Hadrian the Seventh · Chapter 11 (4/5)

His ecstasy was admiration of the lovely little person and the noble little soul. The clean and vivid candour, the delicate proportion, the pure tint, aroused in Him a desire to own. The frank self-hood, the unerring truth, the courageous tranquillity of self-renunciation, aroused in Him a sense of emulation. He, the Supreme Pontiff, was prostrate before the seraphic majesty of the Child. And, as though a curtain had been lifted, He had a peep into the human heart. Now, He thought that He could see and understand one cause, perhaps the chief cause, of human society⁠—the ability to say “This is mine, mine: for I did it.” He began to understand that the human mind must have external as well as internal operation⁠—and much beside. As for Himself, He was making experiment of the first personal emotion of undiluted enjoyment of human society which He could remember. “Then I can love, after all;” He reflected. Though He mixed freely and absolutely independently with all men, yet, in the tender inner soul of Him, He shrank more shudderingly than ever from the contact. Every single act of urbanity, of courtesy, was a violent effort to Him. His feeling for His fellow-creatures was repugnance pure and simple. But, in the case of this yellow-haired mannikin, there was a difference. He would like to own such a radiant little piece of the Divine-Human as that fair Prince Filiberto. He would appreciate the honour and the joy of tending such a treasure. But He could not seek; and it never had been offered. Perhaps He would shrink if it were offered. That was His peculiar nature. Had He ever wished to exert for intimate relations with anyone? No: plainly no. He was a thing apart. More, He was a thing to be avoided. He remembered how many times he aimlessly had strolled through London, watching His species gambolling in Piccadilly, or at the Marble Arch on a Sunday where the fierce lanky spiky sallow Anarchist raved, and the coy Catholic barrister cracked correct jests out of a shiny black exercise-book, and the bright-eyed clean Church-Army youth spoke with genuine conviction. He had moved through partner-seeking mobs everywhere, lazily, vigilantly, studiously: yet no one ever had addressed him. He was seen. He was avoided. Yes, He was a thing apart. That was His trouble. And⁠—what did the boy say?⁠—“I had better keep it myself.” The content of that saying was to Hadrian just like a thunderbolt. It was Love⁠—yes, that was quintessential Love, from the clear eyes and the stainless lips of childhood⁠—to keep one’s troubles oneself. For in that way one relieved others. And the Servant of the servants of God must⁠—He continued to sit in the sunlight in a sort of rapture. The lake and the hills and the turquoise sky faded from His vision. He was alone with His thoughts, His ideals, His soul.⁠ ⁠… After the noon-angelus, He went in to His solitary meal. Later in the afternoon, when He had slept and washed, and put on fresh garments, He descended to chat with His court. His demeanour was observed to be more warm, more human. His eyes had an unusual and more usual glow. He did not seem to be so very very far away.

“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 recognized 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 overburdened 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 showed 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 skypilot 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. Serbia was a small hell. Turkey and Romania viewed the prospect of Germany’s expansion with favour: Turkey, because she found it easy to outwit the Teuton: Romania, 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 statecraft. 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 apiece: 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 munches 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 Romania?”

“I think that Romanian 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 Romanian 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 today 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 Παιδε, 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—”