Hadrian the Seventh

by Frederick Rolfe

  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 farmhouse 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 Em
inency 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 Hohenzollern 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.