The other cardinals, attracted by these words, drew nearer to the throne. Some sat on stools: others remained standing: all intently listened to Orezzo: all intently gazed at Hadrian. The aspect of the Pontiff did not give satisfaction. It was not listless: it was not inattentive, for, as a matter of fact, it indicated very vivid ardent studiose concern, a perfect perception of being “among the Doctors”: but Hadrian seemed to be treating the matter too impersonally, too much from the viewpoint of the outsider. He gave no sign whatever that He was conscious how very nearly this thing touched Himself.
“He reminds one of a surgeon probing for a bullet in a body which is not his,” said Mundo to Fiamma.
“And He will find that bullet,” the Archbishop of Bologna replied.
Hadrian (Who could see as far through a brick wall as most men, and a great deal further than some), was not by any means unconscious of the situation, and was avidly curious after information. He pursued the inquiry. Many thought it would have been more delicate to drop it.
“Yes. That was the gist of the statement in the paper,” He continued to Orezzo. “We remember it well: because We wondered whether or not such a privilege was included in that ‘plenitude of apostolic power.’ We could not find a precedent; and none of the authorities whom We consulted could provide one. Advise Us, Lord Cardinal.”
If Orezzo had not been Cardinal-Bishop of Ostia and Velletri, Dean of the Sacred College, and Chamberlain of the Holy Roman Church, he would have grinned. He found the moment unmitigatedly delectable.
“Holiness, there is a pious opinion, represented (I believe) by the Cardinal-Penitentiary”—(Serafino-Vagellaio violently flushed)—“to the effect that the Divine Leo was not in error. Also, there is another pious opinion, represented (I happen to know) by the rest of the College, that on this point the said Divine Leo erred as infallibly as possible.”
This was thin ice indeed.
“Your Eminency’s exposition hath been most sound. The matter is one for the theologians,” said Hadrian, ceasing to lean forward. “But why, Lord Cardinal, do you call it fortunate that the nomination was not effected?”
“Because if it had been effected, we might not have experienced the pleasure of saluting a Pontiff Who, according to the Cardinal of Pimlico, is an academic anarchist.”
Hadrian candidly and simply laughed, with a friendly look at Courtleigh, who did not at all like being the second victim of Orezzo’s caustic tongue.
“His Eminency has taken that bad habit of labelling people from Us,” He said. “But, although We give due weight to the epithet ‘academic,’ We abhor from and cannot away with the term ‘anarchist.’ Aristocrat We are not: the mere word Democrat fills Us with repugnance. Such as it is, Our philosophy is individualistic altruism. But, Eminencies, is not the labelling of matter which is in a state of flux, humanity for example, somewhat futile? Even supposing the labelled matter to be static, do not the very words on the label change their meaning with the course of time? But deeds remain; and the motive of a deed is that by which it must, and will, be judged. Give Us then the benefit of your holy prayers, Lord Cardinals, that Our motives may be pure, and Our acts acceptable to Him Who has deigned to Our unworthy hands the awful office of His Vicegerent here on earth.”
He leaned back in His chair for the moment after this little outburst. The sense of His enormous responsibility was upon Him. In an indefinite shadowy sort of way, it had been in His mind to utter some such allocution to the cardinals by way of explaining to them His Own conception of His task: but He had intended to make it more of a deliberate formal pronouncement. The instant when the words had passed His lips, however, He perceived that in one sentence He had said all. He also perceived that the gaiety of the beginning, and the solemnity of the conclusion, sufficed to give His utterance distinction. He said no more. There was no doubt but that He had created an impression: an impression which differed, it is true, according to the temper of the impressed—but still He had created an impression. Those Eminencies, who were more formal than vital, assumed that professional abstraction of demeanour which marks a conference of clergy while one of their number is “talking shop.” Those two or three, who were devout enthusiasts, blessed themselves and exhibited the white cornea beneath the iris of their eyes. The majority, (who combined the qualities of the dignified fine-gentleman-of-the-old-school, with those of the scholar, the teacher, and the practical Christian) beamed instant approbation. Their verdict was that the utterance was very correct and proper. Nothing could be more true.
The assemblage split-up into groups; and separate conversations were begun. The Pope sat, still and grave. Orezzo gracefully pleaded his age and the hour of night: kissed the Apostle’s knee; and retired.
Hadrian beckoned the Cardinal-Deacon of Santa Maria Nuova; and addressed him in a confidential manner.
“We understand that the expenses of Our household pass through the hands of the Majordomo. Are they paid from some fund particularly allotted to the purpose?”
“Yes, Most Holy Lord; from—”
“The details are unimportant. And the expenses of the paparchy in general?”
“There are numerous funds, Most Holy Lord, which are administered by numerous departments under my supervision.”
“And those funds—Some suffice; and some do not suffice. They vary, no doubt?”
“Most Holy Lord, they vary.”
“Is there any particular fund over which We have exclusive control?”
“The whole revenue, Most Holy Lord, is subject to Your pleasure: but Peter’s Pence belong to the pontiff-regnant personally. They are His private property—salary—honorarium, I should say.”
“In
