Front matter (continued 3)

"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?"