The Three Cities Trilogy: Chapter 10

Chapter 10

X

IN his anxiety to bring things to a finish, Pierre wished to begin his
campaign on the very next day. But on whom should he first call if he
were to steer clear of blunders in that intricate and conceited
ecclesiastical world? The question greatly perplexed him; however, on
opening his door that morning he luckily perceived Don Vigilio in the
passage, and with a sudden inspiration asked him to step inside. He
realised that this thin little man with the saffron face, who always
trembled with fever and displayed such exaggerated, timorous discretion,
was in reality well informed, mixed up in everything. At one period it
had seemed to Pierre that the secretary purposely avoided him, doubtless
for fear of compromising himself; but recently Don Vigilio had proved
less unsociable, as though he were not far from sharing the impatience
which must be consuming the young Frenchman amidst his long enforced
inactivity. And so, on this occasion, he did not seek to avoid the chat
on which Pierre was bent.

"I must apologise," said the latter, "for asking you in here when things
are in such disorder. But I have just received some more linen and some
winter clothing from Paris. I came, you know, with just a little valise,
meaning to stay for a fortnight, and yet I've now been here for nearly
three months, and am no more advanced than I was on the morning of my
arrival."

Don Vigilio nodded. "Yes, yes, I know," said he.

Thereupon Pierre explained to him that Monsignor Nani had informed him,
through the Contessina, that he now ought to act and see everybody for
the defence of his book. But he was much embarrassed, as he did not know
in what order to make his visits so that they might benefit him. For
instance, ought he to call in the first place on Monsignor Fornaro, the
/consultore/ selected to report on his book, and whose name had been
given him?

"Ah!" exclaimed Don Vigilio, quivering; "has Monsignor Nani gone as far
as that--given you the reporter's name? That's even more than I
expected." Then, forgetting his prudence, yielding to his secret interest
in the affair, he resumed: "No, no; don't begin with Monsignor Fornaro.
Your first visit should be a very humble one to the Prefect of the
Congregation of the Index--his Eminence Cardinal Sanguinetti; for he
would never forgive you for having offered your first homage to another
should he some day hear of it." And, after a pause, Don Vigilio added, in
a low voice, amidst a faint, feverish shiver: "And he /would/ hear of it;
everything becomes known."

Again he hesitated, and then, as if yielding to sudden, sympathetic
courage, he took hold of the young Frenchman's hands. "I swear to you, my
dear Monsieur Froment," he said, "that I should be very happy to help
you, for you are a man of simple soul, and I really begin to feel worried
for you. But you must not ask me for impossibilities. Ah! if you only
knew--if I could only tell you of all the perils which surround us!
However, I think I can repeat to you that you must in no wise rely on my
patron, his Eminence Cardinal Boccanera. He has expressed absolute
disapproval of your book in my presence on several occasions. Only he is
a saint, a most worthy, honourable man; and, though he won't defend you,
he won't attack you--he will remain neutral out of regard for his niece,
whom he loves so dearly, and who protects you. So, when you see him,
don't plead your cause; it would be of no avail, and might even irritate
him."

Pierre was not particularly distressed by this news, for at his first
interview with the Cardinal, and on the few subsequent occasions when he
had respectfully visited him, he had fully understood that his Eminence
would never be other than an adversary. "Well," said he, "I will wait on
him to thank him for his neutrality."

But at this all Don Vigilio's terrors returned. "No, no, don't do that;
he would perhaps realise that I have spoken to you, and then what a
disaster--my position would be compromised. I've said nothing, nothing!
See the cardinals to begin with, see all the cardinals. Let it be
understood between us that I've said nothing more." And, on that occasion
at any rate, Don Vigilio would speak no further, but left the room
shuddering and darting fiery, suspicious glances on either side of the
corridor.

Pierre at once went out to call on Cardinal Sanguinetti. It was ten
o'clock, and there was a chance that he might find him at home. This
cardinal resided on the first floor of a little palazzo in a dark, narrow
street near San Luigi dei Francesi.* There was here none of the giant
ruin full of princely and melancholy grandeur amidst which Cardinal
Boccanera so stubbornly remained. The old regulation gala suite of rooms
had been cut down just like the number of servants. There was no
throne-room, no red hat hanging under a /baldacchino/, no arm-chair
turned to the wall pending a visit from the Pope. A couple of apartments
served as ante-rooms, and then came a /salon/ where the Cardinal
received; and there was no luxury, indeed scarcely any comfort; the
furniture was of mahogany, dating from the empire period, and the
hangings and carpets were dusty and faded by long use. Moreover, Pierre
had to wait a long time for admittance, and when a servant, leisurely
putting on his jacket, at last set the door ajar, it was only to say that
his Eminence had been away at Frascati since the previous day.

* This is the French church of Rome, and is under the protection
of the French Government.--Trans.

Pierre then remembered that Cardinal Sanguinetti was one of the suburban
bishops. At his see of Frascati he had a villa where he occasionally
spent a few days whenever a desire for rest or some political motive
impelled him to do so.

"And will his Eminence soon return?" Pierre inquired.

"Ah! we don't know. His Eminence is poorly, and expressly desired us to
send nobody to worry him."

When Pierre reached the street again he felt quite bewildered by this
disappointment. At first he wondered whether he had not better call on
Monsignor Fornaro without more ado, but he recollected Don Vigilio's
advice to see the cardinals first of all, and, an inspiration coming to
him, he resolved that his next visit should be for Cardinal Sarno, whose
acquaintance he had eventually made at Donna Serafina's Mondays. In spite
of Cardinal Sarno's voluntary self-effacement, people looked upon him as
one of the most powerful and redoubtable members of the Sacred College,
albeit his nephew Narcisse Habert declared that he knew no man who showed
more obtuseness in matters which did not pertain to his habitual
occupations. At all events, Pierre thought that the Cardinal, although
not a member of the Congregation of the Index, might well give him some
good advice, and possibly bring his great influence to bear on his
colleagues.

The young man straightway betook himself to the Palace of the Propaganda,
where he knew he would find the Cardinal. This palace, which is seen from
the Piazza di Spagna, is a bare, massive corner pile between two streets.
And Pierre, hampered by his faulty Italian, quite lost himself in it,
climbing to floors whence he had to descend again, and finding himself in
a perfect labyrinth of stairs, passages, and halls. At last he luckily
came across the Cardinal's secretary, an amiable young priest, whom he
had already seen at the Boccanera mansion. "Why, yes," said the
secretary, "I think that his Eminence will receive you. You did well to
come at this hour, for he is always here of a morning. Kindly follow me,
if you please."

Then came a fresh journey. Cardinal Sarno, long a Secretary of the
Propaganda, now presided over the commission which controlled the
organisation of worship in those countries of Europe, Africa, America,
and Oceanica where Catholicism had lately gained a footing; and he thus
had a private room of his own with special officers and assistants,
reigning there with the ultra-methodical habits of a functionary who had
grown old in his arm-chair, closely surrounded by nests of drawers, and
knowing nothing of the world save the usual sights of the street below
his window.

The secretary left Pierre on a bench at the end of a dark passage, which
was lighted by gas even in full daylight. And quite a quarter of an hour
went by before he returned with his eager, affable air. "His Eminence is
conferring with some missionaries who are about to leave Rome," he said;
"but it will soon be over, and he told me to take you to his room, where
you can wait for him."

As soon as Pierre was alone in the Cardinal's sanctum he examined it with
curiosity. Fairly spacious, but in no wise luxurious, it had green paper
on its walls, and its furniture was of black wood and green damask. From
two windows overlooking a narrow side street a mournful light reached the
dark wall-paper and faded carpets. There were a couple of pier tables and
a plain black writing-table, which stood near one window, its worn
mole-skin covering littered with all sorts of papers. Pierre drew near to
it for a moment, and glanced at the arm-chair with damaged, sunken seat,
the screen which sheltered it from draughts, and the old inkstand
splotched with ink. And then, in the lifeless and oppressive atmosphere,
the disquieting silence, which only the low rumbles from the street
disturbed, he began to grow impatient.

However, whilst he was softly walking up and down he suddenly espied a
map affixed to one wall, and the sight of it filled him with such
absorbing thoughts that he soon forgot everything else. It was a coloured
map of the world, the different tints indicating whether the territories
belonged to victorious Catholicism or whether Catholicism was still
warring there against unbelief; these last countries being classified as
vicariates or prefectures, according to the general principles of
organisation. And the whole was a graphic presentment of the long efforts
of Catholicism in striving for the universal dominion which it has sought
so unremittingly since its earliest hour. God has given the world to His
Church, but it is needful that she should secure possession of it since
error so stubbornly abides. From this has sprung the eternal battle, the
fight which is carried on, even in our days, to win nations over from
other religions, as it was in the days when the Apostles quitted Judaea
to spread abroad the tidings of the Gospel. During the middle ages the
great task was to organise conquered Europe, and this was too absorbing
an enterprise to allow of any attempt at reconciliation with the
dissident churches of the East. Then the Reformation burst forth, schism
was added to schism, and the Protestant half of Europe had to be
reconquered as well as all the orthodox East.

War-like ardour, however, awoke at the discovery of the New World. Rome
was ambitious of securing that other side of the earth, and missions were
organised for the subjection of races of which nobody had known anything
the day before, but which God had, nevertheless, given to His Church,
like all the others. And by degrees the two great divisions of
Christianity were formed, on one hand the Catholic nations, those where
the faith simply had to be kept up, and which the Secretariate of State
installed at the Vatican guided with sovereign authority, and on the
other the schismatical or pagan nations which were to be brought back to
the fold or converted, and over which the Congregation of the Propaganda
sought to reign. Then this Congregation had been obliged to divide itself
into two branches in order to facilitate its work--the Oriental branch,
which dealt with the dissident sects of the East, and the Latin branch,
whose authority extended over all the other lands of mission: the two
forming a vast organisation--a huge, strong, closely meshed net cast over
the whole world in order that not a single soul might escape.

It was in presence of that map that Pierre for the first time became
clearly conscious of the mechanism which for centuries had been working
to bring about the absorption of humanity. The Propaganda, richly dowered
by the popes, and disposing of a considerable revenue, appeared to him
like a separate force, a papacy within the papacy, and he well understood
that the Prefect of the Congregation should be called the "Red Pope," for
how limitless were the powers of that man of conquest and domination,
whose hands stretched from one to the other end of the earth. Allowing
that the Cardinal Secretary held Europe, that diminutive portion of the
globe, did not he, the Prefect, hold all the rest--the infinity of space,
the distant countries as yet almost unknown? Besides, statistics showed
that Rome's uncontested dominion was limited to 200 millions of Apostolic
and Roman Catholics; whereas the schismatics of the East and the
Reformation, if added together, already exceeded that number, and how
small became the minority of the true believers when, besides the
schismatics, one brought into line the 1000 millions of infidels who yet
remained to be converted. The figures struck Pierre with a force which
made him shudder. What! there were 5 million Jews, nearly 200 million
Mahommedans, more than 700 million Brahmanists and Buddhists, without
counting another 100 million pagans of divers creeds, the whole making
1000 millions, and against these the Christians could marshal barely more
than 400 millions, who were divided among themselves, ever in conflict,
one half with Rome and the other half against her?* Was it possible that
in 1800 years Christianity had not proved victorious over even one-third
of mankind, and that Rome, the eternal and all-powerful, only counted a
sixth part of the nations among her subjects? Only one soul saved out of
every six--how fearful was the disproportion! However, the map spoke with
brutal eloquence: the red-tinted empire of Rome was but a speck when
compared with the yellow-hued empire of the other gods--the endless
countries which the Propaganda still had to conquer. And the question
arose: How many centuries must elapse before the promises of the Christ
were realised, before the whole world were gained to Christianity, before
religious society spread over secular society, and there remained but one
kingdom and one belief? And in presence of this question, in presence of
the prodigious labour yet to be accomplished, how great was one's
astonishment when one thought of Rome's tranquil serenity, her patient
stubbornness, which has never known doubt or weariness, her bishops and
ministers toiling without cessation in the conviction that she alone will
some day be the mistress of the world!

* Some readers may question certain of the figures given by M.
Zola, but it must be remembered that all such calculations
(even those of the best "authorities") are largely guesswork.
I myself think that there are more than 5 million Jews, and
more than 200 millions of Mahommedans, but I regard the alleged
number of Brahmanists and Buddhists as exaggerated. On the
other hand, some statistical tables specify 80 millions of
Confucianists, of whom M. Zola makes no separate mention.
However, as regards the number of Christians in the world, the
figures given above are, within a few millions, probably
accurate.--Trans.

Narcisse had told Pierre how carefully the embassies at Rome watched the

doings of the Propaganda, for the missions were often the instruments of
one or another nation, and exercised decisive influence in far-away
lands. And so there was a continual struggle, in which the Congregation
did all it could to favour the missionaries of Italy and her allies. It
had always been jealous of its French rival, "L'Oeuvre de la Propagation
de la Foi," installed at Lyons, which is as wealthy in money as itself,
and richer in men of energy and courage. However, not content with
levelling tribute on this French association, the Propaganda thwarted it,
sacrificed it on every occasion when it had reason to think it might
achieve a victory. Not once or twice, but over and over again had the
French missionaries, the French orders, been driven from the scenes of
their labours to make way for Italians or Germans. And Pierre, standing
in that mournful, dusty room, which the sunlight never brightened,
pictured the secret hot-bed of political intrigue masked by the
civilising ardour of faith. Again he shuddered as one shudders when
monstrous, terrifying things are brought home to one. And might not the
most sensible be overcome? Might not the bravest be dismayed by the
thought of that universal engine of conquest and domination, which worked
with the stubbornness of eternity, not merely content with the gain of
souls, but ever seeking to ensure its future sovereignty over the whole
of corporeal humanity, and--pending the time when it might rule the
nations itself--disposing of them, handing them over to the charge of
this or that temporary master, in accordance with its good pleasure. And
then, too, what a prodigious dream! Rome smiling and tranquilly awaiting
the day when she will have united Christians, Mahommedans, Brahmanists,
and Buddhists into one sole nation, of whom she will be both the
spiritual and the temporal queen!

However, a sound of coughing made Pierre turn, and he started on
perceiving Cardinal Sarno, whom he had not heard enter. Standing in front
of that map, he felt like one caught in the act of prying into a secret,
and a deep flush overspread his face. The Cardinal, however, after
looking at him fixedly with his dim eyes, went to his writing-table, and
let himself drop into the arm-chair without saying a word. With a gesture
he dispensed Pierre of the duty of kissing his ring.

"I desired to offer my homage to your Eminence," said the young man. "Is
your Eminence unwell?"

"No, no, it's nothing but a dreadful cold which I can't get rid of. And
then, too, I have so many things to attend to just now."

Pierre looked at the Cardinal as he appeared in the livid light from the
window, puny, lopsided, with the left shoulder higher than the right, and
not a sign of life on his worn and ashen countenance. The young priest
was reminded of one of his uncles, who, after thirty years spent in the
offices of a French public department, displayed the same lifeless
glance, parchment-like skin, and weary hebetation. Was it possible that
this withered old man, so lost in his black cassock with red edging, was
really one of the masters of the world, with the map of Christendom so
deeply stamped on his mind, albeit he had never left Rome, that the
Prefect of the Propaganda did not take a decision without asking his
opinion?

"Sit down, Monsieur l'Abbe," said the Cardinal. "So you have come to see
me--you have something to ask of me!" And, whilst disposing himself to
listen, he stretched out his thin bony hands to finger the documents
heaped up before him, glancing at each of them like some general, some
strategist, profoundly versed in the science of his profession, who,
although his army is far away, nevertheless directs it to victory from
his private room, never for a moment allowing it to escape his mind.

Pierre was somewhat embarrassed by such a plain enunciation of the
interested object of his visit; still, he decided to go to the point.
"Yes, indeed," he answered, "it is a liberty I have taken to come and
appeal to your Eminence's wisdom for advice. Your Eminence is aware that
I am in Rome for the purpose of defending a book of mine, and I should be
grateful if your Eminence would help and guide me." Then he gave a brief
account of the present position of the affair, and began to plead his
cause; but as he continued speaking he noticed that the Cardinal gave him
very little attention, as though indeed he were thinking of something
else, and failed to understand.

"Ah! yes," the great man at last muttered, "you have written a book.
There was some question of it at Donna Serafina's one evening. But a
priest ought not to write; it is a mistake for him to do so. What is the
good of it? And the Congregation of the Index must certainly be in the
right if it is prosecuting your book. At all events, what can I do? I
don't belong to the Congregation, and I know nothing, nothing about the
matter."

Pierre, pained at finding him so listless and indifferent, went on trying
to enlighten and move him. But he realised that this man's mind, so
far-reaching and penetrating in the field in which it had worked for
forty years, closed up as soon as one sought to divert it from its
specialty. It was neither an inquisitive nor a supple mind. All trace of
life faded from the Cardinal's eyes, and his entire countenance assumed
an expression of mournful imbecility. "I know nothing, nothing," he
repeated, "and I never recommend anybody." However, at last he made an
effort: "But Nani is mixed up in this," said he. "What does Nani advise
you to do?"

"Monsignor Nani has been kind enough to reveal to me that the reporter is
Monsignor Fornaro, and advises me to see him."

At this Cardinal Sarno seemed surprised and somewhat roused. A little
light returned to his eyes. "Ah! really," he rejoined, "ah! really--
Well, if Nani has done that he must have some idea. Go and see Monsignor
Fornaro." Then, after rising and dismissing his visitor, who was
compelled to thank him, bowing deeply, he resumed his seat, and a moment
later the only sound in the lifeless room was that of his bony fingers
turning over the documents before him.

Pierre, in all docility, followed the advice given him, and immediately
betook himself to the Piazza Navona, where, however, he learnt from one
of Monsignor Fornaro's servants that the prelate had just gone out, and
that to find him at home it was necessary to call in the morning at ten
o'clock. Accordingly it was only on the following day that Pierre was
able to obtain an interview. He had previously made inquiries and knew
what was necessary concerning Monsignor Fornaro. Born at Naples, he had
there begun his studies under the Barnabites, had finished them at the
Seminario Romano, and had subsequently, for many years, been a professor
at the University Gregoriana. Nowadays Consultor to several Congregations
and a Canon of Santa Maria Maggiore, he placed his immediate ambition in
a Canonry at St. Peter's, and harboured the dream of some day becoming
Secretary of the Consistorial Congregation, a post conducting to the
cardinalate. A theologian of remarkable ability, Monsignor Fornaro
incurred no other reproach than that of occasionally sacrificing to
literature by contributing articles, which he carefully abstained from
signing, to certain religious reviews. He was also said to be very
worldly.

Pierre was received as soon as he had sent in his card, and perhaps he
would have fancied that his visit was expected had not an appearance of
sincere surprise, blended with a little anxiety, marked his reception.

"Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, Monsieur l'Abbe Froment," repeated the prelate,
looking at the card which he still held. "Kindly step in--I was about to
forbid my door, for I have some urgent work to attend to. But no matter,
sit down."

Pierre, however, remained standing, quite charmed by the blooming
appearance of this tall, strong, handsome man who, although five and
forty years of age, was quite fresh and rosy, with moist lips, caressing
eyes, and scarcely a grey hair among his curly locks. Nobody more
fascinating and decorative could be found among the whole Roman prelacy.
Careful of his person undoubtedly, and aiming at a simple elegance, he
looked really superb in his black cassock with violet collar. And around
him the spacious room where he received his visitors, gaily lighted as it
was by two large windows facing the Piazza Navona, and furnished with a
taste nowadays seldom met with among the Roman clergy, diffused a
pleasant odour and formed a setting instinct with kindly cheerfulness.

"Pray sit down, Monsieur l'Abbe Froment," he resumed, "and tell me to
what I am indebted for the honour of your visit."

He had already recovered his self-possession and assumed a /naif/, purely
obliging air; and Pierre, though the question was only natural, and he
ought to have foreseen it, suddenly felt greatly embarrassed, more
embarrassed indeed than in Cardinal Sarno's presence. Should he go to the
point at once, confess the delicate motive of his visit? A moment's
reflection showed him that this would be the best and worthier course.
"Dear me, Monseigneur," he replied, "I know very well that the step I
have taken in calling on you is not usually taken, but it has been
advised me, and it has seemed to me that among honest folks there can
never be any harm in seeking in all good faith to elucidate the truth."

"What is it, what is it, then?" asked the prelate with an expression of
perfect candour, and still continuing to smile.

"Well, simply this. I have learnt that the Congregation of the Index has
handed you my book 'New Rome,' and appointed you to examine it; and I
have ventured to present myself before you in case you should have any
explanations to ask of me."

But Monsignor Fornaro seemed unwilling to hear any more. He had carried
both hands to his head and drawn back, albeit still courteous. "No, no,"
said he, "don't tell me that, don't continue, you would grieve me
dreadfully. Let us say, if you like, that you have been deceived, for
nothing ought to be known, in fact nothing is known, either by others or
myself. I pray you, do not let us talk of such matters."

Pierre, however, had fortunately remarked what a decisive effect was
produced when he had occasion to mention the name of the Assessor of the
Holy Office. So it occurred to him to reply: "I most certainly do not
desire to give you the slightest cause for embarrassment, Monseigneur,
and I repeat to you that I would never have ventured to importune you if
Monsignor Nani himself had not acquainted me with your name and address."

This time the effect was immediate, though Monsignor Fornaro, with that
easy grace which he introduced into all things, made some ceremony about
surrendering. He began by a demurrer, speaking archly with subtle shades
of expression. "What! is Monsignor Nani the tattler! But I shall scold
him, I shall get angry with him! And what does he know? He doesn't belong
to the Congregation; he may have been led into error. You must tell him
that he has made a mistake, and that I have nothing at all to do with
your affair. That will teach him not to reveal needful secrets which
everybody respects!" Then, in a pleasant way, with winning glance and
flowery lips, he went on: "Come, since Monsignor Nani desires it, I am
willing to chat with you for a moment, my dear Monsieur Froment, but on
condition that you shall know nothing of my report or of what may have
been said or done at the Congregation."

Pierre in his turn smiled, admiring how easy things became when forms
were respected and appearances saved. And once again he began to explain
his case, the profound astonishment into which the prosecution of his
book had thrown him, and his ignorance of the objections which were taken
to it, and for which he had vainly sought a cause.

"Really, really," repeated the prelate, quite amazed at so much
innocence. "The Congregation is a tribunal, and can only act when a case
is brought before it. Proceedings have been taken against your book
simply because it has been denounced."

"Yes, I know, denounced."

"Of course. Complaint was laid by three French bishops, whose names you
will allow me to keep secret, and it consequently became necessary for
the Congregation to examine the incriminated work."

Pierre looked at him quite scared. Denounced by three bishops? Why? With
what object? Then he thought of his protector. "But Cardinal Bergerot,"
said he, "wrote me a letter of approval, which I placed at the beginning
of my work as a preface. Ought not a guarantee like that to have been
sufficient for the French episcopacy?"

Monsignor Fornaro wagged his head in a knowing way before making up his
mind to reply: "Ah! yes, no doubt, his Eminence's letter, a very
beautiful letter. I think, however, that it would have been much better
if he had not written it, both for himself and for you especially." Then
as the priest, whose surprise was increasing, opened his mouth to urge
him to explain himself, he went on: "No, no, I know nothing, I say
nothing. His Eminence Cardinal Bergerot is a saintly man whom everybody
venerates, and if it were possible for him to sin it would only be
through pure goodness of heart."

Silence fell. Pierre could divine that an abyss was opening, and dared
not insist. However, he at last resumed with some violence: "But, after
all, why should my book be prosecuted, and the books of others be left
untouched? I have no intention of acting as a denouncer myself, but how
many books there are to which Rome closes her eyes, and which are far
more dangerous than mine can be!"

This time Monsignor Fornaro seemed glad to be able to support Pierre's
views. "You are right," said he, "we cannot deal with every bad book, and
it greatly distresses us. But you must remember what an incalculable
number of works we should be compelled to read. And so we have to content
ourselves with condemning the worst /en bloc/."

Then he complacently entered into explanations. In principle, no printer
ought to send any work to press without having previously submitted the
manuscript to the approval of the bishop of the diocese. Nowadays,
however, with the enormous output of the printing trade, one could
understand how terribly embarrassed the bishops would be if the printers
were suddenly to conform to the Church's regulation. There was neither
the time nor the money, nor were there the men necessary for such
colossal labour. And so the Congregation of the Index condemned /en
masse/, without examination, all works of certain categories: first,
books which were dangerous for morals, all erotic writings, and all
novels; next the various bibles in the vulgar tongue, for the perusal of
Holy Writ without discretion was not allowable; then the books on magic
and sorcery, and all works on science, history, or philosophy that were
in any way contrary to dogma, as well as the writings of heresiarchs or
mere ecclesiastics discussing religion, which should never be discussed.
All these were wise laws made by different popes, and were set forth in
the preface to the catalogue of forbidden books which the Congregation
published, and without them this catalogue, to have been complete, would
in itself have formed a large library. On turning it over one found that
the works singled out for interdiction were chiefly those of priests, the
task being so vast and difficult that Rome's concern extended but little
beyond the observance of good order within the Church. And Pierre and his
book came within the limit.

"You will understand," continued Monsignor Fornaro, "that we have no
desire to advertise a heap of unwholesome writings by honouring them with
special condemnation. Their name is legion in every country, and we
should have neither enough paper nor enough ink to deal with them all. So
we content ourselves with condemning one from time to time, when it bears
a famous name and makes too much noise, or contains disquieting attacks
on the faith. This suffices to remind the world that we exist and defend
ourselves without abandoning aught of our rights or duties."

"But my book, my book," exclaimed Pierre, "why these proceedings against
my book?"

"I am explaining that to you as far as it is allowable for me to do, my
dear Monsieur Froment. You are a priest, your book is a success, you have
published a cheap edition of it which sells very readily; and I don't
speak of its literary merit, which is remarkable, for it contains a
breath of real poetry which transported me, and on which I must really
compliment you. However, under the circumstances which I have enumerated,
how could we close our eyes to such a work as yours, in which the
conclusion arrived at is the annihilation of our holy religion and the
destruction of Rome?"

Pierre remained open-mouthed, suffocating with surprise. "The destruction
of Rome!" he at last exclaimed; "but I desire to see Rome rejuvenated,
eternal, again the queen of the world." And, once more mastered by his
glowing enthusiasm, he defended himself and confessed his faith:
Catholicism reverting to the principles and practices of the primitive
Church, drawing the blood of regeneration from the fraternal Christianity
of Jesus; the Pope, freed from all terrestrial royalty, governing the
whole of humanity with charity and love, and saving the world from the
frightful social cataclysm that threatens it by leading it to the real
Kingdom of God: the Christian communion of all nations united in one
nation only. "And can the Holy Father disavow me?" he continued. "Are not
these his secret ideas, which people are beginning to divine, and does
not my only offence lie in having expressed them perhaps too soon and too
freely? And if I were allowed to see him should I not at once obtain from
him an order to stop these proceedings?"

Monsignor Fornaro no longer spoke, but wagged his head without appearing
offended by the priest's juvenile ardour. On the contrary, he smiled with
increasing amiability, as though highly amused by so much innocence and
imagination. At last he gaily responded, "Oh! speak on, speak on; it
isn't I who will stop you. I'm forbidden to say anything. But the
temporal power, the temporal power."

"Well, what of the temporal power?" asked Pierre.

The prelate had again become silent, raising his amiable face to heaven
and waving his white hands with a pretty gesture. And when he once more
opened his mouth it was to say: "Then there's your new religion--for the
expression occurs twice: the new religion, the new religion--ah, /Dio/!"

Again he became restless, going off into an ecstasy of wonderment, at
sight of which Pierre impatiently exclaimed: "I do not know what your
report will be, Monseigneur, but I declare to you that I have had no
desire to attack dogma. And, candidly now, my whole book shows that I
only sought to write a work of pity and salvation. It is only justice
that some account should be taken of one's intentions."

Monsignor Fornaro had become very calm and paternal again. "Oh!
intentions! intentions!" he said as he rose to dismiss his visitor. "You
may be sure, my dear Monsieur Froment, that I feel much honoured by your
visit. Naturally I cannot tell you what my report will be; as it is, we
have talked too much about it, and, in fact, I ought to have refused to
listen to your defence. At the same time, you will always find me ready
to be of service to you in anything that does not go against my duty. But
I greatly fear that your book will be condemned." And then, as Pierre
again started, he added: "Well, yes. It is facts that are judged, you
know, not intentions. So all defence is useless; the book is there, and
we take it such as it is. However much you may try to explain it, you
cannot alter it. And this is why the Congregation never calls the accused
parties before it, and never accepts from them aught but retraction pure
and simple. And, indeed, the wisest course would be for you to withdraw
your book and make your submission. No? You won't? Ah! how young you are,
my friend!"

He laughed yet more loudly at the gesture of revolt, of indomitable pride
which had just escaped his young friend, as he called him. Then, on
reaching the door, he again threw off some of his reserve, and said in a
low voice, "Come, my dear Abbe, there is something I will do for you. I
will give you some good advice. At bottom, I myself am nothing. I deliver
my report, and it is printed, and the members of the Congregation read
it, but are quite free to pay no attention to it. However, the Secretary
of the Congregation, Father Dangelis, can accomplish everything, even
impossibilities. Go to see him; you will find him at the Dominican
convent behind the Piazza di Spagna. Don't name me. And for the present
good-bye, my dear fellow, good-bye."

Pierre once more found himself on the Piazza Navona, quite dazed, no
longer knowing what to believe or hope. A cowardly idea was coming over
him; why should he continue this struggle, in which his adversaries
remained unknown and indiscernible? Why carry obstinacy any further, why
linger any longer in that impassionating but deceptive Rome? He would
flee that very evening, return to Paris, disappear there, and forget his
bitter disillusion in the practice of humble charity. He was traversing
one of those hours of weakness when the long-dreamt-of task suddenly
seems to be an impossibility. However, amidst his great confusion he was
nevertheless walking on, going towards his destination. And when he found
himself in the Corso, then in the Via dei Condotti, and finally in the
Piazza di Spagna, he resolved that he would at any rate see Father
Dangelis. The Dominican convent is there, just below the Trinity de'
Monti.

Ah! those Dominicans! Pierre had never thought of them without a feeling
of respect with which mingled a little fear. What vigorous pillars of the
principle of authority and theocracy they had for centuries proved
themselves to be! To them the Church had been indebted for its greatest
measure of authority; they were the glorious soldiers of its triumph.
Whilst St. Francis won the souls of the humble over to Rome, St. Dominic,
on Rome's behalf, subjected all the superior souls--those of the
intelligent and powerful. And this he did with passion, amidst a blaze of
faith and determination, making use of all possible means, preachings,
writings, and police and judicial pressure. Though he did not found the
Inquisition, its principles were his, and it was with fire and sword that
his fraternal, loving heart waged war on schism. Living like his monks,
in poverty, chastity, and obedience--the great virtues of those times of
pride and licentiousness--he went from city to city, exhorting the
impious, striving to bring them back to the Church and arraigning them
before the ecclesiastical courts when his preachings did not suffice. He
also laid siege to science, sought to make it his own, dreamt of
defending God with the weapons of reason and human knowledge like a true
forerunner of the angelic St. Thomas, that light of the middle ages, who
joined the Dominican order and set everything in his "Summa Theologiae,"
psychology, logic, policy, and morals. And thus it was that the
Dominicans filled the world, upholding the doctrines of Rome in the most
famous pulpits of every nation, and contending almost everywhere against
the free sprit of the Universities, like the vigilant guardians of dogma
that they were, the unwearying artisans of the fortunes of the popes, the
most powerful amongst all the artistic, scientific, and literary workers
who raised the huge edifice of Catholicism such as it exists to-day.

However, Pierre, who could feel that this edifice was even now tottering,
though it had been built, people fancied, so substantially as to last
through all eternity, asked himself what could be the present use of the
Dominicans, those toilers of another age, whose police system and whose
tribunals had perished beneath universal execration, whose voices were no
longer listened to, whose books were but seldom read, and whose /role/ as
/savants/ and civilisers had come to an end in presence of latter-day
science, the truths of which were rending dogma on all sides. Certainly
the Dominicans still form an influential and prosperous order; but how
far one is from the times when their general reigned in Rome, Master of
the Holy Palace, with convents and schools, and subjects throughout
Europe! Of all their vast inheritance, so far as the Roman curia is
concerned, only a few posts now remain to them, and among others the
Secretaryship of the Congregation of the Index, a former dependency of
the Holy Office where they once despotically ruled.

Pierre was immediately ushered into the presence of Father Dangelis. The
convent parlour was vast, bare, and white, flooded with bright sunshine.
The only furniture was a table and some stools; and a large brass
crucifix hung from the wall. Near the table stood the Father, a very thin
man of about fifty, severely draped in his ample white habit and black
mantle. From his long ascetic face, with thin lips, thin nose, and
pointed, obstinate chin, his grey eyes shone out with a fixity that
embarrassed one. And, moreover, he showed himself very plain and simple
of speech, and frigidly polite in manner.

"Monsieur l'Abbe Froment--the author of 'New Rome,' I suppose?" Then
seating himself on one stool and pointing to another, he added: "Pray
acquaint me with the object of your visit, Monsieur l'Abbe."

Thereupon Pierre had to begin his explanation, his defence, all over
again; and the task soon became the more painful as his words fell from
his lips amidst death-like silence and frigidity. Father Dangelis did not
stir; with his hands crossed upon his knees he kept his sharp,
penetrating eyes fixed upon those of the priest. And when the latter had
at last ceased speaking, he slowly said: "I did not like to interrupt
you, Monsieur l'Abbe, but it was not for me to hear all this. Process
against your book has begun, and no power in the world can stay or impede
its course. I do not therefore realise what it is that you apparently
expect of me."

In a quivering voice Pierre was bold enough to answer: "I look for some
kindness and justice."

A pale smile, instinct with proud humility, arose to the Dominican's
lips. "Be without fear," he replied, "God has ever deigned to enlighten
me in the discharge of my modest duties. Personally, be it said, I have
no justice to render; I am but an employee whose duty is to classify
matters and draw up documents concerning them. Their Eminences, the
members of the Congregation, will alone pronounce judgment on your book.
And assuredly they will do so with the help of the Holy Spirit. You will
only have to bow to their sentence when it shall have been ratified by
his Holiness."

Then he broke off the interview by rising, and Pierre was obliged to do
the same. The Dominican's words were virtually identical with those that
had fallen from Monsignor Fornaro, but they were spoken with cutting
frankness, a sort of tranquil bravery. On all sides Pierre came into
collision with the same anonymous force, the same powerful engine whose
component parts sought to ignore one another. For a long time yet, no
doubt, he would be sent from one to the other, without ever finding the
volitional element which reasoned and acted. And the only thing that he
could do was to bow to it all.

However, before going off, it occurred to him once more to mention the
name of Monsignor Nani, the powerful effect of which he had begun to
realise. "I ask your pardon," he said, "for having disturbed you to no
purpose, but I simply deferred to the kind advice of Monsignor Nani, who
has condescended to show me some interest."

The effect of these words was unexpected. Again did Father Dangelis's
thin face brighten into a smile, but with a twist of the lips, sharp with
ironical contempt. He had become yet paler, and his keen intelligent eyes
were flaming. "Ah! it was Monsignor Nani who sent you!" he said. "Well,
if you think you need a protector, it is useless for you to apply to any
other than himself. He is all-powerful. Go to see him; go to see him!"

And that was the only encouragement Pierre derived from his visit: the
advice to go back to the man who had sent him. At this he felt that he
was losing ground, and he resolved to return home in order to reflect on
things and try to understand them before taking any further steps. The
idea of questioning Don Vigilio at once occurred to him, and that same
evening after supper he luckily met the secretary in the corridor, just
as, candle in hand, he was on his way to bed.

"I have so many things that I should like to say to you," Pierre said to
him. "Can you kindly come to my rooms for a moment?"

But the other promptly silenced him with a gesture, and then whispered:
"Didn't you see Abbe Paparelli on the first floor? He was following us,
I'm sure."

Pierre often saw the train-bearer roaming about the house, and greatly
disliked his stealthy, prying ways. However, he had hitherto attached no
importance to him, and was therefore much surprised by Don Vigilio's
question. The other, without awaiting his reply, had returned to the end
of the corridor, where for a long while he remained listening. Then he
came back on tip-toe, blew out his candle, and darted into Pierre's
sitting-room. "There--that's done," he murmured directly the door was
shut. "But if it is all the same to you, we won't stop in this
sitting-room. Let us go into your bed-room. Two walls are better than
one."

When the lamp had been placed on the table and they found themselves
seated face to face in that bare, faded bed-chamber, Pierre noticed that
the secretary was suffering from a more violent attack of fever than
usual. His thin puny figure was shivering from head to foot, and his
ardent eyes had never before blazed so blackly in his ravaged, yellow
face. "Are you poorly?" asked Pierre. "I don't want to tire you."

"Poorly, yes, I am on fire--but I want to talk. I can't bear it any
longer. One always has to relieve oneself some day or other."

Was it his complaint that he desired to relieve; or was he anxious to
break his long silence in order that it might not stifle him? This at
first remained uncertain. He immediately asked for an account of the
steps that Pierre had lately taken, and became yet more restless when he
heard how the other had been received by Cardinal Sarno, Monsignor
Fornaro, and Father Dangelis. "Yes, that's quite it," he repeated,
"nothing astonishes me nowadays, and yet I feel indignant on your
account. Yes, it doesn't concern me, but all the same it makes me ill,
for it reminds me of all my own troubles. You must not rely on Cardinal
Sarno, remember, for he is always elsewhere, with his mind far away, and
has never helped anybody. But that Fornaro, that Fornaro!"

"He seemed to me very amiable, even kindly disposed," replied Pierre;
"and I really think that after our interview, he will considerably soften
his report."

"He! Why, the gentler he was with you the more grievously he will saddle
you! He will devour you, fatten himself with such easy prey. Ah! you
don't know him, /dilizioso/ that he is, ever on the watch to rear his own
fortune on the troubles of poor devils whose defeat is bound to please
the powerful. I prefer the other one, Father Dangelis, a terrible man, no
doubt, but frank and brave and of superior mind. I must admit, however,
that he would burn you like a handful of straw if he were the master. And
ah! if I could tell you everything, if I could show you the frightful
under-side of this world of ours, the monstrous, ravenous ambition, the
abominable network of intrigues, venality, cowardice, treachery, and even
crime!"

On seeing Don Vigilio so excited, in such a blaze of spite, Pierre
thought of extracting from him some of the many items of information
which he had hitherto sought in vain. "Well, tell me merely what is the
position of my affair," he responded. "When I questioned you on my
arrival here you said that nothing had yet reached Cardinal Boccanera.
But all information must now have been collected, and you must know of
it. And, by the way, Monsignor Fornaro told me that three French bishops
had asked that my book should be prosecuted. Three bishops, is it
possible?"

Don Vigilio shrugged his shoulders. "Ah!" said he, "yours is an innocent
soul! I'm surprised that there were /only/ three! Yes, several documents
relating to your affair are in our hands; and, moreover, things have
turned out much as I suspected. The three bishops are first the Bishop of
Tarbes, who evidently carries out the vengeance of the Fathers of
Lourdes; and then the Bishops of Poitiers and Evreux, who are both known
as uncompromising Ultramontanists and passionate adversaries of Cardinal
Bergerot. The Cardinal, you know, is regarded with disfavour at the
Vatican, where his Gallican ideas and broad liberal mind provoke perfect
anger. And don't seek for anything else. The whole affair lies in that:
an execution which the powerful Fathers of Lourdes demand of his
Holiness, and a desire to reach and strike Cardinal Bergerot through your
book, by means of the letter of approval which he imprudently wrote to
you and which you published by way of preface. For a long time past the
condemnations of the Index have largely been secret knock-down blows
levelled at Churchmen. Denunciation reigns supreme, and the law applied
is that of good pleasure. I could tell you some almost incredible things,
how perfectly innocent books have been selected among a hundred for the
sole object of killing an idea or a man; for the blow is almost always
levelled at some one behind the author, some one higher than he is. And
there is such a hot-bed of intrigue, such a source of abuses in this
institution of the Index, that it is tottering, and even among those who
surround the Pope it is felt that it must soon be freshly regulated if it
is not to fall into complete discredit. I well understand that the Church
should endeavour to retain universal power, and govern by every fit
weapon, but the weapons must be such as one can use without their
injustice leading to revolt, or their antique childishness provoking
merriment!"

Pierre listened with dolorous astonishment in his heart. Since he had
been at Rome and had seen the Fathers of the Grotto saluted and feared
there, holding an authoritative position, thanks to the large alms which
they contributed to the Peter's Pence, he had felt that they were behind
the proceedings instituted against him, and realised that he would have
to pay for a certain page of his book in which he had called attention to
an iniquitous displacement of fortune at Lourdes, a frightful spectacle
which made one doubt the very existence of the Divinity, a continual
cause of battle and conflict which would disappear in the truly Christian
society of to-morrow. And he could also now understand that his delight
at the loss of the temporal power must have caused a scandal, and
especially that the unfortunate expression "a new religion" had alone
been sufficient to arm /delatores/ against him. But that which amazed and
grieved him was to learn that Cardinal Bergerot's letter was looked upon
as a crime, and that his (Pierre's) book was denounced and condemned in
order that adversaries who dared not attack the venerable pastor face to
face might, deal him a cowardly blow from behind. The thought of
afflicting that saintly man, of serving as the implement to strike him in
his ardent charity, cruelly grieved Pierre. And how bitter and
disheartening it was to find the most hideous questions of pride and
money, ambition and appetite, running riot with the most ferocious
egotism, beneath the quarrels of those leaders of the Church who ought
only to have contended together in love for the poor!

And then Pierre's mind revolted against that supremely odious and idiotic
Index. He now understood how it worked, from the arrival of the
denunciations to the public posting of the titles of the condemned works.
He had just seen the Secretary of the Congregation, Father Dangelis, to
whom the denunciations came, and who then investigated the affair,
collecting all documents and information concerning it with the passion
of a cultivated authoritarian monk, who dreamt of ruling minds and
consciences as in the heroic days of the Inquisition. Then, too, Pierre
had visited one of the consultive prelates, Monsignor Fornaro, who was so
ambitious and affable, and so subtle a theologian that he would have
discovered attacks against the faith in a treatise on algebra, had his
interests required it. Next there were the infrequent meetings of the
cardinals, who at long intervals voted for the interdiction of some
hostile book, deeply regretting that they could not suppress them all;
and finally came the Pope, approving and signing the decrees, which was a
mere formality, for were not all books guilty? But what an extraordinary
wretched Bastille of the past was that aged Index, that senile
institution now sunk into second childhood. One realised that it must
have been a formidable power when books were rare and the Church had
tribunals of blood and fire to enforce her edicts. But books had so
greatly multiplied, the written, printed thoughts of mankind had swollen
into such a deep broad river, that they had swept all opposition away,
and now the Index was swamped and reduced to powerlessness, compelled
more and more to limit its field of action, to confine itself to the
examination of the writings of ecclesiastics, and even in this respect it
was becoming corrupt, fouled by the worst passions and changed into an
instrument of intrigue, hatred, and vengeance. Ah! that confession of
decay, of paralysis which grew more and more complete amidst the scornful
indifference of the nations. To think that Catholicism, the once glorious
agent of civilisation, had come to such a pass that it cast books into
hell-fire by the heap; and what books they were, almost the entire
literature, history, philosophy, and science of the past and the present!
Few works, indeed, are published nowadays that would not fall under the
ban of the Church. If she seems to close her eyes, it is in order to
avoid the impossible task of hunting out and destroying everything. Yet
she stubbornly insists on retaining a semblance of sovereign authority
over human intelligence, just as some very aged queen, dispossessed of
her states and henceforth without judges or executioners, might continue
to deliver vain sentences to which only an infinitesimal minority would
pay heed. But imagine the Church momentarily victorious, miraculously
mastering the modern world, and ask yourself what she, with her tribunals
to condemn and her gendarmes to enforce, would do with human thought.
Imagine a strict application of the Index regulations: no printer able to
put anything whatever to press without the approval of his bishop, and
even then every book laid before the Congregation, the past expunged, the
present throttled, subjected to an intellectual Reign of Terror! Would
not the closing of every library perforce ensue, would not the long
heritage of written thought be cast into prison, would not the future be
barred, would not all progress, all conquest of knowledge, be totally
arrested? Rome herself is nowadays a terrible example of such a
disastrous experiment--Rome with her congealed soil, her dead sap, killed
by centuries of papal government, Rome which has become so barren that
not a man, not a work has sprung from her midst even after five and
twenty years of awakening and liberty! And who would accept such a state
of things, not among people of revolutionary mind, but among those of
religious mind that might possess any culture and breadth of view?
Plainly enough it was all mere childishness and absurdity.

Deep silence reigned, and Pierre, quite upset by his reflections, made a
gesture of despair whilst glancing at Don Vigilio, who sat speechless in
front of him. For a moment longer, amidst the death-like quiescence of
that old sleeping mansion, both continued silent, seated face to face in
the closed chamber which the lamp illumined with a peaceful glow. But at
last Don Vigilio leant forward, his eyes sparkling, and with a feverish
shiver murmured: "It is they, you know, always they, at the bottom of
everything."

Pierre, who did not understand, felt astonished, indeed somewhat anxious
at such a strange remark coming without any apparent transition. "Who are
/they/?" he asked.

"The Jesuits!"

In this reply the little, withered, yellow priest had set all the
concentrated rage of his exploding passion. Ah! so much the worse if he
had perpetrated a fresh act of folly. The cat was out of the bag at last!
Nevertheless, he cast a final suspicious glance around the walls. And
then he relieved his mind at length, with a flow of words which gushed
forth the more irresistibly since he had so long held them in check. "Ah!
the Jesuits, the Jesuits! You fancy that you know them, but you haven't
even an idea of their abominable actions and incalculable power. They it
is whom one always comes upon, everywhere, in every circumstance.
Remember /that/ whenever you fail to understand anything, if you wish to
understand it. Whenever grief or trouble comes upon you, whenever you
suffer, whenever you weep, say to yourself at once: 'It is they; they are
there!' Why, for all I know, there may be one of them under that bed,
inside that cupboard. Ah! the Jesuits, the Jesuits! They have devoured
me, they are devouring me still, they will leave nothing of me at last,
neither flesh nor bone."

Then, in a halting voice, he related the story of his life, beginning
with his youth, which had opened so hopefully. He belonged to the petty
provincial nobility, and had been dowered with a fairly large income,
besides a keen, supple intelligence, which looked smilingly towards the
future. Nowadays, he would assuredly have been a prelate, on the road to
high dignities, but he had been foolish enough to speak ill of the
Jesuits and to thwart them in two or three circumstances. And from that
moment, if he were to be believed, they had caused every imaginable
misfortune to rain upon him: his father and mother had died, his banker
had robbed him and fled, good positions had escaped him at the very
moment when he was about to occupy them, the most awful misadventures had
pursued him amidst the duties of his ministry to such a point indeed,
that he had narrowly escaped interdiction. It was only since Cardinal
Boccanera, compassionating his bad luck, had taken him into his house and
attached him to his person, that he had enjoyed a little repose. "Here I
have a refuge, an asylum," he continued. "They execrate his Eminence, who
has never been on their side, but they haven't yet dared to attack him or
his servants. Oh! I have no illusions, they will end by catching me
again, all the same. Perhaps they will even hear of our conversation this
evening, and make me pay dearly for it; for I do wrong to speak, I speak
in spite of myself. They have stolen all my happiness, and brought all
possible misfortune on me, everything that was possible, everything--you
hear me!"

Increasing discomfort was taking possession of Pierre, who, seeking to
relieve himself by a jest, exclaimed: "Come, come, at any rate it wasn't
the Jesuits who gave you the fever."

"Yes, yes, it was!" Don Vigilio violently declared. "I caught it on the
bank of the Tiber one evening, when I went to weep there in my grief at
having been driven from the little church where I officiated."

Pierre, hitherto, had never believed in the terrible legend of the
Jesuits. He belonged to a generation which laughed at the idea of
wehr-wolves, and considered the /bourgeois/ fear of the famous black men,
who hid themselves in walls and terrorised families, to be a trifle
ridiculous. To him all such things seemed to be nursery tales,
exaggerated by religious and political passion. And so it was with
amazement that he examined Don Vigilio, suddenly fearing that he might
have to deal with a maniac.

Nevertheless he could not help recalling the extraordinary story of the
Jesuits. If St. Francis of Assisi and St. Dominic are the very soul and
spirit of the middle ages, its masters and teachers, the former a living
expression of all the ardent, charitable faith of the humble, and the
other defending dogma and fixing doctrines for the intelligent and the
powerful, on the other hand Ignatius de Loyola appeared on the threshold
of modern times to save the tottering heritage by accommodating religion
to the new developments of society, thereby ensuring it the empire of the
world which was about to appear.

At the advent of the modern era it seemed as if the Deity were to be
vanquished in the uncompromising struggle with sin, for it was certain
that the old determination to suppress Nature, to kill the man within
man, with his appetites, passions, heart, and blood, could only result in
a disastrous defeat, in which, indeed, the Church found herself on the
very eve of sinking; and it was the Jesuits who came to extricate her
from this peril and reinvigorate her by deciding that it was she who now
ought to go to the world, since the world seemed unwilling to go any
longer to her. All lay in that; you find the Jesuits declaring that one
can enter into arrangements with heaven; they bend and adjust themselves
to the customs, prejudices, and even vices of the times; they smile, all
condescension, cast rigourism aside, and practice the diplomacy of
amiability, ever ready to turn the most awful abominations "to the
greater glory of God." That is their motto, their battle-cry, and thence
springs the moral principle which many regard as their crime: that all
means are good to attain one's end, especially when that end is the
furtherance of the Deity's interests as represented by those of the
Church. And what overwhelming success attends the efforts of the Jesuits!
they swarm and before long cover the earth, on all sides becoming
uncontested masters. They shrive kings, they acquire immense wealth, they
display such victorious power of invasion that, however humbly they may
set foot in any country, they soon wholly possess it: souls, bodies,
power, and fortune alike falling to them. And they are particularly
zealous in founding schools, they show themselves to be incomparable
moulders of the human brain, well understanding that power always belongs
to the morrow, to the generations which are growing up and whose master
one must be if one desire to reign eternally. So great is their power,
based on the necessity of compromise with sin, that, on the morrow of the
Council of Trent, they transform the very spirit of Catholicism,
penetrate it, identify it with themselves and become the indispensable
soldiers of the papacy which lives by them and for them. And from that
moment Rome is theirs, Rome where their general so long commands, whence
so long go forth the directions for the obscure tactics which are blindly
followed by their innumerable army, whose skilful organisation covers the
globe as with an iron network hidden by the velvet of hands expert in
dealing gently with poor suffering humanity. But, after all, the most
prodigious feature is the stupefying vitality of the Jesuits who are
incessantly tracked, condemned, executed, and yet still and ever erect.
As soon as their power asserts itself, their unpopularity begins and
gradually becomes universal. Hoots of execration arise around them,
abominable accusations, scandalous law cases in which they appear as
corruptors and felons. Pascal devotes them to public contempt,
parliaments condemn their books to be burnt, universities denounce their
system of morals and their teaching as poisonous. They foment such
disturbances, such struggles in every kingdom, that organised persecution
sets in, and they are soon driven from everywhere. During more than a
century they become wanderers, expelled, then recalled, passing and
repassing frontiers, leaving a country amidst cries of hatred to return
to it as soon as quiet has been restored. Finally, for supreme disaster,
they are suppressed by one pope, but another re-establishes them, and
since then they have been virtually tolerated everywhere. And in the
diplomatic self-effacement, the shade in which they have the prudence to
sequester themselves, they are none the less triumphant, quietly
confident of their victory like soldiers who have once and for ever
subdued the earth.

Pierre was aware that, judging by mere appearances, the Jesuits were
nowadays dispossessed of all influence in Rome. They no longer officiated
at the Gesu, they no longer directed the Collegio Romano, where they
formerly fashioned so many souls; and with no abode of their own, reduced
to accept foreign hospitality, they had modestly sought a refuge at the
Collegio Germanico, where there is a little chapel. There they taught and
there they still confessed, but without the slightest bustle or display.
Was one to believe, however, that this effacement was but masterly
cunning, a feigned disappearance in order that they might really remain
secret, all-powerful masters, the hidden hand which directs and guides
everything? People certainly said that the proclamation of papal
Infallibility had been their work, a weapon with which they had armed
themselves whilst feigning to bestow it on the papacy, in readiness for
the coming decisive task which their genius foresaw in the approaching
social upheavals. And thus there might perhaps be some truth in what Don
Vigilio, with a shiver of mystery, related about their occult
sovereignty, a seizin, as it were, of the government of the Church, a
royalty ignored but nevertheless complete.

As this idea occurred to Pierre, a dim connection between certain of his
experiences arose in his mind and he all at once inquired: "Is Monsignor
Nani a Jesuit, then?"

These words seemed to revive all Don Vigilio's anxious passion. He waved
his trembling hand, and replied: "He? Oh, he's too clever, too skilful by
far to have taken the robe. But he comes from that Collegio Romano where
his generation grew up, and he there imbibed that Jesuit genius which
adapted itself so well to his own. Whilst fully realising the danger of
wearing an unpopular and embarrassing livery, and wishing to be free, he
is none the less a Jesuit in his flesh, in his bones, in his very soul.
He is evidently convinced that the Church can only triumph by utilising
the passions of mankind, and withal he is very fond of the Church, very
pious at bottom, a very good priest, serving God without weakness in
gratitude for the absolute power which God gives to His ministers. And
besides, he is so charming, incapable of any brutal action, full of the
good breeding of his noble Venetian ancestors, and deeply versed in
knowledge of the world, thanks to his experiences at the nunciatures of
Paris, Vienna, and other places, without mentioning that he knows
everything that goes on by reason of the delicate functions which he has
discharged for ten years past as Assessor of the Holy Office. Yes, he is
powerful, all-powerful, and in him you do not have the furtive Jesuit
whose robe glides past amidst suspicion, but the head, the brain, the
leader whom no uniform designates."

This reply made Pierre grave, for he was quite willing to admit that an
opportunist code of morals, like that of the Jesuits, was inoculable and
now predominated throughout the Church. Indeed, the Jesuits might
disappear, but their doctrine would survive them, since it was the one
weapon of combat, the one system of strategy which might again place the
nations under the dominion of Rome. And in reality the struggle which
continued lay precisely in the attempts to accommodate religion to the
century, and the century to religion. Such being the case, Pierre
realised that such men as Monsignor Nani might acquire vast and even
decisive importance.

"Ah! if you knew, if you knew," continued Don Vigilio, "he's everywhere,
he has his hand in everything. For instance, nothing has ever happened
here, among the Boccaneras, but I've found him at the bottom of it,
tangling or untangling the threads according to necessities with which he
alone is acquainted."

Then, in the unquenchable fever for confiding things which was now
consuming him, the secretary related how Monsignor Nani had most
certainly brought on Benedetta's divorce case. The Jesuits, in spite of
their conciliatory spirit, have always taken up a hostile position with
regard to Italy, either because they do not despair of reconquering Rome,
or because they wait to treat in due season with the ultimate and real
victor, whether King or Pope. And so Nani, who had long been one of Donna
Serafina's intimates, had helped to precipitate the rupture with Prada as
soon as Benedetta's mother was dead. Again, it was he who, to prevent any
interference on the part of the patriotic Abbe Pisoni, the young woman's
confessor and the artisan of her marriage, had urged her to take the same
spiritual director as her aunt, Father Lorenza, a handsome Jesuit with
clear and kindly eyes, whose confessional in the chapel of the Collegio
Germanico was incessantly besieged by penitents. And it seemed certain
that this manoeuvre had brought about everything; what one cleric working
for Italy had done, was to be undone by another working against Italy.
Why was it, however, that Nani, after bringing about the rupture, had
momentarily ceased to show all interest in the affair to the point even
of jeopardising the suit for the dissolution of the marriage? And why was
he now again busying himself with it, setting Donna Serafina in action,
prompting her to buy Monsignor Palma's support, and bringing his own
influence to bear on the cardinals of the Congregation? There was mystery
in all this, as there was in everything he did, for his schemes were
always complicated and distant in their effects. However, one might
suppose that he now wished to hasten the marriage of Benedetta and Dario,
in order to stop all the abominable rumours which were circulating in the
white world; unless, indeed, this divorce secured by pecuniary payments
and the pressure of notorious influences were an intentional scandal at
first spun out and now hastened, in order to harm Cardinal Boccanera,
whom the Jesuits might desire to brush aside in certain eventualities
which were possibly near at hand.

"To tell the truth, I rather incline to the latter view," said Don
Vigilio, "the more so indeed as I learnt this evening that the Pope is
not well. With an old man of eighty-four the end may come at any moment,
and so the Pope can never catch cold but what the Sacred College and the
prelacies are all agog, stirred by sudden ambitious rivalries. Now, the
Jesuits have always opposed Cardinal Boccanera's candidature. They ought
to be on his side, on account of his rank, and his uncompromising
attitude towards Italy, but the idea of giving themselves such a master
disquiets them, for they consider him unseasonably rough and stern, too
violent in his faith, which unbending as it is would prove dangerous in
these diplomatic times through which the Church is passing. And so I
should in no wise be astonished if there were an attempt to discredit him
and render his candidature impossible, by employing the most underhand
and shameful means."

A little quiver of fear was coming over Pierre. The contagion of the
unknown, of the black intrigues plotted in the dark, was spreading amidst
the silence of the night in the depths of that palace, near that Tiber,
in that Rome so full of legendary tragedies. But all at once the young
man's mind reverted to himself, to his own affair. "But what is my part
in all this?" he asked: "why does Monsignor Nani seem to take an interest
in me? Why is he mixed up in the proceedings against my book?"

"Oh! one never knows, one never knows exactly!" replied Don Vigilio,
waving his arms. "One thing I can say, that he only knew of the affair
when the denunciations of the three bishops were already in the hands of
Father Dangelis; and I have also learnt that he then tried to stop the
proceedings, which he no doubt thought both useless and impolitic. But
when a matter is once before the Congregation it is almost impossible for
it to be withdrawn, and Monsignor Nani must also have come into collision
with Father Dangelis who, like a faithful Dominican, is the passionate
adversary of the Jesuits. It was then that he caused the Contessina to
write to Monsieur de la Choue, requesting him to tell you to hasten here
in order to defend yourself, and to arrange for your acceptance of
hospitality in this mansion, during your stay."

This revelation brought Pierre's emotion to a climax. "You are sure of
that?" he asked.

"Oh! quite sure. I heard Nani speak of you one Monday, and some time ago
I told you that he seemed to know all about you, as if he had made most
minute inquiries. My belief is that he had already read your book, and
was extremely preoccupied about it."

"Do you think that he shares my ideas, then? Is he sincere, is he
defending himself while striving to defend me?"

"Oh! no, no, not at all. Your ideas, why he certainly hates them, and
your book and yourself as well. You have no idea what contempt for the
weak, what hatred of the poor, and love of authority and domination he
conceals under his caressing amiability. Lourdes he might abandon to you,
though it embodies a marvellous weapon of government; but he will never
forgive you for being on the side of the little ones of the world, and
for pronouncing against the temporal power. If you only heard with what
gentle ferocity he derides Monsieur de la Choue, whom he calls the
weeping willow of Neo-Catholicism!"

Pierre carried his hands to his temples and pressed his head
despairingly. "Then why, why, tell me I beg of you, why has he brought me
here and kept me here in this house at his disposal? Why has he
promenaded me up and down Rome for three long months, throwing me against
obstacles and wearying me, when it was so easy for him to let the Index
condemn my book if it embarrassed him? It's true, of course, that things
would not have gone quietly, for I was disposed to refuse submission and
openly confess my new faith, even against the decisions of Rome."

Don Vigilio's black eyes flared in his yellow face: "Perhaps it was that
which he wished to prevent. He knows you to be very intelligent and
enthusiastic, and I have often heard him say that intelligence and
enthusiasm should not be fought openly."

Pierre, however, had risen to his feet, and instead of listening, was
striding up and down the room as though carried away by the whirlwind of
his thoughts. "Come, come," he said at last, "it is necessary that I
should know and understand things if I am to continue the struggle. You
must be kind enough to give me some detailed particulars about each of
the persons mixed up in my affair. Jesuits, Jesuits everywhere? /Mon
Dieu/, it may be so, you are perhaps right! But all the same you must
point out the different shades to me. Now, for instance, what of that
Fornaro?"

"Monsignor Fornaro, oh! he's whatever you like. Still he also was brought
up at the Collegio Romano, so you may be certain that he is a Jesuit, a
Jesuit by education, position, and ambition. He is longing to become a
cardinal, and if he some day becomes one, he'll long to be the next pope.
Besides, you know, every one here is a candidate to the papacy as soon as
he enters the seminary."

"And Cardinal Sanguinetti?"

"A Jesuit, a Jesuit! To speak plainly, he was one, then ceased to be one,
and is now undoubtedly one again. Sanguinetti has flirted with every
influence. It was long thought that he was in favour of conciliation
between the Holy See and Italy; but things drifted into a bad way, and he
violently took part against the usurpers. In the same style he has
frequently fallen out with Leo XIII and then made his peace. To-day at
the Vatican, he keeps on a footing of diplomatic reserve. Briefly he only
has one object, the tiara, and even shows it too plainly, which is a
mistake, for it uses up a candidate. Still, just at present the struggle
seems to be between him and Cardinal Boccanera. And that's why he has
gone over to the Jesuits again, utilising their hatred of his rival, and
anticipating that they will be forced to support /him/ in order to defeat
the other. But I doubt it, they are too shrewd, they will hesitate to
patronise a candidate who is already so compromised. He, blunder-head,
passionate and proud as he is, doubts nothing, and since you say that he
is now at Frascati, I'm certain that he made all haste to shut himself up
there with some grand strategical object in view, as soon as he heard of
the Pope's illness."

"Well, and the Pope himself, Leo XIII?" asked Pierre.

This time Don Vigilio slightly hesitated, his eyes blinking. Then he
said: "Leo XIII? He is a Jesuit, a Jesuit! Oh! I know it is said that he
sides with the Dominicans, and this is in a measure true, for he fancies
that he is animated with their spirit and he has brought St. Thomas into
favour again, and has restored all the ecclesiastical teaching of
doctrine. But there is also the Jesuit, remember, who is one
involuntarily and without knowing it, and of this category the present
Pope will prove the most famous example. Study his acts, investigate his
policy, and you will find that everything in it emanates from the Jesuit
spirit. The fact is that he has unwittingly become impregnated with that
spirit, and that all the influence, directly or indirectly brought to
bear on him comes from a Jesuit centre. Ah! why don't you believe me? I
repeat that the Jesuits have conquered and absorbed everything, that all
Rome belongs to them from the most insignificant cleric to his Holiness
in person."

Then he continued, replying to each fresh name that Pierre gave with the
same obstinate, maniacal cry: "Jesuit, Jesuit!" It seemed as if a
Churchman could be nothing else, as if each answer were a confirmation of
the proposition that the clergy must compound with the modern world if it
desired to preserve its Deity. The heroic age of Catholicism was
accomplished, henceforth it could only live by dint of diplomacy and
ruses, concessions and arrangements. "And that Paparelli, he's a Jesuit
too, a Jesuit!" Don Vigilio went on, instinctively lowering his voice.
"Yes, the humble but terrible Jesuit, the Jesuit in his most abominable
/role/ as a spy and a perverter! I could swear that he has merely been
placed here in order to keep watch on his Eminence! And you should see
with what supple talent and craft he has performed his task, to such a
point indeed that it is now he alone who wills and orders things. He
opens the door to whomsoever he pleases, uses his master like something
belonging to him, weighs on each of his resolutions, and holds him in his
power by dint of his stealthy unremitting efforts. Yes! it's the lion
conquered by the insect; the infinitesimally small disposing of the
infinitely great; the train-bearer--whose proper part is to sit at his
cardinal's feet like a faithful hound--in reality reigning over him, and
impelling him in whatsoever direction he chooses. Ah! the Jesuit! the
Jesuit! Mistrust him when you see him gliding by in his shabby old
cassock, with the flabby wrinkled face of a devout old maid. And make
sure that he isn't behind the doors, or in the cupboards, or under the
beds. Ah! I tell you that they'll devour you as they've devoured me; and
they'll give you the fever too, perhaps even the plague if you are not
careful!"

Pierre suddenly halted in front of his companion. He was losing all
assurance, both fear and rage were penetrating him. And, after all, why
not? These extraordinary stories must be true. "But in that case give me
some advice," he exclaimed, "I asked you to come in here this evening
precisely because I no longer know what to do, and need to be set in the
right path--" Then he broke off and again paced to and fro, as if urged
into motion by his exploding passion. "Or rather no, tell me nothing!" he
abruptly resumed. "It's all over; I prefer to go away. The thought
occurred to me before, but it was in a moment of cowardice and with the
idea of disappearing and of returning to live in peace in my little nook:
whereas now, if I go off, it will be as an avenger, a judge, to cry aloud
to all the world from Paris, to proclaim what I have seen in Rome, what
men have done there with the Christianity of Jesus, the Vatican falling
into dust, the corpse-like odour which comes from it, the idiotic
illusions of those who hope that they will one day see a renascence of
the modern soul arise from a sepulchre where the remnants of dead
centuries rot and slumber. Oh! I will not yield, I will not make my
submission, I will defend my book by a fresh one. And that book, I
promise you, will make some noise in the world, for it will sound the
last agony of a dying religion, which one must make all haste to bury
lest its remains should poison the nations!"

All this was beyond Don Vigilio's mind. The Italian priest, with narrow
belief and ignorant terror of the new ideas, awoke within him. He clasped
his hands, affrighted. "Be quiet, be quiet! You are blaspheming! And,
besides, you cannot go off like that without again trying to see his
Holiness. He alone is sovereign. And I know that I shall surprise you;
but Father Dangelis has given you in jest the only good advice that can
be given: Go back to see Monsignor Nani, for he alone will open the door
of the Vatican for you."

Again did Pierre give a start of anger: "What! It was with Monsignor Nani
that I began, from him that I set out; and I am to go back to him? What
game is that? Can I consent to be a shuttlecock sent flying hither and
thither by every battledore? People are having a game with me!"

Then, harassed and distracted, the young man fell on his chair in front
of Don Vigilio, who with his face drawn by his prolonged vigil, and his
hands still and ever faintly trembling, remained for some time silent. At
last he explained that he had another idea. He was slightly acquainted
with the Pope's confessor, a Franciscan father, a man of great
simplicity, to whom he might recommend Pierre. This Franciscan, despite
his self-effacement, would perhaps prove of service to him. At all events
he might be tried. Then, once more, silence fell, and Pierre, whose
dreamy eyes were turned towards the wall, ended by distinguishing the old
picture which had touched him so deeply on the day of his arrival. In the
pale glow of the lamp it gradually showed forth and lived, like an
incarnation of his own case, his own futile despair before the sternly
closed portal of truth and justice. Ah! that outcast woman, that stubborn
victim of love, weeping amidst her streaming hair, her visage hidden
whilst with pain and grief she sank upon the steps of that palace whose
door was so pitilessly shut--how she resembled him! Draped with a mere
strip of linen, she was shivering, and amidst the overpowering distress
of her abandonment she did not reveal her secret, misfortune, or
transgression, whichever it might be. But he, behind her close-pressed
hands, endowed her with a face akin to his own: she became his sister, as
were all the poor creatures without roof or certainty who weep because
they are naked and alone, and wear out their strength in seeking to force
the wicked thresholds of men. He could never gaze at her without pitying
her, and it stirred him so much that evening to find her ever so unknown,
nameless and visageless, yet steeped in the most bitter tears, that he
suddenly began to question his companion.

"Tell me," said he, "do you know who painted that old picture? It stirs
me to the soul like a masterpiece."

Stupefied by this unexpected question, the secretary raised his head and
looked, feeling yet more astonished when he had examined the blackened,
forsaken panel in its sorry frame.

"Where did it come from?" resumed Pierre; "why has it been stowed away in
this room?"

"Oh!" replied Don Vigilio, with a gesture of indifference, "it's nothing.
There are heaps of valueless old paintings everywhere. That one, no
doubt, has always been here. But I don't know; I never noticed it
before."

Whilst speaking he had at last risen to his feet, and this simple action
had brought on such a fit of shivering that he could scarcely take leave,
so violently did his teeth chatter with fever. "No, no, don't show me
out," he stammered, "keep the lamp here. And to conclude: the best course
is for you to leave yourself in the hands of Monsignor Nani, for he, at
all events, is a superior man. I told you on your arrival that, whether
you would or not, you would end by doing as he desired. And so what's the
use of struggling? And mind, not a word of our conversation to-night; it
would mean my death."

Then he noiselessly opened the doors, glanced distrustfully into the
darkness of the passage, and at last ventured out and disappeared,
regaining his own room with such soft steps that not the faintest
footfall was heard amidst the tomb-like slumber of the old mansion.

On the morrow, Pierre, again mastered by a desire to fight on to the very
end, got Don Vigilio to recommend him to the Pope's confessor, the
Franciscan friar with whom the secretary was slightly acquainted.
However, this friar proved to be an extremely timid if worthy man,
selected precisely on account of his great modesty, simplicity, and
absolute lack of influence in order that he might not abuse his position
with respect to the Holy Father. And doubtless there was an affectation
of humility on the latter's part in taking for confessor a member of the
humblest of the regular orders, a friend of the poor, a holy beggar of
the roads. At the same time the friar certainly enjoyed a reputation for
oratory; and hidden by a veil the Pope at times listened to his sermons;
for although as infallible Sovereign Pontiff Leo XIII could not receive
lessons from any priest, it was admitted that as a man he might reap
profit by listening to good discourse. Nevertheless apart from his
natural eloquence, the worthy friar was really a mere washer of souls, a
confessor who listens and absolves without even remembering the
impurities which he removes in the waters of penitence. And Pierre,
finding him really so poor and such a cipher, did not insist on an
intervention which he realised would be futile.

All that day the young priest was haunted by the figure of that ingenuous
lover of poverty, that delicious St. Francis, as Narcisse Habert was wont
to say. Pierre had often wondered how such an apostle, so gentle towards
both animate and inanimate creation, and so full of ardent charity for
the wretched, could have arisen in a country of egotism and enjoyment
like Italy, where the love of beauty alone has remained queen. Doubtless
the times have changed; yet what a strong sap of love must have been
needed in the old days, during the great sufferings of the middle ages,
for such a consoler of the humble to spring from the popular soil and
preach the gift of self to others, the renunciation of wealth, the horror
of brutal force, the equality and obedience which would ensure the peace
of the world. St. Francis trod the roads clad as one of the poorest, a
rope girdling his grey gown and his bare feet shod with sandals, and he
carried with him neither purse nor staff. And he and his brethren spoke
aloud and freely, with sovereign florescence of poetry and boldness of
truth, attacking the rich and the powerful, and daring even to denounce
the priests of evil life, the debauched, simoniacal, and perjured
bishops. A long cry of relief greeted the Franciscans, the people
followed them in crowds--they were the friends, the liberators of all the
humble ones who suffered. And thus, like revolutionaries, they at first
so alarmed Rome, that the popes hesitated to authorise their Order. When
they at last gave way it was assuredly with the hope of using this new
force for their own profit, by conquering the whole vague mass of the
lowly whose covert threats have ever growled through the ages, even in
the most despotic times. And thenceforward in the sons of St. Francis the
Church possessed an ever victorious army--a wandering army which spread
over the roads, in the villages and through the towns, penetrating to the
firesides of artisan and peasant, and gaining possession of all simple
hearts. How great the democratic power of such an Order which had sprung
from the very entrails of the people! And thence its rapid prosperity,
its teeming growth in a few years, friaries arising upon all sides, and
the third Order* so invading the secular population as to impregnate and
absorb it. And that there was here a genuine growth of the soil, a
vigorous vegetation of the plebeian stock was shown by an entire national
art arising from it--the precursors of the Renascence in painting and
even Dante himself, the soul of Italia's genius.

* The Franciscans, like the Dominicans and others, admit, in
addition to the two Orders of friars and nuns, a third Order
comprising devout persons of either sex who have neither the
vocation nor the opportunity for cloistered life, but live in
the world, privately observing the chief principles of the
fraternity with which they are connected. In central and
southern Europe members of these third Orders are still
numerous.--Trans.

For some days now, in the Rome of the present time, Pierre had been
coming into contact with those great Orders of the past. The Franciscans
and the Dominicans were there face to face in their vast convents of
prosperous aspect. But it seemed as if the humility of the Franciscans
had in the long run deprived them of influence. Perhaps, too, their
/role/ as friends and liberators of the people was ended since the people
now undertook to liberate itself. And so the only real remaining battle
was between the Dominicans and the Jesuits, both of whom still claimed to
mould the world according to their particular views. Warfare between them
was incessant, and Rome--the supreme power at the Vatican--was ever the
prize for which they contended. But, although the Dominicans had St.
Thomas on their side, they must have felt that their old dogmatic science
was crumbling, compelled as they were each day to surrender a little
ground to the Jesuits whose principles accorded better with the spirit of
the century. And, in addition to these, there were the white-robed
Carthusians, those very holy, pure, and silent meditators who fled from
the world into quiet cells and cloisters, those despairing and consoled
ones whose numbers may decrease but whose Order will live for ever, even
as grief and desire for solitude will live. And then there were the
Benedictines whose admirable rules have sanctified labour, passionate
toilers in literature and science, once powerful instruments of
civilisation, enlarging universal knowledge by their immense historical
and critical works. These Pierre loved, and with them would have sought a
refuge two centuries earlier, yet he was astonished to find them building
on the Aventine a huge dwelling, for which Leo XIII has already given
millions, as if the science of to-day and to-morrow were yet a field
where they might garner harvests. But /cui bono/, when the workmen have
changed, and dogmas are there to bar the road--dogmas which totter, no
doubt, but which believers may not fling aside in order to pass onward?
And finally came the swarm of less important Orders, hundreds in number;
there were the Carmelites, the Trappists, the Minims, the Barnabites, the
Lazzarists, the Eudists, the Mission Fathers, the Servites, the Brothers
of the Christian Doctrine; there were the Bernadines, the Augustinians,
the Theatines, the Observants, the Passionists, the Celestines, and the
Capuchins, without counting the corresponding Orders of women or the Poor
Clares, or the innumerable nuns like those of the Visitation and the
Calvary. Each community had its modest or sumptuous dwelling, certain
districts of Rome were entirely composed of convents, and behind the
silent lifeless facades all those people buzzed, intrigued, and waged the
everlasting warfare of rival interests and passions. The social evolution
which produced them had long since ceased, still they obstinately sought
to prolong their life, growing weaker and more useless day by day,
destined to a slow agony until the time shall come when the new
development of society will leave them neither foothold nor breathing
space.

And it was not only with the regulars that Pierre came in contact during
his peregrinations through Rome; indeed, he more particularly had to deal
with the secular clergy, and learnt to know them well. A hierarchical
system which was still vigorously enforced maintained them in various
ranks and classes. Up above, around the Pope, reigned the pontifical
family, the high and noble cardinals and prelates whose conceit was great
in spite of their apparent familiarity. Below them the parish clergy
formed a very worthy middle class of wise and moderate minds; and here
patriot priests were not rare. Moreover, the Italian occupation of a
quarter of a century, by installing in the city a world of functionaries
who saw everything that went on, had, curiously enough, greatly purified
the private life of the Roman priesthood, in which under the popes women,
beyond all question, played a supreme part. And finally one came to the
plebeian clergy whom Pierre studied with curiosity, a collection of
wretched, grimy, half-naked priests who like famished animals prowled
around in search of masses, and drifted into disreputable taverns in the
company of beggars and thieves. However, he was more interested by the
floating population of foreign priests from all parts of Christendom--the
adventurers, the ambitious ones, the believers, the madmen whom Rome
attracted just as a lamp at night time attracts the insects of the gloom.
Among these were men of every nationality, position, and age, all lashed
on by their appetites and scrambling from morn till eve around the
Vatican, in order to snap at the prey which they hoped to secure. He
found them everywhere, and told himself with some shame that he was one
of them, that the unit of his own personality served to increase the
incredible number of cassocks that one encountered in the streets. Ah!
that ebb and flow, that ceaseless tide of black gowns and frocks of every
hue! With their processions of students ever walking abroad, the
seminaries of the different nations would alone have sufficed to drape
and decorate the streets, for there were the French and the English all
in black, the South Americans in black with blue sashes, the North
Americans in black with red sashes, the Poles in black with green sashes,
the Greeks in blue, the Germans in red, the Scots in violet, the Romans
in black or violet or purple, the Bohemians with chocolate sashes, the
Irish with red lappets, the Spaniards with blue cords, to say nothing of
all the others with broidery and bindings and buttons in a hundred
different styles. And in addition there were the confraternities, the
penitents, white, black, blue, and grey, with sleeveless frocks and capes
of different hue, grey, blue, black, or white. And thus even nowadays
Papal Rome at times seemed to resuscitate, and one could realise how
tenaciously and vivaciously she struggled on in order that she might not
disappear in the cosmopolitan Rome of the new era. However, Pierre,
whilst running about from one prelate to another, frequenting priests and
crossing churches, could not accustom himself to the worship, the Roman
piety which astonished him when it did not wound him. One rainy Sunday
morning, on entering Santa Maria Maggiore, he fancied himself in some
waiting-room, a very splendid one, no doubt, but where God seemed to have
no habitation. There was not a bench, not a chair in the nave, across
which people passed, as they might pass through a railway station,
wetting and soiling the precious mosaic pavement with their muddy shoes;
and tired women and children sat round the bases of the columns, even as
in railway stations one sees people sitting and waiting for their trains
during the great crushes of the holiday season. And for this tramping
throng of folks of small degree, who had looked in /en passant/, a priest
was saying a low mass in a side chapel, before which a narrow file of
standing people had gathered, extending across the nave, and recalling
the crowds which wait in front of theatres for the opening of the doors.
At the elevation of the host one and all inclined themselves devoutly,
but almost immediately afterwards the gathering dispersed. And indeed why
linger? The mass was said. Pierre everywhere found the same form of
attendance, peculiar to the countries of the sun; the worshippers were in
a hurry and only favoured the Deity with short familiar visits, unless it
were a question of some gala scene at San Paolo or San Giovanni in
Laterano or some other of the old basilicas. It was only at the Gesu, on
another Sunday morning, that the young priest came upon a high-mass
congregation, which reminded him of the devout throngs of the North. Here
there were benches and women seated, a worldly warmth and cosiness under
the luxurious, gilded, carved, and painted roof, whose tawny splendour is
very fine now that time has toned down the eccentricities of the
decoration. But how many of the churches were empty, among them some of
the most ancient and venerable, San Clemente, Sant' Agnese, Santa Croce
in Gerusalemme, where during the offices one saw but a few believers of
the neighbourhood. Four hundred churches were a good many for even Rome
to people; and, indeed, some were merely attended on fixed ceremonial
occasions, and a good many merely opened their doors once every year--on
the feast day, that is, of their patron saint. Some also subsisted on the
lucky possession of a fetish, an idol compassionate to human sufferings.
Santa Maria in Ara Coeli possessed the miraculous little Jesus, the
"Bambino," who healed sick children, and Sant' Agostino had the "Madonna
del Parto," who grants a happy delivery to mothers. Then others were
renowned for the holy water of their fonts, the oil of their lamps, the
power of some wooden saint or marble virgin. Others again seemed
forsaken, given up to tourists and the perquisites of beadles, like mere
museums peopled with dead gods: Finally others disturbed one's faith by
the suggestiveness of their aspects, as, for instance, that Santa Maria
Rotonda, which is located in the Pantheon, a circular hall recalling a
circus, where the Virgin remains the evident tenant of the Olympian
deities.

Pierre took no little interest in the churches of the poor districts, but
did not find there the keen faith and the throngs he had hoped for. One
afternoon, at Santa Maria in Trastevere, he heard the choir in full song,
but the church was quite empty, and the chant had a most lugubrious sound
in such a desert. Then, another day, on entering San Crisogono, he found
it draped, probably in readiness for some festival on the morrow. The
columns were cased with red damask, and between them were hangings and
curtains alternately yellow and blue, white and red; and the young man
fled from such a fearful decoration as gaudy as that of a fair booth. Ah!
how far he was from the cathedrals where in childhood he had believed and
prayed! On all sides he found the same type of church, the antique
basilica accommodated to the taste of eighteenth-century Rome. Though the
style of San Luigi dei Francesi is better, more soberly elegant, the only
thing that touched him even there was the thought of the heroic or
saintly Frenchmen, who sleep in foreign soil beneath the flags. And as he
sought for something Gothic, he ended by going to see Santa Maria sopra
Minerva,* which, he was told, was the only example of the Gothic style in
Rome. Here his stupefaction attained a climax at sight of the clustering
columns cased in stucco imitating marble, the ogives which dared not
soar, the rounded vaults condemned to the heavy majesty of the dome
style. No, no, thought he, the faith whose cooling cinders lingered there
was no longer that whose brazier had invaded and set all Christendom
aglow! However, Monsignor Fornaro whom he chanced to meet as he was
leaving the church, inveighed against the Gothic style as rank heresy.
The first Christian church, said the prelate, had been the basilica,
which had sprung from the temple, and it was blasphemy to assert that the
Gothic cathedral was the real Christian house of prayer, for Gothic
embodied the hateful Anglo-Saxon spirit, the rebellious genius of Luther.
At this a passionate reply rose to Pierre's lips, but he said nothing for
fear that he might say too much. However, he asked himself whether in all
this there was not a decisive proof that Catholicism was the very
vegetation of Rome, Paganism modified by Christianity. Elsewhere
Christianity has grown up in quite a different spirit, to such a point
that it has risen in rebellion and schismatically turned against the
mother-city. And the breach has ever gone on widening, the dissemblance
has become more and more marked; and amidst the evolution of new
societies, yet a fresh schism appears inevitable and proximate in spite
of all the despairing efforts to maintain union.

* So called because it occupies the site of a temple to
Minerva.--Trans.

While Pierre thus visited the Roman churches, he also continued his
efforts to gain support in the matter of his book, his irritation tending
to such stubbornness, that if in the first instance he failed to obtain
an interview, he went back again and again to secure one, steadfastly
keeping his promise to call in turn upon each cardinal of the
Congregation of the Index. And as a cardinal may belong to several
Congregations, it resulted that he gradually found himself roaming
through those former ministries of the old pontifical government which,
if less numerous than formerly, are still very intricate institutions,
each with its cardinal-prefect, its cardinal-members, its consultative
prelates, and its numerous employees. Pierre repeatedly had to return to
the Cancelleria, where the Congregation of the Index meets, and lost
himself in its world of staircases, corridors, and halls. From the moment
he passed under the porticus he was overcome by the icy shiver which fell
from the old walls, and was quite unable to appreciate the bare, frigid
beauty of the palace, Bramante's masterpiece though it be, so purely
typical of the Roman Renascence. He also knew the Propaganda where he had
seen Cardinal Sarno; and, sent as he was hither and thither, in his
efforts to gain over influential prelates, chance made him acquainted
with the other Congregations, that of the Bishops and Regulars, that of
the Rites and that of the Council. He even obtained a glimpse of the
Consistorial, the Dataria,* and the sacred Penitentiary. All these formed
part of the administrative mechanism of the Church under its several
aspects--the government of the Catholic world, the enlargement of the
Church's conquests, the administration of its affairs in conquered
countries, the decision of all questions touching faith, morals, and
individuals, the investigation and punishment of offences, the grant of
dispensations and the sale of favours. One can scarcely imagine what a
fearful number of affairs are each morning submitted to the Vatican,
questions of the greatest gravity, delicacy, and intricacy, the solution
of which gives rise to endless study and research. It is necessary to
reply to the innumerable visitors who flock to Rome from all parts, and
to the letters, the petitions, and the batches of documents which are
submitted and require to be distributed among the various offices. And
Pierre was struck by the deep and discreet silence in which all this
colossal labour was accomplished; not a sound reaching the streets from
the tribunals, parliaments, and factories for the manufacture of saints
and nobles, whose mechanism was so well greased, that in spite of the
rust of centuries and the deep and irremediable wear and tear, the whole
continued working without clank or creak to denote its presence behind
the walls. And did not that silence embody the whole policy of the
Church, which is to remain mute and await developments? Nevertheless what
a prodigious mechanism it was, antiquated no doubt, but still so
powerful! And amidst those Congregations how keenly Pierre felt himself
to be in the grip of the most absolute power ever devised for the
domination of mankind. However much he might notice signs of decay and
coming ruin he was none the less seized, crushed, and carried off by that
huge engine made up of vanity and venality, corruption and ambition,
meanness and greatness. And how far, too, he now was from the Rome that
he had dreamt of, and what anger at times filled him amidst his
weariness, as he persevered in his resolve to defend himself!

* It is from the Dataria that bulls, rescripts, letters of
appointment to benefices, and dispensations of marriage,
are issued, after the affixture of the date and formula
/Datum Romae/, "Given at Rome."--Trans.

All at once certain things which he had never understood were explained
to him. One day, when he returned to the Propaganda, Cardinal Sarno spoke
to him of Freemasonry with such icy rage that he was abruptly
enlightened. Freemasonry had hitherto made him smile; he had believed in
it no more than he had believed in the Jesuits. Indeed, he had looked
upon the ridiculous stories which were current--the stories of
mysterious, shadowy men who governed the world with secret incalculable
power--as mere childish legends. In particular he had been amazed by the
blind hatred which maddened certain people as soon as Freemasonry was
mentioned. However, a very distinguished and intelligent prelate had
declared to him, with an air of profound conviction, that at least on one
occasion every year each masonic Lodge was presided over by the Devil in
person, incarnate in a visible shape! And now, by Cardinal Sarno's
remarks, he understood the rivalry, the furious struggle of the Roman
Catholic Church against that other Church, the Church of over the way.*
Although the former counted on her own triumph, she none the less felt
that the other, the Church of Freemasonry, was a competitor, a very
ancient enemy, who indeed claimed to be more ancient than herself, and
whose victory always remained a possibility. And the friction between
them was largely due to the circumstance that they both aimed at
universal sovereignty, and had a similar international organisation, a
similar net thrown over the nations, and in a like way mysteries, dogmas,
and rites. It was deity against deity, faith against faith, conquest
against conquest: and so, like competing tradesmen in the same street,
they were a source of mutual embarrassment, and one of them was bound to
kill the other. But if Roman Catholicism seemed to Pierre to be worn out
and threatened with ruin, he remained quite as sceptical with regard to
the power of Freemasonry. He had made inquiries as to the reality of that
power in Rome, where both Grand Master and Pope were enthroned, one in
front of the other. He was certainly told that the last Roman princes had
thought themselves compelled to become Freemasons in order to render
their own difficult position somewhat easier and facilitate the future of
their sons. But was this true? had they not simply yielded to the force
of the present social evolution? And would not Freemasonry eventually be
submerged by its own triumph--that of the ideas of justice, reason, and
truth, which it had defended through the dark and violent ages of
history? It is a thing which constantly happens; the victory of an idea
kills the sect which has propagated it, and renders the apparatus with
which the members of the sect surrounded themselves, in order to fire
imaginations, both useless and somewhat ridiculous. Carbonarism did not
survive the conquest of the political liberties which it demanded; and on
the day when the Catholic Church crumbles, having accomplished its work
of civilisation, the other Church, the Freemasons' Church of across the
road, will in a like way disappear, its task of liberation ended.
Nowadays the famous power of the Lodges, hampered by traditions, weakened
by a ceremonial which provokes laughter, and reduced to a simple bond of
brotherly agreement and mutual assistance, would be but a sorry weapon of
conquest for humanity, were it not that the vigorous breath of science
impels the nations onwards and helps to destroy the old religions.

* Some readers may think the above passages an exaggeration, but
such is not the case. The hatred with which the Catholic
priesthood, especially in Italy, Spain, and France, regards
Freemasonry is remarkable. At the moment of writing these lines
I have before me several French clerical newspapers, which
contain the most abusive articles levelled against President
Faure solely because he is a Freemason. One of these prints, a
leading journal of Lyons, tells the French President that he
cannot serve both God and the Devil; and that if he cannot give
up Freemasonry he would do well to cease desecrating the abode
of the Deity by his attendance at divine service.--Trans.

However, all Pierre's journeyings and applications brought him no
certainty; and, while stubbornly clinging to Rome, intent on fighting to
the very end, like a soldier who will not believe in the possibility of
defeat, he remained as anxious as ever. He had seen all the cardinals
whose influence could be of use to him. He had seen the Cardinal Vicar,
entrusted with the diocese of Rome, who, like the man of letters he was,
had spoken to him of Horace, and, like a somewhat blundering politician,
had questioned him about France, the Republic, the Army, and the Navy
Estimates, without dealing in the slightest degree with the incriminated
book. He had also seen the Grand Penitentiary, that tall old man, with
fleshless, ascetic face, of whom he had previously caught a glimpse at
the Boccanera mansion, and from whom he now only drew a long and severe
sermon on the wickedness of young priests, whom the century had perverted
and who wrote most abominable books. Finally, at the Vatican, he had seen
the Cardinal Secretary, in some wise his Holiness's Minister of Foreign
Affairs, the great power of the Holy See, whom he had hitherto been
prevented from approaching by terrifying warnings as to the possible
result of an unfavourable reception. However, whilst apologising for
calling at such a late stage, he had found himself in presence of a most
amiable man, whose somewhat rough appearance was softened by diplomatic
affability, and who, after making him sit down, questioned him with an
air of interest, listened to him, and even spoke some words of comfort.
Nevertheless, on again reaching the Piazza of St. Peter's, Pierre well
understood that his affair had not made the slightest progress, and that
if he ever managed to force the Pope's door, it would not be by way of
the Secretariate of State. And that evening he returned home quite
exhausted by so many visits, in such distraction at feeling that little
by little he had been wholly caught in that huge mechanism with its
hundred wheels, that he asked himself in terror what he should do on the
morrow now that there remained nothing for him to do--unless, indeed, it
were to go mad.

However, meeting Don Vigilio in a passage of the house, he again wished
to ask him for some good advice. But the secretary, who had a gleam of
terror in his eyes, silenced him, he knew not why, with an anxious
gesture. And then in a whisper, in Pierre's ear, he said: "Have you seen
Monsignor Nani? No! Well, go to see him, go to see him. I repeat that you
have nothing else to do!"

Pierre yielded. And indeed why should he have resisted? Apart from the
motives of ardent charity which had brought him to Rome to defend his
book, was he not there for a self-educating, experimental purpose? It was
necessary that he should carry his attempts to the very end.

On the morrow, when he reached the colonnade of St. Peter's, the hour was
so early that he had to wait there awhile. He had never better realised
the enormity of those four curving rows of columns, forming a forest of
gigantic stone trunks among which nobody ever promenades. In fact, the
spot is a grandiose and dreary desert, and one asks oneself the why and
wherefore of such a majestic porticus. Doubtless, however, it was for its
sole majesty, for the mere pomp of decoration, that this colonnade was
reared; and therein, again, one finds the whole Roman spirit. However,
Pierre at last turned into the Via di Sant' Offizio, and passing the
sacristy of St. Peter's, found himself before the Palace of the Holy
Office in a solitary silent district, which the footfall of pedestrians
or the rumble of wheels but seldom disturbs. The sun alone lives there,
in sheets of light which spread slowly over the small, white paving. You
divine the vicinity of the Basilica, for there is a smell as of incense,
a cloisteral quiescence as of the slumber of centuries. And at one corner
the Palace of the Holy Office rises up with heavy, disquieting bareness,
only a single row of windows piercing its lofty, yellow front. The wall
which skirts a side street looks yet more suspicious with its row of even
smaller casements, mere peep-holes with glaucous panes. In the bright
sunlight this huge cube of mud-coloured masonry ever seems asleep,
mysterious, and closed like a prison, with scarcely an aperture for
communication with the outer world.

Pierre shivered, but then smiled as at an act of childishness, for he
reflected that the Holy Roman and Universal Inquisition, nowadays the
Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office, was no longer the institution it
had been, the purveyor of heretics for the stake, the occult tribunal
beyond appeal which had right of life and death over all mankind. True,
it still laboured in secrecy, meeting every Wednesday, and judging and
condemning without a sound issuing from within its walls. But on the
other hand if it still continued to strike at the crime of heresy, if it
smote men as well as their works, it no longer possessed either weapons
or dungeons, steel or fire to do its bidding, but was reduced to a mere
/role/ of protest, unable to inflict aught but disciplinary penalties
even upon the ecclesiastics of its own Church.

When Pierre on entering was ushered into the reception-room of Monsignor
Nani who, as assessor, lived in the palace, he experienced an agreeable
surprise. The apartment faced the south, and was spacious and flooded
with sunshine. And stiff as was the furniture, dark as were the hangings,
an exquisite sweetness pervaded the room, as though a woman had lived in
it and accomplished the prodigy of imparting some of her own grace to all
those stern-looking things. There were no flowers, yet there was a
pleasant smell. A charm expanded and conquered every heart from the very
threshold.

Monsignor Nani at once came forward, with a smile on his rosy face, his
blue eyes keenly glittering, and his fine light hair powdered by age.
With hands outstretched, he exclaimed: "Ah! how kind of you to have come
to see me, my dear son! Come, sit down, let us have a friendly chat."
Then with an extraordinary display of affection, he began to question
Pierre: "How are you getting on? Tell me all about it, exactly what you
have done."

Touched in spite of Don Vigilio's revelations, won over by the sympathy
which he fancied he could detect, Pierre thereupon confessed himself,
relating his visits to Cardinal Sarno, Monsignor Fornaro and Father
Dangelis, his applications to all the influential cardinals, those of the
Index, the Grand Penitentiary, the Cardinal Vicar, and the Cardinal
Secretary; and dwelling on his endless journeys from door to door through
all the Congregations and all the clergy, that huge, active, silent
bee-hive amidst which he had wearied his feet, exhausted his limbs, and
bewildered his poor brain. And at each successive Station of this Calvary
of entreaty, Monsignor Nani, who seemed to listen with an air of rapture,
exclaimed: "But that's very good, that's capital! Oh! your affair is
progressing. Yes, yes, it's progressing marvellously well."

He was exultant, though he allowed no unseemly irony to appear, while his
pleasant, penetrating eyes fathomed the young priest, to ascertain if he
had been brought to the requisite degree of obedience. Had he been
sufficiently wearied, disillusioned and instructed in the reality of
things, for one to finish with him? Had three months' sojourn in Rome
sufficed to turn the somewhat mad enthusiast of the first days into an
unimpassioned or at least resigned being?

However, all at once Monsignor Nani remarked: "But, my dear son, you tell
me nothing of his Eminence Cardinal Sanguinetti."

"The fact is, Monseigneur, that his Eminence is at Frascati, so I have
been unable to see him."

Thereupon the prelate, as if once more postponing the /denouement/ with
the secret enjoyment of an artistic /diplomate/, began to protest,
raising his little plump hands with the anxious air of a man who
considers everything lost: "Oh! but you must see his Eminence; it is
absolutely necessary! Think of it! The Prefect of the Index! We can only
act after your visit to him, for as you have not seen /him/ it is as if
you had seen nobody. Go, go to Frascati, my dear son."

And thereupon Pierre could only bow and reply: "I will go, Monseigneur."

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