It was the festival of St. George, Protector of the Ninefold Kingdom.
Hadrian noted with pleasure that it was what the Italians call one of
His 'fortunate days.' His head was clear, His limbs were supple, His
body lithe: He felt young, exuberant, potent. His soul seemed balanced,
elevated. His whole poise was one of gentle incisive simplicity. He
had that upright rather dominant gait, by no means arrogant, which
marks the happy able man. The Sacred College came early in the morning,
directly after His mass, to congratulate Him on the anniversary of His
pontificature; and Ragna took occasion to whisper that the Northern
Emperor left Palazzo Caffarelli for the Quirinale at dawn. Everyone
knew what that meant.
When, later, Hadrian descended in state to the Sala Regia, He
was on the alert. The introducer-of-sovereigns announced,--the
Ninefold King,--the President of the United States of America,--the
Northern Emperor,--the Japanese Emperor,--and a posse of subsidiary
kings, princes, and sovereign-dukes, who came with the world's
congratulations. The pontifical paraphernalia lay on the high red
throne: but Hadrian stood at its foot to receive His guests. His garb
was white, absolutely simple and fresh; and His pose was apostolic,
frank and genial. These enormous potentates towered above Him in the
splendour of their grandeur; and, as Cardinal Carvale, the fantastic
dreamer, said to Cardinal Van Kristen, they radiated from Him as from a
source of light.
After the ceremony of reception was finished, Their Majesties,
Augustitudes, Highnesses, and Honours, lingered, chatting with the
pontifical court. Some of them had a few words with the Supreme
Pontiff. The Northern Emperor came and said, "I know that Your Holiness
will felicitate me on a dispatch which I have just received from my
brother Prince Henry, who announces that my glorious German navy has
taken Kronstadt."
Hadrian replied; and added "Be merciful, Augustitude."
William then did a politely ferocious scowl, intended to indicate
imperial impatience; and continued in a lower tone, "I am also anxious
to assure Your Holiness that I myself deeply regret the absence of my
cousin and imperial brother, Victor Emanuel. All that I could say has
been said to persuade His Augustitude to join me on this auspicious and
never-to-be-forgotten occasion. I wish that to be known."
"It only is a personal obstacle, not a political, which prevents the
Southern Emperor from coming here?"
"Most Holy Lord, it is not even a personal obstacle. Victor Emanuel has
the most profound and much-to-be-admired and pre-eminently-well-merited
veneration and reverence for Your Person. It is--well, really it seems
almost childish--but he has persuaded himself that----"
"That the Roman Pontiff owes the King of Italy a visit?"
"Precisely, Holy Father. There is some history of an approach which
His Augustitude's royal and martyred father made to the Conclave of
1878----"
"And for a mere idea, Victor Emanuel, will continue alienate from Us!
Yet, ideas are very fine things, to be respected, to be cultivated,
in this material age. They are so rare, so singular. And constancy,
fidelity to an idea, above all things is singular and rare, in this age
of compromise from which the world only now emerges. Victor Emanuel is
not to be blamed, but praised." Suddenly a bright light came in the
Apostle's eyes. "Well, then, the next step is obvious. If the son will
not come to the Father, then the Father must go to the son." And an
impulse to instant movement appeared to urge Him onward.
The Northern Emperor splendidly rose to the occasion. "It would be one
more grand deed added to Your Holiness's many grand deeds. I trust that
I may have the never-sufficiently-to-be-valued honour of accompanying
You."
"But We walk:" said Hadrian.
"I also will gladly walk:" said William.
The Pope darted a rapid glance round the hall. The King of Portugal
was talking to the Japanese Emperor; and the Basil of the Hellenes was
listening to the Prince of Montenegro-and-New-Servia. The Ninefold
King, with one arm paternally resting on the shoulder of the young King
of Spain, was telling (as his own) an extremely funny story, (which he
had heard five minutes before from Cardinal Semphill), to the President
of America. Cardinals and sovereigns clustered round them, ploding
with laughter at each admirably detailed jocosity. "We can escape this
way;" the Pope said to the Emperor. Outside the hall, a pontifical page
ran for the white three-cornered hat; and the two descended the Scala
Regia, with its Ionic columns flanked by pontifical guards, and made
their way into the Square of St. Peter's. There was a cleared roadway;
and they quickly walked between long lines of magnificent Italian
soldiery. Rome occupied the side-walks; and sank to its knees as the
Supreme Pontiff, shedding benedictions, went swinging lightly and
swiftly by. The German Gentleman made no attempt to take salutes until
Hadrian said, "Oh do notice these dear Romans. They will be pleased.
And you know that you profoundly admire the bersaglieri."
The Emperor responded, "I am as proud to salute the Romans as I am
to salute the noblest Roman of them all,--to use the words of Your
Holiness's divine Shakespeare." And he strode on, saluting, while the
Pontiff blessed.
As they passed the Palazzo Venezia, Hadrian said, "Victor Emanuel
really behaves extremely well. Three-quarters of his army are in the
field; and here is a parcel of foreign sovereigns practically occupying
his capital in--no, not homage--in courtesy to Us.----"
"And also out of respect, Holiness."
"Out of respect then and courtesy to Our Apostolature. It is no
affair of his; and yet he lines the streets with troops, while he
himself----oh, it's really very decent of him!"
"Victor Emanuel is a truly great man;" the Emperor commented. The Pope
assented.
They entered the Palace of the Quirinale; and went straight through the
ambassador's hall to the Southern Emperor's study. William remained
in the antechamber. Victor Emanuel in a light-grey flannel suit was
reading proofs of his numismatic catalogue. He stood up pale and stiff,
when his groom-of-the-chambers came in and whispered a word. Hadrian
followed on the instant, entering with candid gentle dignity, extending
an English hand. Not a word was said. Victor Emanuel, shining with the
light of the purple which he had not yet worn, took the outstretched
hand: held it: felt his own gripped and held. He bent his head--then
his knee. Reconciliation was complete.
"May I have the honour and the happiness of presenting my wife to Your
Holiness?" he said, a minute later. He went along the corridor and
gave two raps on a further door. "Darling," he cried; "please come."
The exquisite Empress Elena appeared. She started slightly at first:
but bravely came on, imperially mysteriously pale and radiant as 'the
chorus of nightly stars and the bright powers which bring summer and
winter to mortals, conspicuous in the firmament.'
Hadrian at once won her with "And the lovely children."
"Oh yes, the kiddies!" Victor Emanuel said.
"Do you know that We owe one immense emotion to your boy?" and Hadrian
narrated the incident in Prince Attendolo's garden.
Mother and father proudly laughed. "Yes, we heard about that, of
course; and I wondered what would happen if ever we ourselves should
meet Your Holiness by accident, as the children did:" the Empress said.
"Well, we have met, and now Your Augustitudes know:" laughed Hadrian.
"Filiberto is a queer little chap," Victor Emanuel continued: "he says
the most extraordinary things;--came running into the stables the other
morning crying because some dog had barked and startled him. 'Stamp at
'em,' I said; 'and after all, you can run faster than a dog,' said I
to hearten him. 'Yes' says he 'but you see, father, when I do run, I'm
always putting out one leg at the back for the dog to bite!'"
"But I can tell you something better than that," the Empress put in.
"He was a bad boy in the chapel at benediction on Sunday. I'm afraid,
Holiness, that this is rather a naughty story----"
"Tell it instantly and relieve your sinful soul, daughter;" the haughty
pontiff commanded.
How the three roared! She continued, "He persisted in trying to balance
a pile of prayer-books on the ledge of his chair-back; and every now
and then they came down with a crash. At last I took him on my knee;
and told him that the holy angels were looking at him, and that they
would go and tell the Lord God what a wicked little ruffian he was. And
then he said--he said, 'Dirty little sneaks!'"
"Oh, oh, the exquisite boy!" Hadrian shouted with laughter.
"Well, I'll go and fetch him;" said the Southern Emperor, running-out
of the door, just as the Northern Emperor came-in by the other,
prepared to play the part of peace-maker. That, now, was not necessary;
and England, Germany, and Italy, chattered like children till the
children came. Their father did not return. His men were having a bad
time, trying to beat the record for getting a sovereign into his habit
of ceremony.
The fair Prince Filiberto solemnly approached the Pope. "Are You the
White Father which formerly I have seen in somebody's forest?"
"Yes," said Hadrian.
"Are You quite good now?" the boy continued, with great black basilic
eyes.
"No," said Hadrian, feeling the horror of the end of youth confronted
with the flower of innocence.
"Are You truly contrite for having been a naughty boy--no, man I mean?"
"Yes," said Hadrian.
"Are You sitting on my father's sofa because he has forgiven You?"
"Yes," said Hadrian, thinking what a frightful old fool He must appear.
"I liked You when I saw You in that forest; and I like You now: but
mother told me that the White Father was not my father's friend."
"Mother made a mistake, little son;" said the Empress, leaning forward
in sudden confusion. "The White Father is father's best friend."
"Oh, how I am glad for that: because now You can be also my friend!"
the prince cried, scattering his deliberate English to the four
quarters of the globe.
"Most willingly," said Hadrian, taking the rose-brown hand, and drawing
the child towards Him. Innocence put up its pretty lips. The Apostle
lost one breath;--and stooped and kissed the stainless brow. Then He
turned to greet the girls.
"This child once asked my husband a very awkward question," the mother
said, presenting the Princess Yolanda. "The King of England was coming
here; and Victor was shewing her His Majesty's incoronation portrait.
Ah, but how she admired it! And she said, 'Father why don't you wear a
hat like that king?'"
The Supreme Pontiff looked at the blushing child. "You would not call
it a 'hat,' Princess, now that you are grown up?"
"No, Papa Inglese,--a crown."
"You would like your father to have a crown? Tell him that there are
two waiting for him, one at Monza, and another in the Lateran."
The Roman Emperors escorted the Pope returning to Vatican. On the
way, carriages met them, and disgorged sovereigns: state-coaches met
them, and emitted cardinals: courtiers alighted from horseback and
emerged from motor-cars. The return became a procession of the powers,
led by the Power of the Keys. They had crossed the Ponte Santangelo,
and were about to turn to the left by the Castle, when a dishevelled
man in black contrived to break out from the ranks of the people. He
got through the bersaglieri and stepped into the middle of the road:
pointed a revolver at Hadrian; and fired. The bullet struck His
Holiness high up on the left breast, piercing the pulmonary artery just
above the lung.
The slim white figure stopped--wavered--and sank down. The whole world
seemed to stand still, while the human race gasped once.
A frantic woman in a fox-coloured wig pitched out of the opposite
crowd; and grovelled. "Love, Love," she howled hideously: "oh and I
loved him so! Oh! Oh! I really did love him. Yes I did, I did, I did, I
did ..." she yelped to the sun in the firmament of heaven. The discord
resembled the baying of a dog which breaks the cadence of Handel's
_Largo_ on arch-lutes.
God's Vicegerent moved,--looked at her from a distance, gently, even
curiously. "Daughter, go in peace," He said and turned away. She
remained there grovelling, longing to touch Him, forlorn, gorgonized.
The Roman Emperors also kneeled to right and left, fiercely looking
among their aides for the help which did not come, which could not
come, from man.
The assassin was in a hundred tearing hands. Screeches shot out of
his gullet when they silently and inevitably began to tear him to
pieces. Roman knives flashed over the parapet; and slid into Tiber:
hooked hands, like the curving talons of griffins, were the weapons
for this work. But the Supreme Pontiff beckoned him; and the gesture
was unmistakeable--universally authoritative. Shaken and violently
shaking, jagged, lacerated, a disreputable wreck of Pictish ready-made
tailoring, Jerry Sant staggered forward, staggered like one fascinated.
Cardinals and sovereigns drew away from him, and the mob hemmed him in.
" ... for they know not...." The Apostle raised himself a little,
supported by imperial hands. How bright the sunlight was, on the
warm grey stones, on the ripe Roman skins, on vermilion and lavender
and blue and ermine and green and gold, on the indecent grotesque
blackness of two blotches, on apostolic whiteness and the rose of blood.
"Augustitudes, Our will and pleasure is----"
"Speak it, Most Holy Father----"
"Augustitudes, We name you both the ministers of this Our will." And to
the murderer He said, "Son, you are forgiven: you are free."
Down Borgo Nuovo came guards, chamberlains, curial prelates, cardinals,
from Vatican. The English and American cardinals took their vermilion
on their arms, and ran like lithe long-limbed school-boys. The faithful
young Sir John outran them all. He kneeled to Hadrian, Who said,
"Dear John, take this cross--and Flavio." The Southern Emperor
unclasped the chain and rosy pectoral cross; and handed them to the
gentleman-of-the-apostolic-chamber, who took them and fainted away. Out
of Santo Spirito, came one with the stocks of sacred chrism. Cardinals
Van Kristen and Carvale, panting, kneeled before the Ruler of the
World. Percy drew out the hidden pontifical pyx: took the Sacred Host
therefrom; and held It. "The profession of faith, Most Holy Lord," he
bravely whispered.
"I believe all that which Holy Mother Church believes. I ask pardon of
all men. Dear Jesus, be not to me a Judge but a Saviour."
Cardinal Sterling gravely intoned the commendation of a Christian soul.
The splendid company of angels, the senate of apostles, the army of
white-robed martyrs, the lilied squadron of shining confessors, the
chorus of joyful maids, patriarchs, hermits, Stephen and Lawrence,
Silvester and Gregory, Francis and Lucy and Mary Magdalene, Mary--God's
Own Mother, all the saints of God who daily are invited to attend the
passing of the poorest Christian soul, were invoked for the Father of
Princes and Kings. "And mild and cheerful may the Aspect of Christ
Jesus seem to thee----" The singer's voice failed. Cardinal Carvale
went on with no interval: imparted absolution, and the sacrament of
the dying. "Saints of God advance to help him: Angels of The Lord come
to meet him, receiving his soul, offering it in the Sight of The Most
High." The splendour of mortal words reverberated from the ancient
fortress wall, in the great silence of Immortal Rome.
When the Earthly Vicar of Jesus Christ had received Extreme Unction
and Viaticum, when He had had done for Him all that which Christ's
Church can do, He required to be lifted on His feet. The Roman Emperors
rose, raising Him. The vehement ferocity of their aspect terribly
contrasted with their tender movement. The torments of powerless power,
of intimidation inflicted in the supreme moment of exultation, rent
these grand strong men--and graced them. The blood-stain streamed down
the Pope's white robes with the red stole of universal jurisdiction.
The slender hand with the two huge rings ascended. The shy brown eyes
fluttered; and were wide, and very glad. Then the tired young voice
rang like a quiet bell.
"May God Omnipotent, ✠ ✠ ✠ Father, ✠ ✠ ✠ Son, ✠ ✠ ✠ and Holy Ghost, bless
you."
It was the Apostolic Benediction of the City and the World.
The hand and the dark eyelashes drooped, and fell. The delicate
fastidious lips closed, in the ineffable smile of the dead who have
found out the Secret of Love, and are perfectly satisfied.
So died Hadrian the Seventh, Bishop, Servant of the servants of God,
and (some say) Martyr. So died Peter in the arms of Caesar.
The world sobbed, sighed, wiped its mouth; and experienced extreme
relief.
The college of Cardinals summed Him up in the brilliant epigram of
Tacitus. 'Capax imperii nisi imperâsset.' He would have been an ideal
ruler if He had not ruled.
Religious people said that He was an incomprehensible creature. And the
man on the motor said that the pace certainly had been rather rapid.
Pray for the repose of His soul. He was so tired.
Feliciter
BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD
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