At four o'clock in the afternoon the Pope and Father Pifferi were again
walking in the garden. The groves of Judas trees were shedding their
crimson blossoms and the path had a covering of bloom; the atmosphere
was full of the odour of honey-suckle and violet, and through the sunlit
air the swallows were darting with shrill cries and the glitter of
wings.
"And what does your Holiness intend to do?" asked the Capuchin.
"Providence will direct us," said the Pope with a sigh.
"But your Holiness will refuse the request of the Government?"
"How can I do so without exposing myself to misunderstanding? Suppose
the King is assassinated, what then? The Government will tell the world
that the Pope knew all and did nothing."
"Let them. It will not be an incident without parallel in the history of
the Church. And the world will only honour your Holiness the more for
standing firm on your sanctity of the human soul."
"Yes, if the confessional were in question. The world knows that the
seal of the confessional is sacred, and must be observed at all costs.
But this is not a case of the confessional."
"Didn't your Holiness say you would observe it as such?"
"And I shall. But what about the public? Accident has told the
Government that this is not a case of the confessional, and the
Government will tell the world. What follows? If I refuse to do anything
the enemies of the Church will give it out that the Holy Father is an
accomplice of a regicide, ready and willing to intrigue with the agents
of rebellion to regain the temporal power."
"Then you will receive the Prime Minister?"
"No! Or if so, only in the company of his superior."
"The King?"
"Yes."
The Capuchin removed his skull-cap with an uneasy hand, and walked some
paces without speaking.
"Will he come, your Holiness?"
"If he thinks I hold the secret on which his life depends, assuredly he
will come."
"But you are sovereign as well as Pope--is it possible for you to
receive him?"
"I will receive him as the King of Sardinia, the King of Italy, if you
will, but not as the King of Rome."
The Capuchin took his coloured handkerchief from his sleeve and rolled
it in his palms, which were hot and perspiring.
"But, Holy Father," he said, "what will be the good? Say that all
difficulties of etiquette can be removed, and you can meet as man to
man, as David Leone and Albert Charles--why will the King come? Only to
ask you to put pressure upon your informant to give more information."
The Pope drew himself up on the gravel path and smote his breast with
indignation. "Never! It would be an insult to the Church," he said. "It
is one thing to expect the Holy Father to do his duty as a Christian
even to his enemy, it is another thing to ask him to invade the sanctity
of a private confidence."
The Capuchin did not reply, and the two old men walked on in silence. As
the light softened the swallows increased their clamour, and song-birds
began to call from neighbouring trees. Suddenly a startled cry burst
from the foliage, and, turning quickly, the Pope lifted up the cat
which, as usual, was picking its way at his heels.
"Ah, Meesh, Meesh! I've got you safely this time.... It was the poor
mother-bird again, I suppose. Where is her nest, I wonder?"
They found it in the old sarcophagus, which was now almost lost in
leaves. The eggs had been hatched, and the fledglings, with eyes not yet
opened, stretched their featherless necks and opened their beaks when
the Pope put down his hand to touch them.
"Monsignor," said the Pope over his shoulder, "remind me to-morrow to
ask the gardener for some worms."
The cat, from his prison under the Pope's arm, was watching the
squirming nest with hungry eyes.
"Naughty Meesh! Naughty!" said the Pope, shaking one finger in the cat's
face. "But Meesh is only following the ways of his kind, and perhaps I
was wrong to let him see the quarry."
The Pope and the Capuchin walked back to the Vatican for joy of the
sweet spring evening with its scent of flowers and song of birds.
"You are sad to-day, Father Pifferi," said the Pope.
"I'm still thinking of that poor lady," said the Capuchin.
At the first hour of night the Pope attended the recitation of the
rosary in his private chapel, and then returning to his private study, a
room furnished with a table and two chairs, he took a light supper,
served by Cortis in the evening dress of a civilian. His only other
company was the cat, which sat on a chair on the opposite side of the
table. After supper he wrote a letter. It ran:
"SIRE,--Your Minister informs us that through official channels he
has received warning of a plot against your life, and believing
that we can give information that will help him to defeat so vile
a conspiracy, he asks us for a special audience. It is not within
our power to promise more assistance than we have already given;
but this is to say that if your Majesty yourself should wish to
see us, we shall be pleased to receive you, with or without your
Minister, if you will come in private and otherwise unattended, at
the hour of 21-1/2 on Holy Thursday, to the door of the Canons'
House of St. Peter's, where the bearer of this message will be
waiting to conduct you to the Sacristy.
"Nil timendum nisi a Deo.
Pius P.P.X."