BOOK III CHAPTER I

From its narrowness and bareness it seemed a prison, and no comparison could be found for the scarcity of its furniture; its triangular shape and massive walls, on which could be seen the remains of torn-down tapestry, luxurious gilt cornices, and carved, vaulted ceiling, suggested, as in reality was the case, the corner of a sumptuous room which, for convenience or by caprice, had been cut off by a partition. In the centre of this partition rose an altar of dark wood, without other images or adornments than a life-sized crucifix; the pallid limbs of the Christ stood out with imposing realism against the dark background; the dying head was bowed, and its agonised gaze fixed itself, with a gentle expression of mercy and sorrow, on those who knelt beneath it. In the opposite corner was one of those carved fifteenth-century cupboards, of so much value now, but of so little then; it was open, and in its depths were to be seen many and terrible instruments of penitence and a few books of prayer; leaning against the wall was a shut-up folding seat, the only one, and the only piece of furniture to be seen in this curious room; a great silver lamp glowed in front of the altar, and by its light could be vaguely seen the outline of a strange figure, which was moving on the ground on the frozen stones, giving vent to deep groans and dis-jointed words.

Little by little the light began to filter through the narrow, arched window which pierced one of the walls, and then the solitary personage could be plainly seen; he was old, with a pronounced aquiline nose, a white beard fell on his chest, and he was so spare and decrepit, that it might have been said of him as St. Theresa said of St. Peter Alcantara, "That he seemed made of the roots of trees." He was wrapped in a big black cloak, underneath which a kind of white gown showed. He was prostrate before the altar, on the cold stones, and was writhing like a feeble worm, at times leaning his bald head on the ground, at others raising his withered arms towards the crucifix, with a movement of love and anguish, like a sorrowful child who craves the help of its father; then could be seen the big gold ring with a great seal which moved up and down on his finger as if it were threaded on a dried-up vine branch. It was full daylight before the old man finally abandoned his lowly position and somewhat arranged the disorder of his dress, which was none other than the habit of a Dominican monk, whose wide folds seemed only to heighten his tall figure. With a firm step he went to a little door in the partition, almost hidden by the altar, and through it went into the adjoining room. This was a sumptuous octagonal oratory, whose altar was exactly in front of the one in the miserable room where the old man prayed, so that the rich silver cibary which enclosed the Blessed Sacrament on the altar of the front room corresponded with the feet of the crucifix in the back one. There was only one picture on this magnificent altar, an artistic marvel: the celebrated Madonna of Fra Angelico, known as the "Salus Infirmorum." On the Gospel side there was a rich canopy of cloth of gold, with faldstool and cushions covered with the same; and in a line in front of the altar there were four other faldstools covered with brocade, where four prelates were praying; they wore white rochets over their purple cassocks, and stoles embroidered at the neck. On the brilliantly lighted altar could be seen everything arranged that was necessary for celebrating the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. As the old man entered the oratory, the four prelates rose at once and bowed low before him, because this old man, who a few seconds before was moaning like a feeble child, and writhing on the ground before the crucifix like a vile worm, was no less a person than Christ's Vicar on earth; called then in the chronology of Roman Pontiffs Pope Pius V, now in the calendar of saints, St. Pius V.

The Pope knelt under the canopy and buried his wrinkled forehead in his thin fingers for a long while; then at a sign from him the four prelates approached and began to robe themselves in the sacred vestments to celebrate the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. The Pope was celebrant, with solemn slowness and deep devotion, although nothing revealed to the outside world the depth of his internal emotions.

But on reaching the Gospel of St. John an extraordinary thing happened; he began to read it slowly, pausing, and marking all the words, as one who understands and appreciates its deep meaning, and suddenly, with his face strange and transfigured, and in a voice which was not his own, he said these words: "Fuit homo missus a Deo, cui nomen erat Joannes!" (There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.) He paused for a minute, turned his face towards the Virgin, gazing into space, as if seeing celestial visions, and repeated in a questioning, humble, submissive, loving tone, like a child asking his mother, "Fuit homo missus a Deo, cui nomen erat Joannes?" and in his natural voice, firm, strong, and decided, he repeated, for the third time, "Fuit homo missus a Deo, cui nomen erat Joannes."

From that moment the weight which was burdening the Pontiff seemed lifted. The Holy League against the Turk, between the Holy See, the Signory of Venice and the King of Spain, had been formed, thanks to the efforts, energy, heroic patience and fervent prayers of this feeble old man. The united forces of the three powers amounted to 200 galleys, 100 ships, 50,000 infantry, 4000 horses, and 500 artillery with ammunition and apparatus. The expense of this army was calculated at 600,000 crowns a day, of which Spain paid half, Venice two-sixths, and the Holy See the other sixth part. The Pope had named Marco Antonio Colonna, Duke of Paliano and Grand Constable of Naples, to be General of his fleet; Venice placed at the head of her contingent the veteran Sebastian Veniero; and the King of Spain appointed as General of all his forces by land and sea his brother D. John of Austria, who had just ended the war with the Moors.

The Pope in person promulgated the articles of the Holy League from the altar of St. Peter's. The Roman citizens filled the immense Basilica, and Pius, standing in front of the altar, surrounded by the Cardinals and foreign ambassadors, read the text of the document himself with profound emotion. Then the Te Deum was intoned and 30,000 voices replied at once, and 30,000 hearts were moved with faith and hope, because the horrors the Turks committed at the taking of Nikosia, and the danger which threatened Famagusta and all the island of Cyprus at the moment, made the whole of Europe fear that Selim would execute, if he were not checked, the plan which Mahomet II and Solomon the Magnificent had made, of overcoming Italy and destroying Christianity there.

There remained, however, to be settled a matter of the utmost importance, and it was this that overburdened the Holy Pontiff at the time we saw him praying and groaning in the lonely corner, which he himself had made, behind his oratory, to conceal from men his converse with Heaven. It was the appointing of a Generalissimo for the armada of the Holy League, who was worthy to be the leader of the great enterprise, and who would be a skilful manipulator of this complicated and difficult machine, on which all Christendom was gazing and fixing their hopes. The allies did not agree over this, and, as so often happens in politics, they put personal and wounded vanity before the holy and noble end that the Pontiff had in view. He proposed his own general, Marco Antonio Colonna; the Spaniards wished for their D. John of Austria, the Venetians, without daring to propose their general, Sebastian Veniero, rejected Colonna, as having been a failure in the first League; they also objected to D. John of Austria, on account of the lack of experience which they imagined he must possess at twenty-four, and proposed the Duke of Savoy, Emanuele Filiberto, or the Duke of Anjou, afterwards Henri III of France, who had not revealed as yet his ineptitude and vices. The arguments about D. John's youth weighed with the Pontiff, and he inclined to the Duke of Anjou, thinking that his appointment might possibly gain the help of his brother the King of France, who hitherto had refused it. However, the time passed in vacillations and doubts, proposals and refusals, until at last the allies resolved to leave the appointment absolutely in the hands of the Pontiff, which did not prevent anyone from using all the means in his power to influence the august old man in their favour.

However, his holy diplomacy was too far above human cabals for intrigues to affect his upright policy. The Pope resorted for three consecutive days to prayer and penitence, as was his humble custom in difficult circumstances, and on the fourth, on which we saw him saying Mass before the Madonna of Fra Angelico, he convoked for that morning the presence of the Cardinals Granvelle and Pacheco and D. Juan de Zu?iga, the delegates of the King of Spain, and Michele Suriano and Juan Surenzo, ambassadors from Venice, and told them distinctly, without evasion, and in contradiction to his previous opinion, that he named the Lord D. John of Austria Generalissimo of the Holy League.

The Venetians looked disgusted; but the astute Granvelle was before them with the only possible objection to D. John: "Holy Father! In spite of his twenty-four years?" To which the Pope answered with great firmness, "In spite of his twenty-four years."

The Venetians then knew that they were vanquished, but made it a condition that the Generalissimo should consult, in cases of importance, with his two colleagues, thenceforward subordinates, Marco Antonio Colonna and Sebastian Veniero.

The Pope agreed, shrugging his shoulders as if he granted a thing of scant importance, and the next day signed the commission of D. John which the Cardinal Granvelle presented to him, repeating, with the profound feeling of security which Heaven gives to holy souls, "Fuit homo missus a Deo, cui nomen erat Joannes."