第 14 页

he began to undress, his astonishment at being in that room returned to

him with such intensity that he almost fancied himself another person.

What did all those people think of his book? Why had he been brought to

this cold dwelling whose hostility he could divine? Was it for the

purpose of helping him or conquering him? And again in the yellow

glimmer, the dismal sunset of the drawing-room, he perceived Donna

Serafina and Advocate Morano on either side of the chimney-piece, whilst

behind the calm yet passionate visage of Benedetta appeared the smiling

face of Monsignor Nani, with cunning eyes and lips bespeaking indomitable

energy.

He went to bed, but soon got up again, stifling, feeling such a need of

fresh, free air that he opened the window wide in order to lean out. But

the night was black as ink, the darkness had submerged the horizon. A

mist must have hidden the stars in the firmament; the vault above seemed

opaque and heavy like lead; and yonder in front the houses of the

Trastevere had long since been asleep. Not one of all their windows

glittered; there was but a single gaslight shining, all alone and far

away, like a lost spark. In vain did Pierre seek the Janiculum. In the

depths of that ocean of nihility all sunk and vanished, Rome's four and

twenty centuries, the ancient Palatine and the modern Quirinal, even the

giant dome of St. Peter's, blotted out from the sky by the flood of

gloom. And below him he could not see, he could not even hear the Tiber,

the dead river flowing past the dead city.

III.

AT a quarter to ten o'clock on the following morning Pierre came down to

the first floor of the mansion for his audience with Cardinal Boccanera.

He had awoke free of all fatigue and again full of courage and candid

enthusiasm; nothing remaining of his strange despondency of the previous

night, the doubts and suspicions which had then come over him. The

morning was so fine, the sky so pure and so bright, that his heart once

more palpitated with hope.

On the landing he found the folding doors of the first ante-room wide

open. While closing the gala saloons which overlooked the street, and

which were rotting with old age and neglect, the Cardinal still used the

reception-rooms of one of his grand-uncles, who in the eighteenth century

had risen to the same ecclesiastical dignity as himself. There was a

suite of four immense rooms, each sixteen feet high, with windows facing

the lane which sloped down towards the Tiber; and the sun never entered

them, shut off as it was by the black houses across the lane. Thus the

installation, in point of space, was in keeping with the display and pomp

of the old-time princely dignitaries of the Church. But no repairs were

ever made, no care was taken of anything, the hangings were frayed and

ragged, and dust preyed on the furniture, amidst an unconcern which

seemed to betoken some proud resolve to stay the course of time.

Pierre experienced a slight shock as he entered the first room, the

servants' ante-chamber. Formerly two pontifical _gente d'armi_ in full

uniform had always stood there amidst a stream of lackeys; and the single

servant now on duty seemed by his phantom-like appearance to increase the

melancholiness of the vast and gloomy hall. One was particularly struck

by an altar facing the windows, an altar with red drapery surmounted by a

_baldacchino_ with red hangings, on which appeared the escutcheon of the

Boccaneras, the winged dragon spitting flames with the device, _Bocca

nera, Alma rossa_. And the grand-uncle's red hat, the old huge ceremonial

hat, was also there, with the two cushions of red silk, and the two

antique parasols which were taken in the coach each time his Eminence

went out. And in the deep silence it seemed as if one could almost hear

the faint noise of the moths preying for a century past upon all this

dead splendour, which would have fallen into dust at the slightest touch

of a feather broom.

The second ante-room, that was formerly occupied by the secretary, was

also empty, and it was only in the third one, the _anticamera nobile_,

that Pierre found Don Vigilio. With his retinue reduced to what was

strictly necessary, the Cardinal had preferred to have his secretary near

him--at the door, so to say, of the old throne-room, where he gave

audience. And Don Vigilio, so thin and yellow, and quivering with fever,

sat there like one lost, at a small, common, black table covered with

papers. Raising his head from among a batch of documents, he recognised

Pierre, and in a low voice, a faint murmur amidst the silence, he said,

"His Eminence is engaged. Please wait."

Then he again turned to his reading, doubtless to escape all attempts at

conversation.

Not daring to sit down, Pierre examined the apartment. It looked perhaps

yet more dilapidated than the others, with its hangings of green damask

worn by age and resembling the faded moss on ancient trees. The ceiling,

however, had remained superb. Within a frieze of gilded and coloured

ornaments was a fresco representing the Triumph of Amphitrite, the work

of one of Raffaelle's pupils. And, according to antique usage, it was

here that the _berretta_, the red cap, was placed, on a credence, below a

large crucifix of ivory and ebony.

As Pierre grew used to the half-light, however, his attention was more

particularly attracted by a recently painted full-length portrait of the

Cardinal in ceremonial costume--cassock of red moire, rochet of lace, and

_cappa_ thrown like a royal mantle over his shoulders. In these vestments

of the Church the tall old man of seventy retained the proud bearing of a

prince, clean shaven, but still boasting an abundance of white hair which

streamed in curls over his shoulders. He had the commanding visage of the

Boccaneras, a large nose and a large thin-lipped mouth in a long face

intersected by broad lines; and the eyes which lighted his pale

countenance were indeed the eyes of his race, very dark, yet sparkling

with ardent life under bushy brows which had remained quite black. With

laurels about his head he would have resembled a Roman emperor, very

handsome and master of the world, as though indeed the blood of Augustus

pulsated in his veins.

Pierre knew his story which this portrait recalled. Educated at the

College of the Nobles, Pio Boccanera had but once absented himself from

Rome, and that when very young, hardly a deacon, but nevertheless

appointed oblegate to convey a _berretta_ to Paris. On his return his

ecclesiastical career had continued in sovereign fashion. Honours had

fallen on him naturally, as by right of birth. Ordained by Pius IX

himself, afterwards becoming a Canon of the Vatican Basilica, and

_Cameriere segreto_, he had risen to the post of Majordomo about the time

of the Italian occupation, and in 1874 had been created a Cardinal. For

the last four years, moreover, he had been Papal Chamberlain

(_Camerlingo_), and folks whispered that Leo XIII had appointed him to

that post, even as he himself had been appointed to it by Pius IX, in

order to lessen his chance of succeeding to the pontifical throne; for

although the conclave in choosing Leo had set aside the old tradition

that the Camerlingo was ineligible for the papacy, it was not probable

that it would again dare to infringe that rule. Moreover, people asserted

that, even as had been the case in the reign of Pius, there was a secret

warfare between the Pope and his Camerlingo, the latter remaining on one

side, condemning the policy of the Holy See, holding radically different

opinions on all things, and silently waiting for the death of Leo, which

would place power in his hands with the duty of summoning the conclave,

and provisionally watching over the affairs and interests of the Church

until a new Pope should be elected. Behind Cardinal Pio's broad, stern

brow, however, in the glow of his dark eyes, might there not also be the

ambition of actually rising to the papacy, of repeating the career of

Gioachino Pecci, Camerlingo and then Pope, all tradition notwithstanding?

With the pride of a Roman prince Pio knew but Rome; he almost gloried in

being totally ignorant of the modern world; and verily he showed himself

very pious, austerely religious, with a full firm faith into which the

faintest doubt could never enter.

But a whisper drew Pierre from his reflections. Don Vigilio, in his

prudent way, invited him to sit down: "You may have to wait some time:

take a stool."

Then he began to cover a large sheet of yellowish paper with fine

writing, while Pierre seated himself on one of the stools ranged

alongside the wall in front of the portrait. And again the young man fell

into a reverie, picturing in his mind a renewal of all the princely pomp

of the old-time cardinals in that antique room. To begin with, as soon as

nominated, a cardinal gave public festivities, which were sometimes very

splendid. During three days the reception-rooms remained wide open, all

could enter, and from room to room ushers repeated the names of those who

came--patricians, people of the middle class, poor folks, all Rome

indeed, whom the new cardinal received with sovereign kindliness, as a

king might receive his subjects. Then there was quite a princely retinue;

some cardinals carried five hundred people about with them, had no fewer

than sixteen distinct offices in their households, lived, in fact, amidst

a perfect court. Even when life subsequently became simplified, a

cardinal, if he were a prince, still had a right to a gala train of four

coaches drawn by black horses. Four servants preceded him in liveries,

emblazoned with his arms, and carried his hat, cushion, and parasols. He

was also attended by a secretary in a mantle of violet silk, a

train-bearer in a gown of violet woollen stuff, and a gentleman in

waiting, wearing an Elizabethan style of costume, and bearing the

_berretta_ with gloved hands. Although the household had then become

smaller, it still comprised an _auditore_ specially charged with the

congregational work, a secretary employed exclusively for correspondence,

a chief usher who introduced visitors, a gentleman in attendance for the

carrying of the _berretta_, a train-bearer, a chaplain, a majordomo and a

_valet-de-chambre_, to say nothing of a flock of underlings, lackeys,

cooks, coachmen, grooms, quite a population, which filled the vast

mansions with bustle. And with these attendants Pierre mentally sought to

fill the three spacious ante-rooms now so deserted; the stream of lackeys

in blue liveries broidered with emblazonry, the world of abbes and

prelates in silk mantles appeared before him, again setting magnificent

and passionate life under the lofty ceilings, illumining all the

semi-gloom with resuscitated splendour.

But nowadays--particularly since the Italian occupation of Rome--nearly

all the great fortunes of the Roman princes have been exhausted, and the

pomp of the great dignitaries of the Church has disappeared. The ruined

patricians have kept aloof from badly remunerated ecclesiastical offices

to which little renown attaches, and have left them to the ambition of

the petty _bourgeoisie_. Cardinal Boccanera, the last prince of ancient

nobility invested with the purple, received scarcely more than 30,000

_lire_* a year to enable him to sustain his rank, that is 22,000

_lire_,** the salary of his post as Camerlingo, and various small sums

derived from other functions. And he would never have made both ends meet

had not Donna Serafina helped him with the remnants of the former family

fortune which he had long previously surrendered to his sisters and his

brother. Donna Serafina and Benedetta lived apart, in their own rooms,

having their own table, servants, and personal expenses. The Cardinal

only had his nephew Dario with him, and he never gave a dinner or held a

public reception. His greatest source of expense was his carriage, the

heavy pair-horse coach, which ceremonial usage compelled him to retain,

for a cardinal cannot go on foot through the streets of Rome. However,

his coachman, an old family servant, spared him the necessity of keeping

a groom by insisting on taking entire charge of the carriage and the two

black horses, which, like himself, had grown old in the service of the

Boccaneras. There were two footmen, father and son, the latter born in

the house. And the cook's wife assisted in the kitchen. However, yet

greater reductions had been made in the ante-rooms, where the staff, once

so brilliant and numerous, was now simply composed of two petty priests,

Don Vigilio, who was at once secretary, auditore, and majordomo, and Abbe

Paparelli, who acted as train-bearer, chaplain, and chief usher. There,

where a crowd of salaried people of all ranks had once moved to and fro,

filling the vast halls with bustle and colour, one now only beheld two

little black cassocks gliding noiselessly along, two unobtrusive shadows

flitting about amidst the deep gloom of the lifeless rooms.

* 1,200 pounds.

** 880 pounds.

And Pierre now fully understood the haughty unconcern of the Cardinal,

who suffered time to complete its work of destruction in that ancestral

mansion, to which he was powerless to restore the glorious life of former

times! Built for that shining life, for the sovereign display of a

sixteenth-century prince, it was now deserted and empty, crumbling about

the head of its last master, who had no servants left him to fill it, and

would not have known how to pay for the materials which repairs would

have necessitated. And so, since the modern world was hostile, since

religion was no longer sovereign, since men had changed, and one was

drifting into the unknown, amidst the hatred and indifference of new

generations, why not allow the old world to collapse in the stubborn,

motionless pride born of its ancient glory? Heroes alone died standing,

without relinquishing aught of their past, preserving the same faith

until their final gasp, beholding, with pain-fraught bravery and infinite

sadness, the slow last agony of their divinity. And the Cardinal's tall