“Wal: I expect I won’t be much good to You: but You’re the master; and, if You really want me, I guess I’ll have a try.”
And he went straight into retreat at the Passionists’ on the Celian Hill.
VIII
“The key to all your difficulties, present and to come, is Love.” Hadrian was at His old self-analytical games again; and the aphorism, which He had gleaned in the most memorable confession of His lifetime, suddenly came back to Him. He went over a lot of things once more. He was convinced that, so far, He did not even know what Love was. People seemed to like Him. Up to a point there were certain people whom He liked. But, Love—He admitted to Himself that men mostly were quite unknown to Him. Perhaps that was His fault. Perhaps He could not get near enough to them to love them simply because He did not admit them to sufficient intimacy—did not study them closely enough. That was a fault which could be mended. He summoned His fifteen cardinals to spend an hour with Him in the Vineyard of Leo. The day was a glorious Roman day of opening summer. The Pope desired to use Their Eminencies for the discussion of affairs, to sharpen His wits against theirs, to pick their brains in order to assist in the formation of His Own opinions.
Gentilotto gently remarked that, if His Holiness would state a case, they would do their best to help Him. He designated the renunciation of the temporal power; and struck them dumb. Of course, in most of their own minds, they disapproved of it. It had shocked them. One and all of them had been brought up in the fatuous notion that the success of the Church was to be gauged by the extent of Her temporalities. An idea of that species, especially when it is inherited, is not dug-up by the roots and tossed-out in a moment, even by a Pontifical Bull. Hadrian understood that His supporters (as well as His opponents) disliked that audacity of His.
“Holiness, we don’t presume to condemn it: but we don’t praise it. Yet You must have had reasons?” Fiamma at length said.
The Pope had not His reasons ready on the surface: they were fundamental. And the temper of Him used to lead Him to disguise the sacrosanct with a veil of frivolity: that is to say, when His arcana seemed likely to be violated, He was wont to divert attention by some gay paradox or witticism. A little roguish glimmer lit His thin lips; and a suspicion of a merry little twinkle came in the corners of His half-shut eyes.
“Once upon a time We used to know a certain writer of amatory novels. The sentimental balderdash, which he put into the mouths of his marionettes (he only had one set of them), influenced Us greatly. He had a living to get. He thought He could get it by recommending the Temporal Power. He was a very clever worldly Catholic indeed: but the arguments, which he produced in so vital a matter as the earning of his living, were so sterile and so curatical, that We summed up the Temporal Power as negligible. Then there was the disgracefully spiteful tone of the Catholic newspapers—gloating over the misfortunes of hardworking well-meaning people, prophesying revolution and national bankruptcy for this dear Italy, and so on. Well: Our sympathy naturally went, not to the malignant but, to the maligned. Oh yes, We had reasons.”
“That is enough. One’s hands obey one’s head,” said Sterling.
“For my part, I think that if the temporal Power is worth having it is worth fighting-for. Lord Ralph Kerrison, who’s a British general, once told me that, if the Pope cares to call-upon Catholics throughout the world and order military operations, he is quite ready to throw-up his commission tomorrow and enlist in the pontifical army,” Semphill asserted.
“No?” Mundo with big eyes inquired.
“Fact: I assure you,” Semphill asservated.
“But is it worth fighting-for?”
“Of course, Holy Father, the possession would confer a certain status,” put in Saviolli.
The Pope smiled. “ ‘Certain’—and ‘status’? Oh really!”
Talacryn was annoyed. He considered the query too sarcastic.
“His Holiness perhaps leans upon the theory that the Church never was more powerful than She is now,” della Volta ventured.
“I calculate that’s fact, not theory!” exclaimed Grace.
“Well then?”
“I see. In these thirty-odd years without the Temporal Power, the Church has increased in power. It might be argued on that that Temporal Power is not essential.”
“Prosecute that argument, and—”
“Has anyone a theory as to what precisely is the chief obstacle in Our way here in Italy?” the Pope interpolated.
“The secret societies.”
“Atheism.”
“Poverty.”
“Socialism.”
“Corrupt politicians.”
“What do we newcomers know of Italy?” asked Whitehead of Leighton, who had made the last remark.
“The newspapers say—”
“The newspapers!” Carvale ejaculated. “Don’t we know how the newspapers are written? Has no one of us ever contributed a paragraph? Well then—”
“Please view the question from this standpoint. On the one side, you have the Paparchy and the Kingdom, Church and State, Soul and Body. On the other, you have the enemies of those. What is necessary?”
“The destruction of the enemies.”
“Or the conversion of them into friends. But how?”
“How shall two walk together unless they be agreed?” the Pope inquired.
“The Paparchy and the Kingdom are not agreed,” said Courtleigh.
“Your Holiness means that they should be agreed: that they should unite forces?” Ferraio asked.
“It is Our will and Our hope to be reconciled with the King of Italy.”
“But is His Majesty willing?”
“We know not: but
