第 15 页

figure, his pale, proud face, so full of sovereign despair and courage,

expressed that stubborn determination to perish beneath the ruins of the

old social edifice rather than change a single one of its stones.

Pierre was roused by a rustling of furtive steps, a little mouse-like

trot, which made him raise his head. A door in the wall had just opened,

and to his surprise there stood before him an abbe of some forty years,

fat and short, looking like an old maid in a black skirt, a very old maid

in fact, so numerous were the wrinkles on his flabby face. It was Abbe

Paparelli, the train-bearer and usher, and on seeing Pierre he was about

to question him, when Don Vigilio explained matters.

"Ah! very good, very good, Monsieur l'Abbe Froment. His Eminence will

condescend to receive you, but you must wait, you must wait."

Then, with his silent rolling walk, he returned to the second ante-room,

where he usually stationed himself.

Pierre did not like his face--the face of an old female devotee, whitened

by celibacy, and ravaged by stern observance of the rites; and so, as Don

Vigilio--his head weary and his hands burning with fever--had not resumed

his work, the young man ventured to question him. Oh! Abbe Paparelli, he

was a man of the liveliest faith, who from simple humility remained in a

modest post in his Eminence's service. On the other hand, his Eminence

was pleased to reward him for his devotion by occasionally condescending

to listen to his advice.

As Don Vigilio spoke, a faint gleam of irony, a kind of veiled anger

appeared in his ardent eyes. However, he continued to examine Pierre, and

gradually seemed reassured, appreciating the evident frankness of this

foreigner who could hardly belong to any clique. And so he ended by

departing somewhat from his continual sickly distrust, and even engaged

in a brief chat.

"Yes, yes," he said, "there is a deal of work sometimes, and rather hard

work too. His Eminence belongs to several Congregations, the

Consistorial, the Holy Office, the Index, the Rites. And all the

documents concerning the business which falls to him come into my hands.

I have to study each affair, prepare a report on it, clear the way, so to

say. Besides which all the correspondence is carried on through me.

Fortunately his Eminence is a holy man, and intrigues neither for himself

nor for others, and this enables us to taste a little peace."

Pierre took a keen interest in these particulars of the life led by a

prince of the Church. He learnt that the Cardinal rose at six o'clock,

summer and winter alike. He said his mass in his chapel, a little room

which simply contained an altar of painted wood, and which nobody but

himself ever entered. His private apartments were limited to three

rooms--a bed-room, dining-room, and study--all very modest and small,

contrived indeed by partitioning off portions of one large hall. And he

led a very retired life, exempt from all luxury, like one who is frugal

and poor. At eight in the morning he drank a cup of cold milk for his

breakfast. Then, when there were sittings of the Congregations to which

he belonged, he attended them; otherwise he remained at home and gave

audience. Dinner was served at one o'clock, and afterwards came the

siesta, lasting until five in summer and until four at other seasons--a

sacred moment when a servant would not have dared even to knock at the

door. On awaking, if it were fine, his Eminence drove out towards the

ancient Appian Way, returning at sunset when the _Ave Maria_ began to

ring. And finally, after again giving audience between seven and nine, he

supped and retired into his room, where he worked all alone or went to

bed. The cardinals wait upon the Pope on fixed days, two or three times

each month, for purposes connected with their functions. For nearly a

year, however, the Camerlingo had not been received in private audience

by his Holiness, and this was a sign of disgrace, a proof of secret

warfare, of which the entire black world spoke in prudent whispers.

"His Eminence is sometimes a little rough," continued Don Vigilio in a

soft voice. "But you should see him smile when his niece the Contessina,

of whom he is very fond, comes down to kiss him. If you have a good

reception, you know, you will owe it to the Contessina."

At this moment the secretary was interrupted. A sound of voices came from

the second ante-room, and forthwith he rose to his feet, and bent very

low at sight of a stout man in a black cassock, red sash, and black hat,

with twisted cord of red and gold, whom Abbe Paparelli was ushering in

with a great display of deferential genuflections. Pierre also had risen

at a sign from Don Vigilio, who found time to whisper to him, "Cardinal

Sanguinetti, Prefect of the Congregation of the Index."

Meantime Abbe Paparelli was lavishing attentions on the prelate,

repeating with an expression of blissful satisfaction: "Your most

reverend Eminence was expected. I have orders to admit your most reverend

Eminence at once. His Eminence the Grand Penitentiary is already here."

Sanguinetti, loud of voice and sonorous of tread, spoke out with sudden

familiarity, "Yes, yes, I know. A number of importunate people detained

me! One can never do as one desires. But I am here at last."

He was a man of sixty, squat and fat, with a round and highly coloured

face distinguished by a huge nose, thick lips, and bright eyes which were

always on the move. But he more particularly struck one by his active,

almost turbulent, youthful vivacity, scarcely a white hair as yet showing

among his brown and carefully tended locks, which fell in curls about his

temples. Born at Viterbo, he had studied at the seminary there before

completing his education at the Universita Gregoriana in Rome. His

ecclesiastical appointments showed how rapidly he had made his way, how

supple was his mind: first of all secretary to the nunciature at Lisbon;

then created titular Bishop of Thebes, and entrusted with a delicate

mission in Brazil; on his return appointed nuncio first at Brussels and

next at Vienna; and finally raised to the cardinalate, to say nothing of

the fact that he had lately secured the suburban episcopal see of

Frascati.* Trained to business, having dealt with every nation in Europe,

he had nothing against him but his ambition, of which he made too open a

display, and his spirit of intrigue, which was ever restless. It was said

that he was now one of the irreconcilables who demanded that Italy should

surrender Rome, though formerly he had made advances to the Quirinal. In

his wild passion to become the next Pope he rushed from one opinion to

the other, giving himself no end of trouble to gain people from whom he

afterwards parted. He had twice already fallen out with Leo XIII, but had

deemed it politic to make his submission. In point of fact, given that he

was an almost openly declared candidate to the papacy, he was wearing

himself out by his perpetual efforts, dabbling in too many things, and

setting too many people agog.

* Cardinals York and Howard were Bishops of Frascati.--Trans.

Pierre, however, had only seen in him the Prefect of the Congregation of

the Index; and the one idea which struck him was that this man would

decide the fate of his book. And so, when the Cardinal had disappeared

and Abbe Paparelli had returned to the second ante-room, he could not

refrain from asking Don Vigilio, "Are their Eminences Cardinal

Sanguinetti and Cardinal Boccanera very intimate, then?"

An irrepressible smile contracted the secretary's lips, while his eyes

gleamed with an irony which he could no longer subdue: "Very

intimate--oh! no, no--they see one another when they can't do otherwise."

Then he explained that considerable deference was shown to Cardinal

Boccanera's high birth, and that his colleagues often met at his

residence, when, as happened to be the case that morning, any grave

affair presented itself, requiring an interview apart from the usual

official meetings. Cardinal Sanguinetti, he added, was the son of a petty

medical man of Viterbo. "No, no," he concluded, "their Eminences are not

at all intimate. It is difficult for men to agree when they have neither

the same ideas nor the same character, especially too when they are in

each other's way."

Don Vigilio spoke these last words in a lower tone, as if talking to

himself and still retaining his sharp smile. But Pierre scarcely

listened, absorbed as he was in his own worries. "Perhaps they have met

to discuss some affair connected with the Index?" said he.

Don Vigilio must have known the object of the meeting. However, he merely

replied that, if the Index had been in question, the meeting would have

taken place at the residence of the Prefect of that Congregation.

Thereupon Pierre, yielding to his impatience, was obliged to put a

straight question. "You know of my affair--the affair of my book," he

said. "Well, as his Eminence is a member of the Congregation, and all the

documents pass through your hands, you might be able to give me some

useful information. I know nothing as yet and am so anxious to know!"

At this Don Vigilio relapsed into scared disquietude. He stammered,

saying that he had not seen any documents, which was true. "Nothing has

yet reached us," he added; "I assure you I know nothing."

Then, as the other persisted, he signed to him to keep quiet, and again

turned to his writing, glancing furtively towards the second ante-room as

if he believed that Abbe Paparelli was listening. He had certainly said

too much, he thought, and he made himself very small, crouching over the

table, and melting, fading away in his dim corner.

Pierre again fell into a reverie, a prey to all the mystery which

enveloped him--the sleepy, antique sadness of his surroundings. Long

minutes went by; it was nearly eleven when the sound of a door opening

and a buzz of voices roused him. Then he bowed respectfully to Cardinal

Sanguinetti, who went off accompanied by another cardinal, a very thin

and tall man, with a grey, bony, ascetic face. Neither of them, however,

seemed even to see the petty foreign priest who bent low as they went by.

They were chatting aloud in familiar fashion.

"Yes! the wind is falling; it is warmer than yesterday."

"We shall certainly have the sirocco to-morrow."

Then solemn silence again fell on the large, dim room. Don Vigilio was

still writing, but his pen made no noise as it travelled over the stiff

yellow paper. However, the faint tinkle of a cracked bell was suddenly

heard, and Abbe Paparelli, after hastening into the throne-room for a

moment, returned to summon Pierre, whom he announced in a restrained

voice: "Monsieur l'Abbe Pierre Froment."

The spacious throne-room was like the other apartments, a virtual ruin.

Under the fine ceiling of carved and gilded wood-work, the red

wall-hangings of _brocatelle_, with a large palm pattern, were falling

into tatters. A few holes had been patched, but long wear had streaked

the dark purple of the silk--once of dazzling magnificence--with pale

hues. The curiosity of the room was its old throne, an arm-chair

upholstered in red silk, on which the Holy Father had sat when visiting

Cardinal Pio's grand-uncle. This chair was surmounted by a canopy,

likewise of red silk, under which hung the portrait of the reigning Pope.

And, according to custom, the chair was turned towards the wall, to show

that none might sit on it. The other furniture of the apartment was made

up of sofas, arm-chairs, and chairs, with a marvellous Louis Quatorze

table of gilded wood, having a top of mosaic-work representing the rape

of Europa.

But at first Pierre only saw Cardinal Boccanera standing by the table

which he used for writing. In his simple black cassock, with red edging

and red buttons, the Cardinal seemed to him yet taller and prouder than

in the portrait which showed him in ceremonial costume. There was the

same curly white hair, the same long, strongly marked face, with large

nose and thin lips, and the same ardent eyes, illumining the pale

countenance from under bushy brows which had remained black. But the

portrait did not express the lofty tranquil faith which shone in this

handsome face, a complete certainty of what truth was, and an absolute

determination to abide by it for ever.

Boccanera had not stirred, but with black, fixed glance remained watching

his visitor's approach; and the young priest, acquainted with the usual

ceremonial, knelt and kissed the large ruby which the prelate wore on his

hand. However, the Cardinal immediately raised him.

"You are welcome here, my dear son. My niece spoke to me about you with

so much sympathy that I am happy to receive you." With these words Pio

seated himself near the table, as yet not telling Pierre to take a chair,

but still examining him whilst speaking slowly and with studied

politeness: "You arrived yesterday morning, did you not, and were very

tired?"

"Your Eminence is too kind--yes, I was worn out, as much through emotion

as fatigue. This journey is one of such gravity for me."

The Cardinal seemed indisposed to speak of serious matters so soon. "No

doubt; it is a long way from Paris to Rome," he replied. "Nowadays the

journey may be accomplished with fair rapidity, but formerly how

interminable it was!" Then speaking yet more slowly: "I went to Paris

once--oh! a long time ago, nearly fifty years ago--and then for barely a

week. A large and handsome city; yes, yes, a great many people in the

streets, extremely well-bred people, a nation which has accomplished

great and admirable things. Even in these sad times one cannot forget

that France was the eldest daughter of the Church. But since that one

journey I have not left Rome--"

Then he made a gesture of quiet disdain, expressive of all he left

unsaid. What was the use of journeying to a land of doubt and rebellion?