‘I believe in your Majesty! If only the new Pope will accept your
plans!’
King Victor flushed with gratification at my outburst.
‘That is the task I am going to intrust to you,’ he announced. ‘I
have made careful inquiries, and I believe there is one Cardinal who,
if he were elected, would be likely to welcome my overtures.’
‘And his name, sire?’
‘Cardinal Sarto, the Patriarch-Archbishop of Venice.’
My face fell. I had scarcely heard of his Eminence of Venice by
name. Certainly he was not among those cardinals--the _Papabili_,
as they are termed--whose candidature was taken seriously by the
ecclesiastical politicians of the Vatican.
‘Is Cardinal Sarto a possible candidate, sire?’ I ventured to object.
‘You must make him so,’ King Victor said earnestly. ‘I rely on you to
secure his election.’
Although not lacking in self-confidence, I shrank before this
tremendous task. Apart from my scruples as a Catholic--and I was by
no means sure how far it was lawful for a layman to interfere in a
Papal election--I doubted my power to influence the choice of the
Sacred College in the short time at my disposal.
‘In ten days from now the Conclave will begin,’ I murmured
reflectively.
‘I know it,’ broke in Victor Emmanuel. ‘I want you to be present in
the Conclave as my secret agent.’
I trembled. The secrecy of the Conclave is guarded with the greatest
care. In what way could I possibly gain admission to the private
deliberations of the Cardinals?
The King answered my unspoken doubts.
‘In ten days the Cardinals will enter the Conclave, each with a
single attendant, and the door will be walled up, not to be reopened
until Christendom again has a Pope. It is necessary for you to be
inside that walled-up door.’
‘I must enter in the character of attendant to one of the Cardinals!’
I exclaimed.
‘You must enter as the servant of Cardinal Salvatierra,’ his Majesty
declared.
I frowned slightly. It seemed to me that my employer, in his
enthusiasm, was going a little too fast. I did not like having so
much arranged for me in advance. This Cardinal Salvatierra, who was
he; and in what way had he come to lend himself to the purpose of the
King of Italy?
‘Does the Cardinal enjoy your Majesty’s confidence?’ I asked drily.
‘Not in the sense that you do, Monsieur V----,’ the King answered.
‘Salvatierra is one of the ornamental members of the College. He
is a scholar and antiquarian, not a Churchman or politician. His
collection of intaglios is said to be the finest in Rome.’
‘May I venture to ask how much his Eminence has been told?’
‘Only that I desire the election of a Pope who will be well disposed
towards Italy. It has always been customary for the Sacred College
to receive representations from the Catholic Powers of their views
and wishes on the subject of Papal election. The only irregularity in
this case is that, as the Italian kingdom is not recognised by the
Papacy, I can only communicate with the College indirectly.’
[Illustration: “I found the Cardinal absorbed in the inspection of
his newly arrived treasures.”]
I listened to his Majesty with considerable inward misgiving. I
was more than a little afraid of the guilt I might be incurring by
entering the Conclave. At the same time I told myself that Cardinal
Salvatierra had a right to introduce whom he pleased as his
attendant; and if he was satisfied to take me, it was not for me to
raise objections.
After some further conversation with his Majesty, I retired to a
hotel and effected a transformation which gave me the appearance of a
respectable upper servant, such as a steward or valet, in an Italian
noble family. Thus attired, I made my way round to the Salvatierra
Palace, and sent up my name to his Eminence as Jacopo Luigi.
‘I doubt if his Eminence will receive you to-night,’ the porter
informed me. ‘A case of exquisite cameos of untold value has just
arrived for his collection--a gift from some great personage, I
believe; and his Eminence is hard at work unpacking them.’
I had my own suspicion as to the source of this truly regal offering,
and felt more than ever uneasy as to the lawfulness of my proceedings.
However, it was not long before a message came down that I was to go
up and wait upon his Eminence at once.
I found the Cardinal absorbed in the inspection of his newly arrived
treasures. Holding a delicate camel’s-hair brush in one hand, he was
going over the cameos, carefully removing every speck of dust and
holding them up to the light in search of possible blemishes.
His Eminence was a tall, stately personage, refined and ascetic in
feature, with a faded blue eye which fell on me with an expression of
the most complete indifference.
‘You are Jacopo Luigi,’ he observed, glancing towards a letter which
lay open on a pier-table. ‘My nephew, Count Baldachino, recommends
you to me very strongly. He says’--the Cardinal interrupted himself
to scrutinise a fresh gem with the minutest care--‘he says that you
are thoroughly discreet and faithful. You understand the particular
necessity for discretion in my service, no doubt?’
He took his eye off the cameo for an instant, to dart a glance at me,
so keen and penetrating that it was as if a hidden man had suddenly
sprung to the window and looked out. Before I could respond, the
Cardinal’s back was turned to me again, and he was dusting away
harder than ever.
‘I perfectly understand, Eminence,’ I muttered.
‘That is quite right, then. I take you into my service. At a salary
of 800 lire. Introduce yourself to the master of my household.’
These sentences were punctuated by eager movements, as his Eminence
proceeded in his examination of the newly arrived treasures.
I waited for more, but finding that the Cardinal had apparently
forgotten my presence, in his antiquarian enthusiasm, I moved towards
the door and withdrew.
I need not describe the household. I found myself received at first
with the jealousy natural on the part of old servants towards a new
comer, but I soon got on good terms with those whom I wished to
conciliate.
From the gossip of the servants’ hall I gathered many important hints
about the forthcoming election.
Had merit only been considered, the long and important services of
Cardinal Rampolla would have given him a paramount claim on the
tiara. But his strength of character had aroused the dread of those
Cardinals who consider that a weak Pope means a powerful College, and
_vice versâ_.
Various other names were being talked about as popular candidates,
but among them I did not once catch that of King Victor’s nominee,
the saintly, simple-hearted Archbishop of Venice.
Each of the two great Mendicant Orders, the Dominicans and
Franciscans, had its favourite, for whom the brethren were eagerly
working. But I could not learn the name of any Cardinal who was being
supported by the ubiquitous and powerful Company of Jesus.
This was in itself a suspicious sign. The jealousy--perhaps I ought
to say the fear--of the Jesuits entertained by the ordinary hierarchy
of the Church is so intense that in all probability if the Jesuits
had shown their hand by openly supporting a particular Cardinal,
that would have been enough to ensure his exclusion.
I could only surmise that they were working in the dark, or, perhaps,
waiting for the opportunity to intervene and turn the scale between
the final candidates.
As soon as the obsequies of Leo XIII. had been duly performed, the
Cardinals in solemn procession entered the Hall of the Conclave, and
the doors were locked.
Inside the vast chamber a small wooden cell, just large enough
to contain a narrow bed and a chair, had been erected for the
accommodation of each Cardinal.
The occupation of these tiny compartments was decided by lot, so it
will be understood that I experienced a sensation of uneasy surprise
on finding that Cardinal Salvatierra had obtained the cubicle
adjoining that of the Patriarch of Venice.
I do not feel myself at liberty to violate the secrecy of the
Conclave by relating minutely the steps which I took to secure
support for Cardinal Sarto. I obtained a few votes in the first
ballot, but not enough to afford any promise of ultimate success.
Cardinal Rampolla struck his first and last blow. He polled his full
number of votes, and fell short of the requisite two-thirds majority.
Then realising that the jealousy of his great powers was too strong
to be overcome, he retired from the contest.
This left the field open to the two rival Mendicant Orders. Their
nominees, whom I think it more respectful not to name, polled vote
for vote, but neither could command anything like the number of
suffrages required.
It appeared likely that the Conclave would last some time. In the
second ballot I was surprised to find that a fair number of votes was
given to my supposed master. Cardinal Salvatierra appeared equally
surprised, and a little annoyed by this circumstance.
‘I wish they would ignore me,’ he said testily, when I brought him
his dinner. ‘They know I am not a possible Pope, and they will injure
me with the successful candidate.’
I said nothing, but an idea was already germinating in my mind.
Before the next scrutiny I waited with the utmost secrecy upon
the two Cardinals who were managing the election on behalf of the
Dominicans and Franciscans respectively.
To each of their Eminences I said practically the same thing.
‘You cannot succeed in carrying your nominee. Neither can your
rivals. Meanwhile the Jesuits are secretly preparing to gather in the
scattered votes and concentrate them on their own candidate.’
‘Who is that?’ was the eager question I received in each case.
‘You will see in the next scrutiny. Unless you stand firm, and refuse
to accede, you will have a Jesuit Pope.’
This threat was necessary, because when a candidate obtains so large
a proportion of votes as to make his election seem certain at the
next ballot, it is a very usual thing for the supporters of the
beaten candidates to go over at once, in order to have the credit of
voting for the new Pope.
The next scrutiny was taken. The name of Salvatierra came out
high upon the list, wanting only four votes of the two-thirds
majority. The Franciscan and Dominican Cardinals stood firm. But the
unsuspecting Archbishop of Venice, who did not dream that his own
candidature was anything but a side manœuvre, earnestly implored his
own few supporters to accede to Salvatierra, and thus complete the
election of a Pope.
Fortunately I had anticipated this action on his part, and had
obtained the most binding pledges from the few Cardinals I had won
over. There was no election, and Salvatierra returned to his cell,
unable to conceal his mortification.
‘Luigi,’ he said to me that night, ‘you have seen how things are
going. Against my will I am destined to receive the tiara. This
places us both in a different position. You have done your best to
serve the personage who desired me to take you into my service, and
it is not your fault that you have failed to secure the election of
a pro-Italian Cardinal. Now I can place it in your power to achieve
the same end by another means. If you will give me the King’s votes
in the next ballot, I will pledge myself to negotiate in a friendly
and liberal spirit for the settlement of the differences between the
Papacy and the Kingdom.’
‘Your Eminence can escape from the burden of the triple crown,’ I
replied, with affected simplicity, ‘by causing your own supporters to
accede to any one of the other candidates.’
‘You mean to Cardinal Sarto,’ his Eminence retorted. ‘You do not
suppose that my friends would elect a Dominican or Franciscan puppet?
Let me warn you, my dear Signor Luigi, or Monsieur V----, that the
Cardinal on whom your master places his reliance, is not strong
enough to carry out the reconciliation you desire. Giuseppe Sarto is
a saint, not a statesman.’
I felt there was some truth in this warning, but I had my
instructions, and I could not in this case look beyond them. I
promised to weigh his Eminence’s words, and retired to sound the
feeling of the Conclave.
I found that the election was already virtually decided. The
extraordinary leap upward of Salvatierra, following on my warning,
had convinced the two Mendicant Orders of their danger. They had
communicated their own fears and suspicions to the rest of the
College, and the fatal whisper--‘The Jesuit candidate’--had already
run round the Conclave. The two Orders having agreed to withdraw
their champions, there remained only one candidate in the field.
At the next ballot Cardinal Sarto, the nominee of the excommunicated
King of Italy, was triumphantly elected Pope.
The amazement of the saintly prelate, who had remained in profound
ignorance of the whole of the negotiations and intrigues, softened
the hearts of even his rivals, and convinced the most worldly-minded
of the electors that they had involuntarily made the right choice.
Salvatierra was the first to offer the kiss of homage to his new
sovereign. His Eminence’s parting words to myself as we quitted the
Conclave made me fear that my triumph was more apparent than real.
‘You have chosen the White Pope, Monsieur V----. It remains to see
how you will fare at the hands of the Black Pope.’
He returned to his palace and his curiosities, to all appearance well
contented to resume his _rôle_ of harmless antiquary.
But I did not doubt that a full report of all that had passed would
be laid at once before the formidable personage with whose opposition
he had threatened me.
In a villa a short distance outside the walls of Rome resides an
ascetic recluse, never seen in any public ceremonies, visited only
from time to time by a few quietly dressed priests and laymen, to all
appearance as insignificant as himself. This is the Black Pope--in
other words, the General of the Company of Jesus.
Very soon after the election of Pius X. I applied for and obtained a
private interview with his Holiness.
My previous connection with the secret service of the Vatican
rendered this easy.
To no one but the Holy Father himself did I intend to reveal my
character as the agent of Victor Emmanuel II.
So great was my veneration for the Vicar of Christ, so intense
my admiration for the personal character of the new Pope, that I
had determined never to confess to his Holiness the part which I
had played in his election, lest his wrath should fall upon me in
consequence.
As I knelt before Pius X. in the small and simply furnished room in
which he had chosen to install himself, I saw his eye fall on me with
an expression of pity and curiosity.
‘You do well to kneel, my son,’ the Holy Father said, in a low,
gentle voice. ‘You have erred very grievously.’
I looked up in astonishment. Pius X. pointed to a small table which
stood beside his chair.
‘What do you see there?’ he asked, preserving the same tone of mild
reproof.