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sufficient for the French episcopacy?"

Monsignor Fornaro wagged his head in a knowing way before making up his

mind to reply: "Ah! yes, no doubt, his Eminence's letter, a very

beautiful letter. I think, however, that it would have been much better

if he had not written it, both for himself and for you especially." Then

as the priest, whose surprise was increasing, opened his mouth to urge

him to explain himself, he went on: "No, no, I know nothing, I say

nothing. His Eminence Cardinal Bergerot is a saintly man whom everybody

venerates, and if it were possible for him to sin it would only be

through pure goodness of heart."

Silence fell. Pierre could divine that an abyss was opening, and dared

not insist. However, he at last resumed with some violence: "But, after

all, why should my book be prosecuted, and the books of others be left

untouched? I have no intention of acting as a denouncer myself, but how

many books there are to which Rome closes her eyes, and which are far

more dangerous than mine can be!"

This time Monsignor Fornaro seemed glad to be able to support Pierre's

views. "You are right," said he, "we cannot deal with every bad book, and

it greatly distresses us. But you must remember what an incalculable

number of works we should be compelled to read. And so we have to content

ourselves with condemning the worst _en bloc_."

Then he complacently entered into explanations. In principle, no printer

ought to send any work to press without having previously submitted the

manuscript to the approval of the bishop of the diocese. Nowadays,

however, with the enormous output of the printing trade, one could

understand how terribly embarrassed the bishops would be if the printers

were suddenly to conform to the Church's regulation. There was neither

the time nor the money, nor were there the men necessary for such

colossal labour. And so the Congregation of the Index condemned _en

masse_, without examination, all works of certain categories: first,

books which were dangerous for morals, all erotic writings, and all

novels; next the various bibles in the vulgar tongue, for the perusal of

Holy Writ without discretion was not allowable; then the books on magic

and sorcery, and all works on science, history, or philosophy that were

in any way contrary to dogma, as well as the writings of heresiarchs or

mere ecclesiastics discussing religion, which should never be discussed.

All these were wise laws made by different popes, and were set forth in

the preface to the catalogue of forbidden books which the Congregation

published, and without them this catalogue, to have been complete, would

in itself have formed a large library. On turning it over one found that

the works singled out for interdiction were chiefly those of priests, the

task being so vast and difficult that Rome's concern extended but little

beyond the observance of good order within the Church. And Pierre and his

book came within the limit.

"You will understand," continued Monsignor Fornaro, "that we have no

desire to advertise a heap of unwholesome writings by honouring them with

special condemnation. Their name is legion in every country, and we

should have neither enough paper nor enough ink to deal with them all. So

we content ourselves with condemning one from time to time, when it bears

a famous name and makes too much noise, or contains disquieting attacks

on the faith. This suffices to remind the world that we exist and defend

ourselves without abandoning aught of our rights or duties."

"But my book, my book," exclaimed Pierre, "why these proceedings against

my book?"

"I am explaining that to you as far as it is allowable for me to do, my

dear Monsieur Froment. You are a priest, your book is a success, you have

published a cheap edition of it which sells very readily; and I don't

speak of its literary merit, which is remarkable, for it contains a

breath of real poetry which transported me, and on which I must really

compliment you. However, under the circumstances which I have enumerated,

how could we close our eyes to such a work as yours, in which the

conclusion arrived at is the annihilation of our holy religion and the

destruction of Rome?"

Pierre remained open-mouthed, suffocating with surprise. "The destruction

of Rome!" he at last exclaimed; "but I desire to see Rome rejuvenated,

eternal, again the queen of the world." And, once more mastered by his

glowing enthusiasm, he defended himself and confessed his faith:

Catholicism reverting to the principles and practices of the primitive

Church, drawing the blood of regeneration from the fraternal Christianity

of Jesus; the Pope, freed from all terrestrial royalty, governing the

whole of humanity with charity and love, and saving the world from the

frightful social cataclysm that threatens it by leading it to the real

Kingdom of God: the Christian communion of all nations united in one

nation only. "And can the Holy Father disavow me?" he continued. "Are not

these his secret ideas, which people are beginning to divine, and does

not my only offence lie in having expressed them perhaps too soon and too

freely? And if I were allowed to see him should I not at once obtain from

him an order to stop these proceedings?"

Monsignor Fornaro no longer spoke, but wagged his head without appearing

offended by the priest's juvenile ardour. On the contrary, he smiled with

increasing amiability, as though highly amused by so much innocence and

imagination. At last he gaily responded, "Oh! speak on, speak on; it

isn't I who will stop you. I'm forbidden to say anything. But the

temporal power, the temporal power."

"Well, what of the temporal power?" asked Pierre.

The prelate had again become silent, raising his amiable face to heaven

and waving his white hands with a pretty gesture. And when he once more

opened his mouth it was to say: "Then there's your new religion--for the

expression occurs twice: the new religion, the new religion--ah, _Dio_!"

Again he became restless, going off into an ecstasy of wonderment, at

sight of which Pierre impatiently exclaimed: "I do not know what your

report will be, Monseigneur, but I declare to you that I have had no

desire to attack dogma. And, candidly now, my whole book shows that I

only sought to write a work of pity and salvation. It is only justice

that some account should be taken of one's intentions."

Monsignor Fornaro had become very calm and paternal again. "Oh!

intentions! intentions!" he said as he rose to dismiss his visitor. "You

may be sure, my dear Monsieur Froment, that I feel much honoured by your

visit. Naturally I cannot tell you what my report will be; as it is, we

have talked too much about it, and, in fact, I ought to have refused to

listen to your defence. At the same time, you will always find me ready

to be of service to you in anything that does not go against my duty. But

I greatly fear that your book will be condemned." And then, as Pierre

again started, he added: "Well, yes. It is facts that are judged, you

know, not intentions. So all defence is useless; the book is there, and

we take it such as it is. However much you may try to explain it, you

cannot alter it. And this is why the Congregation never calls the accused

parties before it, and never accepts from them aught but retraction pure

and simple. And, indeed, the wisest course would be for you to withdraw

your book and make your submission. No? You won't? Ah! how young you are,

my friend!"

He laughed yet more loudly at the gesture of revolt, of indomitable pride

which had just escaped his young friend, as he called him. Then, on

reaching the door, he again threw off some of his reserve, and said in a

low voice, "Come, my dear Abbe, there is something I will do for you. I

will give you some good advice. At bottom, I myself am nothing. I deliver

my report, and it is printed, and the members of the Congregation read

it, but are quite free to pay no attention to it. However, the Secretary

of the Congregation, Father Dangelis, can accomplish everything, even

impossibilities. Go to see him; you will find him at the Dominican

convent behind the Piazza di Spagna. Don't name me. And for the present

good-bye, my dear fellow, good-bye."

Pierre once more found himself on the Piazza Navona, quite dazed, no

longer knowing what to believe or hope. A cowardly idea was coming over

him; why should he continue this struggle, in which his adversaries

remained unknown and indiscernible? Why carry obstinacy any further, why

linger any longer in that impassionating but deceptive Rome? He would

flee that very evening, return to Paris, disappear there, and forget his

bitter disillusion in the practice of humble charity. He was traversing

one of those hours of weakness when the long-dreamt-of task suddenly

seems to be an impossibility. However, amidst his great confusion he was

nevertheless walking on, going towards his destination. And when he found

himself in the Corso, then in the Via dei Condotti, and finally in the

Piazza di Spagna, he resolved that he would at any rate see Father

Dangelis. The Dominican convent is there, just below the Trinity de'

Monti.

Ah! those Dominicans! Pierre had never thought of them without a feeling

of respect with which mingled a little fear. What vigorous pillars of the

principle of authority and theocracy they had for centuries proved

themselves to be! To them the Church had been indebted for its greatest

measure of authority; they were the glorious soldiers of its triumph.

Whilst St. Francis won the souls of the humble over to Rome, St. Dominic,

on Rome's behalf, subjected all the superior souls--those of the

intelligent and powerful. And this he did with passion, amidst a blaze of

faith and determination, making use of all possible means, preachings,

writings, and police and judicial pressure. Though he did not found the

Inquisition, its principles were his, and it was with fire and sword that

his fraternal, loving heart waged war on schism. Living like his monks,

in poverty, chastity, and obedience--the great virtues of those times of

pride and licentiousness--he went from city to city, exhorting the

impious, striving to bring them back to the Church and arraigning them

before the ecclesiastical courts when his preachings did not suffice. He

also laid siege to science, sought to make it his own, dreamt of

defending God with the weapons of reason and human knowledge like a true

forerunner of the angelic St. Thomas, that light of the middle ages, who

joined the Dominican order and set everything in his "Summa Theologiae,"

psychology, logic, policy, and morals. And thus it was that the

Dominicans filled the world, upholding the doctrines of Rome in the most

famous pulpits of every nation, and contending almost everywhere against

the free sprit of the Universities, like the vigilant guardians of dogma

that they were, the unwearying artisans of the fortunes of the popes, the

most powerful amongst all the artistic, scientific, and literary workers

who raised the huge edifice of Catholicism such as it exists to-day.

However, Pierre, who could feel that this edifice was even now tottering,

though it had been built, people fancied, so substantially as to last

through all eternity, asked himself what could be the present use of the

Dominicans, those toilers of another age, whose police system and whose

tribunals had perished beneath universal execration, whose voices were no

longer listened to, whose books were but seldom read, and whose _role_ as

_savants_ and civilisers had come to an end in presence of latter-day

science, the truths of which were rending dogma on all sides. Certainly

the Dominicans still form an influential and prosperous order; but how

far one is from the times when their general reigned in Rome, Master of

the Holy Palace, with convents and schools, and subjects throughout

Europe! Of all their vast inheritance, so far as the Roman curia is

concerned, only a few posts now remain to them, and among others the

Secretaryship of the Congregation of the Index, a former dependency of

the Holy Office where they once despotically ruled.

Pierre was immediately ushered into the presence of Father Dangelis. The

convent parlour was vast, bare, and white, flooded with bright sunshine.

The only furniture was a table and some stools; and a large brass

crucifix hung from the wall. Near the table stood the Father, a very thin

man of about fifty, severely draped in his ample white habit and black

mantle. From his long ascetic face, with thin lips, thin nose, and

pointed, obstinate chin, his grey eyes shone out with a fixity that

embarrassed one. And, moreover, he showed himself very plain and simple

of speech, and frigidly polite in manner.

"Monsieur l'Abbe Froment--the author of 'New Rome,' I suppose?" Then

seating himself on one stool and pointing to another, he added: "Pray

acquaint me with the object of your visit, Monsieur l'Abbe."

Thereupon Pierre had to begin his explanation, his defence, all over

again; and the task soon became the more painful as his words fell from

his lips amidst death-like silence and frigidity. Father Dangelis did not

stir; with his hands crossed upon his knees he kept his sharp,

penetrating eyes fixed upon those of the priest. And when the latter had

at last ceased speaking, he slowly said: "I did not like to interrupt

you, Monsieur l'Abbe, but it was not for me to hear all this. Process

against your book has begun, and no power in the world can stay or impede

its course. I do not therefore realise what it is that you apparently

expect of me."

In a quivering voice Pierre was bold enough to answer: "I look for some

kindness and justice."

A pale smile, instinct with proud humility, arose to the Dominican's

lips. "Be without fear," he replied, "God has ever deigned to enlighten