THE POPE’S TEMPTATION

Under the great Dome that floated like a golden bubble upon the red tranquillity of the sea of sunset lay the indecipherable shadow of a crumbling City. It was a City of secular silences, and yet it was filled with the murmur of the prayers of those who were long dead. It was a City of many mansions and narrow streets, of slow-filling fountains and great dumb doorways. Upon the time-eaten walls were set windows, whose dust-shrouded panes separated the twilight without from the twilight within. In that City was no sign of mart nor sound of amusement.

Under the Dome stretched the great palace. Through corridors of jacinth and chalcedony-coloured marble stirred a quiet and unending business. It was a business that seemed to have begun in the faraway centuries and to move towards slow fulfilment with the ending of the world. From time to time the noiseless shadows of men in sable-coloured dress moved through the corridors or passed into the darkness of the rooms. Some were slashed with sashes of scarlet as of hyssop or with purple as of grapes, all of which had high liturgical significance, but they made little show compared to the soldiery guarding the gates. Behind balustrades of alabaster and upon snowy marble floors stood the guardians of the gates. They were magnificently clothed in yellow and black and vermilion, as though to signify very clearly that their watch was not withdrawn in the golden morning nor in the red of noon nor yet in the pitchy darkness of the night.

Behind the gaudy metallurgic gates and past the long corridors of the colour of jacinth and chalcedony, fenced in an inner chamber by men, whose swords turned every way, an old man rested in a chair of cedar wood. The lineaments of his face and the folds of his garments were as white as fretted ivory. A white cap circled his silver hair. His eyes were like two wicks burning in a lamp of snowstone. His feet were shod with shoes whiter than wool. Upon each shoe was woven a crosslet of tinsel thread. At a little distance it gave the appearance of the print of a nail of gold. The old man sat resting.

Arranged upon shelves of camphor wood and behind crystal panes were a few very precious presents from contemporary but mundane rulers. The table, upon which the old man rested his arm, was a souvenir from the Emperor of the Sun in recognition of his recovery from water on the knee by the timely application of a miraculous medal. It was exquisitely inlaid with the solar radiations that Celestial Royalty affect on their notepaper. The old man was sometimes seized with a thought of irony. He himself was the only child of a sunburnt peasant. Nevertheless, since he had accepted the Pontifical Maximate, his Arms were the Keys of Heaven and of Hell, and his seal was the Seal of the Holy Fisherman.

Other very marvellous gifts there were. Upon the pallid marbles stretched carpets dyed azure with the blood of shell-fish found only in the Solomon Archipelago. They had been brought by the Queen of Sheba, a most devout soul, then living as a comfortable exile in Paris. In the corner stood a life-size lion of gilded bronze with eyes of red carbuncle sent from the King of the Sahara, who also was a god after his manner. His love of studied effect was well known to explorers, and was often mentioned in the Press. In an opposite corner was another table of pea-green marble all blurred and blotched in a pattern of streaks, the gift of the Lord of the Everlasting Snows in default of his ancient allegiance. From the old man’s girdle of white camel-hair hung a rosary of tawny beads which his devoted liegeman of the Isles in the North had robbed from the strange Hyperboreans, who are of such near kindred to the seals that they may be dispensed to take them in marriage when there is a shortage of their own stock. The floor was of worn pavement of onyx stone presented to the predecessors of the old man upon the Throne of the Fisherman by an Oriental Sovereign so long ago that his name had been forgotten among his own people. And his people in turn had been forgotten by the historians, which showed that they had deserved well of the gods.

The old man was glancing through some parchment papers, which his scribes had written in clear script but in a character without character. His scribes all wrote alike, and they wrote in a language that was dead. As the old man finished reading each parchment, of his spontaneous clemency he affixed his minuscule initials and the year of his Pontificate. The parchments showed that his duties were manifold, that he had the souls both of kings and of children in his keeping, that he was the anointed Reader of Scripture to the Nations, that the Calendar of the Saints was in his keeping and jurisdiction. One parchment was the Ban of the greater excommunication of the Great Mogul, who had audaciously removed the feet of the pontifical ambassador when he omitted to remove his episcopal sandals. A lesser excommunication there was directed unto the King of the Wends, who had married three wives albeit in his sleep, and his court chaplain had considerately forwarded a certificate that his Master was suffering from sleeping sickness. Over and above the scroll and screed of all these precious documents was inscribed in Stephens’ indelible blue-black ink the supreme style and bearing of the old man, to wit “THE SERVANT OF THE SERVANTS OF GOD.”

As the night drew apace, the old man felt very tired, and his hands seemed weighed down as though with invisible chains. He had indeed spent a very tiring day. Before dawn had broken in streams of white fire upon the Dome, he had been roused from his slumbers to say his prayers. Chamberlains clad in dark green velvet with gold chains enlinking the pontifical cipher had led him to a velvet stool to meditate awhile on the four last things, which shall come to man and woman and priest. The ritual forbade him to eat until he had offered sacrifice upon the High Altar where none but he was allowed. He had been brought under the Dome on a palanquin of gilded lattice-work and carried by carriers in the gestatorial uniform into the Basilica of the Holy Fisherman. And at the High Altar facing the people he had sung the Liturgy, moving now to one side and then to the other behind the six golden candle-sticks. Like a huge-headed moth with heavy scaled wings he had seemed in the white blaze. And all the while the Holy College had stood and moved and prayed around him in scarlet, and the crying of the singers had never ceased. When he sat back upon the Throne that is above all earthly thrones he had felt faint for food. His secret Chamberlains had upheld him while his private flabellifers had fanned him with the great festal fans of ostrich plume. It had been the Feast day of Him whose emerald enamelled his waxen finger and whose Keys he carried in his consecrated girdle. The emerald had once served as an optic glass to the Fantastic World Emperor, who had been indiscreet enough to use the Servants of God to illuminate his gardens at night.

The hours had passed slowly for the old man watching his venerable acolytes and eminent assistants through the clouds of incense smoke. From time to time his closing eyes had lighted on the great Image of the Divine Fisherman, which was enthroned opposite to him. Time had made the Image as black as bitumen except for the feet, which the pious lips of pilgrims had burnished till they shone like molten bronze. And each time he had thought of the stupendous stewardship for which he must one day give account. He remembered too the quiet days of study in his hermitage before he was burdened with the nets of the Fisherman. Peace and happiness he had forfeited since the dread night when the three score and ten Princes of the Holy Blood had chosen him by secret balloting in a golden chalice to be Lord over them. Since that night men had come from the ends of the world to thrust their burdens upon him, though his own burden seemed sufficient. Tears had anointed his waxen cheeks and fallen like transparent drops upon his richly chased chasuble, upon the stellar stole and upon the jewelled maniple which hung from his wrist like some dead humming-bird.

But the multitude perceived not that he wept, for his eyes were turned away from them toward the great Image, which was clothed in the likeness of the vesture of God. Upon the head of the great Image the Acolytes had set a treble crown signifying the Sovereignty of the Gate that is Above and of the Gate that is Below and of the Gates of Twilight, which lead neither to Heaven nor to Hell. In the hands of the Image were clutched the Great Keys and, though the philosophers of the world made light thereof and though the rulers of the world acted as though it were otherwise, there was no doubt to the folk but that they symboled the Keys of Heaven and of Hell. From the shoulders to the sandals of the Image hung a cope of frosted gold, and it was fastened with a lock of living sapphire. Dire and doomful was the face upon the Image of the Fisherman, and the Image filled the shadow of one pillar of the Great Basilica. Now each pillar of the Basilica was about the thickness of a mortal man’s house.

When the Liturgy was finished, there arose a Deacon with archacolytes at his side in scarlet vestments, and bowed to the old man, and straightway the silver trumpets sounded through the Dome as it were the sound of a single reed of an organ or as the note of a sea-wave in the hollow of a sea-shell. And all the Princes of the Holy Blood arose and processed slowly before the old man as he was carried from the Basilica over the heads of the people. When he was lifted above the heads of the people he raised his hand higher to bless them. His fingers fluttered like the wing of a tired dove moving upon the face of many waters. And all the people moaned like the thunder of the tide, “O Priest and O King, live for ever!”

When they had brought him within the Palace, they disrobed him of his heavy vesture and gave him a piece of broiled fish to eat, and to quench his thirst a slice of pomegranate seethed in old wine. It was the hour when he should receive the pilgrims, who came from all over the World-that-is to beg his favour in the World-to-come, or to ask the eleemosynary aid or the autoscript of the old man; others for dispense to make forbidden espousals within the circle of blood and others to be annulled of theirs for ever. To each and to all he spoke softly but surely, saying, “This may I give to you, and I give it to you without price,” or “Of this it is not permitted to give you, and I give it to you not at all.” After the pilgrims had passed upon their way, the old man gave audience to his own ambassadors in the presence-chamber. They wore thin chains of gold and Symbols set with amethyst or emerald according to their degree in the Sacred Precedence. As each went his way, the soldiers of the guard raised and let fall their spears.

Lastly there had come to the door a Lord of the Most Holy, Indeviable and Undeniable Inquisition. He was clad in white samite and hooded, so that the guard looked not on his face. Him the old man bade be seated and do swiftly whatsoever he was come to do. And the Lord Inquisitor bowed himself to the ground and kissed the old man’s feet. Then he arose and heard the old man’s confession such as he was bound to confess daily, saying to him: “Let my Lord reveal whatever evil he hath done or caused other to do, and every evil word he hath spoken or caused other to speak and every evil thought that hath crossed the mind of my Lord’s Holiness even unto the shadow of the shadow.”

And the old man searched into his own mind and reported gravely, “O my Lord, thy Lord searcheth and findeth no evil done or deemed this day save the great weariness thy Lord felt in the continual presence of the Servants of God.” The Lord Inquisitor looked grave as in his duty bound and answered, “This even were a sin, O my Lord, for when the eyes of the Fisherman grow weary then are the nets broken.” And he bade him say the Seven Penitential Psalms and to pray for the soul of the Lord Inquisitor. And when he had received the Absolution of the Lord Inquisitor, the old man smiled for the first time that day. Then the Lord Inquisitor had knelt to receive the old man’s blessing and the great green emerald moved symbolwise upon the air. Delicately and discreetly as a dancing master, who had corrected the steps of an innocent child, the Lord Inquisitor passed into the corridor. His head was shrouded once more and bowed as though he had conned the pages of some very secret and sacred book. As he passed, the soldiers saluted him but fearfully, knowing the office which was his. It was his to unlock and lock the soul of him who kept the Keys of Heaven and Hell.

The old man was awearied and his Chamberlain brought him a little broth of bread and wine, saying to him as of set ceremony: “Gall He had to eat and vinegar to drink.” When he had eaten, they led him into a small ungarnished room to sleep. And the day was the thousandth day of his pontificate, and the night was the thousandth and first.

With the dawn of dark unto the dark of dawn the movement of men to and fro ceased under the Dome. The old man slept and forgot his visitors of the day. Yet there stood a visitor at the outer gates. For less than a moment of that which is called Time a Shadow darkened the Gateway. Through the corridors which were of marble, the colour of jacinth and chalcedony, passed the Shadow. And within the small ungarnished room it sank into shape. No legate announced this visitant, no Chamberlain ushered it past the doors, and no soldier of the many, who stood guarding the gates moved his spear-head in salute. The old man neither stirred nor spoke in his slumber. But on the horizons of sleep he beheld a vast panorama as of a desert stretching around and beyond him. Sands that glittered like yellow silk in the garish sunlight, rocks and caves there were, sands stretching endlessly. In the dead distance a dot of jet moved and grew larger and larger until it seemed to be like an eagle flying across the mirage of the air. When it was quite close it was grown to the stature of a man. And a Voice proceeded, saying to the old man who watched aghast: “Art thou not lonely in thy weariness and weary in thy loneliness?”—employing a remarkable zeugma of speech.

The old man answered: “Nay, for He Whose servants I serve is continually present with me.”

And the other answered: “There is none with thee, for in the wilderness every soul is one and alone, and here there is neither God nor Man—for even thyself art above all mankind and but a little lower than the gods.”

“I know not who or whence thou art,” cried the old man, “but thou speakest false, for I am not as God and I see the footprints of a man in the sands before me.”

And the other, laughing horribly, said: “The footprints that thou seest were left by One That was not Man.”

Then the old man grimly remembered his office and answered with the tongue that is indefectible from truth: “Nay, but most truly He also was Man, and let whosoever denieth be Anathema!”

The other, finding him not unwary, spoke again: “I know thee who thou art, thou holy one. Would’st thou not be set amongst thine own people again and see the place of thine own home?” To the old man’s anguish rose a vision of his father’s house and his mother’s hens feeding on the tiny midden under the little vineyard where he played as a child. With a parched tongue the old man would have made stress to answer him, but the plains swayed suddenly in his sight and he perceived the sun turn to blood and himself compassed by a cloud darker than darkness and felt himself carried through the thin air, unable to stir or speak, until he stood planted above the world upon a gilded pinnacle of the Great Basilica. Below his feet in the distances crowds of people vibrated as though the carcass of the earth had rotted and had become a moving mass of maggots.

And the Voice whispered to him: “I have set thee, O thou holy one, upon the pinnacle of the Temporal Power that thou mightest be a sign in the sight of all men and strengthen their faith. Cast thyself down from hence and the Angels of Him, Whom thou servest, shall watch over thee and keep thy foot lest it be dashed against a stone.”

The old man answered: “With desire have I desired to go down unto the multitudes, that I might become a servant where they have made me a Prince, but it is not given unto me to fulfil my own will in this generation.”

It seemed then as though seven vials of darkness had been loosed from the sky and that a cloud of iron hemmed the temples of his brain, and that he was being lifted whither he knew not. When his eyes were opened, he perceived that he was upon the top of an exceedingly high mountain and that a light shone at his feet, which was not the light of the sun nor of the moon nor yet of the stars. He beheld and lo! it was a great glamour from the jewelled crowns and diamond sceptres of the Kings of this world. They were all gathered at the foot of the mountain and their armies were ranged behind them across the plains as far as the eye could reach. And in the estuaries of the far-away seas the masts of their ships and galleons trembled like a forest of reeds. And again the Voice spoke to him, saying: “All the Kingdoms and Dominions and Principalities that you behold, these all will I give unto thee with all that they contain and possess if thou wilt genuflect to me but once.”

And the old man, knowing out of memory what his answer should be, murmured: “Get thou behind me, for it is written that thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God nor even the Servant of the Servants of the Lord thy God.” Then the Voice that had spoken to him out of the shadow fled away like a shrill wind moaning to itself in the wilderness. Beyond the plains of the earth and estuaries of the sea it passed into a wail of despair. And the wail died away.

In the dead of the night the old man cried out aloud, and the Chamberlains thrust their gold chains upon their necks and hurried to his side, and the guards lit their torches and crashed their spears to the salute. And the old man questioned his Chamberlains, saying: “Who hath come in, and who hath come out, and who hath questioned me when I slept?” They answered: “No one hath questioned the Holiness of our Lord, for no one hath entered in.” And the captain of the guards swore that not so much as a shadow had passed between the spear-points of his men. In the morning the old man sent for the Lord Inquisitor and revealed to him all that had happened in the night. With the answers to the dire Voice which had proceeded from the shadow the Lord Inquisitor was well satisfied. And he asked him how he had replied to the Voice tempting him to see again the place of his father’s house and the little cottage and the vineyard and the tiny midden and his mother’s hens, and the old man trembled, saying he had not known how to give answer, for his tongue had become parched to his mouth.

And the Lord Inquisitor, who was an apt theologian, said: “It was well that the Voice that spoke from the shadow passed to deal thee other temptation.”

“With desire that is greater than desire have I desired to return unto my own home,” said the old man, “but he that tempted me did not press me above my strength, carrying me away to the top of the Basilica when I could not give answer.” And the Lord Inquisitor answered: “He that tempted my Lord dared not continue lest he should remember his own home, for he too hath been separated from the place of his desire and of his beginning and of his love. And how shall he tempt others of temptation that he himself is worse than tempted of? For others may yield to temptation, but the Tempter cannot yield unto his, which is as a terrible desire possessing him. He can only be tortured, not tempted, for the home which he hath lost is eternal. The home which the Holiness of my Lord hath deigned to desire but hath consented not to revisit is but an earthly one.”

“Frankly, then,” said the Pope, “the Devil is home-sick.”

“Damned home-sick,” said the Grand Inquisitor.