned._ Pity perhaps, horror perhaps, dislike perhaps,
might have met him. But he only had emphasized his own fastidious
aloofness. He had cleared-off the mire: but he had disclosed the cold
of marble, not the warmth of human flesh.

The cardinals remained silent for a minute. Then Ragna said "'An enemy
hath done this!' Who is it?"

George blazed with vigorous candid delight. "That is the first genuine
word which I have had from the heart of Your Eminency!"--He returned to
his repellent manner. "I gave the names of my calumniators to Cardinal
Leighton."

"Jerry Sant the Liblab, aided by the woman and a clot of worms who had
turned;" Leighton said to Ragna.

"Let them be smothered in the dung-hill. Anathema sint." Ragna growled.

Again there was an exposition of silence in the throne-room. George was
frozen hard and white. Ragna and Leighton continued to look at each
other. Carvale's eyes had the blue brilliance of wet stars. Saviolli,
Semphill, Talacryn, Whitehead, were as though they had seen the
saxificous head of the Medoysa. Stirling gazed straight before him, in
the manner of the sphinx carven of black basalt. George was watching
them with half-shut eyes from the illimitable distance of his psychic
altitude. Presently, the pure pale old face of Gentilotto and the pure
pale young face of Van Kristen simultaneously were lifted; and their
eyes met His. He blushed: slowly drew out the pontifical ring: and put
it on His finger.

"Lord Cardinals, it is Our will to be alone:" the Supreme Pontiff said.

They came one by one and kissed His ring; and retired in silence.




CHAPTER XXII


When the door was shut, Hadrian remained quite motionless on the
throne; and set Himself to review what He had said. He wondered whether
He for once had got-down to and laid-bare the root of the matter:
whether He for once had made His argument clear and convincing.--Good
God! Who even could hope to be convincing?--He flung the thing away
from Him; and for ever closed that volume of the book of His life.

He rose; and went straight into the bedroom. Here He stripped, and
stood erect, knees and feet close: gripped a pair of ten-pound
dumb-bells; and swung them with the alternating gesture of a right and
left overhand bowler, rhythmically swaying from the hips. He counted
up to a hundred; and went to another movement: a full round over-head
sweep of both arms together, expanding the long-breathing lungs,
quickening the pulses, brightening the eyes. His skin became moist and
warm. He washed His face and hands in oatmeal-water with no soap; and
went into the bath-room, turning on the high tap and letting the cold
soft water rain-down upon Him until He was numbed. He quickly dried
Himself; and put on completely clean clothes, rolling up those which
He had discarded and thrusting them into a linen bag. Then, He emerged
all flushed and white and fresh; and summoned Sir Iulo to the secret
chamber.

"And so you are thinking of marriage, carino;" Hadrian said, putting
the young man into a chair and bestowing fumificables.

Sir Iulo went almost as scarlet as his uniform: his eyes and teeth
gleamed. Hadrian handed to him a sheet of paper containing six stanzas
of passionate expression in rhyme, under the heading "Vorrei che tu
ascoltassi la mia voce."

"Don't leave your sonnets about. And don't be so terrified, you silly
boy. Well: is it true?"

The lover's face twitched rather. "I l-o-v-e her," he said with an
enormous vocal expansion of the middle word. "But I will not to abandon
You, Santità:" he added with fixed eyes.

"Who is she? Is she good? Has she any money?"

"She is the little daughter of the dentist. But good? But, yes. But no
money:" was the categorical reply.

"Does she love you?"

"Oh, but how she loves me!"

"How long have you known her?"

"Since Christmas, Santità, when the father of that has scaled the my
tooths."

"Have you spoken to 'the father of that' about 'that'?"

"Oh, but not yet, Santità. Nothing of less, he knows. I gave him to
know without the word."

"And he didn't drive you out of the house?"

"But no: for behold me not the assassin of that dentist."

Hadrian laughed. "Can you describe her?"

"Oh that I might to describe her to one who is so dear, so wise----"

"Describe her."

"Is named Evnica. Is example of goodness, of intellectuality. For
example: yesterday with the favour of the Most Holy I make a visit. I
am entering the saloon in the manner of cat, softly, softly. Behold in
a book reads the Signorina Evnica--not book of novels, not journal of
_Don Chisciotte_. No. I look over her shoulder, reading titles. Behold,
book of piety entitled _Office to the Proximate_----"

"_Office to the Proximate_? What book of piety is that?"

Sir Iulo repeated the title in Italian.

"Ah yes, _The Duty towards our Neighbour_. Yes: a very good sign in a
girl. Go on."

Sir Iulo fixed his bright green eyes upon a mental image; and described
each point as he observed it, using his gorgeously florid Tuscan idiom.
"Has a face to make burn Jove, and to return to ram, eagle or bull;
and to make scorn to medals old and new. Blond she has the hair like
thread of gold. The cheeks appear like a rose damasked. The mouth and
the eyes are worth a treasure. Has looks angelic, divine: but in the
effects and all the motions, human; and the her excellencies not have
end. She has what they call a good and fine hand: is white like snow
of mountains. Is literate; and makes to talk Tuscan; and in life not a
flaw can be found. There is not who better to a swan understands me.
Does great things, enough facts, little eats: not drinks never in the
middle of eating and not at afternoon-tea (merenda). More, I say. She
is in her proper acts so learned, that all I have in the world, or
small or great, I should have given to her pleasure at a stroke. The
more beautiful to my day I never saw: none more servitial: none more
prudent: nor acts in a girl more courteous and gay. Has Petrarch and
Dante in her hand; and, at time and place if I command, she vomits a
little sonnet lightly. Girl of all perfect qualities; and holds me in
pledge there if mine----"

"Well now: suppose that you marry her, will you be good to her?"

"Oh, that she shall be the my life and the my delight, dressed in
velvet, guarded as a queen, for fear that if she goes about too much
should not be robbed by some little hypocrite: that she shall live on
collops and bread of baker----"

"How amusing you are! Well: marry that paragon, and be good and happy.
You must have an apartment in the City for her, you know;--and, about
your duties here:--you can come when you like. You are not dismissed:
but John and James will suffice. Understand, boy, you are wanted,
wanted here, always."

"I am here always, Santità."

"No. Go-away and marry. 'The most certain softeners of a man's moral
skin, and sweeteners of his blood, are domestic intercourse and a happy
marriage and brotherly intercourse with the poor.' Always remember
that. By the bye, what are you going to live on?"

"If I am always a Gentleman of Hadrian, I am having a plenty of money."

"Ah, but you always will not be a Gentleman of Hadrian, because Hadrian
will not be always; and, when He is not, His successor will say 'Via!
Via!' to you."

"And then I shall do some things?"

"Ah, but what things?"

"Who knows? But I shall do things."

Hadrian went to the safe in the bedroom: then to the writing-table, and
wrote. He came back with some papers in His hand.

"Attend! Take this note to Plowden by the Post-office. He will give you
a thousand sterling. That is a marriage-gift to you, so that you may
get an apartment in the City and marry that little daughter of the
dentist. Don't be silly. Listen. What do you know about photography?"

"About photography? But I know to use that kodak, the gift della Sua
osservantissima e venerabilissima Santità."

"And you do it very well. You are one of the few men now alive who
perceive the right moment for pressing the button. Understand?"

"I see with eyes."

"But there is something beside seeing with eyes. There is a mind which
ponders and selects."

"Too much of honour."

"No. No honour at all: a stated fact. Well now: think of negatives.
They are dense in places: clear in places; and, in other places, more
or less dense. Understand? Under the negative you put a certain paper;
and expose it to light. Light goes through the clear places and stains
the paper black: it partly goes through the more or less dense places;
and stains the paper grey in various gradations of tint. It fails to
go through the dense places and leaves the paper white. There is your
photograph, a little black a little white and many different greys.
Understand?"

"Yes, Santità."

"Your photograph is an image of the form, the contours, the modelling,
the morbidezza, of the object before your lens. It lacks one thing. It
has not colour. The process has tralated colour into monochrome. Do you
see that?"

"Yes, Santità."

"Now white means a blend of all colours; and black means the absence
of all colours. Then grey should mean some colours, of this quality or
that, of this quantity or that, according to the clarity or the density
of the grey. Understand?"

"Yes, Santità."

"Your negative is black and white and many greys."

"Yes, Santità."

"Then understand that all colours lie hidden in the black and white and
greys of the negative. In the black, lie all colours: it produces the
positive white. In the white lie no colours: it produces the positive
black. In the various greys, lie various colours--why are you jumping
about? Keep still and listen, wriggling lizard that you are! What do
you want to do?"

"To liberate those poor colours."

"So does everybody. At least, everybody wants to photograph in colours:
so they paint on the backs of the films; and they play the fool with
triply-coloured negatives. Only one man in the world knows that the
colour already is there--already is there, my boy--stored in the black
white grey negative; and that the black white grey ordinary negative
will give up its imprisoned colours to him who has the key.--Well now:
take the second envelope. The key's there; and it's yours. (Don't stare
like that!) There are three other things as well, which may be useful.
(Don't say a word!) Read all those papers until you understand them.
They're quite simple. Then practise. When you can do the trick, you
will want a little help to do it greatly, to make it useful. (Get off
the floor!) Then take the third envelope to Plowden--it's mentioned in
the first,--and he will give you two thousand sterling. (Don't touch
that foot!) That will be enough if you are industrious. Now you are
trusted, Iulo mio. Be good always; and be kind to everybody. No don't
move. We are going into the gardens with Flavio. You stay here till
you feel better.--Ptlee-bl ptlee-bl ptlee-bl," Hadrian mewed to His
delighted and excited and persequent cat.




CHAPTER XXIII


It was the festival of St. George, Protector of the Ninefold Kingdom.
Hadrian noted with pleasure that it was what the Italians call one of
His 'fortunate days.' His head was clear, His limbs were supple, His
body lithe: He felt young, exuberant, potent. His soul seemed balanced,
elevated. His whole poise was one of gentle incisive simplicity. He
had that upright rather dominant gait, by no means arrogant, which
marks the happy able man. The Sacred College came early in the morning,
directly after His mass, to congratulate Him on the anniversary of His
pontificature; and Ragna took occasion to whisper that the Northern
Emperor left Palazzo Caffarelli for the Quirinale at dawn. Everyone
knew what that meant.

When, later, Hadrian descended in state to the Sala Regia, He
was on the alert. The introducer-of-sovereigns announced,--the
Ninefold King,--the President of the United States of America,--the
Northern Emperor,--the Japanese Emperor,--and a posse of subsidiary
kings, princes, and sovereign-dukes, who came with the world's
congratulations. The pontifical paraphernalia lay on the high red
throne: but Hadrian stood at its foot to receive His guests. His garb
was white, absolutely simple and fresh; and His pose was apostolic,
frank and genial. These enormous potentates towered above Him in the
splendour of their grandeur; and, as Cardinal Carvale, the fantastic
dreamer, said to Cardinal Van Kristen, they radiated from Him as from a
source of light.

After the ceremony of reception was finished, Their Majesties,
Augustitudes, Highnesses, and Honours, lingered, chatting with the
pontifical court. Some of them had a few words with the Supreme
Pontiff. The Northern Emperor came and said, "I know that Your Holiness
will felicitate me on a dispatch which I have just received from my
brother Prince Henry, who announces that my glorious German navy has
taken Kronstadt."

Hadrian replied; and added "Be merciful, Augustitude."

William then did a politely ferocious scowl, intended to indicate
imperial impatience; and continued in a lower tone, "I am also anxious
to assure Your Holiness that I myself deeply regret the absence of my
cousin and imperial brother, Victor Emanuel. All that I could say has
been said to persuade His Augustitude to join me on this auspicious and
never-to-be-forgotten occasion. I wish that to be known."

"It only is a personal obstacle, not a political, which prevents the
Southern Emperor from coming here?"

"Most Holy Lord, it is not even a personal obstacle. Victor Emanuel has
the most profound and much-to-be-admired and pre-eminently-well-merited
veneration and reverence for Your Person. It is--well, really it seems
almost childish--but he has persuaded himself that----"

"That the Roman Pontiff owes the King of Italy a visit?"

"Precisely, Holy Father. There is some history of an approach which
His Augustitude's royal and martyred father made to the Conclave of
1878----"

"And for a mere idea, Victor Emanuel, will continue alienate from Us!
Yet, ideas are very fine things, to be respected, to be cultivated,
in this material age. They are so rare, so singular. And constancy,
fidelity to an idea, above all things is singular and rare, in this age
of compromise from which the world only now emerges. Victor Emanuel is
not to be blamed, but praised." Suddenly a bright light came in the
Apostle's eyes. "Well, then, the next step is obvious. If the son will
not come to the Father, then the Father must go to the son." And an
impulse to instant movement appeared to urge Him onward.

The Northern Emperor splendidly rose to the occasion. "It would be one
more grand deed added to Your Holiness's many grand deeds. I trust that
I may have the never-sufficiently-to-be-valued honour of accompanying
You."

"But We walk:" said Hadrian.

"I also will gladly walk:" said William.

The Pope darted a rapid glance round the hall. The King of Portugal
was talking to the Japanese Emperor; and the Basil of the Hellenes was
listening to the Prince of Montenegro-and-New-Servia. The Ninefold
King, with one arm paternally resting on the shoulder of the young King
of Spain, was telling (as his own) an extremely funny story, (which he
had heard five minutes before from Cardinal Semphill), to the President
of America. Cardinals and sovereigns clustered round them, ploding
with laughter at each admirably detailed jocosity. "We can escape this
way;" the Pope said to the Emperor. Outside the hall, a pontifical page
ran for the white three-cornered hat; and the two descended the Scala
Regia, with its Ionic columns flanked by pontifical guards, and made
their way into the Square of St. Peter's. There was a cleared roadway;
and they quickly walked between long lines of magnificent Italian
soldiery. Rome occupied the side-walks; and sank to its knees as the
Supreme Pontiff, shedding benedictions, went swinging lightly and
swiftly by. The German Gentleman made no attempt to take salutes until
Hadrian said, "Oh do notice these dear Romans. They will be pleased.
And you know that you profoundly admire the bersaglieri."

The Emperor responded, "I am as proud to salute the Romans as I am
to salute the noblest Roman of them all,--to use the words of Your
Holiness's divine Shakespeare." And he strode on, saluting, while the
Pontiff blessed.

As they passed the Palazzo Venezia, Hadrian said, "Victor Emanuel
really behaves extremely well. Three-quarters of his army are in the
field; and here is a parcel of foreign sovereigns practically occupying
his capital in--no, not homage--in courtesy to Us.----"

"And also out of respect, Holiness."

"Out of respect then and courtesy to Our Apostolature. It is no
affair of his; and yet he lines the streets with troops, while he
himself----oh, it's really very decent of him!"

"Victor Emanuel is a truly great man;" the Emperor commented. The Pope
assented.

They entered the Palace of the Quirinale; and went straight through the
ambassador's hall to the Southern Emperor's study. William remained
in the antechamber. Victor Emanuel in a light-grey flannel suit was
reading proofs of his numismatic catalogue. He stood up pale and stiff,
when his groom-of-the-chambers came in and whispered a word. Hadrian
followed on the instant, entering with candid gentle dignity, extending
an English hand. Not a word was said. Victor Emanuel, shining with the
light of the purple which he had not yet worn, took the outstretched
hand: held it: felt his own gripped and held. He bent his head--then
his knee. Reconciliation was complete.

"May I have the honour and the happiness of presenting my wife to Your
Holiness?" he said, a minute later. He went along the corridor and
gave two raps on a further door. "Darling," he cried; "please come."

The exquisite Empress Elena appeared. She started slightly at first:
but bravely came on, imperially mysteriously pale and radiant as 'the
chorus of nightly stars and the bright powers which bring summer and
winter to mortals, conspicuous in the firmament.'

Hadrian at once won her with "And the lovely children."

"Oh yes, the kiddies!" Victor Emanuel said.

"Do you know that We owe one immense emotion to your boy?" and Hadrian
narrated the incident in Prince Attendolo's garden.

Mother and father proudly laughed. "Yes, we heard about that, of
course; and I wondered what would happen if ever we ourselves should
meet Your Holiness by accident, as the children did:" the Empress said.

"Well, we have met, and now Your Augustitudes know:" laughed Hadrian.

"Filiberto is a queer little chap," Victor Emanuel continued: "he says
the most extraordinary things;--came running into the stables the other
morning crying because some dog had barked and startled him. 'Stamp at
'em,' I said; 'and after all, you can run faster than a dog,' said I
to hearten him. 'Yes' says he 'but you see, father, when I do run, I'm
always putting out one leg at the back for the dog to bite!'"

"But I can tell you something better than that," the Empress put in.
"He was a bad boy in the chapel at benediction on Sunday. I'm afraid,
Holiness, that this is rather a naughty story----"

"Tell it instantly and relieve your sinful soul, daughter;" the haughty
pontiff commanded.

How the three roared! She continued, "He persisted in trying to balance
a pile of prayer-books on the ledge of his chair-back; and every now
and then they came down with a crash. At last I took him on my knee;
and told him that the holy angels were looking at him, and that they
would go and tell the Lord God what a wicked little ruffian he was. And
then he said--he said, 'Dirty little sneaks!'"

"Oh, oh, the exquisite boy!" Hadrian shouted with laughter.

"Well, I'll go and fetch him;" said the Southern Emperor, running-out
of the door, just as the Northern Emperor came-in by the other,
prepared to play the part of peace-maker. That, now, was not necessary;
and England, Germany, and Italy, chattered like children till the
children came. Their father did not return. His men were having a bad
time, trying to beat the record for getting a sovereign into his habit
of ceremony.

The fair Prince Filiberto solemnly approached the Pope. "Are You the
White Father which formerly I have seen in somebody's forest?"

"Yes," said Hadrian.

"Are You quite good now?" the boy continued, with great black basilic
eyes.

"No," said Hadrian, feeling the horror of the end of youth confronted
with the flower of innocence.

"Are You truly contrite for having been a naughty boy--no, man I mean?"

"Yes," said Hadrian.

"Are You sitting on my father's sofa because he has forgiven You?"

"Yes," said Hadrian, thinking what a frightful old fool He must appear.

"I liked You when I saw You in that forest; and I like You now: but
mother told me that the White Father was not my father's friend."

"Mother made a mistake, little son;" said the Empress, leaning forward
in sudden confusion. "The White Father is father's best friend."

"Oh, how I am glad for that: because now You can be also my friend!"
the prince cried, scattering his deliberate English to the four
quarters of the globe.

"Most willingly," said Hadrian, taking the rose-brown hand, and drawing
the child towards Him. Innocence put up its pretty lips. The Apostle
lost one breath;--and stooped and kissed the stainless brow. Then He
turned to greet the girls.

"This child once asked my husband a very awkward question," the mother
said, presenting the Princess Yolanda. "The King of England was coming
here; and Victor was shewing her His Majesty's incoronation portrait.
Ah, but how she admired it! And she said, 'Father why don't you wear a
hat like that king?'"

The Supreme Pontiff looked at the blushing child. "You would not call
it a 'hat,' Princess, now that you are grown up?"

"No, Papa Inglese,--a crown."

"You would like your father to have a crown? Tell him that there are
two waiting for him, one at Monza, and another in the Lateran."

The Roman Emperors escorted the Pope returning to Vatican. On the
way, carriages met them, and disgorged sovereigns: state-coaches met
them, and emitted cardinals: courtiers alighted from horseback and
emerged from motor-cars. The return became a procession of the powers,
led by the Power of the Keys. They had crossed the Ponte Santangelo,
and were about to turn to the left by the Castle, when a dishevelled
man in black contrived to break out from the ranks of the people. He
got through the bersaglieri and stepped into the middle of the road:
pointed a revolver at Hadrian; and fired. The bullet struck His
Holiness high up on the left breast, piercing the pulmonary artery just
above the lung.

The slim white figure stopped--wavered--and sank down. The whole world
seemed to stand still, while the human race gasped once.

A frantic woman in a fox-coloured wig pitched out of the opposite
crowd; and grovelled. "Love, Love," she howled hideously: "oh and I
loved him so! Oh! Oh! I really did love him. Yes I did, I did, I did, I
did ..." she yelped to the sun in the firmament of heaven. The discord
resembled the baying of a dog which breaks the cadence of Handel's
_Largo_ on arch-lutes.

God's Vicegerent moved,--looked at her from a distance, gently, even
curiously. "Daughter, go in peace," He said and turned away. She
remained there grovelling, longing to touch Him, forlorn, gorgonized.

The Roman Emperors also kneeled to right and left, fiercely looking
among their aides for the help which did not come, which could not
come, from man.

The assassin was in a hundred tearing hands. Screeches shot out of
his gullet when they silently and inevitably began to tear him to
pieces. Roman knives flashed over the parapet; and slid into Tiber:
hooked hands, like the curving talons of griffins, were the weapons
for this work. But the Supreme Pontiff beckoned him; and the gesture
was unmistakeable--universally authoritative. Shaken and violently
shaking, jagged, lacerated, a disreputable wreck of Pictish ready-made
tailoring, Jerry Sant staggered forward, staggered like one fascinated.
Cardinals and sovereigns drew away from him, and the mob hemmed him in.

" ... for they know not...." The Apostle raised himself a little,
supported by imperial hands. How bright the sunlight was, on the
warm grey stones, on the ripe Roman skins, on vermilion and lavender
and blue and ermine and green and gold, on the indecent grotesque
blackness of two blotches, on apostolic whiteness and the rose of blood.

"Augustitudes, Our will and pleasure is----"

"Speak it, Most Holy Father----"

"Augustitudes, We name you both the ministers of this Our will." And to
the murderer He said, "Son, you are forgiven: you are free."

Down Borgo Nuovo came guards, chamberlains, curial prelates, cardinals,
from Vatican. The English and American cardinals took their vermilion
on their arms, and ran like lithe long-limbed school-boys. The faithful
young Sir John outran them all. He kneeled to Hadrian, Who said,

"Dear John, take this cross--and Flavio." The Southern Emperor
unclasped the chain and rosy pectoral cross; and handed them to the
gentleman-of-the-apostolic-chamber, who took them and fainted away. Out
of Santo Spirito, came one with the stocks of sacred chrism. Cardinals
Van Kristen and Carvale, panting, kneeled before the Ruler of the
World. Percy drew out the hidden pontifical pyx: took the Sacred Host
therefrom; and held It. "The profession of faith, Most Holy Lord," he
bravely whispered.

"I believe all that which Holy Mother Church believes. I ask pardon of
all men. Dear Jesus, be not to me a Judge but a Saviour."

Cardinal Sterling gravely intoned the commendation of a Christian soul.
The splendid company of angels, the senate of apostles, the army of
white-robed martyrs, the lilied squadron of shining confessors, the
chorus of joyful maids, patriarchs, hermits, Stephen and Lawrence,
Silvester and Gregory, Francis and Lucy and Mary Magdalene, Mary--God's
Own Mother, all the saints of God who daily are invited to attend the
passing of the poorest Christian soul, were invoked for the Father of
Princes and Kings. "And mild and cheerful may the Aspect of Christ
Jesus seem to thee----" The singer's voice failed. Cardinal Carvale
went on with no interval: imparted absolution, and the sacrament of
the dying. "Saints of God advance to help him: Angels of The Lord come
to meet him, receiving his soul, offering it in the Sight of The Most
High." The splendour of mortal words reverberated from the ancient
fortress wall, in the great silence of Immortal Rome.

When the Earthly Vicar of Jesus Christ had received Extreme Unction
and Viaticum, when He had had done for Him all that which Christ's
Church can do, He required to be lifted on His feet. The Roman Emperors
rose, raising Him. The vehement ferocity of their aspect terribly
contrasted with their tender movement. The torments of powerless power,
of intimidation inflicted in the supreme moment of exultation, rent
these grand strong men--and graced them. The blood-stain streamed down
the Pope's white robes with the red stole of universal jurisdiction.
The slender hand with the two huge rings ascended. The shy brown eyes
fluttered; and were wide, and very glad. Then the tired young voice
rang like a quiet bell.

"May God Omnipotent, ✠ ✠ ✠ Father, ✠ ✠ ✠ Son, ✠ ✠ ✠ and Holy Ghost, bless
you."

It was the Apostolic Benediction of the City and the World.

The hand and the dark eyelashes drooped, and fell. The delicate
fastidious lips closed, in the ineffable smile of the dead who have
found out the Secret of Love, and are perfectly satisfied.

So died Hadrian the Seventh, Bishop, Servant of the servants of God,
and (some say) Martyr. So died Peter in the arms of Caesar.

The world sobbed, sighed, wiped its mouth; and experienced extreme
relief.

The college of Cardinals summed Him up in the brilliant epigram of
Tacitus. 'Capax imperii nisi imperâsset.' He would have been an ideal
ruler if He had not ruled.

Religious people said that He was an incomprehensible creature. And the
man on the motor said that the pace certainly had been rather rapid.

Pray for the repose of His soul. He was so tired.


Feliciter


BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD

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