Rafael, Cardinal Merry del Val

By Marie C. Buehrle

"Give me souls, take away all else." This earnest appeal of Cardinal Merry del Val reveals the secret of his life, the story of his ambitions and joys. As man and prelate, few dignitaries of the Church during the early part of this century have left such an impression of culture, holiness, and statesmanship. Irish and Spanish by blood, English by birth and education, cosmopolitan by office, and Catholic in the deepest and truest sense of the word, his ideal was to be a priest in a poor parish in England but he was launched on a diplomatic career opposed to his tastes, his ideals, and his spiritual interests. In the course of his life he became a close friend of two great Popes, Leo XIII and Pius X, with whom he worked on famous reforms and on crucial modern problems. In the early years of his priesthood, Merry del Val organized a club for boys in Trastevere, a rough quarter in Rome, and even when he was Secretary of State under Pius X, he did not miss a day in a visit to this Association.—Print ed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barakaldo Books
• Release date: Apr 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781839743368

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RAFAEL, CARDINAL MERRY DEL VAL

BY

MARIE CECILIA BUEHRLE

Table of Contents

Contents

Table of Contents 5

AUTHOR’S NOTE 6

DEDICATION 7

FOREWORD 8

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 9

1 10

2 14

3 16

4 19

5 23

6 26

7 28

8 32

9 33

10 36

11 38

12 41

13 47

14 50

15 59

16 63

17 65

18 69

19 71

20 73

21 74

22 78

23 80

24 84

25 86

26 95

27 99

28 102

29 104

30 112

31 115

32 121

33 123

34 125

35 145

36 147

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38 150

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52 191

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56 203

57 207

58 212

59 218

60 222

61 228

62 232

63 235

64 238

65 238

66 238

67 238

68 238

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 238

AUTHOR’S NOTE

ALTHOUGH in writing this book I have deliberately eliminated documentation, it rests none the less firmly upon a basis of authenticated facts. I have sought out primary sources and travelled from afar to visit places and speak to persons closely associated with the life of Cardinal Merry del Val. If there is neither footnote nor chapter-heading, index nor bibliography, the omission has been coupled with the wish to enable the reader to walk the more freely and easily through the years, in company with the Cardinal, and to bring to life a great personality, that he may become the possession not only of the period in which he lived, but also of a later generation that may have need of him.

For the sake of those who have known the Cardinal well, and who are consequently familiar with the people and circumstances associated with him, it may be reassuring to explain that, although in one or two instances and for special reasons, names have been fictionized, the persons whom they designate are real and have played a part in the Cardinal’s life-story.

If the reader will come to know Rafael Cardinal Merry del Val not only as the intrepid statesman, the princely prelate, but for the self-sacrificing priest, the warm and gracious human being that he was, the purpose of this book will have been richly fulfilled.

DEDICATION

To the REVEREND DENIS SHEIL of the Oratory, Birmingham, England; and to MLLE MARIA DE ZULUETA, the cousin of Cardinal Merry del Val, this book is dedicated with a warmth of gratitude that is beyond the tribute of words

FOREWORD

TRADITIONALLY new students coming to the English College in Rome make a pilgrimage to St. Peter’s before seeing any other sights of the city. Not even the keenest classical scholars think of going to the Forum before they have paid their tribute of loyalty at the tomb of the apostles. I arrived in Rome a tired and very raw young man on the last Saturday morning of October, 1924. In the afternoon I paid my visit to St. Peter’s. But, as it turned out, it was a greater occasion than I could possibly have anticipated.

After a brief tour of the basilica I began to walk round the building. As I passed the sacristy door I was astonished to meet a procession of prelates who had just taken part in the singing of Vespers in the choir chapel. At the end of the procession was the impressive figure of the Archpriest, Cardinal Merry del Val. I was in a group of English College students. The others were suitably dressed in their black cassocks. I, the new boy, was still wearing lay clothes.

To my joyful embarrassment the Cardinal broke off from the procession and came up to me. I presume that you are a new student, he said. Where do you come from? I told him that I had just left Ushaw. I am an Ushaw man too, the Cardinal said. Let me give you some good advice. Take things easy in your first year. The climate and the food are different and you need to watch your health. You will be here for seven years, and you will have plenty of time later on to study Philosophy and Theology. During these first few months enjoy Rome and don’t work too hard.

You will see why I have eagerly accepted the invitation to write a brief foreword to this life of Cardinal Merry del Val. I was only later to realize how gracious was the Cardinal’s gesture in halting a procession to say a word of encouragement to an unknown young man at the threshold of his Roman course. It was a lesson in the nature of true greatness. A lesser man might have feared a loss of dignity. The Cardinal was guided by affection rather than by protocol. It was this same Cardinal who—as most of us discovered after his death—gladly left the exalted company of diplomats and ecclesiastics in order to be with the poor boys of Rome.

The day may come when Cardinal Merry del Val will join his patron and friend Pope Pius X in the calendar of the saints. May this biography make him more widely known and revered.

JOHN CARMEL,

Archbishop of Liverpool.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

WITH deep gratitude I beg to acknowledge my indebtedness to all who have directly or indirectly contributed to the fashioning of this life-story. They include:

His Eminence, Cardinal Canali, President of the Pontifical Commission for the Government of Vatican City; Cardinal Costantini, Chancellor of the Holy Roman Church; Cardinal Stritch, Archbishop of Chicago; Archbishop Pisani, St. Peter’s, Rome; Bishop O’Connor of the North American College, Rome; Msgr. Calderari, Pontifical Master of Ceremonies, Rome; The Rector of the Spanish College, Rome; Msgr. Carroll-Abbing, Rome; Msgr. Duchemin, Beda College, Rome; Msgr. Clapperton, Scots College, Rome; Msgr. Paul Grant, President of Ushaw College, Durham, England; Mr. Austin McElhatton of Ushaw; Valentine Elwes, Chaplain at Oxford, England; Rev. Alfonso de Zulueta, London, England; Rev. Humphrey Crookenden, of the Oratory, Birmingham, England; Friars of the Atonement, Rome; Father J. C. Lamb, Beda College, Rome; Father May, S.V.D., Rome; Father Brennan, Dunwoodie Seminary, New York; Rev. Mother Richarda, Brigatine Convent, Rome; Religious of the Sacred Heart in various countries; Sister Modesta and the Damas Catechistas, Rome; Sister Rosaria of the Spanish Handmaids of Mary; Cavaliere Luigi Nardini, Rome; Count Morone, Rome; Marchese Giovanni Battista Sacchetti, Rome; Mr. and Mrs. Robert Wilberforce, Bath, England; Mary Josephine Sutcliffe, Rome; Mr. Richard O’Connell, Ireland; The Misses Esther and Carola MacMurrough, Rome; Signorina Maria Pia Sartor, Rome; Mrs. Anna Brady, Rome; Miss Yvonne Berkeley, England; Miss Fredericka Price, England; Lady Winifride Elwes, London, England; Mrs. James O’Callaghan of Chicago; Sister Clement of the Blue Sisters, England. This list would be quite incomplete if it failed to include the little engraver in Rome, who with great enthusiasm, and at the beginning of my quest, supplied the Cardinal’s bookplate.

1

THE tall young Monsignor moved swiftly through the silent corridors of the Vatican, but paused a moment before he entered the Cappella Paolina. The stifling pressure of August was in the air, the suspense of a world hung over the Papal city, and in the square below, thousands of eyes were fixed upon a smokeless chimney. Although it was midday the chapel was dark except for the bright burning of the sanctuary lamp and the light of two candles on either side of the image of Our Lady of Good Counsel hanging high above the altar. Shadows were trembling over the crystal centre of the altar and around a motionless figure in red, kneeling before the Tabernacle at some distance from the communion rail.

The Monsignor’s light step scarcely brushed the stillness as he hurried up the aisle and knelt on the marble floor beside the Patriarch of Venice to whom he had never before spoken. Cardinal Sarto slowly lifted his head which had been buried in his hands while his elbows rested on one of the low wooden benches. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and a look of anguish was in his eyes as they met the calm, sympathetic glance of Monsignor Merry del Val.

Gently the young prelate repeated the message which, word for word, had burnt itself into his memory. With it he remembered the worried face of the Cardinal Dean, Oreglia di Santo Stefano, when, torn with anxiety, he had spoken to him after the first session of the morning.

Ask Cardinal Sarto in my name, he had said, whether he persists in opposing his election and whether he wishes and authorizes me to make a final and public declaration to that effect before the assembled Conclave.

Cardinal Sarto listened. The Monsignor’s eyes, warm with compassion, were fixed intently upon him. He scarcely breathed, awaiting the answer. It came; imploringly, but without hesitation: "Si, si, Monsignore. Tell the Cardinal to do me this kindness." The look of Gethsemane was in his eyes. The Monsignor’s lips moved slowly as though they had strength merely to formulate a word dictated by another and drawn with difficulty from within:

"Coraggio!...Your Eminence, take courage. Our Lord will help you." Cardinal Sarto looked deeply into the eyes of Monsignor Merry del Val.

"Grazie, grazie," he repeated, then buried his face in his hands again and continued his wordless prayer.

Silently Monsignor Merry del Val withdrew; as silently as he had come, but with slower step. The picture on the wall at his right, Peter, head downward upon his cross, stood out with renewed significance as he retraced his way down the airless aisle. His first meeting with the Patriarch of Venice! He felt as though he had just left the presence of a saint.

*****

Some hours after Cardinal Sarto’s whispered words with Monsignor Merry del Val the urgently renewed appeal of many members of the Sacred College overcame his opposition. He loved God’s will better than his own. In a spirit of resignation and obedience he withdrew his great refusal. When on the following morning he was chosen by an overwhelming majority and asked whether he would accept the election, he replied with the words of Christ: If this chalice cannot pass from me except I drink it, may the will of God be done!

*****

The multitude in the square of St. Peter’s swayed uneasily towards the quiet Vatican on the morning of August 3rd, 1903. It was time for some sign of the outcome of the first voting of the day. Again thousands of eyes were riveted upon the smokeless chimney. Then a sudden cry! A slender thread, barely visible, spiralled into the upper air. From all sides a crescendo of shouts like an incoming tide broke in upon the windless day, while the wisp of smoke thickened into white billows rolling in rapid succession out into the sunlight. Driven by a single impulse all eyes turned towards the outside balcony of St. Peter’s. Then the throng grew still and waited.

Within the Vatican a white-haired Cardinal sat stricken and did not move from his place. The door of the Sistine Chapel opened and a tall young Monsignor, the Secretary of the Conclave, moved quietly to his side. Slowly, after some moments the Cardinal rose. The Secretary accompanied him to the Sistine sacristy, known as the room of tears, on the Gospel side of the altar. Silently, overcome by emotion, the newly elected Pontiff put on the Papal cassock.

Heavily the tense moments hung over the square of St. Peter’s; but like a sudden current a premonitory stir ran through the seething piazza when Cardinal Macchi appeared on the balcony proclaiming that the Church had a Pope, Cardinal Giuseppe Sarto, who had taken the name of Pius X. A generation had passed since such an announcement had been made, and a mighty roar of exultation, the first of its kind in more than a quarter of a century, beat upon the façade of St. Peter’s and against the silent Vatican where Monsignor Merry del Val was placing the white zucchetto upon the bowed head of Pius X.

*****

The heat of the day had abated ever so little when the bell of St. Peter’s sounded the final stroke of the evening Ave Maria, and one by one all the answering bells of Rome dropped into silence. The interval of stillness came like quiet breathing after the strain of prolonged exertion. The Cardinals, who lived so intimately together during this momentous Conclave, had separated and gone to their respective residences; but in the Sala Borgia Monsignor Merry del Val was still sitting at his desk using the concluding hours of that epoch-making day to finish the work that had so unexpectedly been thrust upon him.

It was almost over now. He was sorting papers and despatching the last urgent business before he would be free to return home to the Accademia Ecclesiastica. Pinturicchio’s magnificent murals had looked strangely down upon the twentieth-century desk, the electric lights, the telephone and the typewriter, upon a harassed secretary rattling his papers while the Catholic world was turning upon its poles. Behind it all towered the eternity of Rome. Within it, pulsed the wondrous identity between Peter in his tomb and Pius in the solitude of his Conclave cell. The labouring Monsignor felt those kindly eyes upon him as he worked towards the moment when his concluding duty as Secretary of the Conclave would take him into the presence of the Pope, to present for signature the letters announcing the election officially to sovereigns and heads of States.

The clock in the Court of St. Damasus struck half-past eight when Monsignor Merry del Val went up to the third floor of the Vatican, troubled at having to disturb the Holy Father after the long and trying day. He found him sitting at a table saying his breviary, still in the same room which he had occupied during the Conclave. Pius X looked up with a smile of welcome. The weariness dropped from his eyes and they lit rapidly with life and warmth. The young Monsignor knelt to kiss his hand.

I am so sorry, Your Holiness, and beg you to pardon me for adding to your fatigue. I am well aware of how tired you must be, and should not have ventured to intrude except for the need of despatching these official letters without delay.

"Ma si, si Monsignore, and are you perhaps not tired? I have seen how you have spent yourself during these days."

To the Secretary, who felt that he had done only what others would have accomplished under similar circumstances, it seemed incredible that the Holy Father should so completely forget himself on such a day, as to think of the possible fatigue of a very young ecclesiastic rather than of his own exhaustion. Monsignor Merry del Val was destined to realize more and more that Pius X constantly thought of others and rarely, if ever, of himself.

Show me, Monsignor, how I should sign, the Holy Father asked as he took a slip of paper and wrote a sample of his first signature as Pope: Pius P.P.X. When the letters were finished Monsignor Merry del Val gathered them up and dropped to his knees. May I beg the blessing of Your Holiness, he asked, before returning to my Accademia? The Pope seemed startled and made a slight gesture of surprise. With his hand resting upon the Secretary’s shoulder, he said almost reproachfully: Monsignore, do you want to abandon me?

No, Your Holiness, Monsignor Merry del Val answered humbly; but my work is done.

No, no, stay, stay. I have decided nothing yet. I don’t know what I shall do. For the present I have no one. Remain with me as Pro Secretary of State. Later we will see.

The Pope’s voice was tender. It was that of the Vicar of Christ. Monsignor Merry del Val could not resist an appeal which seemed to come from Our Lord Himself. Deep down in his will however, the recurring struggle made itself felt. A shrinking from honours and high position dwelt at the very root of his being. Unfailingly his first impulse urged him to withdraw from notice; but the will of God, more urgent than any mere impulse, dominated him with a power stronger than that of his own strong will.

"Corraggio!" Gently the Holy Father whispered it, the word of destiny spoken within the hush of the Pauline Chapel. The young Prelate felt it in his soul, his own compassionate word come back to him, while the Pope’s hands lay upon his head in benediction.

I shall expect you, Pius X smiled with the words, tomorrow morning.

2

ON Good Friday of the year 1250, against the wall in the city of Saragossa in Spain, the story of Calvary had a sequel. In hatred of the religion of Christ and to reproduce His Passion, the ferocious Mossé Albaya with a group of his followers nailed an acolyte of the Cathedral, a child of seven, to a cross which they had painted upon the wall. He was the son of Sancho del Val, and a descendant of the Breton knight Laval, who in the preceding century had fought in the Spanish crusades against the Moors and later settled in Spain. The devotion to the little Saint obtained many graces, the most impressive of which was the conversion of the man who killed him. Today in the city of Saragossa a series of has reliefs and a side chapel in one of its churches commemorate San Dominguito, or little San Domingo, the martyr son of an ancestor of Rafael Merry del Val.

The name Merry also suggests a background of persecution, originating as it does, in seventeenth-century Ireland, where it was adopted for reasons of security by a family that traces its descent from the kingly O’Hoolichans of Hy-Main in Connaught. One branch of the family moved to Waterford, and in the latter half of the eighteenth century went to Spain and settled in Seville. The Merrys had always been almost as intensely Irish as they were Catholics, until Thomas Merry went to England and was educated at Ampleforth, while another member of the family served in the British navy.

Although this section of the Merrys was British, the succeeding generation became entirely Spanish; for it was Richard, the son of Thomas, who established himself in Seville, and Rafael, one of his sons, who married Donna Maria della Trinidad del Val, who belonged to a distinguished family of Aragon, which had originated in Saragossa. The name Merry y del Val was eventually legalized as simply Merry del Val. It was Rafael, a son of this marriage, who later went to London as Secretary to the Spanish Legation and became the father of Rafael, Cardinal Merry del Val.

My second son, Don Rafael wrote into his diary, was born in London at eight minutes after ten o’clock, on the morning of October 1, 1865, at 33 Portman Square, Gloucester Place. He was baptized on the following day by Canon Hearn in the Spanish chapel, and was named Rafael, Mary, Joseph, Peter, Francis Borgia, Domingo del Val, Gerard of the Blessed Trinity.

On his mother’s side the Cardinal’s ancestry is an equally interesting combination of nationalities. His maternal great-grandfather, Don Pedro Juan de Zulueta, first Count de Torre Diaz, belonged to an old Basque family and was a banker in Cadiz in 1823 when a French expeditionary force took possession of the city. Don Pedro Juan was not only Lord President of the Cortes, but an advanced liberal for his day. The political situation caused him to leave Spain and to settle in London, where, with his eldest son, Don Pedro José de Zulueta, he established the banking firm of Zulueta and Company.

Don Pedro José in his new environment in a non-Catholic country, misled by certain rationalistic influences and imagining that in England, not like in Spain, one could remain a good Christian without being a Catholic, joined the Church of England and married Sophia Wilcox, who belonged to a rigidly Evangelical family. Her father was a Scotsman; her mother was the daughter of the Dutch artist, Van der Gucht, a friend of Sir Joshua Reynolds. Despite his error Don Pedro José was a deeply religious man, and being a thinker, eventually felt impelled to investigate the doctrines of the Church into which he had been born. He became completely convinced, and decided to return to the Catholic Church despite his grief at the prospect of a difference in belief from his wife with whom he was deeply in love.

The Oxford Movement was at its height, and religious thinking filled the air. Don Pedro was determined not to influence his wife; but told her of his intention, that the children must therefore be instructed in the Catholic Faith, and requested that she be present at the instructions. She smiled reassuringly. My dear, she said, I made up my mind to that a year ago; but I wanted to leave you free to think it out in your own way.

This settled the question. Both husband and wife became devout Catholics. In the meantime they found a great friend in Cardinal Wiseman, who wrote some of his charming plays expressly for the children. The eldest daughter, Sophia Josephine, mother of the future Cardinal, inherited the fervour of her parents and brought up her four sons, Alfonso, Rafael, Pedro, Domingo, and her daughter Maria, in the same spirit.

Thus Brittany and Ireland, Scotland, Holland and Spain, contributed to the nationality of the Cardinal. But he and his mother were born in England, his early training was English, and many of those who knew him best agree that in tastes and outlook he was predominantly English. Belgium, however, also participated in his education, and it is from those who were at school with him, in the Jesuit College of St. Michael in Brussels, that we have many a picture of him in adolescent years. Finally Italy, where he spent most of his life, played a major part in fashioning him.

These multiple national influences, far from causing a complexity which is often a source of conflict within the personality, served rather to produce a fuller harmony in the temperament of Rafael Merry del Val. A basic simplicity unified the varied elements, ordering them to a power of motivation that gave the character its deep tonality and made it vibrant with unlimited possibilities. This quality, even in the youthful Rafael, did not escape the penetrating eye of Leo XIII; and Pius X with no less prophetic vision must have sensed it when he said: I shall expect you tomorrow morning.

3

RAFAEL, what are you trying to do? Madame Merry del Val looked with consternation at her small son on the floor, rolling himself into a ball. Don’t worry, Josephine, said her brother, laughing as he picked up the little bundle and hurled it out of the open window. Gerry the giant always catches him.

With a scream of delight Rafael unrolled himself in the arms of Father O’Reilly, former tutor both of his father and his uncle, at Ushaw.

That child is such a little rogue and doesn’t know what fear is, said his mother breathing more easily and smiling in spite of herself. Of all the children he is the only one who has inherited his father’s mischievous nature. Rafael, senior, always sees the comic side of things like all Andalusians, and still loves to play pranks.

How does the boy ever get on with that severe governess of his? asked Don Pedro, shaking with laughter.

Happily, he is quick at learning, his mother replied, and really docile; but he is always teasing her by disappearing behind some piece of furniture, and will insist on hiding her gloves for a moment just when she is ready to go out.

He is an interesting combination of qualities, said his uncle thoughtfully. Does he still say that he wants to be a priest?

Oh, always, replied his mother. He has said that almost since he was a baby. His little altars are all over the house, and the tiny chalice and set of vestments, with which you played priest when you were a little boy, are the joy of his life.

Perhaps he will take after our brother Francisco and be a Jesuit, said Don Pedro.

Who knows? Donna Josefina replied.

Madame Merry del Val was not like some mothers of her rank who leave their children mostly to the care of a nurse or governess. She gave the children her close personal attention, and was specially careful about their religious instruction. One day when Rafael was eight she tried while teaching him catechism, to explain the infallibility of the Pope.

Now, she said, picking up a little black book from the table, supposing the Pope were to say that this is white, what would you do? Astonished, the boy looked up at her. Oh! he said, the Pope would not talk such nonsense. The sound and unshakable common sense, so characteristic of him throughout life, gave early evidences of itself.

At the age of nine Rafael went with his brothers to Bayliss House, a little school at Slough, kept by three elderly ladies, the Misses Butt, and their brothers. At the time of his first Communion in the church on Richmond Hill, he was living in the home of his grandfather, Don Pedro José de Zulueta, second Count de Torre Diaz, at Fulbeck, East Cliff, Bournemouth, where the Merry del Vals spent most of the years of the Spanish Revolution from 1866 to 1874. In the meantime a converted parson by the name of Remington, finding himself without money when he gave up his living, had opened a school at Bournemouth for boys of various ages. Several of the well known Catholic families sent their sons to Remington’s, and Rafael Merry del Val with his older brother, Alfonso, went as a day pupil. Early in life therefore, Rafael came into contact with a convert Anglican clergyman, someone who had made great sacrifices for his faith.

In 1874 his later friend, Denis Sheil, came to Remington’s as a boarder. At this period, however, Rafael was more interested in the challenging little boys who carried on warfare in the street, and he frequently returned home with mysterious black and blue knees peeping through freshly made holes in his stockings, or perhaps a touch of red on the tip of his shapely nose. Oh, my dear, what have you done? his unsuspecting mother would cry out in alarm. I fell down, Rafael explained with an engaging smile. And so he had, battling with the ragamuffins in the street or chasing them down the cliffs. It is more than likely that in these struggles nationality played its part; for Rafael was keenly aware of his Spanish origin. He had heard overtones of the revolution, and knew that his father was to take King Alfonso XII, who was at Sandhurst Military College, back to Spain. On the night preceding their departure Rafael of all the children did not want to go to bed. He was much too fascinated watching the work of the women of the family who were sitting up late altering buttons and stripes on the king’s Sandhurst uniform, to make it look a little more Spanish.

When Rafael was almost ten, the marriage of his uncle, Don Pedro de Zulueta, then Secretary to the Spanish embassy in London, to Laura, daughter of Sir Justin Sheil and sister to small Denis, brought a relationship that was to be one of God’s most valued gifts to him. Not only did this beautiful young aunt win his heart for life, but throughout the years she gave him the fulness of friendship and understanding. With her little sister Grace, who became a religious of the Sacred Heart, the boy also formed a lifelong friendship. It began just after the wedding was over, when two little people, bored at having to spend too many hours on their best behaviour, were in search of diversion. Rafael’s ten years felt the need of motion, and the girl of eight had been under a heavy strain not to get spots on her pretty white dress, but they did not quite know what to do about it. Then the little girl remembered that there was a tap, also a watering-pot in the conservatory, so they went off together to investigate.

Oh, look! Grace clapped her hands, enraptured. A box of rice! It had been left there in readiness for the departure of the bridal couple. Rafael came running from the tap, the watering-pot in his hand. Let’s play shop, he exclaimed, enthusiastic at the discovery. I know something better, said Grace. Let’s make a rice pudding! She disappeared and returned with her spoils, two hands filled, one with raisins, the other with almonds. I’ll be the cook, she announced. We’ll both cook, Rafael decided, and they lost no time in getting started. The watering-pot, obviously, was invaluable for the performance. But grown-ups never left one alone for long, although no one discovered them until the rice was needed. Before the pudding was finished their improvised kitchen was invaded. The little girl was just sampling the mixture, her lovely white dress in a mess.

Please don’t scold Gracie, Rafael pleaded, but to no avail. Grace was roundly scolded, and had more reasons than one for remembering her sister’s wedding-day. But the little boy was to be her friend as long as he lived.

As for Laura, the new aunt, Rafael not only found her beautiful to look upon, but he discovered that she knew exactly what a boy liked. Josephine, she said one day to Madame Merry del Val when they were back in London, will you let me borrow Rafael tomorrow? The boys have a holiday and I should like to take him and Denis to the zoo. Rafael’s eyes snapped with eagerness when his mother smiled her approval. My dear, Madame Merry del Val shook her head, you will have your hands full. I shall love it, said Laura with a gay smile at Rafael, and from that moment there was perfect understanding between the young woman and the small boy.

Denis and Rafael quickly took one another for granted as boys do, and the day at the zoo cemented a friendship that grew stronger with the years. Both loved to swim. Both had the deep desire some day to be a priest. Before they returned from the zoo both had emptied their pockets and traded their choicest marbles.

When Rafael was twelve and a half years old, upon his father’s appointment as Spanish Minister to Belgium, the family moved to Brussels. The boys were to spend a short time at the College of Notre-Dame at Namur, then attend St. Michael’s Jesuit College in Brussels.

4

RAFAEL, you are the most untidy person I ever met, said his brother Pedro, looking up from the two trunks that with equal care he was trying to pack.

Bobby, you are the most orderly person the world has seen, besides being the most obliging brother a fellow could have, Rafael countered with his most engaging smile, aiming a pair of socks directly at his brother’s head, and with equal precision pitching a shoe into the trunk.

Now you have messed up everything, Pedro alias Bobby shouted, throwing his hands up and running them distractedly through his hair. If I didn’t pack the trunks for both of us when we go off to school, yours would never be done.

But I’m doing all the work, Rafael exclaimed, shaking with laughter, and throwing a jacket in the wake of the shoe. I’m directing operations.

His chief characteristic, his brother Pedro writes, was an enormous facility for endearing himself to everybody, and for getting anyone to do anything for him. I had a fine time trying to keep him in order, but I must say he made it a pleasure. The two boys were in the same class at school. Pedro was a year younger, but Rafael was physically delicate at the time. He was of quick intelligence as well as most attentive to his studies, and Pedro tells us that, though he was exceedingly lively, he always got prizes for good conduct, and his weekly report was always the pink card, which at St. Michael’s meant first in the order of merit.

Again it is Pedro who says: He was great at tennis, swimming, and every kind of sport. As for pillow and water-jug fights, he was very keen on them, and we used often to get them up when our fond parents thought we were in bed. I remember specially a famous one got up between our Uncle Joe, who was devoted to him, one of the d’Ursel boys, and myself. It alarmed d’Ursel greatly, and he could not get over the impression of our dignified uncle taking part in the fray at midnight with us all.

Many of Rafael’s companions at St. Michael’s have drawn vivid pictures of him as he was during their years together at college. Their forthright testimony makes him come alive as he was during those years of growth. Most of them draw attention to his dramatic gift. He already had great facility in public speaking, and could do it in several languages. One of his fellow-students, later a famous artist, took special delight in remembering a play, Les Mémoires Du Diable, in which Rafael distinguished himself in the part of the devil. I made a sketch of him in his get-up as Mephistopheles, the artist writes. Unfortunately I have lost it.

Another who was his neighbour in the refectory tells of Rafael teaching him practical Spanish during dinner, even under the terrifying spectacles of a particularly terrifying Father Koekelkoren. As a sequel of this, his friend relates, at the end of the year I was solemnly presented by my master with a leaf torn out of an exercise-book, on which he had written in his beautifully neat hand the following testimonial: ‘I, Rafael Merry del Val, Master of Idioms, confer on Monsieur E.S., who has passed an examination in which he has given proof of an extraordinary memory...a diploma of distinction’, or some such expression.

Years later, he continues, "when going over some