XIITHE BLACK POPE
I must be pardoned if I exercise a certain reserve in telling the story of the most delicate of all the affairs in which I have been engaged. While the interests concerned were, in their own nature, purely political, the fact that they centred round the spiritual Head of Christendom imposes on me restraints which I am bound to recognise.
I cannot recall at this moment whether, in the course of these reminiscences, I have had occasion to mention that I was honoured on several occasions by the confidence of the illustrious Pontiff who, in the course of less than a generation, exalted the Papacy to a height of power and reverent esteem such as it had scarcely enjoyed since the Middle Ages.
To me, as to all who have paid any attention to the history of their own times, the passing away of Leo XIII. marked an epoch in the history of the world. I was in Paris, awaiting the announcement which would plunge two continents into mourning,when, an hour before the fatal bulletin reached the newspaper offices, I received a despatch desiring me to start immediately for Rome, and wait upon the young King of Italy in the Palace of the Quirinal.
Whether in consequence of my connection with the Vatican or not, it happened that I had never been directly employed in the service of the House of Savoy. I have told the story of my unavailing efforts to save the life of King Humbert; but on that occasion I acted as the agent of the friendly monarch of another country.
During my journey to Rome in obedience to the royal summons, my mind was deeply exercised by the problem presented by the disastrous breach between the Italian Kingship and the Papacy.
When the troops of Victor Emmanuel I., thirty-four years ago, marched into the City of the Popes, to make it the capital of United Italy, no one foresaw the difficulties which would flow from the refusal of the Popes to abandon their rights as the temporal Sovereigns of Rome and the States of the Church.
Other dethroned sovereigns have fled from their lost dominions, and gradually sunk out of sight. But the Popes, seated in the Vatican, and solemnly excommunicating the dynasty which has displaced them, have rendered insecure the whole fabric of the Italian monarchy.
I myself, divided between my political sympathies as an American citizen, and my loyalty as a Catholic to the Head of my Church, had often sought in vain for some way of reconciling the venerable rights of the Chair of Peter with the patriotic aspirations of the Italian people.
The various solutions put forward from time to time, such as the cession to the Pope of a small slice of territory including the Vatican, seemed to me inadequate and mean. Some loftier treatment of the situation seemed to be called for, but no statesman, ecclesiastical or secular, had yet been found to propose it.
Now, with the accession of a new Pope, it was possible to indulge hopes of a new policy. I encouraged myself to believe that Victor Emmanuel II. had sent for me that I might assist him in such an endeavour.
The character of this young ruler had already aroused my interest and curiosity. In his father’s lifetime he was unknown to the public until he suddenly stepped into the foreground, at the time of the Abyssinian disasters, as the determined opponent of Crispi’s policy of adventure, and the champion of peace.
Since his accession he had won golden opinions by his modesty, benevolence, and practical energy in the work of government. But he had as yet given noindications of any marked individuality or policy of his own.
Within an hour of my arrival in Rome I found myself in his Majesty’s presence.
His reception of me was not merely gracious but cordial. In a few well-chosen words he thanked me for my services at the time of the tragedy of Monza.
‘I believe you have been employed in the secret service of the Vatican?’ King Victor proceeded.
I bowed again.
‘Will you tell me whether that constitutes any obstacle to your serving me?’ he inquired.
I hesitated.
‘I should feel embarrassed if your Majesty were to ask me to actagainstthe Vatican,’ I ventured to say.
‘But suppose I were to ask you to undertake the office of mediator, to promote a reconciliation between the Papacy and the Italian nation?’
‘Then, sire, you would be offering me the task which I covet above all others, and which I should feel to be the crown of my career.’
The young King made a gesture of delight.
‘That is fortunate indeed! Listen, monsieur! From a boy my heart has bled at the thought of this miserable estrangement, so fraught with danger to the cause of religion as well as to the national freedom.In addition I must tell you that I feel very deeply my own position. I have a conviction that our House cannot prosper while it remains under the curse of the Church.
‘As far as I am concerned,’ Victor Emmanuel went on, ‘there is no sacrifice I am not prepared to make, even to the laying down of my crown, in order to win the forgiveness of the Holy See, and to establish good relations between the Church and the nation. But I need not say that I can do nothing by myself. Unless I can succeed in carrying the Parliament and the people with me, I should simply make things worse than they are at present.’
His Majesty paused for a minute, and then resumed, watching my face anxiously.
‘I have been seeking for years for some means of appeasing the Holy Father that would not be rejected by the secular politicians. And the plan which has developed itself in my mind is this:—
‘In the Middle Ages, perhaps I need not remind you, the Popes enjoyed but a scanty authority in the Roman States. Their authority was defied by the usurping barons, and even in the City of Rome they frequently saw authority exercised by the senate and people. Yet at the very same epoch they were wielding tremendous powers over Europe; they were able to dethrone emperors; a King of England laid down his crown at the feet of a Papal Legate; andthe Kings of Naples acknowledged the suzerainty of the Popes by an annual tribute.’
I began to see what was coming, and testified my admiration by a glance.
‘I propose,’ King Victor said impressively, ‘to acknowledge the Holy Father as the suzerain of the Italian kingdom. I am prepared to lay my crown at his feet, and to receive it again as his gift. I propose to hold myself as the vassal of his Holiness, to pay a tribute, instead of the pension which has been refused, and to exercise my power of veto over legislation in obedience to the Pope’s directions. In short, I am willing to efface myself, and to govern Italy as the deputy of the Holy See.’
I listened with deep emotion to the noble young King as he unfolded his scheme, a scheme in which it was evident that he intended himself to be the sacrifice which would procure peace. At the same time I perceived certain difficulties in the way. The successors of St. Peter, in modern times at all events, had been accustomed to rule over their limited dominions as absolute monarchs. Was it to be hoped that they would consent to accept a constitutional authority in exchange, even though that authority extended over the whole peninsula?
Yet the See of Rome, as suzerain of Italy, would be able to re-enter the field of international politics as a great Power. Alliances might follow whichwould place the Pope in the position of president over a great Catholic league embracing Austria, Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and possibly France as well, to say nothing of the powerful leverage which the Church was able to exercise over the policy of semi-Catholic powers, such as Germany, Great Britain, and the United States.
Carried away by these dazzling visions, I exclaimed aloud—
‘I believe in your Majesty! If only the new Pope will accept your plans!’
King Victor flushed with gratification at my outburst.
‘That is the task I am going to intrust to you,’ he announced. ‘I have made careful inquiries, and I believe there is one Cardinal who, if he were elected, would be likely to welcome my overtures.’
‘And his name, sire?’
‘Cardinal Sarto, the Patriarch-Archbishop of Venice.’
My face fell. I had scarcely heard of his Eminence of Venice by name. Certainly he was not among those cardinals—thePapabili, as they are termed—whose candidature was taken seriously by the ecclesiastical politicians of the Vatican.
‘Is Cardinal Sarto a possible candidate, sire?’ I ventured to object.
‘You must make him so,’ King Victor said earnestly. ‘I rely on you to secure his election.’
Although not lacking in self-confidence, I shrank before this tremendous task. Apart from my scruples as a Catholic—and I was by no means sure how far it was lawful for a layman to interfere in a Papal election—I doubted my power to influence the choice of the Sacred College in the short time at my disposal.
‘In ten days from now the Conclave will begin,’ I murmured reflectively.
‘I know it,’ broke in Victor Emmanuel. ‘I want you to be present in the Conclave as my secret agent.’
I trembled. The secrecy of the Conclave is guarded with the greatest care. In what way could I possibly gain admission to the private deliberations of the Cardinals?
The King answered my unspoken doubts.
‘In ten days the Cardinals will enter the Conclave, each with a single attendant, and the door will be walled up, not to be reopened until Christendom again has a Pope. It is necessary for you to be inside that walled-up door.’
‘I must enter in the character of attendant to one of the Cardinals!’ I exclaimed.
‘You must enter as the servant of Cardinal Salvatierra,’ his Majesty declared.
I frowned slightly. It seemed to me that my employer, in his enthusiasm, was going a little too fast. I did not like having so much arranged for me in advance. This Cardinal Salvatierra, who was he; and in what way had he come to lend himself to the purpose of the King of Italy?
‘Does the Cardinal enjoy your Majesty’s confidence?’ I asked drily.
‘Not in the sense that you do, Monsieur V——,’ the King answered. ‘Salvatierra is one of the ornamental members of the College. He is a scholar and antiquarian, not a Churchman or politician. His collection of intaglios is said to be the finest in Rome.’
‘May I venture to ask how much his Eminence has been told?’
‘Only that I desire the election of a Pope who will be well disposed towards Italy. It has always been customary for the Sacred College to receive representations from the Catholic Powers of their views and wishes on the subject of Papal election. The only irregularity in this case is that, as the Italian kingdom is not recognised by the Papacy, I can only communicate with the College indirectly.’
“I found the Cardinal absorbed in the inspection of his newly arrived treasures.”
“I found the Cardinal absorbed in the inspection of his newly arrived treasures.”
“I found the Cardinal absorbed in the inspection of his newly arrived treasures.”
I listened to his Majesty with considerable inward misgiving. I was more than a little afraid of the guilt I might be incurring by entering the Conclave. At the same time I told myself that Cardinal Salvatierrahad a right to introduce whom he pleased as his attendant; and if he was satisfied to take me, it was not for me to raise objections.
After some further conversation with his Majesty, I retired to a hotel and effected a transformation which gave me the appearance of a respectable upper servant, such as a steward or valet, in an Italian noble family. Thus attired, I made my way round to the Salvatierra Palace, and sent up my name to his Eminence as Jacopo Luigi.
‘I doubt if his Eminence will receive you to-night,’ the porter informed me. ‘A case of exquisite cameos of untold value has just arrived for his collection—a gift from some great personage, I believe; and his Eminence is hard at work unpacking them.’
I had my own suspicion as to the source of this truly regal offering, and felt more than ever uneasy as to the lawfulness of my proceedings.
However, it was not long before a message came down that I was to go up and wait upon his Eminence at once.
I found the Cardinal absorbed in the inspection of his newly arrived treasures. Holding a delicate camel’s-hair brush in one hand, he was going over the cameos, carefully removing every speck of dust and holding them up to the light in search of possible blemishes.
His Eminence was a tall, stately personage, refinedand ascetic in feature, with a faded blue eye which fell on me with an expression of the most complete indifference.
‘You are Jacopo Luigi,’ he observed, glancing towards a letter which lay open on a pier-table. ‘My nephew, Count Baldachino, recommends you to me very strongly. He says’—the Cardinal interrupted himself to scrutinise a fresh gem with the minutest care—‘he says that you are thoroughly discreet and faithful. You understand the particular necessity for discretion in my service, no doubt?’
He took his eye off the cameo for an instant, to dart a glance at me, so keen and penetrating that it was as if a hidden man had suddenly sprung to the window and looked out. Before I could respond, the Cardinal’s back was turned to me again, and he was dusting away harder than ever.
‘I perfectly understand, Eminence,’ I muttered.
‘That is quite right, then. I take you into my service. At a salary of 800 lire. Introduce yourself to the master of my household.’
These sentences were punctuated by eager movements, as his Eminence proceeded in his examination of the newly arrived treasures.
I waited for more, but finding that the Cardinal had apparently forgotten my presence, in his antiquarian enthusiasm, I moved towards the door and withdrew.
I need not describe the household. I found myself received at first with the jealousy natural on the part of old servants towards a new comer, but I soon got on good terms with those whom I wished to conciliate.
From the gossip of the servants’ hall I gathered many important hints about the forthcoming election.
Had merit only been considered, the long and important services of Cardinal Rampolla would have given him a paramount claim on the tiara. But his strength of character had aroused the dread of those Cardinals who consider that a weak Pope means a powerful College, andvice versâ.
Various other names were being talked about as popular candidates, but among them I did not once catch that of King Victor’s nominee, the saintly, simple-hearted Archbishop of Venice.
Each of the two great Mendicant Orders, the Dominicans and Franciscans, had its favourite, for whom the brethren were eagerly working. But I could not learn the name of any Cardinal who was being supported by the ubiquitous and powerful Company of Jesus.
This was in itself a suspicious sign. The jealousy—perhaps I ought to say the fear—of the Jesuits entertained by the ordinary hierarchy of the Church is so intense that in all probability if the Jesuits had shown their hand by openly supporting a particularCardinal, that would have been enough to ensure his exclusion.
I could only surmise that they were working in the dark, or, perhaps, waiting for the opportunity to intervene and turn the scale between the final candidates.
As soon as the obsequies of Leo XIII. had been duly performed, the Cardinals in solemn procession entered the Hall of the Conclave, and the doors were locked.
Inside the vast chamber a small wooden cell, just large enough to contain a narrow bed and a chair, had been erected for the accommodation of each Cardinal.
The occupation of these tiny compartments was decided by lot, so it will be understood that I experienced a sensation of uneasy surprise on finding that Cardinal Salvatierra had obtained the cubicle adjoining that of the Patriarch of Venice.
I do not feel myself at liberty to violate the secrecy of the Conclave by relating minutely the steps which I took to secure support for Cardinal Sarto. I obtained a few votes in the first ballot, but not enough to afford any promise of ultimate success.
Cardinal Rampolla struck his first and last blow. He polled his full number of votes, and fell short of the requisite two-thirds majority. Then realising that the jealousy of his great powers was too strong to be overcome, he retired from the contest.
This left the field open to the two rival Mendicant Orders. Their nominees, whom I think it more respectful not to name, polled vote for vote, but neither could command anything like the number of suffrages required.
It appeared likely that the Conclave would last some time. In the second ballot I was surprised to find that a fair number of votes was given to my supposed master. Cardinal Salvatierra appeared equally surprised, and a little annoyed by this circumstance.
‘I wish they would ignore me,’ he said testily, when I brought him his dinner. ‘They know I am not a possible Pope, and they will injure me with the successful candidate.’
I said nothing, but an idea was already germinating in my mind. Before the next scrutiny I waited with the utmost secrecy upon the two Cardinals who were managing the election on behalf of the Dominicans and Franciscans respectively.
To each of their Eminences I said practically the same thing.
‘You cannot succeed in carrying your nominee. Neither can your rivals. Meanwhile the Jesuits are secretly preparing to gather in the scattered votes and concentrate them on their own candidate.’
‘Who is that?’ was the eager question I received in each case.
‘You will see in the next scrutiny. Unless you stand firm, and refuse to accede, you will have a Jesuit Pope.’
This threat was necessary, because when a candidate obtains so large a proportion of votes as to make his election seem certain at the next ballot, it is a very usual thing for the supporters of the beaten candidates to go over at once, in order to have the credit of voting for the new Pope.
The next scrutiny was taken. The name of Salvatierra came out high upon the list, wanting only four votes of the two-thirds majority. The Franciscan and Dominican Cardinals stood firm. But the unsuspecting Archbishop of Venice, who did not dream that his own candidature was anything but a side manœuvre, earnestly implored his own few supporters to accede to Salvatierra, and thus complete the election of a Pope.
Fortunately I had anticipated this action on his part, and had obtained the most binding pledges from the few Cardinals I had won over. There was no election, and Salvatierra returned to his cell, unable to conceal his mortification.
‘Luigi,’ he said to me that night, ‘you have seen how things are going. Against my will I am destined to receive the tiara. This places us both in a different position. You have done your best to serve the personage who desired me to take youinto my service, and it is not your fault that you have failed to secure the election of a pro-Italian Cardinal. Now I can place it in your power to achieve the same end by another means. If you will give me the King’s votes in the next ballot, I will pledge myself to negotiate in a friendly and liberal spirit for the settlement of the differences between the Papacy and the Kingdom.’
‘Your Eminence can escape from the burden of the triple crown,’ I replied, with affected simplicity, ‘by causing your own supporters to accede to any one of the other candidates.’
‘You mean to Cardinal Sarto,’ his Eminence retorted. ‘You do not suppose that my friends would elect a Dominican or Franciscan puppet? Let me warn you, my dear Signor Luigi, or Monsieur V——, that the Cardinal on whom your master places his reliance, is not strong enough to carry out the reconciliation you desire.Giuseppe Sartois a saint, not a statesman.’
I felt there was some truth in this warning, but I had my instructions, and I could not in this case look beyond them. I promised to weigh his Eminence’s words, and retired to sound the feeling of the Conclave.
I found that the election was already virtually decided. The extraordinary leap upward of Salvatierra, following on my warning, had convinced thetwo Mendicant Orders of their danger. They had communicated their own fears and suspicions to the rest of the College, and the fatal whisper—‘The Jesuit candidate’—had already run round the Conclave. The two Orders having agreed to withdraw their champions, there remained only one candidate in the field.
At the next ballot Cardinal Sarto, the nominee of the excommunicated King of Italy, was triumphantly elected Pope.
The amazement of the saintly prelate, who had remained in profound ignorance of the whole of the negotiations and intrigues, softened the hearts of even his rivals, and convinced the most worldly-minded of the electors that they had involuntarily made the right choice.
Salvatierra was the first to offer the kiss of homage to his new sovereign. His Eminence’s parting words to myself as we quitted the Conclave made me fear that my triumph was more apparent than real.
‘You have chosen the White Pope, Monsieur V——. It remains to see how you will fare at the hands of the Black Pope.’
He returned to his palace and his curiosities, to all appearance well contented to resume hisrôleof harmless antiquary.
But I did not doubt that a full report of all thathad passed would be laid at once before the formidable personage with whose opposition he had threatened me.
In a villa a short distance outside the walls of Rome resides an ascetic recluse, never seen in any public ceremonies, visited only from time to time by a few quietly dressed priests and laymen, to all appearance as insignificant as himself. This is the Black Pope—in other words, the General of the Company of Jesus.
Very soon after the election of Pius X. I applied for and obtained a private interview with his Holiness.
My previous connection with the secret service of the Vatican rendered this easy.
To no one but the Holy Father himself did I intend to reveal my character as the agent of Victor Emmanuel II.
So great was my veneration for the Vicar of Christ, so intense my admiration for the personal character of the new Pope, that I had determined never to confess to his Holiness the part which I had played in his election, lest his wrath should fall upon me in consequence.
As I knelt before Pius X. in the small and simply furnished room in which he had chosen to install himself, I saw his eye fall on me with an expression of pity and curiosity.
‘You do well to kneel, my son,’ the Holy Father said, in a low, gentle voice. ‘You have erred very grievously.’
I looked up in astonishment. Pius X. pointed to a small table which stood beside his chair.
‘What do you see there?’ he asked, preserving the same tone of mild reproof.
I glanced at the table, and beheld a portion of a railway ticket.
‘When I left Venice a fortnight ago, I took a return ticket,’ the Pope continued. ‘What you see is the half which I am never going to use. Take it. It will be a souvenir for you, and may remind you to beware of the vanity of meddling in spiritual concerns.’
Amazed by this form of address, I rose from my knees, and respectfully possessed myself of the precious keepsake, which I thrust into my inmost pocket.
‘I came to Rome,’ the Holy Father pursued calmly, ‘without other hope or ambition than to record my vote for the most worthy member of the Sacred College. Even had I wished to be Pope I should not have been presumptuous enough to put myself forward as a candidate for the Chair of Saint Peter.
“Saddened and subdued, I quitted the audience chamber of Pius X.”
“Saddened and subdued, I quitted the audience chamber of Pius X.”
“Saddened and subdued, I quitted the audience chamber of Pius X.”
‘It appears that there were others, with moreworldly motives, who entertained ambitions of the kind. For my part, when I learned that some Cardinals had recorded their votes for me I had no feeling but one of surprise and chagrin. I suspected that I was being used as a stalking-horse on behalf of others. I could not dream that a layman had dared to interfere in the election at the bidding of a usurper who is outside the pale of Christian fellowship, under the curse of the Church!’
I trembled as I perceived that some one had been beforehand with me, and had narrated my proceedings to his Holiness, no doubt with a gloss which had caused Pius X. to take the worst view of my action.
‘Fortunately your rash and evil designs were overruled for good. Unknown to yourself, you were an instrument in the hands of others. While you were watching you were watched. Pious and vigilant men, the faithful soldiers of the Church Militant, who had no object of their own to serve, and who only sought the good of the Church, were aware all along of your proceedings, your true employer, and his secret aims. You sought to place in the Chair of Peter an obedient tool of the House of Savoy. The watchful guardians of the Church resolved that you should be instrumental in the elevation of one who, howeverunworthy, is at least free from the passion of worldly ambition.’
I would fain have spoken, but the Holy Father imposed silence on me by a stern gesture.
‘The candidature of his Eminence Cardinal Salvatierra was a ruse, to which the zealous persons I speak of were obliged to resort, in order to throw dust in your eyes. From the first they had determined to ensure my election, if it could be brought about without using improper means of influencing the Sacred College. They checkmated you, without your perceiving it.
‘Now you may go and tell the rash young King who used you as his agent that his designs have miscarried. I sit here, neither his nominee nor his creature, but the duly chosen Head of the Roman Church, and I call upon him to retire from the territories bestowed upon the Church by Constantine.’
I listened with feelings of stupefaction and despair. The story which had been told the Pope was so nearly true that I had no scope for contradiction; it had been so skilfully coloured that I realised that any attempt at explanation or denial would fail of its effect.
“‘I can only render one more service to your Majesty, and that is to advise you to make your peace with the Black Pope.’”
“‘I can only render one more service to your Majesty, and that is to advise you to make your peace with the Black Pope.’”
“‘I can only render one more service to your Majesty, and that is to advise you to make your peace with the Black Pope.’”
In fact I had been guilty of very nearly what I stood accused of. The reproaches of Pius X. were an echo of the whispers of my conscience. I hadelected a Pope, but my presumption in doing so had made that very Pope an enemy of the sovereign whom I had served too well.
‘Will your Holiness condescend to hear me?’ I implored. ‘The Jesuits——’
‘Silence!’ his Holiness commanded. ‘I will not listen to a word against those devoted men, whose value, and whose loyalty to the Holy See, I now understand for the first time. If your master, the King of Sardinia,[2]desires to learn the conditions on which he may obtain his pardon from the Holy See, I advise him to apply to—Cardinal Salvatierra.’
Cardinal Salvatierra! I recalled the Cardinal’s parting words—‘You have chosen the White Pope; it remains to see how you will fare at the hands of the Black Pope.’
Saddened and subdued, I quitted the audience-chamber of Pius X., and repaired to that of Victor Emmanuel II.
‘I have carried out your Majesty’s instructions. Cardinal Sarto is the new Pope. And now I can only render one more service to your Majesty, and that is——’
‘And that is?’ the King exclaimed.
‘To advise you to make your peace with the Black Pope!’
I prefer to say no more. It would be imprudent on my part to embarrass a situation already bristling with difficulties, by indicating the steps which still remain to be taken before peace can be restored between the two mighty powers represented by the Vatican and the Quirinal.