Front matter (continued 5)

Half-way down the cliff, a little ruined shrine stood in the garden. The broken grey-brown tracery of the window framed an exquisite panorama of water and distant hills, brilliantly blue and green. The nook stood away from the main path; and was quite enclosed by sun-kissed foliage, and canopied with vines and ivy. Hadrian was spending a morning here, alone with cigarettes and the Epinikia of Pindaros and His thoughts. The air was fragrant with the perfume of southernwood and the generous sun. He rested in a low cane-chair, soaking Himself in light and peace. His eyes were turned to the far distant shore where the great grove of ilex cast deep tralucid shadows in the water. A tiny slip of pink shot from sunlight to shade: another followed: two tiny splashes of silver spray arose, and vanished: two blue-black dots appeared in the rippled mirror. Hadrian envied the young swimmers. He remembered all the wild unfettered boundless sensuous joy of only a little while ago. Was the fisherman still down there with his boat and the brown boy who rowed it? He wondered what the world would say if the Pope were to swim in sunlit Nemi—or in moonlit. Ah, the mild tepidity of moonlit water, the clean cold caress of moonlit air! Not that He cared jot or tittle for what the world might say—personally. No. But—— No. If He were to ask for the use of the boat, tongues would clack. And He could not go alone with the deliberate intention. Still—didn't Peter swim in Galilee. Weren't the Attendolo gardens private? Some night He might stroll down to the shore: the water was fathomless at once: there need be no wading with the ripples horribly creeping up one's flesh—Yaff! But the toads on the path, and the lizards and the serpents in the grass—oh no. Then, thus it must be: the Pope must not go to seek His pleasure: if God should deign to afford His Vicegerent the recreation of swimming, an opportunity would be provided. Otherwise——

Little footsteps pattered down the glade. His retreat was about to be invaded.

Three children burst through the shrubs—and stood transfixed. They were a couple of black-eyed black-haired girls, and a very pale-coloured very delicately-articulated slim and stalwart baby-boy with dark-star-like eyes and brows superbly drawn. All Hadrian's fearful terror of children paralyzed Him. These limpid glances made Him feel such a hackneyed old sinner. But He shewed no outward tremor, looking gently and genially at His visitors, and wondering what (in the name of all the gods) He ought to say or do. Three nurses and an athletic tailor-made lady added their presence.

"A thousand pardons, sir," a nurse exclaimed;—"O Santissimo Padre!"—Six knees flopped on the ground.

"Missy," the boy announced, "I have found a white father. Why have I seen a white father before never?" His utterance was very deliberate, and his English quite devoid of accented syllables.

The tailor-made lady rose to the occasion with an intuition which only could be feminine and a self-possession which only could be English. She bowed to the Pope, saying "Your Holiness will pardon the intrusion. The children escaped us at the fork in the path——"

"But it is a pleasure," Hadrian hypocritically put in: "it is a pleasure," He repeated, seeing that she was about to withdraw her charges; "and it would be a greater pleasure to know the names of these little ones."

"The Prince Filiberto, the Princess Yolanda, and the Princess Mafalda," the lady replied: "the Queen is giving a children's picnic in Lady Demochede's woods; and we took the liberty of trespassing here in search of wild-flowers. Of course we had no idea——"

"Missy," said the boy again, "I wish to speak to this white father." He was standing with his exquisite fair little legs wide-apart, his little body splendidly poised; and his glance was the glance of a young lion.

"Is it permitted?" Hadrian inquired of the governess.

"Oh surely;" she assented with perfection of manner.

"I wish to ask this white father whether he can speak English words like me;" the youngster proclaimed, keeping at a distance until he had reconnoitred the position.

"Don't be silly 'Berto, of course he can. This is Papa Inglese, I think;" said the Princess Yolanda with the daintiest air of regality. She was a very stately little person, and quite aware of herself; and her great black eyes were wonderful. Her younger sister sucked a silent thumb.

"Then I wish to know whether I may kiss that ring—the big one. I always kiss rings when fathers wear them," her brother continued. He quite ingenuously offered his little token of regard, giving reasons for the same in the manner of one who is too noble to take advantage of ignorance or even of blind good-nature. Hadrian had not the faintest notion of what to say. He never in His life had spoken to a Royal Highness; and the childhood of the child had tied His tongue. He would not have hesitated for one moment to converse with an angel: indeed He would have been rather more than garrulous. But with a human baby boy! He extended His right hand.

The princelet took it: looked at it: looked from the great gold Little-Peter-in-a-Boat to the great amethyst; and pondered them. "I think I will kiss them both;" he said at length. The full soft rose-leaf of his lips flitted from the pontifical to the episcopal ring. He lifted his bright head; and boldly looked into the Pope's eyes, with a smile disclosing the most wonderful little teeth—with a gaze which told of a pact of friendship sealed.

"God bless you, little boy;" said the Apostle.

"Oh, He can speak my English words!" the youngster shouted with delight. "Yolanda, come and kiss these rings, and hear Him say 'God bless you, little boy' again—no,—girl I mean, Missy dear;" with a side-look at the governess.

The princess came forward like a lady; and paid her respects. Her brother intently watched.

"God bless you, Princess," said the Apostle.

"Oh but listen," the Prince of Naples shrieked, jumping up and down; "He knows all the words ezattually, just like my own father. He said to me 'boy,' and to Yolanda 'princess.' Now go you too, Mafalda, and I will listen again."

The tiny maid went. "God bless you, little Princess;" the Apostle said.

"That is right," the boy cried: "he said 'little princess' because——" There he stopped a moment. Then, "White Father, why for have You—no,—why did not You say 'prince' to me? I am Prince Filiberto, aged five, Quirinale, Rome. Do You know that, White Father?"

"Yes, Prince. But you are a boy."

"Well, I think so. Also I am a sailor, like Uncle Luigi. Cannot You see that, White Father? Do You know what thing is a sailor?" He stood by the chair, leaning against Hadrian's knee, deliciously rosily maritime in white flannel.

"Oh yes: We know many sailors:" the Pope responded.

"Are they English?" The question possessed importance. His Royal Highness evidently was by way of verifying certain information.

"Most of them are English."

"My father says that all good sailors are English, or like English."

"And are you a good sailor?" The Pope switched the argument away from the Majesty of Italy, for reasons.

"But yes, I am very good this morning. But I always am a sailor—even when I am—not quite good;" the candid baby said with a little hesitation.

"Do you like being 'not quite good'?"

"Oh but yes—I should say, sometimes. I think I like it then: but not now. No—I do not like being 'not quite good.'" He settled the matter like that; and nobly lifted himself upon it.

"Won't you try to be a good sailor?" (Hadrian hated Himself for preaching. But such a chance! To make a white mark on the heir to a throne!)

"But of course I always try,—except——" and there seemed to be the difficulty. The child drooped a little.

"You always do try to be a good sailor—and to give no trouble——"

"Give no trouble? What not to father?" the prince inquired, as though the very notion clashed with his preconceived idea of the uses of fathers.

"No: not to your father."

"Nor to Missy?" The round face became a little longer.

"No: never to ladies on any account."

"To whom then may I give trouble, if I may not give it to father nor to Missy?" He felt that he had put a poser.

"Don't give it."

"What not to anybody?" This was a matter, a dreadful matter, which anyhow must be pursued to the bitter end.

"Not to anybody."

The child's great brave eyes considered the Apostle attentively: then they wandered to his sisters, to the governess, to the nurses; and came back again. Hadrian returned his gaze, very gently, quite inflexibly. The boy must learn his lesson now. Prince Filiberto pondered the novel doctrine from all his little points of view; and at last he grasped the consequence like a man.

"Ah well, then I suppose I had better keep it myself. I am sorry that I gave it to you, Missy, yesterday."

Hadrian experienced the strangest-possible rigour of the throat. Another moment and something in Him would have spoiled all. He rose: blessed His visitors; and passed swiftly away through the trees to the left.

"Missy, I am liking that white father. When shall I see Him again?" came after Him in the incomparable voice of innocence.

He quickly went up the winding path, along the private passage, up the stairs to the terrace. He dragged a chair out there and sat down. "God!" He exclaimed aloud, with tremendous expiration, to the wide expanse of water and earth and sky which yawned before Him. Tears welled in His eyes: and the constriction of His throat was relaxed. He took His handkerchief from His sleeve. Thank heaven He was alone! And He became calm and analytical and infinitely happy. Verses of Melagros of Gadara streamed through his mind:

"Our Lady of desire brought me to thee, Theokles, "me to thee; "and delicate-sandalled Love hath stripped and strewed me "at thy feet: "a lightning-flash of his sweet beauty! "flames from his eyes he darteth! "Hath Love revealed a Child who fighteth with thunderbolts? "the splendour of twin fires did scorch me through and through: "one flame indeed was from the sun, and one was love "from a child's eyes."

His ecstasy was admiration of the lovely little person and the noble little soul. The clean and vivid candour, the delicate proportion, the pure tint, aroused in Him a desire to own. The frank self-hood, the unerring truth, the courageous tranquillity of self-renunciation, aroused in Him a sense of emulation. He, the Supreme Pontiff, was prostrate before the seraphic majesty of the Child. And, as though a curtain had been lifted, He had a peep into the human heart. Now, He thought that He could see and understand one cause, perhaps the chief cause, of human society—the ability to say "This is mine, mine: for I did it." He began to understand that the human mind must have external as well as internal operation—and much beside. As for Himself, He was making experiment of the first personal emotion of undiluted enjoyment of human society which He could remember. "Then I can love, after all;" He reflected. Though He mixed freely and absolutely independently with all men, yet, in the tender inner soul of Him, He shrank more shudderingly than ever from the contact. Every single act of urbanity, of courtesy, was a violent effort to Him. His feeling for His fellow-creatures was repugnance pure and simple. But, in the case of this yellow-haired mannikin, there was a difference. He would like to own such a radiant little piece of the Divine-Human as that fair Prince Filiberto. He would appreciate the honour and the joy of tending such a treasure. But He could not seek; and it never had been offered. Perhaps He would shrink if it were offered. That was His peculiar nature. Had He ever wished to exert for intimate relations with anyone? No: plainly no. He was a thing apart. More, He was a thing to be avoided. He remembered how many times he aimlessly had strolled through London, watching His species gambolling in Piccadilly, or at the Marble Arch on a Sunday where the fierce lanky spiky sallow Anarchist raved, and the coy Catholic barrister cracked correct jests out of a shiny black exercise-book, and the bright-eyed clean Church-Army youth spoke with genuine conviction. He had moved through partner-seeking mobs everywhere, lazily, vigilantly, studiously: yet no one ever had addressed him. He was seen. He was avoided. Yes, He was a thing apart. That was His trouble. And—what did the boy say?—"I had better keep it myself." The content of that saying was to Hadrian just like a thunderbolt. It was Love—yes, that was quintessential Love, from the clear eyes and the stainless lips of childhood,—to keep one's troubles oneself. For in that way one relieved others. And the Servant of the servants of God must—— He continued to sit in the sunlight in a sort of rapture. The lake and the hills and the turquoise sky faded from His vision. He was alone with His thoughts, His ideals, His soul.... After the noon-angelus, He went in to His solitary meal. Later in the afternoon, when He had slept and washed, and put on fresh garments, He descended to chat with His court. His demeanour was observed to be more warm, more human. His eyes had an unusual and more usual glow. He did not seem to be so very very far away.

"I guess the air of this village suits you, Holy Father," said young Cardinal Percy. "You look like twenty cents this evening."

"Yes, the air is delicious enough: but it is not the air." Hadrian narrated the incident of the morning, ending, "and We have recognised in Ourself a new and unknown power, a perfectly strange capability. We have made experience of a feeling which—well, which We suppose—at any rate will pass for—Love."

He plunged again into business. He had noted three men for a purpose. Archbishop Ilario della Valla was a young and exquisitely polished prelate, son of an ambassador, thoroughly expert in the English language and habit. Signor Gargouille Grice was one of those nondescripts devoid of Divine Vocation, who fondly are believed to occupy an important place at the pontifical court, (equivalent at least to the English office of Lord Chamberlain) but, which in reality is that of a flunkey. Prince Guido Attendolo was a young Italian of very generous birth, who, as younger son of a younger son not over-burdened with wealth, led an inconspicuous impotent uninteresting life. With the idea of giving these three a chance, the Pope dispatched them to America with the red hat for the American Archbishop Erin, whom He named Cardinal-presbyter of the Title of St. Mary-of-the-People. It was merely an incident, intended to keep them from stagnation, to give them that scope which human nature must have if it is to do itself justice, if it is not to become a public nuisance. At the same time, He was satisfied that the sympathy of the prelate, the antiquity of the decurial chamberlain, and the urbanity (to say nothing of the perfect Greek profile) of the prince, would recommend them as ambassadors from the oldest power to the newest nation. On the arrival of the Apostolic Ablegate in New York, Hadrian published the Epistle to the Americans. He praised their exuberant vigour and individualistic unconventionality, while He warned them of their obligations to their race and of the evils of oligarchical tyranny. He begged them not to live in the desperate hurry which was instanced in their carelessness in details. He advised them not to be too proud to learn from the history of other nations, dwelling on the principle of the intermittent tendency of human nature. He pointed out that, as effect is due to cause, and as the scope and quantity of human ideas is very far from being illimitable, so, as human types recur, human ideas and the situations produced by them are bound to recur. "Yet," He continued, "human nature itself, when inspired by Divine Grace, being so very fine and so very potent a force, is capable of immense development. It has Will, Free-will, which, rightly directed can rule itself, can control natural laws, can dispose events." Wherefore, He admonished the Americans to divest themselves of juvenile arrogance and selfishness, in order that (having learned the causes which produce effects) they might know the rules and play the game. He spoke to them, not only with the authority of His apostolature, but with the affection of a comrade who wished to serve them from the experience (inherited and acquired) of a member of the older nations. He concluded with delicious slyness, "The young ones think the old are fools: the old ones know the young ones are."

America was openly delighted, not only by the consideration which the Pope shewed in addressing Her next to England but, by the pungent vivid validity of His remarks. She said that He had a dead cinch on things, that He was on to His job, that as a skypilot He suited Her to a gnat's bristle; and She began to regard Him with close attention.

The death of Francis Joseph, Austrian Emperor and King of Hungary, in September, had its not unexpected consequences. The confusion of Europe was worse confounded by conflict between Hungarian national sentiment and the Pan-germanic League. Francis Joseph's successor did not inspire his multilingual subjects with the same respectful devotion as that which had been paid to the old Emperor on account of the triple prestige of his dignity, his long reign, his many sorrows. Hungary cried for a Magyar king. Bohemia cried for a Czech king. Russian Poland also cried aloud for a Polish king; and German Poland would have cried with her, had she dared. As it was, she opened longing eyes and waited. The Germans of Austria appealed to the German Emperor to come to their aid and take them into his mailed fist. The Habsburgh dynasty was tottering. Servia was a small hell. Turkey and Roumania viewed the prospect of Germany's expansion with favour: Turkey, because she found it easy to outwit the Teuton: Roumania, because the power by whose favour she existed was possessed by devils. Albania, Montenegro, and Greece, strongly disapproved: they prized their individual national existence, and the idea of being reduced to dependency upon the Gothic Michael did not suit them. The distracted state of Austria, and her inability to keep her obligations to Germany and Italy, caused the lapse of the Triple Alliance. Yet Italy made no sign and Germany made no sign. There was an interval of intense and silent vigilance.

Hadrian read in the Times that Signor Panciera, Italian Ambassador at the Court of St. James's, was leaving town for Rome for a few weeks. Cardinal Fiamma sought-out His Excellency; and brought him privately and unofficially to the Pope's apartment. His Holiness was very happy to renew acquaintances with so genial and so solid and so trusty a man. (It was comparatively easy to love such an one.) The ambassador bowed; and wondered what was expected. The Pope put it patently. He was profoundly interested in affairs: He pried into no secrets: He did desire to collect facts and opinions from experts and secular statesmen: the six ambassadors left to the Vatican were sterile: if Signor Panciera could see his way to converse of current events, without betraying his sovereign's confidence, but simply as between two men whose motives were pure and patriotic, he would confer a favour upon, (or, if he preferred it the other way, he would render a service to) the Pope. His Excellency bowed in reciprocation of the honour. Privately noting that His Holiness was concealing nothing, and (in fact) was unable to conceal, he thought that there would be no difficulty. This was not a matter of diplomacy or state-craft. The crystalline candour of the Pope made Him negligible as a statesman: as a mere man He was charming, perfectly transparent: He wanted, not state-secrets but, the opinion of a man-of-affairs upon affairs. Signor Panciera was quite delighted. The state of Europe as revealed in the newspapers was passed under review. His Excellency thought that Germany was looking east and west rather than elsewhere. What could be expected? Naturally she would look that way where were her two natural enemies. As for Austria—peuh!—a secondary matter. Austria would not be touched by Germany as long as danger threatened from France and Russia. Italy? Well, Italy now was independent. No longer bound to Germany and Austria, Italy's attitude was that of the lion on guard (in the words of the immortal Dante).

"Naturally," Hadrian interpolated, "Italy would watch events and direct her policy in accordance with her interest."

"But securely," the ambassador responded.

The Pontiff spoke of Spain. Signor Panciera chopped his right wrist with his left hand. Spain was finished. Portugal? Portugal was English. England? England was England. The Pope and the ambassador produced a smile a-piece: the one meant triumphant pride of race: the other, boundless and intelligent admiration. Hadrian swooped eastwards: the Balkan States? His Excellency began to discriminate: that little group of separate sovereignties was very difficult. He seemed to hesitate, to pick his words:—of course the subject interested him very greatly. The Pope was quite singularly still. Now and again, as His massive dark guest passed Him in pacing, He plumped in a question. The Balkan States? Signor Panciera strode on toward the window, as though seeking the response there: came back: began a reply: returned to the window: came back again with a fresh half-dozen of unilluminating words. Hadrian went to one of his cupboards: took out two little brown bagatelle-balls; and placed them in the royal ambassador's hands. "Your Excellency's aid to conversation," He purred with a recondite smile. "Don't be discomposed. All men have some trick of this kind. Ours is to play with Our rings or to push up Our glasses. Your friend Fiamma plaits the fringe of his sash. The Cardinal-Dean strokes the mother-of-pearl disk which stands on his wig for the tonsure. The Secretary of State munches his new teeth. And you like to click a pair of bagatelle-balls, if We rightly remember. You were saying that that little group of separate sovereignties was very difficult. Because of their present autonomy?"

Click-click-click went the balls on the brown palm: and the ambassador tralated their clicking. "Yes Holiness, for that reason: but also, I think, because they are racially distinct from the nations with which they expect to be incorporated."

"Russia, Germany, Austria, Turkey, for example?"

(Click) "I think we may neglect Russia."

"Yes? In the case of Roumania?"

"I think that Roumanian sentiment has veered round toward Germany."

"Well now, let us ignore opinions; and go to these racial differences of which you speak."

"I am of opinion that the Roumanian people find themselves in sympathy with the German peoples," Signor Panciera persisted.

"Bulgaria then?"

Signor Panciera took two or three journeys to the window and back, vigorously clicking the balls. "Holiness, You do not ask for my opinion; and I only can give You the speculations of an amateur ethnologist." (Click-click) "I have——" (Click) "I can tell You what my studies have taught me—no more."

"But that is most interesting, Signore. We are all students. Some are anxious to learn: some are not: but both are better off than the man who knows that he has nothing more to learn. Tell Us what your studies have taught you."

"I really believe that the principalities south of the Danube contain the descendants of those Byzantines who were pushed northward by the incursion of Turks in the fifteenth century."

"Why?"

(Click) "First from physiognomy:" (Click) "second from the structure of their languages."

"Wonderful! And you have noted points of similarity?"

"I will go further than that, Holiness. I ought to say that my attention was attracted to this subject by my Lord the King, who, you know, deigned to marry a Montenegrin Princess. His Majesty used to speak much at one time on this point to me and also to the Minister of Public Instruction——"

"That is Signor Cabelli?"

"Surely. We examined the matter for His Majesty; and our investigations all seemed to point to the fact that the Turks, in coming from Asia, swept across the Byzantine Empire in a westerly and northerly direction. Then, examining the outlets and the fringes, we found Byzantine characteristics all along the northern boundary of Turkey, that is to say not in Bulgaria which is Slav, but in Albania, Herzegovina, Bosnia, and Montenegro; and, more, we found them along the Adriatic coast of Italy. Your Holiness will see that these places are of a contiguity which would render them likely refuges for the Christians who fled before, or were expelled by, the Muslim."

"Yes."

"There is one thing more. We found traces of an earlier migration than the Byzantine. We believe that in Eastern Italy from Taranto to Ortona, and also in Southern Albania, may be seen the lineal descendants of the Athenians of Perikles' day."

"But Greece, Excellency?"

"Holiness, the Greeks of to-day are degenerate from the dirty-knuckled Laconians crossed with the Ottoman Infidel, their conquistators."

"That is splendid, Signore. And it marches with an opinion which We formed some dozen years ago, at least in regard to your Italian Greeks. We have seen those with Our Own eyes. In Apulia, for instance, the Elgin Marbles have their living counterfeits: the charcoal-burners and the fishermen look as though they had stepped out of the Frieze of the Parthenon. Once We heard a fisherman summon his boy by the word 'Páddy'—to give it an English form. An Italian would have cried 'Putto.' But 'Páddy,'—what vocative is that but 'Παιδε,' pronounced as Alkibiades would have pronounced it? Oh, We see your point. And is your Lord the King still interested in the subject?"

"I believe that His Majesty is intensely interested. I hope I may venture to repeat the corroboration which Your Holiness has given me. I am sure that His Majesty——"

"By all means. Of course you merely will repeat the conversation. You will not intrude Us before the King's Majesty in Our apostolic character: but merely——"

"Your Holiness's wish shall be respected."

"But to resume:—We agree to identify those states south of the Danube with the Byzantines in general; and Montenegro and South Albania with the Greeks in particular. What about North Albania?"

(Click) "That is Turkish."

"All Albania is Turkish."

"But South Albania is Christian. And all Albania, Christian and Muslim, reverences Madonna—'Panagia,' Παναγια, 'Lady of All,' they call her."

"How very extraordinary! Well now let us take their present situation. Suppose, Signore Panciera, that we reverse our positions. Instead of hearing your opinion, We will state Ours; and you shall comment on it. Is that fair? Is that agreeable?"

"Most fair: most agreeable. I always learn from Englishmen and I shall learn from Your Holiness."

"Good. We believe that Montenegro is happy and contented under the paternal rule of Prince Nicholas."

(Click-click-click) "That is so, Holiness."

"We hear that Albania is shaping well under Prince Ghin Kastriotis."

(Click: a walk to the window and back; and more clicks) "Since the murder of Abdul Hamid, and the erection of Albania into a principality, progress has been astounding. The beautiful country, (click) the splendid people, are a prize to any ruler. Sultan Ismail is the only cloud in the sky. He does not approve of the loss of that slice of his empire. But Albania will take care of herself."

"Servia, and her yearning for the restoration of the Servian Empire?"

"Impossible. A nation which murders two kings in four years cannot be an Empire."

"Quite impossible. Bulgaria, a country of heretics of the most notorious and dreadful kind, atrocious brigands to a man, ruled (or rather not ruled) by a foreigner who is a contemptible cur."

"Your Holiness would propose——"

"The deposition of Prince Ferdinand—an easy task now that Russia has her hands full,—and the annexation of Bulgaria and Servia by Montenegro under the protection of Italy."

(Click-click-click) "There, Holiness, we come to the ground of high politics." (Click-click-click-click) "One must walk very warily."

"Yes," Hadrian mewed: "until Italy and Germany have made up their minds."

The ambassador bowed.

"Please leave the bagatelle-balls, Excellency; and accept Our thanks for your very agreeable conversation," said the Pope.

In giving an account of this interview to the king, the ambassador concluded "and, Sire, His Holiness spoke like an Englishman."

"Oh did He," said Victor Emanuel. "In what way?"

"Majesty, he was profound and limpid, He was large and particular, He was bold and careful."

"Basta! Go again as often as you please; and let me hear more of this Englishman."

"With the favour of Your Majesty."

CHAPTER XI

The Liblab deputation had returned to England: but Jerry Sant and Mrs. Crowe hung on at a decent little hotel in Two Shambles Street, which was convenient to the English quarter. Their idea was to wait for an opportunity to push their scheme of blackmail. Most of each day, Mrs. Crowe was in the Square of St. Peter's, looking up at the Vatican, hoping for the apparition of Hadrian at His window. In the evenings, she saw Him walking to and fro on the steps of the basilica. There always was something of a crowd there. The poorest of the poor, by the common consent of the most courteous of nations, were placed in front; and she used to see the Pope giving words and gold to persons whom she deemed disreputable. She would have sacrificed her new wig for one of those coins. Once, she pushed into the front row and kneeled with the riff-raff. She heard a blind boy tell his miserable tale: she heard the Apostle's gentle words and saw the munificent careless gift. It was her turn. She felt the distant inflexible eyes on her bent head: "God bless you, daughter; go in peace" dropped on her; and Hadrian passed on. The poor girl on her left bitterly wept—the police-doctor had refused her certificate—her occupation was gone.—Hadrian's kind of charity did not appeal to Mrs. Crowe: she called it "disgusting" and "highly improper" to the table d'hôte. There were several quaint visitors at the Hotel Nike. They chiefly were English; and they listened in silence, with shy strange eyes, when she vented her views. Afterwards, though, she used to find herself the recipient of the confidence of weird old-maids and worn-out matrons, who drew her into corners of the garden away from the cabin where Sant smoked, and nervously whispered, "My dear, I'm sure you'll excuse me addressing you, but I feel bound to say I think I'm right in saying that I owe everything to Him Whom you're speaking about. I hope you don't mind me saying this but I feel sure you wouldn't wish to do anyone an injustice. You see I used to know Him years ago and, I hardly know how to put it, but a certain sum was named between us which would make me safe for life; and just now, since last April you see, that very sum, a regular income all my days, my dear, has come to me through the Bank of England; and I feel sure it's Him, for there isn't another soul in the world able to do such a thing: and, my dear, although of course I can't approve of the indiscriminate charity you've named, I thought I'd just mention this to you because the fact is I've come here to try and see Him and let him know how thankful I am."

Tired wan clean men, with corns on their right-middle-fingers and jackets bulging along their lower edges, addressed her as "Madam" and mentioned similar experiences; and, when two straight-limbed straight-eyed boys of sixteen, twins, orphans, were fierce with the same story, she began to feel uncomfortable, envious. That He should do these things for these scarecrows and nothing for her! People avoided her; and she was lonely. Sant, and the cosmopolitan bagmen with whom he fraternized, were no companions for her. She expected something a little more select in the way of society. She conceived the notion that she would stand a better chance of coming into contact with the Pope by means of some of the English in Rome. And,—would it not be as well if she became a Catholic? The hotel-people told her that very few English were in Rome: they began to come in October and to go away in June: July, August, September, saw no English except at the colleges and a few residents. She found her way to St. Andrea delle Fratte, where she had heard of some Englishwoman's tomb; and saw no one who looked like an Englishman. She had the same experience at the church by the G.P.O. Then she discerned a little English affair in Little Sebastian Street, a convent of sorts; and she made herself conspicuous to the sisters. Those good creatures were only too happy to discover a chatty Englishwoman; and, when Mrs. Crowe quite accidentally let out that she had known George Arthur Rose, they precipitately produced candied fruit and orangeade. Mrs. Crowe gossiped with discretion. She won hearts by listening attentively to monasterial rhapsodies. When she was permitted to slip in a word edgeways, she took care that it was a telling word. In all their lives the sisters never had heard anything so edifying as her description of the Holy Father's former predilection for white flannel shirts, white knitted socks and night-caps. They thought it heavenly of Him to have refused to wear any colours but white or black while He was living in the world; and the details of a black corduroy shooting-suit filled them with ecstatic rapture. In the course of these improving conversations it came out that Mrs. Crowe herself was an agnostic—an unwilling agnostic, she whined,—oh, if only she could believe what her audience believed, it would be such a comfort to her! Naturally the sisters gladly would help her to that kind of comfort. They gave her an aluminium medal; and promised prayers. She turned-up regularly at mass and benediction; and they had great hopes of her. She thanked them so much. Now, wouldn't she just like to have a little talk with Father Dawkins—such a holy man? She would like nothing better. She had a little talk with Father Dawkins: that is to say that (frequently during the next few weeks) His Reverency exhorted for three-quarters of an hour on end in the convent parlour; and she punctuated his discourses with "Ah yes," "How true," "Why did I never hear this before," etc. The sisters lent her "Thresholds," and other violently cerulean books. She pronounced them quite convincing. And then she asked to be received into the Church.

She became seen at parties at the English pensions; and duly was slavered. She met cardinals and prelates at receptions. She was the excitement of the moment. Her pose of the interesting widow, fond mother of the dearest little girl and boy, clever writer of vers de société in The Maid, and Matron, was much commended: but it was as the woman whose dear departed had been the Holy Father's most intimate friend that she chiefly scored. For His Holiness she always had had the highest admiration. He had been a peculiar man, certainly, but never anything but most distinguished. She remembered Him in poverty, going in the shabbiest of garbs: but His gait and carriage always had been the gait and carriage of nobility of soul. At all times, she herself had predicted some extraordinary fate for Him. She told the most adorable little stories of His wit, His humour, His pathos, and His dumb-bells. She dilated on a boil which had afflicted the back of His neck. She had heard that He slept in glycerined gloves for the softening of His chapped hands. Yes, He had been quite a friend of theirs. He was so earnest, so brilliant, so learned, that she never had been able to understand why a man of His ability should be a Catholic. Of course that was when she herself had been in outer darkness. Now that she was in the inner light, she perfectly could see why. Mrs. Crowe was voted to be a very charming person; and became a great success.

Sant approved of her procedure. Neither he nor she could see their way to another direct approach to Hadrian. They must bide a wee. Meanwhile, no harm was done and much good might be done by cultivating the English quarter. And, perhaps it would be as well to keep socialism in the background for the present. Jerry would stay where he was; and she had better set-up for herself elsewhere: they occasionally could meet to compare notes; and, if anything particular happed, why they could write. So Mrs. Crowe took a little flat on Baboon Street, and displayed herself at the Spain Square tea-shop and the English sisterhood.

At the back of her brain there was a well-defined desire. She kept it there to gloat over in private and at intervals: for she was far too clever a woman to let her passion master her at this stage. It was the mainspring of her acts, the goal of her thoughts, the ultimate of her existence: but she kept it well concealed and controlled. Now and then, in the lonely depth of night, it surged to her oppression: but dawn and the respectability of her temper, brought it within bounds. She played a careful game, adding to her counters as opportunity occurred. She had the Liblabs and their four pounds a week to support her: she had (what she called) the secret history of the Pope in her possession: she was capturing the pious English. And then, one evening she acquired quite a priceless item of scandal which, sooner or later, she would use for the procuration of her Georgie.

She had been wandering about alone in some of those new streets on the Viminal Hill, which Modern Rome built in imitation of the suburban residences of British merchants: streets where comfortable red-brick detached mansions stand each in a railed garden. As she was passing one of these fine but homely residences, the electric light sprang up in the drawing-room; and she was aware of three figures seated in the bay-window. An afternoon-tea-table was between them. They were two gorgeous white women with fair hair, evidently mother and daughter. Those she did not know: but the third was George Arthur Rose. She peered between the gilded bronze bars of the gate. It was dusk. No one but herself was in the street. And there, not twenty yards away, behind a pane of glass, was the man she worshipped. She gave up herself to her emotions during one minute. Then he and the women retired to the back of the room; and a decorous black-coated lacquey closed the curtains. For a moment, she felt like battering at the gate. Her heart violently palpitated. The connotation of the experience suddenly struck her. What was the Pope doing here? She knew that He went about everywhere: but they said that He never ate or drank in company; and she had seen Him finish a cup of tea. How dainty the elevation of that left little finger was! Ah! Why was He not dressed in white as usual? Disguised—taking tea in a private house—with two nameless women! Ah, why indeed! She focussed her fury. The number on the gate—yes. She ran to the end of the street and read "Via Morino." She crossed the road and returned; and found a niche where she could hide in the shadow of a pillared wall. Here, she watched and waited as a terrier waits on and watches a kitten demure in a tree—yapping and yelping almost inaudibly, well-nigh bursting with suppressed impulse to pounce. Perhaps she waited half-an-hour. Then a couple of lacqueys came-down to the gate: opened it; and obsequiously bowed to an ecclesiastic who passed out into the street flinging the right fold of his cloak over his left shoulder. He swiftly walked towards Via Nationale; and she followed him. As he came into the more brilliant light, he drew the fold of his cloak closer across his mouth. That act decided her. She knew that her Georgie abhorred from every kind of muffling. That he should muffle now was natural enough. He did not wish to be recognised. He was incognito, for an evil purpose. That he should have chosen openly to walk through the biggest street in Rome, when he might have sneaked down bye-ways, or might have taken a cab, only added to the evidence. Her Georgie was the most frantically daring of men, she knew. Precaution on the one hand, nullified by extreme audacity on the other, she had noted in him before. She nearly lost him as he made his way by the Austrian Embassy and the Gesù into Corso Vittorio Emanuele. At the Oratory he crossed and went by the little Piazza into Banchi, where he left a card with the porter of the Palazzo Attendolo. Again, he muffled his face and went on, crossing the temporary bridge, and going by Borgo Vecchio straight to the gate of the Vatican. Here, he was admitted; and Mrs. Crowe was left alone in agony and in hilarity. She turned-out of the Colonnade into the square cursing herself for not speaking to him, writhing because she had caught her loved one secretly visiting another woman. Then she laughed at the thought that she had found His Holiness the Pope engaged in vulgar intrigue. The barb of the one emotion lacerated her. The barb of the other she would save to dilacerate Him.

CHAPTER XII

On the night of the second of October, the German Emperor sat in the Imperial box at the Berlin Schauspielhaus. They were playing Wilhelm Tell. William II. looked-on at the mummer pourtraying the audacious genius who, by skill and courage, delivered a people from tyranny. He looked on the presented incident with a humorous sense of its coincidence with his present intention: for, in the imperial mind—that agile predominant mind at which inferior minds (led by the Pall Mall Gazette) were used to mock—was stored certain knowledge of another scene yet to be enacted in which he himself would play the part of the deliverer. An aide-de-camp entered during the interval, while the house gave itself up to conversation, apples, nuts, pfefferkuchen. He handed a locked portfolio to the Kaiser.

"The papers are all here?"

"Yes, Sire."

"The manager attends?"

"He is at the door, Sire."

"He has received my commands?"

"Your Majesty's commands have been executed."

"Good. I will follow him. Go now to the newspaper-offices; and bring the specials to me after supper. Mahlzeit!"

The curtain went up for the last act. The audience was stricken with sudden paralyzed amazement. On the stage, actors, scene-shifters, the whole theatre staff, were grouped in an immense semicircle. In the chord of the semicircle, one figure stood alone, grimly dominant. At first, it was taken for a daringly realistic caricature of the Emperor; and fear of the penalties of lèse-majesté dawned in the minds of the beholders. But the figure spoke, and doubt fled. It was the Emperor. Everyone knew that vigorous vocative "Germans!" The said Germans were used to manifestations of their ruler's omniscience and omnipresence; and they automatically stood to listen. He quoted the assertion of Herr Bebmarck in the Reichstag, that every speech by the Kaiser against Socialists meant a socialist gain of 100,000 votes at the elections. Then he flung out a challenge. He said that the insuing elections meant war to the knife, not between him and his people but, between him and the handful of venal demagogues unworthy to bear the sacred name of Germans who led his people astray. He opened his portfolio. Socialism, he said, commanded four million votes. One-third of the German Army was Socialist. Socialism was the largest political party in the Empire; and increased each year at the expense of every other party. It was a vast and important body. A body needed a brain to direct its functions. Who, after all, was the head? The demagogues, or the Kaiser? At a moment like the present, when the Fatherland was menaced on both sides by anarchy and hereditary enemies, the glorious German nation must not be harassed by intestine feuds. Hitherto, a great part of his people had been taught to obstruct his schemes for German welfare. Thereby they had hurt themselves. They had had the pleasure of opposing him: but they had delayed their own betterment: for his alone was the will which should rule Germany. Yet, he would not blame his people. They had been betrayed by liars, deceived by treacherous pseudophilanthropists. He would not blame the tempted, but the tempters. The names of the tempters, the human Satans, were August Bebmarck, turner: Grillerbergen, locksmith: Raue, Bulermolken, Reistem, saddlers: Varmol, ex-post-official: Steinbern, lawyer: Volkenberg, territorial-magnate: Singenmann, capitalist. He arraigned these men on a charge of having deluded the good heart of four million German people by professions of disinterestedness, of benevolence, by promises of universal betterment. He denounced their professions and their promises as false, and their practices as corrupt enough to have obtained the attention of the police. The socialist demagogues were traitors to the very cause which they professed to serve. Their object was not the improvement of the social conditions of the people: it was personal aggrandisement. He brought proofs from his portfolio. Bebmarck, Grillenberger, Varmol had accepted bribes of M. 100,000, M. 45,000, M. 40,000 respectively from the communist government of France. Raue, Bulermolken, Reistem had accepted the post of saddlery contractors to the French army. Each of the foregoing had given a written promise to influence the Socialist vote. The Kaiser read and exhibited the promises; and continued. Steinbern had sold the minute books of various Socialist committees in Hanover for M. 300,000. (The books were produced by an imperial aide.) Volkenberg had scouted the proposal to municipalize his own vast possessions: Singenmann was proved to have derived his riches from ill-paid sweated labour.

"These be thy gods, O Socialism," the Emperor cried: "the mere possession of important private property, of what is called a stake in the country, has revealed their brazen faces and feet of clay. The mere offer of the price of blood has revealed the Iscariots of the Fatherland."

He commanded his hearers to remember that in 1890 he himself had abrogated the laws against socialism and had dismissed the persecutor Bismarck, saying Die Social Democratie überlassen sie mir; mit der werdeich gang alleine fertig. He said that his method had been to leave them free to work out their own salvation: but in vain. A bad tree does not bring forth good fruit. It had not been socialism, nor parliamentary majorities and resolutions, which had welded together the German Empire: but the army and he, the Emperor, the representative of that power in the state which, not only created German unity in the teeth of those who pretended to represent the people but, thereby carried into every German home the sense of national power. Finally, he demanded, did the innocent industrious great-hearted dupes of the socialist demagogues intend in this crisis of German history to follow and obey the behests of low-born traitors, never-sufficiently-to-be-damned-and-despised sweaters, infamous Rabagases: or would they give loyal allegiance to him, their divinely appointed and legitimate Kaiser, the heir of Friedrich the Noble and of Wilhelm the Good and of Friedrich the Great,—to him, the Father of the fatherland, whose whole life and energy was devoted and consecrated to "Deutschland Deutschland über alles."

With that, he left the stage and the theatre. The audience, a typically middle-class one, the very class of all others to which such an oration would appeal, was stirred down to the depths of its phlegmatic Teutonic soul. As the Kaiser departed, not a "Hoch" was uttered: but multitudes of stem-faced converts poured out, silently saluting him with the fire of loyalty lighted in their eyes. Germans are logical by nature. Display indefeasible premisses; and it is not a German who will err from the just conclusion. All night long, all the newspapers except the Vorwaerts issued special editions containing the Emperor's speech. During the next few days William II. himself repeated it in the great cities of his empire. At Essen and Breslau his reception partook of the nature of an ovation. Everywhere the press spread his epoch-making words to all who actually did not hear them. German good sense preferred honesty, vigorous masterly honesty, even hare-brained honesty, to the base treachery which is actuated by no motive except personal gain. German good sense could see that the Kaiser himself was the hardest-working man in the Empire: that his simply amazing diligence and toil were absolutely unselfish, absolutely impersonal: that he gained no tangible reward whatever: that his life, which quite easily might have been one of irresponsible pleasure and ease, was an incessant round of mental and physical exertion for the good of others. German honour admired and German generosity repaid. The fascinating personality of William II. at last was recognized as the chief element of the nation's power. His splendid and unique confidence in himself and his imperial vocation inspired his subjects with confidence in him. The device of the secret ballot, and the now-unfettered ability of every German to vote according to his conscience, had the calculated effect. The elections shewed that the enormous prestige of the Emperor had won the Socialist vote, and the Catholic vote, and the votes of the Right and the Left, in support of his paramount authority. The English newspapers ceased from jeering; and the Pall Mall Gazette split subjunctives as well as infinitives in applause of success.

The lay-Major-domo of the Apostolic Palace found occasion to invite Cardinals Talacryn and Semphill to inspect certain accounts. "I feel it my duty to call Your Eminencies' attention to the fact," said he, "that our Most Holy Lord consumes about seven and sixpence worth, of food and drink a week upon the average. It is shocking. Also it is ridiculous. Kindly cast your eyes over these documents. They are the accounts covering the past six months. Note how many times His dinner consists of three raw carrots and two poached eggs. Meat, you see, He eats not more than twice a week. Fish, He refuses. I understand that He will take the lean of beef, the fat of pork, the breast of a bird, and chew them for an hour."

"That accounts for His magnificent digestion," said Talacryn; "and I know that He eats raw carrots for the sake of His white skin. But fat pork! Semphill, could you digest fat pork when you were His age? I can't even now."

"Condescend to consider the wine," Count Piccino added. "His Holiness quite fails to appreciate fine wine——"

"All I can say is I can remember seeing Him thoroughly enjoy a teaspoonful of my peach-brandy sometimes after dinner. That was twenty years ago though," said Semphill.

"He used to enjoy peach-brandy! Eminency, a thousand thanks. He shall have a bottle. I never thought of it. Until now, He has taken what we give Him: but He has no palate whatever for superior brands. He's quite content with a plain red wine from Citta Lavinia or Cinthyanum; and He drinks about as much of it in a week as another man would drink at a meal. But cream, and goat's milk,—I believe He bathes in those."

"No, no," said Semphill; "He drinks them day and night, that's all. He's got the digestion of a baby for milk. Shall I ever forget seeing Him drink a pint of thick cream—a whole pint—at a farm-house once when we were out walking? I thought He'd die there. I begged Him to take some of my pills. I offered to make Him free of my collection. No. He laughed at me; and goes on rejoicing."

"But, Eminencies, do you think His Holiness can live on this meagre diet?"

"Chi lo sa? I couldn't. He may."

"He's a most incomprehensible creature whatever:" Talacryn concluded.

Armed with the allegiance of an united empire, the Kaiser scoured away across the continent to Rome. He travelled incognito as the Duke of Königsberg and put up at the Palazzo Caffarelli. The world looked on and wondered. No news of his intentions were vouchsafed; and, as a rule, journalists had the decency to refrain themselves from suppositions. The exception to the rule was French, of course. "Religion is the great preoccupation of William II. Beneath the spangled uniform of this Emperor there is the soul of a clergyman, or rather the visionary soul of an initiate of even vaguer mysteries. The Kaiser only waits for an opportunity to achieve in Rome what he has already achieved in the east, that is to say, to oust France," shrieked M. Jean de Bonnefon in the Paris Éclair. La Patrie instantly yelled in comment, "Let Germany take the Holy See. It will be the end of Germany and the beginning of revenge for Sedan. The Paparchy is an acid which will dissolve the badly cemented parts of an empire which is still too new."

But it was not precisely religion which dictated the Kaiser's movement. He had the sense to know that religion is personal; and, though he never lost an opportunity of asserting his personal religious opinions, the idea of making them the rule for all men never entered his eminently practical mind. No: he had other plans; and he was seeking material wherewith to build. He conferred long and secretly with the King of Italy, a man after his own heart, a born ruler, a natural autocrat, who himself had been a slave. They discussed needs. William II. wanted room for a population which had increased by twenty millions in thirty years. Victor Emanuel III. wanted money and time—money to make easier the life of his people—time to mature improvements—give him those and he could laugh at Italy's enemies, the secret societies, and the clergy——

"Clergy?" the Kaiser demurred. "Now are you really sure that the clergy are your enemies?"

"Yes, in their heart of hearts. Don't you understand that we robbed them? Don't you know that this very palace of the Quirinale, in which I am receiving Your Imperial Majesty, is stolen property?"

"Yes, yes. But this Englishman? Surely He makes a difference?"

"To some extent. But He cannot extirpate in a moment the hatred and envy with which my House and I are regarded by the clergy whom we dispossessed. For nearly forty years, to hate us has been part of the clerical education. A weed of that kind cannot be rooted up at once. It is ingrained. Perhaps in another generation—Basta!"

"Meanwhile?"

"Meanwhile what?"

"Well, hasn't the Pope made things easier for you?"

"Yes, in a way. But what is His object? What concession, for example——"

"He doesn't seem to have left Himself any opening for extorting concessions."

"But did Your Imperial Majesty ever hear of a priest who gave something for nothing?"

"One of my cardinals tells me that this is a madman, whose pose is to be primitive, apostolic."

"Ha! For a primitive apostle He has a singularly dictatorial method. Have you read His Epistles, and His denunciations of the socialists, for example?"

"I have. I entirely approve of them. They have assisted me greatly in dealing with some rebels of my own."

"Oh no one could find fault with His sentiments—so far. But they are so unusual, so extra-pontifical, that one wonders what they are concealing."

"Is Your Majesty sure that they conceal something?"

"No, I'm not. Of course I have no means of arriving at certainty. That could only be obtained from the Pope Himself; and only from Him if He were willing to give it."

"Has Your Majesty asked Him?"

"Certainly not. We continue to misunderstand one another. Your Imperial Majesty knows that there is no means of communication between my government and the Vatican. All we get is hearsay; and all they get is gossip."

"Why do you not request Hadrian to receive you—you yourself? I imagine that He would not refuse."

"Perhaps not. I believe that He has been preparing for me some such trap as that. But I distrust the Greeks even when they bear gifts. They say He says His prayers in Greek, by the bye."

"I am about to request His Holiness to receive me."

"Your Imperial Majesty's case is different. You are not likely to have fresh insults and fresh humiliations offered to you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I cherish the memory of all ecclesiastical pin-pricks which formerly were administered to my father and grandfather."

"Pin-pricks? What do you call pin-pricks?"

"For example, in 1878, Pio Nono, from His Own deathbed, sent to reconcile my excommunicated grandfather, who was enabled to die in the Embrace of The Lord. A little later, died also Pio Nono. My father voluntarily returned the courtesy, sending his adjutant to offer condolence to the Conclave. Leone, who then was Chamberlain, ordered the Swiss Guard to refuse entrance to the royal envoy at the bronze gates—to refuse the message even."

"Very clerical!" the Emperor said; and pondered a moment. Then "Will Your Majesty go to the Vatican with me?"

"No, Sire: I never will go to the Vatican," the King replied.

A telegram signed "Wilhelm I.R." addressed to the Prince-Bishop of Breslau brought Cardinal Popk to his sovereign at the German Embassy in Rome. On hearing the Kaiser's intention, he did his very best to persuade him away from it; and curtly was required to explain himself.

"Majesty," said His Eminency, "no good can come of such a meeting, and much harm may. Our Most Holy Father is English; and, being English, He has the English quality of cynicism. With Him it is 'Et Petro et Nobis' in the highest degree. He is a man of strong likes and dislikes, fervently patriotic and therefore fervently anti-German——"

"Your Eminency knows that?"

"I have no explicit information: but, seeing the estimation in which those islanders hold us, I judge so. Sire, I beseech you to pause. I beseech you, I beseech you on behalf of your loyal Catholic subjects, that you will not expose your imperial person to the risk of an affront."

"An affront, indeed!"

"Majesty, remember what happened when you first visited Pope Leo."

William II. laughed. "Cardinal, you are a very good German, and a—well, queer Roman."

"Sire, I distinguish. I implicitly obey Hadrian as Vicar of Christ: I dislike Him as a cynical Englishman. I am anxious that Your Majesty may not have occasion to dislike this Englishman who is the spiritual director of your loyal Catholic subjects."

"Your Eminency's solicitude is most creditable. But I have met Englishmen whom I immensely admire for certain qualities which they possess and which we Germans lack. What you have said piques my curiosity. I wish to meet this particular Englishman; and I wish Your Eminency to arrange it. I promise you that, whether He affronts me or not, I will not afflict my Catholic subjects with another Kulturkampf—if that is what you fear. However, if you still hesitate to oblige your Kaiser, I will apply through my legation: or, better, I will apply through the Cardinal-bishop of Albano who used to be at Munich."

The Cardinal-Prince-Bishop of Breslau went to the Vatican without any more ado; and the Supreme Pontiff consented to receive.

Hadrian endured an hour of terror. The task of dealing with an emperor—He was inclined to put it from Him as being too great a thing for Him. But He felt inquisitive to know what the Kaiser wanted. He Who sits upon the throne of Peter looks at all the world, knowing that He will see either enemies—or suitors. Hadrian also was inquisitive to see the person and the mind of the man whom He invariably had defended as being the only sovereign in Europe whose conduct indicated belief in his own divine right to sovereignty, and as being one of the few delightful persons in the world who can contemplate their own minds and behold they are very good. Hadrian was interested in William II. as an extremely fine specimen of the absolute type. Yet—He hesitated to come to close relations with him, because—well, for one thing, because He disliked being domineered over, and this military Michael from the high Hohenzollem hill-top was certain to smack of the barracks. All the same, popes had received emperors before now; and it had not always been the emperors who had domineered. But could He love him? Well, at any rate, He could try to save him trouble. Then what was the Kaiser's object? He knew that something or other was wanted of Him; and He feared—feared lest He should say, as usual, more than He meant to say, and give, as usual, more than He need give. That, though, could be prevented. He would make this rule for the occasion:—Listen little, inquire less, affirm least, and concede nothing now. Good! It should be done. He had a couple of easy chairs placed in the throne-room, and a small table with cigarettes, cigarette-papers and tobacco, the Crab Mixture which George Arthur Rose had invented. He sat-down in one of the chairs by the window: took out the little gold pyx from His bosom; and held it in His hands while He awaited the Emperor's arrival. His eyes became still and grave. His lips moved swiftly. A singular serenity inspired Him.... The introducer-of-sovereigns announced

"The Duke of Königsberg."

"Your Majesty's visit gives Us great pleasure," was the Apostle's greeting to the Kaiser, uttered in that clear young minor voice which was so well known in Rome. The two potentates took each the other's measure in a glance. The Emperor, smartly groomed in plain evening-dress with riband, cross, and star, had that slightly conical head which marks the thinker and the single-minded obstinate man. The Pope, a year his junior, gave an impression of clean simplicity with His white habit and His keen white face. There was a distance, a reticence, in His gaze. He had remembered William's Teutonic osculation of His indignant predecessor; and, as the Kaiser approached Him, He took the imperial hand and shook it in the glad-to-see-you-but-keep-off English fashion. Spring-dumb-bells had given the Pope a grip like a vice and an arm like a steel piston-rod. The Emperor blinked once.

"I am grateful to Your Holiness for receiving me in this informal manner."

The Pope inclined His head: motioned His guest to a chair; and offered cigarettes. He Himself rolled one: lighted it; and sat down.

"I have the pleasure of personally congratulating Your Holiness on Your election; and I trust that God will grant You many years in which to rule Your section of His people wisely and well."

"It is Our sincere hope that Our endeavour to feed Christ's flock may be acceptable."

"I have many Catholics in my empire; and I may say that their virtues merit my fullest approbation."

The Pope again inclined His head.

"I understand that Your Holiness has never been in Germany?"

"No. Our life hitherto has been an unimportant one. We are almost ignorant of the world and of men, except perhaps from the view-point of the outside observer and student."

"My sainted mother used to quote an English proverb which says that Onlookers see most of the game."

"All English proverbs, which are positive, have their correspondent negative—'Absence makes the heart grow fonder'—'Out of sight out of mind.'—Your Majesty's proverb is contradicted by 'Only the toad under the harrow has counted the spikes.' We mean that We have learned much of what is done, but very little of the details of the doing."

"Ah, that of course comes by heredity or by practice——"

"Or by occession."

"I fear that I do not quite follow."

The Pope suddenly was afraid that He had been guilty of a sort of appeal for this mighty emperor's pity and consideration toward His plebeian origin and inexperience. Was this keeping His troubles to Himself? He hastened to divert the conversation from Himself.

"Our predecessor St. Peter was an illiterate plebeian of no importance: but, by the occession of Divine Grace, His Holiness was enabled to wield the keys of the kingdom of Heaven, and to win the unfading palm down there by the obelisk."

"Ah yes. And I trust that Your Holiness may be similarly enabled. I have very little doubt but that You will be. The favour of the Almighty seems to be with men of our nation in a pre-eminent degree."

"Our nation?"

"Yes. Surely Your Holiness remembers that, by birth, I am half-English?"

"Oh indeed yes. But, Majesty, in England you are thought of as being wholly German."

"I am much misunderstood in England." Again the head inclined in silence led the Emperor on. "And also I have been much misunderstood in Germany. The English suspect me of plotting mischief against England; and my empire has been suspecting me of such leanings toward England as to interfere with my proper duty of attending to the interests of Germany!"

"And both suspicions are equally gratuitous."

"Both. As a matter of duty, I think first of the interests of Germany: but, for the sake of those very interests, I am anxious to cultivate the friendship of England. Personally I have a great appreciation of many English qualities, as my many English friends know. And of course, although she was a somewhat terrible person, I had an immense and genuine admiration for my never-sufficiently-to-be-lauded grandmother, your great Queen Victoria. Now there was a Woman, a Queen——"

"In that matter Your Majesty's behaviour was magnificent. We Ourself saw you at her exsequies: We noted the signs of your countenance and your comportment; and We honoured your splendid piety. There only was one feeling in England toward Your Majesty then."

The Kaiser was moved: his left arm twitched once or twice. "Your Holiness's words"—he shook his ferocious eyes—"are very grateful to me. But what have I done since—to lose——"

"Majesty, in the English mind, you are incarnate Germany."

"I am Germany."

"It is not Your Majesty whom England distrusts, but the Germans."

"But why, but why?"

"Englishmen say 'It is all very well to dissemble your love but why did you kick me downstairs?' They don't believe in Your Majesty's friendliness because they commit the common error of confounding the particular with the universal. Your Majesty is the scape-goat. They lay upon you the sins of execrable taste on the part of your journalists and of shady diplomacy on the part of your statesmen; and they drive you out into the wilderness."

"Is Your Holiness cognizant of the difficulties which I have to contend with?"

"We are perfectly astounded at the inertia, the stolidity, the volatility, the inconstancy of the material which rulers have to direct, to curb, to shape. We entirely sympathize with Your Majesty in the matter of the difficulties which fill your life. Also, to descend to particulars, We know and approve of your masterly method of dealing with demagogues."

"I am very glad to hear this. I am pleased to know that there is one point on which I can agree with Your Holiness."

"We trust that there are many points on which We cannot agree with Your Majesty."

The Kaiser was taken aback. "I do not understand," he said.

"Complete agreement signifies complete stagnation. Disagreement at least postulates activity; and only by activity is The Best made manifest and approved."

"Holiness, I beg Your pardon. I see the point. That is a very grand and at-all-times-to-be-remembered doctrine. I must try to remember Your beautiful words: for it is The Best which I am seeking for Germany."

"And Germany never will find it in the socialism which aims at that ridiculous impossibility called Equality, meaning the acquisition by lazy B of that which active A has won. All history shews that Aristos only emerges from conflict. That is a truth which must be insisted-on. At the same time, We rejoice to see that Your Majesty has been inspired to distinguish between the charlatans and their dupes. Much unrighteousness is done to suffering humanity by those who will not take the trouble to remember that, when the natural man is hurt, he howls and seizes the salve which is nearest. The wise ruler works to benefit his subjects by going directly to the root of the matter, removing the cause of injury. But We are not to preach to Your Majesty. You, no doubt, had some definite object in coming to Us."

"Yes: I certainly had a definite object: but I had no idea that I was to discuss it with a Pontiff Who had so complete an intuition of my own imperial sentiments."

"Our office is to become in sympathy with all who strive for The Best."

"The kindness with which Your Holiness has received me, and the never-to-be-forgotten truths which You so nobly have enunciated make my task much easier. I desired to consult Your Holiness, to obtain knowledge of Your feelings, in certain matters. At the present moment, You are aware, my eastern frontier is menaced by Russia, my western frontier by France; and, on my southern frontier there is a third and a more miscellaneous difficulty. The Germans of Austria have petitioned for admission to the Germanic Empire."

"Can you admit—annex—them? Will it be well for you to do that?"

"Holiness, I must:—as German Emperor, I must protect Germans. While Francis Joseph lived, his German subjects were content to live in Austria as Austrians. Now that Bohemia and Hungary are separating themselves from Austria, they no longer are content. Austria is no more. The fragments which composed her are for ever disunited; and——"

"Poland?"

"Holiness, in my empire there is no Poland."

"No? Your Majesty believes that the German Austrians would be happier under your rule. Are you likely to meet with opposition if you annex them?"

"With tremendous opposition. France and Russia instantly will declare war."

"With what chance of success?"

"With no chance of success. My glorious German navy and army will conquer France and Russia."

"Majesty! Majesty! And yet—you have endeared yourself to hundreds of thousands of French refugees."

"Thanks to Your Holiness's gracious initiative, You may take it that all Christian France is willing to become German—or English—out of sheer gratitude."

"But Russia—Russia is immense—immensely powerful."

"Pardon me, Holiness, but do You read the English newspapers?"

"Nineteen, studiously: thirty-seven, from which cuts are selected for Our perusal."

"The English newspapers are well-informed, trustworthy?"

"Penny and threepenny dailies, threepenny weeklies, shilling and half-crown monthlies, generally are well-informed, generally are trustworthy."

"So. Then I shall tell Your Holiness, from an English penny daily, that Russia is not powerful in a military sense. The large majority of her officers are abjectly incapable. The ranks are recruited entirely from the peasantry; and are, on the admission of their own generals, entirely unreliable. They have neither intelligence nor initiative; and they no more know how to obey than their officers know how to command. Russia's defeat by Japan taught her nothing. Also there has been for years among patriotic Russians, north, south, east, and west, a singular yearning for an overwhelming defeat by an European power. That way only, they say, can they be delivered from the crushing anarchic tyranny under which the whole country labours. Even supposing Russia to be united—which she is not—I say that she has no chance of ultimate success against the German navy and army. I say that her numbers have inspired a wholly unfounded and exaggerated apprehension of her military power. I say that bounce—Bounce, if Your Holiness will permit me to say it—bounce alone has served her purpose well. She will continue to use bounce until she is opposed by a resolute determination which there is no possibility of mistaking. Fear of Russia resembles the fear of a child at an ugly mask. If Russia were to cross my frontiers, she would march to her final overthrow. And, best of all, the Russians know that as well as I do."

"Your Majesty appears to have made out a case. Well: you will conquer France and Russia. And then?"

"I shall annex them to my empire."

"Are you likely to meet with any opposition then?"

"I do not know. I am about to proceed to discuss the point with my uncle. Meanwhile my ambassadors are consulting Mr. Chamberlain and Mr. Roosevelt; and I myself am consulting my royal cousin the King of Italy."

"Ah—the King of Italy!—And what does Your Majesty desire from Us?"

"I should be glad to know the attitude which Your Holiness will prescribe for the Catholics of my empire, as well as for other Catholics, in the event of my engaging in these schemes."

"Why?"

"Because at present my Catholic subjects are loyal. I should not permit any of my subjects to be disloyal. I wish to give them all freedom in religious matters: but I should not tolerate opposition to my state-policy."

"Touching the matter of Poland——"

"There is no Poland."

The Pope put His hand on the table—pontifically. "Will Your Majesty, for the purposes of argument, consent to imagine a place called Poland, partly Russian, partly German, inhabited by a race which is neither German nor Russian, a race very tenacious of its traditions. In the event of your annexation of France, and Russia, for example,—and Austria which is composed of sixteen distinct races speaking thirty-two distinct languages, the various Slavonic nationalities of Parthians, Medes, and Elamites——"

"Parthians, Medes, and Elamites?"

"Well: Croats, Slovenes, Dalmatians, and the dwellers in Bosnia and Herzegovina, to say nothing of the Czechs and the Magyars,—in the event of your annexation of all these, you would be obliged to have regard unto the racial characteristics of your new subjects. Now, at the same time, would you not be well advised to regard the racial characteristics of Poland?"

"In what way?"

"For example, would you concede to Poland, the Polish language, and a Polish king and constitution under your imperial suzerainty?"

"Your Holiness means something of the nature of federation, such as Your Own country so successfully has adopted?"

"Concisely."

"I had not thought of it. It merits my profound consideration."

"And what would happen to the other fragments of Austria, and to the Balkan States?"

"I do not know. The Sultan would have something to say."

"And what will he say?"

"I must tell Your Holiness that I am much disappointed in Turkey. I looked upon it as the military power, whose ability to hold back Russia, and to prevent the political strangulation of Germany in Europe by keeping-open the gates of the East, must be strengthened at all costs. Hence I practically re-armed the Sultan's forces; and passed numbers of young Turkish officers through my military schools. You may say that I made the Turkish Army. All to no purpose. The new Sultan has played me false. I am afraid now that Turkey will be more influenced by England and by Italy than by me."

"Is that king blind?"

"My uncle?"

"No. Italy."

"Not that I am aware of. Why does Your Holiness ask?"

The Supreme Pontiff stood up. "We thank Your Majesty for the sincerity of Your conversation; and assure you of Our good-will. We will ponder the matters which you have laid before Us."

"I hoped to have had——" But there was no mistaking the sealed face. And William II. was one of the cleverest men in the world; and he also was half an Englishman. "I should be greatly obliged if Your Holiness would write down that doctrine of Aristos. I should prize it greatly."

The Pope went to a writing table and produced a couple of lines in His wonderful fifteenth-century script.

"I will make this one of the heirlooms of Hohenzollern" said the Kaiser.

"May God guide you, well-beloved son."

Hadrian walked that afternoon with Cardinal Semphill on Nomentana, as far as St. Agnes beyond-the-Walls. It was one of those deliberately lovely Roman autumn afternoons, when walking is a climax of crisp joy with the thought of a cup of tea as the fine finial. They talked of books, especially of novels; and His Eminency asserted that the novels of Anthony Trollope gave him on the whole the keenest satisfaction. There was a great deal more in them than generally was supposed, he said. The Pope agreed that they were very pleasant easy reading, deliciously anodynic. His Own preference was for Thackeray's Esmond. He, however, would not commit Himself to approval of all the works of any one writer, simply because no man was capable of being always at his best. As they passed through Porta Pia into Venti Settembre, Hadrian pointed to the palace on the left of the gate, saying, "Have you ever been there?"

"No, Holiness. At least, not since I've been wearing this." He indicated his vermilion ferraiuola.

"Don't you think if we asked them very nicely they would give us a cup of tea?"

The cardinal mischievously chuckled. "I am of opinion that the English Ambassador would be very pleased to make Your Holiness's acquaintance over a cup of tea."

Hadrian rang the bell. "Semphill," He said as they waited at the gate, "if there be any ladies about, will you kindly talk to them and leave the Ambassador to Us."

Sir Francis was at home. And much honoured. So were two secretaries. And no ladies. And there was tea. Cardinal Semphill devoted himself to the secretaries; and told them funny stories about clergymen. They laughed hugely at the tales, (which were witty), and at the wittier clergyman who told them. The Pope mentioned to the Ambassador that He had had a call from the Duke of Königsberg that morning; and drifted-off into an inquiry as to where reliable maps were to be procured. Sir Francis named Stanford of Longacre; and was much interested. Was there any map in particular which His Holiness desired to consult. They were fairly well-off for maps at the embassy. Perhaps the Holy Father would condescend——

"No thank you, Sir Francis. They would ask questions about you in parliament if We were to borrow your maps. Why, Lady Wimborne will have a fit as it is, when she hears that you have entertained the Ten-horned Beast with tea."

"I am not afraid of that, Holiness."

"No, of course not. But Stanford will give Us all the information which We need,—unless you will tell Us" (the interest concentrated) "what England is going to do in the present crisis?"

"I can tell Your Holiness one thing which She has done; and which will appear in to-morrow morning's Times. England and Turkey, the two great Muhammedan Powers, have entered into an offensive and defensive alliance to-day."

"Which means that England's interests lie in Asia and Africa; and not in Europe."

The Ambassador slightly started. "May I know why Your Holiness thinks that?"

Hadrian rose and shook hands. "Because of England's previous alliance with Japan: because of Her conscious sympathy with the barbaric. Read 'success' for 'sympathy' in the last sentence, if you prefer it. And please remember that this is not an infallible utterance."

"It's an astonishingly smart one, all the same," said the Ambassador with a genial grin.

"Thank you very much for your tea. Stanford, you said? Good-bye. And, Sir Francis—there are no closed doors in the Vatican."

Hadrian chattered at large during the remainder of the evening; and industriously dreamed all night, first of certain portents connected with emperors' knuckles: then of tremendous maps on which one crawled: and finally His usual and favourite dream of being invisible and stark-naked and fitted with great white feathery wings, flying with the movement of swimming among and above men, seeing and seeing and seeing, easily and enormously swooping. In the morning reaction supervened. He was listless: He wanted to be alone. They left Him alone; and during several days He was inaccessible, writing, and burning much writing. The palace, with its fifty separate buildings, its eleven thousand rooms, its fourteen courtyards hummed with the life of a population of a small town. Up in the series of small chambers under the eaves, in the large and lovely pleasaunce on the slopes of the Vatican hill, He found quiet and peace. He thought for hours at a stretch, smoking cigarette after cigarette, gazing out of the window or across autumnal lawns. Sometimes He remained rapt in contemplation of the perfect beauty of His new cross, gently stroking it with delicate finger. A portfolio of vast maps arrived from London. He pinned them on His blank brown walls and pored over them. In the night He often would rise and stand before them till His breast ached and His arms were stiff with the weight of the lamp. He sent a holograph letter to the King of Spain; and received a reply which lightened His brow. He concentrated His mind on the future. He began to form His plans.

At the beginning of November, He signed the decree of canonization of Madame Jehane de Lys, commonly called Joan of Arc; and simultaneously issued the Epistle to the Germans. Very few perceived the true inwardness of the paradox. Those Frenchmen who remained Christian were so overjoyed, at the honour accorded to their national heroine, that they failed to appreciate the significance of the Epistle. The Germans were so occupied with the contents of the Epistle, that the glorification of a Frenchwoman passed unnoted. In England, it was thought that the Pontiff was feeling his way. The Worldly Christian asked what you would expect of a Jesuit; and the Daily Anagraph compared Him to Machiavelli. Certainly The Epistle to the Germans was remarkable not so much for its matter as for its suggestion. It was a master-piece of what Walt Whitman calls revelation by faint indirections. The Kaiser did not know whether to be satisfied or dissatisfied with it. Hadrian praised the Teutonic race for its poetic (in the Greek sense of "creative") and diligent habits. He dwelled with admiration upon the many benefits which civilization owes to the German constructive faculty. But He indicated the want of the "open air and fresh water" element in all departments, physical and intellectual, of German life. "Scope is what ye need, free movement of mind and body. Stagnation breeds purulence, rancorous, suffocating, sour. Brooding never can bring satisfaction, nor can iron, nor can blood: but only the gold of Love. Wherefore, well-beloved sons, seek your salvation in Love. Love one another first: be patient, knowing that Love is manifest in obedience, and hath exceeding great reward."

CHAPTER XIII

Jerry Sant saw Mrs. Crowe driving in victorias with people who wore smartish bonnets. Professional experience enables him to recognize real ospreys. Three or four times he met her in her mauve, going to an evening party. From this he deduced that she was enjoying herself; and, it being quite contrary to the principles of socialism that any one should enjoy themselves except under socialist supervision, he put on a red necktie and paid her a visit. It was a wet day: she had nothing particular to do; and she was not unwilling to chat about herself. Looking at his florid sweaty vulgarity, it soothed her vanity to tell this plebeian of the patricians whom she had captured, the Honble. Mrs. This, the Baroness von That, and Lady Whatshemame of the Other. They were so kind. Their kettledrums and bridge-routs were so shick. You met such thoroughly Nice people you know. And the American millionairesses were so amusing. They had such shocking manners. Mrs. Crowe actually had seen one drinking soup out of a plate. Jerry had been getting more and more morose while she chattered; and now he burst out:

"I know better than to sup my soup out of the plate. I sup them with a spoon."

"Of course you do, Mr. Sant. But these American women have no manners whatever."

"Ah weel now, we've had enough of that. Look ye now, I've been letting ye go your own way a bit; and I think the time's come when ye might introduce me to some of your gran' friens. A'm none too gey at the hotel; and besides that, it's me due."

She found the man a sudden and accented nuisance: but she couldn't possibly quarrel with the keeper of the purse. "I'm sure, if you think it advisable, I don't want to keep you back. I don't quite see though how I can take you with me, as you say. You see you don't know any of these people."

"Well and fhat of that?"

"Why you silly man of course you've got to be introduced."

"How did you get introduced yersel'?"

"Oh, why, I was converted, you see."

"Imphm! Well, I'll let ye know I'm not for being converted, as ye call it."

"No, I suppose not. I think it rather a pity, you know; because I'm sure you'd have no difficulty afterwards."

"A willna!"

"Perhaps if I were to hint that you were thinking about it——"

"Ah weel, ye might do that now. Look here ma wumman. Why can't ye introduce me yersel'?"

"Oh I couldn't. People would want to know what you were to me——"

"I'm your paymaster."

"Oh how can you say such things!"

"Because I am."

"Yes I know you are: but you needn't say it out so bluntly. I'll tell you what I might do. You be at the tea-place in Piazzer Dispaggner every afternoon from four to five. I'm sure to come in to-morrow or the next day with a few friends; and, if you were to bow to me, I might recognize you and ask you to our table."

"Wumman A'll dae't. Who pays for the tea, though?"

"Sometimes I do; and sometimes whoever I come with."

"Well then I'm coming. And I'll let you know to have a good blow out, plenty o' scones and bit-cakeys an' a' that. I'll pay; and I don't mind if it costs me three shilling, so long as ye introduce me to some of these mashers."

"Very well. But remember, you're thinking about becoming Catholic."

"A'm not."

"Dear me, Mr. Sant, but you must be. Then they'll take an interest in you and ask you to their parties." "Ah weel then, I am."

"Who is this Mr. Sant?" said a Pict to an Erse (who called himself "The" before his surname). The italicized question was asked at a reception in Mrs. O'Jade's flat on Palazzo Campello, about a fortnight after the previous confabulation.

"I really don't quite know, beyond that he's a friend of that Mrs. Crowe who was converted the other day."

"Is he a convert too?"

"No, not yet: but they say he's likely to be. They're both Liblabs, you know."

"Oh, yes of course, I read about them in the papers. What a score it will be for the Church! Well, what do you make of him?"

"Oh he seems earnest enough: but he's hardly got a word to say for himself. And I don't think he's quite a gentleman, you know."

Hadrian sat at the end of one of His long bare tables. On both sides of Him were two great numbered baskets. At the other end of the table was a huge leathern sack containing the pontifical mail. At the sides of the table stood the two Gentlemen of the Apostolic Chamber with stilettos. The Pope unlocked the sack; and Sir John and Sir Iulo in turn drew out a handful of letters and displayed them before Him. He scanned the handwriting of each; and named a numbered basket into which the designated missive was cast. When the sack was empty, the contents of the baskets were dealt with. All the letters in the first were addressed "To His Holiness the Pope, Prefect of the Holy Roman and Universal Inquisition." Hadrian took the stiletto from Sir Iulo; and slit open each envelope which Sir John presented. Thus they were returned to the basket, and sent to be perused by the Cardinal-Secretary-of-State. The two gentlemen seated themselves at the table: cut-open the envelopes of the second basketful; and pushed them within the Pope's reach. These were addressed in known hand-writings. Hadrian read the letters, and sorted them in separate heaps before Him: each heap was weighted by a miniature ingot of pure copper, the colour of which He immensely admired. Two letters were placed face downwards by themselves. The envelopes from the third basket were opened, and the letters extracted by the gentlemen: Hadrian only looked-at and arranged them. The fourth basket contained newspapers, which Sir John opened and examined for marked paragraphs. If any such were found, Sir Iulo folded the paper open and placed it: otherwise the paper was torn and returned to the basket. Meanwhile the Pope more closely inspected the letters which He had retained. The gentlemen placed a couple of phonographs on the table: inserted new cylinders; and retired. Hadrian got up and locked the doors. He took the little heaps of letters from under the ingots; and spoke into the machine formal acknowledgments of receipt and a short blessing, or definite instructions for detailed responses, until all had received attention except the two letters which lay by themselves, and three others. He unlocked the door. The gentlemen entered; and carried the instruments with the articulate cylinders to Cardinals Sterling, Whitehead, Leighton, della Volta, and Fiamma, who acted as pontifical secretaries in the ninth antechamber. Hadrian Himself wrote to His well-beloved son William, to His beloved son Edmund Earl Marshal of England, and to His beloved son A. Panciera. These being enclosed and addressed, He was left alone. He took the two remaining letters to the easy-chair by the window; rolled and lighted a cigarette; and considered them.

"Reverend and Dear Sir,

Since our late esteemed interview when I had the pleasure of addressing your lordship on the subject of Socialism I have been anxiously awaiting the favour of an acknowledgment of same. In case the subject has slipped your memory I should remind you that I informed you previously on behalf of the Liblab Fellowship that we were not averse to give our careful consideration to any proposal that you may see fit to make, with a view to co-operation with us against the horde of cosmopolitan gold-pigs who monopolise the means of existence production distribution and exchange in order to procure a complete change in the entire social organism. I am quite at a loss to understand on what grounds you have not favored me with a direct reply unless there is anything on which you would like farther explanations, in that case I will be most happy to call on you per previous appointment for which I am now waiting at the above address neglecting my business at considerable expense and inconvenience to myself which a man in my humble position compared with yours (!) cannot be expected to incur and common courtesy demands should be made good. I therefore trust that in view of the not altogether pleasant facts that are in my possession your lordship shall see fit to send me a private interview at your earliest convenience. Hopeing that I will not have occasion to feel myself compelled to proceed farther in this matter if you leave me no option but to do so, and assuring your lordship that your valued instructions as to time and place of meeting will have my fullest and promptest attention.

I remain Sir, Yours truly, Comrade Jeremiah Sant. L.F.

P.S. Perhaps I may mention by way of hint that we might be able to come to some arrangement for our mutual advantage not altogether on the above lines, and I beg to advise your most reverent lordship that I would be willing to meet your wishes if the terms are suitable. Asking to hear from you soon and hoping that any misunderstandings may presently be cleared up.

J.S."

"Dearest dearest Georgie

For although you have no more the old sweet name my heart is ever faithfull and will not let me call you by any other. Does it not remind you of that day of long ago when the floods were out in the meadows and you and I and Joseph were coming home from the Bellamys, and you lifted me in your strong arms and carried me through the water that covered the path. How Joseph laughed. He never thought it worth his while to take care of me as you did. But I knew that it was because you loved me and my heart went out to you then and never has been my own since. If only you knew how deeply I regret the unpleasantness which arose since then I think you would pity me a little. Georgie do forgive me. It is my love which made me mad. I hate myself for what I did and would give the world to undo it. I was a mad fool then. I did not know what I was doing or how you would take it so seriously. Georgie you were always good and I was wicked. But haven't you punished me enough. Think of what I have suffered all these years apart from you. Every time you have refused to notice me has been like a stab in my heart. Georgie take pity on me. Do you know that I watch your window every day and watch you walk about the town. Several times you have brushed against me in the street without knowing it for I will do nothing to damage you any more, dearest Georgie. I know very well that ladies are not admitted to your palace for I have had myself made a Catholic in order to get a little nearer you, but all priests have housekeepers. Georgie do let me come and be your housekeeper. I promise on my word of honour that I will serve you faithfully in any and every way. We might be so happy. Nothing would give me greater joy than to work my fingers to the bone for you. Georgie do believe me when you see how I am willing to humiliate myself so for you. Of course I never speak of our former relations except that I say I knew you slightly when Joe was alive. But as for love I never mention it for it was nipped in the bud by my wickedness and never has been anything but a trial to me, and I should not wish my love to do you any harm. Don't think that last sentence means anything spiteful, it is not so indeed but I know you distrust me. I only mean that it would be better for both of us if you would not go on being so cruel heartless dreadful and neglectful of

Your devoted and distracted N.

P.S. I have a suspicion that the man who is with me is no friend of yours. Georgie, be wise and let me see you at least and tell you what I suspect. It is only your welfare I have at heart, don't refuse me Georgie don't."