"Unnecessary," Hadrian quietly interrupted. "We do not wish to disturb. Our children expect to see Us; and We are here to be seen. They all shall be able to say that they have seen and heard and handled Us, if they please." He spoke lowly, and (the rector perceived) unwillingly, but very officially. They were eating wind-fallen apples. The rector offered an enormous silver snuff-box. Hadrian passed it to the vice-rector, who took a pinch with blushing alacrity. It went the round of the tables; and returned on the rector's left. Hadrian carefully noted the takers. Some took snuff perfunctorily, some customarily, others horribly. The fiery wiry giant stood up and ostentatiously absorbed it with a cringe to the high table. Those to whom the Pope was resolved to speak took none: the fastidious person disdained it. The meal was finished. The students ranked for Grace; and all proceeded to the chapel to visit The Lord in the Sacrament. After five minutes' silent prayer, they emerged on the first corridor. There seemed to be uncertainty: the men congregated on the descent expecting directions. In the ordinary course of things, some would be going to Propaganda for lectures; others, to their own rooms for study or siesta: but, for the next few moments, perhaps a dozen would enjoy horse-play in the shabby shrubbery. A group of the last collected at the stair-head, by the reception-room (with the red-velvet settees and the sham Venetian glass chandeliers), into which the rector was endeavouring to entice the Pope. But Hadrian was looking at the students, mischievously smiling at them. "It is to be hoped that you are not going into the garden to murder a cat:" He said.
Everybody instantly became as red as a scalding-hot capsicum, some with shame, one with disgust, others from sheer fear. Church-students easily are frightened, because there generally is less grace than nature in them; and you only have to disclose a knowledge of the latter for them to desire (as phrenetically as possible) the predominance of the former. This makes for uneasiness, often for hypocrisy—in both cases, for mental and corporeal effort and a sudden flux of blood to the extremities.
"To murder a cat, Holy Father?" the vice-rector ejaculated. He was responsible for discipline.
"Yes. They used to murder stray cats here, just to pass the time. We have seen it. The one thing, which We remember in connection with your shrubbery, is a rush of ramping infuriated boys with spades and pitchforks, chasing and smashing a poor stray cat. We can see the horror now, with its broken back, and one eye hanging out on its whiskers. We can hear its dreadful heart-rending yells. Boys, don't do such things—to cats of all creatures!"
He spoke with fervence. Some savages wondered what the blazes He was driving at. There was a little silence. No one seemed to know how to break it. Then the sparrow-like student appeared with a red chair which he had taken the liberty of extracting from the reception-room; and dragged it behind the Pontiff at the stair-head. It was a welcome interruption. Hadrian sat down; and dismissed Cardinal Car vale with the superiors. He was going to have the college to Himself for half-an-hour. The improvised throne stood alone in the bare corridor: the students clustered up the stairs below it. Hadrian perceived the inevitable odour of hot boy. He produced a sentence wherewith to address them.
"Dear children," he said, feeling as old as Methuselah for the moment, "do learn to love: don't be hard, don't be cruel to any living creature." And that was all.
He beckoned the dean who came and kneeled before Him: laid His hand on the young man's head; and blessed him. The others followed in rotation. In a secret voice, He invited each one to ask a favour. Most asked Him to pray for them and held up their beads for a blessing: some asked for the apostolic benediction in the hour of death for themselves and their relations: the fastidious person asked for nothing.
"Nothing?" the Pope whispered.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?" (very tenderly)