“Your Majesty appears to have made out a case. Well: you will conquer France and Russia. And then?”
“I shall annex them to my empire.”
“Are you likely to meet with any opposition then?”
“I do not know. I am about to proceed to discuss the point with my uncle. Meanwhile my ambassadors are consulting Mr. Chamberlain and Mr. Roosevelt; and I myself am consulting my royal cousin the King of Italy.”
“Ah—the King of Italy!—And what does Your Majesty desire from Us?”
“I should be glad to know the attitude which Your Holiness will prescribe for the Catholics of my empire, as well as for other Catholics, in the event of my engaging in these schemes.”
“Why?”
“Because at present my Catholic subjects are loyal. I should not permit any of my subjects to be disloyal. I wish to give them all freedom in religious matters: but I should not tolerate opposition to my state-policy.”
“Touching the matter of Poland—”
“There is no Poland.”
The Pope put His hand on the table—pontifically. “Will Your Majesty, for the purposes of argument, consent to imagine a place called Poland, partly Russian, partly German, inhabited by a race which is neither German nor Russian, a race very tenacious of its traditions. In the event of your annexation of France, and Russia, for example—and Austria which is composed of sixteen distinct races speaking thirty-two distinct languages, the various Slavonic nationalities of Parthians, Medes, and Elamites—”
“Parthians, Medes, and Elamites?”
“Well: Croats, Slovenes, Dalmatians, and the dwellers in Bosnia and Herzegovina, to say nothing of the Czechs and the Magyars—in the event of your annexation of all these, you would be obliged to have regard unto the racial characteristics of your new subjects. Now, at the same time, would you not be well advised to regard the racial characteristics of Poland?”
“In what way?”
“For example, would you concede to Poland, the Polish language, and a Polish king and constitution under your imperial suzerainty?”
“Your Holiness means something of the nature of federation, such as Your Own country so successfully has adopted?”
“Concisely.”
“I had not thought of it. It merits my profound consideration.”
“And what would happen to the other fragments of Austria, and to the Balkan States?”
“I do not know. The Sultan would have something to say.”
“And what will he say?”
“I must tell Your Holiness that I am much disappointed in Turkey. I looked upon it as the military power, whose ability to hold back Russia, and to prevent the political strangulation of Germany in Europe by keeping-open the gates of the East, must be strengthened at all costs. Hence I practically rearmed the Sultan’s forces; and passed numbers of young Turkish officers through my military schools. You may say that I made the Turkish Army. All to no purpose. The new Sultan has played me false. I am afraid now that Turkey will be more influenced by England and by Italy than by me.”
“Is that king blind?”
“My uncle?”
“No. Italy.”
“Not that I am aware of. Why does Your Holiness ask?”
The Supreme Pontiff stood up. “We thank Your Majesty for the sincerity of Your conversation; and assure you of Our goodwill. We will ponder the matters which you have laid before Us.”
“I hoped to have had—” But there was no mistaking the sealed face. And William II was one of the cleverest men in the world; and he also was half an Englishman. “I should be greatly obliged if Your Holiness would write down that doctrine of Aristos. I should prize it greatly.”
The Pope went to a writing table and produced a couple of lines in His wonderful fifteenth-century script.
“I will make this one of the heirlooms of Hohenzollern” said the Kaiser.
“May God guide you, well-beloved son.”
Hadrian walked that afternoon with Cardinal Semphill on Nomentana, as far as St. Agnes beyond-the-Walls. It was one of those deliberately lovely Roman autumn afternoons, when walking is a climax of crisp joy with the thought of a cup of tea as the fine finial. They talked of books, especially of novels; and His Eminency asserted that the novels of Anthony Trollope gave him on the whole the keenest satisfaction. There was a great deal more in them than generally was supposed, he said. The Pope agreed that they were very pleasant easy reading, deliciously anodynic. His Own preference was for Thackeray’s Esmond. He, however, would not commit Himself to approval of all the works of any one writer, simply because no man was capable of being always at his best. As they passed through Porta Pia into Venti Settembre, Hadrian pointed to the palace on the left of the gate, saying, “Have you ever been there?”
“No, Holiness. At least, not since I’ve been wearing this.” He indicated his vermilion ferraiuola.
“Don’t you think if we asked them very nicely they would give us a cup of tea?”
The cardinal mischievously chuckled. “I am of opinion that the English Ambassador would be very pleased to make Your Holiness’s acquaintance over a cup of tea.”
Hadrian rang the bell. “Semphill,” He said as they waited at the gate, “if there be any ladies about, will you kindly talk to them and leave the Ambassador to Us.”
Sir Francis was at home. And much honoured. So were two secretaries. And no ladies. And there was tea. Cardinal Semphill devoted himself to the secretaries; and told them funny stories about clergymen. They laughed hugely at the tales, (which were witty), and at the wittier clergyman who told them. The Pope mentioned to the Ambassador that He had had a call from the Duke of Königsberg that morning; and drifted-off into an inquiry as to where reliable maps were to be
