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could have written it down like so much dictation. And his voice, as

Pierre had previously noticed, was strong and nasal, one of those full

voices which people are surprised to hear coming from debile and

apparently bloodless and breathless frames.

In response to the Holy Father's remark Pierre contented himself with

bowing, knowing that respect required him to wait for a direct answer

before speaking. However, this question promptly came. "You live in

Paris?" asked Leo XIII.

"Yes, Holy Father."

"Are you attached to one of the great parishes of the city?"

"No, Holy Father. I simply officiate at the little church of Neuilly."

"Ah, yes, Neuilly, that is in the direction of the Bois de Boulogne, is

it not? And how old are you, my son?"

"Thirty-four, Holy Father."

A short interval followed. Leo XIII had at last lowered his eyes. With

frail, ivory hand he took up the glass beside him, again stirred the

syrup with the long spoon, and then drank a little of it. And all this he

did gently and slowly, with a prudent, judicious air, as was his wont no

doubt in everything. "I have read your book, my son," he resumed. "Yes,

the greater part of it. As a rule only fragments are submitted to me. But

a person who is interested in you handed me the volume, begging me to

glance through it. And that is how I was able to look into it."

As he spoke he made a slight gesture in which Pierre fancied he could

detect a protest against the isolation in which he was kept by those

surrounding him, who, as Monsignor Nani had said, maintained a strict

watch in order that nothing they objected to might reach him. And

thereupon the young priest ventured to say: "I thank your Holiness for

having done me so much honour. No greater or more desired happiness could

have befallen me." He was indeed so happy! On seeing the Pope so calm, so

free from all signs of anger, and on hearing him speak in that way of his

book, like one well acquainted with it, he imagined that his cause was

won.

"You are in relations with Monsieur le Vicomte Philibert de la Choue, are

you not, my son?" continued Leo XIII. "I was struck by the resemblance

between some of your ideas and those of that devoted servant of the

Church, who has in other ways given us previous testimony of his good

feelings."

"Yes, indeed, Holy Father, Monsieur de la Choue is kind enough to show me

some affection. We have often talked together, so it is not surprising

that I should have given expression to some of his most cherished ideas."

"No doubt, no doubt. For instance, there is that question of the

working-class guilds with which he largely occupies himself--with which,

in fact, he occupies himself rather too much. At the time of his last

journey to Rome he spoke to me of it in the most pressing manner. And in

the same way, quite recently, another of your compatriots, one of the

best and worthiest of men, Monsieur le Baron de Fouras, who brought us

that superb pilgrimage of the St. Peter's Pence Fund, never ceased his

efforts until I consented to receive him, when he spoke to me on the same

subject during nearly an hour. Only it must be said that they do not

agree in the matter, for one begs me to do things which the other will

not have me do on any account."

Pierre realised that the conversation was straying away from his book,

but he remembered having promised the Viscount that if he should see the

Pope he would make an attempt to obtain from him a decisive expression of

opinion on the famous question as to whether the working-class guilds or

corporations should be free or obligatory, open or closed. And the

unhappy Viscount, kept in Paris by the gout, had written the young priest

letter after letter on the subject, whilst his rival the Baron, availing

himself of the opportunity offered by the international pilgrimage,

endeavoured to wring from the Pope an approval of his own views, with

which he would have returned in triumph to France. Pierre conscientiously

desired to keep his promise, and so he answered: "Your Holiness knows

better than any of us in which direction true wisdom lies. Monsieur de

Fouras is of opinion that salvation, the solution of the labour question,

lies simply in the re-establishment of the old free corporations, whilst

Monsieur de la Choue desires the corporations to be obligatory, protected

by the state and governed by new regulations. This last conception is

certainly more in agreement with the social ideas now prevalent in

France. Should your Holiness condescend to express a favourable opinion

in that sense, the young French Catholic party would certainly know how

to turn it to good result, by producing quite a movement of the working

classes in favour of the Church."

In his quiet way Leo XIII responded: "But I cannot. Frenchmen always ask

things of me which I cannot, will not do. What I will allow you to say on

my behalf to Monsieur de la Choue is, that though I cannot content him I

have not contented Monsieur de Fouras. He obtained from me nothing beyond

the expression of my sincere good-will for the French working classes,

who are so dear to me and who can do so much for the restoration of the

faith. You must surely understand, however, that among you Frenchmen

there are questions of detail, of mere organisation, so to say, into

which I cannot possibly enter without imparting to them an importance

which they do not have, and at the same time greatly discontenting some

people should I please others."

As the Pope pronounced these last words he smiled a pale smile, in which

the shrewd, conciliatory politician, who was determined not to allow his

infallibility to be compromised in useless and risky ventures, was fully

revealed. And then he drank a little more syrup and wiped his mouth with

his handkerchief, like a sovereign whose Court day is over and who takes

his ease, having chosen this hour of solitude and silence to chat as long

as he may be so inclined.

Pierre, however, sought to bring him back to the subject of his book.

"Monsieur de la Choue," said he, "has shown me so much kindness and is so

anxious to know the fate reserved to my book--as if, indeed, it were his

own--that I should have been very happy to convey to him an expression of

your Holiness's approval."

However, the Pope continued wiping his mouth and did not reply.

"I became acquainted with the Viscount," continued Pierre, "at the

residence of his Eminence Cardinal Bergerot, another great heart whose

ardent charity ought to suffice to restore the faith in France."

This time the effect was immediate. "Ah! yes, Monsieur le Cardinal

Bergerot!" said Leo XIII. "I read that letter of his which is printed at

the beginning of your book. He was very badly inspired in writing it to

you; and you, my son, acted very culpably on the day you published it. I

cannot yet believe that Monsieur le Cardinal Bergerot had read some of

your pages when he sent you an expression of his complete and full

approval. I prefer to charge him with ignorance and thoughtlessness. How

could he approve of your attacks on dogma, your revolutionary theories

which tend to the complete destruction of our holy religion? If it be a

fact that he had read your book, the only excuse he can invoke is sudden

and inexplicable aberration. It is true that a very bad spirit prevails

among a small portion of the French clergy. What are called Gallican

ideas are ever sprouting up like noxious weeds; there is a malcontent

Liberalism rebellious to our authority which continually hungers for free

examination and sentimental adventures."

The Pope grew animated as he spoke. Italian words mingled with his

hesitating French, and every now and again his full nasal voice resounded

with the sonority of a brass instrument. "Monsieur le Cardinal Bergerot,"

he continued, "must be given to understand that we shall crush him on the

day when we see in him nothing but a rebellious son. He owes the example

of obedience; we shall acquaint him with our displeasure, and we hope

that he will submit. Humility and charity are great virtues doubtless,

and we have always taken pleasure in recognising them in him. But they

must not be the refuge of a rebellious heart, for they are as nothing

unless accompanied by obedience--obedience, obedience, the finest

adornment of the great saints!"

Pierre listened thunderstruck, overcome. He forgot himself to think of

the apostle of kindliness and tolerance upon whose head he had drawn this

all-powerful anger. So Don Vigilio had spoken the truth: over and above

his--Pierre's--head the denunciations of the Bishops of Evreux and

Poitiers were about to fall on the man who opposed their Ultramontane

policy, that worthy and gentle Cardinal Bergerot, whose heart was open to

all the woes of the lowly and the poor. This filled the young priest with

despair; he could accept the denunciation of the Bishop of Tarbes acting

on behalf of the Fathers of the Grotto, for that only fell on himself, as

a reprisal for what he had written about Lourdes; but the underhand

warfare of the others exasperated him, filled him with dolorous

indignation. And from that puny old man before him with the slender,

scraggy neck of an aged bird, he had suddenly seen such a wrathful,

formidable Master arise that he trembled. How could he have allowed

himself to be deceived by appearances on entering? How could he have

imagined that he was simply in presence of a poor old man, worn out by

age, desirous of peace, and ready for every concession? A blast had swept

through that sleepy chamber, and all his doubts and his anguish awoke

once more. Ah! that Pope, how thoroughly he answered to all the accounts

that he, Pierre, had heard but had refused to believe; so many people had

told him in Rome that he would find Leo XIII a man of intellect rather

than of sentiment, a man of the most unbounded pride, who from his very

youth had nourished the supreme ambition, to such a point indeed that he

had promised eventual triumph to his relatives in order that they might

make the necessary sacrifices for him, while since he had occupied the

pontifical throne his one will and determination had been to reign, to

reign in spite of all, to be the sole absolute and omnipotent master of

the world! And now here was reality arising with irresistible force and

confirming everything. And yet Pierre struggled, stubbornly clutching at

his dream once more.

"Oh! Holy Father," said he, "I should be grieved indeed if his Eminence

should have a moment's worry on account of my unfortunate book. If I be

guilty I can answer for my error, but his Eminence only obeyed the

dictates of his heart and can only have transgressed by excess of love

for the disinherited of the world!"

Leo XIII made no reply. He had again raised his superb eyes, those eyes

of ardent life, set, as it were, in the motionless countenance of an

alabaster idol; and once more he was fixedly gazing at the young priest.

And Pierre, amidst his returning feverishness, seemed to behold him

growing in power and splendour, whilst behind him arose a vision of the

ages, a vision of that long line of popes whom the young priest had

previously evoked, the saintly and the proud ones, the warriors and the

ascetics, the theologians and the diplomatists, those who had worn

armour, those who had conquered by the Cross, those who had disposed of

empires as of mere provinces which God had committed to their charge. And

in particular Pierre beheld the great Gregory, the conqueror and founder,

and Sixtus V, the negotiator and politician, who had first foreseen the

eventual victory of the papacy over all the vanquished monarchies. Ah!

what a throng of magnificent princes, of sovereign masters with powerful

brains and arms, there was behind that pale, motionless, old man! What an

accumulation of inexhaustible determination, stubborn genius, and

boundless domination! The whole history of human ambition, the whole

effort of the ages to subject the nations to the pride of one man, the

greatest force that has ever conquered, exploited, and fashioned mankind

in the name of its happiness! And even now, when territorial sovereignty

had come to an end, how great was the spiritual sovereignty of that pale

and slender old man, in whose presence women fainted, as if overcome by

the divine splendour radiating from his person. Not only did all the

resounding glories, the masterful triumphs of history spread out behind

him, but heaven opened, the very spheres beyond life shone out in their

dazzling mystery. He--the Pope--stood at the portals of heaven, holding

the keys and opening those portals to human souls; all the ancient

symbolism was revived, freed at last from the stains of royalty here

below.

"Oh! I beg you, Holy Father," resumed Pierre, "if an example be needed

strike none other than myself. I have come, and am here; decide my fate,

but do not aggravate my punishment by filling me with remorse at having

brought condemnation on the innocent."

Leo XIII still refrained from replying, though he continued to look at

the young priest with burning eyes. And he, Pierre, no longer beheld Leo

XIII, the last of a long line of popes, the Vicar of Jesus Christ, the

Successor of the Prince of the Apostles, the Supreme Pontiff of the

Universal Church, Patriarch of the East, Primate of Italy, Archbishop and

Metropolitan of the Roman Province, Sovereign of the Temporal Domains of

the Holy Church; he saw the Leo XIII that he had dreamt of, the awaited

saviour who would dispel the frightful cataclysm in which rotten society

was sinking. He beheld him with his supple, lofty intelligence and

fraternal, conciliatory tactics, avoiding friction and labouring to bring

about unity whilst with his heart overflowing with love he went straight

to the hearts of the multitude, again giving the best of his blood in

sign of the new alliance. He raised him aloft as the sole remaining moral