Chapter VI: The Debut (2)

“Oh! here you are, Roxham. I’ve been hunting for you this quarter of an hour,” called out Sir Simon, appearing from behind a mandarin who was holding a tray full of tea-cups to the company. “Franceline, my friend Lord Roxham has threatened to shoot me if I don’t get him a dance from you; so in self-defence I had to make over my right to the first waltz. I couldn’t do more, or less. What do you say, Miss Bulpit?”

Miss Bulpit considered Sir Simon was behaving very handsomely.

“It’s easy to be generous at other people’s expense,” observed Mr. de Winton, tightening his grasp on the light arm that was obediently slipping from him; “it so happens that Mlle. de le Bourbonais has promised the first waltz to me.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, my dear fellow, but you might have had a little thought for other people’s rights. You won’t deny that I deserve an early favor?” said the baronet, with playful peremptoriness.

“Dear Sir Simon, I never thought of your asking me,” said Franceline penitently.

“Oh! that’s it,” said the baronet, shaking his head; “that’s sure to be the way of it; we poor old fogies get shoved out of the way by the youngsters. Well, you see I’m letting you off easier than you deserve. Roxham, we’ll change partners, if Miss Bulpit does not object to taking an old man instead of a young one.”

Franceline was again going to draw her arm away, but again the tightening grasp prevented her. She looked up at Clide; but he was looking away from her, his mouth set in a rigid expression, and an angry fold divided the straight brows that lay like bars across his forehead.

“Mlle. de la Bourbonais promised me this dance,” he said, coldly, to Lord Roxham.

“But I overrule the promise; she had no business to give it without consulting me, naughty, unfeeling little person! Come, De Winton, make way for my deputy!” And with a nod and a laugh that were clearly not to be trifled with, he beckoned Clide to follow him.

Franceline looked up with the beseeching glance of a frightened fawn as Clide released her arm, and with a low bow walked away. She was ready to cry; but there was nothing for it but to accept Lord Roxham’s proffered arm, and go into the ball-room where in a moment she was caught up and was whirling mechanically along with the waltzers. She was too preoccupied to be nervous about the performance that she had looked forward to with so much trepidation, and so she acquitted herself admirably. Her partner stopped after the first round to let her take breath.

“Yes, thank you, I am a little giddy; I am not accustomed to dancing.”

So they stood under the colonnade. Lord Roxham would have been a pleasant partner if Franceline had been in a mood to enjoy his lively talk on all sorts of subjects. He saw there were likely to be breakers ahead between Clide and some one about this dance; but he had had nothing to say to that. He felt rather aggrieved than otherwise, being forced, as it were, on a girl against her will, or at any rate without her being consulted. And it was hard on De Winton, whether he particularly held to his pretty partner or not. What the dickens did Harness mean by meddling in it at all? He was not given to putting spokes in other people’s wheels. Lord Roxham was very intelligent, but though furnished with an average share of masculine conceit, it never occurred to him to think that the falling through of his marriage lately, and the fact of his being the eldest son of a peer with a fine estate--a good deal encumbered, but what of that?--might afford any clue to Sir Simon’s odd behavior.

“No, I did not mean in the political issue of the contest; ladies are not expected to take much interest in that part of the business,” he was saying to his partner; “but they are apt to get up very warm partisanship for the candidates, irrespective of politics.”

“Who are the candidates?” inquired Franceline.

Lord Roxham laughed.

“Poor wretches! They _are_ to be pitied. Sir Ponsonby Anwyll on the Conservative side and Mr. Charlton for the Liberals.”

“Mr. Charlton! He is then clever? Can he make speeches?”

Lord Roxham laughed again, and hesitated a little before he replied: “It’s rather a case, I fancy, of the man who could not say whether he could play the fiddle, because he had never tried. We none of us know what we can do till we try. Charlton does not strike you as having the making of an orator in him, I see.”

“Oh! I don’t know. I spoke to him to-night for the first time; he did not give me the idea of a person who could make speeches and laws; one must be very clever to get into Parliament, must he not?”

“If elections were conducted on the competitive examination system, one might assume that; but I’m afraid we successful candidates can hardly take our success as the test of merit,” said her companion. “I see you have rather a high standard about electioneering.”

Franceline had no standard at all, and was full of curiosity to hear about the mysteries of canvassing and constituents, and the poll, from some one who had gone through the various stages of the battle, from being pelted with rotten eggs on the hustings to the solemn taking possession of a legislator’s seat in the Imperial Parliament. A legislator must be a kind of hero. She was glad to have met one. Lord Roxham, who liked to hear himself talk, proceeded to enlighten her to the best of his ability; he had no end of droll electioneering stories to tell, and scandalous tales of corruption through the medium of gin-shops, etc.; he opened her eyes in horror by his account of the rotten-borough system, and the rottenness of the law-making machine in general, touching the heroes of the Liberal party with a light dash of satire and caricature that brought the dimples out in full force in Franceline’s cheeks, and made her laugh merrily; in short, he was so lively and entertaining that she was quite sorry when he held out his arm for them to start off again in the dance. As they stepped from under the colonnade, she saw Clide leaning against a pillar at the other side, with his eyes fixed on her.

“Oh! stop, please,” pleaded Franceline, after one turn over the spacious floor, and they rested for a moment; just as they did so, a couple flew past--Mr. de Winton and a very beautiful girl, as tall as Franceline, but in no other way resembling her; her hair was black as ebony, with black eyes and a clear olive complexion.

“Who is that lady?”

“Lady Emily Fitznorman, a cousin of mine.”

“How beautiful she is! I never saw any one so handsome!”

“Did you not?” with an incredulous smile, then looking quickly away. “She is a very striking person; she is the belle of _our_ county. You look warm; shall we take a turn in the galleries?”

Franceline assented. Passing through the conservatory, they came upon two persons seated in a recess, partly screened by a large fan-leaved plant. It was Clide and Lady Emily; she was talking with great animation, gesticulating with her fan, while he sat in an attitude of deep attention, his elbows resting on his knees, and his head bent forward. Franceline felt a sudden shock at her left side, as if her heart had stopped, while a spasm of pain shot through her, making every fibre tingle. What was this olive-skinned beauty saying to Clide that he was listening to with such rapt attention? He did not even look up, though he must have seen who was passing. Poor Franceline! what tremor is this that shakes her from head to foot, convulsing her whole being with one fierce throb of angry emotion! Poor human heart! the demon of jealousy had but to blow one breath upon it, and she whose life had hitherto been a sort of inverse metempsychosis of a lily and a dove, was transformed into a woman fired with passionate vindictiveness, longing to snatch at another human heart and crush it. But the woman’s pride, that woke up with the pain, came instinctively to her assistance. She began talking rapidly to Lord Roxham, sinking her voice to the _sotto voce_ of confidence and intimacy, so that he had to lower his head slightly to catch what she was saying; thus they swept by the two in the recess, without glancing towards them.

Clide meantime had seen it all. He had been straining every nerve to catch what Franceline was saying, and was voting his friend Roxham a confounded puppy, whose conceited head he would have much pleasure in punching on the first opportunity. He could not punch Sir Simon’s, though he deserved it more than Roxham.

“May I ask you for an explanation of your behavior to me just now, Sir Simon?” he had said to his host as soon as Miss Bulpit had set him free; “what did you mean by interfering with me in that manner?”

“Did I interfere with you?” was the supercilious retort, with a bland smile. “I’m very sorry to hear it; but I think I had a right to the second dance from a young lady whom I consider my adopted daughter.”

“If it had been for yourself I should have yielded without a word; but it was for Roxham you shoved me aside.”

“Well, suppose I choose to elect a deputy to do my duty? I had a right to choose Roxham.”

“I fancied I might have had a prior claim.”

“Indeed! Then you should have told me so. How was I to know it?--Well, vicar, I see your young ladies are in great request; how does Miss Godiva happen to be in your company?”

“What can he be driving at?” muttered Clide, as his host turned away to get a partner for Godiva Langrove; “has he been fooling me all this time--is he playing me off against Roxham? And is she--” He walked into the ballroom, and there saw, as we know, Lord Roxham and Franceline very happy in each other’s society.

He went straight to Lady Emily Fitznorman, and asked her for the waltz that was going on. She was _fiancée_ to a friend of his, he knew; so he was safe so far, and she had plenty to say for herself, and he must talk to some one. He was not a man to show the white feather, whatever he might feel. He kept steadily aloof from Franceline after this, and Lord Roxham, taking for granted that he had been mistaken in his first impressions, secured her for three more dances, which was all he dared do in the face of Dullerton.

Franceline was grateful to him. She felt suddenly forsaken in the midst of the gay crowd, as if some protecting presence had been withdrawn. Her father was playing _piquet_ in some distant region where there were card-tables. But even if he had been within reach, there was something stirring in her newly-awakened consciousness that would have prevented her seeking him. Clide should not see that he had grieved her. She could enjoy herself and be merry without him, and she would let him see it!

“Has the honor of taking you in to supper been already secured, mademoiselle?” said Mr. Charlton, making sure at this early stage that it had not, and coming up to claim it with the air of elaborate grace that springs from the habit of easy conquest.

“Yes, it has,” replied Lord Roxham, quickly taking the answer out of Franceline’s mouth. “I was before you in the field, Charlton, I am happy to say.”

“How could you tell such a story?” whispered Franceline, with an attempt to look shocked when Mr. Charlton had gone away.

“I told you everything was considered fair in electioneering,” replied the member of Parliament.

“Then electioneering must be very bad for everybody who has to do with it, if it teaches them to tell stories and call it fair.”

But she promised, nevertheless, to act as accomplice in this particular case of badness, and to let him take her in to supper. He came to claim his privilege in due time, and they went in together. But the tables were already so crowded that they could not find two contiguous seats. Some one beckoned to Lord Roxham that there was a vacant chair higher up, on a line with where they stood. He elbowed his way through the crowd, and seized the chair, and placed Franceline in it. She was sitting down before she noticed that her next neighbor was Clide de Winton. He was busily attending to the wants of Lady Emily, but turned round quickly on feeling the chair taken, and moved his own an inch or so to make more space. At the same moment he looked up to see who Franceline’s attendant was. “Can’t you find a seat, Roxham? I’ll make way for you presently. We have nearly done.” There was not a trace of vexation in his manner, or in his face.

“No hurry! I can bear up for ten minutes more,” replied his friend, good-humoredly; “but help me to attend to Mlle. de la Bourbonais. What will you begin with?” bending over her chair.

Franceline did not care. Anything that was at hand.

“Then let me recommend some of this jelly; it is pronounced excellent by my partner,” said Clide, politely, and scanning the well-garnished table to see what else he could suggest.

“Thank you. I will take some of these chocolate bonbons.”

“Nothing more substantial?”

“Bonbons are always nourishment enough for me. I think I could live on them without anything stronger; I have quite a passion for them--my French nature coming out, you see.”

She spoke very gayly. He helped her without looking at her. She made a feint of nibbling the _pralines_, but she could not swallow; her heart was beating so hard and loud she fancied Clide must hear it.

“Roxham, suppose you made yourself useful and get a glass of champagne for these ladies,” said Clide. “Waylay that fellow with the bottle there.”

Lord Roxham charged valiantly through the crowd, snatched the bottle from the astonished flunky, and bore it away in triumph over the heads of the multitude.

“Well done! That’s what I call a brilliant manœuvre,” said Clide, laughing. “No, you must help them yourself; you deserve that reward after such a feat of arms, and Mlle. de la Bourbonais, who has a great admiration for heroes, will drink to your health I daresay.”

“I’ve been trying to excite her admiration by the recital of my heroic exploits at the last elections; but I’m afraid I rather scandalized her instead,” said the young man, as he poured the sparkling wine into her glass.

“Served you right,” said Lady Emily, with cousinly impertinence; “when people fish for compliments they generally catch more snakes than eels.”

“Roxham, will you reach me those sandwiches?” cried a gentleman struggling with a lady on his arm beyond arm’s length of the table. Lord Roxham immediately went to his assistance, and some one else instantly pressed into his place behind Franceline.

“We had better go now, if you have quite finished,” said Clide to Lady Emily.

Franceline made a movement to rise, but sat down again; Clide’s chair was on her dress.

“Oh! I beg your pardon. Have I done any mischief?” he exclaimed, starting up and lifting his chair; the foot had caught in the tulle and made a slight rent.

“Oh! I am so sorry. I beg your pardon a thousand times!” he said with great warmth and looking deeply distressed.

“It’s of no consequence; it will never be noticed,” she answered, gently.

“I am so sorry!” Clide repeated. Their eyes met at last; he was disarmed in an instant.

“Will you dance with me now?” he said almost in a whisper.

“Yes.”

They were soon in the ball-room again.

“Why did you turn me off in that way? Was it that you preferred dancing with Roxham?”

“O Clide!” The words escaped her like the cry of a wounded bird, and, with as little sanction of her free will, the tears rose.

He made no answer--no audible one at least; but there is a language in a look sometimes that is more eloquent than speech. Franceline and Clide dwelt for a moment in that silent glance, and felt that it was drawing their hearts together as flame draws flame.

She never knew how long the dance lasted; she only knew that she was being borne along, treading on air, it seemed to her, and encompassed by sweet sounds of music as in a dream. But the dream was over, and she was being steadied on her feet by the strong protecting arm, and Clide was looking down upon her from his six feet of height, the frown that had made the dark bars over his eyes look so formidable a little while ago quite vanished.

“Is Sir Simon angry with us?” she asked, looking up into his face.

“Not he! Why should he be angry with us? And if he were, what does it matter?” he added, in a voice of low-toned tenderness; “what does anything matter so long as we are not angry with each other?”

He drew her hand within his arm, and they walked on in silence. Franceline’s heart was too full for words. Was it not part of her happiness that this new-found joy should be overshadowed by a vague and nameless fear?

TO BE CONTINUED.

THE CARDINALATE.

SECOND AND CONCLUDING PAPER.

The manner of creating Cardinals has differed in different ages. Moroni[128] (_Dizionario_, ix. p. 300, _et seq._) gives a description of the ancient, the mediæval, and the modern ceremonies used on the occasion. In the earliest period of which there are details we know that the pope created the cardinals on the ember-days of Advent in the churches of the Station. There were three stages in the proceeding: the first on Wednesday at S. Mary Major’s, the second in the Twelve Apostles’, and the third in S. Peter’s. The subjects of the cardinalate were called out in the first two churches by a lector after the pope had read the Introit and Collect of the solemn Mass; but in the last one, the pope himself declared such an one to be elected cardinal-priest, or deacon, by a formula the beginning and essential words of which were: “Auxiliante Domino Deo et Salvatore Nostro Jesu Christo, _eligimus_ in ordinem diaconi Sergium (for instance) subdiaconum.” The cardinal-elect then received from the pope “inter missarum solemnia,” the necessary Order of the diaconate or priesthood. In those days there was a much stricter connection required between the (sacred) character of a subject and his order in the cardinalate than there now is, when a bishop often belongs to the presbyterial and a priest to the diaconal order. In the Middle Ages, cardinals were no longer created during Mass or in church in presence of the people; but at the pope’s residence of the Lateran, before the Sacred College. The season was still the same and the custom of creating them only on a fast-day of December lasted for over six hundred years.

In the mediæval creations three consistories were held in the Apostolic Palace, of which two were secret and one was public. In the first consistory the pope deputed two cardinals to go around to the house of every sick or legitimately-absent cardinal and get his opinion on these points: Ought there to be a creation? And if so, of how many?

On the return of the deputies the pope asked the cardinals present the same questions. All voted thereon; and after the votes had been counted, if the pope saw fit he pronounced that he followed the advice of those who were in favor--“Nos sequimur consilium dicentium, quod fiant.” Then the cardinals voted on the number to be created, and after the counting of the votes, the pope said that he followed the advice of those who proposed that six (for instance) should be created--“Nos sequimur consilium dicentium, quod fiant sex.” After a recommendation to reflect maturely, and deliberate upon the persons proper to be elected, the consistory broke up. On the Friday following it assembled again, and when two cardinals, sent out for the purpose as on the first day, had returned with the names of those suggested by the absent ones, the pope commanded an empty chair to be brought--“Portetur nuda cathedra.” Then the cardinals all stood up behind the two rows of benches that ran down the great _aula consistorialis_, and the senior advanced and, sitting down beside the pope, was made acquainted in a low voice with the names of those whom the pope wished to create, and was asked his opinion. “Quid tibi videtur?” As soon as the cardinal had answered, the next one went up, and so on until all had been heard. The pope then announced the result of this auricular consultation and declared such and such persons created cardinals of the Holy Roman Church. The next day a public consistory was held in which they were solemnly published; after which the elect were introduced and heard an allocution addressed to them by the pope on the duties and dignity of their office, and received from his hands the large hat, with the designation of their churches. All the cardinals dined that day with the pope, and in the afternoon the new ones went in grand cavalcade to take possession of their Titles or Deaconries, as the case might be.

In more recent times, that is, about 1646, when Lunadoro wrote his celebrated account of the Roman court,[129] the manner of creating was almost as at present, except that the now unheard-of Cardinal _Nephew_ (who was called in Italian--_vae, vae!_--Il cardinale _Padrone_) had a large share in the ceremonies, as he doubtless had a decided influence in the nominations, and that the red _beretta_, or cap, was placed on the head of the elect by the pope himself, with the words _Esto cardinalis_, and the sign of the cross. According to the modern ceremonial, the pope summons a consistory, and, after delivering an appropriate address, asks the cardinals their opinion with the customary (but, since the XVth century, rather perfunctory) formula, “What think ye?” Then they rise, take off their caps, and bow assent; whereupon the pope proceeds to create the new cardinals in the words: “By the authority of Almighty God, of the blessed apostles Peter and Paul, and of our own, etc.”

On account of the present Piedmontese occupation of Rome, the subsequent ceremonial has to be dispensed with in the case of those cardinals who may be there at the time of their elevation to the dignity. Those who are absent receive the lesser insignia of their rank from two papal messengers; one of whom is a layman and member of the Noble Guard, carrying the _zucchetto_, or skull-cap, the other an ecclesiastic of some minor prelatic rank in the pope’s household, bringing the _beretta_. If the head of the state be a Catholic, he is permitted to place the cap (brought by the ablegate) upon the new cardinal, the function taking place in the royal chapel; but in other countries a bishop or archbishop is appointed by the pope for the purpose.

At one period, particularly during the XVIth century, many serious scandals were occasioned by the practice of betting on or against the advancement of certain individuals to the cardinalate, and some who had staked heavily were convicted of resorting to infamous calumnies to hinder the nomination of those against whom they had betted. Things finally became so outrageous that Gregory XIV., in 1591, issued a bull in which excommunication, already declared, was pronounced against any one who should presume to wager on the promotion of cardinals (Bul. 4, Gregory XIV. _cogit nos_).

The expression applied to a cardinal of being or having been reserved _in petto_, means to be created but (for reasons known only to the pope) not published or promulgated as such. It is not certainly known when this practice began, and the subject has been so often confounded with that of _secret_ creation that it is difficult to assign a precise date. The secret creation was simply the creation of a cardinal without the usual ceremonial. It originated with Martin V. (Colonna), probably urged thereto by the jealousies and dangers that still lingered after the great schism of the West was happily ended. The other cardinals were consulted, and notice was given to the honored individual, who was not, however, allowed to assume the distinctive ornaments or the station of his rank. In the _in petto_ appointments, only the pope and perhaps his _Uditore_, or some extremely confidential person bound to secrecy, know the names of those reserved. It is related of a certain prelate, Vannozzi, who was much esteemed by Gregory XIV. for his varied learning and long services, that having been commissioned one day to take note of the names of a few cardinals to be created in the next consistory, he had the satisfaction to be ordered to write his own name in the list. Although bound to secrecy, he was weak enough to give in to the importunate solicitations of the Cardinal Nephew and show him the paper, which coming to the pope’s ears, he called the prelate and made him erase his name--and that was the end of Vannozzi.

A cardinal created, but reserved _in petto_, if he be subsequently published, takes precedence of all others (in his order) created subsequently, notwithstanding the reservation. If the pope wish to create and reserve in this manner, after publishing the names of the cardinals created in the ordinary way, he uses the formula: “Alios autem duos (for example) in pectore reservamus arbitrio nostro quandocumque declarandos.” It is believed that Paul III. (Farnese, 1534-49) was the first to reserve _in petto_; and we think that he may have done so to reward attachment to faith and discipline in that heretical age without seeming to do so too openly, to avoid its having an interested look. The celebrated Jesuit (himself a cardinal) and historian of the Council of Trent, Sforza Pallavicini, gives a curious reason--that certainly shows how great was the idea entertained in his day, the middle of the XVIIth century, of the Roman cardinalate--why the expression _creation_ of a cardinal is officially used; and says (vol. 1. p. xiii.) that it is meant to intimate by the word that the excellence of the dignity is so exalted that all degrees of inferior rank are as though they were not; so that when the pope makes a man a cardinal, it is as if in the sphere of honors he called him out of non-existence into being.

In the first consistory held, in which the newly-created cardinals appear, the pope performs on them the ceremony of Sealing the Lips (more literally of Closing the Mouth). It is done in the following formula: “Claudimus vobis os, ut neque in consistoriis neque in congregationibus aliisque functionibus cardinalitiis sententiam vestram dicere valeatis.” At the end of the consistory, when the junior cardinal-deacon rings a little bell, the pope unseals their lips by saying (in Latin): “We open your mouths, that in consistories, congregations, and other ecclesiastical functions, ye may be able to speak your opinion. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen”; making over them meanwhile three times the sign of the cross. This custom must be pretty old, for it is mentioned in the XIIIth century by Cardinal (Stefaneschi) Gaetani, nephew of Pope Boniface VIII., as already in existence. It has been conjectured that the intention of such a ceremony was to pass the newly-created cardinals through a kind of novitiate before receiving what is called, in canon law, the active and passive voice, _i.e._, the right of electing and of being elected to the pontificate; but it may also have been intended to impress upon them the necessity of prudence and modesty of speech in such august assemblies.

The College of Cardinals is the seed and germ of the papacy, and the greatest act that one of its members can perform is to take part in a papal election. This is done in a convention called the _Conclave_, which is subject to many regulations, as becomes so important an occasion. The present order of this assembly dates from the pontificate of Gregory XV., in 1621. When Rome was not occupied by some sacrilegious invader, it took place in the Quirinal Palace by secret voting, the votes being opened and counted in a chapel called, from the circumstance, _Capella Scrutinii_. When the election was complete, the senior cardinal-deacon, whose office corresponds to that of the ancient archdeacons of the Roman Church, announced it to the people. Originally, however, the cardinals were not the only electors of the pope, but any foreign bishop in communion with the Holy See, who happened to be present during a vacancy, was permitted to take part in the election. Thus, when Cornelius was exalted to the Chair of Peter, in 254, sixteen such bishops, of whom two were from Africa, concurred in the act. The rest also of the Roman clergy had some voice in the election, but it was greatly weakened by Pope Stephen III. _alias_ IV., in a council held at the Lateran in the year 769, who made it obligatory to elect a member of the Sacred College. Alexander III., by the advice and with the approval of the eleventh General Council (third of Lateran), in 1179, considering the difficulties arising out of a great number of electors (no less than thirty-three schisms having already been occasioned thereby), solemnly decreed that in future the cardinals alone should have the right to choose, confirm, and enthrone the pope, and that two-thirds of the votes cast would be necessary for a canonical election. Lucius III., his successor in 1181, was the first pope elected in this manner by the exclusive action of the Sacred College. This wise provision was confirmed for the edification of the faithful, and to show that the bishops dispersed throughout the church did not claim any share in the election of its head, by the general councils of Lyons (IId) in 1274, and Vienne in 1311. But once since have any others had an active voice in the matter, which was at Constance, when the twenty-three cardinals, to put an end to the schism, opened the conclave for this time only to thirty prelates, six from each of the five great nations represented there. This resulted in the election of Martin V. (Colonna) on November 11, 1417. Since the year 1378 no one not a cardinal has been elected pope; but before that time a good many, despite the decree of Stephen III. (or IV.), were elected without being cardinals; six in the XIth, two in the XIIth, three in the XIIIth, and three in the XIVth century. Of these were S. Celestine V. and, before him, Blessed Gregory X. A curious circumstance attended the election of the latter, in which the cardinals were treated as jurymen who are locked up until they agree upon a verdict. After the death of Clement IV., in 1268, the Holy See was vacant longer than ever before, viz., two years nine months and two days, on account of the dissensions of the eighteen cardinals who composed the Sacred College. The conclave was held at Viterbo; but, although King Philip III. of France and Charles I. of Sicily went there to hasten the election, and S. Bonaventure, general of the Franciscans, induced the towns-people to keep the fathers close prisoners in the episcopal palace, nothing availed, until the happy thought struck Raniero Gatti, captain of the city, to take off the roof, so that the rain would pour in on wet, and the sunshine on hot days.[130] This had the desired effect, and after S. Philip Beniti, general of the Servites, had refused the offer of election, the cardinals promptly agreed upon Theobald Visconti, archdeacon of Liege, and apostolic legate in Syria. It was on this occasion that an episcopal quasi-poet improvised the leonine verses:

“Papatus munus tulit Archidiaconus unus,
Quem Patrem Patrum fecit discordia Fratrum.”

About this time it became customary for the cardinals to act as “protectors” of nations, religious orders, universities, and other great institutions, which were liable to be brought into relations with the Holy See more frequently then than at present; but Urban VI., in 1378, without absolutely prohibiting this species of patrocination, forbade cardinals to accept gifts or any kind of remuneration from those whose interests they guarded. Martin V. in 1424, Alexander VI. in 1492, and Leo X. in 1517, issued various decrees to moderate or entirely abolish such an use of their influence by the cardinals for private parties, because it might easily, under certain circumstances, stand in the way of that impartial counsel to the pope and equity of action to which they were bound before all things. Yet it shows the immense importance of the cardinalate in the XIVth and XVth centuries, that powerful sovereigns gave to individuals in the Sacred College the high-sounding title of protectors of their kingdoms. At the present day, cardinals are allowed to assume, gratuitously, a care of the interests of religious orders, academies, colleges, confraternities, and other institutions, mostly in Rome, which may choose to pay them the compliment of putting themselves under their patronage.

In the IXth century, S. Leo IV. made a rule that the cardinals should come to the apostolic palace twice a week for consistory, and John VIII., towards the end of the same century, furthermore ordered them to meet together twice a month to treat of various affairs appertaining to their office. We find here the beginning of those later celebrated assemblies called Roman Congregations, which are permanent commissions to examine, judge, and expedite the affairs of the church throughout the world. Each cardinal is made a member of four or more of these congregations, and a cardinal is generally at the head--with the name of prefect--of each of those the presidency of which the pope has not reserved to himself. It is always from among the cardinals that the highest officials of the Church in Rome and of the Sacred College are chosen. The former are the palatine cardinals, so called because they are lodged in some one of the pontifical palaces and enjoy the fullest share of the sovereign’s confidence and favor. They are at present four in number, viz., the pro-datary, secretary of briefs, of memorials, of state. Next come the cardinal vicar, grand penitentiary, chamberlain, vice-chancellor, librarian. The cardinal-archpriests are at the head of the three great patriarchal basilicas of S. John of Lateran, S. Mary Major, and S. Peter. The officials of the Sacred College number five, who are all, except one, _ex-officio_; these are: the dean, who is always Bishop of Ostia and Velletri, is head of the Sacred College, and represents it on certain occasions of state, as when he receives the first visit of princes and ambassadors, and expresses to the Holy Father any sentiments that he and his colleagues may wish to announce in a body. The sub-dean supplies his place when absent, or incapacitated from whatever cause. The First Priest and First Deacon, who were anciently called the Priors of their order, have precedence, other things being equal, over those of the same class, besides certain rights and privileges of particular importance during a vacancy of the See. The chamberlain is appointed annually in the first consistory held after Christmas. His office is not so venerable or so significant as the others are in times of extraordinary occurrences; but in days of peace it is of the highest practical importance. It was instituted under Leo X., but received its present development under Paul III., in 1546. Each cardinal habitually residing in Rome must serve in his turn, beginning with the dean and ending with the junior deacon. From this arrangement it may be imagined that few cardinals live long enough in the dignity to have to assume more than once the rather onerous duties of the office.

The pope gives the chamberlain possession in the same consistory at which he has been named, by handing him a violet silk purse fringed with gold and containing certain consistorial papers and the little balls used by the cardinals to vote with in the committees in which they treat of their corporate affairs. The principal duties of the chamberlain are of a two-fold character: as chancellor, to sign and register all cardinalitial acts, and as treasurer, to administer any property that may be held in common by the cardinals. He is assisted in his office by a very high prelate, who is secretary of the Sacred College and consistory. The archives are in a chamber of the Vatican palace assigned for the purpose by Urban VIII., in 1625. The chamberlain is also charged to sing the Mass at the solemn requiem of a cardinal dying during his tenure of office, and on November 5 for all deceased cardinals. But if he be of the order of deacons, even if he have received the priesthood, he must invite a cardinal of the higher order to officiate. This anniversary was established by Leo X. in 1517.

On account of the great antiquity of the cardinalate, there are many things of minor importance connected with it that are buried in the obscurity of ages. Such are appellations of honor and distinctions in dress; but all writers agree that after the IXth century there was a remarkable increase in what we might call the accessories of this great office. Passing over a decree which Tamagna (who yet is an authority on cardinalitial matters) ascribes to the Emperor Constantine, in which the cardinals of the Holy Roman Church were put on the same footing before the state with senators and consuls, and received other marks of imperial favor, it is certain that during the Middle Ages they were frequently called senators, were styled individually _Dominus_, and addressed as _Venerande Pater_, as we learn from a memorandum drawn up by a Roman canonist in 1227. In the accounts of the Sacred College from the beginning of the XIVth century up to the year 1378, the cardinals are called _Reverendi Patres et Domini_. But from this period they assumed the superlative, and up to the whole of the XVth century were styled _Reverendissimi_.[131] Urban VIII., on the 10th of June, 1630, gave them the title of eminence, which was not, however, unknown to the early Middle Ages, when it was given to certain great officers of the Byzantine Empire in Italy. Urban’s immediate successor, Innocent X., forbade cardinals to use any other designation than that of cardinal, or title than that of eminence, or to put any crown, coronet, or crest above their arms, which were to be overarched by the hat alone. When Cardinal de’ Medici read the decree, with what was then in such a personage considered exemplary submission, he requested his friends and the members of his household never to call him highness any more, and immediately had the grand-ducal crown removed from wherever it was blazoned. In course of time, however, cardinals of imperial or royal lineage were allowed to assume a style expressive of their birth; thus the last of the Stuarts, the Cardinal Duke of York, etc., was always called Royal Highness at Rome. The pope writes to a cardinal-bishop as “Our venerable brother,” but to a cardinal-priest or deacon as “Our beloved son”; and a cardinal writing to the pope who has raised him to the purple should add at the end of his letter, after all the other formulas of respectful conclusion, the words, _et creatura_. Although the cardinals hold a rank so exalted, they are in many ways made to remember their complete dependence in ecclesiastical matters upon the sovereign pontiff. There is a peculiar act of homage due by them to the pope, which is called _Obedience_, and consists in going up publicly one by one in stately procession, with _cappa magna_ of royal ermine, and outspread trailing scarlet robe, to kiss the ring after making a profound inclination to the pontiff sitting on his throne. This is surely the grandest sight of the Sistine Chapel, and we have often thought in seeing it what a good reminder it was to those most eminent spiritual princes that, how great soever they might be, they were after all but the rays of a greater luminary without which they would have no existence. The obedience is done at Mass and Vespers; but never twice on the same day, nor in services for the dead.

The color of a cardinal’s dress is red, unless he belong to a religious order, in which case he retains that of his habit, but uses the same form of dress as the others. In 1245, Innocent IV. conferred upon the cardinals at the first Council of Lyons the famous distinction of the red hat, which is so peculiarly the ornament of their rank that, in common parlance, to “receive the hat” is the same as to be raised to the cardinalate. The special significance of the hat is, that it is placed by the hands of the pope himself upon the dome of thought and seat of that intellect by which the cardinal will give learned and loyal counsel in the government of the church; and its color signifies that the wearer is prepared to lose the last drop of his blood rather than betray his trust. Our readers will be reminded here of that angry vaunt of Henry VIII. about Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, who was lying in prison because he would not acknowledge the royal supremacy in matters of religion. When news came to England that Paul III. had raised him to the purple, the king exclaimed, “The pope may send him the hat, but I will take care that he have no head to wear it on”; in fact, the bishop was shortly afterwards beheaded. This hat is now one of ceremony only, and serves but twice: once, when the cardinal receives it in consistory, and next when it rests upon the catafalque at his obsequies. It is then suspended from the ceiling of the chapel or aisle of the church in which he may be buried. The form is round, with a low crown and wide, stiff rim, from the inside of which hang fifteen tassels attached in a triangle from one to five. At the ceremony of giving the hat the pope says, in Latin: “Receive for the glory of Almighty God and the adornment of the Holy Apostolic See, this red hat, the sign of the unequalled dignity of the cardinalate, by which is declared that even to death, by the shedding of thy blood, thou shouldst show thyself intrepid for the exaltation of the blessed faith, for the peace and tranquillity of the Christian people, for the increase and prosperity of the Holy Roman Church. In the name of the Father ✠; and of the Son ✠; and of the Holy ✠ Ghost. Amen.” Paul II., in 1464, added other red ornaments, and among them the red _beretta_ or cap to be worn on ordinary occasions; but cardinals belonging to religious orders continued to use the hood of their habit or a cap of the same color, until Gregory XIV. made them wear the red. This point of costume is illustrated by an anecdote which we have heard from an eye-witness; it also shows that one should not be sure of promotion--until it comes.

Pope Gregory XVI. was a great admirer of a certain abbot in Rome, whose habit was white, and rumor ran that he would certainly be made a cardinal. Some time before the next consistory, the pope, with a considerable retinue--it was thought significantly--went to visit the monastery, the father of which was this learned monk, and there refreshments were served in the suite of apartments called, in large Roman convents, the cardinal’s rooms, because reserved for the use of that dignitary, should one be created belonging to the order. When the trays of delicious pyramidal ice-creams were brought in, the pope deliberately took the _white_ one presented to him on bended knee by a chamberlain and handed it to the Lord Abbot sitting beside and a little behind him, then took a _red_ one for himself. No one, of course, began until Gregory had tasted first, and while all eyes were on him he took the top off his own ice-cream, turned and put it on his neighbor’s, saying with a smile as he looked around him, “How well, gentlemen, the red _caps_ the white!” Alas! the poor abbot; he understood it as doubtless was meant he should, but he was foolish enough to act upon it, and procure his scarlet outfit. This came to the ears of the pope, who was so displeased that he scratched him off the list, nor could any friends ever get him reinstated; and it was only when Cardinal Doria said that he was positively wasting away with the disappointment and mortification, that the pope consented to make him an archbishop _in partibus_.

In the greater chapels, in the grand procession on Corpus Christi, and on other occasions the cardinal-bishops wear copes fastened by a pectoral jewel called _Formale_, which is of gold ornamented with three pine cones of mother-of-pearl, the priests (even though they may have the episcopal character) wear chasubles, and the deacons dalmatics, but all use white _damask_ mitres with red fringes at the extremity of the bands. In their Titles and Deaconries, also elsewhere, when they officiate, the cardinals have the use of pontificals. The custom of wearing mitres is said to have begun for cardinals of the two lower orders only in the XIth century. One of the distinctive ornaments of a cardinal is the gold ring set with a sapphire, and engraved on the metal surface of the inside with the arms of the pope who has created him. It is put on his finger by the Sovereign Pontiff with these words, some of which are omitted in the case of deacons: “For the honor of Almighty God, of the holy apostles SS. Peter and Paul, and of the blessed N. N. (naming the Title) we commit unto thee the church of ---- (naming it), with its clergy, people, and succursal chapels.” The actual value of this ring is only twenty-five dollars, but for many centuries the newly-created cardinal has been expected to give a large sum of money for some pious purpose, which was different under different popes, but was perpetually allotted by Gregory XV., in 1622, to the Sacred Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith. Students of the Propaganda will remember the elegant tablet and commemorative inscription originally set up in the college church, but now encased in the wall near the library. For a long time the sum was larger than at present and was paid in gold, but in consideration of the general distress in the early part of this century Pius VII. reduced it to six hundred scudi of silver, equal to about seven hundred and fifty dollars of our paper money. The last cardinal who gave the full amount before the reduction was Della Somaglia, in 1795.

The Roman ceremonial shows the singular importance of the cardinalate, by the disposition ordered to be made of its members even after death. It is prescribed that when life has departed a veil be thrown over the face, and the body, dressed in chasuble if bishop or priest, otherwise in dalmatic, shall lie in state.

The hat used in his creation must be deposited at his feet, and after his funeral be suspended over his tomb. His body must be laid in a cypress-wood coffin in presence of a notary and his official family, a member of which--the major-domo--lays at his feet a little case containing a scroll of parchment on which has been written a brief account of the more important events of his life. Then the first coffin is enclosed in another of lead, and the two together in a third one of some kind of precious wood, each coffin having been sealed with the seals of the dead cardinal and the living notary. The body thus secured is borne by night with funeral pomp of carriages and torches and long array of chanting friars to the church of requiem, where it remains until the day appointed for the Mass, at which the cardinals and pope are present, and the latter gives the final absolution.

When carriages first came into use in Italy, which was about the year 1500, they were considered effeminate and a species of refined luxury, so much so that Pius IV., at a consistory held on November 27, 1564, in a grave discourse exhorted the cardinals not to use a means of conveyance fit only for women, but to continue to come to the palace in the virile manner that had been so long the custom--that is, on horseback; and reminded them that when the Emperor Charles V. returned into Spain from his visit to Italy, he had said that no sight pleased him there so much as the magnificent cavalcade of the cardinals on their way to the chapels and consistories. After this they always rode or were carried in litters or sedan-chairs, until the beginning of the XVIIth century, when it became impossible any longer to hinder them from using the new and more convenient style which had become general for all people of means. Urban VIII., in 1625, by ordering cardinals to put scarlet head-gear on their horses, seemed to sanction the change; but it appears to have been abused, by some at least, in a manner described by Innocent X. (1676), in a pathetic address, as ill becoming those who had renounced the pomps and vanities of the world. We may get an idea of the ostentation, when we know that but a few years previously Maurice of Savoy (who afterwards by permission renounced the cardinalate for reasons of state) used to go to the Vatican with a following of two hundred splendid equipages and a numerous escort of horsemen in brilliant uniforms. The modern custom (which has been interrupted by the Italian usurpers) is certainly very modest.

The cardinals proceed to the minor functions with a single carriage and two on gala days, but princes by birth have three.

Each carriage is red, finished with gilt ornaments, and drawn by a pair of superb black horses from a particular breed of the Campagna. The scarlet umbrella carried by one of the somnolent footmen behind is seldom taken out of its cover, being merely a reminiscence of the old fashion when their eminences rode, and it might be of service against the rain or the sun.

Cardinals belonging to a religious order of monks or friars who wear beards retain them after their exaltation; but others must be clean shaven. There have been considerable changes in this matter, and cardinals wore no beards in the XVth century. In fact, the long, silky, and well-cultivated beard of Bessarion (a Greek) lost him the election to the papacy after the death of Nicholas V., in 1455. It was also the occasion of his death with chagrin at an atrocious insult offered him by Louis XI. of France; for being on an embassy to compose the differences between that monarch and the Duke of Burgundy, he wrote to the latter stating the object of his mission before having made his visit to the former, which so enraged that punctilious king that when the legate came the first thing he did was to pull his magnificent beard and say:

“Barbara graeca genus retinent quod habere solebant.”

Under the pontificate of Julius II., who gave the example, cardinals wore long beards; but in the next century only mustaches and _la barbetta_ (the “goatee”)--varied among the more rigid by just a little bit beneath the under lip, and called a _mouche_ by the French--were retained until, in the year 1700, Clement XI. introduced the perfectly beardless face, which now shows itself under the _beretta_ (Cancellieri, _Possessi de’ Papi_, page 327).