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accommodating himself as best he could to his old mistress, Want, empty

in pocket yet always a _grand seigneur_.

However, Pierre was struck by the great difference between the want and

wretchedness of Rome and Paris. In Rome the destitution was certainly

more complete, the food more loathsome, the dirt more repulsive. Yet at

the same time the Roman poor retained more ease of manner and more real

gaiety. The young priest thought of the fireless, breadless poor of

Paris, shivering in their hovels at winter time; and suddenly he

understood. The destitution of Rome did not know cold. What a sweet and

eternal consolation; a sun for ever bright, a sky for ever blue and

benign out of charity to the wretched! And what mattered the vileness of

the dwelling if one could sleep under the sky, fanned by the warm breeze!

What mattered even hunger if the family could await the windfall of

chance in sunlit streets or on the scorched grass! The climate induced

sobriety; there was no need of alcohol or red meat to enable one to face

treacherous fogs. Blissful idleness smiled on the golden evenings,

poverty became like the enjoyment of liberty in that delightful

atmosphere where the happiness of living seemed to be all sufficient.

Narcisse told Pierre that at Naples, in the narrow odoriferous streets of

the port and Santa Lucia districts, the people spent virtually their

whole lives out-of-doors, gay, childish, and ignorant, seeking nothing

beyond the few pence that were needed to buy food. And it was certainly

the climate which fostered the prolonged infancy of the nation, which

explained why such a democracy did not awaken to social ambition and

consciousness of itself. No doubt the poor of Naples and Rome suffered

from want; but they did not know the rancour which cruel winter implants

in men's hearts, the dark rancour which one feels on shivering with cold

while rich people are warming themselves before blazing fires. They did

not know the infuriated reveries in snow-swept hovels, when the guttering

dip burns low, the passionate need which then comes upon one to wreak

justice, to revolt, as from a sense of duty, in order that one may save

wife and children from consumption, in order that they also may have a

warm nest where life shall be a possibility! Ah! the want that shivers

with the bitter cold--therein lies the excess of social injustice, the

most terrible of schools, where the poor learn to realise their

sufferings, where they are roused to indignation, and swear to make those

sufferings cease, even if in doing so they annihilate all olden society!

And in that same clemency of the southern heavens Pierre also found an

explanation of the life of St. Francis,* that divine mendicant of love

who roamed the high roads extolling the charms of poverty. Doubtless he

was an unconscious revolutionary, protesting against the overflowing

luxury of the Roman court by his return to the love of the humble, the

simplicity of the primitive Church. But such a revival of innocence and

sobriety would never have been possible in a northern land. The

enchantment of Nature, the frugality of a people whom the sunlight

nourished, the benignity of mendicancy on roads for ever warm, were

needed to effect it. And yet how was it possible that a St. Francis,

glowing with brotherly love, could have appeared in a land which nowadays

so seldom practises charity, which treats the lowly so harshly and

contemptuously, and cannot even bestow alms on its own Pope? Is it

because ancient pride ends by hardening all hearts, or because the

experience of very old races leads finally to egotism, that one now

beholds Italy seemingly benumbed amidst dogmatic and pompous Catholicism,

whilst the return to the ideals of the Gospel, the passionate interest in

the poor and the suffering comes from the woeful plains of the North,

from the nations whose sunlight is so limited? Yes, doubtless all that

has much to do with the change, and the success of St. Francis was in

particular due to the circumstance that, after so gaily espousing his

lady, Poverty, he was able to lead her, bare-footed and scarcely clad,

during endless and delightful spring-tides, among communities whom an

ardent need of love and compassion then consumed.

* St. Francis of Assisi, the founder of the famous order of

mendicant friars.--Trans.

While conversing, Pierre and Narcisse had reached the Piazza of St.

Peter's, and they sat down at one of the little tables skirting the

pavement outside the restaurant where they had lunched once before. The

linen was none too clean, but the view was splendid. The Basilica rose up

in front of them, and the Vatican on the right, above the majestic curve

of the colonnade. Just as the waiter was bringing the _hors-d'oeuvre_,

some _finocchio_* and anchovies, the young priest, who had fixed his eyes

on the Vatican, raised an exclamation to attract Narcisse's attention:

"Look, my friend, at that window, which I am told is the Holy Father's.

Can't you distinguish a pale figure standing there, quite motionless?"

* Fennel-root, eaten raw, a favourite "appetiser" in Rome during

the spring and autumn.--Trans.

The young man began to laugh. "Oh! well," said he, "it must be the Holy

Father in person. You are so anxious to see him that your very anxiety

conjures him into your presence."

"But I assure you," repeated Pierre, "that he is over there behind the

window-pane. There is a white figure looking this way."

Narcisse, who was very hungry, began to eat whilst still indulging in

banter. All at once, however, he exclaimed: "Well, my dear Abbe, as the

Pope is looking at us, this is the moment to speak of him. I promised to

tell you how he sunk several millions of St. Peter's Patrimony in the

frightful financial crisis of which you have just seen the ruins; and,

indeed, your visit to the new district of the castle fields would not be

complete without this story by way of appendix."

Thereupon, without losing a mouthful, Narcisse spoke at considerable

length. At the death of Pius IX the Patrimony of St. Peter, it seemed,

had exceeded twenty millions of francs. Cardinal Antonelli, who

speculated, and whose ventures were usually successful, had for a long

time left a part of this money with the Rothschilds and a part in the

hands of different nuncios, who turned it to profit abroad. After

Antonelli's death, however, his successor, Cardinal Simeoni, withdrew the

money from the nuncios to invest it at Rome; and Leo XIII on his

accession entrusted the administration of the Patrimony to a commission

of cardinals, of which Monsignor Folchi was appointed secretary. This

prelate, who for twelve years played such an important _role_, was the

son of an employee of the Dataria, who, thanks to skilful financial

operations, had left a fortune of a million francs. Monsignor Folchi

inherited his father's cleverness, and revealed himself to be a financier

of the first rank in such wise that the commission gradually relinquished

its powers to him, letting him act exactly as he pleased and contenting

itself with approving the reports which he laid before it at each

meeting. The Patrimony, however, yielded scarcely more than a million

francs per annum, and, as the expenditure amounted to seven millions, six

had to be found. Accordingly, from that other source of income, the

Peter's Pence, the Pope annually gave three million francs to Monsignor

Folchi, who, by skilful speculations and investments, was able to double

them every year, and thus provide for all disbursements without ever

breaking into the capital of the Patrimony. In the earlier times he

realised considerable profit by gambling in land in and about Rome. He

took shares also in many new enterprises, speculated in mills, omnibuses,

and water-services, without mentioning all the gambling in which he

participated with the Banca di Roma, a Catholic institution. Wonderstruck

by his skill, the Pope, who, on his own side, had hitherto speculated

through the medium of a confidential employee named Sterbini, dismissed

the latter, and entrusted Monsignor Folchi with the duty of turning his

money to profit in the same way as he turned that of the Holy See. This

was the climax of the prelate's favour, the apogee of his power. Bad days

were dawning, things were tottering already, and the great collapse was

soon to come, sudden and swift like lightning. One of Leo XIII's

practices was to lend large sums to the Roman princes who, seized with

the gambling frenzy, and mixed up in land and building speculations, were

at a loss for money. To guarantee the Pope's advances they deposited

shares with him, and thus, when the downfall came, he was left with heaps

of worthless paper on his hands. Then another disastrous affair was an

attempt to found a house of credit in Paris in view of working off the

shares which could not be disposed of in Italy among the French

aristocracy and religious people. To egg these on it was said that the

Pope was interested in the venture; and the worst was that he dropped

three millions of francs in it.* The situation then became the more

critical as he had gradually risked all the money he disposed of in the

terrible agiotage going on in Rome, tempted thereto by the prospect of

huge profits and perhaps indulging in the hope that he might win back by

money the city which had been torn from him by force. His own

responsibility remained complete, for Monsignor Folchi never made an

important venture without consulting him; and he must have been therefore

the real artisan of the disaster, mastered by his passion for gain, his

desire to endow the Church with a huge capital, that great source of

power in modern times. As always happens, however, the prelate was the

only victim. He had become imperious and difficult to deal with; and was

no longer liked by the cardinals of the commission, who were merely

called together to approve such transactions as he chose to entrust to

them. So, when the crisis came, a plot was laid; the cardinals terrified

the Pope by telling him of all the evil rumours which were current, and

then forced Monsignor Folchi to render a full account of his

speculations. The situation proved to be very bad; it was no longer

possible to avoid heavy losses. And so Monsignor Folchi was disgraced,

and since then has vainly solicited an audience of Leo XIII, who has

always refused to receive him, as if determined to punish him for their

common fault--that passion for lucre which blinded them both. Very pious

and submissive, however, Monsignor Folchi has never complained, but has

kept his secrets and bowed to fate. Nobody can say exactly how many

millions the Patrimony of St. Peter lost when Rome was changed into a

gambling-hell, but if some prelates only admit ten, others go as far as

thirty. The probability is that the loss was about fifteen millions.**

* The allusion is evidently to the famous Union Generale, on

which the Pope bestowed his apostolic benediction, and with

which M. Zola deals at length in his novel _Money_. Certainly

a very brilliant idea was embodied in the Union Generale, that

of establishing a great international Catholic bank which

would destroy the Jewish financial autocracy throughout Europe,

and provide both the papacy and the Legitimist cause in several

countries with the sinews of war. But in the battle which

ensued the great Jew financial houses proved the stronger, and

the disaster which overtook the Catholic speculators was a

terrible one.--Trans.

** That is 600,000 pounds.

Whilst Narcisse was giving this account he and Pierre had despatched

their cutlets and tomatoes, and the waiter was now serving them some

fried chicken. "At the present time," said Narcisse by way of conclusion,

"the gap has been filled up; I told you of the large sums yielded by the

Peter's Pence Fund, the amount of which is only known by the Pope, who

alone fixes its employment. And, by the way, he isn't cured of

speculating: I know from a good source that he still gambles, though with

more prudence. Moreover, his confidential assistant is still a prelate.

And, when all is said, my dear Abbe, he's in the right: a man must belong

to his times--dash it all!"

Pierre had listened with growing surprise, in which terror and sadness

mingled. Doubtless such things were natural, even legitimate; yet he, in

his dream of a pastor of souls free from all terrestrial cares, had never

imagined that they existed. What! the Pope--the spiritual father of the

lowly and the suffering--had speculated in land and in stocks and shares!

He had gambled, placed funds in the hands of Jew bankers, practised

usury, extracted hard interest from money--he, the successor of the

Apostle, the Pontiff of Christ, the representative of Jesus, of the

Gospel, that divine friend of the poor! And, besides, what a painful

contrast: so many millions stored away in those rooms of the Vatican, and

so many millions working and fructifying, constantly being diverted from

one speculation to another in order that they might yield the more gain;

and then down below, near at hand, so much want and misery in those

abominable unfinished buildings of the new districts, so many poor folks

dying of hunger amidst filth, mothers without milk for their babes, men

reduced to idleness by lack of work, old ones at the last gasp like

beasts of burden who are pole-axed when they are of no more use! Ah! God

of Charity, God of Love, was it possible! The Church doubtless had

material wants; she could not live without money; prudence and policy had

dictated the thought of gaining for her such a treasure as would enable

her to fight her adversaries victoriously. But how grievously this

wounded one's feelings, how it soiled the Church, how she descended from

her divine throne to become nothing but a party, a vast international

association organised for the purpose of conquering and possessing the

world!

And the more Pierre thought of the extraordinary adventure the greater