The satisfaction of being his own jailer, which was his predecessor's, is denied to Pius X. One remembers well his sorrow in the great trust which he had not sought, and thinks of that beloved Venice which he will never see again.
There was something about him, too, which made the little bride lean closer to her young husband, as she said, huskily: "He seems so like the good bishop in Les Misérables. I know he'd have given Jean Valjean the stolen silver!"
The Pope stood in front of the throne, smiling a little, and looking down upon his people; for his they were, from the moment they saw him. Nor was it difficult to be sure he liked them. You hear, in Rome, that it will not be long before Pius X. will be as difficult of access as was his predecessor; but, in whatever manner his present small liberties may come to be curtailed, one thing is certain: that he will always want the people to come to him. He would go to them, if he could. Perhaps one might add, he will if he can.
In all that happy and enthusiastic crowd, it is probable that no one, Roman or stranger, lacked the feeling that the Pope liked him, individually, and would have been glad to know him in a friendly, easy way. Yet there was not a touch of the politician. The man's doctrine was in the beauty of the expression of his fine, rugged peasant face; that doctrine which had pleased the Liberal, the true and fine solution of the anomalous situation of the Church of Rome, and which the Church will accept when there are no politicians among its princes to urge the pity of the faithful with the "prison" theory. It is a return to Christianity. It is simple enough, surely: all power is spiritual power; therefore, why should the Church seek the shadow of temporal power which is itself a shadow? This is not less nor more than "Render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's." The incapacity of the Jews to understand the difference between spiritual and temporal power was a factor in the martyrdom of Christ. Should the Vicar of Christ seek—as the Master did not seek—a thing and not the spirit?
Pius X. is of a good height, strongly made, even stout, and has a fine grace of carriage; his dignity is as great as his position, but utterly without haughtiness or pomposity or pride of office. He has none of the "magnetism" of the "popular preacher," actor, or orator; nevertheless, he is remarkably magnetic; it is the magnetism of unmistakable goodness and good-will to all the world.
"Viva il Papa!" thundered the crowd. Every one was laughing with excitement and the sheer pleasure of seeing him, and because he smiled a little.
"See!" cried the journalist, seizing the arm of the young man from Chicago. "Look, my frien' the composer; 'e will speak to me! Aha! I am 'ere, my frien'!" He waved his crumpled bit of paper over the heads of the people, shouting reassuringly to the leader of the band, who, looking very anxious, was now mounted upon a stool in front of the novices, baton in hand. The leader nodded affably. "'E speak to me, you see? Great composer! Excuse. I must make attensh' for my critichism."
The full joyful voices of the novices rose in the open air over the pulsing instruments. It was as if the young girls had, all at once, bloomed gloriously into music. The people listened intently; yet no one looked at the singers; rarely an eye wandered even for a moment from the Pope.
"It is like music set not to words," whispered the little bride, "but to a face."
The journalist made some hieroglyphics upon his sheet of paper, spread upon his elevated knee—a storklike attitude perfectly at variance with the ponderous responsibility of his expression, which would have made that of Atlas, in comparison, seem a vacation schoolboy's. He listened in silence for three minutes, but the strain was too great. He thrust the paper in his pocket and turned to the Americans.
The composer, his air of anxiety replaced by one of relief and pleasure, was acknowledging the hearty plaudits of the people. The Pope bowed and smilingly waved his hand to him; at which the cheering broke out again, lasting until the Pope came forward and stood, near the edge of the platform, to speak to the Daughters of Mary—and to all the people. Silence fell instantly; there was only the faint, multitudinous rustle as
