Hadrian the Seventh

by Frederick Rolfe

  “The Patriarch of Byzantion?”

  “It was thought that as he had negotiated with England during the reign of Your Holiness’s predecessors——”

  “Oh. Then, no. The services of the Patriarch of Byzantion are not required. When His Grace is not smirking in ‘black’ drawing-rooms, or writing defamatory letters to duchesses——”

  “Defamatory letters, Holy Father!”

  “Yes: defamatory letters, such as this one which he wrote in 1800.”

  The Pope got up, took off His episcopal ring, unlocked and dived into an alphabetical letter-case, and handed a most ingeniously suggestive and lethific note to the cardinal. “Well, when His Grace is not engaged in these disedifying pastimes, he has his patriarchate to attend-to. In fact unless he can see his way to become a resident patriarch in Byzantion within the month, he may look for a decree of deposition.” The Supreme Pontiff’s aspect was austere. “Your Eminency will convey that response to Cardinal Ragna’s obliging suggestion.”

  Talacryn made haste to kneel. “Give me a blessing, Holy Father, and I will immediately proceed to my new see, whatever.”

  Hadrian smiled. “God bless you, son. But do not go yet. Pimlico has been in the hands of the Vicar-General and the Coadjutor for years; and the Vicar-Capitular can manage for the present. Stay here a little while. We shall need you. We shall not need you long.”

  And Talacryn went out from the Presence, glad, yet grave.

  During a few days, questions and answers incessantly passed between the Vatican and Windsor Castle. Hadrian consulted sovereigns: discussed difficulties with statesmen. Baron de Boucert expressed the opinion that it would be futile to oppose the inevitable expansion of Germany. Signor Barconi himself officiated at an instrument installed in the apostolic antechamber, until he was carried away in nervous collapse. Hadrian envied him: and forced Himself to resist temptation. He had much to do yet. Messages, messages, study of maps, collation of ms. notes, filled a score of each twenty-four hours. There was need of profound thought, so that the clairvoyant undazzled eye like a diver might reach the bottom of deep-preserving thought. The four hours which remained chiefly were spent at the tomb of St. Peter in the basilica. The Arbitrator slept not at all in these days. He ate while at work; and only sought refreshment under the ice-cold tap in the bath-room. A squadron of English cruisers escorted a procession of royal yachts and battleships, which conveyed the Congress of Windsor to Golden and immortal Rome.

  Then came the issue of the Epistle to the Princes, in which the Apostle reiterated the evangelic counsels, predicating a scheme of utter self-sacrifice and non-resistance in imitation of the “sweet reasonableness of Christ.” This would mean, said He, the deliberate loosening and casting away of all conventions which bound society together. It was right: it was straight: it was the most direct road to heaven. But it was not in accordance with the human will: it would be called utopian, and unconventional; and it would be derided more than followed: it would cause confusion inconceivable if it were attempted on the grand scale. Truth more quickly emerges from error than from confusion. Men, being what they are, i.e. bound to err, would be better for having their errancy guided. They would diverge from the road: but they should not leave it out of sight; and, properly guided, their movement at least could be made to tend towards the Point Desirable. Individuality so long had been suppressed, that its efforts required administration. Therefore the Pontiff shewed, as well as an unconventional, a conventional way of approaching that Point Desirable. He maintained the aristocratic and monarchic principle in strict integrity. A rebel was worse than the worst prince, and rebellion was worse than the worst government of the worst prince that hitherto had been. He proclaimed the anarchy of France and Russia to be a manifestation of diabolic ebullience, which ought to be restrained and stamped out by all right means, even the most stringent. France and Russia, having forfeited the right of being deemed capable of ruling themselves, henceforth must submit to be ruled. Satan finds mischief for idle hands to do. Occupation, and scope for occupation, alone will enable individuals and nations to work out their own salvation humanly speaking. Men must use themselves:—for good or ill. Most human ills were caused by the lack of scope for energy. Sitting on, or screwing down, the safety valve invariably was fatal:—a doctrine which He enforced on the attention and obedience of the clergy. These principles involved a re-arrangement of various spheres of influence. The Ruler of the World, Peter, the Supreme Arbitrator, decreed that the only nations, in which the “facultas regendi” survived in undiminished energy, were England, America, Japan, Germany, Italy. Some of the old monarchies, however, had not yet reached that point of decay when their extinction would become desirable: they were Norway, Sweden, Denmark, the German kingdoms and principalities and duchies, Spain, Portugal, Greece, Roumania, Albania, Montenegro, the republics of Switzerland and San Marino. These were to be maintained as sovereign states and to preserve their national characters. Some also of the old monarchies, which had tolerated unmerited suppression, were to be given an opportunity of proving themselves worthy of corporate existence. These were Hungary, Bohemia, and Russian and German Poland. They were revived as kingdoms; and required to provide themselves with constitutions (after the manner of England), and to elect their respective monarchical dynasties. Switzerland and San Marino were confirmed as republics. The Sultan at the instigation of England, his ally, would move his capital to Damascus, in order to concentrate the main force of Islam in Asia. Servia was added to the Principality of Montenegro. Turkey-in-Europe and Bulgaria would become merged in the kingdom of Greece. So far for particulars.

  Hadrian denounced, as bad and idle dreams, the plans of recent political schemers who had adumbrated ideas of a federation of the English-speaking and the Teutonic races. He dwelled upon the essential differences which divided Germany from America, and both from England. No blend was possible between the English and the Germans; and Americans were not qualified for bonds. Each one of the three was unique; and each would stand alone. Three such enormous powers must have each its own separate and singular existence and sphere of action. Three such spheres must be found, in which the three nations independently might thrive. It was room for independent development which must be sought out, and assigned.

  He stated the case of the continent of Europe. Belgium had 228 inhabitants to the square-kilometre: Holland, 160: Germany, 104: Austria, 87: France, 72: Russia was so sparsely populated that only a migration of 109,000,000 people from the rest of Europe would raise her to the European average. Hence, the Pope proclaimed the instauration of the Roman Empire, under two Emperors, a Northern Emperor and a Southern Emperor; and confirmed the same to the King of Prussia and the King of Italy as representatives of the dynasties of Hohenzollern and Savoy respectively. He ordained that this instauration should not be deemed ‘the ghost of the dead Roman Empire sitting crowned upon the grave thereof, but its legitimate heir and successor, justified by the ancient virtues of the Romans, the beneficence of their rule,’ and the vigorous aspiration to well-doing which characterized their present representatives. The Northern Emperor William would nominate sovereign dynasties for Belgium and Holland. He might replace the present exiled monarchs on their respective thrones: or he might depose them and substitute members of his Imperial family. He then would extend the borders of Germany, eastward to the Ural Mountains by the inclusion of Russia, westward to the English Channel and Bay of Biscay by the inclusion of France, southward to the Danube by the inclusion of Austria. At the same time, he would federate the constitutional monarchies of Norway and Sweden, Denmark, Holland, Belgium, Hungary, Bohemia, Poland, Roumania, and the republic of Switzerland with the other sovereign states already under his suzerainty: while the Southern Emperor Victor Emanuel would federate the constitutional monarchies of Portugal, Spain, the extended kingdom of Greece, the principalities of Montenegro and Albania, and the republic of San Marino, with the kingdom of Italy, which last now was to include Italia Redenta. The front
ier dividing the Northern Empire from the Southern was to be formed by the Pyrenees, Alps, Danube, and Black Sea.

  The case of America was defined. The United States were to be increased by the inclusion of all the states and republics of the two Americas from the present northern frontier of the United States to Cape Horn.

  The Japanese Empire was authorized to annex Siberia.

  All Asia (except Siberia), Africa, Canada, Australia, New Zealand and All Islands, were erected into five constitutional kingdoms, and added to the dominions of the King of England, Ireland, Wales, and Scotland. The title “Emperor” being antipathetic to the English Race (on account of its primary significance “War-Lord”), the official style of the Majesty of England, Ireland, Wales, Scotland, Asia, Africa, Canada, Australia, New Zealand and All Islands, henceforth would be “The Ninefold King.”

  Thus the Supreme Arbitrator provided the human race with scope and opportunity for energy. The provisions of the Epistle to the Princes were drawn up in the form of Treaty dividing the world, till midnight (G.T.) of December 31st (N.S.) of the year 2000 of the Fructiferous Incarnation of the Son of God, into the Ninefold Kingdom, the American Republic, the Japanese Empire and the Roman Empire. This Treaty was signed, in the Square of St. Peter’s at Rome, by the Pontiff, the Sovereigns and the Presidents, on the Festival of the Annunciation of Our Lady the Virgin; and the armies and navies of the signatories instantly set about the pacification of France and Russia by martial law.

  CHAPTER XXII

  April brought to Hadrian an experience of one of those periods of psychical disturbance which are incidental to the weakness of humanity, and inevitable by a man of His particular temper. Things lost their significance to Him, persons lost their personality, events their importance; and time was not. He kept a straight face, and forced Himself to courteous demeanour: but He was living in a world in which He felt Himself to be just off the floor and floating, a world in which everything was strange and everybody was quite strange, a world where nobody and nothing mattered the least little bit. He had the sense at the beginning to include Himself in secret behind guarded doors; and also to hold His tongue when His attendants were in the Presence. He simply sat and wondered—wondered who He was, how He came there, who dressed Him like that, and when;—and decided that it did not matter. He nursed His cat, cooing and mewing and talking cat-language in a most enjoyable manner. When the creature went away,—it did not matter. He used to gaze at His cross by the hour together, planning combinations of lights and shades and backgrounds of book-backs: placing the golden symbol there, and revelling in the supple splendour of the Form, its dignity, its grace, the majestic youth of the Face, noble and grave. He would close His eyes and learn the lovely planes and contours with delicate reverent touch. It pleased Him to think that He had created a type of incarnate divinity, which neither was the Orpheys of the catacombs, nor the Tragic Mask of the Vernicle, nor the gross sexless indecencies wherewith pious Catholics in their churches insult the One among ten thousand, the Altogether Lovely. That thought brought Him back to Space and Time. Indignation at images at least eleven heads long, proportioned like female fashion-plates, visaged like emasculate noodles whom you would slap in the face on sight, simply for their tepid attenuate silliness, if you met them in the flesh—this drew down Hadrian to realities and life.—He felt utterly exhausted. An exposition of sleep seized Him. He was always drowsy; and would fall asleep in the day-time over the writing and reading which He put Himself to do, in His armchair by the window, in His favourite seat by the old wall in the garden where He spent the vivid afternoons of spring. Only toward nightfall, was He able to write that beautiful clear script of His, to bring any of His usual alertness to bear upon affairs: even then that alertness was extraordinarily diluted. His intellect was nebulous, uncertain. He could not select saliencies, could not concentrate his thoughts: His constructive faculty was in abeyance: His imagination was in chains. He spent a long time over His scanty meals, chewing, chewing, reading, reading, and remembering nothing which He read. In an inert perfunctory way, He blamed Himself for waste of time; and continued to waste it. No doubt it was divine nature’s will. Let it be understood that He was not slothful in the confessional sense of the word. He was merely lethargic, dulled, blunted, listless, eager for nothing, except to flee away and be at rest—at rest.

  From this stupor, He awoke in panic, as though nympholeptose, lymphatic, driven to phrenzy by same unknown external agency. He became inspired with an appalling consciousness of the absolute necessity for instant active continuous exertion,—if He were to continue alive upon this earth. He felt that, if He were to permit Himself to relax for one instant, if for one instant He were to abdicate command of His physical forces, to let Himself go,—that instant would be His last. With this in His mind, He prepared for momentary unconscious lapses from violent activity. He posed with care, so that, if Death should seize Him unawares, He might not present a disedifying or untidy spectacle to the finders of His corpse. He carefully avoided postures from which, when He should be reft from the body, His form would fall indecorously. He did not trouble His confessor more often than twice a week as usual: but His one prayer, His incantation, always was on His lips, “Dear Jesus, be not to me a Judge, but a Saviour.” He was losing hold of the world. Continually, through every hour of the day and night, His head rang with the reverberating boom—boom—boom—boom of His strong heart’s beating. The rhythm was maddening. He used to count the pulsations, wondering, after “fourteen,” whether He would be able to say “fifteen”: after “ninety-seven,” whether He would be in Rome to say “ninety-eight”: expecting the sudden wrench of self from body: conjecturing the nature of that unique experience. Once, He put Himself to the question “Was He afraid?” He answered, No, because He dared to hope; and, Yes, because He had not been there before. But Sokrates had said that death was our greatest possession on earth; and Seneca said that death was the best of the inventions of life; and Seneca’s friend Saint Paul said “to die is gain.” On the whole, He was not afraid, afraid, of death. But, He did not dare to go—to go—to sleep now. At night, He used to lie in bed, first on His right side, then at full length on His back with the pillow under His neck, and His hands crossed on the breast which had been tattoed with a cross when He was a boy, and His ankles crossed like a crusader, rigid, as He wished to lie in His coffin,—and His brain active, active, counting physical pulsations, meditating on the future, scheming, planning, counting each breath, and waiting for the last—and death.

  Sometimes He wondered whether it was all worth while: whether it was in accordance with God’s Will that He should be so will-full. He decided to risk an affirmative to that, on the ground of the existence of His will. He knew that He tried rightly to use it. He hoped for mercy on account of lapses. One point He determined. With all due respect to Sokrates and Seneca, Death came by Sin, and Sin was God’s enemy, and God’s friends must fight God’s enemies to the bitter end. To relax was suicide, and suicide was sin; and, tired with conflict as He was, eager for rest and peace as He was, it certainly was not worth while to add to His tale of sin: it was not worth while to exchange tiresome earth for untiring hell: to lose, what Petrarch calls ‘the splendour of the angelic smile.’ He had no steel in His possession except safety-razors: knives and scissors He had abolished long ago; and now He had light strong gratings fixed to all His windows. He would not go into temptation. ‘I am fawned upon by hope. Ah, would that she had a voice which I could understand, a voice like that of a herald, that I might not be agitated by distracting thought,’ He said to Himself in the words of Elektra at the tomb of Agamemnon. Had He been trained in boy-hood at a public-school, in adolescence at an university, had His lines been cast in service, He would not have had to put so severe restraint upon Himself. The occasion would not have arisen. A simple and perhaps a stolid character would have been formed of His temper, potent and brilliant enough to distinguish Him from the mob, but incapable of hypersensation. In
stead, His frightfully self-concentrated and lonely life, denied the ordinary opportunities of action, had developed this heart-rending complexity: had trained him in mental gymnastics to a degree of excellence which was inhuman, abominable, (in the first intention of the words), in its facile flexible solert dexterity. He was not restrained by any sense whatever of modesty or of decorum. He had no sense of those things. He knew it; and regretted it. He was Himself. He distrusted that self, rejoiced in it, and determined to deal well and righteously with it. Dr Guido Cabelli, at length summoned, found Him positively furious with the pain of physical and intellectual struggles. The physician exhibited Pot. Brom., Tinct. Valerian. Am., Tinct. Zinzil., Sp. Chlorof., Aq. Menth. Pip., once every three hours. It made the Pontiff conscious that He stank like a male cat in early summer: but He heard no more boom-booming in his ears. It strung-up His nervous system for the time. He put on His pontifical mask; and addressed Himself from the ideal to the real.

  He put the affairs of nations on one side. They, the nations all were tumbling over one another in their eagerness to re-arrange themselves upon the pattern which He had devised for them. If He adopted the Pythagorean role of an uninterested spectator, either He would be annoyed by something ugly or something silly, or He would have a chance of glorifying Himself on account of some success. And He wished to do otherwise than that. “In this world, God and His angels only may be spectators.”

  The affairs of religion, as far as He could see, amounted to the service of others and the cultivation of personal holiness, the correspondence with Divine Love. Someone had told Him that—yes, Talacryn in confession, of course,—that the key to all His difficulties, present and to come, was Love. That was all very pretty and theological on the part of the bishop, the cardinal-archbishop: but it was the baby who had taught Him the secret of the method. He would, He really would keep His troubles to Himself. His office was the office of leader and exemplar. Nothing must interfere. He put Himself to review the first year of His pontificate: and a black enough tale it seemed to Him. Without surprize, without emotion, He noted the blurs of impatience, pride,—pride,—humanity.—Retrospection was the most wearisome most fatuous banality. Onward!