Chapter X: The Dying Penitent's Disclosure (1)

There were many sad hearts in the village of M----, outside of Michael Hennessy's home, on the day of his departure. The event cast a gloom over the whole village; for his bright, sunny face was a joy to many of its residents, and there seemed to be a ray of light stricken out when he departed.

His young companions could no longer enjoy the sports of the play-ground; but might be seen gathered in quiet groups discussing and lamenting the loss of their joyous comrade. None mourned for him more than Frank Blair; for his grief over the absence of a loved school-mate was increased by the part his father had taken in bringing it about. He saw the time approaching for his own departure, to take his place in the naval school, with a sullen apathy that alarmed his mother and aunt, and repeatedly expressed his indifference as to whether he should ever return to M----.

When Michael had been absent about two months, Joe Bundy returned to M---- from one of his frequent distant rambles; and soon after his return was taken very ill. The physician pronounced it a very malignant case of the small-pox, and had him removed to a building quite out of the village. He was so generally disliked that it was difficult to find any one to take care of him; but when Mrs. Hennessy heard of it, she offered to go if Mrs. Sullivan would look after her house; her oldest daughter, Jane, being old enough to get along with a little direction. She accordingly went, and found him much worse than she expected, and suffering intensely. As soon as he saw her, he became so violently agitated that she thought he was delirious, and the impression was confirmed by his pleading in the most moving terms for her forgiveness, and that she would send for the priest, when he had always been a Protestant. She tried to soothe him; but he only begged the more earnestly, and assured her that he was not delirious. So when the physician came, she requested him to send Mr. Hennessy for the priest.

Upon the arrival of the reverend father, the young man, to his great surprise, begged to be admitted into the Catholic Church.

The priest, having satisfied himself as to his dispositions, and imparted the necessary instruction, administered conditional baptism, and then heard his confession. At its close Joe repeated a portion to Mrs. Hennessy; and the fact was then disclosed to her that he had poisoned the dog and perjured himself to gratify his anger at Michael's scornful remark, and his spiteful feelings toward a boy who was so generally beloved.

The physician coming in soon after, the same information was conveyed to him; and he made no delay in communicating it to Mr. Hennessy, that he might act upon it at once.

The news flew like wild-fire through the village; and great were the rejoicings on every hand. The school-boys were frantic with joy; and the teacher announced that the day of Michael's return should be celebrated by a holiday of triumphant exultation and welcome to their returning friend.

Measures were instituted for Michael's immediate release; and the people could hardly await the necessary course of legal formalities.

Meantime poor Joe grew worse; and after improving those last few days of suffering by manifesting such penitence as the time and the circumstances would allow, and receiving from the priest those consolations which the church extends to penitent sinners, he died.

Upon examining his few effects, a roll of counterfeit bills was discovered; and it was conjectured that his last journey was made to procure them, as he had told Mrs. Hennessy that he supposed he took the small-pox on a recent visit to Canada.

When the papers were ready, Mr. Blair claimed the privilege of going after Michael. He reproached himself so bitterly for his own injustice that he could not do enough to manifest his regret.

A larger crowd was never assembled in the village than met at the depot in M---- on the evening of his arrival with his young companion. They were greeted with joyful cheers, repeated again and again; and Mr. Blair led Michael to his father, saying, "Let me congratulate you, Mr. Hennessy, on being able to claim such a son. During the short time he has been away, among strangers and under most unfavorable circumstances, he has established a character that any young man might envy; and it was truly touching to witness the grief of his unfortunate young companions at parting with him. The principal also passed the highest encomiums upon his conduct. Allow me also to express to this assemblage of my fellow-townsmen my sincere regret that I should have had any part in his unjust conviction, and allowed myself to be governed by prejudices, too common in our country, which I now lay aside for ever. There are good and bad people among natives and foreigners; and the man exhibits but little good sense who passes sweeping condemnations upon either."

The school-boys, with their teacher at the head, formed a procession to escort Michael to his father's house; and a happier circle was not to be found in Vermont than the one that knelt around Mr. Hennessy's family altar that night, to return fervent thanksgivings to heaven for having permitted the separated to be again and so speedily reunited!

TO BE CONTINUED.

TEN YEARS IN ROME.[174]

Rome, the city of the soul! Who is there that does not nowadays feel his thoughts turning almost involuntarily to the seven-hilled city? To her many ordinary claims on our minds, there has of late been added one of startling interest--the Œcumenical Council--which has not failed to excite the attention of the world. It is the daily theme of prayer and of hope for the devout child of the church. To the worldling, it is a theme of curiosity and idle speculation. To the enemies of the church, the council is a subject of alarm and of vague apprehensions. In Europe, where men curiously mix politics and religion, their opposition takes the hue of _odium politicum_; and journals, reviews, and pamphlets are filled with the most _outré_ accounts of what the writers assert has been done or will be done in the council, adverse to liberty, progress, and civilization. In America, where as yet men have not lost the habit of separating politics from religion, such effusions as these would be looked on as simply stupid, unreadable nonsense. Here, however, as also in England, the _odium theologicum_ retains its olden character and makes use of its olden weapons. It is worth while to note the apparently systematic efforts made to repeat old calumnies, and to coin new stories after the old pattern, and to force them on the public attention, on occasion of this universal interest, in the evident expectation that they will now be swallowed as credulously as they might have been fifty years ago. No greater tribute, we think, could be paid to the real advancement of the public mind than to say that this expectation has in very great measure proved vain. There are things and stories which nowadays most men instinctively feel to be too absurd for belief. Hence it is scarcely worth while to take up such stories for serious examination. They are simply to be put in a class together, and to be properly labelled, and to be ranked below the sensational tales in the _Ledger_. This is especially the case when they appear in organs specially devoted to the cause which such stories are intended to support.

Now and then, however, it may be allowed to dissect such a production, that the evidence of facts may occasionally confirm and strengthen the true instinct which we already possess. More especially is this allowable, when the story is peculiarly bold and prominent, and comes before the public through a channel in which we are not prepared to look for an exhibition of the old and unscrupulous hatred.

Such an instance has been presented in several articles in the _Galaxy_, a monthly periodical published in this city, and aiming to be a literary and instructive magazine "of value and interest."

Among the writers engaged for the pages of the _Galaxy_ is one who is represented as having been a Roman Catholic ecclesiastic, and who contributes a series of articles under the title, "Ten Years in Rome."

According to these articles, the writer is an Englishman, and was at one time a Catholic priest in Rome. He went to Rome in 1855-56, bearing letters of introduction, was received at once into the Propaganda College, increasing the number of Irish, Scotch, and English students in that college to _nine_, passed from there to the Vatican, to live "under the same roof with the pope," became assistant-librarian to the Congregation of the Index, and subsequently was the confidential and trusty secretary of the late Cardinal d'Andrea, whose private papers--or at least some of them--he claims still to possess. The _Galaxy_ does not give the name of this writer. But the daily papers informed us, some time ago, that a reverend gentleman of England delivered a lecture at the lecture-room of Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, on Rome and its religion and society; and was qualified to do so, because he had been formerly "an official of the Roman court, secretary to the late Cardinal d'Andrea, and assistant librarian in the Index Expurgatorius." The lecturer was evidently the same individual as the writer for the _Galaxy_. The papers gave his name, which, we are sorry to say, smacks far more of the Green Island than of England.

Now, it so happened that we were in a position to test at once and fully the accuracy of these statements in regard to the past history of the lecturer and writer; and we reached the following results:

1. No young English youth or clergyman of that name ever was received into the College of the Propaganda at Rome. This is shown by the records of the college, and is corroborated by the assurances of the present rector, who, in 1855, had been for several years vice-rector, and has ever since been connected with the college, and also by the recollection of half a dozen Irish and American students, who were then in the college, and would have been his companions.

2. During the last twenty-five years there never was an officer of the Roman court, or an English or Irish ecclesiastic connected with it, in any way, of that name. The list of all such officers is regularly published every year. This name has never figured there. Officers of twenty years' standing in the Vatican have no recollection of him. An Englishman could scarcely have been entirely overlooked. And at least his brother Englishmen, who are officers of the court, would have known and remembered him.

3. During the same period, no person of that name has filled the office of librarian, or assistant-librarian, of the Index Expurgatorius, or of the Congregation of the Index. The officials of that congregation are all Dominicans; and the writer does not pretend that he ever joined that order. We may add the other insignificant fact, that no such library is known to exist at all, much less to be so large as to require the services not only of a librarian, but of one, perhaps of several, assistant-librarians.

4. The late Cardinal d'Andrea never had a secretary of that name. This is the assurance unanimously given us by the friends and intimate acquaintances of the cardinal, and by the members of his household, who had lived with him for twenty years. There can be no doubt on this fact. We may add one little item. Cardinal d'Andrea had no secretary. The _secretary_ of a cardinal is an ecclesiastic. When a layman is chosen to fill the place, he is called, not the _secretary_, but the _chancellor_ of the cardinal. Cardinal d'Andrea, from 1852, when he was made cardinal, down to his death, employed as _chancellor_ an estimable and well-educated gentleman, whom he had known well, and had been intimately associated with for years before, and who still lives in Rome.

5. Although, considering that forty or fifty thousand strangers visit Rome every year, it may be possible that the writer in _The Galaxy_ did, at some time or other, enter that city, yet we are pretty certain that he never spent any considerable time there--much less, ten years--as an ecclesiastic. We have made inquiries of a number of clergymen, Englishmen and Irishmen, resident in the Eternal City for thirty years, who from their positions must have heard of such a one, and could not have escaped becoming acquainted with him under some circumstances or other. One after another, they assured us that they had never met, and could not remember ever having heard of such, an ecclesiastic.

It is unfortunate that, in such striking and important matters of his own personal history, concerning which he ought to be perfectly well-informed, the memory of our lecturer and writer fails so entirely to agree with the recollection and knowledge of so many others. If this is the case here, what may we look for when he undertakes to remember what happened to others?

Our writer makes his bow to the readers of _The Galaxy_ in the number of December last, in the character of "_Secretary of the late Cardinal d'Andrea_," concerning whom he gives an article of nine pages, intended to be sensational and artistic. He opens thus:

"The church of San Giovanni in Laterano was filled with an
unusually excited throng. The magnificent edifice, the pope's
cathedral, as bishop of Rome, was draped for a funeral. The
marble pillars," etc., etc.

To be sure, the description of the edifice which follows is rather misty, to one who knows it, and some things, we suspect, are introduced which no architect ever saw there. But then, "in the centre of the church," stands "the chief object of interest," "a gorgeous catafalque," "entirely covered with black velvet, very tastefully festooned with silver." "Escutcheons were placed at intervals, bearing the arms of the deceased. On the bier lay a cardinal's hat, a pastoral staff, and a mitre. Six gigantic candles of yellow wax were burning around it." The pope and the cardinals were to come to the funeral. As the cardinal-minister (Antonelli) "stepped from his carriage" in front of the church, "there was a deep hum" from the crowd. For they suspected him of having compassed the death of the only cardinal they honored, who was to be buried that day. "His face was very pale;" "he played nervously with the jewelled cross hanging from his neck." "He could read his doom in hundreds of scowling faces; the curses, not loud but deep, he well interpreted. As he ascended the steps of the church, a shrill voice cried out, 'Down with the assassin!'" "The French guards clinched their rifles," and "closed in" at a sign to their captain; and so Cardinal Antonelli entered the church. After praising the exquisite requiem mass of Mozart, with selections from Palestrina, and the perfect choir of voices, rendering any instrument superfluous, the writer places the pope at the head of the catafalque. "He was visibly moved." "There was a tremor in his clear, harmonious voice." "He whose requiem was being sung had been a friend and a counsellor." When at length the services were over, and the pope and the _cortége_ of cardinals had departed, "the people rushed into the church to render the only service they could to the departed; and strong men, unused to prayer, uttered their fervent _requiescat in pace!_"

"This was the funeral of Cardinal d'Andrea, Abbot of Santa Scolastica, statesman, politician, and patriot. It occurred on the 22d day of March 1865."

Now all this may be a very artistic method of introducing a story. The chief objection that we have to it is that the writer makes such a parade about the funeral of Cardinal d'Andrea. We think he rather overcharges the picture. Had it been any body else's funeral, we might possibly let it pass. But in the case of this cardinal, we object; for, to our own knowledge, on this 22d day of March, 1865, Cardinal d'Andrea was not lying dead on that bier in San Giovanni in Laterano, as described, but, on the contrary, was alive, if not perfectly well, in Sorrento, near Naples, whither he had gone over nine months before for his health. Nor did he die about this time; but he lived on, and wrote some letters from time to time, which were published in the papers, and one, if not several, pamphlets, which were very acceptable to editors in Italy and France, in quest of themes for their leading articles. As late as the autumn of 1867, the papers were discussing what step Cardinal d'Andrea would next take. And they chronicled his return to Rome in December, 1867. Yes, we decidedly object. We do not think that this writer, however extraordinary his powers of memory may be, has a right to bury Cardinal d'Andrea alive, to say nothing of bringing the venerable pontiff to grief, of frightening Cardinal Antonelli, of making the French guards clinch their rifles and go through a military manœuvre, and, last of all, of so terribly exciting a Roman crowd about the death of one who had not died at all.

Having commenced the performance by this _tour de force_ before his public, our "secretary of the late Cardinal d'Andrea," like a skilful actor as he is, jumps a somersault backward two years and a half, (carrying us to about September, 1862,) and undertakes to give us some inkling of how Cardinal d'Andrea and Cardinal Antonelli came to be opposed to each other. There was a plan entered into by several cardinals and monsignori to induce the pope to recommend Cardinal Antonelli to resign his office as Cardinal-Minister and Secretary of State. The "secretary" omits to inform us distinctly whether Cardinal d'Andrea was a party to the plan or not. But we are left to infer that he was. It failed. And ever after, Cardinal d'Andrea did not enjoy the confidence of the pope to the degree he had done before; and Cardinal Antonelli and his followers hated him. The _recollection_ of this intrigue, and its failure, is followed by an exposition of the political sentiments of the cardinal. "He became the leader of the liberal policy of Cavour, in Rome."

Now, here again we object. That a number of cardinals or monsignori should think that it would be well if a cardinal secretary of state, for the time being, should resign; and that affairs would be better managed, if another incumbent filled the place, is possible; perhaps, considering the variety of opinions among men, is not improbable. In the case of Cardinal Antonelli, the matter is complicated, perhaps we should say, simplified, by the fact that they would find very few indeed to agree with them. But that a number of cardinals and monsignori did really entertain such an opinion on the subject, and did, in September, 1862, or thereabouts, combine in an effort to oust Cardinal Antonelli, is vouched for, so far as we know, only by the recollections of our writer. The plan itself was not dreamed of in well-informed circles in Rome, and the bold and adroit measures by which Cardinal Antonelli is said to have foiled it failed to attract attention at the time, or to leave any trace afterward, either in the diplomatic records of Rome, or in the memory of any one else besides our writer. It is one other additional instance of the perversity of the world, which will not remember what he recalls so distinctly.

As to Cardinal d'Andrea, he had been, since 1860, Cardinal-Bishop of Sabina, and was also Prefect of the Congregation of the Index. His health had begun to fail some time before the date we are examining, and within a few months afterward he was forced, much to the regret of the pope, to resign the latter office, and to restrict himself to the duties of his diocese and his private affairs, and could take but a light share in the work of a cardinal. To make him at that time a prime mover in the scheme, is as gratuitous as, under the circumstances, it is absurd.

The statement of his political principles is equally in contradiction with facts. Cardinal d'Andrea had all his life been a most strenuous and active supporter of the temporal power of the pope, and was not a man to change his position and his principles at the close of his life. He was as uncompromising, and a far more outspoken opponent of the policy of Cavour, than even Cardinal Antonelli himself, who, as befits his office and his character, never violates the reserved and strictly temperate expressions allowed by diplomatic courtesy. All that our writer "remembers" concerning Cardinal d'Andrea's connection with and influence over the Roman committee, is a pure effort of his memory, which, by the by, on this point has played him false. He remembers, "To his counsel it was due that no revolt occurred on the withdrawal of the French." Why, the French troops were withdrawn from Rome in December, 1866, to be sent back in October, 1867, on the occasion of Garibaldi's attempted invasion of the Papal States. How could Cardinal d'Andrea, who had died, as the secretary "remembers," and whose funeral obsequies had been so pompously celebrated in the cathedral church of San Giovanni di Laterano, on the 22d day of March, 1865, be alive to give counsel and use his influence with the Mazzinians and the party of action a year and nine months afterward? Has the writer's own memory proved traitor to him, and joined the crowd of contradictors?

In point of fact, Cardinal d'Andrea was not in Rome in December, 1866, nor for months before and for months afterward. He was at Naples, or its neighborhood, seeking to restore his shattered and sinking health.

Our secretary takes a second leap backward, and "endeavors to give a slight sketch of the Cardinal d'Andrea, necessarily imperfect as pen and ink sketches always are." The incompleteness we might readily excuse. But we cannot excuse its utter incorrectness in the details, an incorrectness so unnecessarily excessive that we can only explain it on the theory he is entirely guided by that wonderful memory, of the powers of which we have had such evidences. Especially is this seen when, leaving generalities aside, the writer ventures to make a precise and definite statement.

Thus, we are informed that, in his early life, the cardinal "had been bred for the army, and served in the Noble Guard for three years." Whereas the cardinal was not born in Rome or the Roman States at all, and never had any connection whatever with the Noble Guard or any other military corps. He was born in Naples. His father, the Marquis Giovanni d'Andrea, was treasurer of the kingdom of Naples. His elder brother, the present Marquis d'Andrea, is still living near Naples. Jerome d'Andrea, the future cardinal, at an early age showed an inclination for the church, and in due time went through the ordinary course of ecclesiastical studies. At its conclusion, he came to Rome, and entered the Accademia Ecclesiastica, a college for the higher and more thorough education of such ecclesiastics as wish to enter the _carriera_, as it is called, that is, who aspire to become ecclesiastical officials at Rome. There was nothing military about the cardinal. He simply had the dignified bearing and the polished manners of an Italian nobleman.

"He viewed the Jesuits as the foes of reform; his scheme was to destroy their influence in the public schools." "The mendicant orders met no favor with him." "He did approve of the dissolution of _their_ monasteries." This posthumous revelation of the cardinal's sentiments will undoubtedly astonish the Jesuits and the mendicant orders at Rome, if they ever hear of it, unless indeed they are foolish enough to trust their own memory of the words and acts of the cardinal in life, rather than the wonderful memory of this "secretary." The Jesuits will remember how often and regularly he would visit their father-general, or Father Perrone, or the more illustrious and learned members of their society; how fond he was of having some of them to visit him frequently; how he would invite their counsel and aid, and how he was careful to omit no proper occasion of publicly showing his friendship and esteem for them. The members of the mendicant orders will call to mind their perpetual intercourse with one who was always a kind father to them. As one of the cardinal's household expressed it to us, _Era sempre attorniato da lore--He always had these friars around him_. We fear that, with such cherished memories in their hearts, they will pay very little regard to the recollections of our "secretary."

But he becomes more precise in the details of the cardinal's daily life.

"The cardinal generally rose at six, and spent three hours in reading ere he said mass and breakfasted. He then received, and at twelve rode out, except when his presence was required by the pope. The afternoon was spent in a siesta until six. At half-past nine he retired."

What a sleepy-head this affectionate and reverential "secretary" would make the cardinal to be. Retire at half-past nine, and rise at six. Here we have eight hours for a good night's sleep; ample allowance, one would think. But no. Each day, after his noon-day drive, the afternoon until six is spent in a siesta; that is, at least four hours more given to sleep--twelve hours, on an average, out of every twenty-four! And this was the ordinary course of things, only interrupted when his presence was required by the pope! Was he in any way related to Rip Van Winkle, or is it the secretary who is dreaming? Certainly Cardinal d'Andrea bore all his life the reputation of being a remarkably wide-awake, clear-headed, and active business man.

We presume that he usually rose about six--a little later in winter, somewhat earlier in summer--such being the custom of Italians of his standing. By half-past eight, mass and breakfast were over; for business hours commence at nine, and the cardinal gave the forenoon to business, whether in the consistories or in the meetings of congregations or at his own residence, where secretaries, theologians, and other officials, and all interested parties, would see him. At half-past one, or at two, as business allowed, he dined. In summer, he took a siesta for half an hour or so. An hour or more was given to reciting his breviary and to private study. At four in winter and five in summer, if the weather allowed, he would drive out, and when outside the city might indulge in half an hour's active walk on foot. Reëntering his carriage, he reached home about sunset. Until nine, he received those who called on him, whether on business or as friends. Then came his supper, after which he loved to spend an hour or two in lively conversation on the topics of the day with his more intimate and esteemed friends. About eleven, he usually retired to rest; but, too frequently for his health, he would, if he had what he deemed important business on hand, stay up until one or two in the morning, studying or writing.

"In his meals he was sparing, attached to the French _cuisine_, and drank the light native vintage of Monte Fiascone.... He never went among French society. He gave the French no countenance, regarding them as witnesses of his country's serfdom."

What the writer means by this last phrase, or how the English and Germans visiting Rome are not as truly witnesses to things there as the French can be, we do not understand, and shall not stop to inquire. The important statements are before us. The cardinal was attached to the French _cuisine_ and avoided French _society_. Now, the truth was just the reverse on both these points. The cardinal was an excellent linguist and a well-read scholar. He delighted in the company of educated Frenchmen, ecclesiastics, laymen, and military, and was quite intimate with many of them. But as to his food, he remained a true Neapolitan to the day of his death, and stuck to macaroni, vermicelli, and pollenta, as an Englishman sticks to his roast beef and good mutton.

"The Cardinal d'Andrea was fond of theatricals; indeed, private representations were among the few enjoyments he had. He relished them amazingly."

When we repeated this statement to the member of the cardinal's household to whom we are indebted for our information on the preceding points, he turned on us a look of bewildered astonishment which we shall not soon forget. "_Poesie! poesie!_" he exclaimed. "_All an invention; all an invention._"

Even in his early life, when, as a layman, he could have frequented the theatre without any breach of decorum, he had avoided it. As a clergyman, of course he could not go without losing caste. It might have well happened that, in his travels in France, Switzerland, Germany, and various parts of Italy, he had at some time or other chanced to be a guest where courtesy called on him to be present at private theatricals held in the family. Of this our informant could not speak, for he had not always been with him on these journeys. But since he had been made cardinal he had been with him, and could not recall a single instance where the cardinal had attended such a private representation. In his own palace he could not have had them. His own character did not run in that line of amusement; and even if he had desired it, the size and form of the apartments would have rendered them impossible.

But such effusions of our "secretary's" poetic or inventive memory are of themselves too slight and trivial to merit a place in _The Galaxy_. There must be something of graver import to come. And in fact these things have only been the preliminaries for the grand events which are to be recorded of Cardinal d'Andrea; his escape from Rome by the active aid of this secretary; the espionage over his words and acts when he returned--an espionage which this secretary detected, though he could not foil it; the finding of the cardinal unexpectedly and mysteriously dead in his bed one morning; and finally, the saving of his important private papers, by this secretary, from the clutches of Cardinal Antonelli--papers which he has persistently guarded and still retains, and which hereafter, we may be allowed to conjecture, can serve to refresh and stimulate his wondrous powers of memory, if any stimulation be needed.

The scene opens some time during the course of those two years, to the beginning of which the first jump backward brought our writer. The plan to oust Cardinal Antonelli from office had been formed, as we were told, and failed; and Cardinal d'Andrea had lost somewhat of the pope's favor, and had incurred the bitter enmity of Cardinal Antonelli and of the Jesuits and ultramontanes. We may reasonably allow some months for so much. When time had brought things to this pass, "there was a party in the Piazza di Spagna, given by a Russian princess, at which the _élite_ of Roman society was assembled. Among the guests was Cardinal d'Andrea. Madame C----, the wife of Captain C----, of the French army, was, as usual, coquetting with the Cardinal di C----a, a prince of the most ancient of Roman houses, with one of the finest palaces in Rome." The secretary loiters to describe Captain C----, of the French army, and Madame C----, his young and handsome wife, and to tell his readers of her notorious intrigue with the above-named Cardinal Prince di C----a, of the ancient family and with the fine palace. "Four days after this party, Captain C---- appeared at his wife's apartments. He was cool and deliberate. He upbraided her in unmeasured terms. She bitterly resented.... His rage became terrible. Ere she could utter a prayer or a cry, he seized the miserable woman and shot her; then shot himself! The affair created some little sensation."

We should think it would, especially in peaceful, slow-going, decorous Rome. Even in New-York, or in London, or in Paris, such a tragedy, in which persons of that social standing were concerned, would have created quite a sensation.

The Prince di C----a, "of one of the most ancient of Roman houses, with one of the finest palaces in Rome," can of course be none other than the Prince _Colonna_. The Roman princes are few in number, and can easily be counted. No other has a surname to suit. The ancient family and the fine palace are earmarks also. He means _Colonna_. But then, many, many years have passed since there was a cardinal of that family. In fact, take the list of cardinals since 1850, and the only one whose name the designation C----a could fit is Cardinal Cuesta, a Spaniard, who at the date of this party, (somewhere, if we follow the "secretary," in the winter of 1862-63,) was an aged septuagenarian bishop, zealously ruling his diocese in Spain; moreover, he was not then a cardinal. He was made cardinal two years afterward. Furthermore, he resides not in Rome but in Spain, whence he was lately called to Rome for the present council. He obviously cannot be the man. And so the Cardinal Prince di C----a vanishes into thin air, like a poetic phantom, as he is.

Captain C----, of the French army, and his wife, Madame C----, seem disposed to follow him into empty space. No French officer then in Rome, and we have consulted several, can remember any French captain who killed his wife and then committed suicide. The police never got wind of the double tragedy. It escaped even the keen-scented newspaper itemizers. The "little sensation" is a feat of memory.

Decidedly our "secretary" is as unlucky at tragedies as he is at funerals, even though he assures us "the incidents of that reunion have fixed themselves very much on my memory, for it was the last time the Cardinal d'Andrea appeared at such assemblies." In fact, he proceeds to narrate how that very night, by his skilful planning, the cardinal was able to get out of Rome. This gives us, for the first time, we may say, in this article, the slightest soundings of truth. Cardinal d'Andrea did once leave Rome for Naples without the regular permission which was required for one in his position. We will speak further on of the motives and circumstances of that departure. Here we will only state the fact, that he left Rome on the 16th of June, 1864. The writer of this article was in Rome at the time, and, for peculiar reasons, no such tragedy as that "remembered" and the sensation it created could have escaped his knowledge. We may add that in Rome such parties are given in winter and never in summer. The strangers who visit Rome in winter, and leave after Easter, are in June in Switzerland or some other cool place. As for the _élite_ of Roman society, they are "out of town."

But let us leave facts aside, and enter on that dream-land, the incidents of which are so firmly fixed on the memory of our secretary. Hear him:

"The cardinal retired early, and, it being moonlight and very fine, resolved to send back the carriage and walk home. He walked in company with his secretary, a servant, as usual, attending at a little distance. He had passed into the Corso, when a man suddenly started out of the small and dark Via Fontanella di Borghese.... It was a celebrated politician, who dared not have open intercourse with any one for fear of compromising them, and he conveyed the unwelcome intelligence that the cardinal's life was in imminent danger.... Every moment was of importance. A plan was speedily devised. The Honorable Mr. K---- was leaving at two o'clock in his private carriage for Civita Vecchia, to catch the French steamer touching at Civita Vecchia at half-past twelve next day, on her way to Naples." The secretary disguised himself, and stealthily sought an interview at once with this Englishman bearing an American title, and briefly "told his errand." "The generous Englishman proposed that the cardinal should accompany him, disguised as a friend whose name appeared in his passport. The friend, on being consulted, agreed, and the secretary left, promising to be ready at a certain street with the cardinal, where the carriage was to take him up.... His eminence put on the beard and moustache our English friend had given us, and, with the aid of a large Inverness cape and white wide-awake, was splendidly disguised. It wanted two hours and a half of the time. The cardinal never lost his presence of mind, but was gloomy and foreboding. At last we called the valet, devoted to his master, and informed him of the plan. He was to pretend illness on the part of the cardinal. He listened carefully to his instructions, and exclaimed, 'Eminence, your shoes and stockings!' We looked down, and saw that the patent-leather, low, clerical shoes with gold buckles and the red silk stockings were very obvious betrayals of the rank of the disguised. No lay shoes and stockings were at hand, until the valet bethought him of his own. Hastily effecting the change, the cardinal passed out of the place alone, not suffering any one to accompany him." Whereby, we presume, he ran some risk of blundering as to the appointment, and moreover forced the zealous secretary to break his promise of being "ready at a certain street with the cardinal, where the carriage was to take him up." "The whole of the next day passed heavily, but no inquiries were made for his eminence. As his valet only waited on him, the other domestics easily believed that he was indisposed. Two days after, the secretary hastily scanned the _Giornale di Roma_, where he saw the departure of Mr. K---- announced, and that of his friend. The valet, poor fellow, though somewhat obese and awkward, executed an eccentric _pas seul_, in token of his satisfaction at the news, and then broke out into a fervent _Ave Maria_ for his master's safety. Four days elapsed, and a summons came to attend the consistory. Then it was announced that the cardinal had left for Naples."

Now, we confess to having enjoyed this passage of our "secretary's" _reminiscence_ more than any other. We think it his best effort. Still, it lacks some touches. He should not have omitted the matter of the exchange of the cardinal's knee-breeches for the valet's pantaloons. For obviously, if the cardinal put on the lay shoes and stockings of the valet, and retained his own knee-breeches, a space of ten inches at least on each leg would necessarily have been left bare and uncovered. Such an arrangement, however conducive to coolness, would have been a very remarkable feature of his costume, especially noticeable in contrast with the large Inverness cape which warmly enveloped the upper part of his person, and that in the month of June. Such an outfit would certainly attract every eye. Surely the cardinal and the valet must have then and there exchanged the knee-breeches of the one against the pantaloons of the other, regardless of how they fitted. Again, the "secretary" ought to have given us some inkling of how the valet felt and demeaned himself next morning when he appeared before his fellow-servants rigged out in the patent-leather, low, clerical shoes with gold buckles, the red silk stockings, and the knee-breeches of his master, instead of his own proper habiliments. Could not our secretary have adorned the _Galaxy_ with some of the brilliant things then said and done?

The Honorable Mr. K----, too, acted very strangely. He might have taken his rest like a sensible man that night, and have left Rome by the accommodation train starting at six A.M. next morning, reaching Civita Vecchia at nine; or he might have waited for the express train, starting at ten A.M., reaching Civita Vecchia at twelve, and making connection with the steamers, whether bound to Naples or to Leghorn or to Marseilles. But no. He must lose his night's rest, and start at two A.M. in a private carriage to travel fifty miles, and reach a French steamer touching at Civita Vecchia at half-past twelve.

But if our secretary, in his recollections, can spurn facts, it would be superfluous to ask him to respect mere probabilities.

The real method of the cardinal's departure from Rome and his journey to Naples was the following very prosaic one:

On the 16th of June, 1864, he drove in his own carriage from his own residence, the Palazzo Gabrielli, to the railway station in Rome, and took a ticket for Velletri, to which city he was accustomed to go, from time to time, to attend to the interests of the estate Girgenti, of which the family had requested him to become the administrator during the minority of the heirs. His valet alone accompanied him. The carriage was ordered to be at the station in the afternoon, as he might come back by the returning train. At Velletri, the cardinal was met by his man of business in that city, who had possibly made the necessary arrangements, and both proceeded in the same train to Isoletta, on the Neapolitan frontier. The cardinal continued on to Naples. The agent came back to Rome, found the carriage at the station, rode in it to the Palazzo Gabrielli, and informed the cardinal's chancellor and the household that the cardinal had gone to Naples for his health, and was not able to say when he would return.

This is the plain, matter-of-fact occurrence which the secretary's memory has changed into something like a chapter from one of Mrs. Radcliffe's novels sixty years ago.

We have already said that Cardinal d'Andrea took this step without the permission which, according to the rules of the Sacred College, he should have previously obtained. He had asked for that permission, and it had not been granted. When he publicly violated the rule on this point, the Italian enemies of the temporal power of the pope hoped that they had unexpectedly found a cardinal in such a position that they might, by degrees, make him their tool, and use him against Pius IX. Voices were heard hinting that it might be proper even to make him an anti-pope. The wiser ones among them saw from the beginning how absurd such hopes and plans were; for they knew the past history and the real character of the cardinal; and they rightly judged that whatever might be the motives of his present unexpected and most unusual proceeding, they must be personal. The step could not spring from any policy opposed to that of the court of Rome. They knew too well that he had always been a strenuous defender of the pope; they had often found him their active and energetic opponent. Later events proved to all that this judgment of theirs was correct.

We have spoken of the birth and early education of Girolamo d'Andrea, and his coming to Rome and entrance into the Accademia Ecclesiastica in that city. Soon after finishing his course of studies there with considerable reputation, he was made, in 1841, _ponente_, or judge, in an inferior ecclesiastical court, commencing thus his _carriera_ at the bottom, but with distinction. He was afterward (1843) made delegate, or governor, of the province of Viterbo; and three years later went as nuncio or ambassador to Lucerne in Switzerland, which office he filled at the time of the _Sonderbund_ war. Toward 1849, he returned to Rome, and was elevated to the very responsible position of Secretary of the Congregation of the Council. When Pius IX., after the public assassination of his prime-minister, Rossi, and the threats of violence to himself, escaped to Gaeta, Monsignor d'Andrea of course followed him. He was the prominent and most active man in reëstablishing the papal government in Umbria and the Marches and the patrimony. After two years of successful labor, he returned to Rome, to receive the thanks and the reward due to a delicate task zealously and satisfactorily accomplished. He was still Secretary of the Congregation of the Council, one of the highest posts he could hold, without being cardinal. On the 15th of March, he was made cardinal-priest, with the title of _Sant' Agnese fuori delle Mura_. He had thus, in eleven years, reached the highest step of the Roman _carriera_. All acknowledged, even those whom he had passed, that the cardinal's hat was, in this case, most fittingly bestowed on learning, talents, experience, and as the well-deserved reward of zealous and efficient services. The new cardinal was soon named Prefect of the Congregation of the Index and Abbate Commendatario of Santa Scolastica, which last title he retained to his death. In 1860, he became Cardinal-Bishop of Sabina; and, by the firm and wise administration of his diocese, was looked on as a model bishop. In 1862, his health began to fail. Slow fevers seemed to undermine his constitution, stronger in appearance than in reality. At times a racking cough and a copious expectoration harassed him, and he seemed sinking into consumption. Rallying from this, he would suffer excruciating pains in the intestines; and, at times, he was subject to fainting fits. Still he struggled against all this, and kept on at his work. His friends noticed that he gradually became more silent and despondent. They observed, too, another effect of this long-continued indisposition. He became inclined to take up fixed ideas, and, perhaps, crotchets, and to adhere to them the more tenaciously if opposed. He evidently was not, at all times, the man he had formerly been. Of course, it took time for all this to be suspected and reluctantly admitted.

In the spring of 1864, the cardinal took up the idea that his health would be restored if he went to Naples, his birth-place. He asked permission to do so.

Special circumstances made the request one to be considered very maturely. The government at Rome was in a critical and delicate position, which required it to avoid most carefully any step capable of a doubtful interpretation, or liable to be made a pretext for certain false charges then current against it. The ex-king of Naples was a refugee in Rome. Dethroned sovereigns generally seek and find an asylum there. His friends and adherents in Naples were busy concerting measures to get him back on his throne. The Italian government and the Italian papers charged the court with assenting to and aiding in these plans. Even France seemed to be growing cold, and to be manifesting those dispositions which, a few months after, culminated in the iniquitous convention with Victor Emmanuel for the withdrawal of the French troops from the duty of protecting Rome. All these things made the court of Rome trebly cautious to commit no mistake.

It was felt that for a Roman cardinal to go then to Naples, even under the pretext of ill-health, more especially a cardinal like Cardinal d'Andrea, whose family had been for several generations closely connected with the dethroned royal family, and whose personal antecedents had been those we have recited, would be too dangerous. No explanations, however sincere, no disavowals, however explicit, could silence the charges or avert the troubles that might follow. Hence the permission asked for was refused, the more readily as the idea was looked on as the cardinal's own fancy, and was not based upon the advice of physicians. The pope himself explained the matter to the cardinal, and offered him permission to go to Malta, to Spain, to Pau, in France, to Nice, in Savoy, or anywhere else that the physicians would advise, or he desire. But to Naples, under the circumstances, it would not do for him to go. The cardinal seemed to assent at the moment, and to acquiesce in the decision. But, some time after, he returned to the fixed idea, repeated his request, waited some weeks, and, not receiving any reply, started on the 16th of June, 1864, without permission, and, in the manner we have stated, went to Naples. At first, he spent several months, perhaps a year, at Sorrento, well known to all who visit southern Italy for their health. After some time, he moved to the city of Naples itself, and lived there until his return to Rome.

Concerning the cardinal's stay in Naples, our "secretary" remembers only two points: "He was located in ill-furnished lodgings on the Chiaja, at Naples, sorely distressed for money. More than this, his good name was suffering"--suffering, he means, in the opinion of the Mazzinians, the followers of the policy of Cavour and "the party of action." The Roman Committee seems to have been particularly exercised in reference to him.

Now as to the money matters. In Naples the cardinal kept a suite of apartments in the Hôtel Crocelles, one of the best in that city. Moreover, he also kept up his full establishment in the Palazzo Gabrielli, in Rome. He paid every body and every thing punctually; as, indeed, he might well do, considering the position of his family and his own private resources. If his health failed, his purse did not--which is more than can be said of most men, be they laymen, ecclesiastics, or even cardinals. When he died, his will gave legacies to friends and servants, and to religious and charitable purposes, and returned something to his family.

As to the second point, undoubtedly the cardinal's good name did suffer. The step he had taken was public; and the newspapers, after their style, had not failed to herald it over the world as something striking and important, from which, perhaps, vast results would follow. Catholics everywhere were pained that a cardinal should take so false a step, and place himself in a position apparently so equivocal; perhaps, too, some apprehended ulterior and more painful results. On the other hand, the Italianissimi waited, and cajoled him, and hoped. But when he had been away from Rome more than two years, and they found that they were not succeeding, as they desired, in making him their tool, they commenced to depreciate and ridicule him. This last point we rather think to his credit.

The mode of Cardinal d'Andrea's departure from Rome naturally set all Rome a-talking. His friends tried to explain and to excuse it in the mode we have stated. The excuse was probably felt to have some force. Anyhow, it was evident that the mode of his departure prevented the court of Rome from being compromised by his presence in Naples. Time and patience are held to be golden remedies at Rome. No official notice was taken of Cardinal d'Andrea's absence. True, friends and counsellors and his brother cardinals wrote to him privately, remonstrating with him and urgently advising him to return without delay. Had he listened to them, and returned within any reasonable time, we are satisfied no notice would have been taken of the affair, and the whole matter would have dropped into oblivion.

But when he had been away two years, it was felt that some official steps must be taken. Accordingly, the cardinal dean wrote him officially, rehearsing the law of the church about the residence of bishops, warning him that he had now been too long absent without permission, and inviting him to return. Thrice the monition was given, as required, and given without effect. The diocese of Sabina was consequently withdrawn from his charges and confided to an administrator _ad interim_, until other provisions should be made in regard to it. Still the cardinal declined or delayed to come. Other official letters warned him of possible further consequences, even to ejectment from his dignity as cardinal. His friends, also, renewed their private remonstrances and entreaties more urgently than ever. And, finally, on the evening of December 14th, 1867, Cardinal d'Andrea returned to Rome.

Three days later, he had an audience of the holy father, from which he returned to his palace in a very cheerful mood, and spoke to his attendants of the kindness of the pope, and declared that every thing had passed off most satisfactorily.

His long stay in Naples had not benefited his health. He still coughed, and still, at times, had severe crises of pain in the abdomen. But he was able in some measure to take up the ordinary work of a cardinal. The charge of the diocese was not restored to him; time was required for that. Rome is slow to act, and slow to undo what has been legally done.

After having fatigued our readers by this long stretch over humdrum realities, it may be well to seek a little relief in some more of the wondrous feats of the wondrous memory of "the secretary of the late Cardinal d'Andrea."