Hadrian the Seventh · Chapter 7 (2/2)

An even greater sensation, than that caused by the “Epistle to All Christians,” attended the simultaneous publication of the Bull Regnum Meum. It personally was addressed to the very last person in all the world by whom, under ordinary circumstances, a communication from the Vatican might have been expected. Hadrian VII, Bishop, Servant of the servants of God, sent Greeting and Apostolic Benediction to His Well-beloved Son⁠—the Majesty of Victor Emanuel III, King of Italy. “My Kingdom is not of this world” was the text of the Bull, which the Pope began with an unwavering defence of the Divine Revelation, the Church, Peter, and the Power of the Keys. So far, He spoke as a theologian. Then, with lightning swiftness, He assumed the role of the historian. His theme was the Forged Decretals or Donation of Constantine, which first were promulgated in a breve which His Holiness’s predecessor, Hadrian I, addressed to His Majesty’s predecessor (in a certain sense), the Emperor Charlemagne. He recited the well-known facts that these Decretals, though undoubtedly forged, had been forged merely as the intellectual pastime of an exiled archbishop’s idle hours, and with no nefarious intent whatever. He showed how that, during four centuries, no doubt as to their authenticity had been entertained; and how that three more centuries had elapsed before evidence had been collected sufficing to justify their being thrown overboard from the Barque of Peter to lighten the ship. Then, He continued, the Pope was the sovereign of a patrimony of which He held no title-deeds. A right more inexpugnable than prescriptive right was deemed desirable; and Alexander VI and Julius II bound the Patrimony to Peter by military conquest. So it remained until the unification of Italy under the House of Savoy, when those territories, formerly known as the States of the Church, were absorbed by the new kingdom. Thus far Hadrian pursued the argument; and then turned to a disquisition on the worldly rights of Christians, the purport of which perhaps most luminously is expressed in the following sentences:⁠—

“We use worldly things till they are wanted by the world: then we will relinquish them without even so much as a backward thought. For we all are clearly marked to get that which we give. Nothing is irrevocable on this orb of earth. Nothing is final: for, after this world is the world to come. Therefore, let us move, let us gladly move, move with the times, really move. God always is merciful.”

Hence, as Supreme Pontiff, Hadrian would practise the principle of renunciation. He would renounce everything which another would take, because “My Kingdom is not of this world.” And, first of all, in order to remove a bone of contention, He made a formal and unconditional renunciation of the claim to temporal sovereignty and of the civil-list provided by the Law of Guarantees. At the same time, He would not be understood as casting any slight upon His predecessors Who had followed other counsels:⁠—

“They were responsible to God: They knew it: He and They were the judges of Their acts. We, on Our part, in Our turn, act as We deem best. We know Our responsibility and shrink not. We are God’s Vicegerent; and this is Our will. Given at Rome, at St. Peter’s by the Vatican, on this ninth day of Our Supreme Pontificate.”

The formal publication of the “Epistle” and the “Bull” occurred in the second consistory which met at the abnormal hour of 6 a.m. on Mayday. Hadrian read the two documents in that distinct minor monotone of His which was so intensely and yet so impersonally magisterial. By itself the tone was aggravating. The matter also was exasperating; and the pontifical manner added exacerbation. He seemed to be expecting opposition. That came from Ragna. If the Pope no longer was a sovereign, where did the Secretary of State come in? Was he dismissed? Oh dear no, he certainly was not dismissed: only, instead of playing at statesmanship in regard to states over which he had no control at all, and which were really rather commodiously managed by the secular power, he was requested to turn his attention to the increase of business which inevitably now would come into his department.

“The world is sick for the Church,” said Hadrian; “but She never would confess it as long as the Church posed as Her rival.”

Nevertheless the thing was a blow, a blow that was heavy and strong. Half the College put on an indifferent noncommittal air: the other half roared anathemas and execrations. And Ragna howled,

“Judas, Judas, this shall not be!”

In a lull, Hadrian coldly mewed “It is; and it shall be.”

He flung down the steps of the throne a bundle of advance-copies of the Roman morning journals. Vermilion faces stooped to them. There were the “Epistle” and the “Bull” in the vernacular. Serafino-Vagellaio pounced-upon an announcement in Il Popolo Romano to the effect that

“by the courteous condescension of the Holy Father Himself, we are enabled to present to our readers these authentic and momentous acts simultaneously with the Times, the Morning Post, the Globe, the St. James’s Gazette, and the New York Times, the splendid journals of the magnanimous English, to which race (the sempiternal friend of Italy) we owe so grand and so enlightened a pontiff.”

Undoubtedly the thing was done: for the world knew it; and, knowing it, would not let it be undone. There was no cardinal, however infuriated, who was not sufficiently serpentine to recognize the columbine as the attitude most appropriate to the circumstances. The first mad idea which had seized the rebellious ones, the idea of suppressing the pontifical decrees by physical force, was laid aside. There no doubt were other means of nullifying them later. And Their Eminencies dispersed to say their masses with an air which made the Pope feel like a very naughty tiresome little boy indeed, said Hadrian to Cardinal Leighton.

The question of Edward Lancaster worried Hadrian considerably: for the simple reason that, while He did not want to tire Himself by a renewal of relations with this individual, decency demanded something. He discussed the position with Courtfield and Talacryn, neither of whom were able to appreciate His difficulty. Thrown back upon His Own resources, He made a cigarette very carefully, a long fat one with the tobacco tucked into the paper cylinder with a pencil, and with neatly twisted ends, resembling a small white sausage; and smoked it through. Then He wrote a letter, telling Lancaster that his offering had been accepted and applied, assuring him of the pontifical goodwill and of a pleasant reception in case he should feel bound to present himself in Rome, and conferring Apostolic Benediction and a plenary indulgence at the hour of death. This, He enclosed in a gold snuffbox with a device of diamonds on the lid, which the recipient might put upon his mantelpiece with other curious monstrosities.

Orezzo and Ragna appeared to have exchanged ethics: for, whereas the latter had been a pontifical right hand while Orezzo had shut-up himself in the Chancery, now it was Orezzo who watched the Pope while Ragna kept aloof in vermilion sulks. It was not that his occupation was gone: but he wished to emphasize (by withdrawing it) his indispensability. As for the others, they wonderfully retired into their shells. Hadrian kept his new creatures in fairly close attendance; and the nine Compromissaries always were ready to make themselves agreeable when they were in Rome. The Pope wished and tried to be on friendly terms with them; and failed, as He always failed. He could not show Himself friendly.

Crowds of English visitors appeared; and would have been distracting. They dotted themselves about the Ducal Hall and Hadrian walked among them. At one of these receptions, the pontifical glance lighted, on entering, on a dark gaunt Titan seamed with concealed pain, who was accompanied by a quiet fastidious English lady (wife and mother), and three children, two glorious girls and a proud shy English boy. They were a typical group, typical of all that is best⁠—trial, culture, moderate success, and English quality. Hadrian at once shook hands with them.

“Please wait till the others are gone,” He said; and passed on to a cocky little gentleman with a pink eye, and a plump barefaced party who tried to stand easily in the cross-legged pose of the male photograph of 1864. These sank to their knees, but stood up again at a word.

“Well, Holy Father, who would have thought,” etcetera, from the first; and “Oh, I’m sure I shall never dare to call Your Holiness ‘Boffin’ again” from the second.

“Yes you do,” replied Hadrian; and gave them a blessing, to which the plump one nervously responded,

“Quite so, I’m sure, as it were!”

Another couple kneeled, a weird brief-bodied man in a pince-nez and a small suppressed woman with beautiful shortsighted eyes. They were raised; and the man would chatter like a hailstorm, wittily and with Gallic gesticulation, and quite insincerely. They were blessed; and the Pontiff went-on (with some elevation of gait) to the others.

When the audience was over a slim gentleman in scarlet, with the delicate pensive beauty of a St. John the Divine by Gian Bellini, conducted the English family to the apostolic antechamber. Here Hadrian offered them some fruit and wine; and showed them the view from the windows.

“Now perhaps Mrs. Strong would like to see the garden,” He presently said.

It was a very happy thought. His Holiness carried His little yellow cat, and they all went down together; and strolled about the woods and the box-alleys and the vineyards. They picked the flowers; and the children picked the fruit. They admired the peacocks: and rested on white marble hemicycles in the sun-flecked shade of cypresses; and they talked of this, that, and the other, as well as these and those. A chamberlain came through the trees, and delivered a small veiled salver to the gentleman who followed the pontifical party at fifty paces. At the moment of departure he came near. The salver contained five little crosses of gold and chrysoberyls set in diamonds. Three were elaborate and two severely plain. Hadrian presented them to His guests.

“You will accept a memorial of this happy day; and of course” (with that rare dear smile of His) “you will not expect the Pope to give you anything but popery. Goodbye, dear friends, goodbye.”

“How He has improved!” said the dark girl, as they went out.

“O mother, and did you see the buckles on His shoes!” said the fair one.

“I call Him a topper,” said the boy.

“He isn’t a bit changed,” said the wife to the silent husband.

“I think that He has found His proper niche at last,” the great man answered.

Percy Van Kristen arrived; and was brought into the secret chamber. Though only a little over thirty, he looked as old as Hadrian. The glowing freshness of his olive-skin had faded: but his superb eyes were as brightly expectant and his small round head as cleanly black as ever. He looked tired, but wholesome; and he was immaculately groomed. The Pope said a few words of greeting and of remembrance; and asked him to speak of himself. Van Kristen was shy: but not unwilling. Leading questions elicited that he was one of that pitiable class of men for whom the gods have provided everything but a career. Majority had brought him three-quarters of a million sterling. There was no necessity for him to go into commerce. Politics were impossible for respectable persons. He was too old for the services. The fact was, he had not the natural energy which would have hewn out a career⁠—a career in the worldly sense⁠—for himself; and by consequence, the world had shoved him aside on to the shelf of objects whose functions are purely decorative. His mode of life was that of a man of fashion, simple, exquisite. Perhaps he read a great deal; and, of course, his home took up most of his time⁠—but that was a secret. Hadrian deftly extracted from him that he had founded and was maintaining a home for a hundred boys of his city, where he provided a complete training in electrical engineering and a fair start in life. His splendid eyes glittered as he spoke of this. It seemed that he had kept his own world in entire ignorance of his ardent effort to be useful; and one naturally enjoys talking of one’s own affairs when the proper listener at last is encountered. No: he never had felt inclined to marry and rear a family of his own. He did not think that that sort of thing was much in his line. Yes: after leaving Oxford, he had had some thoughts of the priesthood. But Archbishop Corrie had laughed him out of that. He was not clever enough for the priesthood. That was the real truth, in his private opinion. Oh yes, he would like it very well⁠—as much as anything: but really he hardly felt himself equal to it. He didn’t want to seem to push himself forward in any way. Yes: the Dynam House could get on quite well without him. They were fortunate in having a capable manager whom everyone liked; and his own share didn’t amount to much more than playing fives with the boys, and paying the bills, and finding out and getting all the latest dodges. If he could run over and look round the place, say twice a year, say two months in the year, he was quite willing to take up his abode with Hadrian, if His Holiness really wanted him. As a cardinal-deacon? Oh, that would be a daisy! But⁠—sorry: he never did understand chaff. Hadrian was serious. Van Kristen’s grand virginal eyes attentively considered the Pontiff. Then, with that strangely courtly gracious manner which was his natural gift, (and due to the perfect proportion of his skeleton), contrasting so weirdly with the normal nasality of his speech, he said,

“Wal: I expect I won’t be much good to You: but You’re the master; and, if You really want me, I guess I’ll have a try.”

And he went straight into retreat at the Passionists’ on the Celian Hill.