Hadrian the Seventh

act manually. Dear deliberate Rome simply gasped at a Pontiff Who said “Tomorrow” and meant it. The Sacred College found that it had no option. Naturally it looked as black as night. But the Cardinal-Archdeacon could not refuse point-blank to crown; and, when Hadrian announced that His incoronation would take place in the morning on the steps of St. Peter’s, futile effort suggested difficulty preventing possibility. That was the only course open to the opposition. Three cardinals in turn alleged that there would not be time to give notice of the ceremony, to arrange the church, to issue tickets of admission. Hadrian swept these ideas aside, as rubbish. Another courted catastrophe saying that there was no time to summon the proper officials. He heard that there were sixteen hours in which to summon those who actually were indispensable. A fifth said that, owing to the antichristian tendencies of the times, no representatives of the King of France, of the Holy Roman Emperor, of the First Conservator of the Roman people, were forthcoming; and he politely inquired how the quadruplex lavation could be performed in their absence? The Pope responded that He was capable of washing His hands four times without any assistance, in the absence of legitimate assistants: but the General of the Church was not to seek: the modern Syndic of Rome was the equivalent of the ancient First Conservator: the Austrian Ambassador could represent the Empire: while, as for wretched kingless unkingly France⁠—let someone instantly go out into the streets of Rome and catch the first Christian Frenchman there encountered. Anyhow, the quadruplex lavation was accidental. The essential was that the Supreme Pontiff should sing a pontifical mass at the high altar of St. Peter’s, and should receive the triple crown. These things would be done at eight o’clock on the following morning. All the doors of the basilica were to be fixed open at midnight; and so remain. No official notice need be published. And that was all. Then the Pope shut-up Himself in His predecessor’s gorgeous rooms, inspecting them till they gave him a pain in His eyes. Luckily He had secured his pouch-full of tobacco and a book of cigarette-papers: He smoked, and thought, looking out of the windows over Rome.

After sunset, He ate some cutlets and a salad: placed two chairs face to face near the right-hand window; and sent for the Bishop of Caerleon and a large jug of milk. His interior arrangements were as disreputably healthy as those of a schoolboy.

Dr. Talacryn came, and observed the forms. Hadrian sent him to clear the antechambers and to close the doors. He returned and remained standing. The Pope was sitting in one of the splendidly uncomfortable red chairs.

“We have sent for Your Lordship because We have occasion for your special services.”

“I am at all times very ready and willing to serve Your Holiness.”

Hadrian was attracted to this bishop. Lots of his acts He loathed: but He liked the man, and believed him honest. The bishop was attracted to the Pope. He liked Him: but he could not understand Him, and was a little frightened of Him: but still⁠—it was as well to know all that could be known and that might be useful.

“We placed this chair for Your Lordship,” said Hadrian.

Dr. Talacryn was astonished: but not more than much. His trained placid nature stood him in good stead at a mark of favour which would have abashed many, and rendered others presumptuous.

“I thank Your Holiness,” he simply said. It appeared that the ship was cleared for action.

The Pope continued in His usual concise monotone. He spoke in the key of E♭ minor, very quickly indeed, slurring the letter r, clipping some words and every final g, enunciating others with emphasis, in a manner curiously suggestive of fur and india-rubber and talons. As for His matter, He seemed to be arguing with Himself by the way in which He arrayed His ideas, disclosing His process of thought.

“We have very much to do, and We are confronted by the physical impossibility of carrying out Our schemes. We find Ourself surprisingly placed at the head of affairs. We believe that We should not have been placed there unless the service, which We are able to do, had been deemed desirable. Therefore We feel bound to act. But, though We know (or shall know) what to do, yet We cannot do it with this one pair of hands. We must have assistants with whom we can be intimate, and who themselves can be sympathetic. First of all, We wish to have Your Lordship.”

The bishop was quite honest enough to get a little rosier with pleasure.

“Very pleased, whatever,” he said.

“Next, We need information. Do you know the circumstances which led to Our election?”

“In the main they are known to me, Holiness. Indeed, I may say that they are generally known⁠—except to the Supreme Pontiff Himself,” the bishop added, with an episcopally roguish smile.

Hadrian enjoyed the point. “Please bear this dogma carefully and continually in mind:⁠—the Pope well-informed is wiser than the Pope ill-informed. Remember also that Hadrian at all times desires to know everything. At present He wishes to know what you know about His election. Briefly: the details can be given later.”

“Briefly, the Conclave found no Pope by the ordinary means; and committed the task to certain Cardinal-Compromissaries. These chose Your Holiness.”

“But why?”

“Cardinal Courtleigh⁠—”

“Was he a Compromissary? How many were there?”

“He was one of nine. The others were⁠—”

“Never mind their names for the moment. Now We take it that these nine cardinals are well-disposed toward Us?”

“Most assuredly, Holy Father.”

“Good! Nine! The names please?”

“Courtleigh, Grace⁠—”

“Archbishop of Baltimore. Yes?”

“Saviolli⁠—”

“What is he? He formerly was nuncio or something in America, was he not? Please give the status of each.”

“He was Archbishop of Lepanto and Pontifical Ablegate to the United States of America. Now he is one of the curia. Then came della Volta, formerly Majordomo, also of the curia: he, by the by, is Your Holiness’s Double, according to Cardinal Courtfield.”

“How