V

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

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

“Castel Gandolfo, Holiness.”

“Yes. And it used to be a pontifical villa?”

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

“Which part?”

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

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

“Perhaps I’d better do that at once whatever.”

“Yes, but don’t be long.”

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

“The Majordomo is the head of the household; and the Master of the Chamber has immediate charge of Your Holiness’s person.”

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

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

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

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

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

They went out into the corridor; and reentered the apartment by the first antechamber.

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

The Majordomo understood. The Master-of-the-Chamber shivered.

“And lamps. Get two plain oil-lamps for each room, with copper shades: large lamps, to give a very strong light. Paint over both doors of the bedroom, on the outside of each, Intrantes excommunicantur ipso facto. When We have finished here,” (He addressed the Master-of-the-Chamber again), “you will parade your staff; and We will select one person and provide him with a dispensation from that rule as long as he behaves himself well. He will have charge of the bedroom and the sole right to enter it.” (The Pope passed into the next room: paused, and whispered explicit directions to the Majordomo; and moved on to the farther room.) “The clothespresses from downstairs can be moved into this room. They will serve. And you had better make a door here, so that it can be entered from the corridor.” (He went on again.) “This room is to be the vestry;⁠—and this the oratory. Let Us have a plain stone altar and the stations, and the bare necessaries for mass, all of the simplest. Let everything, walls, floor, ceiling, everything, be white⁠—natural white, not painted; and make a door here, also leading into the corridor, a large double-door convenient for the faithful who assist at the pontifical mass. The rooms beyond⁠—you will take order about them at a convenient occasion.”

Hadrian and the bishop returned to the pontifical apartments downstairs.

“Your Holiness will excuse me⁠—”

“Yes?”

“⁠—but have You ever contemplated the present situation?”

“No. Why?”

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

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

“A master-key, Holiness; I have just got one too.” The bishop showed his own ring.

“What is that?”

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

“Capital! Where do you get these things made?”

“At a place in Band Street⁠—Brahma I think the name is.”

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

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

This was so rapid a change of mood that Talacryn could not follow it. As soon as the servants were gone, Hadrian continued, returning the episcopal ring,

“Tell your Brahma people to fit all the doors upstairs with locks which have separate keys, and to send another score of locks also with separate keys; and also to send a man here who is capable of making an episcopal ring for Us which shall contain a master-key to all those locks.”

“Very well, Holy Father.”

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

“The Cardinal-Deacon of Santa Maria Nuova is Apostolic Treasurer; and the Majordomo is responsible for the household expenses.”

“Ask the Treasurer particularly to come? Don’t come yourself. Good night: God bless you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was thin ice indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We understand that the expenses of Our household pass through the hands of the Majordomo. Are they paid from some fund particularly allotted to the purpose?”

“Yes, Most Holy Lord; from⁠—”

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

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

“And those funds⁠—Some suffice; and some do not suffice. They vary, no doubt?”

“Most Holy Lord, they vary.”

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

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

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

“It shall be done, Most Holy Lord.”

“Meanwhile, what money is at Our disposal at this moment?”

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

“What approximately is the sum?”

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

“Lire?”

“Pounds sterling, Most Holy Lord.”

Hadrian’s eyes sparkled. “Where is it?”

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

“Which safe?”

“The safe in the bedroom wall, Most Holy Lord.”

“Where is the key?”

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

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

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

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

“That is Monsignor Nefski, Holiness⁠—the Archbishop of Prague.”

“He is marked by some fearful sorrow?”

“A most fearful sorrow indeed.”

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

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

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

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