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the Grand Penitentiary, silent and seemingly suffering, showed his grey,

lean, ascetic profile.

Noon had struck. There was a false alert, a burst of emotion, which swept

in like a wave from the other halls. But it was merely the ushers opening

a passage for the _cortege_. Then, all at once, acclamations arose in the

first hall, gathered volume, and drew nearer. This time it was the

_cortege_ itself. First came a detachment of the Swiss Guard in undress,

headed by a sergeant; then a party of chair-bearers in red; and next the

domestic prelates, including the four _Camerieri segreti partecipanti_.

And finally, between two rows of Noble Guards, in semi-gala uniforms,

walked the Holy Father, alone, smiling a pale smile, and slowly blessing

the pilgrims on either hand. In his wake the clamour which had risen in

the other apartments swept into the Hall of Beatifications with the

violence of delirious love; and, under his slender, white, benedictive

hand, all those distracted creatures fell upon both knees, nought

remaining but the prostration of a devout multitude, overwhelmed, as it

were, by the apparition of its god.

Quivering, carried away, Pierre had knelt like the others. Ah! that

omnipotence, that irresistible contagion of faith, of the redoubtable

current from the spheres beyond, increased tenfold by a _scenario_ and a

pomp of sovereign grandeur! Profound silence fell when Leo XIII was

seated on the throne surrounded by the cardinals and his court; and then

the ceremony proceeded according to rite and usage. First a bishop spoke,

kneeling and laying the homage of the faithful of all Christendom at his

Holiness's feet. The President of the Committee, Baron de Fouras,

followed, remaining erect whilst he read a long address in which he

introduced the pilgrimage and explained its motive, investing it with all

the gravity of a political and religious protest. This stout man had a

shrill and piercing voice, and his words jarred like the grating of a

gimlet as he proclaimed the grief of the Catholic world at the spoliation

which the Holy See had endured for a quarter of a century, and the desire

of all the nations there represented by the pilgrims to console the

supreme and venerated Head of the Church by bringing him the offerings of

rich and poor, even to the mites of the humblest, in order that the

Papacy might retain the pride of independence and be able to treat its

enemies with contempt. And he also spoke of France, deplored her errors,

predicted her return to healthy traditions, and gave it to be understood

that she remained in spite of everything the most opulent and generous of

the Christian nations, the donor whose gold and presents flowed into Rome

in a never ending stream. At last Leo XIII arose to reply to the bishop

and the baron. His voice was full, with a strong nasal twang, and

surprised one coming from a man so slight of build. In a few sentences he

expressed his gratitude, saying how touched he was by the devotion of the

nations to the Holy See. Although the times might be bad, the final

triumph could not be delayed much longer. There were evident signs that

mankind was returning to faith, and that iniquity would soon cease under

the universal dominion of the Christ. As for France, was she not the

eldest daughter of the Church, and had she not given too many proofs of

her affection for the Holy See for the latter ever to cease loving her?

Then, raising his arm, he bestowed on all the pilgrims present, on the

societies and enterprises they represented, on their families and

friends, on France, on all the nations of the Catholic world, his

apostolic benediction, in gratitude for the precious help which they sent

him. And whilst he was again seating himself applause burst forth,

frantic salvoes of applause lasting for ten minutes and mingling with

vivats and inarticulate cries--a passionate, tempestuous outburst, which

made the very building shake.

Amidst this blast of frantic adoration Pierre gazed at Leo XIII, now

again motionless on his throne. With the papal cap on his head and the

red cape edged with ermine about his shoulders, he retained in his long

white cassock the rigid, sacerdotal attitude of an idol venerated by two

hundred and fifty millions of Christians. Against the purple background

of the hangings of the _baldacchino_, between the wing-like drapery on

either side, enclosing, as it were, a brasier of glory, he assumed real

majesty of aspect. He was no longer the feeble old man with the slow,

jerky walk and the slender, scraggy neck of a poor ailing bird. The

simious ugliness of his face, the largeness of his nose, the long slit of

his mouth, the hugeness of his ears, the conflicting jumble of his

withered features disappeared. In that waxen countenance you only

distinguished the admirable, dark, deep eyes, beaming with eternal youth,

with extraordinary intelligence and penetration. And then there was a

resolute bracing of his entire person, a consciousness of the eternity

which he represented, a regal nobility, born of the very circumstance

that he was now but a mere breath, a soul set in so pellucid a body of

ivory that it became visible as though it were already freed from the

bonds of earth. And Pierre realised what such a man--the Sovereign

Pontiff, the king obeyed by two hundred and fifty millions of

subjects--must be for the devout and dolent creatures who came to adore

him from so far, and who fell at his feet awestruck by the splendour of

the powers incarnate in him. Behind him, amidst the purple of the

hangings, what a gleam was suddenly afforded of the spheres beyond, what

an Infinite of ideality and blinding glory! So many centuries of history

from the Apostle Peter downward, so much strength and genius, so many

struggles and triumphs to be summed up in one being, the Elect, the

Unique, the Superhuman! And what a miracle, incessantly renewed, was that

of Heaven deigning to descend into human flesh, of the Deity fixing His

abode in His chosen servant, whom He consecrated above and beyond all

others, endowing him with all power and all science! What sacred

perturbation, what emotion fraught with distracted love might one not

feel at the thought of the Deity being ever there in the depths of that

man's eyes, speaking with his voice and emanating from his hand each time

that he raised it to bless! Could one imagine the exorbitant absoluteness

of that sovereign who was infallible, who disposed of the totality of

authority in this world and of salvation in the next! At all events, how

well one understood that souls consumed by a craving for faith should fly

towards him, that those who at last found the certainty they had so

ardently sought should seek annihilation in him, the consolation of

self-bestowal and disappearance within the Deity Himself.

Meantime, the ceremony was drawing to an end; Baron de Fouras was now

presenting the members of the committee and a few other persons of

importance. There was a slow procession with trembling genuflections and

much greedy kissing of the papal ring and slipper. Then the banners were

offered, and Pierre felt a pang on seeing that the finest and richest of

them was one of Lourdes, an offering no doubt from the Fathers of the

Immaculate Conception. On one side of the white, gold-bordered silk Our

Lady of Lourdes was painted, while on the other appeared a portrait of

Leo XIII. Pierre saw the Pope smile at the presentment of himself, and

was greatly grieved thereat, as though, indeed, his whole dream of an

intellectual, evangelical Pope, disentangled from all low superstition,

were crumbling away. And just then his eyes met those of Nani, who from

the outset had been watching him with the inquisitive air of a man who is

making an experiment.

"That banner is superb, isn't it?" said Nani, drawing near. "How it must

please his Holiness to be so nicely painted in company with so pretty a

virgin." And as the young priest, turning pale, did not reply, the

prelate added, with an air of devout enjoyment: "We are very fond of

Lourdes in Rome; that story of Bernadette is so delightful."

However, the scene which followed was so extraordinary that for a long

time Pierre remained overcome by it. He had beheld never-to-be-forgotten

idolatry at Lourdes, incidents of naive faith and frantic religious

passion which yet made him quiver with alarm and grief. But the crowds

rushing on the grotto, the sick dying of divine love before the Virgin's

statue, the multitudes delirious with the contagion of the

miraculous--nothing of all that gave an idea of the blast of madness

which suddenly inflamed the pilgrims at the feet of the Pope. Some

bishops, superiors of religious orders, and other delegates of various

kinds had stepped forward to deposit near the throne the offerings which

they brought from the whole Catholic world, the universal "collection" of

St. Peter's Pence. It was the voluntary tribute of the nations to their

sovereign: silver, gold, and bank notes in purses, bags, and cases.

Ladies came and fell on their knees to offer silk and velvet alms-bags

which they themselves had embroidered. Others had caused the note cases

which they tendered to be adorned with the monogram of Leo XIII in

diamonds. And at one moment the enthusiasm became so intense that several

women stripped themselves of their adornments, flung their own purses on

to the platform, and emptied their pockets even to the very coppers they

had about them. One lady, tall and slender, very beautiful and very dark,

wrenched her watch from about her neck, pulled off her rings, and threw

everything upon the carpet. Had it been possible, they would have torn

away their flesh to pluck out their love-burnt hearts and fling them

likewise to the demi-god. They would even have flung themselves, have

given themselves without reserve. It was a rain of presents, an explosion

of the passion which impels one to strip oneself for the object of one's

cult, happy at having nothing of one's own that shall not belong to him.

And meantime the clamour grew, vivats and shrill cries of adoration arose

amidst pushing and jostling of increased violence, one and all yielding

to the irresistible desire to kiss the idol!

But a signal was given, and Leo XIII made haste to quit the throne and

take his place in the _cortege_ in order to return to his apartments. The

Swiss Guards energetically thrust back the throng, seeking to open a way

through the three halls. But at sight of his Holiness's departure a

lamentation of despair arose and spread, as if heaven had suddenly closed

again and shut out those who had not yet been able to approach. What a

frightful disappointment--to have beheld the living manifestation of the

Deity and to see it disappear before gaining salvation by just touching

it! So terrible became the scramble, so extraordinary the confusion, that

the Swiss Guards were swept away. And ladies were seen to dart after the

Pope, to drag themselves on all fours over the marble slabs and kiss his

footprints and lap up the dust of his steps! The tall dark lady suddenly

fell at the edge of the platform, raised a loud shriek, and fainted; and

two gentlemen of the committee had to hold her so that she might not do

herself an injury in the convulsions of the hysterical fit which had come

upon her. Another, a plump blonde, was wildly, desperately kissing one of

the golden arms of the throne-chair, on which the old man's poor, bony

elbow had just rested. And others, on seeing her, came to dispute

possession, seized both arms, gilding and velvet, and pressed their

mouths to wood-work or upholstery, their bodies meanwhile shaking with

their sobs. Force had to be employed in order to drag them away.

When it was all over Pierre went off, emerging as it were from a painful

dream, sick at heart, and with his mind revolting. And again he

encountered Nani's glance, which never left him. "It was a superb

ceremony, was it not?" said the prelate. "It consoles one for many

iniquities."

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

himself.

Nani, however, merely smiled, as if he had not heard the last word. At

that same moment the two French ladies whom he had provided with tickets

came up to thank him, and. Pierre was surprised to recognise the mother

and daughter whom he had met at the Catacombs. Charming, bright, and

healthy as they were, their enthusiasm was only for the spectacle: they

declared that they were well pleased at having seen it--that it was

really astonishing, unique.

As the crowd slowly withdrew Pierre all at once felt a tap on his

shoulder, and, on turning his head, perceived Narcisse Habert, who also

was very enthusiastic. "I made signs to you, my dear Abbe," said he, "but

you didn't see me. Ah! how superb was the expression of that dark woman

who fell rigid beside the platform with her arms outstretched. She

reminded me of a masterpiece of one of the primitives, Cimabue, Giotto,

or Fra Angelico. And the others, those who devoured the chair arms with

their kisses, what suavity, beauty, and love! I never miss these

ceremonies: there are always some fine scenes, perfect pictures, in which

souls reveal themselves."

The long stream of pilgrims slowly descended the stairs, and Pierre,

followed by Nani and Narcisse, who had begun to chat, tried to bring the

ideas which were tumultuously throbbing in his brain into something like

order. There was certainly grandeur and beauty in that Pope who had shut

himself up in his Vatican, and who, the more he became a purely moral,

spiritual authority, freed from all terrestrial cares, had grown in the

adoration and awe of mankind. Such a flight into the ideal deeply stirred

Pierre, whose dream of rejuvenated Christianity rested on the idea of the

supreme Head of the Church exercising only a purified, spiritual

authority. He had just seen what an increase of majesty and power was in

that way gained by the Supreme Pontiff of the spheres beyond, at whose

feet the women fainted, and behind whom they beheld a vision of the