Hadrian the Seventh

by Frederick Rolfe

  Leader and exemplar! One thing was clear. He must come down among the led and following. He must be seen of men. And He was not seen. No. Peculiar personal preference kept Him apart, mysterious. He rather enjoyed (not the being misunderstood but) the not being understood; and, at the same time, He had been doing a lot of people the gross injustice of crediting them with the possession of intelligence similar to His Own, of perspicacity equal to His Own, of the ability to keep up with His rapid pace and abrupt manœuvres. That was unrighteous. No doubt it had been all very fine and noble and so forth to sit down silent under calumny, for example. One could afford to do that when one was innocent. But, when millions of people (to give the devils their due) actually wanted to believe one innocent, and would be grieved and perhaps injured because the opportunity to believe innocence was withheld, was it righteous to refuse to condescend? No, such a pose was mere pride. The Servant of the servants of God must not fear to soil the whiteness of His robe in any kind of ordure. Also, to save others was the best way of retrieving oneself.

  He sent for the nearest cardinals. Ragna, Saviolli, Semphill, Sterling, Talacryn, Carvale, Van Kristen, Gentilotto, Leighton, Whitehead, responded to the summons. Hadrian received them in the throne-room, but without formality; and contrived to give them an easy and genial greeting. They thought Him to be looking seriously ill. There was the dead whiteness of a gardenia in the hue of His face and hands: His reddish-brown hair was going grey over the left ear: His intense and rigid mask was the sign of pain. His whole aspect also was diaphanous, wasted. But His manner was vivid: He was not inaccessible. Their Eminencies gave Him their attention; and wondered what He was going to bring-out of the dispatch box by His side. He was extremely glad to see the Secretary of State: for He knew how antipathetic He was to that one; and now He was going to try to give him satisfaction. At least it should not be His fault if Ragna’s ordinary attitude of discreet and convulsive brutality remained unmitigated.

  “Lord Cardinals,” the Supreme Pontiff said, “it has occurred to Us that ye have many things to say: that there be many things which ye desire to know. We, on Our part, are ready to hear; and We are willing to respond to questions.”

  Questions instantly were born in each man’s brain. Ragna was the first to deliver Himself of his. “Holiness, will You answer a question about the Epistle to the Princes?”

  “Yes.”

  Ragna collected himself. “I am curious to know why the rights of France in Egypt were not even named. I can see that the very nature of Your Holiness’s counsels demanded that Africa as a whole should pass to England: but I cannot understand why Germany, in taking over France, should not also have taken-over the condominium of Egypt. Why did that fall to England; and why did Germany consent to its falling to England?”

  Hadrian made an effort to conquer His natural incapacity for coming near a subject at the first attempt; and put Himself to be concise. “Your Eminency knows that since—We forget the exact date—but since a very short time ago, no international obligations have existed which could restrain Egypt from legitimate attempts at emancipation. Nothing but Ottoman firmans held her. Very well. We discovered that when the King of England and the Sultan, last October, made alliance, the latter issued a firman in which England was named Protector of Egypt. Then (the speaker slightly smiled), when the task of arbitration was submitted to Us, We found that the German colonies in Africa, not only did not pay their way but, required a yearly subsidy of £1,500,000; and therefore, taking one thing with another, We arranged to give Germany sufficient employment for a century nearer home. She promptly recognized that ‘megli’ è fringuello in man’ che tordo in frasca.’ The fact is that she was only too glad to be rid of her own parasitic colonies, which had severed their connection from the parent stem, and derived their nutriment from other states: while the colonies of France which were epiphytic, having no existence apart from the source from which they sprang, were wiped out (as French colonies) when France was wiped out.”

  “And no doubt Germany, in her pretty Gothic way, was in such a desperate hurry to grab France, that she forgot all about Egypt. D’ye know they say she’s going to call her conquest Gallia again?” Semphill put in with a sniff. “And now I’ll ask a question. Holy Father, may I smoke?”

  “But smoke!” Hadrian assented with pleasure; and held-out His Own hand for a cigarette. Some of the others did likewise; and the gear began to run much more easily. Van Kristen expressed joy that the Germans were not to have chances of doing more monkey business on the Erechtheion and the Akropolis at Athens.

  “Yes,” Ragna meditatively continued: “I suppose I ought to have understood all that. But now, Holiness, there’s another thing: why did the Sultan consent to evacuate Europe?”

  “Simply because, with all the examples which he has had lately, he goes in mortal terror of assassination. He has managed to persuade himself that he only can be warranted against that, as long as he is under the aegis of England. Well: seeing England and Turkey allied, We moved England and England moved Ismail. The former had sense: the latter, sentiment. But Ismail really is not half bad: in fact he’s rather decent. If We only had another dear charming child-like naked Christian like Blessed Brother Francis——”

  “What?” said Carvale with animation. He happened to have noted that, when Hadrian rioted in superlatives, it meant no more than positives: but, when He negligently drawled comparatives, “not half bad” or “rather decent,” the ultimate of praise was signified. “What?” the cardinal repeated.

  “We would send him to give points to Ismail’s mollahs and dervishes.”

  “St. Francis has innumerable sons, Holiness,” Saviolli put in.

  “And We only know one who in the slightest degree resembles his father,” the Pope responded, waving away the subject.

  “One would like to know,” said Sterling, “whether Your Holiness is not really of the opinion that the Epistle to the Princes was perhaps a trifle too sentimental and——”

  “Sentimental? Yes. The Ruler, who rules sentiment out of his calculations, ignores one of the most potent forces in human affairs. Too sentimental? No. And what else was Your Eminency about to say—a trifle too sentimental and——”

  “One would have said perhaps a trifle too arbitrary.”

  “Dear man——” the Pope gleefully began.

  But Ragna interrupted “Nothing of the kind. That particular Epistle was replete with pontifical dignity: it was the finest thing——”

  Hadrian stopped him “We were about to remind Cardinal Sterling that when the Ruler of the World geographically rules the world, He is accustomed to do His ruling with a ruler. Our predecessor Alexander VI. used a ruler on a celebrated occasion on the Atlantic Ocean.”

  Everybody burst out laughing: laughed for a few moments; and returned to a serious demeanour. There was a question, an important question, which sat upon all tongues, wing-preened, ready to fly. But His Holiness already had refused to discuss it. Those, who had tried to persuade, so seriously had been hurt by His icy reticence or by His blunt aloofness, that no one now was temerarious enough to attempt the re-opening of so unsavoury and so personal a matter, except upon explicit invitation. Knowing what he did of men, Hadrian had expected hesitation: but, seeing that His purpose was likely to fail of completion; and, being determined that it should not fail, He slowly and significantly drew-off the pontifical ring from His first finger, and put it in His pocket. “Gentlemen,” He said with quite a change of manner, “some of you would like to put George Arthur Rose to the question?”

  They would indeed. They would whatever. They would like it so much that they all spoke in unison. The sum of their words amounted to a request that George Arthur Rose would give them some sort of statement concerning newspaper calumnies, some sort of statement by way of support to their contention that he had been grossly wronged and mispresented.

  It was George the Digladiator who responded. He seemed to step down into the arena, naked, lithe, agile
, with bright open eyes, and ready to fight for life. “Very well,” he said—“I will give that statement to you: but understand that I will not defend myself in the newspapers. If I were a layman, I should have whipped in a writ for libel, and have given my damages to Nazareth House. I should have preferred to trust my reputation rather to an English judge and jury, than to the nameless editors of Erse or Radical newspapers. Fancy having one’s letters edited by the Catholic Hour, for example: fancy having one’s letters, which are one’s defence, nefariously garbled by a nameless creature who is one’s prosecutor, and one’s judge, and one’s jury, all in one! However, not being a layman, I cannot go to law; and I will not condescend to have dealings with those newspapers. Understand also, that I tell you what I am about to tell you, not because I have been provoked, abused, calumniated, traduced, assailed with insinuation, innuendo, mispresentation, lies: not because my life has been held up to ridicule, and to most inferior contempt: not because the most preposterous stories to my detriment have been invented, hawked about, believed. No. Please understand that I am not going to speak in my own defence, even to you. I personally and of predilection, can be indifferent to opinions. But officially I must correct error. So I will give you some information. You may take it, or leave it: believe it or disbelieve it. You shall have as photographic a picture as I can give you of my life, and of the majestic immobility by which you clergy tire out—assassinate a man’s body—perhaps his soul. You are free to use it or abuse it. When I shall have finished speaking, I never will return to this subject.”

  “Of course we shall believe what you say,” Semphill rather nervously intercalated. “I’m sure we believe it unsaid. We take it as said, you know. But if you could see your way to give us details, say on half a dozen points, that would be quite enough.”

  “The Daily Anagraph has not apologized for its latest slander,” Carvale put in.

  “Why should it?” George inquired.

  “Well, I sent an authenticated account of what happened in the last consistory. The other papers printed it; and I should have thought the least the Daily Anagraph could have done would be——”

  “Carvale, you’re making a mistake. The Daily Anagraph has no personal grudge against me: although the last editor had, because I once innocently asked him whether historical accuracy came within the scope of a Radical periodical. That was years ago, at the time of the second Dreyfus case. I know that he was furious; because Bertram Blighter, the novel-man, told me that that editor in revenge was going to put me on the newspaper black-list, whatever that may be. No, it is not a personal matter, a matter in which an apology is customary. It’s simply an example of the ethics of commercial journalism. The man wanted to increase the sale of his paper. I happened by chance to be before the world just then. And he took the liberty of increasing his circulation at my expense. Actually that is all. You can’t (at least I don’t), expect an editor, who is capable of doing such a thing, to apologize for doing it. The case of the other papers is verisimilar: except of course the Catholic Hour. That simply exists on sycophanty by sycophants for sycophantophagists, as Semphill knows.”

  “Yes I know,” said Semphill. “And I don’t allow the thing to enter my house.”

  “But the others—in their case it’s not lurid malignance, but legal malfeasance. Did you say that they apologized?”

  “No. None of those, which printed the calumnies, apologized. They just kept silence. But all the respectable papers, which had not calumniated you, printed my refutation of the Daily Anagraph.”

  George made a gesture of scorn, of satisfaction, of dismissal. “Then the Pope is clear;” he said. “Now I will try to tell you, as briefly as possible, what you want to know about the other person.” He produced a sheaf of newspaper-cuts. He was in such a white rage at having to do what he was about to do, that he wreaked his anger on those who listened to him, piercingly eyeing them, speaking with swift fury as one would speak to foes. “The Catholic Hour states that in 1886 I was under an under-master at Grandholme School: that I had to leave my mastership because I became Catholic. That is true in substance and absolutely false in connotation. I was an under-master: but as I also had charge of the school-house, I was called the house-master. You also perhaps may be aware that there is only one head-master in a school; and that all the rest are under-masters. But, when slander is your object, ‘under-master’ is a nice disgraceful dab of mud to sling at your victim for a beginning. Well: I resigned my house-mastership of my own free and unaided will for the reason alleged; and I have yet to learn that the becoming Catholic is an extraordinarily slimy deed. Further, note this, far from my resignation being the dishonourable affair which the Catholic Hour implies, the head-master of Grandholme School remained my dear and intimate and honoured friend through thick and thin, for more than twenty years, and is my only dear and intimate friend at this moment.”

  Semphill and Carvale looked up, and then down. Sterling looked down, down. Van Kristen looked up. The others, anywhere. Talacryn looked annoyed. The taunt was flung out; and the flying voice went-on. “The Catholic Hour thus casts its diatribe in a key of depreciation. Next, I am said to have gone to a school for outcasts, to have quarrelled with the two priest-chaplains; and presently to have been ‘again out.’ The idea being to infer evil, it is rather cleverly done in that statement of the case. But here are the facts. The school perhaps might be called a school for outcasts. But I, a young inexperienced Catholic of six months, was lured by innumerable false pretences, on the part of the eccentric party who offered me the post, to accept what he called the Head-mastership of a Cathedral Choir School. He did not tell me that he was forcing the establishment on the bishop of the diocese, nor that the Head-mastership had been refused by several distinguished priests simply on account of the impossible conditions. I bought my experience. That I quarrelled with the chaplains is quite true. I did not quarrel effectually though. They were a Belgian and a Frenchman. They drank themselves drunk on beer, out of decanters, chased each other round the refectory tables in a tipsy fight, defied my authority and compelled the ragamuffins of the school to do the same. I naturally resigned that post as quickly as possible. Then follows a pseudohistory of the beginning of my ecclesiastical career at Maryvale. Talacryn knows all about that; and can tell you at your leisure. Afterwards, I came across, (I am quoting), ‘came across a certain Pictish lairdie, and was maintained by him for three or four months——’ ”

  “And I know all about that,” Semphill interrupted: “You gave a great deal more than you got.”

  “The fallacies connected with my career at and expulsion from St. Andrew’s College are known?”

  “Thoroughly,” assented Semphill, Talacryn, and Carvale in a breath.

  “The statement that I contracted large debts there——”

  “What about those debts?” Ragna asked.

  Carvale told him. “They all were contracted under the personal supervision of the Vice-Rector. They were quite insignificant. Besides that, they would not have been contracted but for the promise of Archbishop Smithson and the advice of Canon Dugdale——”

  “And the advice of me,” Semphill added in a low tone.

  “Oh, you at length acknowledge it?” George fiercely thrust at him.

  “Yes. I acknowledge it.”

  “Well then, we’re quits now:” George quietly and mysteriously mewed.

  “One confesses that the question of the pseudonym interests one,” Sterling judicially said.

  “I had half-a-dozen. You see when I was kicked out from college, without a farthing or a friend at hand, I literally became an adventurer. Thank God Who gave me the pluck to face my adventures. I was obliged to live by my wits. Thank God again Who gave me wits to live by.”

  Cardinal Leighton was standing-up, blinking and blushing with indignation which distorted his honest placid features. “Holy Father, don’t say another word.” He twitched round towards his fellow-collegians. “How can you torture the man so!” h
e cried. “Can’t you see what you’re doing, wracking the poor soul like this, pulling him in little pieces all over again? Shame on ye!—Holy Father don’t say another word.”

  “Oh if I had only known!” cried Van Kristen.

  “You did! I told you myself; and you didn’t believe me!” George fulminated.

  The youngest cardinal wept into his handkerchief, shaking with sobs. George neither saw nor noted anyone. He was glaring like a python. Demurrers to Leighton’s remarks arose. No one wanted to wrack anybody. Questions had been invited. Of course no one believed. But it would be so much more satisfactory—Ragna added. George sat violently still in his chair while they talked: let them talk; and prepared to resume.

  “If Your Holiness would condescend——” Carvale began.

  “There is no Holiness here,” George interrupted, in that cold white candent voice which was more caustic than silver nitrate and more thrilling than a scream.

  “If you would do us the favour of just noticing a few heads.”

  “As you please,” George chucked at him: “agree among yourselves as to those heads; and you shall have bodies and limbs and finger-nails and teeth to fit them——”

  Their Eminencies began agreeing. George meanwhile went into the secret chamber for ten minutes or so: and returned with his cat on his neck, and his own tobacco-pouch. He was beginning a cigarette; and his gait was the gait of a challenged lion. Sterling presented him with a pencilled slip of paper. He read aloud “Pseudonym: begging letters: debts: luxurious living: idleness: false pretences as to means and position.”