THE THREE CITIES

 ROME

 BY

 EMILE ZOLA

 TRANSLATED BY ERNEST A. VIZETELLY

 PART III

VII

On the following day as Pierre, after a long ramble, once more foundhimself in front of the Vatican, whither a harassing attraction ever ledhim, he again encountered Monsignor Nani. It was a Wednesday evening, andthe Assessor of the Holy Office had just come from his weekly audiencewith the Pope, whom he had acquainted with the proceedings of theCongregation at its meeting that morning. "What a fortunate chance, mydear sir, " said he; "I was thinking of you. Would you like to see hisHoliness in public while you are waiting for a private audience?"

Nani had put on his pleasant expression of smiling civility, beneathwhich one would barely detect the faint irony of a superior man who kneweverything, prepared everything, and could do everything. 

"Why, yes, Monsignor, " Pierre replied, somewhat astonished by theabruptness of the offer. "Anything of a nature to divert one's mind iswelcome when one loses one's time in waiting. "

"No, no, you are not losing your time, " replied the prelate. "You arelooking round you, reflecting, and enlightening yourself. Well, this isthe point. You are doubtless aware that the great internationalpilgrimage of the Peter's Pence Fund will arrive in Rome on Friday, andbe received on Saturday by his Holiness. On Sunday, moreover, the HolyFather will celebrate mass at the Basilica. Well, I have a few cardsleft, and here are some very good places for both ceremonies. " So sayinghe produced an elegant little pocketbook bearing a gilt monogram andhanded Pierre two cards, one green and the other pink. "If you only knewhow people fight for them, " he resumed. "You remember that I told you oftwo French ladies who are consumed by a desire to see his Holiness. Well, I did not like to support their request for an audience in too pressing away, and they have had to content themselves with cards like these. Thefact is, the Holy Father is somewhat fatigued at the present time. Ifound him looking yellow and feverish just now. But he has so muchcourage; he nowadays only lives by force of soul. " Then Nani's smile cameback with its almost imperceptible touch of derision as he resumed:"Impatient ones ought to find a great example in him, my dear son. Iheard that Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo had been unable to help you. But youmust not be too much distressed on that account. This long delay isassuredly a grace of Providence in order that you may instruct yourselfand come to understand certain things which you French priests do not, unfortunately, realise when you arrive in Rome. And perhaps it willprevent you from making certain mistakes. Come, calm yourself, andremember that the course of events is in the hands of God, who, in Hissovereign wisdom, fixes the hour for all things. "

Thereupon Nani offered Pierre his plump, supple, shapely hand, a handsoft like a woman's but with the grasp of a vice. And afterwards heclimbed into his carriage, which was waiting for him. 

It so happened that the letter which Pierre had received from ViscountPhilibert de la Choue was a long cry of spite and despair in connectionwith the great international pilgrimage of the Peter's Pence Fund. TheViscount wrote from his bed, to which he was confined by a very severeattack of gout, and his grief at being unable to come to Rome was thegreater as the President of the Committee, who would naturally presentthe pilgrims to the Pope, happened to be Baron de Fouras, one of his mostbitter adversaries of the old conservative, Catholic party. M. De laChoue felt certain that the Baron would profit by his opportunity to winthe Pope over to the theory of free corporations; whereas he, theViscount, believed that the salvation of Catholicism and the world couldonly be worked by a system in which the corporations should be closed andobligatory. And so he urged Pierre to exert himself with such cardinalsas were favourable, to secure an audience with the Holy Father whateverthe obstacles, and to remain in Rome until he should have secured thePontiff's approbation, which alone could decide the victory. The letterfurther mentioned that the pilgrimage would be made up of a number ofgroups headed by bishops and other ecclesiastical dignitaries, and wouldcomprise three thousand people from France, Belgium, Spain, Austria, andeven Germany. Two thousand of these would come from France alone. Aninternational committee had assembled in Paris to organise everything andselect the pilgrims, which last had proved a delicate task, as arepresentative gathering had been desired, a commingling of members ofthe aristocracy, sisterhood of middle-class ladies, and associations ofthe working classes, among whom all social differences would be forgottenin the union of a common faith. And the Viscount added that thepilgrimage would bring the Pope a large sum of money, and had settled thedate of its arrival in the Eternal City in such wise that it would figureas a solemn protest of the Catholic world against the festivities ofSeptember 20, by which the Quirinal had just celebrated the anniversaryof the occupation of Rome. 

The reception of the pilgrimage being fixed for noon, Pierre in allsimplicity thought that he would be sufficiently early if he reached St. Peter's at eleven. The function was to take place in the Hall ofBeatifications, which is a large and handsome apartment over the portico, and has been arranged as a chapel since 1890. One of its windows opens onto the central balcony, whence the popes formerly blessed the people, thecity, and the world. To reach the apartment you pass through two otherhalls of audience, the Sala Regia and Sala Ducale, and when Pierre wishedto gain the place to which his green card entitled him he found boththose rooms so extremely crowded that he could only elbow his way forwardwith the greatest difficulty. For an hour already the three or fourthousand people assembled there had been stifling, full of growingemotion and feverishness. At last the young priest managed to reach thethreshold of the third hall, but was so discouraged at sight of theextraordinary multitude of heads before him that he did not attempt to goany further. 

The apartment, which he could survey at a glance by rising on tip-toe, appeared to him to be very rich of aspect, with walls gilded and paintedunder a severe and lofty ceiling. On a low platform, where the altarusually stood, facing the entry, the pontifical throne had now been set:a large arm-chair upholstered in red velvet with glittering golden backand arms; whilst the hangings of the /baldacchino/, also of red velvet, fell behind and spread out on either side like a pair of huge purplewings. However, what more particularly interested Pierre was the wildlypassionate concourse of people whose hearts he could almost hear beatingand whose eyes sought to beguile their feverish impatience bycontemplating and adoring the empty throne. As if it had been some goldenmonstrance which the Divinity in person would soon deign to occupy, thatthrone dazzled them, disturbed them, filled them all with devout rapture. Among the throng were workmen rigged out in their Sunday best, with clearchildish eyes and rough ecstatic faces; ladies of the upper classeswearing black, as the regulations required, and looking intensely palefrom the sacred awe which mingled with their excessive desire; andgentlemen in evening dress, who appeared quite glorious, inflated withthe conviction that they were saving both the Church and the nations. Onecluster of dress-coats assembled near the throne, was particularlynoticeable; it comprised the members of the International Committee, headed by Baron de Fouras, a very tall, stout, fair man of fifty, whobestirred and exerted himself and issued orders like some commander onthe morning of a decisive victory. Then, amidst the general mass of grey, neutral hue, there gleamed the violet silk of some bishop's cassock, foreach pastor had desired to remain with his flock; whilst members ofvarious religious orders, superiors in brown, black, and white habits, rose up above all others with lofty bearded or shaven heads. Right andleft drooped banners which associations and congregations had brought topresent to the Pope. And the sea of pilgrims ever waved and surged with agrowing clamour: so much impatient love being exhaled by those perspiringfaces, burning eyes, and hungry mouths that the atmosphere, reeking withthe odour of the throng, seemed thickened and darkened. 

All at once, however, Pierre perceived Monsignor Nani standing near thethrone and beckoning him to approach; and although the young priestreplied by a modest gesture, implying that he preferred to remain wherehe was, the prelate insisted and even sent an usher to make way for him. Directly the usher had led him forward, Nani inquired: "Why did you notcome to take your place? Your card entitled you to be here, on the leftof the throne. "

"The truth is, " answered the priest, "I did not like to disturb so manypeople. Besides, this is an undue honour for me. "

"No, no; I gave you that place in order that you should occupy it. I wantyou to be in the first rank, so that you may see everything of theceremony. "

Pierre could not do otherwise than thank him. Then, on looking round, hesaw that several cardinals and many other prelates were likewise waitingon either side of the throne. But it was in vain that he sought CardinalBoccanera, who only came to St. Peter's and the Vatican on the days whenhis functions required his presence there. However, he recognisedCardinal Sanguinetti, who, broad and sturdy and red of face, was talkingin a loud voice to Baron de Fouras. And Nani, with his obliging air, stepped up again to point out two other Eminences who were high andmighty personages--the Cardinal Vicar, a short, fat man, with a feverishcountenance scorched by ambition, and the Cardinal Secretary, who wasrobust and bony, fashioned as with a hatchet, suggesting a romantic typeof Sicilian bandit, who, to other courses, had preferred the discreet, smiling diplomacy of the Church. A few steps further on, and quite alone, the Grand Penitentiary, silent and seemingly suffering, showed his grey, lean, ascetic profile. 

Noon had struck. There was a false alert, a burst of emotion, which sweptin like a wave from the other halls. But it was merely the ushers openinga passage for the /cortege/. Then, all at once, acclamations arose in thefirst hall, gathered volume, and drew nearer. This time it was the/cortege/ itself. First came a detachment of the Swiss Guard in undress, headed by a sergeant; then a party of chair-bearers in red; and next thedomestic prelates, including the four /Camerieri segreti partecipanti/. And finally, between two rows of Noble Guards, in semi-gala uniforms, walked the Holy Father, alone, smiling a pale smile, and slowly blessingthe pilgrims on either hand. In his wake the clamour which had risen inthe other apartments swept into the Hall of Beatifications with theviolence of delirious love; and, under his slender, white, benedictivehand, all those distracted creatures fell upon both knees, noughtremaining but the prostration of a devout multitude, overwhelmed, as itwere, by the apparition of its god. 

Quivering, carried away, Pierre had knelt like the others. Ah! thatomnipotence, that irresistible contagion of faith, of the redoubtablecurrent from the spheres beyond, increased tenfold by a /scenario/ and apomp of sovereign grandeur! Profound silence fell when Leo XIII wasseated on the throne surrounded by the cardinals and his court; and thenthe ceremony proceeded according to rite and usage. First a bishop spoke, kneeling and laying the homage of the faithful of all Christendom at hisHoliness's feet. The President of the Committee, Baron de Fouras, followed, remaining erect whilst he read a long address in which heintroduced the pilgrimage and explained its motive, investing it with allthe gravity of a political and religious protest. This stout man had ashrill and piercing voice, and his words jarred like the grating of agimlet as he proclaimed the grief of the Catholic world at the spoliationwhich the Holy See had endured for a quarter of a century, and the desireof all the nations there represented by the pilgrims to console thesupreme and venerated Head of the Church by bringing him the offerings ofrich and poor, even to the mites of the humblest, in order that thePapacy might retain the pride of independence and be able to treat itsenemies with contempt. And he also spoke of France, deplored her errors, predicted her return to healthy traditions, and gave it to be understoodthat she remained in spite of everything the most opulent and generous ofthe Christian nations, the donor whose gold and presents flowed into Romein a never ending stream. At last Leo XIII arose to reply to the bishopand the baron. His voice was full, with a strong nasal twang, andsurprised one coming from a man so slight of build. In a few sentences heexpressed his gratitude, saying how touched he was by the devotion of thenations to the Holy See. Although the times might be bad, the finaltriumph could not be delayed much longer. There were evident signs thatmankind was returning to faith, and that iniquity would soon cease underthe universal dominion of the Christ. As for France, was she not theeldest daughter of the Church, and had she not given too many proofs ofher affection for the Holy See for the latter ever to cease loving her?Then, raising his arm, he bestowed on all the pilgrims present, on thesocieties and enterprises they represented, on their families andfriends, on France, on all the nations of the Catholic world, hisapostolic benediction, in gratitude for the precious help which they senthim. And whilst he was again seating himself applause burst forth, frantic salvoes of applause lasting for ten minutes and mingling withvivats and inarticulate cries--a passionate, tempestuous outburst, whichmade the very building shake. 

Amidst this blast of frantic adoration Pierre gazed at Leo XIII, nowagain motionless on his throne. With the papal cap on his head and thered cape edged with ermine about his shoulders, he retained in his longwhite cassock the rigid, sacerdotal attitude of an idol venerated by twohundred and fifty millions of Christians. Against the purple backgroundof the hangings of the /baldacchino/, between the wing-like drapery oneither side, enclosing, as it were, a brasier of glory, he assumed realmajesty of aspect. He was no longer the feeble old man with the slow, jerky walk and the slender, scraggy neck of a poor ailing bird. Thesimious ugliness of his face, the largeness of his nose, the long slit ofhis mouth, the hugeness of his ears, the conflicting jumble of hiswithered features disappeared. In that waxen countenance you onlydistinguished the admirable, dark, deep eyes, beaming with eternal youth, with extraordinary intelligence and penetration. And then there was aresolute bracing of his entire person, a consciousness of the eternitywhich he represented, a regal nobility, born of the very circumstancethat he was now but a mere breath, a soul set in so pellucid a body ofivory that it became visible as though it were already freed from thebonds of earth. And Pierre realised what such a man--the SovereignPontiff, the king obeyed by two hundred and fifty millions ofsubjects--must be for the devout and dolent creatures who came to adorehim from so far, and who fell at his feet awestruck by the splendour ofthe powers incarnate in him. Behind him, amidst the purple of thehangings, what a gleam was suddenly afforded of the spheres beyond, whatan Infinite of ideality and blinding glory! So many centuries of historyfrom the Apostle Peter downward, so much strength and genius, so manystruggles and triumphs to be summed up in one being, the Elect, theUnique, the Superhuman! And what a miracle, incessantly renewed, was thatof Heaven deigning to descend into human flesh, of the Deity fixing Hisabode in His chosen servant, whom He consecrated above and beyond allothers, endowing him with all power and all science! What sacredperturbation, what emotion fraught with distracted love might one notfeel at the thought of the Deity being ever there in the depths of thatman's eyes, speaking with his voice and emanating from his hand each timethat he raised it to bless! Could one imagine the exorbitant absolutenessof that sovereign who was infallible, who disposed of the totality ofauthority in this world and of salvation in the next! At all events, howwell one understood that souls consumed by a craving for faith should flytowards him, that those who at last found the certainty they had soardently sought should seek annihilation in him, the consolation ofself-bestowal and disappearance within the Deity Himself. 

Meantime, the ceremony was drawing to an end; Baron de Fouras was nowpresenting the members of the committee and a few other persons ofimportance. There was a slow procession with trembling genuflections andmuch greedy kissing of the papal ring and slipper. Then the banners wereoffered, and Pierre felt a pang on seeing that the finest and richest ofthem was one of Lourdes, an offering no doubt from the Fathers of theImmaculate Conception. On one side of the white, gold-bordered silk OurLady of Lourdes was painted, while on the other appeared a portrait ofLeo XIII. Pierre saw the Pope smile at the presentment of himself, andwas greatly grieved thereat, as though, indeed, his whole dream of anintellectual, evangelical Pope, disentangled from all low superstition, were crumbling away. And just then his eyes met those of Nani, who fromthe outset had been watching him with the inquisitive air of a man who ismaking an experiment. 

"That banner is superb, isn't it?" said Nani, drawing near. "How it mustplease his Holiness to be so nicely painted in company with so pretty avirgin. " And as the young priest, turning pale, did not reply, theprelate added, with an air of devout enjoyment: "We are very fond ofLourdes in Rome; that story of Bernadette is so delightful. "

However, the scene which followed was so extraordinary that for a longtime Pierre remained overcome by it. He had beheld never-to-be-forgottenidolatry at Lourdes, incidents of naive faith and frantic religiouspassion which yet made him quiver with alarm and grief. But the crowdsrushing on the grotto, the sick dying of divine love before the Virgin'sstatue, the multitudes delirious with the contagion of themiraculous--nothing of all that gave an idea of the blast of madnesswhich suddenly inflamed the pilgrims at the feet of the Pope. Somebishops, superiors of religious orders, and other delegates of variouskinds had stepped forward to deposit near the throne the offerings whichthey brought from the whole Catholic world, the universal "collection" ofSt. Peter's Pence. It was the voluntary tribute of the nations to theirsovereign: silver, gold, and bank notes in purses, bags, and cases. Ladies came and fell on their knees to offer silk and velvet alms-bagswhich they themselves had embroidered. Others had caused the note caseswhich they tendered to be adorned with the monogram of Leo XIII indiamonds. And at one moment the enthusiasm became so intense that severalwomen stripped themselves of their adornments, flung their own purses onto the platform, and emptied their pockets even to the very coppers theyhad about them. One lady, tall and slender, very beautiful and very dark, wrenched her watch from about her neck, pulled off her rings, and threweverything upon the carpet. Had it been possible, they would have tornaway their flesh to pluck out their love-burnt hearts and fling themlikewise to the demi-god. They would even have flung themselves, havegiven themselves without reserve. It was a rain of presents, an explosionof the passion which impels one to strip oneself for the object of one'scult, happy at having nothing of one's own that shall not belong to him. And meantime the clamour grew, vivats and shrill cries of adoration aroseamidst pushing and jostling of increased violence, one and all yieldingto the irresistible desire to kiss the idol!

But a signal was given, and Leo XIII made haste to quit the throne andtake his place in the /cortege/ in order to return to his apartments. TheSwiss Guards energetically thrust back the throng, seeking to open a waythrough the three halls. But at sight of his Holiness's departure alamentation of despair arose and spread, as if heaven had suddenly closedagain and shut out those who had not yet been able to approach. What afrightful disappointment--to have beheld the living manifestation of theDeity and to see it disappear before gaining salvation by just touchingit! So terrible became the scramble, so extraordinary the confusion, thatthe Swiss Guards were swept away. And ladies were seen to dart after thePope, to drag themselves on all fours over the marble slabs and kiss hisfootprints and lap up the dust of his steps! The tall dark lady suddenlyfell at the edge of the platform, raised a loud shriek, and fainted; andtwo gentlemen of the committee had to hold her so that she might not doherself an injury in the convulsions of the hysterical fit which had comeupon her. Another, a plump blonde, was wildly, desperately kissing one ofthe golden arms of the throne-chair, on which the old man's poor, bonyelbow had just rested. And others, on seeing her, came to disputepossession, seized both arms, gilding and velvet, and pressed theirmouths to wood-work or upholstery, their bodies meanwhile shaking withtheir sobs. Force had to be employed in order to drag them away. 

When it was all over Pierre went off, emerging as it were from a painfuldream, sick at heart, and with his mind revolting. And again heencountered Nani's glance, which never left him. "It was a superbceremony, was it not?" said the prelate. "It consoles one for manyiniquities. "

"Yes, no doubt; but what idolatry!" the young priest murmured despitehimself. 

Nani, however, merely smiled, as if he had not heard the last word. Atthat same moment the two French ladies whom he had provided with ticketscame up to thank him, and. Pierre was surprised to recognise the motherand daughter whom he had met at the Catacombs. Charming, bright, andhealthy as they were, their enthusiasm was only for the spectacle: theydeclared that they were well pleased at having seen it--that it wasreally astonishing, unique. 

As the crowd slowly withdrew Pierre all at once felt a tap on hisshoulder, and, on turning his head, perceived Narcisse Habert, who alsowas very enthusiastic. "I made signs to you, my dear Abbe, " said he, "butyou didn't see me. Ah! how superb was the expression of that dark womanwho fell rigid beside the platform with her arms outstretched. Shereminded me of a masterpiece of one of the primitives, Cimabue, Giotto, or Fra Angelico. And the others, those who devoured the chair arms withtheir kisses, what suavity, beauty, and love! I never miss theseceremonies: there are always some fine scenes, perfect pictures, in whichsouls reveal themselves. "

The long stream of pilgrims slowly descended the stairs, and Pierre, followed by Nani and Narcisse, who had begun to chat, tried to bring theideas which were tumultuously throbbing in his brain into something likeorder. There was certainly grandeur and beauty in that Pope who had shuthimself up in his Vatican, and who, the more he became a purely moral, spiritual authority, freed from all terrestrial cares, had grown in theadoration and awe of mankind. Such a flight into the ideal deeply stirredPierre, whose dream of rejuvenated Christianity rested on the idea of thesupreme Head of the Church exercising only a purified, spiritualauthority. He had just seen what an increase of majesty and power was inthat way gained by the Supreme Pontiff of the spheres beyond, at whosefeet the women fainted, and behind whom they beheld a vision of theDeity. But at the same moment the pecuniary side of the question hadrisen before him and spoilt his joy. If the enforced relinquishment ofthe temporal power had exalted the Pope by freeing him from the worriesof a petty sovereignty which was ever threatened, the need of money stillremained like a chain about his feet tying him to earth. As he could notaccept the proffered subvention of the Italian Government, * there wascertainly in the Peter's Pence a means of placing the Holy See above allmaterial cares, provided, however, that this Peter's Pence were reallythe Catholic /sou/, the mite of each believer, levied on his daily incomeand sent direct to Rome. Such a voluntary tribute paid by the flock toits pastor would, moreover, suffice for the wants of the Church if eachof the 250, 000, 000 of Catholics gave his or her /sou/ every week. In thiswise the Pope, indebted to each and all of his children, would beindebted to none in particular. A /sou/ was so little and so easy togive, and there was also something so touching about the idea. But, unhappily, things were not worked in that way; the great majority ofCatholics gave nothing whatever, while the rich ones sent large sums frommotives of political passion; and a particular objection was that thegifts were centralised in the hands of certain bishops and religiousorders, so that these became ostensibly the benefactors of the papacy, the indispensable cashiers from whom it drew the sinews of life. Thelowly and humble whose mites filled the collection boxes were, so to say, suppressed, and the Pope became dependent on the intermediaries, and wascompelled to act cautiously with them, listen to their remonstrances, andeven at times obey their passions, lest the stream of gifts shouldsuddenly dry up. And so, although he was disburdened of the dead weightof the temporal power, he was not free; but remained the tributary of hisclergy, with interests and appetites around him which he must needssatisfy. And Pierre remembered the "Grotto of Lourdes" in the Vaticangardens, and the banner which he had just seen, and he knew that theLourdes fathers levied 200, 000 francs a year on their receipts to sendthem as a present to the Holy Father. Was not that the chief reason oftheir great power? He quivered, and suddenly became conscious that, dowhat he might, he would be defeated, and his book would be condemned. 

 * 110, 000 pounds per annum. It has never been accepted, and the accumulations lapse to the Government every five years, and cannot afterwards be recovered. --Trans. 

At last, as he was coming out on to the Piazza of St. Peter's, he heardNarcisse asking Monsignor Nani: "Indeed! Do you really think thatto-day's gifts exceeded that figure?"

"Yes, more than three millions, * I'm convinced of it, " the prelatereplied. 

 * All the amounts given on this and the following pages are calculated in francs. The reader will bear in mind that a million francs is equivalent to 40, 000 pounds. --Trans. 

For a moment the three men halted under the right-hand colonnade andgazed at the vast, sunlit piazza where the pilgrims were spreading outlike little black specks hurrying hither and thither--an ant-hill, as itwere, in revolution. 

Three millions! The words had rung in Pierre's ears. And, raising hishead, he gazed at the Vatican, all golden in the sunlight against theexpanse of blue sky, as if he wished to penetrate its walls and followthe steps of Leo XIII returning to his apartments. He pictured him ladenwith those millions, with his weak, slender arms pressed to his breast, carrying the silver, the gold, the bank notes, and even the jewels whichthe women had flung him. And almost unconsciously the young priest spokealoud: "What will he do with those millions? Where is he taking them?"

Narcisse and even Nani could not help being amused by this strangelyexpressed curiosity. It was the young /attache/ who replied. "Why, hisHoliness is taking them to his room; or, at least, is having them carriedthere before him. Didn't you see two persons of his suite picking upeverything and filling their pockets? And now his Holiness has shuthimself up quite alone; and if you could see him you would find himcounting and recounting his treasure with cheerful care, ranging therolls of gold in good order, slipping the bank notes into envelopes inequal quantities, and then putting everything away in hiding-places whichare only known to himself. "

While his companion was speaking Pierre again raised his eyes to thewindows of the Pope's apartments, as if to follow the scene. Moreover, Narcisse gave further explanations, asserting that the money was put awayin a certain article of furniture, standing against the right-hand wallin the Holy Father's bedroom. Some people, he added, also spoke of awriting table or secretaire with deep drawers; and others declared thatthe money slumbered in some big padlocked trunks stored away in thedepths of the alcove, which was very roomy. Of course, on the left sideof the passage leading to the Archives there was a large room occupied bya general cashier and a monumental safe; but the funds kept there weresimply those of the Patrimony of St. Peter, the administrative receiptsof Rome; whereas the Peter's Pence money, the voluntary donations ofChristendom, remained in the hands of Leo XIII: he alone knew the exactamount of that fund, and lived alone with its millions, which he disposedof like an absolute master, rendering account to none. And such was hisprudence that he never left his room when the servants cleaned and set itin order. At the utmost he would consent to remain on the threshold ofthe adjoining apartment in order to escape the dust. And whenever hemeant to absent himself for a few hours, to go down into the gardens, forinstance, he double-locked the doors and carried the keys away with him, never confiding them to another. 

At this point Narcisse paused and, turning to Nani, inquired: "Is notthat so, Monsignor? These are things known to all Rome. "

The prelate, ever smiling and wagging his head without expressing eitherapproval or disapproval, had begun to study on Pierre's face the effectof these curious stories. "No doubt, no doubt, " he responded; "so manythings are said! I know nothing myself, but you seem to be certain of itall, Monsieur Habert. "

"Oh!" resumed the other, "I don't accuse his Holiness of sordid avarice, such as is rumoured. Some fabulous stories are current, stories ofcoffers full of gold in which the Holy Father is said to plunge his handsfor hours at a time; treasures which he has heaped up in corners for thesole pleasure of counting them over and over again. Nevertheless, one maywell admit that his Holiness is somewhat fond of money for its own sake, for the pleasure of handling it and setting it in order when he happensto be alone--and after all that is a very excusable mania in an old manwho has no other pastime. But I must add that he is yet fonder of moneyfor the social power which it brings, the decisive help which it willgive to the Holy See in the future, if the latter desires to triumph. "

These words evoked the lofty figure of a wise and prudent Pope, consciousof modern requirements, inclined to utilise the powers of the century inorder to conquer it, and for this reason venturing on business andspeculation. As it happened, the treasure bequeathed by Pius IX hadnearly been lost in a financial disaster, but ever since that time LeoXIII had sought to repair the breach and make the treasure whole again, in order that he might leave it to his successor intact and evenenlarged. Economical he certainly was, but he saved for the needs of theChurch, which, as he knew, increased day by day; and money was absolutelynecessary if Atheism was to be met and fought in the sphere of theschools, institutions, and associations of all sorts. Without money, indeed, the Church would become a vassal at the mercy of the civilpowers, the Kingdom of Italy and other Catholic states; and so, althoughhe liberally helped every enterprise which might contribute to thetriumph of the Faith, Leo XIII had a contempt for all expenditure withoutan object, and treated himself and others with stern closeness. Personally, he had no needs. At the outset of his pontificate he had sethis small private patrimony apart from the rich patrimony of St. Peter, refusing to take aught from the latter for the purpose of assisting hisrelatives. Never had pontiff displayed less nepotism: his three nephewsand his two nieces had remained poor--in fact, in great pecuniaryembarrassment. Still he listened neither to complaints nor accusations, but remained inflexible, proudly resolved to bequeath the sinews of life, the invincible weapon money, to the popes of future times, and thereforevigorously defending the millions of the Holy See against the desperatecovetousness of one and all. 

"But, after all, what are the receipts and expenses of the Holy See?"inquired Pierre. 

In all haste Nani again made his amiable, evasive gesture. "Oh! I amaltogether ignorant in such matters, " he replied. "Ask Monsieur Habert, who is so well informed. "

"For my part, " responded the /attache/, "I simply know what is known toall the embassies here, the matters which are the subject of commonreport. With respect to the receipts there is, first of all, the treasureleft by Pius IX, some twenty millions, invested in various ways andformerly yielding about a million a year in interest. But, as I saidbefore, a disaster happened, and there must then have been a falling offin the income. Still, nowadays it is reported that nearly alldeficiencies have been made good. Well, besides the regular income fromthe invested money, a few hundred thousand francs are derived every yearfrom chancellery dues, patents of nobility, and all sorts of little feespaid to the Congregations. However, as the annual expenses exceed sevenmillions, it has been necessary to find quite six millions every year;and certainly it is the Peter's Pence Fund that has supplied, not the sixmillions, perhaps, but three or four of them, and with these the Holy Seehas speculated in the hope of doubling them and making both ends meet. Itwould take me too long just now to relate the whole story of thesespeculations, the first huge gains, then the catastrophe which almostswept everything away, and finally the stubborn perseverance which isgradually supplying all deficiencies. However, if you are anxious on thesubject, I will one day tell you all about it. "

Pierre had listened with deep interest. "Six millions--even four!" heexclaimed, "what does the Peter's Pence Fund bring in, then?"

"Oh! I can only repeat that nobody has ever known the exact figures. Informer times the Catholic Press published lists giving the amounts ofdifferent offerings, and in this way one could frame an approximateestimate. But the practice must have been considered unadvisable, for nodocuments nowadays appear, and it is absolutely impossible for people toform any real idea of what the Pope receives. He alone knows the correctamount, keeps the money, and disposes of it with absolute authority. Still I believe that in good years the offerings have amounted to betweenfour and five millions. Originally France contributed one-half of thesum; but nowadays it certainly gives much less. Then come Belgium andAustria, England and Germany. As for Spain and Italy--oh! Italy--"

Narcisse paused and smiled at Monsignor Nani, who was wagging his headwith the air of a man delighted at learning some extremely curious thingsof which he had previously had no idea. 

"Oh, you may proceed, you may proceed, my dear son, " said he. 

"Well, then, Italy scarcely distinguishes itself. If the Pope had toprovide for his living out of the gifts of the Italian Catholics therewould soon be a famine at the Vatican. Far from helping him, indeed, theRoman nobility has cost him dear; for one of the chief causes of hispecuniary losses was his folly in lending money to the princes whospeculated. It is really only from France and England that rich people, noblemen and so forth, have sent royal gifts to the imprisoned andmartyred Pontiff. Among others there was an English nobleman who came toRome every year with a large offering, the outcome of a vow which he hadmade in the hope that Heaven would cure his unhappy idiot son. And, ofcourse, I don't refer to the extraordinary harvest garnered during thesacerdotal and the episcopal jubilees--the forty millions which then fellat his Holiness's feet. "

"And the expenses?" asked Pierre. 

"Well, as I told you, they amount to about seven millions. We may reckontwo of them for the pensions paid to former officials of the pontificalgovernment who were unwilling to take service under Italy; but I must addthat this source of expense is diminishing every year as people die offand their pensions become extinguished. Then, broadly speaking, we mayput down one million for the Italian sees, another for the Secretariateand the Nunciatures, and another for the Vatican. In this last sum Iinclude the expenses of the pontifical Court, the military establishment, the museums, and the repair of the palace and the Basilica. Well, we havereached five millions, and the two others may be set down for the varioussubsidised enterprises, the Propaganda, and particularly the schools, which Leo XIII, with great practical good sense, subsidises veryhandsomely, for he is well aware that the battle and the triumph be inthat direction--among the children who will be men to-morrow, and whowill then defend their mother the Church, provided that they have beeninspired with horror for the abominable doctrines of the age. "

A spell of silence ensued, and the three men slowly paced the majesticcolonnade. The swarming crowd had gradually disappeared, leaving thepiazza empty, so that only the obelisk and the twin fountains now arosefrom the burning desert of symmetrical paving; whilst on the entablatureof the porticus across the square a noble line of motionless statuesstood out in the bright sunlight. And Pierre, with his eyes still raisedto the Pope's windows, again fancied that he could see Leo XIII amidstall the streaming gold that had been spoken of, his whole, white, purefigure, his poor, waxen, transparent form steeped amidst those millionswhich he hid and counted and expended for the glory of God alone. "Andso, " murmured the young priest, "he has no anxiety, he is not in anypecuniary embarrassment. "

"Pecuniary embarrassment!" exclaimed Monsignor Nani, his patience sosorely tried by the remark that he could no longer retain his diplomaticreserve. "Oh! my dear son! Why, when Cardinal Mocenni, the treasurer, goes to his Holiness every month, his Holiness always gives him the sumhe asks for; he would give it, and be able to give it, however large itmight be! His Holiness has certainly had the wisdom to effect greateconomies; the Treasure of St. Peter is larger than ever. Pecuniaryembarrassment, indeed! Why, if a misfortune should occur, and theSovereign Pontiff were to make a direct appeal to all his children, theCatholics of the entire world, do you know that in that case a thousandmillions would fall at his feet just like the gold and the jewels whichyou saw raining on the steps of his throne just now?" Then suddenlycalming himself and recovering his pleasant smile, Nani added: "At least, that is what I sometimes hear said; for, personally, I know nothing, absolutely nothing; and it is fortunate that Monsieur Habert should havebeen here to give you information. Ah! Monsieur Habert, Monsieur Habert!Why, I fancied that you were always in the skies absorbed in your passionfor art, and far removed from all base mundane interests! But you reallyunderstand these things like a banker or a notary. Nothing escapes you, nothing. It is wonderful. "

Narcisse must have felt the sting of the prelate's delicate sarcasm. Atbottom, beneath this make-believe Florentine all-angelicalness, with longcurly hair and mauve eyes which grew dim with rapture at sight of aBotticelli, there was a thoroughly practical, business-like young man, who took admirable care of his fortune and was even somewhat miserly. However, he contented himself with lowering his eyelids and assuming alanguorous air. "Oh!" said he, "I'm all reverie; my soul is elsewhere. "

"At all events, " resumed Nani, turning towards Pierre, "I am very gladthat you were able to see such a beautiful spectacle. A few more suchopportunities and you will understand things far better than you wouldfrom all the explanations in the world. Don't miss the grand ceremony atSt. Peter's to-morrow. It will be magnificent, and will give you food foruseful reflection; I'm sure of it. And now allow me to leave you, delighted at seeing you in such a fit frame of mind. "

Darting a last glance at Pierre, Nani seemed to have observed withpleasure the weariness and uncertainty which were paling his face. Andwhen the prelate had gone off, and Narcisse also had taken leave with agentle hand-shake, the young priest felt the ire of protest rising withinhim. What fit frame of mind did Nani mean? Did that man hope to weary himand drive him to despair by throwing him into collision with obstacles, so that he might afterwards overcome him with perfect ease? For thesecond time Pierre became suddenly and briefly conscious of the stealthyefforts which were being made to invest and crush him. But, believing ashe did in his own strength of resistance, pride filled him with disdain. Again he swore that he would never yield, never withdraw his book, nomatter what might happen. And then, before crossing the piazza, he oncemore raised his eyes to the windows of the Vatican, all his impressionscrystallising in the thought of that much-needed money which like a lastbond still attached the Pope to earth. Its chief evil doubtless lay inthe manner in which it was provided; and if indeed the only question wereto devise an improved method of collection, his dream of a pope whoshould be all soul, the bond of love, the spiritual leader of the world, would not be seriously affected. At this thought, Pierre felt comfortedand was unwilling to look on things otherwise than hopefully, moved as hewas by the extraordinary scene which he had just beheld, that feeble oldman shining forth like the symbol of human deliverance, obeyed andvenerated by the multitudes, and alone among all men endowed with themoral omnipotence that might at last set the reign of charity and peaceon earth. 

For the ceremony on the following day, it was fortunate that Pierre helda private ticket which admitted him to a reserved gallery, for thescramble at the entrances to the Basilica proved terrible. The mass, which the Pope was to celebrate in person, was fixed for ten o'clock, butpeople began to pour into St. Peter's four hours earlier, as soon, indeed, as the gates had been thrown open. The three thousand members ofthe International Pilgrimage were increased tenfold by the arrival of allthe tourists in Italy, who had hastened to Rome eager to witness one ofthose great pontifical functions which nowadays are so rare. Moreover, the devotees and partisans whom the Holy See numbered in Rome itself andin other great cities of the kingdom, helped to swell the throng, allalacrity at the prospect of a demonstration. Judging by the ticketsdistributed, there would be a concourse of 40, 000 people. And, indeed, atnine o'clock, when Pierre crossed the piazza on his way to the Canons'Entrance in the Via Santa Marta, where the holders of pink tickets wereadmitted, he saw the portico of the facade still thronged with people whowere but slowly gaining admittance, while several gentlemen in eveningdress, members of some Catholic association, bestirred themselves tomaintain order with the help of a detachment of Pontifical Guards. Nevertheless, violent quarrels broke out in the crowd, and blows wereexchanged amidst the involuntary scramble. Some people were almoststifled, and two women were carried off half crushed to death. 

A disagreeable surprise met Pierre on his entry into the Basilica. Thehuge edifice was draped; coverings of old red damask with bands of goldswathed the columns and pilasters, seventy-five feet high; even theaisles were hung with the same old and faded silk; and the shrouding ofthose pompous marbles, of all the superb dazzling ornamentation of thechurch bespoke a very singular taste, a tawdry affectation of pomposity, extremely wretched in its effect. However, he was yet more amazed onseeing that even the statue of St. Peter was clad, costumed like a livingpope in sumptuous pontifical vestments, with a tiara on its metal head. He had never imagined that people could garment statues either for theirglory or for the pleasure of the eyes, and the result seemed to himdisastrous. 

The Pope was to say mass at the papal altar of the Confession, the highaltar which stands under the dome. On a platform at the entrance of theleft-hand transept was the throne on which he would afterwards take hisplace. Then, on either side of the nave, tribunes had been erected forthe choristers of the Sixtine Chapel, the Corps Diplomatique, the Knightsof Malta, the Roman nobility, and other guests of various kinds. And, finally, in the centre, before the altar, there were three rows ofbenches covered with red rugs, the first for the cardinals and the othertwo for the bishops and the prelates of the pontifical court. All therest of the congregation was to remain standing. 

Ah! that huge concert-audience, those thirty, forty thousand believersfrom here, there, and everywhere, inflamed with curiosity, passion, orfaith, bestirring themselves, jostling one another, rising on tip-toe tosee the better! The clamour of a human sea arose, the crowd was as gayand familiar as if it had found itself in some heavenly theatre where itwas allowable for one to chat aloud and recreate oneself with thespectacle of religious pomp! At first Pierre was thunderstruck, he whoonly knew of nervous, silent kneeling in the depths of dim cathedrals, who was not accustomed to that religion of light, whose brilliancytransformed a religious celebration into a morning festivity. Around him, in the same tribune as himself, were gentlemen in dress-coats and ladiesgowned in black, carrying glasses as in an opera-house. There were Germanand English women, and numerous Americans, all more or less charming, displaying the grace of thoughtless, chirruping birds. In the tribune ofthe Roman nobility on the left he recognised Benedetta and DonnaSerafina, and there the simplicity of the regulation attire for ladieswas relieved by large lace veils rivalling one another in richness andelegance. Then on the right was the tribune of the Knights of Malta, where the Grand Master stood amidst a group of commanders: while acrossthe nave rose the diplomatic tribune where Pierre perceived theambassadors of all the Catholic nations, resplendent in gala uniformscovered with gold lace. However, the young priest's eyes were everreturning to the crowd, the great surging throng in which the threethousand pilgrims were lost amidst the multitude of other spectators. Andyet as the Basilica was so vast that it could easily contain eightythousand people, it did not seem to be more than half full. People cameand went along the aisles and took up favourable positions withoutimpediment. Some could be seen gesticulating, and calls rang out abovethe ceaseless rumble of voices. From the lofty windows of plain whiteglass fell broad sheets of sunlight, which set a gory glow upon the fadeddamask hangings, and these cast a reflection as of fire upon all thetumultuous, feverish, impatient faces. The multitude of candles, and theseven-and-eighty lamps of the Confession paled to such a degree that theyseemed but glimmering night-lights in the blinding radiance; andeverything proclaimed the worldly gala of the imperial Deity of Romanpomp. 

All at once there came a premature shock of delight, a false alert. Criesburst forth and circulated through the crowd: "Eccolo! eccolo! Here hecomes!" And then there was pushing and jostling, eddying which made thehuman sea whirl and surge, all craning their necks, raising themselves totheir full height, darting forward in a frenzied desire to see the HolyFather and the /cortege/. But only a detachment of Noble Guards marchedby and took up position right and left of the altar. A flattering murmuraccompanied them, their fine impassive bearing with its exaggeratedmilitary stiffness, provoking the admiration of the throng. An Americanwoman declared that they were superb-looking fellows; and a Roman ladygave an English friend some particulars about the select corps to whichthey belonged. Formerly, said she, young men of the aristocracy hadgreatly sought the honour of forming part of it, for the sake of wearingits rich uniform and caracoling in front of the ladies. But recruitingwas now such a difficult matter that one had to content oneself withgood-looking young men of doubtful or ruined nobility, whose only carewas for the meagre "pay" which just enabled them to live. 

When another quarter of an hour of chatting and scrutinising had elapsed, the papal /cortege/ at last made its appearance, and no sooner was itseen than applause burst forth as in a theatre--furious applause it waswhich rose and rolled along under the vaulted ceilings, suggesting theacclamations which ring out when some popular, idolised actor makes hisentry on the stage. As in a theatre, too, everything had been veryskilfully contrived so as to produce all possible effect amidst themagnificent scenery of the Basilica. The /cortege/ was formed in thewings, that is in the Cappella della Pieta, the first chapel of the rightaisle, and in order to reach it, the Holy Father, coming from hisapartments by the way of the Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament, had beenstealthily carried behind the hangings of the aisle which served thepurpose of a drop-scene. Awaiting him in all readiness in the Cappelladella Pieta were the cardinals, archbishops, and bishops, the wholepontifical prelacy, hierarchically classified and grouped. And then, asat a signal from a ballet master, the /cortege/ made its entry, reachingthe nave and ascending it in triumph from the closed Porta Santa to thealtar of the Confession. On either hand were the rows of spectators whoseapplause at the sight of so much magnificence grew louder and louder astheir delirious enthusiasm increased. 

It was the /cortege/ of the olden solemnities, the cross and sword, theSwiss Guard in full uniform, the valets in scarlet simars, the Knights ofthe Cape and the Sword in Renascence costumes, the Canons in rochets oflace, the superiors of the religious communities, the apostolicprothonotaries, the archbishops, and bishops, all the pontifical prelatesin violet silk, the cardinals, each wearing the /cappa magna/ and drapedin purple, walking solemnly two by two with long intervals between eachpair. Finally, around his Holiness were grouped the officers of themilitary household, the chamber prelates, Monsignor the Majordomo, Monsignor the Grand Chamberlain, and all the other high dignitaries ofthe Vatican, with the Roman prince assistant of the throne, thetraditional, symbolical defender of the Church. And on the /sediagestatoria/, screened by the /flabelli/ with their lofty triumphal fansof feathers and carried on high by the bearers in red tunics broideredwith silk, sat the Pope, clad in the sacred vestments which he hadassumed in the Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament, the amict, the alb, thestole, and the white chasuble and white mitre enriched with gold, twogifts of extraordinary sumptuousness that had come from France. And, ashis Holiness drew near, all hands were raised and clapped yet more loudlyamidst the waves of living sunlight which streamed from the loftywindows. 

Then a new and different impression of Leo XIII came to Pierre. The Pope, as he now beheld him, was no longer the familiar, tired, inquisitive oldman, leaning on the arm of a talkative prelate as he strolled through theloveliest gardens in the world. He no longer recalled the Holy Father, inred cape and papal cap, giving a paternal welcome to a pilgrimage whichbrought him a fortune. He was here the Sovereign Pontiff, theall-powerful Master whom Christendom adored. His slim waxen form seemedto have stiffened within his white vestments, heavy with golden broidery, as in a reliquary of precious metal; and he retained a rigid, haughty, hieratic attitude, like that of some idol, gilded, withered for centuriespast by the smoke of sacrifices. Amidst the mournful stiffness of hisface only his eyes lived--eyes like black sparkling diamonds gazing afar, beyond earth, into the infinite. He gave not a glance to the crowd, helowered his eyes neither to right nor to left, but remained soaring inthe heavens, ignoring all that took place at his feet. 

And as that seemingly embalmed idol, deaf and blind, in spite of thebrilliancy of his eyes, was carried through the frantic multitude whichit appeared neither to hear nor to see, it assumed fearsome majesty, disquieting grandeur, all the rigidity of dogma, all the immobility oftradition exhumed with its /fascioe/ which alone kept it erect. StillPierre fancied he could detect that the Pope was ill and weary, sufferingfrom the attack of fever which Nani had spoken of when glorifying thecourage of that old man of eighty-four, whom strength of soul alone nowkept alive. 

The service began. Alighting from the /sedia gestatoria/ before the altarof the Confession, his Holiness slowly celebrated a low mass, assisted byfour prelates and the pro-prefect of the ceremonies. When the time camefor washing his fingers, Monsignor the Majordomo and Monsignor the GrandChamberlain, accompanied by two cardinals, poured the water on his augusthands; and shortly before the elevation of the host all the prelates ofthe pontifical court, each holding a lighted taper, came and knelt aroundthe altar. There was a solemn moment, the forty thousand believers thereassembled shuddered as if they could feel the terrible yet deliciousblast of the invisible sweeping over them when during the elevation thesilver clarions sounded the famous chorus of angels which invariablymakes some women swoon. Almost immediately an aerial chant descended fromthe cupola, from a lofty gallery where one hundred and twenty choristerswere concealed, and the enraptured multitude marvelled as though theangels had indeed responded to the clarion call. The voices descended, taking their flight under the vaulted ceilings with the airy sweetness ofcelestial harps; then in suave harmony they died away, reascended to theheavens as with a faint flapping of wings. And, after the mass, hisHoliness, still standing at the altar, in person started the /Te Deum/, which the singers of the Sixtine Chapel and the other choristers took up, each party chanting a verse alternately. But soon the whole congregationjoined them, forty thousand voices were raised, and a hymn of joy andglory spread through the vast nave with incomparable splendour of effect. And then the scene became one of extraordinary magnificence: there wasBernini's triumphal, flowery, gilded /baldacchino/, surrounded by thewhole pontifical court with the lighted tapers showing like starryconstellations, there was the Sovereign Pontiff in the centre, radiantlike a planet in his gold-broidered chasuble, there were the benchescrowded with cardinals in purple and archbishops and bishops in violetsilk, there were the tribunes glittering with official finery, the goldlace of the diplomatists, the variegated uniforms of foreign officers, and then there was the throng flowing and eddying on all sides, rollingbillows after billows of heads from the most distant depths of theBasilica. And the hugeness of the temple increased one's amazement; andeven the glorious hymn which the multitude repeated became colossal, ascended like a tempest blast amidst the great marble tombs, thesuperhuman statues and gigantic pillars, till it reached the vast vaultedheavens of stone, and penetrated into the firmament of the cupola wherethe Infinite seemed to open resplendent with the gold-work of themosaics. 

A long murmur of voices followed the /Te Deum/, whilst Leo XIII, afterdonning the tiara in lieu of the mitre, and exchanging the chasuble forthe pontifical cope, went to occupy his throne on the platform at theentry of the left transept. He thence dominated the whole assembly, through which a quiver sped when after the prayers of the ritual, he oncemore rose erect. Beneath the symbolic, triple crown, in the goldensheathing of his cope, he seemed to have grown taller. Amidst sudden andprofound silence, which only feverish heart-beats interrupted, he raisedhis arm with a very noble gesture and pronounced the papal benediction ina slow, loud, full voice, which seemed, as it were, the very voice of theDeity, so greatly did its power astonish one, coming from such waxenlips, from such a bloodless, lifeless frame. And the effect wasprodigious: as soon as the /cortege/ reformed to return whence it hadcome, applause again burst forth, a frenzy of enthusiasm which theclapping of hands could no longer content. Acclamations resounded andgradually gained upon the whole multitude. They began among a group ofardent partisans stationed near the statue of St. Peter: /"Evviva ilPapa-Re! evviva il Papa-Re/! Long live the Pope-King!" as the /cortege/went by the shout rushed along like leaping fire, inflaming heart afterheart, and at last springing from every mouth in a thunderous protestagainst the theft of the states of the Church. All the faith, all thelove of those believers, overexcited by the regal spectacle they had justbeheld, returned once more to the dream, to the rageful desire that thePope should be both King and Pontiff, master of men's bodies as he was oftheir souls--in one word, the absolute sovereign of the earth. Thereinlay the only truth, the only happiness, the only salvation! Let all begiven to him, both mankind and the world! "/Evviva il Papa-Re! evviva ilPapa-Re/! Long live the Pope-King!"

Ah! that cry, that cry of war which had caused so many errors and so muchbloodshed, that cry of self-abandonment and blindness which, realised, would have brought back the old ages of suffering, it shocked Pierre, andimpelled him in all haste to quit the tribune where he was in order thathe might escape the contagion of idolatry. And while the /cortege/ stillwent its way and the deafening clamour of the crowd continued, he for amoment followed the left aisle amidst the general scramble. This, however, made him despair of reaching the street, and anxious to escapethe crush of the general departure, it occurred to him to profit by adoor which he saw open and which led him into a vestibule, whenceascended the steps conducting to the dome. A sacristan standing in thedoorway, both bewildered and delighted at the demonstration, looked athim for a moment, hesitating whether he should stop him or not. However, the sight of the young priest's cassock combined with his own emotionrendered the man tolerant. Pierre was allowed to pass, and at once beganto climb the staircase as rapidly as he could, in order that he mightflee farther and farther away, ascend higher and yet higher into peaceand silence. 

And the silence suddenly became profound, the walls stifled the cry ofthe multitude. The staircase was easy and light, with broad paved stepsturning within a sort of tower. When Pierre came out upon the roofs ofnave and aisles, he was delighted to find himself in the bright sunlightand the pure keen air which blew there as in the open country. And it waswith astonishment that he gazed upon the huge expanse of lead, zinc, andstone-work, a perfect aerial city living a life of its own under the bluesky. He saw cupolas, spires, terraces, even houses and gardens, housesbright with flowers, the residences of the workmen who live atop of theBasilica, which is ever and ever requiring repair. A little populationhere bestirs itself, labours, loves, eats, and sleeps. However, Pierredesired to approach the balustrade so as to get a near view of thecolossal statues of the Saviour and the Apostles which surmount thefacade on the side of the piazza. These giants, some nineteen feet inheight, are constantly being mended; their arms, legs, and heads, intowhich the atmosphere is ever eating, nowadays only hold together by thehelp of cement, bars, and hooks. And having examined them, Pierre wasleaning forward to glance at the Vatican's jumble of ruddy roofs, when itseemed to him that the shout from which he had fled was rising from thepiazza, and thereupon, in all haste, he resumed his ascent within thepillar conducting to the dome. There was first a staircase, and then camesome narrow, oblique passages, inclines intersected by a few steps, between the inner and outer walls of the cupola. Yielding to curiosity, Pierre pushed a door open, and suddenly found himself inside the Basilicaagain, at nearly 200 feet from the ground. A narrow gallery there ranround the dome just above the frieze, on which, in letters five feethigh, appeared the famous inscription: /Tu es Petrus et super hanc petramoedificabo ecclesiam meam et tibi dabo claves regni coelorum. * And then, as Pierre leant over to gaze into the fearful cavity beneath him and thewide openings of nave, and aisles, and transepts, the cry, the deliriouscry of the multitude, yet clamorously swarming below, struck him full inthe face. He fled once more; but, higher up, yet a second time he pushedanother door open and found another gallery, one perched above thewindows, just where the splendid mosaics begin, and whence the crowdseemed to him lost in the depths of a dizzy abyss, altar and/baldacchino/ alike looking no larger than toys. And yet the cry ofidolatry and warfare arose again, and smote him like the buffet of atempest which gathers increase of strength the farther it rushes. So toescape it he had to climb higher still, even to the outer gallery whichencircles the lantern, hovering in the very heavens. 

 * Thou art Peter (Petrus) and on that rock (Petram) will I build my church, and to thee will I give the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven. 

How delightful was the relief which that bath of air and sunlight atfirst brought him! Above him now there only remained the ball of giltcopper into which emperors and queens have ascended, as is testified bythe pompous inscriptions in the passages; a hollow ball it is, where thevoice crashes like thunder, where all the sounds of space reverberate. Ashe emerged on the side of the apse, his eyes at first plunged into thepapal gardens, whose clumps of trees seemed mere bushes almost level withthe soil; and he could retrace his recent stroll among them, the broad/parterre/ looking like a faded Smyrna rug, the large wood showing thedeep glaucous greenery of a stagnant pool. Then there were the kitchengarden and the vineyard easily identified and tended with care. Thefountains, the observatory, the casino, where the Pope spent the hot daysof summer, showed merely like little white spots in those undulatinggrounds, walled in like any other estate, but with the fearsome rampartof the fourth Leo, which yet retained its fortress-like aspect. However, Pierre took his way round the narrow gallery and abruptly found himselfin front of Rome, a sudden and immense expanse, with the distant sea onthe west, the uninterrupted mountain chains on the east and the south, the Roman Campagna stretching to the horizon like a bare and greenishdesert, while the city, the Eternal City, was spread out at his feet. Never before had space impressed him so majestically. Rome was there, asa bird might see it, within the glance, as distinct as some geographicalplan executed in relief. To think of it, such a past, such a history, somuch grandeur, and Rome so dwarfed and contracted by distance! Houses aslilliputian and as pretty as toys; and the whole a mere mouldy speck uponthe earth's face! What impassioned Pierre was that he could at a glanceunderstand the divisions of Rome: the antique city yonder with theCapitol, the Forum, and the Palatine; the papal city in that Borgo whichhe overlooked, with St. Peter's and the Vatican gazing across the city ofthe middle ages--which was huddled together in the right angle describedby the yellow Tiber--towards the modern city, the Quirinal of the Italianmonarchy. And particularly did he remark the chalky girdle with which thenew districts encompassed the ancient, central, sun-tanned quarters, thussymbolising an effort at rejuvenescence, the old heart but slowly mended, whereas the outlying limbs were renewed as if by miracle. 

In that ardent noontide glow, however, Pierre no longer beheld the pureethereal Rome which had met his eyes on the morning of his arrival in thedelightfully soft radiance of the rising sun. That smiling, unobtrusivecity, half veiled by golden mist, immersed as it were in some dream ofchildhood, now appeared to him flooded with a crude light, motionless, hard of outline and silent like death. The distance was as if devoured bytoo keen a flame, steeped in a luminous dust in which it crumbled. Andagainst that blurred background the whole city showed with violentdistinctness in great patches of light and shade, their tracery harshlyconspicuous. One might have fancied oneself above some very ancient, abandoned stone quarry, which a few clumps of trees spotted with darkgreen. Of the ancient city one could see the sunburnt tower of theCapitol, the black cypresses of the Palatine, and the ruins of the palaceof Septimius Severus, suggesting the white osseous carcase of some fossilmonster, left there by a flood. In front, was enthroned the modern citywith the long, renovated buildings of the Quirinal, whose yellow wallsstood forth with wondrous crudity amidst the vigorous crests of thegarden trees. And to right and left on the Viminal, beyond the palace, the new districts appeared like a city of chalk and plaster mottled byinnumerable windows as with a thousand touches of black ink. Then hereand there were the Pincio showing like a stagnant mere, the Villa Mediciuprearing its campanili, the castle of Sant' Angelo brown like rust, thespire of Santa Maria Maggiore aglow like a burning taper, the threechurches of the Aventine drowsy amidst verdure, the Palazzo Farnese withits summer-baked tiles showing like old gold, the domes of the Gesu, ofSant' Andrea della Valle, of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, and yet otherdomes and other domes, all in fusion, incandescent in the brazier of theheavens. And Pierre again felt a heart-pang in presence of that harsh, stern Rome, so different from the Rome of his dream, the Rome ofrejuvenescence and hope, which he had fancied he had found on his firstmorning, but which had now faded away to give place to the immutable cityof pride and domination, stubborn under the sun even unto death. 

And there on high, all alone with his thoughts, Pierre suddenlyunderstood. It was as if a dart of flaming light fell on him in thatfree, unbounded expanse where he hovered. Had it come from the ceremonywhich he had just beheld, from the frantic cry of servitude still ringingin his ears? Had it come from the spectacle of that city beneath him, that city which suggested an embalmed queen still reigning amidst thedust of her tomb? He knew not; but doubtless both had acted as factors, and at all events the light which fell upon his mind was complete: hefelt that Catholicism could not exist without the temporal power, that itmust fatally disappear whenever it should no longer be king over thisearth. A first reason of this lay in heredity, in the forces of history, the long line of the heirs of the Caesars, the popes, the great pontiffs, in whose veins the blood of Augustus, demanding the empire of the world, had never ceased to flow. Though they might reside in the Vatican theyhad come from the imperial abodes on the Palatine, from the palace ofSeptimius Severus, and throughout the centuries their policy had everpursued the dream of Roman mastery, of all the nations vanquished, submissive, and obedient to Rome. If its sovereignty were not universal, extending alike over bodies and over souls, Catholicism would lose its/raison d'etre/; for the Church cannot recognise any empire or kingdomotherwise than politically--the emperors and the kings being purely andsimply so many temporary delegates placed in charge of the nationspending the time when they shall be called upon to relinquish theirtrust. All the nations, all humanity, and the whole world belong to theChurch to whom they have been given by God. And if real and effectivepossession is not hers to-day, this is only because she yields to force, compelled to face accomplished facts, but with the formal reserve thatshe is in presence of guilty usurpation, that her possessions areunjustly withheld from her, and that she awaits the realisation of thepromises of the Christ, who, when the time shall be accomplished, willfor ever restore to her both the earth and mankind. Such is the realfuture city which time is to bring: Catholic Rome, sovereign of the worldonce more. And Rome the city forms a substantial part of the dream, Romewhose eternity has been predicted, Rome whose soil has imparted toCatholicism the inextinguishable thirst of absolute power. And thus thedestiny of the papacy is linked to that of Rome, to such a point indeedthat a pope elsewhere than at Rome would no longer be a Catholic pope. The thought of all this frightened Pierre; a great shudder passed throughhim as he leant on the light iron balustrade, gazing down into the abysswhere the stern mournful city was even now crumbling away under thefierce sun. 

There was, however, evidence of the facts which had dawned on him. IfPius IX and Leo XIII had resolved to imprison themselves in the Vatican, it was because necessity bound them to Rome. A pope is not free to leavethe city, to be the head of the Church elsewhere; and in the same way apope, however well he may understand the modern world, has not the rightto relinquish the temporal power. This is an inalienable inheritancewhich he must defend, and it is moreover a question of life, peremptory, above discussion. And thus Leo XIII has retained the title of Master ofthe temporal dominions of the Church, and this he has done the morereadily since as a cardinal--like all the members of the Sacred Collegewhen elected--he swore that he would maintain those dominions intact. Italy may hold Rome as her capital for another century or more, but thecoming popes will never cease to protest and claim their kingdom. If everan understanding should be arrived at, it must be based on the gift of astrip of territory. Formerly, when rumours of reconciliation werecurrent, was it not said that the papacy exacted, as a formal condition, the possession of at least the Leonine City with the neutralisation of aroad leading to the sea? Nothing is not enough, one cannot start fromnothing to attain to everything, whereas that Civitas Leonina, that bitof a city, would already be a little royal ground, and it would then onlybe necessary to conquer the rest, first Rome, next Italy, then theneighbouring states, and at last the whole world. Never has the Churchdespaired, even when, beaten and despoiled, she seemed to be at the lastgasp. Never will she abdicate, never will she renounce the promises ofthe Christ, for she believes in a boundless future and declares herselfto be both indestructible and eternal. Grant her but a pebble on which torest her head, and she will hope to possess, first the field in whichthat pebble lies, and then the empire in which the field is situated. Ifone pope cannot achieve the recovery of the inheritance, another pope, ten, twenty other popes will continue the work. The centuries do notcount. And this explains why an old man of eighty-four has undertakencolossal enterprises whose achievement requires several lives, certain ashe is that his successors will take his place, and that the work willever and ever be carried forward and completed. 

As these thoughts coursed through his mind, Pierre, overlooking thatancient city of glory and domination, so stubbornly clinging to itspurple, realised that he was an imbecile with his dream of a purelyspiritual pope. The notion seemed to him so different from the reality, so out of place, that he experienced a sort of shame-fraught despair. Thenew pope, consonant to the teachings of the Gospel, such as a purelyspiritual pope reigning over souls alone, would be, was virtually beyondthe ken of a Roman prelate. At thought of that papal court congealed inritual, pride, and authority, Pierre suddenly understood what horror andrepugnance such a pastor would inspire. How great must be theastonishment and contempt of the papal prelates for that singular notionof the northern mind, a pope without dominions or subjects, militaryhousehold or royal honours, a pope who would be, as it were, a spirit, exercising purely moral authority, dwelling in the depths of God'stemple, and governing the world solely with gestures of benediction anddeeds of kindliness and love! All that was but a misty Gothic inventionfor this Latin clergy, these priests of light and magnificence, who werecertainly pious and even superstitious, but who left the Deity wellsheltered within the tabernacle in order to govern in His name, accordingto what they considered the interests of Heaven. Thence it arose thatthey employed craft and artifice like mere politicians, and lived by dintof expedients amidst the great battle of human appetites, marching withthe prudent, stealthy steps of diplomatists towards the final terrestrialvictory of the Christ, who, in the person of the Pope, was one day toreign over all the nations. And how stupefied must a French prelate havebeen--a prelate like Monseigneur Bergerot, that apostle of renunciationand charity--when he lighted amidst that world of the Vatican! Howdifficult must it have been for him to understand and focus things, andafterwards how great his grief at finding himself unable to come to anyagreement with those men without country, without fatherland, those"internationals, " who were ever poring over the maps of both hemispheres, ever absorbed in schemes which were to bring them empire. Days and dayswere necessary, one needed to live in Rome, and he, Pierre himself, hadonly seen things clearly after a month's sojourn, whilst labouring underthe violent shock of the royal pomp of St. Peter's, and standing face toface with the ancient city as it slumbered heavily in the sunlight anddreamt its dream of eternity. 

But on lowering his eyes to the piazza in front of the Basilica heperceived the multitude, the 40, 000 believers streaming over the pavementlike insects. And then he thought that he could hear the cry againrising: "/Evviva il Papa-Re! evviva il Papa-Re/! Long live thePope-King!" Whilst ascending those endless staircases a moment previouslyit had seemed to him as if the colossus of stone were quivering with thefrantic shout raised beneath its ceilings. And now that he had climbedeven into cloudland that shout apparently was traversing space. If thecolossal pile beneath him still vibrated with it, was it not as with alast rise of sap within its ancient walls, a reinvigoration of thatCatholic blood which formerly had demanded that the pile should be astupendous one, the veritable king of temples, and which now was strivingto reanimate it with the powerful breath of life, and this at the veryhour when death was beginning to fall upon its over-vast, deserted naveand aisles? The crowd was still streaming forth, filling the piazza, andPierre's heart was wrung by frightful anguish, for that throng with itsshout had just swept his last hope away. On the previous afternoon, afterthe reception of the pilgrimage, he had yet been able to deceive himselfby overlooking the necessity for money which bound the Pope to earth inorder that he might see nought but the feeble old man, all spirituality, resplendent like the symbol of moral authority. But his faith in such apastor of the Gospel, free from all considerations of earthly wealth, andking of none other than a heavenly kingdom, had fled. Not only did thePeter's Pence impose hard servitude upon Leo XIII but he was also theprisoner of papal tradition--the eternal King of Rome, riveted to thesoil of Rome, unable either to quit the city or to renounce the temporalpower. The fatal end would be collapse on the spot, the dome of St. Peter's falling even as the temple of Olympian Jupiter had fallen, Catholicism strewing the grass with its ruins whilst elsewhere schismburst forth: a new faith for the new nations. Of this Pierre had agrandiose and tragical vision: he beheld his dream destroyed, his bookswept away amidst that cry which spread around him as if flying to thefour corners of the Catholic world "/Evviva il Papa-Re! evviva ilPapa-Re! Long live the Pope-King!" But even in that hour of the papacy'spassing triumph he already felt that the giant of gold and marble onwhich he stood was oscillating, even as totter all old and rottensocieties. 

At last he took his way down again, and a fresh shock of emotion came tohim as he reached the roofs, that sunlit expanse of lead and zinc, largeenough for the site of a town. Monsignor Nani was there, in company withthe two French ladies, the mother and the daughter, both looking veryhappy and highly amused. No doubt the prelate had good-naturedly offeredto conduct them to the dome. However, as soon as he recognised the youngpriest he went towards him: "Well, my dear son, " he inquired, "are youpleased? Have you been impressed, edified?" As he spoke, his searchingeyes dived into Pierre's soul, as if to ascertain the present result ofhis experiments. Then, satisfied with what he detected, he began to laughsoftly: "Yes, yes, I see--come, you are a sensible fellow after all. Ibegin to think that the unfortunate affair which brought you here willhave a happy ending. "

VIII

WHEN Pierre remained in the morning at the Boccanera mansion he oftenspent some hours in the little neglected garden which had formerly endedwith a sort of colonnaded /loggia/, whence two flights of steps descendedto the Tiber. This garden was a delightful, solitary nook, perfumed bythe ripe fruit of the centenarian orange-trees, whose symmetrical lineswere the only indication of the former pathways, now hidden beneath rankweeds. And Pierre also found there the acrid scent of the largebox-shrubs growing in the old central fountain basin, which had beenfilled up with loose earth and rubbish. 

On those luminous October mornings, full of such tender and penetratingcharm, the spot was one where all the joy of living might well besavoured, but Pierre brought thither his northern dreaminess, his concernfor suffering, his steadfast feeling of compassion, which rendered yetsweeter the caress of the sunlight pervading that atmosphere of love. Heseated himself against the right-hand wall on a fragment of a fallencolumn over which a huge laurel cast a deep-black shadow, fresh andaromatic. In the antique greenish sarcophagus beside him, on which faunsoffered violence to nymphs, the streamlet of water trickling from themask incrusted in the wall, set the unchanging music of its crystal note, whilst he read the newspapers and the letters which he received, all thecommunications of good Abbe Rose, who kept him informed of his missionamong the wretched ones of gloomy Paris, now already steeped in fog andmud. 

One morning however, Pierre unexpectedly found Benedetta seated on thefallen column which he usually made his chair. She raised a light cry ofsurprise on seeing him, and for a moment remained embarrassed, for shehad with her his book "New Rome, " which she had read once already, buthad then imperfectly understood. And overcoming her embarrassment she nowhastened to detain him, making him sit down beside her, and franklyowning that she had come to the garden in order to be alone and applyherself to an attentive study of the book, in the same way as someignorant school-girl. Then they began to chat like a pair of friends, andthe young priest spent a delightful hour. Although Benedetta did notspeak of herself, he realised that it was her grief alone which broughther nearer to him, as if indeed her own sufferings enlarged her heart andmade her think of all who suffered in the world. Patrician as she was, regarding social hierarchy as a divine law, she had never previouslythought of such things, and some pages of Pierre's book greatlyastonished her. What! one ought to take interest in the lowly, realisethat they had the same souls and the same griefs as oneself, and seek inbrotherly or sisterly fashion to make them happy? She certainly sought toacquire such an interest, but with no great success, for she secretlyfeared that it might lead her into sin, as it could not be right to alteraught of the social system which had been established by God andconsecrated by the Church. Charitable she undoubtedly was, wont to bestowsmall sums in alms, but she did not give her heart, she felt no truesympathy for the humble, belonging as she did to such a different race, which looked to a throne in heaven high above the seats of all theplebeian elect. 

She and Pierre, however, found themselves on other mornings side by sidein the shade of the laurels near the trickling, singing water; and he, lacking occupation, weary of waiting for a solution which seemed torecede day by day, fervently strove to animate this young and beautifulwoman with some of his own fraternal feelings. He was impassioned by theidea that he was catechising Italy herself, the queen of beauty, who wasstill slumbering in ignorance, but who would recover all her past gloryif she were to awake to the new times with soul enlarged, swelling withpity for men and things. Reading good Abbe Rose's letters to Benedetta, he made her shudder at the frightful wail of wretchedness which ascendsfrom all great cities. With such deep tenderness in her eyes, with thehappiness of love reciprocated emanating from her whole being, why shouldshe not recognise, even as he did, that the law of love was the solemeans of saving suffering humanity, which, through hatred, incurred thedanger of death? And to please him she did try to believe in democracy, in the fraternal remodelling of society, but among other nationsonly--not at Rome, for an involuntary, gentle laugh came to her lipswhenever his words evoked the idea of the poor still remaining in theTrastevere district fraternising with those who yet dwelt in the oldprincely palaces. No, no, things had been as they were so long; theycould not, must not, be altered! And so, after all, Pierre's pupil madelittle progress: she was, in reality, simply touched by the wealth ofardent love which the young priest had chastely transferred from onealone to the whole of human kind. And between him and her, as thosesunlit October mornings went by, a tie of exquisite sweetness was formed;they came to love one another with deep, pure, fraternal affection, amidst the great glowing passion which consumed them both. 

Then, one day, Benedetta, her elbow resting on the sarcophagus, spoke ofDario, whose name she had hitherto refrained from mentioning. Ah! poor/amico/, how circumspect and repentant he had shown himself since thatfit of brutal insanity! At first, to conceal his embarrassment, he hadgone to spend three days at Naples, and it was said that La Tonietta, thesentimental /demi-mondaine/, had hastened to join him there, wildly inlove with him. Since his return to the mansion he had avoided all privatemeetings with his cousin, and scarcely saw her except at the Mondayreceptions, when he wore a submissive air, and with his eyes silentlyentreated forgiveness. 

"Yesterday, however, " continued Benedetta, "I met him on the staircaseand gave him my hand. He understood that I was no longer angry with himand was very happy. What else could I have done? One must not be severefor ever. Besides, I do not want things to go too far between him andthat woman. I want him to remember that I still love him, and am stillwaiting for him. Oh! he is mine, mine alone. But alas! I cannot say theword: our affairs are in such sorry plight. "

She paused, and two big tears welled into her eyes. The divorceproceedings to which she alluded had now come to a standstill, freshobstacles ever arising to stay their course. 

Pierre was much moved by her tears, for she seldom wept. She herselfsometimes confessed, with her calm smile, that she did not know how toweep. But now her heart was melting, and for a moment she remainedovercome, leaning on the mossy, crumbling sarcophagus, whilst the clearwater falling from the gaping mouth of the tragic mask still sounded itsflutelike note. And a sudden thought of death came to the priest as hesaw her, so young and so radiant with beauty, half fainting beside thatmarble resting-place where fauns were rushing upon nymphs in a franticbacchanal which proclaimed the omnipotence of love--that omnipotencewhich the ancients were fond of symbolising on their tombs as a token oflife's eternity. And meantime a faint, warm breeze passed through thesunlit, silent garden, wafting hither and thither the penetrating scentof box and orange. 

"One has so much strength when one loves, " Pierre at last murmured. 

"Yes, yes, you are right, " she replied, already smiling again. "I amchildish. But it is the fault of your book. It is only when I suffer thatI properly understand it. But all the same I am making progress, am Inot? Since you desire it, let all the poor, all those who suffer, as Ido, be my brothers and sisters. "

Then for a while they resumed their chat. 

On these occasions Benedetta was usually the first to return to thehouse, and Pierre would linger alone under the laurels, vaguely dreamingof sweet, sad things. Often did he think how hard life proved for poorcreatures whose only thirst was for happiness!

One Monday evening, at a quarter-past ten, only the young folks remainedin Donna Serafina's reception-room. Monsignor Nani had merely put in anappearance that night, and Cardinal Sarno had just gone off. 

Even Donna Serafina, in her usual seat by the fireplace, seemed to havewithdrawn from the others, absorbed as she was in contemplation of thechair which the absent Morano still stubbornly left unoccupied. Chattingand laughing in front of the sofa on which sat Benedetta and Celia wereDario, Pierre, and Narcisse Habert, the last of whom had begun to twitthe young Prince, having met him, so he asserted, a few days previously, in the company of a very pretty girl. 

"Oh! don't deny it, my dear fellow, " continued Narcisse, "for she wasreally superb. She was walking beside you, and you turned into a lanetogether--the Borgo Angelico, I think. "

Dario listened smiling, quite at his ease and incapable of denying hispassionate predilection for beauty. "No doubt, no doubt; it was I, Idon't deny it, " he responded. "Only the inferences you draw are notcorrect. " And turning towards Benedetta, who, without a thought ofjealous anxiety, wore as gay a look as himself, as though delighted thathe should have enjoyed that passing pleasure of the eyes, he went on: "Itwas the girl, you know, whom I found in tears six weeks ago. Yes, thatbead-worker who was sobbing because the workshop was shut up, and whorushed along, all blushing, to conduct me to her parents when I offeredher a bit of silver. Pierina her name is, as you, perhaps, remember. "

"Oh! yes, Pierina. "

"Well, since then I've met her in the street on four or five occasions. And, to tell the truth, she is so very beautiful that I've stopped andspoken to her. The other day, for instance, I walked with her as far as amanufacturer's. But she hasn't yet found any work, and she began to cry, and so, to console her a little, I kissed her. She was quite taken abackat it, but she seemed very well pleased. "

At this all the others began to laugh. But suddenly Celia desisted andsaid very gravely, "You know, Dario, she loves you; you must not be hardon her. "

Dario, no doubt, was of Celia's opinion, for he again looked atBenedetta, but with a gay toss of the head, as if to say that, althoughthe girl might love him, he did not love her. A bead-worker indeed, agirl of the lowest classes, pooh! She might be a Venus, but she could benothing to him. And he himself made merry over his romantic adventure, which Narcisse sought to arrange in a kind of antique sonnet: A beautifulbead-worker falling madly in love with a young prince, as fair assunlight, who, touched by her misfortune, hands her a silver crown; thenthe beautiful bead-worker, quite overcome at finding him as charitable ashandsome, dreaming of him incessantly, and following him everywhere, chained to his steps by a link of flame; and finally the beautifulbead-worker, who has refused the silver crown, so entreating the handsomeprince with her soft, submissive eyes, that he at last deigns to granther the alms of his heart. This pastime greatly amused Benedetta; butCelia, with her angelic face and the air of a little girl who ought tohave been ignorant of everything, remained very grave and repeated sadly, "Dario, Dario, she loves you; you must not make her suffer. "

Then the Contessina, in her turn, was moved to pity. "And those poorfolks are not happy!" said she. 

"Oh!" exclaimed the Prince, "it's misery beyond belief. On the day shetook me to the Quartiere dei Prati* I was quite overcome; it was awful, astonishingly awful!"

 * The district of the castle meadows--see /ante/ note. --Trans. 

"But I remember that we promised to go to see the poor people, " resumedBenedetta, "and we have done wrong in delaying our visit so long. Foryour studies, Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, you greatly desired to accompanyus and see the poor of Rome--was that not so?"

As she spoke she raised her eyes to Pierre, who for a moment had beensilent. He was much moved by her charitable thought, for he realised, bythe faint quiver of her voice, that she desired to appear a docile pupil, progressing in affection for the lowly and the wretched. Moreover, hispassion for his apostolate had at once returned to him. "Oh!" said he, "Ishall not quit Rome without having seen those who suffer, those who lackwork and bread. Therein lies the malady which affects every nation;salvation can only be attained by the healing of misery. When the rootsof the tree cannot find sustenance the tree dies. "

"Well, " resumed the Contessina, "we will fix an appointment at once; youshall come with us to the Quartiere dei Prati--Dario will take us there. "

At this the Prince, who had listened to the priest with an air ofstupefaction, unable to understand the simile of the tree and its roots, began to protest distressfully, "No, no, cousin, take Monsieur l'Abbe fora stroll there if it amuses you. But I've been, and don't want to goback. Why, when I got home the last time I was so upset that I almosttook to my bed. No, no; such abominations are too awful--it isn'tpossible. "

At this moment a voice, bitter with displeasure, arose from the chimneycorner. Donna Serafina was emerging from her long silence. "Dario isquite right! Send your alms, my dear, and I will gladly add mine. Thereare other places where you might take Monsieur l'Abbe, and which it wouldbe far more useful for him to see. With that idea of yours you would sendhim away with a nice recollection of our city. "

Roman pride rang out amidst the old lady's bad temper. Why, indeed, showone's sores to foreigners, whose visit is possibly prompted by hostilecuriosity? One always ought to look beautiful; Rome should not be shownotherwise than in the garb of glory. 

Narcisse, however, had taken possession of Pierre. "It's true, my dearAbbe, " said he; "I forgot to recommend that stroll to you. You reallymust visit the new district built over the castle meadows. It's typical, and sums up all the others. And you won't lose your time there, I'llwarrant you, for nowhere can you learn more about the Rome of the presentday. It's extraordinary, extraordinary!" Then, addressing Benedetta, headded, "Is it decided? Shall we say to-morrow morning? You'll find theAbbe and me over there, for I want to explain matters to him beforehand, in order that he may understand them. What do you say to ten o'clock?"

Before answering him the Contessina turned towards her aunt andrespectfully opposed her views. "But Monsieur l'Abbe, aunt, has metenough beggars in our streets already, so he may well see everything. Besides, judging by his book, he won't see worse things than he has seenin Paris. As he says in one passage, hunger is the same all the worldover. " Then, with her sensible air, she gently laid siege to Dario. "Youknow, Dario, " said she, "you would please me very much by taking methere. We can go in the carriage and join these gentlemen. It will be avery pleasant outing for us. It is such a long time since we went outtogether. "

It was certainly that idea of going out with Dario, of having a pretextfor a complete reconciliation with him, that enchanted her; he himselfrealised it, and, unable to escape, he tried to treat the matter as ajoke. "Ah! cousin, " he said, "it will be your fault; I shall have thenightmare for a week. An excursion like that spoils all the enjoyment oflife for days and days. "

The mere thought made him quiver with revolt. However, laughter againrang out around him, and, in spite of Donna Serafina's mute disapproval, the appointment was finally fixed for the following morning at teno'clock. Celia as she went off expressed deep regret that she could notform one of the party; but, with the closed candour of a budding lily, she really took interest in Pierina alone. As she reached the ante-roomshe whispered in her friend's ear: "Take a good look at that beauty, mydear, so as to tell me whether she is so very beautiful--beautiful beyondcompare. "

When Pierre met Narcisse near the Castle of Sant' Angelo on the morrow, at nine o'clock, he was surprised to find him again languid andenraptured, plunged anew in artistic enthusiasm. At first not a word wassaid of the excursion. Narcisse related that he had risen at sunrise inorder that he might spend an hour before Bernini's "Santa Teresa. " Itseemed that when he did not see that statue for a week he suffered asacutely as if he were parted from some cherished mistress. And hisadoration varied with the time of day, according to the light in which hebeheld the figure: in the morning, when the pale glow of dawn steeped itin whiteness, he worshipped it with quite a mystical transport of thesoul, whilst in the afternoon, when the glow of the declining sun'soblique rays seemed to permeate the marble, his passion became as fieryred as the blood of martyrs. "Ah! my friend, " said he with a weary airwhilst his dreamy eyes faded to mauve, "you have no idea how delightfuland perturbing her awakening was this morning--how languorously sheopened her eyes, like a pure, candid virgin, emerging from the embrace ofthe Divinity. One could die of rapture at the sight!"

Then, growing calm again when he had taken a few steps, he resumed in thevoice of a practical man who does not lose his balance in the affairs oflife: "We'll walk slowly towards the castle-fields district--thebuildings yonder; and on our way I'll tell you what I know of the thingswe shall see there. It was the maddest affair imaginable, one of thosedelirious frenzies of speculation which have a splendour of their own, just like the superb, monstrous masterpiece of a man of genius whose mindis unhinged. I was told of it all by some relatives of mine, who tookpart in the gambling, and, in point of fact, made a good deal of money byit. "

Thereupon, with the clearness and precision of a financier, employingtechnical terms with perfect ease, he recounted the extraordinaryadventure. That all Italy, on the morrow of the occupation of Rome, should have been delirious with enthusiasm at the thought of at lastpossessing the ancient and glorious city, the eternal capital to whichthe empire of the world had been promised, was but natural. It was, so tosay, a legitimate explosion of the delight and the hopes of a youngnation anxious to show its power. The question was to make Rome a moderncapital worthy of a great kingdom, and before aught else there weresanitary requirements to be dealt with: the city needed to be cleansed ofall the filth which disgraced it. One cannot nowadays imagine in whatabominable putrescence the city of the popes, the /Roma sporca/ whichartists regret, was then steeped: the vast majority of the houses lackedeven the most primitive arrangements, the public thoroughfares were usedfor all purposes, noble ruins served as store-places for sewage, theprincely palaces were surrounded by filth, and the streets were perfectmanure beds which fostered frequent epidemics. Thus vast municipal workswere absolutely necessary, the question was one of health and lifeitself. And in much the same way it was only right to think of buildinghouses for the newcomers, who would assuredly flock into the city. Therehad been a precedent at Berlin, whose population, after the establishmentof the German empire, had suddenly increased by some hundreds ofthousands. In the same way the population of Rome would certainly bedoubled, tripled, quadrupled, for as the new centre of national life thecity would necessarily attract all the /vis viva/ of the provinces. Andat this thought pride stepped in: the fallen government of the Vaticanmust be shown what Italy was capable of achieving, what splendour shewould bestow on the new and third Rome, which, by the magnificence of itsthoroughfares and the multitude of its people, would far excel either theimperial or the papal city. 

True, during the early years some prudence was observed; wisely enough, houses were only built in proportion as they were required. Thepopulation had doubled at one bound, rising from two to four hundredthousand souls, thanks to the arrival of the little world of employeesand officials of the public services--all those who live on the State orhope to live on it, without mentioning the idlers and enjoyers of lifewhom a Court always carries in its train. However, this influx ofnewcomers was a first cause of intoxication, for every one imagined thatthe increase would continue, and, in fact, become more and more rapid. And so the city of the day before no longer seemed large enough; it wasnecessary to make immediate preparations for the morrow's need byenlarging Rome on all sides. Folks talked, too, of the Paris of thesecond empire, which had been so extended and transformed into a city oflight and health. But unfortunately on the banks of the Tiber there wasneither any preconcerted general plan nor any clear-seeing man, master ofthe situation, supported by powerful financial organisations. And thework, begun by pride, prompted by the ambition of surpassing the Rome ofthe Caesars and the Popes, the determination to make the eternal, predestined city the queen and centre of the world once more, wascompleted by speculation, one of those extraordinary gambling frenzies, those tempests which arise, rage, destroy, and carry everything awaywithout premonitory warning or possibility of arresting their course. Allat once it was rumoured that land bought at five francs the metre hadbeen sold again for a hundred francs the metre; and thereupon the feverarose--the fever of a nation which is passionately fond of gambling. Aflight of speculators descending from North Italy swooped down upon Rome, the noblest and easiest of preys. Those needy, famished mountaineersfound spoils for every appetite in that voluptuous South where life is sobenign, and the very delights of the climate helped to corrupt and hastenmoral gangrene. At first, too; it was merely necessary to stoop; moneywas to be found by the shovelful among the rubbish of the first districtswhich were opened up. People who were clever enough to scent the coursewhich the new thoroughfares would take and purchase buildings threatenedwith demolition increased their capital tenfold in a couple of years. Andafter that the contagion spread, infecting all classes--the princes, burgesses, petty proprietors, even the shop-keepers, bakers, grocers, andboot-makers; the delirium rising to such a pitch that a mere bakersubsequently failed for forty-five millions. * Nothing, indeed, was leftbut rageful gambling, in which the stakes were millions, whilst the landsand the houses became mere fictions, mere pretexts for stock-exchangeoperations. And thus the old hereditary pride, which had dreamt oftransforming Rome into the capital of the world, was heated to madness bythe high fever of speculation--folks buying, and building, and sellingwithout limit, without a pause, even as one might throw shares upon themarket as fast and as long as presses can be found to print them. 

 * 1, 800, 000 pounds. See /ante/ note. --Trans. 

No other city in course of evolution has ever furnished such a spectacle. Nowadays, when one strives to penetrate things one is confounded. Thepopulation had increased to five hundred thousand, and then seeminglyremained stationary; nevertheless, new districts continued to sprout upmore thickly than ever. Yet what folly it was not to wait for a furtherinflux of inhabitants! Why continue piling up accommodation for thousandsof families whose advent was uncertain? The only excuse lay in havingbeforehand propounded the proposition that the third Rome, the triumphantcapital of Italy, could not count less than a million souls, and inregarding that proposition as indisputable fact. The people had not come, but they surely would come: no patriot could doubt it without beingguilty of treason. And so houses were built and built without a pause, for the half-million citizens who were coming. There was no anxiety as tothe date of their arrival; it was sufficient that they should beexpected. Inside Rome the companies which had been formed in connectionwith the new thoroughfares passing through the old, demolished, pestiferous districts, certainly sold or let their house property, andthereby realised large profits. But, as the craze increased, othercompanies were established for the purpose of erecting yet more and moredistricts outside Rome--veritable little towns, of which there was noneed whatever. Beyond the Porta San Giovanni and the Porta San Lorenzo, suburbs sprang up as by miracle. A town was sketched out over the vastestate of the Villa Ludovisi, from the Porta Pia to the Porta Salaria andeven as far as Sant' Agnese. And then came an attempt to make quite alittle city, with church, school, and market, arise all at once on thefields of the Castle of Sant' Angelo. And it was no question of smalldwellings for labourers, modest flats for employees, and others oflimited means; no, it was a question of colossal mansions three and fourstoreys high, displaying uniform and endless facades which made these newexcentral quarters quite Babylonian, such districts, indeed, as onlycapitals endowed with intense life, like Paris and London, could contriveto populate. However, such were the monstrous products of pride andgambling; and what a page of history, what a bitter lesson now that Rome, financially ruined, is further disgraced by that hideous girdle of empty, and, for the most part, uncompleted carcases, whose ruins already strewthe grassy streets!

The fatal collapse, the disaster proved a frightful one. Narcisseexplained its causes and recounted its phases so clearly that Pierrefully understood. Naturally enough, numerous financial companies hadsprouted up: the Immobiliere, the Society d'Edilizia e Construzione, theFondaria, the Tiberiana, and the Esquilino. Nearly all of them built, erected huge houses, entire streets of them, for purposes of sale; butthey also gambled in land, selling plots at large profit to pettyspeculators, who also dreamt of making large profits amidst thecontinuous, fictitious rise brought about by the growing fever ofagiotage. And the worst was that the petty speculators, the middle-classpeople, the inexperienced shop-keepers without capital, were crazy enoughto build in their turn by borrowing of the banks or applying to thecompanies which had sold them the land for sufficient cash to enable themto complete their structures. As a general rule, to avoid the loss ofeverything, the companies were one day compelled to take back both landand buildings, incomplete though the latter might be, and from thecongestion which resulted they were bound to perish. If the expectedmillion of people had arrived to occupy the dwellings prepared for themthe gains would have been fabulous, and in ten years Rome might havebecome one of the most flourishing capitals of the world. But the peopledid not come, and the dwellings remained empty. Moreover, the buildingserected by the companies were too large and costly for the averageinvestor inclined to put his money into house property. Heredity hadacted, the builders had planned things on too huge a scale, raising aseries of magnificent piles whose purpose was to dwarf those of all otherages; but, as it happened, they were fated to remain lifeless anddeserted, testifying with wondrous eloquence to the impotence of pride. 

So there was no private capital that dared or could take the place ofthat of the companies. Elsewhere, in Paris for instance, new districtshave been erected and embellishments have been carried out with thecapital of the country--the money saved by dint of thrift. But in Romeall was built on the credit system, either by means of bills of exchangeat ninety days, or--and this was chiefly the case--by borrowing moneyabroad. The huge sum sunk in these enterprises is estimated at amilliard, four-fifths of which was French money. The bankers dideverything; the French ones lent to the Italian bankers at 3 1/2 or 4 percent. ; and the Italian bankers accommodated the speculators, the Romanbuilders, at 6, 7, and even 8 per cent. And thus the disaster was greatindeed when France, learning of Italy's alliance with Germany, withdrewher 800, 000, 000 francs in less than two years. The Italian banks weredrained of their specie, and the land and building companies, beinglikewise compelled to reimburse their loans, were compelled to apply tothe banks of issue, those privileged to issue notes. At the same timethey intimidated the Government, threatening to stop all work and throw40, 000 artisans and labourers starving on the pavement of Rome if it didnot compel the banks of issue to lend them the five or six millions ofpaper which they needed. And this the Government at last did, appalled bythe possibility of universal bankruptcy. Naturally, however, the five orsix millions could not be paid back at maturity, as the newly builthouses found neither purchasers nor tenants; and so the great fall began, and continued with a rush, heaping ruin upon ruin. The petty speculatorsfell on the builders, the builders on the land companies, the landcompanies on the banks of issue, and the latter on the public credit, ruining the nation. And that was how a mere municipal crisis became afrightful disaster: a whole milliard sunk to no purpose, Rome disfigured, littered with the ruins of the gaping and empty dwellings which had beenprepared for the five or six hundred thousand inhabitants for whom thecity yet waits in vain!

Moreover, in the breeze of glory which swept by, the state itself took acolossal view of things. It was a question of at once making Italytriumphant and perfect, of accomplishing in five and twenty years whatother nations have required centuries to effect. So there was feverishactivity and a prodigious outlay on canals, ports, roads, railway lines, and improvements in all the great cities. Directly after the alliancewith Germany, moreover, the military and naval estimates began to devourmillions to no purpose. And the ever growing financial requirements weresimply met by the issue of paper, by a fresh loan each succeeding year. In Rome alone, too, the building of the Ministry of War cost tenmillions, that of the Ministry of Finances fifteen, whilst a hundred wasspent on the yet unfinished quays, and two hundred and fifty were sunk onworks of defence around the city. And all this was a flare of the oldhereditary pride, springing from that soil whose sap can only blossom inextravagant projects; the determination to dazzle and conquer the worldwhich comes as soon as one has climbed to the Capitol, even though one'sfeet rest amidst the accumulated dust of all the forms of human powerwhich have there crumbled one above the other. 

"And, my dear friend, " continued Narcisse, "if I could go into all thestories that are current, that are whispered here and there, you would bestupefied at the insanity which overcame the whole city amidst theterrible fever to which the gambling passion gave rise. Folks of smallaccount, and fools and ignorant people were not the only ones to beruined; nearly all the Roman nobles lost their ancient fortunes, theirgold and their palaces and their galleries of masterpieces, which theyowed to the munificence of the popes. The colossal wealth which it hadtaken centuries of nepotism to pile up in the hands of a few melted awaylike wax, in less than ten years, in the levelling fire of modernspeculation. " Then, forgetting that he was speaking to a priest, he wenton to relate one of the whispered stories to which he had alluded:"There's our good friend Dario, Prince Boccanera, the last of the name, reduced to live on the crumbs which fall to him from his uncle theCardinal, who has little beyond his stipend left him. Well, Dario wouldbe a rich man had it not been for that extraordinary affair of the VillaMontefiori. You have heard of it, no doubt; how Prince Onofrio, Dario'sfather, speculated, sold the villa grounds for ten millions, then boughtthem back and built on them, and how, at last, not only the ten millionswere lost, but also all that remained of the once colossal fortune of theBoccaneras. What you haven't been told, however, is the secret part whichCount Prada--our Contessina's husband--played in the affair. He was thelover of Princess Boccanera, the beautiful Flavia Montefiori, who hadbrought the villa as dowry to the old Prince. She was a very fine woman, much younger than her husband, and it is positively said that it wasthrough her that Prada mastered the Prince--for she held her old dotinghusband at arm's length whenever he hesitated to give a signature or gofarther into the affair of which he scented the danger. And in all thisPrada gained the millions which he now spends, while as for the beautifulFlavia, you are aware, no doubt, that she saved a little fortune from thewreck and bought herself a second and much younger husband, whom sheturned into a Marquis Montefiori. In the whole affair the only victim isour good friend Dario, who is absolutely ruined, and wishes to marry hiscousin, who is as poor as himself. It's true that she's determined tohave him, and that it's impossible for him not to reciprocate her love. But for that he would have already married some American girl with adowry of millions, like so many of the ruined princes, on the verge ofstarvation, have done; that is, unless the Cardinal and Donna Serafinahad opposed such a match, which would not have been surprising, proud andstubborn as they are, anxious to preserve the purity of their old Romanblood. However, let us hope that Dario and the exquisite Benedetta willsome day be happy together. "

Narcisse paused; but, after taking a few steps in silence, he added in alower tone: "I've a relative who picked up nearly three millions in thatVilla Montefiori affair. Ah! I regret that I wasn't here in those heroicdays of speculation. It must have been very amusing; and what strokesthere were for a man of self-possession to make!"

However, all at once, as he raised his head, he saw before him theQuartiere dei Prati--the new district of the castle fields; and his facethereupon changed: he again became an artist, indignant with the modernabominations with which old Rome had been disfigured. His eyes paled, anda curl of his lips expressed the bitter disdain of a dreamer whosepassion for the vanished centuries was sorely hurt: "Look, look at itall!" he exclaimed. "To think of it, in the city of Augustus, the city ofLeo X, the city of eternal power and eternal beauty!"

Pierre himself was thunderstruck. The meadows of the Castle of Sant'Angelo, dotted with a few poplar trees, had here formerly stretchedalongside the Tiber as far as the first slopes of Monte Mario, thussupplying, to the satisfaction of artists, a foreground or greenery tothe Borgo and the dome of St. Peter's. But now, amidst the white, leprous, overturned plain, there stood a town of huge, massive houses, cubes of stone-work, invariably the same, with broad streets intersectingone another at right angles. From end to end similar facades appeared, suggesting series of convents, barracks, or hospitals. Extraordinary andpainful was the impression produced by this town so suddenly immobilisedwhilst in course of erection. It was as if on some accursed morning awicked magician had with one touch of his wand stopped the works andemptied the noisy stone-yards, leaving the buildings in mournfulabandonment. Here on one side the soil had been banked up; there deeppits dug for foundations had remained gaping, overrun with weeds. Therewere houses whose halls scarcely rose above the level of the soil; otherswhich had been raised to a second or third floor; others, again, whichhad been carried as high as was intended, and even roofed in, suggestingskeletons or empty cages. Then there were houses finished excepting thattheir walls had not been plastered, others which had been left withoutwindow frames, shutters, or doors; others, again, which had their doorsand shutters, but were nailed up like coffins with not a soul insidethem; and yet others which were partly, and in a few cases fully, inhabited--animated by the most unexpected of populations. And no wordscould describe the fearful mournfulness of that City of the SleepingBeauty, hushed into mortal slumber before it had even lived, lyingannihilated beneath the heavy sun pending an awakening which, likelyenough, would never come. 

Following his companion, Pierre walked along the broad, deserted streets, where all was still as in a cemetery. Not a vehicle nor a pedestrianpassed by. Some streets had no foot ways; weeds were covering the unpavedroads, turning them once more into fields; and yet there were temporarygas lamps, mere leaden pipes bound to poles, which had been there foryears. To avoid payment of the door and window tax, the house owners hadgenerally closed all apertures with planks; while some houses, of whichlittle had been built, were surrounded by high palings for fear lesttheir cellars should become the dens of all the bandits of the district. But the most painful sight of all was that of the young ruins, the proud, lofty structures, which, although unfinished, were already cracking onall sides, and required the support of an intricate arrangement oftimbers to prevent them from falling in dust upon the ground. A pang cameto one's heart as though one was in a city which some scourge haddepopulated--pestilence, war, or bombardment, of which these gapingcarcases seem to retain the mark. Then at the thought that this wasabortment, not death--that destruction would complete its work before thedreamt-of, vainly awaited denizens would bring life to the still-bornhouses, one's melancholy deepened to hopeless discouragement. And at eachcorner, moreover, there was the frightful irony of the magnificent marbleslabs which bore the names of the streets, illustrious historical names, Gracchus, Scipio, Pliny, Pompey, Julius Caesar, blazing forth on thoseunfinished, crumbling walls like a buffet dealt by the Past to modernincompetency. 

Then Pierre was once more struck by this truth--that whosoever possessesRome is consumed by the building frenzy, the passion for marble, theboastful desire to build and leave his monument of glory to futuregenerations. After the Caesars and the Popes had come the ItalianGovernment, which was no sooner master of the city than it wished toreconstruct it, make it more splendid, more huge than it had ever beenbefore. It was the fatal suggestion of the soil itself--the blood ofAugustus rushing to the brain of these last-comers and urging them to amad desire to make the third Rome the queen of the earth. Thence had comeall the vast schemes such as the cyclopean quays and the mere ministriesstruggling to outvie the Colosseum; and thence had come all the newdistricts of gigantic houses which had sprouted like towns around theancient city. It was not only on the castle fields, but at the Porta SanGiovanni, the Porta San Lorenzo, the Villa Ludovisi, and on the heightsof the Viminal and the Esquiline that unfinished, empty districts werealready crumbling amidst the weeds of their deserted streets. After twothousand years of prodigious fertility the soil really seemed to beexhausted. Even as in very old fruit gardens newly planted plum andcherry trees wither and die, so the new walls, no doubt, found no life inthat old dust of Rome, impoverished by the immemorial growth of so manytemples, circuses, arches, basilicas, and churches. And thus the modernhouses, which men had sought to render fruitful, the useless, over-hugehouses, swollen with hereditary ambition, had been unable to attainmaturity, and remained there sterile like dry bushes on a plot of landexhausted by over-cultivation. And the frightful sadness that one feltarose from the fact that so creative and great a past had culminated insuch present-day impotency--Rome, who had covered the world withindestructible monuments, now so reduced that she could only generateruins. 

"Oh, they'll be finished some day!" said Pierre. 

Narcisse gazed at him in astonishment: "For whom?"

That was the cruel question! Only by dint of patriotic enthusiasm on themorrow of the conquest had one been able to indulge in the hope of amighty influx of population, and now singular blindness was needed forthe belief that such an influx would ever take place. The pastexperiments seemed decisive; moreover, there was no reason why thepopulation should double: Rome offered neither the attraction of pleasurenor that of gain to be amassed in commerce and industry for those she hadnot, nor of intensity of social and intellectual life, since of this sheseemed no longer capable. In any case, years and years would berequisite. And, meantime, how could one people those houses which werefinished; and for whom was one to finish those which had remained mereskeletons, falling to pieces under sun and rain? Must they all remainthere indefinitely, some gaunt and open to every blast and others closedand silent like tombs, in the wretched hideousness of their inutility andabandonment? What a terrible proof of error they offered under theradiant sky! The new masters of Rome had made a bad start, and even ifthey now knew what they ought to have done would they have the courage toundo what they had done? Since the milliard sunk there seemed to bedefinitely lost and wasted, one actually hoped for the advent of a Nero, endowed with mighty, sovereign will, who would take torch and pick andburn and raze everything in the avenging name of reason and beauty. 

"Ah!" resumed Narcisse, "here are the Contessina and the Prince. "

Benedetta had told the coachman to pull up in one of the open spacesintersecting the deserted streets, and now along the broad, quiet, grassyroad--well fitted for a lovers' stroll--she was approaching on Dario'sarm, both of them delighted with their outing, and no longer thinking ofthe sad things which they had come to see. "What a nice day it is!" theContessina gaily exclaimed as she reached Pierre and Narcisse. "Howpleasant the sunshine is! It's quite a treat to be able to walk about alittle as if one were in the country!"

Dario was the first to cease smiling at the blue sky, all the delight ofhis stroll with his cousin on his arm suddenly departing. "My dear, " saidhe, "we must go to see those people, since you are bent on it, though itwill certainly spoil our day. But first I must take my bearings. I'm notparticularly clever, you know, in finding my way in places where I don'tcare to go. Besides, this district is idiotic with all its dead streetsand dead houses, and never a face or a shop to serve as a reminder. StillI think the place is over yonder. Follow me; at all events, we shallsee. "

The four friends then wended their way towards the central part of thedistrict, the part facing the Tiber, where a small nucleus of apopulation had collected. The landlords turned the few completed housesto the best advantage they could, letting the rooms at very low rentals, and waiting patiently enough for payment. Some needy employees, somepoverty-stricken families--had thus installed themselves there, and inthe long run contrived to pay a trifle for their accommodation. Inconsequence, however, of the demolition of the ancient Ghetto and theopening of the new streets by which air had been let into the Trasteveredistrict, perfect hordes of tatterdemalions, famished and homeless, andalmost without garments, had swooped upon the unfinished houses, fillingthem with wretchedness and vermin; and it had been necessary to toleratethis lawless occupation lest all the frightful misery should remaindisplayed in the public thoroughfares. And so it was to those frightfultenants that had fallen the huge four and five storeyed palaces, enteredby monumental doorways flanked by lofty statues and having carvedbalconies upheld by caryatides all along their fronts. Each family hadmade its choice, often closing the frameless windows with boards and thegaping doorways with rags, and occupying now an entire princely flat andnow a few small rooms, according to its taste. Horrid-looking linen hungdrying from the carved balconies, foul stains already degraded the whitewalls, and from the magnificent porches, intended for sumptuousequipages, there poured a stream of filth which rotted in stagnant poolsin the roads, where there was neither pavement nor footpath. 

On two occasions already Dario had caused his companions to retrace theirsteps. He was losing his way and becoming more and more gloomy. "I oughtto have taken to the left, " said he, "but how is one to know amidst sucha set as that!"

Parties of verminous children were now to be seen rolling in the dust;they were wondrously dirty, almost naked, with black skins and tangledlocks as coarse as horsehair. There were also women in sordid skirts andwith their loose jackets unhooked. Many stood talking together in yelpingvoices, whilst others, seated on old chairs with their hands on theirknees, remained like that idle for hours. Not many men were met; but afew lay on the scorched grass, sleeping heavily in the sunlight. However, the stench was becoming unbearable--a stench of misery as when the humananimal eschews all cleanliness to wallow in filth. And matters were madeworse by the smell from a small, improvised market--the emanations of therotting fruit, cooked and sour vegetables, and stale fried fish which afew poor women had set out on the ground amidst a throng of famished, covetous children. 

"Ah! well, my dear, I really don't know where it is, " all at onceexclaimed the Prince, addressing his cousin. "Be reasonable; we've surelyseen enough; let's go back to the carriage. "

He was really suffering, and, as Benedetta had said, he did not know howto suffer. It seemed to him monstrous that one should sadden one's lifeby such an excursion as this. Life ought to be buoyant and benign underthe clear sky, brightened by pleasant sights, by dance and song. And he, with his naive egotism, had a positive horror of ugliness, poverty, andsuffering, the sight of which caused him both mental and physical pain. 

Benedetta shuddered even as he did, but in presence of Pierre she desiredto be brave. Glancing at him, and seeing how deeply interested andcompassionate he looked, she desired to persevere in her effort tosympathise with the humble and the wretched. "No, no, Dario, we muststay. These gentlemen wish to see everything--is it not so?"

"Oh, the Rome of to-day is here, " exclaimed Pierre; "this tells one moreabout it than all the promenades among the ruins and the monuments. "

"You exaggerate, my dear Abbe, " declared Narcisse. "Still, I will admitthat it is very interesting. Some of the old women are particularlyexpressive. "

At this moment Benedetta, seeing a superbly beautiful girl in front ofher, could not restrain a cry of enraptured admiration: "/O chebellezza!"

And then Dario, having recognised the girl, exclaimed with the samedelight: "Why, it's La Pierina; she'll show us the way. "

The girl had been following the party for a moment already without daringto approach. Her eyes, glittering with the joy of a loving slave, had atfirst darted towards the Prince, and then had hastily scrutinised theContessina--not, however, with any show of jealous anger, but with anexpression of affectionate submission and resigned happiness at seeingthat she also was very beautiful. And the girl fully answered to thePrince's description of her--tall, sturdy, with the bust of a goddess, areal antique, a Juno of twenty, her chin somewhat prominent, her mouthand nose perfect in contour, her eyes large and full like a heifer's, andher whole face quite dazzling--gilded, so to say, by a sunflash--beneathher casque of heavy jet-black hair. 

"So you will show us the way?" said Benedetta, familiar and smiling, already consoled for all the surrounding ugliness by the thought thatthere should be such beautiful creatures in the world. 

"Oh yes, signora, yes, at once!" And thereupon Pierina ran off beforethem, her feet in shoes which at any rate had no holes, whilst the oldbrown woollen dress which she wore appeared to have been recently washedand mended. One seemed to divine in her a certain coquettish care, adesire for cleanliness, which none of the others displayed; unless, indeed, it were simply that her great beauty lent radiance to her humblegarments and made her appear a goddess. 

"/Che bellezza! the bellezza!/" the Contessina repeated without wearying. "That girl, Dario /mio/, is a real feast for the eyes!"

"I knew she would please you, " he quietly replied, flattered at havingdiscovered such a beauty, and no longer talking of departure, since hecould at last rest his eyes on something pleasant. 

Behind them came Pierre, likewise full of admiration, whilst Narcissespoke to him of the scrupulosity of his own tastes, which were for therare and the subtle. "She's beautiful, no doubt, " said he; "but at bottomnothing can be more gross than the Roman style of beauty; there's nosoul, none of the infinite in it. These girls simply have blood undertheir skins without ever a glimpse of heaven. "

Meantime Pierina had stopped, and with a wave of the hand directedattention to her mother, who sat on a broken box beside the lofty doorwayof an unfinished mansion. She also must have once been very beautiful, but at forty she was already a wreck, with dim eyes, drawn mouth, blackteeth, broadly wrinkled countenance, and huge fallen bosom. And she wasalso fearfully dirty, her grey wavy hair dishevelled and her skirt andjacket soiled and slit, revealing glimpses of grimy flesh. On her kneesshe held a sleeping infant, her last-born, at whom she gazed like oneoverwhelmed and courageless, like a beast of burden resigned to her fate. 

"/Bene, bene, /" said she, raising her head, "it's the gentleman who cameto give me a crown because he saw you crying. And he's come back to seeus with some friends. Well, well, there are some good hearts in the worldafter all. "

Then she related their story, but in a spiritless way, without seeking tomove her visitors. She was called Giacinta, it appeared, and had marrieda mason, one Tomaso Gozzo, by whom she had had seven children, Pierina, then Tito, a big fellow of eighteen, then four more girls, each at aninterval of two years, and finally the infant, a boy, whom she now had onher lap. They had long lived in the Trastevere district, in an old housewhich had lately been pulled down; and their existence seemed to havethen been shattered, for since they had taken refuge in the Quartiere deiPrati the crisis in the building trade had reduced Tomaso and Tito toabsolute idleness, and the bead factory where Pierina had earned as muchas tenpence a day--just enough to prevent them from dying of hunger--hadclosed its doors. At present not one of them had any work; they livedpurely by chance. 

"If you like to go up, " the woman added, "you'll find Tomaso there withhis brother Ambrogio, whom we've taken to live with us. They'll knowbetter than I what to say to you. Tomaso is resting; but what else can hedo? It's like Tito--he's dozing over there. "

So saying she pointed towards the dry grass amidst which lay a tall youngfellow with a pronounced nose, hard mouth, and eyes as admirable asPierina's. He had raised his head to glance suspiciously at the visitors, a fierce frown gathering on his forehead when he remarked how rapturouslyhis sister contemplated the Prince. Then he let his head fall again, butkept his eyes open, watching the pair stealthily. 

"Take the lady and gentlemen upstairs, Pierina, since they would like tosee the place, " said the mother. 

Other women had now drawn near, shuffling along with bare feet in oldshoes; bands of children, too, were swarming around; little girls buthalf clad, amongst whom, no doubt, were Giacinta's four. However, withtheir black eyes under their tangled mops they were all so much alikethat only their mothers could identify them. And the whole resembled ateeming camp of misery pitched on that spot of majestic disaster, thatstreet of palaces, unfinished yet already in ruins. 

With a soft, loving smile, Benedetta turned to her cousin. "Don't youcome up, " she gently said; "I don't desire your death, Dario /mio/. Itwas very good of you to come so far. Wait for me here in the pleasantsunshine: Monsieur l'Abbe and Monsieur Habert will go up with me. "

Dario began to laugh, and willingly acquiesced. Then lighting acigarette, he walked slowly up and down, well pleased with the mildnessof the atmosphere. 

La Pierina had already darted into the spacious porch whose lofty, vaulted ceiling was adorned with coffers displaying a rosaceous pattern. However, a veritable manure heap covered such marble slabs as had alreadybeen laid in the vestibule, whilst the steps of the monumental stonestaircase with sculptured balustrade were already cracked and so grimythat they seemed almost black. On all sides appeared the greasy stains ofhands; the walls, whilst awaiting the painter and gilder, had beensmeared with repulsive filth. 

On reaching the spacious first-floor landing Pierina paused, andcontented herself with calling through a gaping portal which lacked bothdoor and framework: "Father, here's a lady and two gentlemen to see you. "Then to the Contessina she added: "It's the third room at the end. " Andforthwith she herself rapidly descended the stairs, hastening back to herpassion. 

Benedetta and her companions passed through two large rooms, bossy withplaster under foot and having frameless windows wide open upon space; andat last they reached a third room, where the whole Gozzo family hadinstalled itself with the remnants it used as furniture. On the floor, where the bare iron girders showed, no boards having been laid down, werefive or six leprous-looking palliasses. A long table, which was stillstrong, occupied the centre of the room, and here and there were a fewold, damaged, straw-seated chairs mended with bits of rope. The greatbusiness had been to close two of the three windows with boards, whilstthe third one and the door were screened with some old mattress tickingstudded with stains and holes. 

Tomaso's face expressed the surprise of a man who is unaccustomed tovisits of charity. Seated at the table, with his elbows resting on it andhis chin supported by his hands, he was taking repose, as his wifeGiacinta had said. He was a sturdy fellow of five and forty, bearded andlong-haired; and, in spite of all his misery and idleness, his large facehad remained as serene as that of a Roman senator. However, the sight ofthe two foreigners--for such he at once judged Pierre and Narcisse to be, made him rise to his feet with sudden distrust. But he smiled onrecognising Benedetta, and as she began to speak of Dario, and to explainthe charitable purpose of their visit, he interrupted her: "Yes, yes, Iknow, Contessina. Oh! I well know who you are, for in my father's time Ionce walled up a window at the Palazzo Boccanera. "

Then he complaisantly allowed himself to be questioned, telling Pierre, who was surprised, that although they were certainly not happy they wouldhave found life tolerable had they been able to work two days a week. Andone could divine that he was, at heart, fairly well content to go onshort commons, provided that he could live as he listed without fatigue. His narrative and his manner suggested the familiar locksmith who, onbeing summoned by a traveller to open his trunk, the key of which waslost, sent word that he could not possibly disturb himself during thehour of the siesta. In short, there was no rent to pay, as there wereplenty of empty mansions open to the poor, and a few coppers would havesufficed for food, easily contented and sober as one was. 

"But oh, sir, " Tomaso continued, "things were ever so much better underthe Pope. My father, a mason like myself, worked at the Vatican all hislife, and even now, when I myself get a job or two, it's always there. Wewere spoilt, you see, by those ten years of busy work, when we never leftour ladders and earned as much as we pleased. Of course, we fed ourselvesbetter, and bought ourselves clothes, and took such pleasure as we caredfor; so that it's all the harder nowadays to have to stint ourselves. Butif you'd only come to see us in the Pope's time! No taxes, everything tobe had for nothing, so to say--why, one merely had to let oneself live. "

At this moment a growl arose from one of the palliasses lying in theshade of the boarded windows, and the mason, in his slow, quiet way, resumed: "It's my brother Ambrogio, who isn't of my opinion. 

"He was with the Republicans in '49, when he was fourteen. But it doesn'tmatter; we took him with us when we heard that he was dying of hunger andsickness in a cellar. "

The visitors could not help quivering with pity. Ambrogio was the elderby some fifteen years; and now, though scarcely sixty, he was already aruin, consumed by fever, his legs so wasted that he spent his days on hispalliasse without ever going out. Shorter and slighter, but moreturbulent than his brother, he had been a carpenter by trade. And, despite his physical decay, he retained an extraordinary head--the headof an apostle and martyr, at once noble and tragic in its expression, andencompassed by bristling snowy hair and beard. 

"The Pope, " he growled; "I've never spoken badly of the Pope. Yet it'shis fault if tyranny continues. He alone in '49 could have given us theRepublic, and then we shouldn't have been as we are now. "

Ambrogio had known Mazzini, whose vague religiosity remained in him--thedream of a Republican pope at last establishing the reign of liberty andfraternity. But later on his passion for Garibaldi had disturbed theseviews, and led him to regard the papacy as worthless, incapable ofachieving human freedom. And so, between the dream of his youth and thestern experience of his life, he now hardly knew in which direction thetruth lay. Moreover, he had never acted save under the impulse of violentemotion, but contented himself with fine words--vague, indeterminatewishes. 

"Brother Ambrogio, " replied Tomaso, all tranquillity, "the Pope is thePope, and wisdom lies in putting oneself on his side, because he willalways be the Pope--that is to say, the stronger. For my part, if we hadto vote to-morrow I'd vote for him. "

Calmed by the shrewd prudence characteristic of his race, the oldcarpenter made no haste to reply. At last he said, "Well, as for me, brother Tomaso, I should vote against him--always against him. And youknow very well that we should have the majority. The Pope-king indeed!That's all over. The very Borgo would revolt. Still, I won't say that weoughtn't to come to an understanding with him, so that everybody'sreligion may be respected. "

Pierre listened, deeply interested, and at last ventured to ask: "Arethere many socialists among the Roman working classes?"

This time the answer came after a yet longer pause. "Socialists? Yes, there are some, no doubt, but much fewer than in other places. All thosethings are novelties which impatient fellows go in for withoutunderstanding much about them. We old men, we were for liberty; we don'tbelieve in fire and massacre. "

Then, fearing to say too much in presence of that lady and thosegentlemen, Ambrogio began to moan on his pallet, whilst the Contessina, somewhat upset by the smell of the place, took her departure, aftertelling the young priest that it would be best for them to leave theiralms with the wife downstairs. Meantime Tomaso resumed his seat at thetable, again letting his chin rest on his hands as he nodded to hisvisitors, no more impressed by their departure than he had been by theirarrival: "To the pleasure of seeing you again, and am happy to have beenable to oblige you. "

On the threshold, however, Narcisse's enthusiasm burst forth; he turnedto cast a final admiring glance at old Ambrogio's head, "a perfectmasterpiece, " which he continued praising whilst he descended the stairs. 

Down below Giacinta was still sitting on the broken box with her infantacross her lap, and a few steps away Pierina stood in front of Dario, watching him with an enchanted air whilst he finished his cigarette. Tito, lying low in the grass like an animal on the watch for prey, didnot for a moment cease to gaze at them. 

"Ah, signora!" resumed the woman, in her resigned, doleful voice, "theplace is hardly inhabitable, as you must have seen. The only good thingis that one gets plenty of room. But there are draughts enough to killme, and I'm always so afraid of the children falling down some of theholes. "

Thereupon she related a story of a woman who had lost her life throughmistaking a window for a door one evening and falling headlong into thestreet. Then, too, a little girl had broken both arms by tumbling from astaircase which had no banisters. And you could die there without anybodyknowing how bad you were and coming to help you. Only the previous daythe corpse of an old man had been found lying on the plaster in a lonelyroom. Starvation must have killed him quite a week previously, yet hewould still have been stretched there if the odour of his remains had notattracted the attention of neighbours. 

"If one only had something to eat things wouldn't be so bad!" continuedGiacinta. "But it's dreadful when there's a baby to suckle and one getsno food, for after a while one has no milk. This little fellow wants histitty and gets angry with me because I can't give him any. But it isn'tmy fault. He has sucked me till the blood came, and all I can do is tocry. "

As she spoke tears welled into her poor dim eyes. But all at once sheflew into a tantrum with Tito, who was still wallowing in the grass likean animal instead of rising by way of civility towards those fine people, who would surely leave her some alms. "Eh! Tito, you lazy fellow, can'tyou get up when people come to see you?" she called. 

After some pretence of not hearing, the young fellow at last rose with anair of great ill-humour; and Pierre, feeling interested in him, tried todraw him out as he had done with the father and uncle upstairs. But Titoonly returned curt answers, as if both bored and suspicious. Since therewas no work to be had, said he, the only thing was to sleep. It was of nouse to get angry; that wouldn't alter matters. So the best was to live asone could without increasing one's worry. As for socialists--well, yes, perhaps there were a few, but he didn't know any. And his weary, indifferent manner made it quite clear that, if his father was for thePope and his uncle for the Republic, he himself was for nothing at all. In this Pierre divined the end of a nation, or rather the slumber of anation in which democracy has not yet awakened. However, as the priestcontinued, asking Tito his age, what school he had attended, and in whatdistrict he had been born, the young man suddenly cut the questions shortby pointing with one finger to his breast and saying gravely, "/Io son'Romano di Roma/. "

And, indeed, did not that answer everything? "I am a Roman of Rome. "Pierre smiled sadly and spoke no further. Never had he more fullyrealised the pride of that race, the long-descending inheritance of glorywhich was so heavy to bear. The sovereign vanity of the Caesars livedanew in that degenerate young fellow who was scarcely able to read andwrite. Starveling though he was, he knew his city, and couldinstinctively have recounted the grand pages of its history. The names ofthe great emperors and great popes were familiar to him. And why shouldmen toil and moil when they had been the masters of the world? Why notlive nobly and idly in the most beautiful of cities, under the mostbeautiful of skies? "/Io son' Romano di Roma/!"

Benedetta had slipped her alms into the mother's hand, and Pierre andNarcisse were following her example when Dario, who had already done so, thought of Pierina. He did not like to offer her money, but a pretty, fanciful idea occurred to him. Lightly touching his lips with hisfinger-tips, he said, with a faint laugh, "For beauty!"

There was something really pretty and pleasing in the kiss thus waftedwith a slightly mocking laugh by that familiar, good-natured young Princewho, as in some love story of the olden time, was touched by thebeautiful bead-worker's mute adoration. Pierina flushed with pleasure, and, losing her head, darted upon Dario's hand and pressed her warm lipsto it with unthinking impulsiveness, in which there was as much divinegratitude as tender passion. But Tito's eyes flashed with anger at thesight, and, brutally seizing his sister by the skirt, he threw her back, growling between his teeth, "None of that, you know, or I'll kill you, and him too!"

It was high time for the visitors to depart, for other women, scentingthe presence of money, were now coming forward with outstretched hands, or despatching tearful children in their stead. The whole wretched, abandoned district was in a flutter, a distressful wail ascended fromthose lifeless streets with high resounding names. But what was to bedone? One could not give to all. So the only course lay in flight--amidstdeep sadness as one realised how powerless was charity in presence ofsuch appalling want. 

When Benedetta and Dario had reached their carriage they hastened to taketheir seats and nestle side by side, glad to escape from all suchhorrors. Still the Contessina was well pleased with her bravery in thepresence of Pierre, whose hand she pressed with the emotion of a pupiltouched by the master's lesson, after Narcisse had told her that he meantto take the young priest to lunch at the little restaurant on the Piazzaof St. Peter's whence one obtained such an interesting view of theVatican. 

"Try some of the light white wine of Genzano, " said Dario, who had becomequite gay again. "There's nothing better to drive away the blues. "

However, Pierre's curiosity was insatiable, and on the way he againquestioned Narcisse about the people of modern Rome, their life, habits, and manners. There was little or no education, he learnt; no largemanufactures and no export trade existed. The men carried on the fewtrades that were current, all consumption being virtually limited to thecity itself. Among the women there were bead-workers and embroiderers;and the manufacture of religious articles, such as medals and chaplets, and of certain popular jewellery had always occupied a fair number ofhands. But after marriage the women, invariably burdened with numerousoffspring, attempted little beyond household work. Briefly, thepopulation took life as it came, working just sufficiently to securefood, contenting itself with vegetables, pastes, and scraggy mutton, without thought of rebellion or ambition. The only vices were gamblingand a partiality for the red and white wines of the Roman province--wineswhich excited to quarrel and murder, and on the evenings of feast days, when the taverns emptied, strewed the streets with groaning men, slashedand stabbed with knives. The girls, however, but seldom went wrong; onecould count those who allowed themselves to be seduced; and this arosefrom the great union prevailing in each family, every member of whichbowed submissively to the father's absolute authority. Moreover, thebrothers watched over their sisters even as Tito did over Pierina, guarding them fiercely for the sake of the family honour. And amidst allthis there was no real religion, but simply a childish idolatry, allhearts going forth to Madonna and the Saints, who alone were entreatedand regarded as having being: for it never occurred to anybody to thinkof God. 

Thus the stagnation of the lower orders could easily be understood. Behind them were the many centuries during which idleness had beenencouraged, vanity flattered, and nerveless life willingly accepted. Whenthey were neither masons, nor carpenters, nor bakers, they were servantsserving the priests, and more or less directly in the pay of the Vatican. Thence sprang the two antagonistic parties, on the one hand the morenumerous party composed of the old Carbonari, Mazzinians, andGaribaldians, the /elite/ of the Trastevere; and on the other the"clients" of the Vatican, all who lived on or by the Church and regrettedthe Pope-King. But, after all, the antagonism was confined to opinions;there was no thought of making an effort or incurring a risk. For that, some sudden flare of passion, strong enough to overcome the sturdycalmness of the race, would have been needed. But what would have beenthe use of it? The wretchedness had lasted for so many centuries, the skywas so blue, the siesta preferable to aught else during the hot hours!And only one thing seemed positive--that the majority was certainly infavour of Rome remaining the capital of Italy. Indeed, rebellion hadalmost broken out in the Leonine City when the cession of the latter tothe Holy See was rumoured. As for the increase of want and poverty, thiswas largely due to the circumstance that the Roman workman had reallygained nothing by the many works carried on in his city during fifteenyears. First of all, over 40, 000 provincials, mostly from the North, morespirited and resistant than himself, and working at cheaper rates, hadinvaded Rome; and when he, the Roman, had secured his share of thelabour, he had lived in better style, without thought of economy; so thatafter the crisis, when the 40, 000 men from the provinces were sent homeagain, he had found himself once more in a dead city where trade wasalways slack. And thus he had relapsed into his antique indolence, atheart well pleased at no longer being hustled by press of work, and againaccommodating himself as best he could to his old mistress, Want, emptyin pocket yet always a /grand seigneur/. 

However, Pierre was struck by the great difference between the want andwretchedness of Rome and Paris. In Rome the destitution was certainlymore complete, the food more loathsome, the dirt more repulsive. Yet atthe same time the Roman poor retained more ease of manner and more realgaiety. The young priest thought of the fireless, breadless poor ofParis, shivering in their hovels at winter time; and suddenly heunderstood. The destitution of Rome did not know cold. What a sweet andeternal consolation; a sun for ever bright, a sky for ever blue andbenign out of charity to the wretched! And what mattered the vileness ofthe dwelling if one could sleep under the sky, fanned by the warm breeze!What mattered even hunger if the family could await the windfall ofchance in sunlit streets or on the scorched grass! The climate inducedsobriety; there was no need of alcohol or red meat to enable one to facetreacherous fogs. Blissful idleness smiled on the golden evenings, poverty became like the enjoyment of liberty in that delightfulatmosphere where the happiness of living seemed to be all sufficient. Narcisse told Pierre that at Naples, in the narrow odoriferous streets ofthe port and Santa Lucia districts, the people spent virtually theirwhole lives out-of-doors, gay, childish, and ignorant, seeking nothingbeyond the few pence that were needed to buy food. And it was certainlythe climate which fostered the prolonged infancy of the nation, whichexplained why such a democracy did not awaken to social ambition andconsciousness of itself. No doubt the poor of Naples and Rome sufferedfrom want; but they did not know the rancour which cruel winter implantsin men's hearts, the dark rancour which one feels on shivering with coldwhile rich people are warming themselves before blazing fires. They didnot know the infuriated reveries in snow-swept hovels, when the gutteringdip burns low, the passionate need which then comes upon one to wreakjustice, to revolt, as from a sense of duty, in order that one may savewife and children from consumption, in order that they also may have awarm nest where life shall be a possibility! Ah! the want that shiverswith the bitter cold--therein lies the excess of social injustice, themost terrible of schools, where the poor learn to realise theirsufferings, where they are roused to indignation, and swear to make thosesufferings cease, even if in doing so they annihilate all olden society!

And in that same clemency of the southern heavens Pierre also found anexplanation of the life of St. Francis, * that divine mendicant of lovewho roamed the high roads extolling the charms of poverty. Doubtless hewas an unconscious revolutionary, protesting against the overflowingluxury of the Roman court by his return to the love of the humble, thesimplicity of the primitive Church. But such a revival of innocence andsobriety would never have been possible in a northern land. Theenchantment of Nature, the frugality of a people whom the sunlightnourished, the benignity of mendicancy on roads for ever warm, wereneeded to effect it. And yet how was it possible that a St. Francis, glowing with brotherly love, could have appeared in a land which nowadaysso seldom practises charity, which treats the lowly so harshly andcontemptuously, and cannot even bestow alms on its own Pope? Is itbecause ancient pride ends by hardening all hearts, or because theexperience of very old races leads finally to egotism, that one nowbeholds Italy seemingly benumbed amidst dogmatic and pompous Catholicism, whilst the return to the ideals of the Gospel, the passionate interest inthe poor and the suffering comes from the woeful plains of the North, from the nations whose sunlight is so limited? Yes, doubtless all thathas much to do with the change, and the success of St. Francis was inparticular due to the circumstance that, after so gaily espousing hislady, Poverty, he was able to lead her, bare-footed and scarcely clad, during endless and delightful spring-tides, among communities whom anardent need of love and compassion then consumed. 

 * St. Francis of Assisi, the founder of the famous order of mendicant friars. --Trans. 

While conversing, Pierre and Narcisse had reached the Piazza of St. Peter's, and they sat down at one of the little tables skirting thepavement outside the restaurant where they had lunched once before. Thelinen was none too clean, but the view was splendid. The Basilica rose upin front of them, and the Vatican on the right, above the majestic curveof the colonnade. Just as the waiter was bringing the /hors-d'oeuvre/, some /finocchio/* and anchovies, the young priest, who had fixed his eyeson the Vatican, raised an exclamation to attract Narcisse's attention:"Look, my friend, at that window, which I am told is the Holy Father's. Can't you distinguish a pale figure standing there, quite motionless?"

 * Fennel-root, eaten raw, a favourite "appetiser" in Rome during the spring and autumn. --Trans. 

The young man began to laugh. "Oh! well, " said he, "it must be the HolyFather in person. You are so anxious to see him that your very anxietyconjures him into your presence. "

"But I assure you, " repeated Pierre, "that he is over there behind thewindow-pane. There is a white figure looking this way. "

Narcisse, who was very hungry, began to eat whilst still indulging inbanter. All at once, however, he exclaimed: "Well, my dear Abbe, as thePope is looking at us, this is the moment to speak of him. I promised totell you how he sunk several millions of St. Peter's Patrimony in thefrightful financial crisis of which you have just seen the ruins; and, indeed, your visit to the new district of the castle fields would not becomplete without this story by way of appendix. "

Thereupon, without losing a mouthful, Narcisse spoke at considerablelength. At the death of Pius IX the Patrimony of St. Peter, it seemed, had exceeded twenty millions of francs. Cardinal Antonelli, whospeculated, and whose ventures were usually successful, had for a longtime left a part of this money with the Rothschilds and a part in thehands of different nuncios, who turned it to profit abroad. AfterAntonelli's death, however, his successor, Cardinal Simeoni, withdrew themoney from the nuncios to invest it at Rome; and Leo XIII on hisaccession entrusted the administration of the Patrimony to a commissionof cardinals, of which Monsignor Folchi was appointed secretary. Thisprelate, who for twelve years played such an important /role/, was theson of an employee of the Dataria, who, thanks to skilful financialoperations, had left a fortune of a million francs. Monsignor Folchiinherited his father's cleverness, and revealed himself to be a financierof the first rank in such wise that the commission gradually relinquishedits powers to him, letting him act exactly as he pleased and contentingitself with approving the reports which he laid before it at eachmeeting. The Patrimony, however, yielded scarcely more than a millionfrancs per annum, and, as the expenditure amounted to seven millions, sixhad to be found. Accordingly, from that other source of income, thePeter's Pence, the Pope annually gave three million francs to MonsignorFolchi, who, by skilful speculations and investments, was able to doublethem every year, and thus provide for all disbursements without everbreaking into the capital of the Patrimony. In the earlier times herealised considerable profit by gambling in land in and about Rome. Hetook shares also in many new enterprises, speculated in mills, omnibuses, and water-services, without mentioning all the gambling in which heparticipated with the Banca di Roma, a Catholic institution. Wonderstruckby his skill, the Pope, who, on his own side, had hitherto speculatedthrough the medium of a confidential employee named Sterbini, dismissedthe latter, and entrusted Monsignor Folchi with the duty of turning hismoney to profit in the same way as he turned that of the Holy See. Thiswas the climax of the prelate's favour, the apogee of his power. Bad dayswere dawning, things were tottering already, and the great collapse wassoon to come, sudden and swift like lightning. One of Leo XIII'spractices was to lend large sums to the Roman princes who, seized withthe gambling frenzy, and mixed up in land and building speculations, wereat a loss for money. To guarantee the Pope's advances they depositedshares with him, and thus, when the downfall came, he was left with heapsof worthless paper on his hands. Then another disastrous affair was anattempt to found a house of credit in Paris in view of working off theshares which could not be disposed of in Italy among the Frencharistocracy and religious people. To egg these on it was said that thePope was interested in the venture; and the worst was that he droppedthree millions of francs in it. * The situation then became the morecritical as he had gradually risked all the money he disposed of in theterrible agiotage going on in Rome, tempted thereto by the prospect ofhuge profits and perhaps indulging in the hope that he might win back bymoney the city which had been torn from him by force. His ownresponsibility remained complete, for Monsignor Folchi never made animportant venture without consulting him; and he must have been thereforethe real artisan of the disaster, mastered by his passion for gain, hisdesire to endow the Church with a huge capital, that great source ofpower in modern times. As always happens, however, the prelate was theonly victim. He had become imperious and difficult to deal with; and wasno longer liked by the cardinals of the commission, who were merelycalled together to approve such transactions as he chose to entrust tothem. So, when the crisis came, a plot was laid; the cardinals terrifiedthe Pope by telling him of all the evil rumours which were current, andthen forced Monsignor Folchi to render a full account of hisspeculations. The situation proved to be very bad; it was no longerpossible to avoid heavy losses. And so Monsignor Folchi was disgraced, and since then has vainly solicited an audience of Leo XIII, who hasalways refused to receive him, as if determined to punish him for theircommon fault--that passion for lucre which blinded them both. Very piousand submissive, however, Monsignor Folchi has never complained, but haskept his secrets and bowed to fate. Nobody can say exactly how manymillions the Patrimony of St. Peter lost when Rome was changed into agambling-hell, but if some prelates only admit ten, others go as far asthirty. The probability is that the loss was about fifteen millions. **

 * The allusion is evidently to the famous Union Generale, on which the Pope bestowed his apostolic benediction, and with which M. Zola deals at length in his novel /Money/. Certainly a very brilliant idea was embodied in the Union Generale, that of establishing a great international Catholic bank which would destroy the Jewish financial autocracy throughout Europe, and provide both the papacy and the Legitimist cause in several countries with the sinews of war. But in the battle which ensued the great Jew financial houses proved the stronger, and the disaster which overtook the Catholic speculators was a terrible one. --Trans. 

 ** That is 600, 000 pounds. 

Whilst Narcisse was giving this account he and Pierre had despatchedtheir cutlets and tomatoes, and the waiter was now serving them somefried chicken. "At the present time, " said Narcisse by way of conclusion, "the gap has been filled up; I told you of the large sums yielded by thePeter's Pence Fund, the amount of which is only known by the Pope, whoalone fixes its employment. And, by the way, he isn't cured ofspeculating: I know from a good source that he still gambles, though withmore prudence. Moreover, his confidential assistant is still a prelate. And, when all is said, my dear Abbe, he's in the right: a man must belongto his times--dash it all!"

Pierre had listened with growing surprise, in which terror and sadnessmingled. Doubtless such things were natural, even legitimate; yet he, inhis dream of a pastor of souls free from all terrestrial cares, had neverimagined that they existed. What! the Pope--the spiritual father of thelowly and the suffering--had speculated in land and in stocks and shares!He had gambled, placed funds in the hands of Jew bankers, practisedusury, extracted hard interest from money--he, the successor of theApostle, the Pontiff of Christ, the representative of Jesus, of theGospel, that divine friend of the poor! And, besides, what a painfulcontrast: so many millions stored away in those rooms of the Vatican, andso many millions working and fructifying, constantly being diverted fromone speculation to another in order that they might yield the more gain;and then down below, near at hand, so much want and misery in thoseabominable unfinished buildings of the new districts, so many poor folksdying of hunger amidst filth, mothers without milk for their babes, menreduced to idleness by lack of work, old ones at the last gasp likebeasts of burden who are pole-axed when they are of no more use! Ah! Godof Charity, God of Love, was it possible! The Church doubtless hadmaterial wants; she could not live without money; prudence and policy haddictated the thought of gaining for her such a treasure as would enableher to fight her adversaries victoriously. But how grievously thiswounded one's feelings, how it soiled the Church, how she descended fromher divine throne to become nothing but a party, a vast internationalassociation organised for the purpose of conquering and possessing theworld!

And the more Pierre thought of the extraordinary adventure the greaterwas his astonishment. Could a more unexpected, startling drama beimagined? That Pope shutting himself up in his palace--a prison, nodoubt, but one whose hundred windows overlooked immensity; that Pope who, at all hours of the day and night, in every season, could from his windowsee his capital, the city which had been stolen from him, and therestitution of which he never ceased to demand; that Pope who, day byday, beheld the changes effected in the city--the opening of new streets, the demolition of ancient districts, the sale of land, and the gradualerection of new buildings which ended by forming a white girdle aroundthe old ruddy roofs; that Pope who, in presence of this daily spectacle, this building frenzy, which he could follow from morn till eve, washimself finally overcome by the gambling passion, and, secluded in hisclosed chamber, began to speculate on the embellishments of his oldcapital, seeking wealth in the spurt of work and trade brought about bythat very Italian Government which he reproached with spoliation; andfinally that Pope losing millions in a catastrophe which he ought to havedesired, but had been unable to foresee! No, never had dethroned monarchyielded to a stranger idea, compromised himself in a more tragicalventure, the result of which fell upon him like divine punishment. And itwas no mere king who had done this, but the delegate of God, the man who, in the eyes of idolatrous Christendom, was the living manifestation ofthe Deity!

Dessert had now been served--a goat's cheese and some fruit--and Narcissewas just finishing some grapes when, on raising his eyes, he in turnexclaimed: "Well, you are quite right, my dear Abbe, I myself can see apale figure at the window of the Holy Father's room. "

Pierre, who scarcely took his eyes from the window, answered slowly:"Yes, yes, it went away, but has just come back, and stands there whiteand motionless. "

"Well, after all, what would you have the Pope do?" resumed Narcisse withhis languid air. "He's like everybody else; he looks out of the windowwhen he wants a little distraction, and certainly there's plenty for himto look at. "

The same idea had occurred to Pierre, and was filling him with emotion. People talked of the Vatican being closed, and pictured a dark, gloomypalace, encompassed by high walls, whereas this palace overlooked allRome, and the Pope from his window could see the world. Pierre himselfhad viewed the panorama from the summit of the Janiculum, the /loggie/ ofRaffaelle, and the dome of St. Peter's, and so he well knew what it wasthat Leo XIII was able to behold. In the centre of the vast desert of theCampagna, bounded by the Sabine and Alban mountains, the sevenillustrious hills appeared to him with their trees and edifices. His eyesranged also over all the basilicas, Santa Maria Maggiore, San Giovanni inLaterano, the cradle of the papacy, San Paolo-fuori-le-Mura, Santa Crocein Gerusalemme, Sant' Agnese, and the others; they beheld, too, the domesof the Gesu of Sant' Andrea della Valle, San Carlo and San Giovanni deiFiorentini, and indeed all those four hundred churches of Rome which makethe city like a /campo santo/ studded with crosses. And Leo XIII couldmoreover see the famous monuments testifying to the pride of successivecenturies--the Castle of Sant' Angelo, that imperial mausoleum which wastransformed into a papal fortress, the distant white line of the tombs ofthe Appian Way, the scattered ruins of the baths of Caracalla and theabode of Septimius Severus; and then, after the innumerable columns, porticoes, and triumphal arches, there were the palaces and villas of thesumptuous cardinals of the Renascence, the Palazzo Farnese, the PalazzoBorghese, the Villa Medici, and others, amidst a swarming of facades androofs. But, in particular, just under his window, on the left, the Popewas able to see the abominations of the unfinished district of the castlefields. In the afternoon, when he strolled through his gardens, bastionedby the wall of the fourth Leo like the plateau of a citadel, his viewstretched over the ravaged valley at the foot of Monte Mario, where somany brick-works were established during the building frenzy. The greenslopes are still ripped up, yellow trenches intersect them in alldirections, and the closed works and factories have become wretched ruinswith lofty, black, and smokeless chimneys. And at any other hour of theday Leo XIII could not approach his window without beholding theabandoned houses for which all those brick-fields had worked, thosehouses which had died before they even lived, and where there was nownought but the swarming misery of Rome, rotting there like somedecomposition of olden society. 

However, Pierre more particularly thought of Leo XIII, forgetting therest of the city to let his thoughts dwell on the Palatine, now bereft ofits crown of palaces and rearing only its black cypresses towards theblue heavens. Doubtless in his mind he rebuilt the palaces of theCaesars, whilst before him rose great shadowy forms arrayed in purple, visions of his real ancestors, those emperors and Supreme Pontiffs whoalone could tell him how one might reign over every nation and be theabsolute master of the world. Then, however, his glances strayed to theQuirinal, and there he could contemplate the new and neighbouringroyalty. How strange the meeting of those two palaces, the Quirinal andthe Vatican, which rise up and gaze at one another across the Rome of themiddle ages and the Renascence, whose roofs, baked and gilded by theburning sun, are jumbled in confusion alongside the Tiber. When the Popeand the King go to their windows they can with a mere opera-glass seeeach other quite distinctly. True, they are but specks in the boundlessimmensity, and what a gulf there is between them--how many centuries ofhistory, how many generations that battled and suffered, how muchdeparted greatness, and how much new seed for the mysterious future!Still, they can see one another, and they are yet waging the eternalfight, the fight as to which of them--the pontiff and shepherd of thesoul or the monarch and master of the body--shall possess the peoplewhose stream rolls beneath them, and in the result remain the absolutesovereign. And Pierre wondered also what might be the thoughts and dreamsof Leo XIII behind those window-panes where he still fancied he coulddistinguish his pale, ghostly figure. On surveying new Rome, the ravagedolden districts and the new ones laid waste by the blast of disaster, thePope must certainly rejoice at the colossal failure of the ItalianGovernment. His city had been stolen from him; the newcomers hadvirtually declared that they would show him how a great capital wascreated, and their boast had ended in that catastrophe--a multitude ofhideous and useless buildings which they did not even know how to finish!He, the Pope, could moreover only be delighted with the terrible worriesinto which the usurping /regime/ had fallen, the political crisis, andthe financial crisis, the whole growing national unrest amidst which that/regime/ seemed likely to sink some day; and yet did not he himselfpossess a patriotic soul? was he not a loving son of that Italy whosegenius and ancient ambition coursed in the blood of his veins? Ah! no, nothing against Italy; rather everything that would enable her to becomeonce more the mistress of the world. And so, even amidst the joy of hope, he must have been grieved to see her thus ruined, threatened withbankruptcy, displaying like a sore that overturned, unfinished Rome whichwas a confession of her impotency. But, on the other hand, if the Houseof Savoy were to be swept away, would he not be there to take its place, and at last resume possession of his capital, which, from his window, forfifteen years past, he had beheld in the grip of masons and demolishers?And then he would again be the master and reign over the world, enthronedin the predestined city to which prophecy has ensured eternity anduniversal dominion. 

But the horizon spread out, and Pierre wondered what Leo XIII beheldbeyond Rome, beyond the Campagna and the Sabine and Alban mountains. Whathad he seen for eighteen years past from that window whence he obtainedhis only view of the world? What echoes of modern society, its truths andcertainties, had reached his ears? From the heights of the Viminal, wherethe railway terminus stands, the prolonged whistling of engines must haveoccasionally been carried towards him, suggesting our scientificcivilisation, the nations brought nearer together, free humanity marchingon towards the future. Did he himself ever dream of liberty when, onturning to the right, he pictured the sea over yonder, past the tombs ofthe Appian Way? Had he ever desired to go off, quit Rome and hertraditions, and found the Papacy of the new democracies elsewhere? As hewas said to possess so clear and penetrating a mind he ought to haveunderstood and trembled at the far-away stir and noise that came fromcertain lands of battle, from those United States of America, forinstance, where revolutionary bishops were conquering, winning over thepeople. Were they working for him or for themselves? If he could notfollow them, if he remained stubborn within his Vatican, bound on everyside by dogma and tradition, might not rupture some day becomeunavoidable? And, indeed, the fear of a blast of schism, coming fromafar, must have filled him with growing anguish. It was assuredly on thataccount that he had practised the diplomacy of conciliation, seeking tounite in his hands all the scattered forces of the Church, overlookingthe audacious proceedings of certain bishops as far as possible, andhimself striving to gain the support of the people by putting himself onits side against the fallen monarchies. But would he ever go any farther?Shut up in that Vatican, behind that bronze portal, was he not bound tothe strict formulas of Catholicism, chained to them by the force ofcenturies? There obstinacy was fated; it was impossible for him to resignhimself to that which was his real and surpassing power, the purelyspiritual power, the moral authority which brought mankind to his feet, made thousands of pilgrims kneel and women swoon. Departure from Rome andthe renunciation of the temporal power would not displace the centre ofthe Catholic world, but would transform him, the head of the CatholicChurch, into the head of something else. And how anxious must have beenhis thoughts if the evening breeze ever brought him a vague presentimentof that something else, a fear of the new religion which was yet dimly, confusedly dawning amidst the tramp of the nations on the march, and thesound of which must have reached him at one and the same time from everypoint of the compass. 

At this precise moment, however, Pierre felt that the white andmotionless shadow behind those windowpanes was held erect by pride, bythe ever present conviction of victory. If man could not achieve it, amiracle would intervene. He, the Pope, was absolutely convinced that heor some successor would recover possession of Rome. Had not the Churchall eternity before it? And, moreover, why should not the victor behimself? Could not God accomplish the impossible? Why, if it so pleasedGod, on the very morrow his city would be restored to him, in spite ofall the objections of human reason, all the apparent logic of facts. Ah!how he would welcome the return of that prodigal daughter whose equivocaladventures he had ever watched with tears bedewing his paternal eyes! Hewould soon forget the excesses which he had beheld during eighteen yearsat all hours and in all seasons. Perhaps he dreamt of what he would dowith those new districts with which the city had been soiled. Should theybe razed, or left as evidence of the insanity of the usurpers? At allevents, Rome would again become the august and lifeless city, disdainfulof such vain matters as material cleanliness and comfort, and shiningforth upon the world like a pure soul encompassed by the traditionalglory of the centuries. And his dream continued, picturing the coursewhich events would take on the very morrow, no doubt. Anything, even arepublic was preferable to that House of Savoy. Why not a federalrepublic, reviving the old political divisions of Italy, restoring Rometo the Church, and choosing him, the Pope, as the natural protector ofthe country thus reorganised? But his eyes travelled beyond Rome andItaly, and his dream expanded, embracing republican France, Spain whichmight become republican again, Austria which would some day be won, andindeed all the Catholic nations welded into the United States of Europe, and fraternising in peace under his high presidency as Sovereign Pontiff. And then would follow the supreme triumph, all the other churches at lastvanishing, and all the dissident communities coming to him as to the oneand only pastor, who would reign in the name of Jesus over the universaldemocracy. 

However, whilst Pierre was immersed in this dream which he attributed toLeo XIII, he was all at once interrupted by Narcisse, who exclaimed: "Oh!my dear Abbe, just look at those statues on the colonnade. " The youngfellow had ordered a cup of coffee and was languidly smoking a cigar, deep once more in the subtle aesthetics which were his onlypreoccupation. "They are rosy, are they not?" he continued; "rosy, with atouch of mauve, as if the blue blood of angels circulated in their stoneveins. It is the sun of Rome which gives them that supra-terrestriallife; for they live, my friend; I have seen them smile and hold out theirarms to me during certain fine sunsets. Ah! Rome, marvellous, deliciousRome! One could live here as poor as Job, content with the veryatmosphere, and in everlasting delight at breathing it!"

This time Pierre could not help feeling surprised at Narcisse's language, for he remembered his incisive voice and clear, precise, financial acumenwhen speaking of money matters. And, at this recollection, the youngpriest's mind reverted to the castle fields, and intense sadness filledhis heart as for the last time all the want and suffering rose beforehim. Again he beheld the horrible filth which was tainting so many humanbeings, that shocking proof of the abominable social injustice whichcondemns the greater number to lead the joyless, breadless lives ofaccursed beasts. And as his glance returned yet once more to the windowof the Vatican, and he fancied he could see a pale hand uplifted behindthe glass panes, he thought of that papal benediction which Leo XIII gavefrom that height, over Rome, and over the plain and the hills, to thefaithful of all Christendom. And that papal benediction suddenly seemedto him a mockery, destitute of all power, since throughout such amultitude of centuries it had not once been able to stay a single one ofthe sufferings of mankind, and could not even bring a little justice forthose poor wretches who were agonising yonder beneath the very window. 

IX

THAT evening at dusk, as Benedetta had sent Pierre word that she desiredto see him, he went down to her little /salon/, and there found herchatting with Celia. 

"I've seen your Pierina, you know, " exclaimed the latter, just as theyoung priest came in. "And with Dario, too. Or rather, she must have beenwatching for him; he found her waiting in a path on the Pincio and smiledat her. I understood at once. What a beauty she is!"

Benedetta smiled at her friend's enthusiasm; but her lips twitchedsomewhat painfully, for, however sensible she might be, this passion, which she realised to be so naive and so strong, was beginning to makeher suffer. She certainly made allowances for Dario, but the girl was toomuch in love with him, and she feared the consequences. Even in turningthe conversation she allowed the secret of her heart to escape her. "Praysit down, Monsieur l'Abbe, " she said, "we are talking scandal, you see. My poor Dario is accused of making love to every pretty woman in Rome. People say that it's he who gives La Tonietta those white roses which shehas been exhibiting at the Corso every afternoon for a fortnight past. "

"That's certain, my dear, " retorted Celia impetuously. "At first peoplewere in doubt, and talked of little Pontecorvo and Lieutenant Moretta. But every one now knows that La Tonietta's caprice is Dario. Besides, hejoined her in her box at the Costanzi the other evening. "

Pierre remembered that the young Prince had pointed out La Tonietta atthe Pincio one afternoon. She was one of the few /demi-mondaines/ thatthe higher-class society of Rome took an interest in. For a month or sothe rich Englishman to whom she owed her means had been absent, travelling. 

"Ah!" resumed Benedetta, whose budding jealousy was entirely confined toLa Pierina, "so my poor Dario is ruining himself in white roses! Well, Ishall have to twit him about it. But one or another of these beautieswill end by robbing me of him if our affairs are not soon settled. Fortunately, I have had some better news. Yes, my suit is to be taken inhand again, and my aunt has gone out to-day on that very account. "

Then, as Victorine came in with a lamp, and Celia rose to depart, Benedetta turned towards Pierre, who also was rising from his chair:"Please stay, " said she; "I wish to speak to you. "

However, Celia still lingered, interested by the mention of the divorcesuit, and eager to know if the cousins would soon be able to marry. Andat last throwing her arms round Benedetta, she kissed her passionately. "So you are hopeful, my dear, " she exclaimed. "You think that the HolyFather will give you back your liberty? Oh! I am so pleased; it will beso nice for you to marry Dario! And I'm well pleased on my own account, for my father and mother are beginning to yield. Only yesterday I said tothem with that quiet little air of mine, 'I want Attilio, and you mustgive him me. ' And then my father flew into a furious passion andupbraided me, and shook his fist at me, saying that if he'd made my headas hard as his own he would know how to break it. My mother was therequite silent and vexed, and all at once he turned to her and said: 'Here, give her that Attilio she wants, and then perhaps we shall have somepeace!' Oh yes! I'm well pleased, very well pleased indeed!"

As she spoke her pure virginal face beamed with so much innocent, celestial joy that Pierre and Benedetta could not help laughing. And atlast she went off attended by a maid who had waited for her in the first/salon/. 

When they were alone Benedetta made the priest sit down again: "I havebeen asked to give you some important advice, my friend, " she said. "Itseems that the news of your presence in Rome is spreading, and that badreports of you are circulated. Your book is said to be a fierce appeal toschism, and you are spoken of as a mere ambitious, turbulent schismatic. After publishing your book in Paris you have come to Rome, it is said, toraise a fearful scandal over it in order to make it sell. Now, if youstill desire to see his Holiness, so as to plead your cause before him, you are advised to make people forget you, to disappear altogether for afortnight or three weeks. "

Pierre was stupefied. Why, they would end by maddening him with all theobstacles they raised to exhaust his patience; they would actuallyimplant in him an idea of schism, of an avenging, liberating scandal! Hewished to protest and refuse the advice, but all at once he made agesture of weariness. What would be the good of it, especially with thatyoung woman, who was certainly sincere and affectionate. "Who asked youto give me this advice?" he inquired. She did not answer, but smiled, andwith sudden intuition he resumed: "It was Monsignor Nani, was it not?"

Thereupon, still unwilling to give a direct reply, she began to praisethe prelate. He had at last consented to guide her in her divorce affair;and Donna Serafina had gone to the Palace of the Inquisition that veryafternoon in order to acquaint him with the result of certain steps shehad taken. Father Lorenza, the confessor of both the Boccanera ladies, was to be present at the interview, for the idea of the divorce was inreality his own. He had urged the two women to it in his eagerness tosever the bond which the patriotic priest Pisoni had tied full of suchfine illusions. Benedetta became quite animated as she explained thereasons of her hopefulness. "Monsignor Nani can do everything, " she said, "and I am very happy that my affair should be in his hands. You must bereasonable also, my friend; do as you are requested. I'm sure you willsome day be well pleased at having taken this advice. "

Pierre had bowed his head and remained thoughtful. There was nothingunpleasant in the idea of remaining for a few more weeks in Rome, whereday by day his curiosity found so much fresh food. Of course, all thesedelays were calculated to discourage him and bend his will. Yet what didhe fear, since he was still determined to relinquish nothing of his book, and to see the Holy Father for the sole purpose of proclaiming his newfaith? Once more, in silence, he took that oath, then yielded toBenedetta's entreaties. And as he apologised for being a source ofembarrassment in the house she exclaimed: "No, no, I am delighted to haveyou here. I fancy that your presence will bring us good fortune now thatluck seems to be changing in our favour. "

It was then agreed that he would no longer prowl around St. Peter's andthe Vatican, where his constant presence must have attracted attention. He even promised that he would virtually spend a week indoors, desirousas he was of reperusing certain books, certain pages of Rome's history. Then he went on chatting for a moment, lulled by the peacefulness whichreigned around him, since the lamp had illumined the /salon/ with itssleepy radiance. Six o'clock had just struck, and outside all was dark. 

"Wasn't his Eminence indisposed to-day?" the young man asked. 

"Yes, " replied the Contessina. "But we are not anxious: it is only alittle fatigue. He sent Don Vigilio to tell me that he intended to shuthimself up in his room and dictate some letters. So there can be nothingmuch the matter, you see. "

Silence fell again. For a while not a sound came from the deserted streetor the old empty mansion, mute and dreamy like a tomb. But all at oncethe soft somnolence, instinct with all the sweetness of a dream of hope, was disturbed by a tempestuous entry, a whirl of skirts, a gasp ofterror. It was Victorine, who had gone off after bringing the lamp, butnow returned, scared and breathless: "Contessina! Contessina!"

Benedetta had risen, suddenly quite white and cold, as at the advent of ablast of misfortune. "What, what is it? Why do you run and tremble?" sheasked. 

"Dario, Monsieur Dario--down below. I went down to see if the lantern inthe porch were alight, as it is so often forgotten. And in the dark, inthe porch, I stumbled against Monsieur Dario. He is on the ground; he hasa knife-thrust somewhere. "

A cry leapt from the /amorosa's/ heart: "Dead!"

"No, no, wounded. "

But Benedetta did not hear; in a louder and louder voice she cried:"Dead! dead!"

"No, no, I tell you, he spoke to me. And for Heaven's sake, be quiet. Hesilenced me because he did not want any one to know; he told me to comeand fetch you--only you. However, as Monsieur l'Abbe is here, he hadbetter help us. We shall be none too many. "

Pierre listened, also quite aghast. And when Victorine wished to take thelamp her trembling hand, with which she had no doubt felt the prostratebody, was seen to be quite bloody. The sight filled Benedetta with somuch horror that she again began to moan wildly. 

"Be quiet, be quiet!" repeated Victorine. "We ought not to make any noisein going down. I shall take the lamp, because we must at all events beable to see. Now, quick, quick!"

Across the porch, just at the entrance of the vestibule, Dario lay proneupon the slabs, as if, after being stabbed in the street, he had only hadsufficient strength to take a few steps before falling. And he had justfainted, and lay there with his face very pale, his lips compressed, andhis eyes closed. Benedetta, recovering the energy of her race amidst herexcessive grief, no longer lamented or cried out, but gazed at him withwild, tearless, dilated eyes, as though unable to understand. The horrorof it all was the suddenness and mysteriousness of the catastrophe, thewhy and wherefore of this murderous attempt amidst the silence of the olddeserted palace, black with the shades of night. The wound had as yetbled but little, for only the Prince's clothes were stained. 

"Quick, quick!" repeated Victorine in an undertone after lowering thelamp and moving it around. "The porter isn't there--he's always at thecarpenter's next door--and you see that he hasn't yet lighted thelantern. Still he may come back at any moment. So the Abbe and I willcarry the Prince into his room at once. " She alone retained her head, like a woman of well-balanced mind and quiet activity. The two others, whose stupor continued, listened to her and obeyed her with the docilityof children. "Contessina, " she continued, "you must light us. Here, takethe lamp and lower it a little so that we may see the steps. You, Abbe, take the feet; I'll take hold of him under the armpits. And don't bealarmed, the poor dear fellow isn't heavy. "

Ah! that ascent of the monumental staircase with its low steps and itslandings as spacious as guardrooms. They facilitated the cruel journey, but how lugubrious looked the little /cortege/ under the flickeringglimmer of the lamp which Benedetta held with arm outstretched, stiffenedby determination! And still not a sound came from the old lifelessdwelling, nothing but the silent crumbling of the walls, the slow decaywhich was making the ceilings crack. Victorine continued to whisper wordsof advice whilst Pierre, afraid of slipping on the shiny slabs, put forthan excess of strength which made his breath come short. Huge, wildshadows danced over the big expanse of bare wall up to the very vaultsdecorated with sunken panels. So endless seemed the ascent that at last ahalt became necessary; but the slow march was soon resumed. FortunatelyDario's apartments--bed-chamber, dressing-room, and sitting-room--were onthe first floor adjoining those of the Cardinal in the wing facing theTiber; so, on reaching the landing, they only had to walk softly alongthe corridor, and at last, to their great relief, laid the wounded manupon his bed. 

Victorine vented her satisfaction in a light laugh. "That's done, " saidshe; "put the lamp on that table, Contessina. I'm sure nobody heard us. It's lucky that Donna Serafina should have gone out, and that hisEminence should have shut himself up with Don Vigilio. I wrapped my skirtround Monsieur Dario's shoulders, you know, so I don't think any bloodfell on the stairs. By and by, too, I'll go down with a sponge and wipethe slabs in the porch--" She stopped short, looked at Dario, and thenquickly added: "He's breathing--now I'll leave you both to watch over himwhile I go for good Doctor Giordano, who saw you come into the world, Contessina. He's a man to be trusted. "

Alone with the unconscious sufferer in that dim chamber, which seemed toquiver with the frightful horror that filled their hearts, Benedetta andPierre remained on either side of the bed, as yet unable to exchange aword. The young woman first opened her arms and wrung her hands whilstgiving vent to a hollow moan, as if to relieve and exhale her grief; andthen, leaning forward, she watched for some sign of life on that paleface whose eyes were closed. Dario was certainly breathing, but hisrespiration was slow and very faint, and some time went by before a touchof colour returned to his cheeks. At last, however, he opened his eyes, and then she at once took hold of his hand and pressed it, instillinginto the pressure all the anguish of her heart. Great was her happinesson feeling that he feebly returned the clasp. 

"Tell me, " she said, "you can see me and hear me, can't you? What hashappened, good God?"

He did not at first answer, being worried by the presence of Pierre. Onrecognising the young priest, however, he seemed content that he shouldbe there, and then glanced apprehensively round the room to see if therewere anybody else. And at last he murmured: "No one saw me, no oneknows?"

"No, no; be easy. We carried you up with Victorine without meeting asoul. Aunt has just gone out, uncle is shut up in his rooms. "

At this Dario seemed relieved, and he even smiled. "I don't want anybodyto know, it is so stupid, " he murmured. 

"But in God's name what has happened?" she again asked him. 

"Ah! I don't know, I don't know, " was his response, as he lowered hiseyelids with a weary air as if to escape the question. But he must haverealised that it was best for him to confess some portion of the truth atonce, for he resumed: "A man was hidden in the shadow of the porch--hemust have been waiting for me. And so, when I came in, he dug his knifeinto my shoulder, there. "

Forthwith she again leant over him, quivering, and gazing into the depthsof his eyes: "But who was the man, who was he?" she asked. Then, as he, in a yet more weary way, began to stammer that he didn't know, that theman had fled into the darkness before he could recognise him, she raiseda terrible cry: "It was Prada! it was Prada, confess it, I know italready!" And, quite delirious, she went on: "I tell you that I know it!Ah! I would not be his, and he is determined that we shall never belongto one another. Rather than have that he will kill you on the day when Iam free to be your wife! Oh! I know him well; I shall never, never behappy. Yes, I know it well, it was Prada, Prada!"

But sudden energy upbuoyed the wounded man, and he loyally protested:"No, no, it was not Prada, nor was it any one working for him. That Iswear to you. I did not recognise the man, but it wasn't Prada--no, no!"

There was such a ring of truth in Dario's words that Benedetta must havebeen convinced by them. But terror once more overpowered her, for thehand she held was suddenly growing soft, moist, and powerless. Exhaustedby his effort, Dario had fallen back, again fainting, his face quitewhite and his eyes closed. And it seemed to her that he was dying. Distracted by her anguish, she felt him with trembling, groping hands:"Look, look, Monsieur l'Abbe!" she exclaimed. "But he is dying, he isdying; he is already quite cold. Ah! God of heaven, he is dying!"

Pierre, terribly upset by her cries, sought to reassure her, saying: "Hespoke too much; he has lost consciousness, as he did before. But I assureyou that I can feel his heart beating. Here, put your hand here, Contessina. For mercy's sake don't distress yourself like that; thedoctor will soon be here, and everything will be all right. "

But she did not listen to him, and all at once he was lost in amazement, for she flung herself upon the body of the man she adored, caught it in afrantic embrace, bathed it with tears and covered it with kisses whilststammering words of fire: "Ah! if I were to lose you, if I were to loseyou! And to think that I repulsed you, that I would not accept happinesswhen it was yet possible! Yes, that idea of mine, that vow I made to theMadonna! Yet how could she be offended by our happiness? And then, andthen, if she has deceived me, if she takes you from me, ah! then I canhave but one regret--that I did not damn myself with you--yes, yes, damnation rather than that we should never, never be each other's!"

Was this the woman who had shown herself so calm, so sensible, so patientthe better to ensure her happiness? Pierre was terrified, and no longerrecognised her. He had hitherto seen her so reserved, so modest, with achildish charm that seemed to come from her very nature! But under thethreatening blow she feared, the terrible blood of the Boccaneras hadawoke within her with a long heredity of violence, pride, frantic andexasperated longings. She wished for her share of life, her share oflove! And she moaned and she clamoured, as if death, in taking her loverfrom her, were tearing away some of her own flesh. 

"Calm yourself, I entreat you, madame, " repeated the priest. "He isalive, his heart beats. You are doing yourself great harm. "

But she wished to die with her lover: "O my darling! if you must go, takeme, take me with you. I will lay myself on your heart, I will clasp youso tightly with my arms that they shall be joined to yours, and then wemust needs be buried together. Yes, yes, we shall be dead, and we shallbe wedded all the same--wedded in death! I promised that I would belongto none but you, and I will be yours in spite of everything, even in thegrave. O my darling, open your eyes, open your mouth, kiss me if youdon't want me to die as soon as you are dead!"

A blaze of wild passion, full of blood and fire, had passed through thatmournful chamber with old, sleepy walls. But tears were now overcomingBenedetta, and big gasping sobs at last threw her, blinded andstrengthless, on the edge of the bed. And fortunately an end was put tothe terrible scene by the arrival of the doctor whom Victorine hadfetched. 

Doctor Giordano was a little old man of over sixty, with white curlyhair, and fresh-looking, clean-shaven countenance. By long practice amongChurchmen he had acquired the paternal appearance and manner of anamiable prelate. And he was said to be a very worthy man, tending thepoor for nothing, and displaying ecclesiastical reserve and discretion inall delicate cases. For thirty years past the whole Boccanera family, children, women, and even the most eminent Cardinal himself, had in allcases of sickness been placed in the hands of this prudent practitioner. Lighted by Victorine and helped by Pierre, he undressed Dario, who wasroused from his swoon by pain; and after examining the wound he declaredwith a smile that it was not at all dangerous. The young Prince would atthe utmost have to spend three weeks in bed, and no complications were tobe feared. Then, like all the doctors of Rome, enamoured of the finethrusts and cuts which day by day they have to dress among chancepatients of the lower classes, he complacently lingered over the wound, doubtless regarding it as a clever piece of work, for he ended by sayingto the Prince in an undertone: "That's what we call a warning. The mandidn't want to kill, the blow was dealt downwards so that the knife mightslip through the flesh without touching the bone. Ah! a man really needsto be skilful to deal such a stab; it was very neatly done. "

"Yes, yes, " murmured Dario, "he spared me; had he chosen he could havepierced me through. "

Benedetta did not hear. Since the doctor had declared the case to be freefrom danger, and had explained that the fainting fits were due to nervousshock, she had fallen in a chair, quite prostrated. Gradually, however, some gentle tears coursed from her eyes, bringing relief after herfrightful despair, and then, rising to her feet, she came and kissedDario with mute and passionate delight. 

"I say, my dear doctor, " resumed the Prince, "it's useless for people toknow of this. It's so ridiculous. Nobody has seen anything, it seems, excepting Monsieur l'Abbe, whom I ask to keep the matter secret. And inparticular I don't want anybody to alarm the Cardinal or my aunt, orindeed any of our friends. "

Doctor Giordano indulged in one of his placid smiles. "/Bene, bene/, "said he, "that's natural; don't worry yourself. We will say that you havehad a fall on the stairs and have dislocated your shoulder. And now thatthe wound is dressed you must try to sleep, and don't get feverish. Iwill come back to-morrow morning. "

That evening of excitement was followed by some very tranquil days, and anew life began for Pierre, who at first remained indoors, reading andwriting, with no other recreation than that of spending his afternoons inDario's room, where he was certain to find Benedetta. After a somewhatintense fever lasting for eight and forty hours, cure took its usualcourse, and the story of the dislocated shoulder was so generallybelieved, that the Cardinal insisted on Donna Serafina departing from herhabits of strict economy, to have a second lantern lighted on the landingin order that no such accident might occur again. And then the monotonouspeacefulness was only disturbed by a final incident, a threat of trouble, as it were, with which Pierre found himself mixed up one evening when hewas lingering beside the convalescent patient. 

Benedetta had absented herself for a few minutes, and as Victorine, whohad brought up some broth, was leaning towards the Prince to take theempty cup from him, she said in a low voice: "There's a girl, Monsieur, La Pierina, who comes here every day, crying and asking for news of you. I can't get rid of her, she's always prowling about the place, so Ithought it best to tell you of it. "

Unintentionally, Pierre heard her and understood everything. Dario, whowas looking at him, at once guessed his thoughts, and without answeringVictorine exclaimed: "Yes, Abbe, it was that brute Tito! How idiotic, eh?" At the same time, although the young man protested that he had donenothing whatever for the girl's brother to give him such a "warning, " hesmiled in an embarrassed way, as if vexed and even somewhat ashamed ofbeing mixed up in an affair of the kind. And he was evidently relievedwhen the priest promised that he would see the girl, should she comeback, and make her understand that she ought to remain at home. 

"It was such a stupid affair!" the Prince repeated, with an exaggeratedshow of anger. "Such things are not of our times. "

But all at once he ceased speaking, for Benedetta entered the room. Shesat down again beside her dear patient, and the sweet, peaceful eveningthen took its course in the old sleepy chamber, the old, lifeless palace, whence never a sound arose. 

When Pierre began to go out again he at first merely took a brief airingin the district. The Via Giulia interested him, for he knew how splendidit had been in the time of Julius II, who had dreamt of lining it withsumptuous palaces. Horse and foot races then took place there during thecarnival, the Palazzo Farnese being the starting-point, and the Piazza ofSt. Peter's the goal. Pierre had also lately read that a Frenchambassador, D'Estree, Marquis de Coure, had resided at the PalazzoSacchetti, and in 1638 had given some magnificent entertainments inhonour of the birth of the Dauphin, * when on three successive days therehad been racing from the Ponte Sisto to San Giovanni dei Fiorentiniamidst an extraordinary display of sumptuosity: the street being strewnwith flowers, and rich hangings adorning every window. On the secondevening there had been fireworks on the Tiber, with a machinerepresenting the ship Argo carrying Jason and his companions to therecovery of the Golden Fleece; and, on another occasion, the Farnesefountain, the Mascherone, had flowed with wine. Nowadays, however, allwas changed. The street, bright with sunshine or steeped in shadowaccording to the hour, was ever silent and deserted. The heavy, ancientpalatial houses, their old doors studded with plates and nails, theirwindows barred with huge iron gratings, always seemed to be asleep, wholestoreys showing nothing but closed shutters as if to keep out thedaylight for evermore. Now and again, when a door was open, you espieddeep vaults, damp, cold courts, green with mildew, and encompassed bycolonnades like cloisters. Then, in the outbuildings of the mansions, thelow structures which had collected more particularly on the side of theTiber, various small silent shops had installed themselves. There was abaker's, a tailor's, and a bookbinder's, some fruiterers' shops with afew tomatoes and salad plants set out on boards, and some wine-shopswhich claimed to sell the vintages of Frascati and Genzano, but whosecustomers seemed to be dead. Midway along the street was a modern prison, whose horrid yellow wall in no wise enlivened the scene, whilst, overhead, a flight of telegraph wires stretched from the arcades of theFarnese palace to the distant vista of trees beyond the river. With itsinfrequent traffic the street, even in the daytime, was like somesepulchral corridor where the past was crumbling into dust, and whennight fell its desolation quite appalled Pierre. You did not meet a soul, you did not see a light in any window, and the glimmering gas lamps, fewand far between, seemed powerless to pierce the gloom. On either hand thedoors were barred and bolted, and not a sound, not a breath came fromwithin. Even when, after a long interval, you passed a lighted wine-shop, behind whose panes of frosted glass a lamp gleamed dim and motionless, not an exclamation, not a suspicion of a laugh ever reached your ear. There was nothing alive save the two sentries placed outside the prison, one before the entrance and the other at the corner of the right-handlane, and they remained erect and still, coagulated, as it were, in thatdead street. 

 * Afterwards Louis XIV. --Trans. 

Pierre's interest, however, was not merely confined to the Via Giulia; itextended to the whole district, once so fine and fashionable, but nowfallen into sad decay, far removed from modern life, and exhaling a faintmusty odour of monasticism. Towards San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, wherethe new Corso Vittorio Emanuele has ripped up every olden district, thelofty five-storeyed houses with their dazzling sculptured frontscontrasted violently with the black sunken dwellings of the neighbouringlanes. In the evening the globes of the electric lamps on the Corso shoneout with such dazzling whiteness that the gas lamps of the Via Giulia andother streets looked like smoky lanterns. There were several old andfamous thoroughfares, the Via Banchi Vecchi, the Via del Pellegrino, theVia di Monserrato, and an infinity of cross-streets which intersected andconnected the others, all going towards the Tiber, and for the most partso narrow that vehicles scarcely had room to pass. And each street hadits church, a multitude of churches all more or less alike, highlydecorated, gilded, and painted, and open only at service time when theywere full of sunlight and incense. In the Via Giulia, in addition to SanGiovanni dei Fiorentini, San Biagio della Pagnotta, San Eligio degliOrefici, and three or four others, there was the so-called Church of theDead, Santa Maria dell' Orazione; and this church, which is at the lowerend behind the Farnese palace, was often visited by Pierre, who liked todream there of the wild life of Rome, and of the pious brothers of theConfraternita della Morte, who officiate there, and whose mission is tosearch for and bury such poor outcasts as die in the Campagna. Oneevening he was present at the funeral of two unknown men, whose bodies, after remaining unburied for quite a fortnight, had been discovered in afield near the Appian Way. 

However, Pierre's favourite promenade soon became the new quay of theTiber beyond the Palazzo Boccanera. He had merely to take the narrow laneskirting the mansion to reach a spot where he found much food forreflection. Although the quay was not yet finished, the work seemed to bequite abandoned. There were heaps of rubbish, blocks of stone, brokenfences, and dilapidated tool-sheds all around. To such a height had itbeen necessary to carry the quay walls--designed to protect the city fromfloods, for the river bed has been rising for centuries past--that theold terrace of the Boccanera gardens, with its double flight of steps towhich pleasure boats had once been moored, now lay in a hollow, threatened with annihilation whenever the works should be finished. Butnothing had yet been levelled; the soil, brought thither for making upthe bank, lay as it had fallen from the carts, and on all sides were pitsand mounds interspersed with the abandoned building materials. Wretchedurchins came to play there, workmen without work slept in the sunshine, and women after washing ragged linen spread it out to dry upon thestones. Nevertheless the spot proved a happy, peaceful refuge for Pierre, one fruitful in inexhaustible reveries when for hours at a time helingered gazing at the river, the quays, and the city, stretching infront of him and on either hand. 

At eight in the morning the sun already gilded the vast opening. Onturning to the left he perceived the roofs of the Trastevere, of a misty, bluish grey against the dazzling sky. Then, just beyond the apse of SanGiovanni, on the right, the river curved, and on its other bank thepoplars of the Ospedale di Santo Spirito formed a green curtain, whilethe castle of Sant' Angelo showed brightly in the distance. But Pierre'seyes dwelt more particularly on the bank just in front of him, for therehe found some lingering vestiges of old Rome. On that side indeed betweenthe Ponte Sisto and the Ponte Sant' Angelo, the quays, which were toimprison the river within high, white, fortress-like walls, had not yetbeen raised, and the bank with its remnants of the old papal cityconjured up an extraordinary vision of the middle ages. The houses, descending to the river brink, were cracked, scorched, rusted byinnumerable burning summers, like so many antique bronzes. Down belowthere were black vaults into which the water flowed, piles upholdingwalls, and fragments of Roman stone-work plunging into the river bed;then, rising from the shore, came steep, broken stairways, green withmoisture, tiers of terraces, storeys with tiny windows pierced here andtheir in hap-hazard fashion, houses perched atop of other houses, and thewhole jumbled together with a fantastic commingling of balconies andwooden galleries, footbridges spanning courtyards, clumps of treesgrowing apparently on the very roofs, and attics rising from amidst pinkytiles. The contents of a drain fell noisily into the river from a wornand soiled gorge of stone; and wherever the houses stood back and thebank appeared, it was covered with wild vegetation, weeds, shrubs, andmantling ivy, which trailed like a kingly robe of state. And in the gloryof the sun the wretchedness and dirt vanished, the crooked, jumbledhouses seemed to be of gold, draped with the purple of the red petticoatsand the dazzling white of the shifts which hung drying from theirwindows; while higher still, above the district, the Janiculum rose intoall the luminary's dazzlement, uprearing the slender profile of Sant'Onofrio amidst cypresses and pines. 

Leaning on the parapet of the quay wall, Pierre sadly gazed at the Tiberfor hours at a time. Nothing could convey an idea of the weariness ofthose old waters, the mournful slowness of their flow along thatBabylonian trench where they were confined within huge, bare, lividprison-like walls. In the sunlight their yellowness was gilded, and thefaint quiver of the current brought ripples of green and blue; but assoon as the shade spread over it the stream became opaque like mud, soturbid in its venerable old age that it no longer even gave back areflection of the houses lining it. And how desolate was its abandonment, what a stream of silence and solitude it was! After the winter rains itmight roll furiously and threateningly, but during the long months ofbright weather it traversed Rome without a sound, and Pierre could remainthere all day long without seeing either a skiff or a sail. The two orthree little steam-boats which arrived from the coast, the few tartaneswhich brought wine from Sicily, never came higher than the Aventine, beyond which there was only a watery desert in which here and there, atlong intervals, a motionless angler let his line dangle. All that Pierreever saw in the way of shipping was a sort of ancient, covered pinnace, arotting Noah's ark, moored on the right beside the old bank, and hefancied that it might be used as a washhouse, though on no occasion didhe see any one in it. And on a neck of mud there also lay a stranded boatwith one side broken in, a lamentable symbol of the impossibility and therelinquishment of navigation. Ah! that decay of the river, that decay offather Tiber, as dead as the famous ruins whose dust he is weary oflaving! And what an evocation! all the centuries of history, so manythings, so many men, that those yellow waters have reflected till, fullof lassitude and disgust, they have grown heavy, silent and deserted, longing only for annihilation. 

One morning on the river bank Pierre found La Pierina standing behind anabandoned tool-shed. With her neck extended, she was looking fixedly atthe window of Dario's room, at the corner of the quay and the lane. Doubtless she had been frightened by Victorine's severe reception, andhad not dared to return to the mansion; but some servant, possibly, hadtold her which was the young Prince's window, and so she now came to thisspot, where without wearying she waited for a glimpse of the man sheloved, for some sign of life and salvation, the mere hope of which madeher heart leap. Deeply touched by the way in which she hid herself, allhumility and quivering with adoration, the priest approached her, andinstead of scolding her and driving her away as he had been asked to do, spoke to her in a gentle, cheerful manner, asking her for news of herpeople as though nothing had happened, and at last contriving to mentionDario's name in order that she might understand that he would be up andabout again within a fortnight. On perceiving Pierre, La Pierina hadstarted with timidity and distrust as if anxious to flee; but when sheunderstood him, tears of happiness gushed from her eyes, and with abright smile she kissed her hand to him, calling: "/Grazie, grazie/, thanks, thanks!" And thereupon she darted away, and he never saw heragain. 

On another morning at an early hour, as Pierre was going to say mass atSanta Brigida on the Piazza Farnese, he was surprised to meet Benedettacoming out of the church and carrying a small phial of oil. She evincedno embarrassment, but frankly told him that every two or three days shewent thither to obtain from the beadle a few drops of the oil used forthe lamp that burnt before an antique wooden statue of the Madonna, inwhich she had perfect confidence. She even confessed that she had neverhad confidence in any other Madonna, having never obtained anything fromany other, though she had prayed to several of high repute, Madonnas ofmarble and even of silver. And so her heart was full of ardent devotionfor the holy image which refused her nothing. And she declared in allsimplicity, as though the matter were quite natural and above discussion, that the few drops of oil which she applied, morning and evening, toDario's wound, were alone working his cure, so speedy a cure as to bequite miraculous. Pierre, fairly aghast, distressed indeed to find suchchildish, superstitious notions in one so full of sense and grace andpassion, did not even venture to smile. 

In the evenings, when he came back from his strolls and spent an hour orso in Dario's room, he would for a time divert the patient by relatingwhat he had done and seen and thought of during the day. And when heagain ventured to stray beyond the district, and became enamoured of thelovely gardens of Rome, which he visited as soon as they opened in themorning in order that he might be virtually alone, he delighted the youngprince and Benedetta with his enthusiasm, his rapturous passion for thesplendid trees, the plashing water, and the spreading terraces whence theviews were so sublime. It was not the most extensive of these gardenswhich the more deeply impressed his heart. In the grounds of the VillaBorghese, the little Roman Bois de Boulogne, there were certainly somemajestic clumps of greenery, some regal avenues where carriages took aturn in the afternoon before the obligatory drive to the Pincio; butPierre was more touched by the reserved garden of the villa--that villadazzling with marble and now containing one of the finest museums in theworld. There was a simple lawn of fine grass with a vast central basinsurmounted by a figure of Venus, nude and white; and antique fragments, vases, statues, columns, and /sarcophagi/ were ranged symmetrically allaround the deserted, sunlit yet melancholy, sward. On returning on oneoccasion to the Pincio Pierre spent a delightful morning there, penetrated by the charm of this little nook with its scanty evergreens, and its admirable vista of all Rome and St. Peter's rising up afar off inthe soft limpid radiance. At the Villa Albani and the Villa Pamphili heagain came upon superb parasol pines, tall, stately, and graceful, andpowerful elm-trees with twisted limbs and dusky foliage. In the Pamphiligrounds, the elm-trees steeped the paths in a delicious half-light, thelake with its weeping willows and tufts of reeds had a dreamy aspect, while down below the /parterre/ displayed a fantastic floral mosaicbright with the various hues of flowers and foliage. That which mostparticularly struck Pierre, however, in this, the noblest, most spacious, and most carefully tended garden of Rome, was the novel and unexpectedview that he suddenly obtained of St. Peter's, whilst skirting a lowwall: a view whose symbolism for ever clung to him. Rome had completelyvanished, and between the slopes of Monte Mario and another wooded heightwhich hid the city, there only appeared the colossal dome which seemed tobe poised on an infinity of scattered blocks, now white, now red. Thesewere the houses of the Borgo, the jumbled piles of the Vatican and theBasilica which the huge dome surmounted and annihilated, showing greylyblue in the light blue of the heavens, whilst far away stretched adelicate, boundless vista of the Campagna, likewise of a bluish tint. 

It was, however, more particularly in the less sumptuous gardens, thoseof a more homely grace, that Pierre realised that even things have souls. Ah! that Villa Mattei on one side of the Coelius with its terracedgrounds, its sloping alleys edged with laurel, aloe, and spindle tree, its box-plants forming arbours, its oranges, its roses, and itsfountains! Pierre spent some delicious hours there, and only found asimilar charm on visiting the Aventine, where three churches areembowered in verdure. The little garden of Santa Sabina, the birthplaceof the Dominican order, is closed on all sides and affords no view: itslumbers in quiescence, warm and perfumed by its orange-trees, amongstwhich that planted by St. Dominic stands huge and gnarled but still ladenwith ripe fruit. At the adjoining Priorato, however, the garden, perchedhigh above the Tiber, overlooks a vast expanse, with the river and thebuildings on either bank as far as the summit of the Janiculum. And inthese gardens of Rome Pierre ever found the same clipped box-shrubs, thesame eucalypti with white trunks and pale leaves long like hair, the sameilex-trees squat and dusky, the same giant pines, the same blackcypresses, the same marbles whitening amidst tufts of roses, and the samefountains gurgling under mantling ivy. Never did he enjoy more gentle, sorrow-tinged delight than at the Villa of Pope Julius, where all thelife of a gay and sensual period is suggested by the semi-circularporticus opening on the gardens, a porticus decorated with paintings, golden trellis-work laden with flowers, amidst which flutter flights ofsmiling Cupids. Then, on the evening when he returned from the Farnesina, he declared that he had brought all the dead soul of ancient Rome awaywith him, and it was not the paintings executed after Raffaelle's designsthat had touched him, it was rather the pretty hall on the river sidedecorated in soft blue and pink and lilac, with an art devoid of geniusyet so charming and so Roman; and in particular it was the abandonedgarden once stretching down to the Tiber, and now shut off from it by thenew quay, and presenting an aspect of woeful desolation, ravaged, bossyand weedy like a cemetery, albeit the golden fruit of orange and citrontree still ripened there. 

And for the last time a shock came to Pierre's heart on the lovelyevening when he visited the Villa Medici. There he was on French soil. *And again what a marvellous garden he found with box-plants, and pines, and avenues full of magnificence and charm! What a refuge for antiquereverie was that wood of ilex-trees, so old and so sombre, where the sunin declining cast fiery gleams of red gold amidst the sheeny bronze ofthe foliage. You ascend by endless steps, and from the crowning belvedereon high you embrace all Rome at a glance as though by opening your armsyou could seize it in its entirety. From the villa's dining-room, decorated with portraits of all the artists who have successfullysojourned there, and from the spacious peaceful library one beholds thesame splendid, broad, all-conquering panorama, a panorama of unlimitedambition, whose infinite ought to set in the hearts of the young mendwelling there a determination to subjugate the world. Pierre, who camethither opposed to the principle of the "Prix de Rome, " that traditional, uniform education so dangerous for originality, was for a moment charmedby the warm peacefulness, the limpid solitude of the garden, and thesublime horizon where the wings of genius seemed to flutter. Ah! howdelightful, to be only twenty and to live for three years amidst suchinfinite sweetness, encompassed by the finest works of man; to say tooneself that one is as yet too young to produce, and to reflect, andseek, and learn how to enjoy, suffer, and love! But Pierre afterwardsreflected that this was not a fit task for youth, and that to appreciatethe divine enjoyment of such a retreat, all art and blue sky, ripe agewas needed, age with victories already gained and weariness followingupon the accomplishment of work. He chatted with some of the youngpensioners, and remarked that if those who were inclined to dreaminessand contemplation, like those who could merely claim mediocrity, accommodated themselves to this life cloistered in the art of the past, on the other hand artists of active bent and personal temperament pinedwith impatience, their eyes ever turned towards Paris, their souls eagerto plunge into the furnace of battle and production. 

 * Here is the French Academy, where winners of the "Prix de Rome" in painting, sculpture, architecture, engraving, and music are maintained by the French Government for three years. The creation dates from Louis XIV. --Trans. 

All those gardens of which Pierre spoke to Dario and Benedetta with somuch rapture, awoke within them the memory of the garden of the VillaMontefiori, now a waste, but once so green, planted with the finestorange-trees of Rome, a grove of centenarian orange-trees where they hadlearnt to love one another. And the memory of their early love broughtthoughts of their present situation and their future prospects. To thesethe conversation always reverted, and evening after evening Pierrewitnessed their delight, and heard them talk of coming happiness likelovers transported to the seventh heaven. The suit for the dissolution ofBenedetta's marriage was now assuming a more and more favourable aspect. Guided by a powerful hand, Donna Serafina was apparently acting veryvigorously, for almost every day she had some further good news toreport. She was indeed anxious to finish the affair both for thecontinuity and for the honour of the name, for on the one hand Dariorefused to marry any one but his cousin, and on the other this marriagewould explain everything and put an end to an intolerable situation. Thescandalous rumours which circulated both in the white and the black worldquite incensed her, and a victory was the more necessary as Leo XIII, already so aged, might be snatched away at any moment, and in theConclave which would follow she desired that her brother's name shouldshine forth with untarnished, sovereign radiance. Never had the secretambition of her life, the hope that her race might give a third pope tothe Church, filled her with so much passion. It was as if she thereinsought a consolation for the harsh abandonment of Advocate Morano. Invariably clad in sombre garb, ever active and slim, so tightly lacedthat from behind one might have taken her for a young girl, she was so tosay the black soul of that old palace; and Pierre, who met hereverywhere, prowling and inspecting like a careful house-keeper, andjealously watching over her brother the Cardinal, bowed to her insilence, chilled to the heart by the stern look of her withered wrinkledface in which was set the large, opiniative nose of her family. Howevershe barely returned his bows, for she still disdained that paltry foreignpriest, and only tolerated him in order to please Monsignor Nani andViscount Philibert de la Choue. 

A witness every evening of the anxious delight and impatience ofBenedetta and Dario, Pierre by degrees became almost as impassioned asthemselves, as desirous for an early solution. Benedetta's suit was aboutto come before the Congregation of the Council once more. MonsignorPalma, the defender of the marriage, had demanded a supplementary inquiryafter the favourable decision arrived at in the first instance by a baremajority of one vote--a majority which the Pope would certainly not havethought sufficient had he been asked for his ratification. So thequestion now was to gain votes among the ten cardinals who formed theCongregation, to persuade and convince them, and if possible ensure analmost unanimous pronouncement. The task was arduous, for, instead offacilitating matters, Benedetta's relationship to Cardinal Boccaneraraised many difficulties, owing to the intriguing spirit rife at theVatican, the spite of rivals who, by perpetuating the scandal, hoped todestroy Boccanera's chance of ever attaining to the papacy. Everyafternoon, however, Donna Serafina devoted herself to the task of winningvotes under the direction of her confessor, Father Lorenza, whom she sawdaily at the Collegio Germanico, now the last refuge of the Jesuits inRome, for they have ceased to be masters of the Gesu. The chief hope ofsuccess lay in Prada's formal declaration that he would not put in anappearance. The whole affair wearied and irritated him; the imputationslevelled against him as a man, seemed to him supremely odious andridiculous; and he no longer even took the trouble to reply to theassignations which were sent to him. He acted indeed as if he had neverbeen married, though deep in his heart the wound dealt to his passion andhis pride still lingered, bleeding afresh whenever one or another of thescandalous rumours in circulation reached his ears. However, as theiradversary desisted from all action, one can understand that the hopes ofBenedetta and Dario increased, the more so as hardly an evening passedwithout Donna Serafina telling them that she believed she had gained thesupport of another cardinal. 

But the man who terrified them all was Monsignor Palma, whom theCongregation had appointed to defend the sacred ties of matrimony. Hisrights and privileges were almost unlimited, he could appeal yet again, and in any case would make the affair drag on as long as it pleased him. His first report, in reply to Morano's memoir, had been a terrible blow, and it was now said that a second one which he was preparing would proveyet more pitiless, establishing as a fundamental principle of the Churchthat it could not annul a marriage whose nonconsummation was purely andsimply due to the action of the wife in refusing obedience to herhusband. In presence of such energy and logic, it was unlikely that thecardinals, even if sympathetic, would dare to advise the Holy Father todissolve the marriage. And so discouragement was once more overcomingBenedetta when Donna Serafina, on returning from a visit to MonsignorNani, calmed her somewhat by telling her that a mutual friend hadundertaken to deal with Monsignor Palma. However, said she, even if theysucceeded, it would doubtless cost them a large sum. 

Monsignor Palma, a theologist expert in all canonical affairs, and aperfectly honest man in pecuniary matters, had met with a greatmisfortune in his life. He had a niece, a poor and lovely girl, for whom, unhappily, in his declining years he conceived an insensate passion, withthe result that to avoid a scandal he was compelled to marry her to arascal who now preyed upon her and even beat her. And the prelate was nowpassing through a fearful crisis, weary of reducing himself to beggary, and indeed no longer having the money necessary to extricate his nephewby marriage from a very nasty predicament, the result of cheating atcards. So the idea was to save the young man by a considerable pecuniarypayment, and then to procure him employment without asking aught of hisuncle, who, as if offering complicity, came in tears one evening, whennight had fallen, to thank Donna Serafina for her exceeding goodness. 

Pierre was with Dario that evening when Benedetta entered the room, laughing and joyfully clapping her bands. "It's done, it's done!" shesaid, "he has just left aunt, and vowed eternal gratitude to her. He willnow be obliged to show himself amiable. "

However Dario distrustfully inquired: "But was he made to sign anything, did he enter into a formal engagement?"

"Oh! no; how could one do that? It's such a delicate matter, " repliedBenedetta. "But people say that he is a very honest man. " Nevertheless, in spite of these words, she herself became uneasy. What if MonsignorPalma should remain incorruptible in spite of the great service which hadbeen rendered him? Thenceforth this idea haunted them, and their suspensebegan once more. 

Dario, eager to divert his mind, was imprudent enough to get up before hewas perfectly cured, and, his wound reopening, he was obliged to take tohis bed again for a few days. Every evening, as previously, Pierre stroveto enliven him with an account of his strolls. The young priest was nowgetting bolder, rambling in turn through all the districts of Rome, anddiscovering the many "classical" curiosities catalogued in theguide-books. One evening he spoke with a kind of affection of theprincipal squares of the city which he had first thought commonplace, butwhich now seemed to him very varied, each with original features of itsown. There was the noble Piazza del Popolo of such monumental symmetryand so full of sunlight; there was the Piazza di Spagna, the livelymeeting-place of foreigners, with its double flight of a hundred andthirty steps gilded by the sun; there was the vast Piazza Colonna, alwaysswarming with people, and the most Italian of all the Roman squares fromthe presence of the idle, careless crowd which ever lounged round thecolumn of Marcus Aurelius as if waiting for fortune to fall from heaven;there was also the long and regular Piazza Navona, deserted since themarket was no longer held there, and retaining a melancholy recollectionof its former bustling life; and there was the Campo dei Fiori, which wasinvaded each morning by the tumultuous fruit and vegetable markets, quitea plantation of huge umbrellas sheltering heaps of tomatoes, pimentoes, and grapes amidst a noisy stream of dealers and housewives. Pierre'sgreat surprise, however, was the Piazza del Campidoglio--the "Square ofthe Capitol"--which to him suggested a summit, an open spot overlookingthe city and the world, but which he found to be small and square, and onthree sides enclosed by palaces, whilst on the fourth side the view wasof little extent. * There are no passers-by there; visitors usually comeup by a flight of steps bordered by a few palm-trees, only foreignersmaking use of the winding carriage-ascent. The vehicles wait, and thetourists loiter for a while with their eyes raised to the admirableequestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius, in antique bronze, which occupiesthe centre of the piazza. Towards four o'clock, when the sun gilds theleft-hand palace, and the slender statues of its entablature show vividlyagainst the blue sky, you might think yourself in some warm cosy squareof a little provincial town, what with the women of the neighbourhood whosit knitting under the arcade, and the bands of ragged urchins whodisport themselves on all sides like school-boys in a playground. 

 * The Piazza del Campidoglio is really a depression between the Capitolium proper and the northern height called the Arx. It is supposed to have been the exact site of Romulus's traditional Asylum. --Trans. 

Then, on another evening Pierre told Benedetta and Dario of hisadmiration for the Roman fountains, for in no other city of the worlddoes water flow so abundantly and magnificently in fountains of bronzeand marble, from the boat-shaped Fontana della Barcaccia on the Piazza diSpagna, the Triton on the Piazza Barberini, and the Tortoises which givetheir name to the Piazza delle Tartarughe, to the three fountains of thePiazza Navona where Bernini's vast central composition of rock andriver-gods rises so triumphantly, and to the colossal and pompousfountain of Trevi, where King Neptune stands on high attended by loftyfigures of Health and Fruitfulness. And on yet another evening Pierrecame home quite pleased, relating that he had at last discovered why itwas that the old streets around the Capitol and along the Tiber seemed tohim so strange: it was because they had no footways, and pedestrians, instead of skirting the walls, invariably took the middle of the road, leisurely wending their way among the vehicles. Pierre was very fond ofthose old districts with their winding lanes, their tiny squares soirregular in shape, and their huge square mansions swamped by amultitudinous jumble of little houses. He found a charm, too, in thedistrict of the Esquiline, where, besides innumerable flights ofascending steps, each of grey pebbles edged with white stone, there weresudden sinuous slopes, tiers of terraces, seminaries and convents, lifeless, with their windows ever closed, and lofty, blank walls abovewhich a superb palm-tree would now and again soar into the spotless blueof the sky. And on yet another evening, having strolled into the Campagnabeside the Tiber and above the Ponte Molle, he came back full ofenthusiasm for a form of classical art which hitherto he had scarcelyappreciated. Along the river bank, however, he had found the very scenerythat Poussin so faithfully depicted: the sluggish, yellow stream fringedwith reeds; low riven cliffs, whose chalky whiteness showed against theruddy background of a far-stretching, undulating plain, bounded by bluehills; a few spare trees with a ruined porticus opening on to space atopof the bank, and a line of pale-hued sheep descending to drink, whilstthe shepherd, with an elbow resting on the trunk of an ilex-tree, stoodlooking on. It was a special kind of beauty, broad and ruddy, made up ofnothing, sometimes simplified into a series of low, horizontal lines, butever ennobled by the great memories it evoked: the Roman legions marchingalong the paved highways across the bare Campagna; the long slumber ofthe middle ages; and then the awakening of antique nature in the midst ofCatholicism, whereby, for the second time, Rome became ruler of theworld. 

One day when Pierre came back from seeing the great modern cemetery, theCampo Verano, he found Celia, as well as Benedetta, by the side ofDario's bed. "What, Monsieur l'Abbe!" exclaimed the little Princess whenshe learnt where he had been; "it amuses you to visit the dead?"

"Oh those Frenchmen, " remarked Dario, to whom the mere idea of a cemeterywas repulsive; "those Frenchmen seem to take a pleasure in making theirlives wretched with their partiality for gloomy scenes. "

"But there is no escaping the reality of death, " gently replied Pierre;"the best course is to look it in the face. "

This made the Prince quite angry. "Reality, reality, " said he, "whenreality isn't pleasant I don't look at it; I try never to think of iteven. "

In spite of this rejoinder, Pierre, with his smiling, placid air, went onenumerating the things which had struck him: first, the admirable mannerin which the cemetery was kept, then the festive appearance which itderived from the bright autumn sun, and the wonderful profusion in whichmarble was lavished in slabs, statues, and chapels. The ancient atavismhad surely been at work, the sumptuous mausoleums of the Appian Way hadhere sprung up afresh, making death a pretext for the display of pomp andpride. In the upper part of the cemetery the Roman nobility had adistrict of its own, crowded with veritable temples, colossal statues, groups of several figures; and if at times the taste shown in thesemonuments was deplorable, it was none the less certain that millions hadbeen expended on them. One charming feature of the place, said Pierre, was that the marbles, standing among yews and cypresses were remarkablywell preserved, white and spotless; for, if the summer sun slowly gildedthem, there were none of those stains of moss and rain which impart anaspect of melancholy decay to the statues of northern climes. 

Touched by the discomfort of Dario, Benedetta, hitherto silent, ended byinterrupting Pierre. "And was the hunt interesting?" she asked, turningto Celia. 

The little Princess had been taken by her mother to see a fox-hunt, andhad been speaking of it when the priest entered the room. 

"Yes, it was very interesting, my dear, " she replied; "the meet was atnoon near the tomb of Caecilia Metella, where a buffet had been arrangedunder a tent. And there was such a number of people--the foreign colony, the young men of the embassies, and some officers, not to mentionourselves--all the men in scarlet and a great many ladies in habits. The'throw-off' was at one o'clock, and the gallop lasted more than two hoursand a half, so that the fox had a very long run. I wasn't able to follow, but all the same I saw some extraordinary things--a great wall which thewhole hunt had to leap, and then ditches and hedges--a mad race indeed inthe rear of the hounds. There were two accidents, but nothing serious;one gentleman, who was unseated, sprained his wrist badly, and anotherbroke his leg. "*

 * The Roman Hunt, which counts about one hundred subscribers, has flourished since 1840. There is a kennel of English hounds, an English huntsman and whip, and a stable of English hunters. --Trans. 

Dario had listened to Celia with passionate interest, for fox-hunting isone of the great pleasures of Rome, and the Campagna, flat and yetbristling with obstacles, is certainly well adapted to the sport. "Ah!"said the young Prince in a despairing tone, "how idiotic it is to beriveted to this room! I shall end by dying of /ennui/!"

Benedetta contented herself with smiling; neither reproach nor expressionof sadness came from her at this candid display of egotism. Her ownhappiness at having him all to herself in the room where she nursed himwas great indeed; still her love, at once full of youth and good sense, included a maternal element, and she well understood that he hardlyamused himself, deprived as he was of his customary pleasures and severedfrom his friends, few of whom he was willing to receive, for he fearedthat they might think the story of the dislocated shoulder suspicious. Ofcourse there were no more /fetes/, no more evenings at the theatre, nomore flirtations. But above everything else Dario missed the Corso, andsuffered despairingly at no longer seeing or learning anything bywatching the procession of Roman society from four to five eachafternoon. Accordingly, as soon as an intimate called, there were endlessquestions: Had the visitor seen so and so? Had such a one reappeared? Howhad a certain friend's love affair ended? Was any new adventure settingthe city agog? And so forth; all the petty frivolities, nine days'wonders, and puerile intrigues in which the young Prince had hithertoexpended his manly energy. 

After a pause Celia, who was fond of coming to him with innocent gossip, fixed her candid eyes on him--the fathomless eyes of an enigmaticalvirgin, and resumed: "How long it takes to set a shoulder right!"

Had she, child as she was, with love her only business, divined thetruth? Dario in his embarrassment glanced at Benedetta, who still smiled. However, the little Princess was already darting to another subject: "Ah!you know, Dario, at the Corso yesterday I saw a lady--" Then she stoppedshort, surprised and embarrassed that these words should have escapedher. However, in all bravery she resumed like one who had been a friendsince childhood, sharing many a little love secret: "Yes, a very prettyperson whom you know. Well, she had a bouquet of white roses with her allthe same. "

At this Benedetta indulged in a burst of frank merriment, and Dario, still looking at her, also laughed. She had twitted him during the earlydays because no young woman ever sent to make inquiries about him. Forhis part, he was not displeased with the rupture, for the continuance ofthe connection might have proved embarrassing; and so, although hisvanity may have been slightly hurt, the news that he was already replacedin La Tonietta's affections was welcome rather than otherwise. "Ah!" hecontented himself with saying, "the absent are always in the wrong. "

"The man one loves is never absent, " declared Celia with her grave, candid air. 

However, Benedetta had stepped up to the bed to raise the young man'spillows: "Never mind, Dario /mio/, " said she, "all those things are over;I mean to keep you, and you will only have me to love. "

He gave her a passionate glance and kissed her hair. She spoke the truth:he had never loved any one but her, and she was not mistaken in heranticipation of keeping him always to herself alone, as soon as theyshould be wedded. To her great delight, since she had been nursing him hehad become quite childish again, such as he had been when she had learntto love him under the orange-trees of the Villa Montefiori. He retained asort of puerility, doubtless the outcome of impoverished blood, thatreturn to childhood which one remarks amongst very ancient races; and hetoyed on his bed with pictures, gazed for hours at photographs, whichmade him laugh. Moreover, his inability to endure suffering had yetincreased; he wished Benedetta to be gay and sing, and amused her withhis petty egotism which led him to dream of a life of continual joy withher. Ah! how pleasant it would be to live together and for ever in thesunlight, to do nothing and care for nothing, and even if the worldshould crumble somewhere to heed it not!

"One thing which greatly pleases me, " suddenly said the young Prince, "isthat Monsieur l'Abbe has ended by falling in love with Rome. "

Pierre admitted it with a good grace. 

"We told you so, " remarked Benedetta. "A great deal of time is needed forone to understand and love Rome. If you had only stayed here for afortnight you would have gone off with a deplorable idea of us, but nowthat you have been here for two full months we are quite at ease, for youwill never think of us without affection. "

She looked exceedingly charming as she spoke these words, and Pierreagain bowed. However, he had already given thought to the phenomenon, andfancied he could explain it. When a stranger comes to Rome he brings withhim a Rome of his own, a Rome such as he dreams of, so ennobled byimagination that the real Rome proves a terrible disenchantment. And soit is necessary to wait for habituation, for the mediocrity of thereality to soften, and for the imagination to have time to kindle again, and only behold things such as they are athwart the prodigious splendourof the past. 

However, Celia had risen and was taking leave. "Good-bye, dear, " shesaid; "I hope the wedding will soon take place. You know, Dario, that Imean to be betrothed before the end of the month. Oh yes, I intend tomake my father give a grand entertainment. And how nice it would be ifthe two weddings could take place at the same time!"

Two days later, after a long ramble through the Trastevere district, followed by a visit to the Palazzo Farnese, Pierre felt that he could atlast understand the terrible, melancholy truth about Rome. He had severaltimes already strolled through the Trastevere, attracted towards itswretched denizens by his compassion for all who suffered. Ah! thatquagmire of wretchedness and ignorance! He knew of abominable nooks inthe faubourgs of Paris, frightful "rents" and "courts" where peoplerotted in heaps, but there was nothing in France to equal the listless, filthy stagnation of the Trastevere. On the brightest days a dank gloomchilled the sinuous, cellar-like lanes, and the smell of rottingvegetables, rank oil, and human animality brought on fits of nausea. Jumbled together in a confusion which artists of romantic turn wouldadmire, the antique, irregular houses had black, gaping entrances divingbelow ground, outdoor stairways conducting to upper floors, and woodenbalconies which only a miracle upheld. There were crumbling fronts, shored up with beams; sordid lodgings whose filth and bareness could beseen through shattered windows; and numerous petty shops, all theopen-air cook-stalls of a lazy race which never lighted a fire at home:you saw frying-shops with heaps of polenta, and fish swimming in stinkingoil, and dealers in cooked vegetables displaying huge turnips, celery, cauliflowers, and spinach, all cold and sticky. The butcher's meat wasblack and clumsily cut up; the necks of the animals bristled with bloodyclots, as though the heads had simply been torn away. The baker's loaves, piled on planks, looked like little round paving stones; at the beggarlygreengrocers' merely a few pimentoes and fir-apples were shown under thestrings of dry tomatoes which festooned the doorways; and the only shopswhich were at all attractive were those of the pork butchers with theirsalted provisions and their cheese, whose pungent smell slightlyattenuated the pestilential reek of the gutters. Lottery offices, displaying lists of winning numbers, alternated with wine-shops, of whichlatter there was a fresh one every thirty yards with large inscriptionssetting forth that the best wines of Genzano, Marino, and Frascati wereto be found within. And the whole district teemed with ragged, grimydenizens, children half naked and devoured by vermin, bare-headed, gesticulating and shouting women, whose skirts were stiff with grease, old men who remained motionless on benches amidst swarms of hungry flies;idleness and agitation appearing on all sides, whilst cobblers sat on thesidewalks quietly plying their trade, and little donkeys pulled cartshither and thither, and men drove turkeys along, whip in hand, and handsof beggars rushed upon the few anxious tourists who had timorouslyventured into the district. At the door of a little tailor's shop an oldhouse-pail dangled full of earth, in which a succulent plant wasflowering. And from every window and balcony, as from the many cordswhich stretched across the street from house to house, all the householdwashing hung like bunting, nameless drooping rags, the symbolical bannersof abominable misery. 

Pierre's fraternal, soul filled with pity at the sight. Ah! yes, it wasnecessary to demolish all those pestilential districts where the populacehad wallowed for centuries as in a poisonous gaol! He was for demolitionand sanitary improvement, even if old Rome were killed and artistsscandalised. Doubtless the Trastevere was already greatly changed, pierced with several new thoroughfares which let the sun stream in. Andamidst the /abattis/ of rubbish and the spacious clearings, where nothingnew had yet been erected, the remaining portions of the old districtseemed even blacker and more loathsome. Some day, no doubt, it would allbe rebuilt, but how interesting was this phase of the city's evolution:old Rome expiring and new Rome just dawning amidst countlessdifficulties! To appreciate the change it was necessary to have known thefilthy Rome of the past, swamped by sewage in every form. The recentlylevelled Ghetto had, over a course of centuries, so rotted the soil onwhich it stood that an awful pestilential odour yet arose from its baresite. It was only fitting that it should long remain waste, so that itmight dry and become purified in the sun. In all the districts on eitherside of the Tiber where extensive improvements have been undertaken youfind the same scenes. You follow some narrow, damp, evil-smelling streetwith black house-fronts and overhanging roofs, and suddenly come upon aclearing as in a forest of ancient leprous hovels. There are squares, broad footways; lofty white carved buildings yet in the rough, litteredwith rubbish and fenced off. On every side you find as it were a hugebuilding yard, which the financial crisis perpetuates; the city ofto-morrow arrested in its growth, stranded there in its monstrous, precocious, surprising infancy. Nevertheless, therein lies good andhealthful work, such as was and is absolutely necessary if Rome is tobecome a great modern city, instead of being left to rot, to dwindle intoa mere ancient curiosity, a museum show-piece. 

That day, as Pierre went from the Trastevere to the Palazzo Farnese, where he was expected, he chose a roundabout route, following the Via diPettinari and the Via dei Giubbonari, the former so dark and narrow witha great hospital wall on one side and a row of wretched houses on theother, and the latter animated by a constant stream of people andenlivened by the jewellers' windows, full of big gold chains, and thedisplays of the drapers' shops, where stuffs hung in bright red, blue, green, and yellow lengths. And the popular district through which he hadroamed and the trading district which he was now crossing reminded him ofthe castle fields with their mass of workpeople reduced to mendicity bylack of employment and forced to camp in the superb, unfinished, abandoned mansions. Ah! the poor, sad people, who were yet so childish, kept in the ignorance and credulity of a savage race by centuries oftheocracy, so habituated to mental night and bodily suffering that evento-day they remained apart from the social awakening, simply desirous ofenjoying their pride, indolence, and sunlight in peace! They seemed bothblind and deaf in their decadence, and whilst Rome was being overturnedthey continued to lead the stagnant life of former times, realisingnought but the worries of the improvements, the demolition of the oldfavourite districts, the consequent change in habits, and the rise in thecost of food, as if indeed they would rather have gone without light, cleanliness, and health, since these could only be secured by a greatfinancial and labour crisis. And yet, at bottom, it was solely for thepeople, the populace, that Rome was being cleansed and rebuilt with theidea of making it a great modern capital, for democracy lies at the endof these present day transformations; it is the people who will inheritthe cities whence dirt and disease are being expelled, and where the lawof labour will end by prevailing and killing want. And so, though one maycurse the dusting and repairing of the ruins and the stripping of all thewild flora from the Colosseum, though one may wax indignant at sight ofthe hideous fortress like ramparts which imprison the Tiber, and bewailthe old romantic banks with their greenery and their antique dwellingsdipping into the stream, one must at the same time acknowledge that lifesprings from death, and that to-morrow must perforce blossom in the dustof the past. 

While thinking of all these things Pierre had reached the deserted, stern-looking Piazza Farnese, and for a moment he looked up at the baremonumental facade of the heavy square Palazzo, its lofty entrance wherehung the tricolour, its rows of windows and its famous cornice sculpturedwith such marvellous art. Then he went in. A friend of Narcisse Habert, one of the /attaches/ of the embassy to the King of Italy, was waitingfor him, having offered to show him over the huge pile, the finest palacein Rome, which France had leased as a lodging for her ambassador. * Ah!that colossal, sumptuous, deadly dwelling, with its vast court whoseporticus is so dark and damp, its giant staircase with low steps, itsendless corridors, its immense galleries and halls. All was sovereignpomp blended with death. An icy, penetrating chill fell from the walls. With a discreet smile the /attache/ owned that the embassy was frozen inwinter and baked in summer. The only part of the building which was atall lively and pleasant was the first storey, overlooking the Tiber, which the ambassador himself occupied. From the gallery there, containingthe famous frescoes of Annibale Caracci, one can see the Janiculum, theCorsini gardens, and the Acqua Paola above San Pietro in Montorio. Then, after a vast drawing-room comes the study, peaceful and pleasant, andenlivened by sunshine. But the dining-room, the bed-chambers, and otherapartments occupied by the /personnel/ look out on to the mournful gloomof a side street. All these vast rooms, twenty and four-and-twenty feethigh, have admirable carved or painted ceilings, bare walls, a few ofthem decorated with frescoes, and incongruous furniture, superb piertables mingling with modern /bric-a-brac/. And things become abominablewhen you enter the gala reception-rooms overlooking the piazza, for thereyou no longer find an article of furniture, no longer a hanging, nothingbut disaster, a series of magnificent deserted halls given over to ratsand spiders. The embassy occupies but one of them, where it heaps up itsdusty archives. Near by is a huge hall occupying the height of twofloors, and thus sixty feet in elevation. Reserved by the owner of thepalace, the ex-King of Naples, it has become a mere lumber-room where/maquettes/, unfinished statues, and a very fine sarcophagus are stowedaway amidst all kinds of remnants. And this is but a part of the palace. The ground floor is altogether uninhabited; the French "Ecole de Rome"occupies a corner of the second floor; while the embassy huddles inchilly fashion in the most habitable corner of the first floor, compelledto abandon everything else and lock the doors to spare itself the uselesstrouble of sweeping. No doubt it is grand to live in the Palazzo Farnese, built by Pope Paul III and for more than a century inhabited bycardinals; but how cruel the discomfort and how frightful the melancholyof this huge ruin, three-fourths of whose rooms are dead, useless, impossible, cut off from life. And the evenings, oh! the evenings, whenporch, court, stairs, and corridors are invaded by dense gloom, againstwhich a few smoky gas lamps struggle in vain, when a long, long journeylies before one through the lugubrious desert of stone, before onereaches the ambassador's warm and cheerful drawing-room!

 * The French have two embassies at Rome: one at the Palazzo Farnese, to the Italian Court, and the other at the Palazzo Rospigliosi, to the Vatican. --Trans. 

Pierre came away quite aghast. And, as he walked along, the many othergrand palaces which he had seen during his strolls rose before him, oneand all of them stripped of their splendour, shorn of their princelyestablishments, let out in uncomfortable flats! What could be done withthose grandiose galleries and halls now that no fortune could defray thecost of the pompous life for which they had been built, or even feed theretinue needed to keep them up? Few indeed were the nobles who, likePrince Aldobrandini, with his numerous progeny, still occupied theirentire mansions. Almost all of them let the antique dwellings of theirforefathers to companies or individual tenants, reserving only a storey, and at times a mere lodging in some dark corner, for themselves. ThePalazzo Chigi was let: the ground floor to bankers and the first floor tothe Austrian ambassador, while the Prince and his family divided thesecond floor with a cardinal. The Palazzo Sciarra was let: the firstfloor to the Minister of Foreign Affairs and the second to a senator, while the Prince and his mother merely occupied the ground floor. ThePalazzo Barberini was let: its ground floor, first floor, and secondfloor to various families, whilst the Prince found a refuge on the thirdfloor in the rooms which had been occupied by his ancestors' lackeys. ThePalazzo Borghese was let: the ground floor to a dealer in antiquities, the first floor to a Lodge of Freemasons, and the rest to varioushouseholds, whilst the Prince only retained the use of a small suite ofapartments. And the Palazzo Odescalchi, the Palazzo Colonna, the PalazzoDoria were let: their Princes reduced to the position of needy landlordseager to derive as much profit as possible from their property in orderto make both ends meet. A blast of ruin was sweeping over the Romanpatriziato, the greatest fortunes had crumbled in the financial crisis, very few remained wealthy, and what a wealth it was, stagnant and dead, which neither commerce nor industry could renew. The numerous princes whohad tried speculation were stripped of their fortunes. The others, terrified, called upon to pay enormous taxes, amounting to nearlyone-third of their incomes, could henceforth only wait and behold theirlast stagnant millions dwindle away till they were exhausted ordistributed according to the succession laws. Such wealth as remained tothese nobles must perish, for, like everything else, wealth perishes whenit lacks a soil in which it may fructify. In all this there was solely aquestion of time: eventual ruin was a foregone and irremediableconclusion, of absolute, historical certainty. Those who resignedthemselves to the course of letting their deserted mansions stillstruggled for life, seeking to accommodate themselves to present-dayexigencies; whilst death already dwelt among the others, those stubborn, proud ones who immured themselves in the tombs of their race, like thatappalling Palazzo Boccanera, which was falling into dust amidst suchchilly gloom and silence, the latter only broken at long intervals whenthe Cardinal's old coach rumbled over the grassy court. 

The point which most struck Pierre, however, was that his visits to theTrastevere and the Palazzo Farnese shed light one on the other, and ledhim to a conclusion which had never previously seemed so manifest. As yetno "people, " and soon no aristocracy. He had found the people sowretched, ignorant, and resigned in its long infancy induced by historicand climatic causes that many years of instruction and culture werenecessary for it to become a strong, healthy, and laborious democracy, conscious of both its rights and its duties. As for the aristocracy, itwas dwindling to death in its crumbling palaces, no longer aught than afinished, degenerate race, with such an admixture also of American, Austrian, Polish, and Spanish blood that pure Roman blood became a rareexception; and, moreover, it had ceased to belong either to sword orgown, unwilling to serve constitutional Italy and forsaking the SacredCollege, where only /parvenus/ now donned the purple. And between thelowly and the aristocracy there was as yet no firmly seated middle class, with the vigour of fresh sap and sufficient knowledge, and good sense toact as the transitional educator of the nation. The middle class was madeup in part of the old servants and clients of the princes, the farmerswho rented their lands, the stewards, notaries, and solicitors whomanaged their fortunes; in part, too, of all the employees, thefunctionaries of every rank and class, the deputies and senators, whomthe new Government had brought from the provinces; and, in particular, ofthe voracious hawks who had swooped down upon Rome, the Pradas, the menof prey from all parts of the kingdom, who with beak and talon devouredboth people and aristocracy. For whom, then, had one laboured? For whomhad those gigantic works of new Rome been undertaken? A shudder of fearsped by, a crack as of doom was heard, arousing pitiful disquietude inevery fraternal heart. Yes, a threat of doom and annihilation: as yet nopeople, soon no aristocracy, and only a ravenous middle class, quarrying, vulture-like, among the ruins. 

On the evening of that day, when all was dark, Pierre went to spend anhour on the river quay beyond the Boccanera mansion. He was very fond ofmeditating on that deserted spot in spite of the warnings of Victorine, who asserted that it was not safe. And, indeed, on such inky nights asthat one, no cutthroat place ever presented a more tragic aspect. Not asoul, not a passer-by; a dense gloom, a void in front and on either hand. At a corner of the mansion, now steeped in darkness, there was a gas lampwhich stood in a hollow since the river margin had been banked up, andthis lamp cast an uncertain glimmer upon the quay, level with thelatter's bossy soil. Thus long vague shadows stretched from the variousmaterials, piles of bricks and piles of stone, which were strewn around. On the right a few lights shone upon the bridge near San Giovanni and inthe windows of the hospital of the Santo Spirito. On the left, amidst thedim recession of the river, the distant districts were blotted out. Thenyonder, across the stream, was the Trastevere, the houses on the banklooking like vague, pale phantoms, with infrequent window-panes showing ablurred yellow glimmer, whilst on high only a dark band shadowed theJaniculum, near whose summit the lamps of some promenade scintillatedlike a triangle of stars. But it was the Tiber which impassioned Pierre;such was its melancholy majesty during those nocturnal hours. Leaningover the parapet, he watched it gliding between the new walls, whichlooked like those of some black and monstrous prison built for a giant. So long as lights gleamed in the windows of the houses opposite he sawthe sluggish water flow by, showing slow, moire-like ripples there wherethe quivering reflections endowed it with a mysterious life. And he oftenmused on the river's famous past and evoked the legends which assert thatfabulous wealth lies buried in its muddy bed. At each fresh invasion ofthe barbarians, and particularly when Rome was sacked, the treasures ofpalaces and temples are said to have been cast into the water to preventthem from falling into the hands of the conquerors. Might not thosegolden bars trembling yonder in the glaucous stream be the branches ofthe famous candelabrum which Titus brought from Jerusalem? Might notthose pale patches whose shape remained uncertain amidst the frequenteddies indicate the white marble of statues and columns? And those deepmoires glittering with little flamelets, were they not promiscuous heapsof precious metal, cups, vases, ornaments enriched with gems? What adream was that of the swarming riches espied athwart the old river'sbosom, of the hidden life of the treasures which were said to haveslumbered there for centuries; and what a hope for the nation's pride andenrichment centred in the miraculous finds which might be made in theTiber if one could some day dry it up and search its bed, as had alreadybeen suggested! Therein, perchance, lay Rome's new fortune. 

However, on that black night, whilst Pierre leant over the parapet, itwas stern reality alone which occupied his mind. He was still pursuingthe train of thought suggested by his visits to the Trastevere and theFarnese palace, and in presence of that lifeless water was coming to theconclusion that the selection of Rome for transformation into a moderncapital was the great misfortune to which the sufferings of young Italywere due. He knew right well that the selection had been inevitable: Romebeing the queen of glory, the antique ruler of the world to whom eternityhad been promised, and without whom the national unity had always seemedan impossibility. And so the problem was a terrible one, since withoutRome Italy could not exist, and with Rome it seemed difficult for it toexist. Ah! that dead river, how it symbolised disaster! Not a boat uponits surface, not a quiver of the commercial and industrial activity ofthose waters which bear life to the very hearts of great modern cities!There had been fine schemes, no doubt--Rome a seaport, gigantic works, canalisation to enable vessels of heavy tonnage to come up to theAventine; but these were mere delusions; the authorities would scarcelybe able to clear the river mouth, which deposits were continuallychoking. And there was that other cause of mortal languishment, theCampagna--the desert of death which the dead river crossed and whichgirdled Rome with sterility. There was talk of draining and planting it;much futile discussion on the question whether it had been fertile in thedays of the old Romans; and even a few experiments were made; but, allthe same, Rome remained in the midst of a vast cemetery like a city ofother times, for ever separated from the modern world by that /lande/ ormoor where the dust of centuries had accumulated. The geographicalconsiderations which once gave the city the empire of the world no longerexist. The centre of civilisation has been displaced. The basin of theMediterranean has been divided among powerful nations. In Italy all roadsnow lead to Milan, the city of industry and commerce, and Rome is but atown of passage. And so the most valiant efforts have failed to rouse itfrom its invincible slumber. The capital which the newcomers sought toimprovise with such extreme haste has remained unfinished, and has almostruined the nation. The Government, legislators, and functionaries onlycamp there, fleeing directly the warm weather sets in so as to escape thepernicious climate. The hotels and shops even put up their shutters, andthe streets and promenades become deserts, the city having failed toacquire any life of its own, and relapsing into death as soon as theartificial life instilled into it is withdrawn. So all remains insuspense in this purely decorative capital, where only a fresh growth ofmen and money can finish and people the huge useless piles of the newdistricts. If it be true that to-morrow always blooms in the dust of thepast, one ought to force oneself to hope; but Pierre asked himself if thesoil were not exhausted, and since mere buildings could no longer grow onit, if it were not for ever drained of the sap which makes a racehealthy, a nation powerful. 

As the night advanced the lights in the houses of the Trastevere went outone by one: yet Pierre for a long time lingered on the quay, leaning overthe blackened river and yielding to hopelessness. There was now nodistance to the gloom; all had become dense; no longer did anyreflections set a moire-like, golden quiver in the water, or revealbeneath its mystery-concealing current a fantastic, dancing vision offabulous wealth. Gone was the legend, gone the seven-branched goldencandelabrum, gone the golden vases, gone the golden jewellery, the wholedream of antique treasure that had vanished into night, even like theantique glory of Rome. Not a glimmer, nothing but slumber, disturbedsolely by the heavy fall of sewage from the drain on the right-hand, which could not be seen. The very water had disappeared, and Pierre nolonger espied its leaden flow through the darkness, no longer had anyperception of the sluggish senility, the long-dating weariness, theintense sadness of that ancient and glorious Tiber, whose waters nowrolled nought but death. Only the vast, opulent sky, the eternal, pompoussky displayed the dazzling life of its milliards of planets above thatriver of darkness, bearing away the ruins of wellnigh three thousandyears. 

Before returning to his own chamber that evening Pierre entered Dario'sroom, and found Victorine there preparing things for the night. And assoon as she heard where he had been she raised her voice in protest:"What! you have again been to the quay at this time of night, Monsieurl'Abbe? You want to get a good knife thrust yourself, it seems. Well, formy part, I certainly wouldn't take the air at such a late hour in thisdangerous city. " Then, with her wonted familiarity, she turned and spoketo the Prince, who was lying back in an arm-chair and smiling: "Thatgirl, La Pierina, " she said, "hasn't been back here, but all the sameI've lately seen her prowling about among the building materials. "

Dario raised his hand to silence her, and, addressing Pierre, exclaimed:"But you spoke to her, didn't you? It's becoming idiotic! Just fancy thatbrute Tito coming back to dig his knife into my other shoulder--"

All at once he paused, for he had just perceived Benedetta standing thereand listening to him; she had slipped into the room a moment previouslyin order to wish him good-night. At sight of her his embarrassment wasgreat indeed; he wished to speak, explain his words, and swear that hewas wholly innocent in the affair. But she, with a smiling face, contented herself with saying, "I knew all about it, Dario /mio/. I amnot so foolish as not to have thought it all over and understood thetruth. If I ceased questioning you it was because I knew, and loved youall the same. "

The young woman looked very happy as she spoke, and for this she had goodcause, for that very evening she had learnt that Monsignor Palma hadshown himself grateful for the service rendered to his nephew by laying afresh and favourable memoir on the marriage affair before theCongregation of the Council. He had been unwilling to recall his previousopinions so far as to range himself completely on the Contessina's side, but the certificates of two doctors whom she had recently seen hadenabled him to conclude that her own declarations were accurate. Andgliding over the question of wifely obedience, on which he had previouslylaid stress, he had skilfully set forth the reasons which made adissolution of the marriage desirable. No hope of reconciliation could beentertained, so it was certain that both parties were constantly exposedto temptation and sin. He discreetly alluded to the fact that the husbandhad already succumbed to this danger, and praised the wife's loftymorality and piety, all the virtues which she displayed, and whichguaranteed her veracity. Then, without formulating any conclusion of hisown, he left the decision to the wisdom of the Congregation. And as hevirtually repeated Advocate Morano's arguments, and Prada stubbornlyrefused to enter an appearance, it now seemed certain that theCongregation would by a great majority pronounce itself in favour ofdissolution, a result which would enable the Holy Father to actbenevolently. 

"Ah! Dario /mio/!" said Benedetta, "we are at the end of our worries. Butwhat a lot of money, what a lot of money it all costs! Aunt says thatthey will scarcely leave us water to drink. "

So speaking she laughed with the happy heedlessness of an impassioned/amorosa/. It was not that the jurisdiction of the Congregations was initself ruinous; indeed, in principle, it was gratuitous. Still there werea multitude of petty expenses, payments to subaltern employees, paymentsfor medical consultations and certificates, copies of documents, and thememoirs and addresses of counsel. And although the votes of the cardinalswere certainly not bought direct, some of them ended by costingconsiderable sums, for it often became necessary to win over dependants, to induce quite a little world to bring influence to bear upon theirEminences; without mentioning that large pecuniary gifts, when made withtact, have a decisive effect in clearing away the greatest difficultiesin that sphere of the Vatican. And, briefly, Monsignor Palma's nephew bymarriage had cost the Boccaneras a large sum. 

"But it doesn't matter, does it, Dario /mio/?" continued Benedetta. "Since you are now cured, they must make haste to give us permission tomarry. That's all we ask of them. And if they want more, well, I'll givethem my pearls, which will be all I shall have left me. "

He also laughed, for money had never held any place in his life. He hadnever had it at his pleasure, and simply hoped that he would always livewith his uncle the cardinal, who would certainly not leave him and hisyoung wife in the streets. Ruined as the family was, one or two hundredthousand francs represented nothing to his mind, and he had heard thatcertain dissolutions of marriage had cost as much as half a million. So, by way of response, he could only find a jest: "Give them my ring aswell, " said he; "give them everything, my dear, and we shall still behappy in this old palace even if we have to sell the furniture!"

His words filled her with enthusiasm; she took his head between bothhands and kissed him madly on the eyes in an extraordinary transport ofpassion. Then, suddenly turning to Pierre, she said: "Oh! excuse me, Monsieur l'Abbe. I was forgetting that I have a commission for you. Yes, Monsignor Nani, who brought us that good news, bade me tell you that youare making people forget you too much, and that you ought to set to workto defend your book. "

The priest listened in astonishment; then replied: "But it was he whoadvised me to disappear. "

"No doubt--only it seems that the time has now come for you to see peopleand plead your cause. And Monsignor Nani has been able to learn that thereporter appointed to examine your book is Monsignor Fornaro, who liveson the Piazza Navona. "

Pierre's stupefaction was increasing, for a reporter's name is neverdivulged, but kept quite secret, in order to ensure a free exercise ofjudgment. Was a new phase of his sojourn in Rome about to begin then? Hismind was all wonderment. However, he simply answered: "Very good, I willset to work and see everybody. "