第 93 页

herself face to face with the annihilation which chills every passion,

could be read on her ingenuous, candid, lily-like face. She herself stood

on the threshold of a life of passion of which she yet knew nothing, and

behold! on that very threshold she encountered the corpses of those

dearly loved ones, the loss of whom racked her soul with grief.

She gently closed her eyes and tried to pray, whilst big tears fell from

under her lowered eyelids. Some time went by amidst the quivering

silence, which only the murmur of the mass near by disturbed. At last she

rose and took the sheaves of flowers from her maid; and standing on the

platform she hesitated for a moment, then placed the roses to the right

and left of the cushion on which the lovers' heads were resting, as if

she wished to crown them with those blossoms, perfume their young brows

with that sweet and powerful aroma. Then, though her hands remained empty

she did not retire, but remained there leaning over the dead ones,

trembling and seeking what she might yet say to them, what she might

leave them of herself for ever more. An inspiration came to her, and she

stooped forward, and with her whole, deep, loving soul set a long, long

kiss on the brow of either spouse.

"Ah! the dear girl!" said Victorine, whose tears were again flowing. "You

saw that she kissed them, and nobody had yet thought of that, not even

the poor young Prince's mother. Ah! the dear little heart, she surely

thought of her Attilio."

However, as Celia turned to descend from the platform she perceived La

Pierina, whose figure was still thrown back in an attitude of mute and

dolorous adoration. And she recognised the girl and melted with pity on

seeing such a fit of sobbing come over her that her whole body, her

goddess-like hips and bosom, shook as with frightful anguish. That agony

of love quite upset the little Princess, and she could be heard murmuring

in a tone of infinite compassion, "Calm yourself, my dear, calm yourself.

Be reasonable, my dear, I beg you."

Then as La Pierina, thunderstruck at thus being pitied and succoured,

began to sob yet more loudly so as to create quite a stir in the room,

Celia raised her and held her up with both arms, for fear lest she should

fall again. And she led her away in a sisterly clasp, like a sister of

affection and despair, lavishing the most gentle, consoling words upon

her as they went.

"Follow them, go and see what becomes of them," Victorine said to Pierre.

"I do not want to stir from here, it quiets me to watch over my two poor

children."

A Capuchin was just beginning a fresh mass at the improvised altar, and

the low Latin psalmody went on again, while in the adjoining

ante-chamber, where another mass was being celebrated, a bell was heard

tinkling for the elevation of the host. The perfume of the flowers was

becoming more violent and oppressive amidst the motionless and mournful

atmosphere of the spacious throne-room. The four servants standing at the

head of the bed, as for a _gala_ reception, did not stir, and the

procession of visitors ever continued, men and women entering in silence,

suffocating there for a moment, and then withdrawing, carrying away with

them the never-to-be-forgotten vision of the two tragic lovers sleeping

their eternal sleep.

Pierre joined Celia and La Pierina in the _anticamera nobile_, where

stood Don Vigilio. The few seats belonging to the throne-room had there

been placed in a corner, and the little Princess had just compelled the

work-girl to sit down in an arm-chair, in order that she might recover

self-possession. Celia was in ecstasy before her, enraptured at finding

her so beautiful, more beautiful than any other, as she said. Then she

spoke of the two dead ones, who also had seemed to her very beautiful,

endowed with an extraordinary beauty, at once superb and sweet; and

despite all her tears, she still remained in a transport of admiration.

On speaking with La Pierina, Pierre learnt that her brother Tito was at

the hospital in great danger from the effects of a terrible knife thrust

dealt him in the side; and since the beginning of the winter, said the

girl, the misery in the district of the castle fields had become

frightful. It was a source of great suffering to every one, and those

whom death carried off had reason to rejoice.

Celia, however, with a gesture of invincible hopefulness, brushed all

idea of suffering, even of death, aside. "No, no, we must live," she

said. "And beauty is sufficient for life. Come, my dear, do not remain

here, do not weep any more; live for the delight of being beautiful."

Then she led La Pierina away, and Pierre remained seated in one of the

arm-chairs, overcome by such sorrow and weariness that he would have

liked to remain there for ever. Don Vigilio was still bowing to each

fresh visitor that arrived. A severe attack of fever had come on him

during the night, and he was shivering from it, with his face very

yellow, and his eyes ablaze and haggard. He constantly glanced at Pierre,

as if anxious to speak to him, but his dread lest he should be seen by

Abbe Paparelli, who stood in the next ante-room, the door of which was

wide open, doubtless restrained him, for he did not cease to watch the

train-bearer. At last the latter was compelled to absent himself for a

moment, and the secretary thereupon approached the young Frenchman.

"You saw his Holiness last night," he said; and as Pierre gazed at him in

stupefaction he added: "Oh! everything gets known, I told you so before.

Well, and you purely and simply withdrew your book, did you not?" The

young priest's increasing stupor was sufficient answer, and without

leaving him time to reply, Don Vigilio went on: "I suspected it, but I

wished to make certain. Ah! that's just the way they work! Do you believe

me now, have you realised that they stifle those whom they don't poison?"

He was no doubt referring to the Jesuits. However, after glancing into

the adjoining room to make sure that Abbe Paparelli had not returned

thither, he resumed: "And what has Monsignor Nani just told you?"

"But I have not yet seen Monsignor Nani," was Pierre's reply.

"Oh! I thought you had. He passed through before you arrived. If you did

not see him in the throne-room he must have gone to pay his respects to

Donna Serafina and his Eminence. However, he will certainly pass this way

again; you will see him by and by." Then with the bitterness of one who

was weak, ever terror-smitten and vanquished, Don Vigilio added: "I told

you that you would end by doing what Monsignor Nani desired."

With these words, fancying that he heard the light footfall of Abbe

Paparelli, he hastily returned to his place and bowed to two old ladies

who just then walked in. And Pierre, still seated, overcome, his eyes

wearily closing, at last saw the figure of Nani arise before him in all

its reality so typical of sovereign intelligence and address. He

remembered what Don Vigilio, on the famous night of his revelations, had

told him of this man who was far too shrewd to have labelled himself, so

to say, with an unpopular robe, and who, withal, was a charming prelate

with thorough knowledge of the world, acquired by long experience at

different nunciatures and at the Holy Office, mixed up in everything,

informed with regard to everything, one of the heads, one of the chief

minds in fact of that modern black army, which by dint of Opportunism

hopes to bring this century back to the Church. And all at once, full

enlightenment fell on Pierre, he realised by what supple, clever strategy

that man had led him to the act which he desired of him, the pure and

simple withdrawal of his book, accomplished with every appearance of free

will. First there had been great annoyance on Nani's part on learning

that the book was being prosecuted, for he feared lest its excitable

author might be prompted to some dangerous revolt; then plans had at once

been formed, information had been collected concerning this young priest

who seemed so capable of schism, he had been urged to come to Rome,

invited to stay in an ancient mansion whose very walls would chill and

enlighten him. And afterwards had come the ever recurring obstacles, the

system of prolonging his sojourn in Rome by preventing him from seeing

the Pope, but promising him the much-desired interview when the proper

time should come, that is after he had been sent hither and thither and

brought into collision with one and all. And finally, when every one and

everything had shaken, wearied, and disgusted him, and he was restored

once more to his old doubts, there had come the audience for which he had

undergone all this preparation, that visit to the Pope which was destined

to shatter whatever remained to him of his dream. Pierre could picture

Nani smiling at him and speaking to him, declaring that the repeated

delays were a favour of Providence, which would enable him to visit Rome,

study and understand things, reflect, and avoid blunders. How delicate

and how profound had been the prelate's diplomacy in thus crushing his

feelings beneath his reason, appealing to his intelligence to suppress

his work without any scandalous struggle as soon as his knowledge of the

real Rome should have shown him how supremely ridiculous it was to dream

of a new one!

At that moment Pierre perceived Nani in person just coming from the

throne-room, and did not feel the irritation and rancour which he had

anticipated. On the contrary he was glad when the prelate, in his turn

seeing him, drew near and held out his hand. Nani, however, did not wear

his wonted smile, but looked very grave, quite grief-stricken. "Ah! my

dear son," he said, "what a frightful catastrophe! I have just left his

Eminence, he is in tears. It is horrible, horrible!"

He seated himself on one of the chairs, inviting the young priest, who

had risen, to do the same; and for a moment he remained silent, weary

with emotion no doubt, and needing a brief rest to free himself of the

weight of thoughts which visibly darkened his usually bright face. Then,

with a gesture, he strove to dismiss that gloom, and recover his amiable

cordiality. "Well, my dear son," he began, "you saw his Holiness?"

"Yes, Monseigneur, yesterday evening; and I thank you for your great

kindness in satisfying my desire."

Nani looked at him fixedly, and his invincible smile again returned to

his lips. "You thank me.... I can well see that you behaved sensibly

and laid your full submission at his Holiness's feet. I was certain of

it, I did not expect less of your fine intelligence. But, all the same,

you render me very happy, for I am delighted to find that I was not

mistaken concerning you." And then, setting aside his reserve, the

prelate went on: "I never discussed things with you. What would have been

the good of it, since facts were there to convince you? And now that you

have withdrawn your book a discussion would be still more futile.

However, just reflect that if it were possible for you to bring the

Church back to her early period, to that Christian community which you

have sketched so delightfully, she could only again follow the same

evolutions as those in which God the first time guided her; so that, at

the end of a similar number of centuries, she would find herself exactly

in the position which she occupies to-day. No, what God has done has been

well done, the Church such as she is must govern the world, such as it

is; it is for her alone to know how she will end by firmly establishing

her reign here below. And this is why your attack upon the temporal power

was an unpardonable fault, a crime even, for by dispossessing the papacy

of her domains you hand her over to the mercy of the nations. Your new

religion is but the final downfall of all religion, moral anarchy, the

liberty of schism, in a word, the destruction of the divine edifice, that

ancient Catholicism which has shown such prodigious wisdom and solidity,

which has sufficed for the salvation of mankind till now, and will alone

be able to save it to-morrow and always."

Pierre felt that Nani was sincere, pious even, and really unshakable in

his faith, loving the Church like a grateful son, and convinced that she

was the only social organisation which could render mankind happy. And if

he were bent on governing the world, it was doubtless for the pleasure of

governing, but also in the conviction that no one could do so better than

himself.

"Oh! certainly," said he, "methods are open to discussion. I desire them

to be as affable and humane as possible, as conciliatory as can be with

this present century, which seems to be escaping us, precisely because

there is a misunderstanding between us. But we shall bring it back, I am

sure of it. And that is why, my dear son, I am so pleased to see you

return to the fold, thinking as we think, and ready to battle on our

side, is that not so?"

In Nani's words the young priest once more found the arguments of Leo

XIII. Desiring to avoid a direct reply, for although he now felt no anger

the wrenching away of his dream had left him a smarting wound, he bowed,

and replied slowly in order to conceal the bitter tremble of his voice:

"I repeat, Monseigneur, that I deeply thank you for having amputated my

vain illusions with the skill of an accomplished surgeon. A little later,

when I shall have ceased to suffer, I shall think of you with eternal

gratitude."

Monsignor Nani still looked at him with a smile. He fully understood that

this young priest would remain on one side, that as an element of

strength he was lost to the Church. What would he do now? Something

foolish no doubt. However, the prelate had to content himself with having

helped him to repair his first folly; he could not foresee the future.

And he gracefully waved his hand as if to say that sufficient unto the

day was the evil thereof.

"Will you allow me to conclude, my dear son?" he at last exclaimed. "Be