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kingdom and one belief? And in presence of this question, in presence of

the prodigious labour yet to be accomplished, how great was one's

astonishment when one thought of Rome's tranquil serenity, her patient

stubbornness, which has never known doubt or weariness, her bishops and

ministers toiling without cessation in the conviction that she alone will

some day be the mistress of the world!

* Some readers may question certain of the figures given by M.

Zola, but it must be remembered that all such calculations

(even those of the best "authorities") are largely guesswork.

I myself think that there are more than 5 million Jews, and

more than 200 millions of Mahommedans, but I regard the alleged

number of Brahmanists and Buddhists as exaggerated. On the

other hand, some statistical tables specify 80 millions of

Confucianists, of whom M. Zola makes no separate mention.

However, as regards the number of Christians in the world, the

figures given above are, within a few millions, probably

accurate.--Trans.

Narcisse had told Pierre how carefully the embassies at Rome watched the

doings of the Propaganda, for the missions were often the instruments of

one or another nation, and exercised decisive influence in far-away

lands. And so there was a continual struggle, in which the Congregation

did all it could to favour the missionaries of Italy and her allies. It

had always been jealous of its French rival, "L'Oeuvre de la Propagation

de la Foi," installed at Lyons, which is as wealthy in money as itself,

and richer in men of energy and courage. However, not content with

levelling tribute on this French association, the Propaganda thwarted it,

sacrificed it on every occasion when it had reason to think it might

achieve a victory. Not once or twice, but over and over again had the

French missionaries, the French orders, been driven from the scenes of

their labours to make way for Italians or Germans. And Pierre, standing

in that mournful, dusty room, which the sunlight never brightened,

pictured the secret hot-bed of political intrigue masked by the

civilising ardour of faith. Again he shuddered as one shudders when

monstrous, terrifying things are brought home to one. And might not the

most sensible be overcome? Might not the bravest be dismayed by the

thought of that universal engine of conquest and domination, which worked

with the stubbornness of eternity, not merely content with the gain of

souls, but ever seeking to ensure its future sovereignty over the whole

of corporeal humanity, and--pending the time when it might rule the

nations itself--disposing of them, handing them over to the charge of

this or that temporary master, in accordance with its good pleasure. And

then, too, what a prodigious dream! Rome smiling and tranquilly awaiting

the day when she will have united Christians, Mahommedans, Brahmanists,

and Buddhists into one sole nation, of whom she will be both the

spiritual and the temporal queen!

However, a sound of coughing made Pierre turn, and he started on

perceiving Cardinal Sarno, whom he had not heard enter. Standing in front

of that map, he felt like one caught in the act of prying into a secret,

and a deep flush overspread his face. The Cardinal, however, after

looking at him fixedly with his dim eyes, went to his writing-table, and

let himself drop into the arm-chair without saying a word. With a gesture

he dispensed Pierre of the duty of kissing his ring.

"I desired to offer my homage to your Eminence," said the young man. "Is

your Eminence unwell?"

"No, no, it's nothing but a dreadful cold which I can't get rid of. And

then, too, I have so many things to attend to just now."

Pierre looked at the Cardinal as he appeared in the livid light from the

window, puny, lopsided, with the left shoulder higher than the right, and

not a sign of life on his worn and ashen countenance. The young priest

was reminded of one of his uncles, who, after thirty years spent in the

offices of a French public department, displayed the same lifeless

glance, parchment-like skin, and weary hebetation. Was it possible that

this withered old man, so lost in his black cassock with red edging, was

really one of the masters of the world, with the map of Christendom so

deeply stamped on his mind, albeit he had never left Rome, that the

Prefect of the Propaganda did not take a decision without asking his

opinion?

"Sit down, Monsieur l'Abbe," said the Cardinal. "So you have come to see

me--you have something to ask of me!" And, whilst disposing himself to

listen, he stretched out his thin bony hands to finger the documents

heaped up before him, glancing at each of them like some general, some

strategist, profoundly versed in the science of his profession, who,

although his army is far away, nevertheless directs it to victory from

his private room, never for a moment allowing it to escape his mind.

Pierre was somewhat embarrassed by such a plain enunciation of the

interested object of his visit; still, he decided to go to the point.

"Yes, indeed," he answered, "it is a liberty I have taken to come and

appeal to your Eminence's wisdom for advice. Your Eminence is aware that

I am in Rome for the purpose of defending a book of mine, and I should be

grateful if your Eminence would help and guide me." Then he gave a brief

account of the present position of the affair, and began to plead his

cause; but as he continued speaking he noticed that the Cardinal gave him

very little attention, as though indeed he were thinking of something

else, and failed to understand.

"Ah! yes," the great man at last muttered, "you have written a book.

There was some question of it at Donna Serafina's one evening. But a

priest ought not to write; it is a mistake for him to do so. What is the

good of it? And the Congregation of the Index must certainly be in the

right if it is prosecuting your book. At all events, what can I do? I

don't belong to the Congregation, and I know nothing, nothing about the

matter."

Pierre, pained at finding him so listless and indifferent, went on trying

to enlighten and move him. But he realised that this man's mind, so

far-reaching and penetrating in the field in which it had worked for

forty years, closed up as soon as one sought to divert it from its

specialty. It was neither an inquisitive nor a supple mind. All trace of

life faded from the Cardinal's eyes, and his entire countenance assumed

an expression of mournful imbecility. "I know nothing, nothing," he

repeated, "and I never recommend anybody." However, at last he made an

effort: "But Nani is mixed up in this," said he. "What does Nani advise

you to do?"

"Monsignor Nani has been kind enough to reveal to me that the reporter is

Monsignor Fornaro, and advises me to see him."

At this Cardinal Sarno seemed surprised and somewhat roused. A little

light returned to his eyes. "Ah! really," he rejoined, "ah!

really--Well, if Nani has done that he must have some idea. Go and see

Monsignor Fornaro." Then, after rising and dismissing his visitor, who

was compelled to thank him, bowing deeply, he resumed his seat, and a

moment later the only sound in the lifeless room was that of his bony

fingers turning over the documents before him.

Pierre, in all docility, followed the advice given him, and immediately

betook himself to the Piazza Navona, where, however, he learnt from one

of Monsignor Fornaro's servants that the prelate had just gone out, and

that to find him at home it was necessary to call in the morning at ten

o'clock. Accordingly it was only on the following day that Pierre was

able to obtain an interview. He had previously made inquiries and knew

what was necessary concerning Monsignor Fornaro. Born at Naples, he had

there begun his studies under the Barnabites, had finished them at the

Seminario Romano, and had subsequently, for many years, been a professor

at the University Gregoriana. Nowadays Consultor to several Congregations

and a Canon of Santa Maria Maggiore, he placed his immediate ambition in

a Canonry at St. Peter's, and harboured the dream of some day becoming

Secretary of the Consistorial Congregation, a post conducting to the

cardinalate. A theologian of remarkable ability, Monsignor Fornaro

incurred no other reproach than that of occasionally sacrificing to

literature by contributing articles, which he carefully abstained from

signing, to certain religious reviews. He was also said to be very

worldly.

Pierre was received as soon as he had sent in his card, and perhaps he

would have fancied that his visit was expected had not an appearance of

sincere surprise, blended with a little anxiety, marked his reception.

"Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, Monsieur l'Abbe Froment," repeated the prelate,

looking at the card which he still held. "Kindly step in--I was about to

forbid my door, for I have some urgent work to attend to. But no matter,

sit down."

Pierre, however, remained standing, quite charmed by the blooming

appearance of this tall, strong, handsome man who, although five and

forty years of age, was quite fresh and rosy, with moist lips, caressing

eyes, and scarcely a grey hair among his curly locks. Nobody more

fascinating and decorative could be found among the whole Roman prelacy.

Careful of his person undoubtedly, and aiming at a simple elegance, he

looked really superb in his black cassock with violet collar. And around

him the spacious room where he received his visitors, gaily lighted as it

was by two large windows facing the Piazza Navona, and furnished with a

taste nowadays seldom met with among the Roman clergy, diffused a

pleasant odour and formed a setting instinct with kindly cheerfulness.

"Pray sit down, Monsieur l'Abbe Froment," he resumed, "and tell me to

what I am indebted for the honour of your visit."

He had already recovered his self-possession and assumed a _naif_, purely

obliging air; and Pierre, though the question was only natural, and he

ought to have foreseen it, suddenly felt greatly embarrassed, more

embarrassed indeed than in Cardinal Sarno's presence. Should he go to the

point at once, confess the delicate motive of his visit? A moment's

reflection showed him that this would be the best and worthier course.

"Dear me, Monseigneur," he replied, "I know very well that the step I

have taken in calling on you is not usually taken, but it has been

advised me, and it has seemed to me that among honest folks there can

never be any harm in seeking in all good faith to elucidate the truth."

"What is it, what is it, then?" asked the prelate with an expression of

perfect candour, and still continuing to smile.

"Well, simply this. I have learnt that the Congregation of the Index has

handed you my book 'New Rome,' and appointed you to examine it; and I

have ventured to present myself before you in case you should have any

explanations to ask of me."

But Monsignor Fornaro seemed unwilling to hear any more. He had carried

both hands to his head and drawn back, albeit still courteous. "No, no,"

said he, "don't tell me that, don't continue, you would grieve me

dreadfully. Let us say, if you like, that you have been deceived, for

nothing ought to be known, in fact nothing is known, either by others or

myself. I pray you, do not let us talk of such matters."

Pierre, however, had fortunately remarked what a decisive effect was

produced when he had occasion to mention the name of the Assessor of the

Holy Office. So it occurred to him to reply: "I most certainly do not

desire to give you the slightest cause for embarrassment, Monseigneur,

and I repeat to you that I would never have ventured to importune you if

Monsignor Nani himself had not acquainted me with your name and address."

This time the effect was immediate, though Monsignor Fornaro, with that

easy grace which he introduced into all things, made some ceremony about

surrendering. He began by a demurrer, speaking archly with subtle shades

of expression. "What! is Monsignor Nani the tattler! But I shall scold

him, I shall get angry with him! And what does he know? He doesn't belong

to the Congregation; he may have been led into error. You must tell him

that he has made a mistake, and that I have nothing at all to do with

your affair. That will teach him not to reveal needful secrets which

everybody respects!" Then, in a pleasant way, with winning glance and

flowery lips, he went on: "Come, since Monsignor Nani desires it, I am

willing to chat with you for a moment, my dear Monsieur Froment, but on

condition that you shall know nothing of my report or of what may have

been said or done at the Congregation."

Pierre in his turn smiled, admiring how easy things became when forms

were respected and appearances saved. And once again he began to explain

his case, the profound astonishment into which the prosecution of his

book had thrown him, and his ignorance of the objections which were taken

to it, and for which he had vainly sought a cause.

"Really, really," repeated the prelate, quite amazed at so much

innocence. "The Congregation is a tribunal, and can only act when a case

is brought before it. Proceedings have been taken against your book

simply because it has been denounced."

"Yes, I know, denounced."

"Of course. Complaint was laid by three French bishops, whose names you

will allow me to keep secret, and it consequently became necessary for

the Congregation to examine the incriminated work."

Pierre looked at him quite scared. Denounced by three bishops? Why? With

what object? Then he thought of his protector. "But Cardinal Bergerot,"

said he, "wrote me a letter of approval, which I placed at the beginning

of my work as a preface. Ought not a guarantee like that to have been