第 17 页

expression of his face was proud. And in one hand he carried a small

wicker basket carefully covered over with fig-leaves.

Santobono at once bent his knees and kissed the Cardinal's ring, but with

hasty unconcern, as though only some ordinary piece of civility were in

question. Then, with that commingling of respect and familiarity which

the little ones of the world often evince towards the great, he said, "I

beg your most reverend Eminence's forgiveness for having insisted. But

there were people waiting, and I should not have been received if my old

friend Paparelli had not brought me by way of that door. Oh! I have a

very great service to ask of your Eminence, a real service of the heart.

But first of all may I be allowed to offer your Eminence a little

present?"

The Cardinal listened with a grave expression. He had been well

acquainted with Santobono in the years when he had spent the summer at

Frascati, at a princely residence which the Boccaneras had possessed

there--a villa rebuilt in the seventeenth century, surrounded by a

wonderful park, whose famous terrace overlooked the Campagna, stretching

far and bare like the sea. This villa, however, had since been sold, and

on some vineyards, which had fallen to Benedetta's share, Count Prada,

prior to the divorce proceedings, had begun to erect quite a district of

little pleasure houses. In former times, when walking out, the Cardinal

had condescended to enter and rest in the dwelling of Santobono, who

officiated at an antique chapel dedicated to St. Mary of the Fields,

without the town. The priest had his home in a half-ruined building

adjoining this chapel, and the charm of the place was a walled garden

which he cultivated himself with the passion of a true peasant.

"As is my rule every year," said he, placing his basket on the table, "I

wished that your Eminence might taste my figs. They are the first of the

season. I gathered them expressly this morning. You used to be so fond of

them, your Eminence, when you condescended to gather them from the tree

itself. You were good enough to tell me that there wasn't another tree in

the world that produced such fine figs."

The Cardinal could not help smiling. He was indeed very fond of figs, and

Santobono spoke truly: his fig-tree was renowned throughout the district.

"Thank you, my dear Abbe," said Boccanera, "you remember my little

failings. Well, and what can I do for you?"

Again he became grave, for, in former times, there had been unpleasant

discussions between him and the curate, a lack of agreement which had

angered him. Born at Nemi, in the core of a fierce district, Santobono

belonged to a violent family, and his eldest brother had died of a stab.

He himself had always professed ardently patriotic opinions. It was said

that he had all but taken up arms for Garibaldi; and, on the day when the

Italians had entered Rome, force had been needed to prevent him from

raising the flag of Italian unity above his roof. His passionate dream

was to behold Rome mistress of the world, when the Pope and the King

should have embraced and made cause together. Thus the Cardinal looked on

him as a dangerous revolutionary, a renegade who imperilled Catholicism.

"Oh! what your Eminence can do for me, what your Eminence can do if only

condescending and willing!" repeated Santobono in an ardent voice,

clasping his big knotty hands. And then, breaking off, he inquired, "Did

not his Eminence Cardinal Sanguinetti explain my affair to your most

reverend Eminence?"

"No, the Cardinal simply advised me of your visit, saying that you had

something to ask of me."

Whilst speaking Boccanera's face had clouded over, and it was with

increased sternness of manner that he again waited. He was aware that the

priest had become Sanguinetti's "client" since the latter had been in the

habit of spending weeks together at his suburban see of Frascati. Walking

in the shadow of every cardinal who is a candidate to the papacy, there

are familiars of low degree who stake the ambition of their life on the

possibility of that cardinal's election. If he becomes Pope some day, if

they themselves help him to the throne, they enter the great pontifical

family in his train. It was related that Sanguinetti had once already

extricated Santobono from a nasty difficulty: the priest having one day

caught a marauding urchin in the act of climbing his wall, had beaten the

little fellow with such severity that he had ultimately died of it.

However, to Santobono's credit it must be added that his fanatical

devotion to the Cardinal was largely based upon the hope that he would

prove the Pope whom men awaited, the Pope who would make Italy the

sovereign nation of the world.

"Well, this is my misfortune," he said. "Your Eminence knows my brother

Agostino, who was gardener at the villa for two years in your Eminence's

time. He is certainly a very pleasant and gentle young fellow, of whom

nobody has ever complained. And so it is hard to understand how such an

accident can have happened to him, but it seems that he has killed a man

with a knife at Genzano, while walking in the street in the evening. I am

dreadfully distressed about it, and would willingly give two fingers of

my right hand to extricate him from prison. However, it occurred to me

that your Eminence would not refuse me a certificate stating that

Agostino was formerly in your Eminence's service, and that your Eminence

was always well pleased with his quiet disposition."

But the Cardinal flatly protested: "I was not at all pleased with

Agostino. He was wildly violent, and I had to dismiss him precisely

because he was always quarrelling with the other servants."

"Oh! how grieved I am to hear your Eminence say that! So it is true,

then, my poor little Agostino's disposition has really changed! Still

there is always a way out of a difficulty, is there not? You can still

give me a certificate, first arranging the wording of it. A certificate

from your Eminence would have such a favourable effect upon the law

officers."

"No doubt," replied Boccanera; "I can understand that, but I will give no

certificate."

"What! does your most reverend Eminence refuse my prayer?"

"Absolutely! I know that you are a priest of perfect morality, that you

discharge the duties of your ministry with strict punctuality, and that

you would be deserving of high commendation were it not for your

political fancies. Only your fraternal affection is now leading you

astray. I cannot tell a lie to please you."

Santobono gazed at him in real stupefaction, unable to understand that a

prince, an all-powerful cardinal, should be influenced by such petty

scruples, when the entire question was a mere knife thrust, the most

commonplace and frequent of incidents in the yet wild land of the old

Roman castles.

"A lie! a lie!" he muttered; "but surely it isn't lying just to say what

is good of a man, leaving out all the rest, especially when a man has

good points as Agostino certainly has. In a certificate, too, everything

depends on the words one uses."

He stubbornly clung to that idea; he could not conceive that a person

should refuse to soften the rigour of justice by an ingenious

presentation of the facts. However, on acquiring a certainty that he

would obtain nothing, he made a gesture of despair, his livid face

assuming an expression of violent rancour, whilst his black eyes flamed

with restrained passion.

"Well, well! each looks on truth in his own way," he said. "I shall go

back to tell his Eminence Cardinal Sanguinetti. And I beg your Eminence

not to be displeased with me for having disturbed your Eminence to no

purpose. By the way, perhaps the figs are not yet quite ripe; but I will

take the liberty to bring another basketful towards the end of the

season, when they will be quite nice and sweet. A thousand thanks and a

thousand felicities to your most reverend Eminence."

Santobono went off backwards, his big bony figure bending double with

repeated genuflections. Pierre, whom the scene had greatly interested, in

him beheld a specimen of the petty clergy of Rome and its environs, of

whom people had told him before his departure from Paris. This was not

the _scagnozzo_, the wretched famished priest whom some nasty affair

brings from the provinces, who seeks his daily bread on the pavements of

Rome; one of the herd of begowned beggars searching for a livelihood

among the crumbs of Church life, voraciously fighting for chance masses,

and mingling with the lowest orders in taverns of the worst repute. Nor

was this the country priest of distant parts, a man of crass ignorance

and superstition, a peasant among the peasants, treated as an equal by

his pious flock, which is careful not to mistake him for the Divinity,

and which, whilst kneeling in all humility before the parish saint, does

not bend before the man who from that saint derives his livelihood. At

Frascati the officiating minister of a little church may receive a

stipend of some nine hundred _lire_ a year,* and he has only bread and

meat to buy if his garden yields him wine and fruit and vegetables. This

one, Santobono, was not without education; he knew a little theology and

a little history, especially the history of the past grandeur of Rome,

which had inflamed his patriotic heart with the mad dream that universal

domination would soon fall to the portion of renascent Rome, the capital

of united Italy. But what an insuperable distance still remained between

this petty Roman clergy, often very worthy and intelligent, and the high

clergy, the high dignitaries of the Vatican! Nobody that was not at least

a prelate seemed to count.

* About 36 pounds. One is reminded of Goldsmith's line: "And

passing rich with forty pounds a year."--Trans.

"A thousand thanks to your most reverend Eminence, and may success attend

all your Eminence's desires."

With these words Santobono finally disappeared, and the Cardinal returned

to Pierre, who also bowed preparatory to taking his leave.

"To sum up the matter, Monsieur l'Abbe," said Boccanera, "the affair of

your book presents certain difficulties. As I have told you, I have no

precise information, I have seen no documents. But knowing that my niece

took an interest in you, I said a few words on the subject to Cardinal

Sanguinetti, the Prefect of the Index, who was here just now. And he

knows little more than I do, for nothing has yet left the Secretary's

hands. Still he told me that the denunciation emanated from personages of

rank and influence, and applied to numerous pages of your work, in which

it was said there were passages of the most deplorable character as

regards both discipline and dogma."

Greatly moved by the idea that he had hidden foes, secret adversaries who

pursued him in the dark, the young priest responded: "Oh! denounced,

denounced! If your Eminence only knew how that word pains my heart! And

denounced, too, for offences which were certainly involuntary, since my

one ardent desire was the triumph of the Church! All I can do, then, is

to fling myself at the feet of the Holy Father and entreat him to hear my

defence."

Boccanera suddenly became very grave again. A stern look rested on his

lofty brow as he drew his haughty figure to its full height. "His

Holiness," said he, "can do everything, even receive you, if such be his

good pleasure, and absolve you also. But listen to me. I again advise you

to withdraw your book yourself, to destroy it, simply and courageously,

before embarking in a struggle in which you will reap the shame of being

overwhelmed. Reflect on that."

Pierre, however, had no sooner spoken of the Pope than he had regretted

it, for he realised that an appeal to the sovereign authority was

calculated to wound the Cardinal's feelings. Moreover, there was no

further room for doubt. Boccanera would be against his book, and the

utmost that he could hope for was to gain his neutrality by bringing

pressure to bear on him through those about him. At the same time he had

found the Cardinal very plain spoken, very frank, far removed from all

the secret intriguing in which the affair of his book was involved, as he

now began to realise; and so it was with deep respect and genuine

admiration for the prelate's strong and lofty character that he took

leave of him.

"I am infinitely obliged to your Eminence," he said, "and I promise that

I will carefully reflect upon all that your Eminence has been kind enough

to say to me."

On returning to the ante-room, Pierre there found five or six persons who

had arrived during his audience, and were now waiting. There was a

bishop, a domestic prelate, and two old ladies, and as he drew near to

Don Vigilio before retiring, he was surprised to find him conversing with

a tall, fair young fellow, a Frenchman, who, also in astonishment,

exclaimed, "What! are you here in Rome, Monsieur l'Abbe?"

For a moment Pierre had hesitated. "Ah! I must ask your pardon, Monsieur

Narcisse Habert," he replied, "I did not at first recognise you! It was

the less excusable as I knew that you had been an _attache_ at our

embassy here ever since last year."

Tall, slim, and elegant of appearance, Narcisse Habert had a clear

complexion, with eyes of a bluish, almost mauvish, hue, a fair frizzy

beard, and long curling fair hair cut short over the forehead in the

Florentine fashion. Of a wealthy family of militant Catholics, chiefly

members of the bar or bench, he had an uncle in the diplomatic

profession, and this had decided his own career. Moreover, a place at

Rome was marked out for him, for he there had powerful connections. He

was a nephew by marriage of Cardinal Sarno, whose sister had married

another of his uncles, a Paris notary; and he was also cousin german of