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same eucalypti with white trunks and pale leaves long like hair, the same

ilex-trees squat and dusky, the same giant pines, the same black

cypresses, the same marbles whitening amidst tufts of roses, and the same

fountains gurgling under mantling ivy. Never did he enjoy more gentle,

sorrow-tinged delight than at the Villa of Pope Julius, where all the

life of a gay and sensual period is suggested by the semi-circular

porticus opening on the gardens, a porticus decorated with paintings,

golden trellis-work laden with flowers, amidst which flutter flights of

smiling Cupids. Then, on the evening when he returned from the Farnesina,

he declared that he had brought all the dead soul of ancient Rome away

with him, and it was not the paintings executed after Raffaelle's designs

that had touched him, it was rather the pretty hall on the river side

decorated in soft blue and pink and lilac, with an art devoid of genius

yet so charming and so Roman; and in particular it was the abandoned

garden once stretching down to the Tiber, and now shut off from it by the

new quay, and presenting an aspect of woeful desolation, ravaged, bossy

and weedy like a cemetery, albeit the golden fruit of orange and citron

tree still ripened there.

And for the last time a shock came to Pierre's heart on the lovely

evening when he visited the Villa Medici. There he was on French soil.*

And again what a marvellous garden he found with box-plants, and pines,

and avenues full of magnificence and charm! What a refuge for antique

reverie was that wood of ilex-trees, so old and so sombre, where the sun

in declining cast fiery gleams of red gold amidst the sheeny bronze of

the foliage. You ascend by endless steps, and from the crowning belvedere

on high you embrace all Rome at a glance as though by opening your arms

you could seize it in its entirety. From the villa's dining-room,

decorated with portraits of all the artists who have successfully

sojourned there, and from the spacious peaceful library one beholds the

same splendid, broad, all-conquering panorama, a panorama of unlimited

ambition, whose infinite ought to set in the hearts of the young men

dwelling there a determination to subjugate the world. Pierre, who came

thither opposed to the principle of the "Prix de Rome," that traditional,

uniform education so dangerous for originality, was for a moment charmed

by the warm peacefulness, the limpid solitude of the garden, and the

sublime horizon where the wings of genius seemed to flutter. Ah! how

delightful, to be only twenty and to live for three years amidst such

infinite sweetness, encompassed by the finest works of man; to say to

oneself that one is as yet too young to produce, and to reflect, and

seek, and learn how to enjoy, suffer, and love! But Pierre afterwards

reflected that this was not a fit task for youth, and that to appreciate

the divine enjoyment of such a retreat, all art and blue sky, ripe age

was needed, age with victories already gained and weariness following

upon the accomplishment of work. He chatted with some of the young

pensioners, and remarked that if those who were inclined to dreaminess

and contemplation, like those who could merely claim mediocrity,

accommodated themselves to this life cloistered in the art of the past,

on the other hand artists of active bent and personal temperament pined

with impatience, their eyes ever turned towards Paris, their souls eager

to plunge into the furnace of battle and production.

* Here is the French Academy, where winners of the "Prix de

Rome" in painting, sculpture, architecture, engraving, and

music are maintained by the French Government for three

years. The creation dates from Louis XIV.--Trans.

All those gardens of which Pierre spoke to Dario and Benedetta with so

much rapture, awoke within them the memory of the garden of the Villa

Montefiori, now a waste, but once so green, planted with the finest

orange-trees of Rome, a grove of centenarian orange-trees where they had

learnt to love one another. And the memory of their early love brought

thoughts of their present situation and their future prospects. To these

the conversation always reverted, and evening after evening Pierre

witnessed their delight, and heard them talk of coming happiness like

lovers transported to the seventh heaven. The suit for the dissolution of

Benedetta's marriage was now assuming a more and more favourable aspect.

Guided by a powerful hand, Donna Serafina was apparently acting very

vigorously, for almost every day she had some further good news to

report. She was indeed anxious to finish the affair both for the

continuity and for the honour of the name, for on the one hand Dario

refused to marry any one but his cousin, and on the other this marriage

would explain everything and put an end to an intolerable situation. The

scandalous rumours which circulated both in the white and the black world

quite incensed her, and a victory was the more necessary as Leo XIII,

already so aged, might be snatched away at any moment, and in the

Conclave which would follow she desired that her brother's name should

shine forth with untarnished, sovereign radiance. Never had the secret

ambition of her life, the hope that her race might give a third pope to

the Church, filled her with so much passion. It was as if she therein

sought a consolation for the harsh abandonment of Advocate Morano.

Invariably clad in sombre garb, ever active and slim, so tightly laced

that from behind one might have taken her for a young girl, she was so to

say the black soul of that old palace; and Pierre, who met her

everywhere, prowling and inspecting like a careful house-keeper, and

jealously watching over her brother the Cardinal, bowed to her in

silence, chilled to the heart by the stern look of her withered wrinkled

face in which was set the large, opiniative nose of her family. However

she barely returned his bows, for she still disdained that paltry foreign

priest, and only tolerated him in order to please Monsignor Nani and

Viscount Philibert de la Choue.

A witness every evening of the anxious delight and impatience of

Benedetta and Dario, Pierre by degrees became almost as impassioned as

themselves, as desirous for an early solution. Benedetta's suit was about

to come before the Congregation of the Council once more. Monsignor

Palma, the defender of the marriage, had demanded a supplementary inquiry

after the favourable decision arrived at in the first instance by a bare

majority of one vote--a majority which the Pope would certainly not have

thought sufficient had he been asked for his ratification. So the

question now was to gain votes among the ten cardinals who formed the

Congregation, to persuade and convince them, and if possible ensure an

almost unanimous pronouncement. The task was arduous, for, instead of

facilitating matters, Benedetta's relationship to Cardinal Boccanera

raised many difficulties, owing to the intriguing spirit rife at the

Vatican, the spite of rivals who, by perpetuating the scandal, hoped to

destroy Boccanera's chance of ever attaining to the papacy. Every

afternoon, however, Donna Serafina devoted herself to the task of winning

votes under the direction of her confessor, Father Lorenza, whom she saw

daily at the Collegio Germanico, now the last refuge of the Jesuits in

Rome, for they have ceased to be masters of the Gesu. The chief hope of

success lay in Prada's formal declaration that he would not put in an

appearance. The whole affair wearied and irritated him; the imputations

levelled against him as a man, seemed to him supremely odious and

ridiculous; and he no longer even took the trouble to reply to the

assignations which were sent to him. He acted indeed as if he had never

been married, though deep in his heart the wound dealt to his passion and

his pride still lingered, bleeding afresh whenever one or another of the

scandalous rumours in circulation reached his ears. However, as their

adversary desisted from all action, one can understand that the hopes of

Benedetta and Dario increased, the more so as hardly an evening passed

without Donna Serafina telling them that she believed she had gained the

support of another cardinal.

But the man who terrified them all was Monsignor Palma, whom the

Congregation had appointed to defend the sacred ties of matrimony. His

rights and privileges were almost unlimited, he could appeal yet again,

and in any case would make the affair drag on as long as it pleased him.

His first report, in reply to Morano's memoir, had been a terrible blow,

and it was now said that a second one which he was preparing would prove

yet more pitiless, establishing as a fundamental principle of the Church

that it could not annul a marriage whose nonconsummation was purely and

simply due to the action of the wife in refusing obedience to her

husband. In presence of such energy and logic, it was unlikely that the

cardinals, even if sympathetic, would dare to advise the Holy Father to

dissolve the marriage. And so discouragement was once more overcoming

Benedetta when Donna Serafina, on returning from a visit to Monsignor

Nani, calmed her somewhat by telling her that a mutual friend had

undertaken to deal with Monsignor Palma. However, said she, even if they

succeeded, it would doubtless cost them a large sum.

Monsignor Palma, a theologist expert in all canonical affairs, and a

perfectly honest man in pecuniary matters, had met with a great

misfortune in his life. He had a niece, a poor and lovely girl, for whom,

unhappily, in his declining years he conceived an insensate passion, with

the result that to avoid a scandal he was compelled to marry her to a

rascal who now preyed upon her and even beat her. And the prelate was now

passing through a fearful crisis, weary of reducing himself to beggary,

and indeed no longer having the money necessary to extricate his nephew

by marriage from a very nasty predicament, the result of cheating at

cards. So the idea was to save the young man by a considerable pecuniary

payment, and then to procure him employment without asking aught of his

uncle, who, as if offering complicity, came in tears one evening, when

night had fallen, to thank Donna Serafina for her exceeding goodness.

Pierre was with Dario that evening when Benedetta entered the room,

laughing and joyfully clapping her bands. "It's done, it's done!" she

said, "he has just left aunt, and vowed eternal gratitude to her. He will

now be obliged to show himself amiable."

However Dario distrustfully inquired: "But was he made to sign anything,

did he enter into a formal engagement?"

"Oh! no; how could one do that? It's such a delicate matter," replied

Benedetta. "But people say that he is a very honest man." Nevertheless,

in spite of these words, she herself became uneasy. What if Monsignor

Palma should remain incorruptible in spite of the great service which had

been rendered him? Thenceforth this idea haunted them, and their suspense

began once more.

Dario, eager to divert his mind, was imprudent enough to get up before he

was perfectly cured, and, his wound reopening, he was obliged to take to

his bed again for a few days. Every evening, as previously, Pierre strove

to enliven him with an account of his strolls. The young priest was now

getting bolder, rambling in turn through all the districts of Rome, and

discovering the many "classical" curiosities catalogued in the

guide-books. One evening he spoke with a kind of affection of the

principal squares of the city which he had first thought commonplace, but

which now seemed to him very varied, each with original features of its

own. There was the noble Piazza del Popolo of such monumental symmetry

and so full of sunlight; there was the Piazza di Spagna, the lively

meeting-place of foreigners, with its double flight of a hundred and

thirty steps gilded by the sun; there was the vast Piazza Colonna, always

swarming with people, and the most Italian of all the Roman squares from

the presence of the idle, careless crowd which ever lounged round the

column of Marcus Aurelius as if waiting for fortune to fall from heaven;

there was also the long and regular Piazza Navona, deserted since the

market was no longer held there, and retaining a melancholy recollection

of its former bustling life; and there was the Campo dei Fiori, which was

invaded each morning by the tumultuous fruit and vegetable markets, quite

a plantation of huge umbrellas sheltering heaps of tomatoes, pimentoes,

and grapes amidst a noisy stream of dealers and housewives. Pierre's

great surprise, however, was the Piazza del Campidoglio--the "Square of

the Capitol"--which to him suggested a summit, an open spot overlooking

the city and the world, but which he found to be small and square, and on

three sides enclosed by palaces, whilst on the fourth side the view was

of little extent.* There are no passers-by there; visitors usually come

up by a flight of steps bordered by a few palm-trees, only foreigners

making use of the winding carriage-ascent. The vehicles wait, and the

tourists loiter for a while with their eyes raised to the admirable

equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius, in antique bronze, which occupies

the centre of the piazza. Towards four o'clock, when the sun gilds the

left-hand palace, and the slender statues of its entablature show vividly

against the blue sky, you might think yourself in some warm cosy square

of a little provincial town, what with the women of the neighbourhood who

sit knitting under the arcade, and the bands of ragged urchins who

disport themselves on all sides like school-boys in a playground.

* The Piazza del Campidoglio is really a depression between the

Capitolium proper and the northern height called the Arx. It is

supposed to have been the exact site of Romulus's traditional

Asylum.--Trans.

Then, on another evening Pierre told Benedetta and Dario of his

admiration for the Roman fountains, for in no other city of the world