A week later I was living with my father in the Hotel Europa on the edge
of the Piazza di Spagna.
He was kinder to me than he had ever been before, but he did not tell me
what the plans were which he had formed for my future, and I was left to
discover them for myself.
Our apartment was constantly visited by ecclesiastics--Monsignori,
Archbishops, even one of the Cardinals of the Propaganda, brought there
by Bishop Walsh (the Bishop of our own diocese), and I could not help
but hear portions of their conversation.
"It will be difficult, extremely difficult," the Cardinal would say.
"Such marriages are not encouraged by the Church, which holds that they
are usually attended by the worst consequences to both wife and husband.
Still--under the exceptional circumstances--that the bridegroom's family
was Catholic before it was Protestant--it is possible, just
possible. . . ."
"Cardinal," my father would answer, while his strong face was darkening,
"excuse me, sir, but I'm kind of curious to get the hang of this
business. Either it can be done or it can't. If it can, we'll just sail
in and do it. But if it can't, I believe I'll go home quick and spend my
money another way."
Then there would be earnest assurances that in the end all would be
right, only Rome moved slowly, and it would be necessary to have
patience and wait.
My father waited three weeks, and meantime he occupied himself in seeing
the sights of the old city.
But the mighty remains which are the luminous light-houses of the
past--the Forum with the broken columns of its dead centuries; the
Coliseum with its gigantic ruins, like the desolate crater of a moon;
the Campagna with its hollow, crumbling tombs and shattered
aqueducts,--only vexed and irritated him.
"Guess if I had my way," he said, "I would just clean out this old
stone-yard of monuments to dead men, and make it more fit for living
ones."
At length the Bishop came to say that the necessary business had been
completed, and that to mark its satisfactory settlement the Pope had
signified his willingness to receive in private audience both my father
and myself.
This threw me into a state of the greatest nervousness, for I had begun
to realise that my father's business concerned myself, so that when,
early the following morning (clad according to instructions, my father
in evening dress and I in a long black mantilla), we set out for the
Vatican, I was in a condition of intense excitement.
What happened after we got out of the carriage at the bronze gate near
St. Peter's I can only describe from a vague and feverish memory. I
remember going up a great staircase, past soldiers in many-coloured
coats, into a vast corridor, where there were other soldiers in other
costumes. I remember going on and on, through salon after salon, each
larger and more luxurious than the last, and occupied by guards still
more gorgeously dressed than the guards we had left behind. I remember
coming at length to a door at which a Chamberlain, wearing a sword,
knelt and knocked softly, and upon its being opened announced our names.
And then I remember that after all this grandeur as of a mediæval court
I found myself in a plain room like a library with a simple white figure
before me, and . . . I was in the presence of the Holy Father himself.
Can I ever forget that moment?
I had always been taught in the Convent to think of the Pope with a
reverence only second to that which was due to the Saints, so at first I
thought I should faint, and how I reached the Holy Father's feet I do
not know. I only know that he was very sweet and kind to me, holding out
the delicate white hand on which he wore the fisherman's emerald ring,
and smoothing my head after I had kissed it.
When I recovered myself sufficiently to look up I saw that he was an old
man, with a very pale and saintly face; and when he spoke it was in such
a soft and fatherly voice that I loved and worshipped him.
"So this is the little lady," he said, "who is to be the instrument in
the hands of Providence in bringing back an erring family into the folds
of Mother Church."
Somebody answered him, and then he spoke to me about marriage, saying it
was a holy state, instituted by the Almighty under a natural law and
sanctioned by our divine Redeemer into the dignity of a Sacrament, so
that those who entered it might live together in peace and love.
"It is a spiritual and sacred union, my child," he said, "a type of the
holy mystery of Christ's relation to His Church."
Then he told me I was to make the best possible preparation for marriage
in order to obtain the abundant graces of God, and to approach the altar
only after penance and communion.
"And when you leave the church, my daughter," he said, "do not profane
the day of your marriage by any sinful thought or act, but remember to
bear yourself as if Jesus Christ Himself were with you, as He was at the
marriage-feast in Cana of Galilee."
Then he warned me that when I entered into the solemn contract of holy
matrimony I was to do so in the full consciousness that it could not be
broken but by death.
"Whom God has joined together let no man put asunder--remember that,
too, my daughter."
Finally he said something about children--that a Catholic marrying a
person of another religion must not enter into any agreement whereby any
of her children should be brought up in any other than the Catholic
faith.
After that, and something said to my father which I cannot recall, he
gave me his blessing, in words so beautiful and a voice so sweet that it
fell on me like the soft breeze that comes out of the rising sun on a
summer morning.
"May the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob be with
you, my daughter. May your marriage be a yoke of love and peace, and may
you see your children's children to the third and fourth generation."
Then he raised me to my feet, and at a touch from the Chamberlain, I
backed out of the room.
When the door had closed on me I drew a deep breath, feeling as if I had
come out of the Holy of Holies, and when I reached the Piazza of St.
Peter's and came again upon the sight and sound of common things--the
cabs and electric cars--it was the same as if I had suddenly descended
from heaven to earth.
After my audience with the Pope, following on the Reverend Mother's
story, all my objections to marriage had gone, and I wished to tell my
father so, but an opportunity did not arise until late the same night
and then it was he who was the first to speak.
Being in good spirits, after a dinner to the ecclesiastics, he said, as
soon as his guests had gone--speaking in the tone of one who believed he
was doing a great thing for me--
"Mary, matters are not quite settled yet, but you might as well know
right here what we're trying to fix up for you."
Then he told me.