Hadrian the Seventh

by Frederick Rolfe

  “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 sky-pilot 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 mun
ches 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 ‘Паιδε,’ 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 XII

  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 Hôtel 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.”