THE THREE CITIES

LOURDES, ROME, PARIS

By Emile Zola

Translated By Ernest A. Vizetelly

PREFACE

BEFORE perusing this work, it is as well that the reader shouldunderstand M. Zola's aim in writing it, and his views--as distinct fromthose of his characters--upon Lourdes, its Grotto, and its cures. A shorttime before the book appeared M. Zola was interviewed upon the subject byhis friend and biographer, Mr. Robert H. Sherard, to whom he spoke asfollows:

"'Lourdes' came to be written by mere accident. In 1891 I happened to betravelling for my pleasure, with my wife, in the Basque country and bythe Pyrenees, and being in the neighbourhood of Lourdes, included it inmy tour. I spent fifteen days there, and was greatly struck by what Isaw, and it then occurred to me that there was material here for just thesort of novel that I like to write--a novel in which great masses of mencan be shown in motion--_un grand mouvement de foule_--a novel thesubject of which stirred up my philosophical ideas. 

"It was too late then to study the question, for I had visited Lourdeslate in September, and so had missed seeing the best pilgrimage, whichtakes place in August, under the direction of the Peres de laMisericorde, of the Rue de l'Assomption in Paris--the NationalPilgrimage, as it is called. These Fathers are very active, enterprisingmen, and have made a great success of this annual national pilgrimage. Under their direction thirty thousand pilgrims are transported toLourdes, including over a thousand sick persons. 

"So in the following year I went in August, and saw a nationalpilgrimage, and followed it during the three days which it lasts, inaddition to the two days given to travelling. After its departure, Istayed on ten or twelve days, working up the subject in every detail. Mybook is the story of such a national pilgrimage, and is, accordingly, thestory of five days. It is divided into five parts, each of which parts islimited to one day. 

"There are from ninety to one hundred characters in the story: sickpersons, pilgrims, priests, nuns, hospitallers, nurses, and peasants; andthe book shows Lourdes under every aspect. There are the piscinas, theprocessions, the Grotto, the churches at night, the people in thestreets. It is, in one word, Lourdes in its entirety. In this canvas isworked out a very delicate central intrigue, as in 'Dr. Pascal, ' andaround this are many little stories or subsidiary plots. There is thestory of the sick person who gets well, of the sick person who is notcured, and so on. The philosophical idea which pervades the whole book isthe idea of human suffering, the exhibition of the desperate anddespairing sufferers who, abandoned by science and by man, addressthemselves to a higher Power in the hope of relief; as where parents havea dearly loved daughter dying of consumption, who has been given up, andfor whom nothing remains but death. A sudden hope, however, breaks inupon them: 'supposing that after all there should be a Power greater thanthat of man, higher than that of science. ' They will haste to try thislast chance of safety. It is the instinctive hankering after the liewhich creates human credulity. 

"I will admit that I came across some instances of real cure. Many casesof nervous disorders have undoubtedly been cured, and there have alsobeen other cures which may, perhaps be attributed to errors of diagnosison the part of doctors who attended the patients so cured. Often apatient is described by his doctor as suffering from consumption. He goesto Lourdes, and is cured. However, the probability is that the doctormade a mistake. In my own case I was at one time suffering from a violentpain in my chest, which presented all the symptoms of _angina pectoris_, a mortal malady. It was nothing of the sort. Indigestion, doubtless, and, as such, curable. Remember that most of the sick persons who go toLourdes come from the country, and that the country doctors are notusually men of either great skill or great experience. But all doctorsmistake symptoms. Put three doctors together to discuss a case, and innine cases out of ten they will disagree in their diagnosis. Look at thequantities of tumours, swellings, and sores, which cannot be properlyclassified. These cures are based on the ignorance of the medicalprofession. The sick pretend, believe, that they suffer from such andsuch a desperate malady, whereas it is from some other malady that theyare suffering. And so the legend forms itself. And, of course, there mustbe cures out of so large a number of cases. Nature often cures withoutmedical aid. Certainly, many of the workings of Nature are wonderful, butthey are not supernatural. The Lourdes miracles can neither be proved nordenied. The miracle is based on human ignorance. And so the doctor wholives at Lourdes, and who is commissioned to register the cures and totabulate the miracles, has a very careless time of it. A person comes, and gets cured. He has but to get three doctors together to examine thecase. They will disagree as to what was the disease from which thepatient suffered, and the only explanation left which will be acceptableto the public, with its hankering after the lie, is that a miracle hasbeen vouchsafed. 

"I interviewed a number of people at Lourdes, and could not find one whowould declare that he had witnessed a miracle. All the cases which Idescribe in my book are real cases, in which I have only changed thenames of the persons concerned. In none of these instances was I able todiscover any real proof for or against the miraculous nature of the cure. Thus, in the case of Clementine Trouve, who figures in my story asSophie--the patient who, after suffering for a long time from a horridopen sore on her foot, was suddenly cured, according to current report, by bathing her foot in the piscina, where the bandages fell off, and herfoot was entirely restored to a healthy condition--I investigated thatcase thoroughly. I was told that there were three or four ladies livingin Lourdes who could guarantee the facts as stated by little Clementine. I looked up those ladies. The first said No, she could not vouch foranything. She had seen nothing. I had better consult somebody else. Thenext answered in the same way, and nowhere was I able to find anycorroboration of the girl's story. Yet the little girl did not look likea liar, and I believe that she was fully convinced of the miraculousnature of her cure. It is the facts themselves which lie. 

"Lourdes, the Grotto, the cures, the miracles, are, indeed, the creationof that need of the Lie, that necessity for credulity, which is acharacteristic of human nature. At first, when little Bernadette camewith her strange story of what she had witnessed, everybody was againsther. The Prefect of the Department, the Bishop, the clergy, objected toher story. But Lourdes grew up in spite of all opposition, just as theChristian religion did, because suffering humanity in its despair mustcling to something, must have some hope; and, on the other hand, becausehumanity thirsts after illusions. In a word, it is the story of thefoundation of all religions. "

To the foregoing account of "Lourdes" as supplied by its author, it maybe added that the present translation, first made from early proofs ofthe French original whilst the latter was being completed, has for thepurposes of this new American edition been carefully and extensivelyrevised by Mr. E. A. Vizetelly, --M. Zola's representative for allEnglish-speaking countries. "Lourdes" forms the first volume of the"Trilogy of the Three Cities, " the second being "Rome, " and the third"Paris. "

LOURDES

THE FIRST DAY

I. PILGRIMS AND PATIENTS

THE pilgrims and patients, closely packed on the hard seats of athird-class carriage, were just finishing the "Ave maris Stella, " whichthey had begun to chant on leaving the terminus of the Orleans line, whenMarie, slightly raised on her couch of misery and restless with feverishimpatience, caught sight of the Paris fortifications through the windowof the moving train. 

"Ah, the fortifications!" she exclaimed, in a tone which was joyousdespite her suffering. "Here we are, out of Paris; we are off at last!"

Her delight drew a smile from her father, M. De Guersaint, who sat infront of her, whilst Abbe Pierre Froment, who was looking at her withfraternal affection, was so carried away by his compassionate anxiety asto say aloud: "And now we are in for it till to-morrow morning. We shallonly reach Lourdes at three-forty. We have more than two-and-twentyhours' journey before us. "

It was half-past five, the sun had risen, radiant in the pure sky of adelightful morning. It was a Friday, the 19th of August. On the horizon, however, some small, heavy clouds already presaged a terrible day ofstormy heat. And the oblique sunrays were enfilading the compartments ofthe railway carriage, filling them with dancing, golden dust. 

"Yes, two-and-twenty hours, " murmured Marie, relapsing into a state ofanguish. "_Mon Dieu_! what a long time we must still wait!"

Then her father helped her to lie down again in the narrow box, a kind ofwooden gutter, in which she had been living for seven years past. Makingan exception in her favour, the railway officials had consented to takeas luggage the two pairs of wheels which could be removed from the box, or fitted to it whenever it became necessary to transport her from placeto place. Packed between the sides of this movable coffin, she occupiedthe room of three passengers on the carriage seat; and for a moment shelay there with eyes closed. Although she was three-and-twenty; her ashen, emaciated face was still delicately infantile, charming despiteeverything, in the midst of her marvellous fair hair, the hair of aqueen, which illness had respected. Clad with the utmost simplicity in agown of thin woollen stuff, she wore, hanging from her neck, the cardbearing her name and number, which entitled her to _hospitalisation_, orfree treatment. She herself had insisted on making the journey in thishumble fashion, not wishing to be a source of expense to her relatives, who little by little had fallen into very straitened circumstances. Andthus it was that she found herself in a third-class carriage of the"white train, " the train which carried the greatest sufferers, the mostwoeful of the fourteen trains going to Lourdes that day, the one inwhich, in addition to five hundred healthy pilgrims, nearly three hundredunfortunate wretches, weak to the point of exhaustion, racked bysuffering, were heaped together, and borne at express speed from one tothe other end of France. 

Sorry that he had saddened her, Pierre continued to gaze at her with theair of a compassionate elder brother. He had just completed his thirtiethyear, and was pale and slight, with a broad forehead. After busyinghimself with all the arrangements for the journey, he had been desirousof accompanying her, and, having obtained admission among theHospitallers of Our Lady of Salvation as an auxiliary member, wore on hiscassock the red, orange-tipped cross of a bearer. M. De Guersaint on hisside had simply pinned the little scarlet cross of the pilgrimage on hisgrey cloth jacket. The idea of travelling appeared to delight him;although he was over fifty he still looked young, and, with his eyes everwandering over the landscape, he seemed unable to keep his head still--abird-like head it was, with an expression of good nature andabsent-mindedness. 

However, in spite of the violent shaking of the train, which constantlydrew sighs from Marie, Sister Hyacinthe had risen to her feet in theadjoining compartment. She noticed that the sun's rays were streaming inthe girl's face. 

"Pull down the blind, Monsieur l'Abbe, " she said to Pierre. "Come, come, we must install ourselves properly, and set our little household inorder. "

Clad in the black robe of a Sister of the Assumption, enlivened by awhite coif, a white wimple, and a large white apron, Sister Hyacinthesmiled, the picture of courageous activity. Her youth bloomed upon hersmall, fresh lips, and in the depths of her beautiful blue eyes, whoseexpression was ever gentle. She was not pretty, perhaps, still she wascharming, slender, and tall, the bib of her apron covering her flat chestlike that of a young man; one of good heart, displaying a snowycomplexion, and overflowing with health, gaiety, and innocence. 

"But this sun is already roasting us, " said she; "pray pull down yourblind as well, madame. "

Seated in the corner, near the Sister, was Madame de Jonquiere, who hadkept her little bag on her lap. She slowly pulled down the blind. Dark, and well built, she was still nice-looking, although she had a daughter, Raymonde, who was four-and-twenty, and whom for motives of propriety shehad placed in the charge of two lady-hospitallers, Madame Desagneaux andMadame Volmar, in a first-class carriage. For her part, directress as shewas of a ward of the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours at Lourdes, she didnot quit her patients; and outside, swinging against the door of hercompartment, was the regulation placard bearing under her own name thoseof the two Sisters of the Assumption who accompanied her. The widow of aruined man, she lived with her daughter on the scanty income of four orfive thousand francs a year, at the rear of a courtyard in the RueVanneau. But her charity was inexhaustible, and she gave all her time tothe work of the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation, an institutionwhose red cross she wore on her gown of carmelite poplin, and whose aimsshe furthered with the most active zeal. Of a somewhat proud disposition, fond of being flattered and loved, she took great delight in this annualjourney, from which both her heart and her passion derived contentment. 

"You are right, Sister, " she said, "we will organise matters. I reallydon't know why I am encumbering myself with this bag. "

And thereupon she placed it under the seat, near her. 

"Wait a moment, " resumed Sister Hyacinthe; "you have the water-canbetween your legs--it is in your way. "

"No, no, it isn't, I assure you. Let it be. It must always be somewhere. "

Then they both set their house in order as they expressed it, so that fora day and a night they might live with their patients as comfortably aspossible. The worry was that they had not been able to take Marie intotheir compartment, as she wished to have Pierre and her father near her;however neighbourly intercourse was easy enough over the low partition. Moreover the whole carriage, with its five compartments of ten seatseach, formed but one moving chamber, a common room as it were which theeye took in at a glance from end to end. Between its wooden walls, bareand yellow, under its white-painted panelled roof, it showed like ahospital ward, with all the disorder and promiscuous jumbling together ofan improvised ambulance. Basins, brooms, and sponges lay about, half-hidden by the seats. Then, as the train only carried such luggage asthe pilgrims could take with them, there were valises, deal boxes, bonnetboxes, and bags, a wretched pile of poor worn-out things mended with bitsof string, heaped up a little bit everywhere; and overhead the litterbegan again, what with articles of clothing, parcels, and baskets hangingfrom brass pegs and swinging to and fro without a pause. 

Amidst all this frippery the more afflicted patients, stretched on theirnarrow mattresses, which took up the room of several passengers, wereshaken, carried along by the rumbling gyrations of the wheels; whilstthose who were able to remain seated, leaned against the partitions, their faces pale, their heads resting upon pillows. According to theregulations there should have been one lady-hospitaller to eachcompartment. However, at the other end of the carriage there was but asecond Sister of the Assumption, Sister Claire des Anges. Some of thepilgrims who were in good health were already getting up, eating anddrinking. One compartment was entirely occupied by women, ten pilgrimsclosely pressed together, young ones and old ones, all sadly, pitifullyugly. And as nobody dared to open the windows on account of theconsumptives in the carriage, the heat was soon felt and an unbearableodour arose, set free as it were by the jolting of the train as it wentits way at express speed. 

They had said their chaplets at Juvisy; and six o'clock was striking, andthey were rushing like a hurricane past the station of Bretigny, whenSister Hyacinthe stood up. It was she who directed the pious exercises, which most of the pilgrims followed from small, blue-covered books. 

"The Angelus, my children, " said she with a pleasant smile, a maternalair which her great youth rendered very charming and sweet. 

Then the "Aves" again followed one another, and were drawing to an endwhen Pierre and Marie began to feel interested in two women who occupiedthe other corner seats of their compartment. One of them, she who sat atMarie's feet, was a blonde of slender build and _bourgeoise_ appearance, some thirty and odd years of age, and faded before she had grown old. Sheshrank back, scarcely occupying any room, wearing a dark dress, andshowing colourless hair, and a long grief-stricken face which expressedunlimited self-abandonment, infinite sadness. The woman in front of her, she who sat on the same seat as Pierre, was of the same age, but belongedto the working classes. She wore a black cap and displayed a face ravagedby wretchedness and anxiety, whilst on her lap she held a little girl ofseven, who was so pale, so wasted by illness, that she scarcely seemedfour. With her nose contracted, her eyelids lowered and showing blue inher waxen face, the child was unable to speak, unable to give utteranceto more than a low plaint, a gentle moan, which rent the heart of hermother, leaning over her, each time that she heard it. 

"Would she eat a few grapes?" timidly asked the lady, who had hithertopreserved silence. "I have some in my basket. "

"Thank you, madame, " replied the woman, "she only takes milk, andsometimes not even that willingly. I took care to bring a bottleful withme. "

Then, giving way to the desire which possesses the wretched to confidetheir woes to others, she began to relate her story. Her name wasVincent, and her husband, a gilder by trade, had been carried off byconsumption. Left alone with her little Rose, who was the passion of herheart, she had worked by day and night at her calling as a dressmaker inorder to bring the child up. But disease had come, and for fourteenmonths now she had had her in her arms like that, growing more and morewoeful and wasted until reduced almost to nothingness. She, the mother, who never went to mass, entered a church, impelled by despair to pray forher daughter's cure; and there she had heard a voice which had told herto take the little one to Lourdes, where the Blessed Virgin would havepity on her. Acquainted with nobody, not knowing even how the pilgrimageswere organised, she had had but one idea--to work, save up the moneynecessary for the journey, take a ticket, and start off with the thirtysous remaining to her, destitute of all supplies save a bottle of milkfor the child, not having even thought of purchasing a crust of bread forherself. 

"What is the poor little thing suffering from?" resumed the lady. 

"Oh, it must be consumption of the bowels, madame! But the doctors havenames they give it. At first she only had slight pains in the stomach. Then her stomach began to swell and she suffered, oh, so dreadfully! itmade one cry to see her. Her stomach has gone down now, only she's wornout; she has got so thin that she has no legs left her, and she's wastingaway with continual sweating. "

Then, as Rose, raising her eyelids, began to moan, her mother leant overher, distracted and turning pale. "What is the matter, my jewel, mytreasure?" she asked. "Are you thirsty?"

But the little girl was already closing her dim eyes of a hazy sky-bluehue, and did not even answer, but relapsed into her torpor, quite whitein the white frock she wore--a last coquetry on the part of her mother, who had gone to this useless expense in the hope that the Virgin would bemore compassionate and gentle to a little sufferer who was well dressed, so immaculately white. 

There was an interval of silence, and then Madame Vincent inquired: "Andyou, madame, it's for yourself no doubt that you are going to Lourdes?One can see very well that you are ill. "

But the lady, with a frightened look, shrank woefully into her corner, murmuring: "No, no, I am not ill. Would to God that I were! I shouldsuffer less. "

Her name was Madame Maze, and her heart was full of an incurable grief. After a love marriage to a big, gay fellow with ripe, red lips, she hadfound herself deserted at the end of a twelvemonth's honeymoon. Evertravelling, following the profession of a jeweller's bagman, her husband, who earned a deal of money, would disappear for six months at a stretch, deceive her from one frontier to the other of France, at times evencarrying creatures about with him. And she worshipped him; she sufferedso frightfully from it all that she had sought a remedy in religion, andhad at last made up her mind to repair to Lourdes, in order to pray theVirgin to restore her husband to her and make him amend his ways. 

Although Madame Vincent did not understand the other's words, sherealised that she was a prey to great mental affliction, and theycontinued looking at one another, the mother, whom the sight of her dyingdaughter was killing, and the abandoned wife, whom her passion cast intothroes of death-like agony. 

However, Pierre, who, like Marie, had been listening to the conversation, now intervened. He was astonished that the dressmaker had not sought freetreatment for her little patient. The Association of Our Lady ofSalvation had been founded by the Augustine Fathers of the Assumptionafter the Franco-German war, with the object of contributing to thesalvation of France and the defence of the Church by prayer in common andthe practice of charity; and it was this association which had promotedthe great pilgrimage movement, in particular initiating and unremittinglyextending the national pilgrimage which every year, towards the close ofAugust, set out for Lourdes. An elaborate organisation had been graduallyperfected, donations of considerable amounts were collected in all partsof the world, sufferers were enrolled in every parish, and agreementswere signed with the railway companies, to say nothing of the active helpof the Little Sisters of the Assumption and the establishment of theHospitality of Our Lady of Salvation, a widespread brotherhood of thebenevolent, in which one beheld men and women, mostly belonging tosociety, who, under the orders of the pilgrimage managers, nursed thesick, helped to transport them, and watched over the observance of gooddiscipline. A written request was needed for the sufferers to obtainhospitalisation, which dispensed them from making the smallest payment inrespect either of their journey or their sojourn; they were fetched fromtheir homes and conveyed back thither; and they simply had to provide afew provisions for the road. By far the greater number were recommendedby priests or benevolent persons, who superintended the inquiriesconcerning them and obtained the needful papers, such as doctors'certificates and certificates of birth. And, these matters being settled, the sick ones had nothing further to trouble about, they became but somuch suffering flesh, food for miracles, in the hands of the hospitallersof either sex. 

"But you need only have applied to your parish priest, madame, " Pierreexplained. "This poor child is deserving of all sympathy. She would havebeen immediately admitted. "

"I did not know it, monsieur l'Abbe. "

"Then how did you manage?"

"Why, Monsieur l'Abbe, I went to take a ticket at a place which one of myneighbours, who reads the newspapers, told me about. "

She was referring to the tickets, at greatly reduced rates, which wereissued to the pilgrims possessed of means. And Marie, listening to her, felt great pity for her, and also some shame; for she who was notentirely destitute of resources had succeeded in obtaining_hospitalisation_, thanks to Pierre, whereas that mother and her sorrychild, after exhausting their scanty savings, remained without a copper. 

However, a more violent jolt of the carriage drew a cry of pain from thegirl. "Oh, father, " she said, "pray raise me a little! I can't stay on myback any longer. "

When M. De Guersaint had helped her into a sitting posture, she gave adeep sigh of relief. They were now at Etampes, after a run of an hour anda half from Paris, and what with the increased warmth of the sun, thedust, and the noise, weariness was becoming apparent already. Madame deJonquiere had got up to speak a few words of kindly encouragement toMarie over the partition; and Sister Hyacinthe moreover again rose, andgaily clapped her hands that she might be heard and obeyed from one tothe other end of the carriage. 

"Come, come!" said she, "we mustn't think of our little troubles. Let uspray and sing, and the Blessed Virgin will be with us. "

She herself then began the rosary according to the rite of Our Lady ofLourdes, and all the patients and pilgrims followed her. This was thefirst chaplet--the five joyful mysteries, the Annunciation, theVisitation, the Nativity, the Purification, and Jesus found in theTemple. Then they all began to chant the canticle: "Let us contemplatethe heavenly Archangel!" Their voices were lost amid the loud rumbling ofthe wheels; you heard but the muffled surging of that human wave, stifling within the closed carriage which rolled on and on without apause. 

Although M. De Guersaint was a worshipper, he could never follow a hymnto the end. He got up, sat down again, and finished by resting his elbowon the partition and conversing in an undertone with a patient who satagainst this same partition in the next compartment. The patient inquestion was a thick-set man of fifty, with a good-natured face and alarge head, completely bald. His name was Sabathier, and for fifteenyears he had been stricken with ataxia. He only suffered pain by fits andstarts, but he had quite lost the use of his legs, which his wife, whoaccompanied him, moved for him as though they had been dead legs, whenever they became too heavy, weighty like bars of lead. 

"Yes, monsieur, " he said, "such as you see me, I was formerly fifth-classprofessor at the Lycee Charlemagne. At first I thought that it was meresciatica, but afterwards I was seized with sharp, lightning-like pains, red-hot sword thrusts, you know, in the muscles. For nearly ten years thedisease kept on mastering me more and more. I consulted all the doctors, tried every imaginable mineral spring, and now I suffer less, but I canno longer move from my seat. And then, after long living without athought of religion, I was led back to God by the idea that I was toowretched, and that Our Lady of Lourdes could not do otherwise than takepity on me. "

Feeling interested, Pierre in his turn had leant over the partition andwas listening. 

"Is it not so, Monsieur l'Abbe?" continued M. Sabathier. "Is notsuffering the best awakener of souls? This is the seventh year that I amgoing to Lourdes without despairing of cure. This year the Blessed Virginwill cure me, I feel sure of it. Yes, I expect to be able to walk aboutagain; I now live solely in that hope. "

M. Sabathier paused, he wished his wife to push his legs a little more tothe left; and Pierre looked at him, astonished to find such obstinatefaith in a man of intellect, in one of those university professors who, as a rule, are such Voltairians. How could the belief in miracles havegerminated and taken root in this man's brain? As he himself said, greatsuffering alone explained this need of illusion, this blossoming ofeternal and consolatory hope. 

"And my wife and I, " resumed the ex-professor, "are dressed, you see, aspoor folks, for I wished to go as a mere pauper this year, and appliedfor _hospitalisation_ in a spirit of humility in order that the BlessedVirgin might include me among the wretched, her children--only, as I didnot wish to take the place of a real pauper, I gave fifty francs to theHospitalite, and this, as you are aware, gives one the right to have apatient of one's own in the pilgrimage. I even know my patient. He wasintroduced to me at the railway station. He is suffering fromtuberculosis, it appears, and seemed to me very low, very low. "

A fresh interval of silence ensued. "Well, " said M. Sabathier at last, "may the Blessed Virgin save him also, she who can do everything. I shallbe so happy; she will have loaded me with favours. "

Then the three men, isolating themselves from the others, went onconversing together, at first on medical subjects, and at last diverginginto a discussion on romanesque architecture, _a propos_ of a steeplewhich they had perceived on a hillside, and which every pilgrim hadsaluted with a sign of the cross. Swayed once more by the habits ofcultivated intellect, the young priest and his two companions forgotthemselves together in the midst of their fellow-passengers, all thosepoor, suffering, simple-minded folk, whom wretchedness stupefied. Anotherhour went by, two more canticles had just been sung, and the stations ofToury and Les Aubrais had been left behind, when, at Beaugency, they atlast ceased their chat, on hearing Sister Hyacinthe clap her hands andintonate in her fresh, sonorous voice:

"_Parce, Domine, parce populo tuo_. "

And then the chant went on; all voices became mingled in thatever-surging wave of prayer which stilled pain, excited hope, and littleby little penetrated the entire being, harassed by the haunting thoughtof the grace and cure which one and all were going to seek so far away. 

However, as Pierre sat down again, he saw that Marie was very pale, andhad her eyes closed. By the painful contraction of her features he couldtell that she was not asleep. "Are you in great suffering?" he asked. 

"Yes, yes, I suffer dreadfully. I shall never last to the end. It is thisincessant jolting. "

She moaned, raised her eyelids, and, half-fainting, remained in a sittingposture, her eyes turned on the other sufferers. In the adjoiningcompartment, La Grivotte, hitherto stretched out, scarce breathing, likea corpse, had just raised herself up in front of M. Sabathier. She was atall, slip-shod, singular-looking creature of over thirty, with a round, ravaged face, which her frizzy hair and flaming eyes rendered almostpretty. She had reached the third stage of phthisis. 

"Eh, mademoiselle, " she said, addressing herself in a hoarse, indistinctvoice to Marie, "how nice it would be if we could only doze off a little. But it can't be managed; all these wheels keep on whirling round andround in one's head. "

Then, although it fatigued her to speak, she obstinately went on talking, volunteering particulars about herself. She was a mattress-maker, andwith one of her aunts had long gone from yard to yard at Bercy to comband sew up mattresses. And, indeed, it was to the pestilential wool whichshe had combed in her youth that she ascribed her malady. For five yearsshe had been making the round of the hospitals of Paris, and she spokefamiliarly of all the great doctors. It was the Sisters of Charity, atthe Lariboisiere hospital, who, finding that she had a passion forreligious ceremonies, had completed her conversion, and convinced herthat the Virgin awaited her at Lourdes to cure her. 

"I certainly need it, " said she. "The doctors say that I have one lungdone for, and that the other one is scarcely any better. There are greatbig holes you know. At first I only felt bad between the shoulders andspat up some froth. But then I got thin, and became a dreadful sight. Andnow I'm always in a sweat, and cough till I think I'm going to bring myheart up. And I can no longer spit. And I haven't the strength to stand, you see. I can't eat. "

A stifling sensation made her pause, and she became livid. 

"All the same I prefer being in my skin instead of in that of the Brotherin the compartment behind you. He has the same complaint as I have, buthe is in a worse state that I am. "

She was mistaken. In the farther compartment, beyond Marie, there wasindeed a young missionary, Brother Isidore, who was lying on a mattressand could not be seen, since he was unable to raise even a finger. But hewas not suffering from phthisis. He was dying of inflammation of theliver, contracted in Senegal. Very long and lank, he had a yellow face, with skin as dry and lifeless as parchment. The abscess which had formedin his liver had ended by breaking out externally, and amidst thecontinuous shivering of fever, vomiting, and delirium, suppuration wasexhausting him. His eyes alone were still alive, eyes full ofunextinguishable love, whose flame lighted up his expiring face, apeasant face such as painters have given to the crucified Christ, common, but rendered sublime at moments by its expression of faith and passion. He was a Breton, the last puny child of an over-numerous family, and hadleft his little share of land to his elder brothers. One of his sisters, Marthe, older than himself by a couple of years, accompanied him. She hadbeen in service in Paris, an insignificant maid-of-all-work, but withalso devoted to her brother that she had left her situation to follow him, subsisting scantily on her petty savings. 

"I was lying on the platform, " resumed La Grivotte, "when he was put inthe carriage. There were four men carrying him--"

But she was unable to speak any further, for just then an attack ofcoughing shook her and threw her back upon the seat. She was suffocating, and the red flush on her cheek-bones turned blue. Sister Hyacinthe, however, immediately raised her head and wiped her lips with a linencloth, which became spotted with blood. At the same time Madame deJonquiere gave her attention to a patient in front of her, who had justfainted. She was called Madame Vetu, and was the wife of a pettyclockmaker of the Mouffetard district, who had not been able to shut uphis shop in order to accompany her to Lourdes. And to make sure that shewould be cared for she had sought and obtained _hospitalisation_. Thefear of death was bringing her back to religion, although she had not setfoot in church since her first communion. She knew that she was lost, that a cancer in the chest was eating into her; and she already had thehaggard, orange-hued mark of the cancerous patient. Since the beginningof the journey she had not spoken a word, but, suffering terribly, hadremained with her lips tightly closed. Then all at once, she had swoonedaway after an attack of vomiting. 

"It is unbearable!" murmured Madame de Jonquiere, who herself felt faint;"we must let in a little fresh air. "

Sister Hyacinthe was just then laying La Grivotte to rest on her pillows, "Certainly, " said she, "we will open the window for a few moments. Butnot on this side, for I am afraid we might have a fresh fit of coughing. Open the window on your side, madame. "

The heat was still increasing, and the occupants of the carriage werestifling in that heavy evil-smelling atmosphere. The pure air which camein when the window was opened brought relief however. For a moment therewere other duties to be attended to, a clearance and cleansing. TheSister emptied the basins out of the window, whilst the lady-hospitallerwiped the shaking floor with a sponge. Next, things had to be set inorder; and then came a fresh anxiety, for the fourth patient, a slendergirl whose face was entirely covered by a black fichu, and who had notyet moved, was saying that she felt hungry. 

With quiet devotion Madame de Jonquiere immediately tendered herservices. "Don't you trouble, Sister, " she said, "I will cut her breadinto little bits for her. "

Marie, with the need she felt of diverting her mind from her ownsufferings, had already begun to take an interest in that motionlesssufferer whose countenance was so thickly veiled, for she not unnaturallysuspected that it was a case of some distressing facial sore. She hadmerely been told that the patient was a servant, which was true, but ithappened that the poor creature, a native of Picardy, named EliseRouquet, had been obliged to leave her situation, and seek a home with asister who ill-treated her, for no hospital would take her in. Extremelydevout, she had for many months been possessed by an ardent desire to goto Lourdes. 

While Marie, with dread in her heart, waited for the fichu to be movedaside, Madame de Jonquiere, having cut some bread into small pieces, inquired maternally: "Are they small enough? Can you put them into yourmouth?"

Thereupon a hoarse voice growled confused words under the black fichu:"Yes, yes, madame. " And at last the veil fell and Marie shuddered withhorror. 

It was a case of lupus which had preyed upon the unhappy woman's nose andmouth. Ulceration had spread, and was hourly spreading--in short, all thehideous peculiarities of this terrible disease were in full process ofdevelopment, almost obliterating the traces of what once were pleasingwomanly lineaments. 

"Oh, look, Pierre!" Marie murmured, trembling. The priest in his turnshuddered as he beheld Elise Rouquet cautiously slipping the tiny piecesof bread into her poor shapeless mouth. Everyone in the carriage hadturned pale at sight of the awful apparition. And the same thoughtascended from all those hope-inflated souls. Ah! Blessed Virgin, PowerfulVirgin, what a miracle indeed if such an ill were cured!

"We must not think of ourselves, my children, if we wish to get well, "resumed Sister Hyacinthe, who still retained her encouraging smile. 

And then she made them say the second chaplet, the five sorrowfulmysteries: Jesus in the Garden of Olives, Jesus scourged, Jesus crownedwith thorns, Jesus carrying the cross, and Jesus crucified. Afterwardscame the canticle: "In thy help, Virgin, do I put my trust. "

They had just passed through Blois; for three long hours they had beenrolling onward; and Marie, who had averted her eyes from Elise Rouquet, now turned them upon a man who occupied a corner seat in the compartmenton her left, that in which Brother Isidore was lying. She had noticedthis man several times already. Poorly clad in an old black frock-coat, he looked still young, although his sparse beard was already turninggrey; and, short and emaciated, he seemed to experience great suffering, his fleshless, livid face being covered with sweat. However, he remainedmotionless, ensconced in his corner, speaking to nobody, but staringstraight before him with dilated eyes. And all at once Marie noticed thathis eyelids were falling, and that he was fainting away. 

She thereupon drew Sister's Hyacinthe's attention to him: "Look, Sister!One would think that that gentleman is dangerously ill. "

"Which one, my dear child?"

"That one, over there, with his head thrown back. "

General excitement followed, all the healthy pilgrims rose up to look, and it occurred to Madame de Jonquiere to call to Marthe, BrotherIsidore's sister, and tell her to tap the man's hands. 

"Question him, " she added; "ask what ails him. "

Marthe drew near, shook the man, and questioned him. 

But instead of an answer only a rattle came from his throat, and his eyesremained closed. 

Then a frightened voice was heard saying, "I think he is going to die. "

The dread increased, words flew about, advice was tendered from one tothe other end of the carriage. Nobody knew the man. He had certainly notobtained _hospitalisation_, for no white card was hanging from his neck. Somebody related, however, that he had seen him arrive, dragging himselfalong, but three minutes or so before the train started; and that he hadremained quite motionless, scarce breathing, ever since he had flunghimself with an air of intense weariness into that corner, where he wasnow apparently dying. His ticket was at last seen protruding from underthe band of an old silk hat which was hung from a peg near him. 

"Ah, he is breathing again now!" Sister Hyacinthe suddenly exclaimed. "Ask him his name. "

However, on being again questioned by Marthe, the man merely gave vent toa low plaint, an exclamation scarcely articulated, "Oh, how I suffer!"

And thenceforward that was the only answer that could be obtained fromhim. With reference to everything that they wished to know, who he was, whence he came, what his illness was, what could be done for him, he gaveno information, but still and ever continued moaning, "Oh, how Isuffer--how I suffer!"

Sister Hyacinthe grew restless with impatience. Ah, if she had only beenin the same compartment with him! And she resolved that she would changeher seat at the first station they should stop at. Only there would be nostoppage for a long time. The position was becoming terrible, the more soas the man's head again fell back. 

"He is dying, he is dying!" repeated the frightened voice. 

What was to be done, _mon Dieu_? The Sister was aware that one of theFathers of the Assumption, Father Massias, was in the train with the HolyOils, ready to administer extreme unction to the dying; for every yearsome of the patients passed away during the journey. But she did not dareto have recourse to the alarm signal. Moreover, in the _cantine_ vanwhere Sister Saint Francois officiated, there was a doctor with a littlemedicine chest. If the sufferer should survive until they reachedPoitiers, where there would be half an hour's stoppage, all possible helpmight be given to him. 

But on the other hand he might suddenly expire. However, they ended bybecoming somewhat calmer. The man, though still unconscious, began tobreathe in a more regular manner, and seemed to fall asleep. 

"To think of it, to die before getting there, " murmured Marie with ashudder, "to die in sight of the promised land!" And as her father soughtto reassure her she added: "I am suffering--I am suffering dreadfullymyself. "

"Have confidence, " said Pierre; "the Blessed Virgin is watching overyou. "

She could no longer remain seated, and it became necessary to replace herin a recumbent position in her narrow coffin. Her father and the priesthad to take every precaution in doing so, for the slightest hurt drew amoan from her. And she lay there breathless, like one dead, her facecontracted by suffering, and surrounded by her regal fair hair. They hadnow been rolling on, ever rolling on for nearly four hours. And if thecarriage was so greatly shaken, with an unbearable spreading tendency, itwas from its position at the rear part of the train. The coupling ironsshrieked, the wheels growled furiously; and as it was necessary to leavethe windows partially open, the dust came in, acrid and burning; but itwas especially the heat which grew terrible, a devouring, stormy heatfalling from a tawny sky which large hanging clouds had slowly covered. The hot carriages, those rolling boxes where the pilgrims ate and drank, where the sick lay in a vitiated atmosphere, amid dizzying moans, prayers, and hymns, became like so many furnaces. 

And Marie was not the only one whose condition had been aggravated;others also were suffering from the journey. Resting in the lap of herdespairing mother, who gazed at her with large, tear-blurred eyes, littleRose had ceased to stir, and had grown so pale that Madame Maze had twiceleant forward to feel her hands, fearful lest she should find them cold. At each moment also Madame Sabathier had to move her husband's legs, fortheir weight was so great, said he, that it seemed as if his hips werebeing torn from him. Brother Isidore too had just begun to cry out, emerging from his wonted torpor; and his sister had only been able toassuage his sufferings by raising him, and clasping him in her arms. LaGrivotte seemed to be asleep, but a continuous hiccoughing shook her, anda tiny streamlet of blood dribbled from her mouth. Madame Vetu had againvomited, Elise Rouquet no longer thought of hiding the frightful soreopen on her face. And from the man yonder, breathing hard, there stillcame a lugubrious rattle, as though he were at every moment on the pointof expiring. In vain did Madame de Jonquiere and Sister Hyacinthe lavishtheir attentions on the patients, they could but slightly assuage so muchsuffering. At times it all seemed like an evil dream--that carriage ofwretchedness and pain, hurried along at express speed, with a continuousshaking and jolting which made everything hanging from the pegs--the oldclothes, the worn-out baskets mended with bits of string--swing to andfro incessantly. And in the compartment at the far end, the ten femalepilgrims, some old, some young, and all pitifully ugly, sang on without apause in cracked voices, shrill and dreary. 

Then Pierre began to think of the other carriages of the train, thatwhite train which conveyed most, if not all, of the more seriouslyafflicted patients; these carriages were rolling along, all displayingsimilar scenes of suffering among the three hundred sick and five hundredhealthy pilgrims crowded within them. And afterwards he thought of theother trains which were leaving Paris that day, the grey train and theblue train* which had preceded the white one, the green train, the yellowtrain, the pink train, the orange train which were following it. Fromhour to hour trains set out from one to the other end of France. And hethought, too, of those which that same morning had started from Orleans, Le Mans, Poitiers, Bordeaux, Marseilles, and Carcassonne. Coming from allparts, trains were rushing across that land of France at the same hour, all directing their course yonder towards the holy Grotto, bringingthirty thousand patients and pilgrims to the Virgin's feet. And hereflected that other days of the year witnessed a like rush of humanbeings, that not a week went by without Lourdes beholding the arrival ofsome pilgrimage; that it was not merely France which set out on themarch, but all Europe, the whole world; that in certain years of greatreligious fervour there had been three hundred thousand, and even fivehundred thousand, pilgrims and patients streaming to the spot. 

 * Different-coloured tickets are issued for these trains; it is for this reason that they are called the white, blue, and grey trains, etc. --Trans. 

Pierre fancied that he could hear those flying trains, those trains fromeverywhere, all converging towards the same rocky cavity where the taperswere blazing. They all rumbled loudly amid the cries of pain and snatchesof hymns wafted from their carriages. They were the rolling hospitals ofdisease at its last stage, of human suffering rushing to the hope ofcure, furiously seeking consolation between attacks of increasedseverity, with the ever-present threat of death--death hastened, supervening under awful conditions, amidst the mob-like scramble. Theyrolled on, they rolled on again and again, they rolled on without apause, carrying the wretchedness of the world on its way to the divineillusion, the health of the infirm, the consolation of the afflicted. 

And immense pity overflowed from Pierre's heart, human compassion for allthe suffering and all the tears that consumed weak and naked men. He wassad unto death and ardent charity burnt within him, the unextinguishableflame as it were of his fraternal feelings towards all things and beings. 

When they left the station of Saint Pierre des Corps at half-past ten, Sister Hyacinthe gave the signal, and they recited the third chaplet, thefive glorious mysteries, the Resurrection of Our Lord, the Ascension ofOur Lord, the Mission of the Holy Ghost, the Assumption of the MostBlessed Virgin, the Crowning of the Most Blessed Virgin. And afterwardsthey sang the canticle of Bernadette, that long, long chant, composed ofsix times ten couplets, to which the ever recurring Angelic Salutationserves as a refrain--a prolonged lullaby slowly besetting one until itends by penetrating one's entire being, transporting one into ecstaticsleep, in delicious expectancy of a miracle. 

II. PIERRE AND MARIE

THE green landscapes of Poitou were now defiling before them, and AbbePierre Froment, gazing out of the window, watched the trees fly awaytill, little by little, he ceased to distinguish them. A steeple appearedand then vanished, and all the pilgrims crossed themselves. They wouldnot reach Poitiers until twelve-thirty-five, and the train was stillrolling on amid the growing weariness of that oppressive, stormy day. Falling into a deep reverie, the young priest no longer heard the wordsof the canticle, which sounded in his ears merely like a slow, wavylullaby. 

Forgetfulness of the present had come upon him, an awakening of the pastfilled his whole being. He was reascending the stream of memory, reascending it to its source. He again beheld the house at Neuilly, wherehe had been born and where he still lived, that home of peace and toil, with its garden planted with a few fine trees, and parted by a quicksethedge and palisade from the garden of the neighbouring house, which wassimilar to his own. He was again three, perhaps four, years old, andround a table, shaded by the big horse-chestnut tree he once more beheldhis father, his mother, and his elder brother at _dejeuner_. To hisfather, Michel Froment, he could give no distinct lineaments; he picturedhim but faintly, vaguely, renowned as an illustrious chemist, bearing thetitle of Member of the Institute, and leading a cloistered life in thelaboratory which he had installed in that secluded, deserted suburb. However he could plainly see his first brother Guillaume, then fourteenyears of age, whom some holiday had brought from college that morning, and then and even more vividly his mother, so gentle and so quiet, witheyes so full of active kindliness. Later on he learnt what anguish hadracked that religious soul, that believing woman who, from esteem andgratitude, had resignedly accepted marriage with an unbeliever, hersenior by fifteen years, to whom her relatives were indebted for greatservices. He, Pierre, the tardy offspring of this union, born when hisfather was already near his fiftieth year, had only known his mother as arespectful, conquered woman in the presence of her husband, whom she hadlearnt to love passionately, with the frightful torment of knowing, however, that he was doomed to perdition. And, all at once, anothermemory flashed upon the young priest, the terrible memory of the day whenhis father had died, killed in his laboratory by an accident, theexplosion of a retort. He, Pierre, had then been five years old, and heremembered the slightest incidents--his mother's cry when she had foundthe shattered body among the remnants of the chemical appliances, thenher terror, her sobs, her prayers at the idea that God had slain theunbeliever, damned him for evermore. Not daring to burn his books andpapers, she had contented herself with locking up the laboratory, whichhenceforth nobody entered. And from that moment, haunted by a vision ofhell, she had had but one idea, to possess herself of her second son, whowas still so young, to give him a strictly religious training, andthrough him to ransom her husband--secure his forgiveness from God. Guillaume, her elder boy, had already ceased to belong to her, havinggrown up at college, where he had been won over by the ideas of thecentury; but she resolved that the other, the younger one, should notleave the house, but should have a priest as tutor; and her secret dream, her consuming hope, was that she might some day see him a priest himself, saying his first mass and solacing souls whom the thought of eternitytortured. 

Then between green, leafy boughs, flecked with sunlight, another figurerose vividly before Pierre's eyes. He suddenly beheld Marie de Guersaintas he had seen her one morning through a gap in the hedge dividing thetwo gardens. M. De Guersaint, who belonged to the petty Norman_noblesse_, was a combination of architect and inventor; and he was atthat time busy with a scheme of model dwellings for the poor, to whichchurches and schools were to be attached; an affair of considerablemagnitude, planned none too well, however, and in which, with hiscustomary impetuosity, the lack of foresight of an imperfect artist, hewas risking the three hundred thousand francs that he possessed. Asimilarity of religious faith had drawn Madame de Guersaint and MadameFroment together; but the former was altogether a superior woman, perspicuous and rigid, with an iron hand which alone prevented herhousehold from gliding to a catastrophe; and she was bringing up her twodaughters, Blanche and Marie, in principles of narrow piety, the elderone already being as grave as herself, whilst the younger, albeit verydevout, was still fond of play, with an intensity of life within herwhich found vent in gay peals of sonorous laughter. From their earlychildhood Pierre and Marie played together, the hedge was ever beingcrossed, the two families constantly mingled. And on that clear sunshinymorning, when he pictured her parting the leafy branches she was alreadyten years old. He, who was sixteen, was to enter the seminary on thefollowing Tuesday. Never had she seemed to him so pretty. Her hair, of apure golden hue, was so long that when it was let down it sufficed toclothe her. Well did he remember her face as it had been, with roundcheeks, blue eyes, red mouth, and skin of dazzling, snowy whiteness. Shewas indeed as gay and brilliant as the sun itself, a transplendency. Yetthere were tears at the corners of her eyes, for she was aware of hiscoming departure. They sat down together at the far end of the garden, inthe shadow cast by the hedge. Their hands mingled, and their hearts werevery heavy. They had, however, never exchanged any vows amid theirpastimes, for their innocence was absolute. But now, on the eve ofseparation, their mutual tenderness rose to their lips, and they spokewithout knowing, swore that they would ever think of one another, andfind one another again, some day, even as one meets in heaven to be very, very happy. Then, without understanding how it happened, they claspedeach other tightly, to the point of suffocation, and kissed each other'sface, weeping, the while, hot tears. And it was that delightful memorywhich Pierre had ever carried with him, which he felt alive within himstill, after so many years, and after so many painful renunciations. 

Just then a more violent shock roused him from his reverie. He turned hiseyes upon the carriage and vaguely espied the suffering beings itcontained--Madame Maze motionless, overwhelmed with grief; little Rosegently moaning in her mother's lap; La Grivotte, whom a hoarse cough waschoking. For a moment Sister Hyacinthe's gay face shone out amidst thewhiteness of her coif and wimple, dominating all the others. The painfuljourney was continuing, with a ray of divine hope still and ever shiningyonder. Then everything slowly vanished from Pierre's eyes as a freshwave of memory brought the past back from afar; and nothing of thepresent remained save the lulling hymn, the indistinct voices ofdreamland, emerging from the invisible. 

Henceforth he was at the seminary. The classrooms, the recreation groundwith its trees, rose up clearly before him. But all at once he onlybeheld, as in a mirror, the youthful face which had then been his, and hecontemplated it and scrutinised it, as though it had been the face of astranger. Tall and slender, he had an elongated visage, with an unusuallydeveloped forehead, lofty and straight like a tower; whilst his jawstapered, ending in a small refined chin. He seemed, in fact, to be allbrains; his mouth, rather large, alone retained an expression oftenderness. Indeed, when his usually serious face relaxed, his mouth andeyes acquired an exceedingly soft expression, betokening an unsatisfied, hungry desire to love, devote oneself, and live. But immediatelyafterwards, the look of intellectual passion would come back again, thatintellectuality which had ever consumed him with an anxiety to understandand know. And it was with surprise that he now recalled those years ofseminary life. How was it that he had so long been able to accept therude discipline of blind faith, of obedient belief in everything withoutthe slightest examination? It had been required of him that he shouldabsolutely surrender his reasoning faculties, and he had striven to doso, had succeeded indeed in stifling his torturing need of truth. Doubtless he had been softened, weakened by his mother's tears, had beenpossessed by the sole desire to afford her the great happiness she dreamtof. Yet now he remembered certain quiverings of revolt; he found in thedepths of his mind the memory of nights which he had spent in weepingwithout knowing why, nights peopled with vague images, nights throughwhich galloped the free, virile life of the world, when Marie's faceincessantly returned to him, such as he had seen it one morning, dazzlingand bathed in tears, while she embraced him with her whole soul. And thatalone now remained; his years of religious study with their monotonouslessons, their ever similar exercises and ceremonies, had flown away intothe same haze, into a vague half-light, full of mortal silence. 

Then, just as the train had passed though a station at full speed, withthe sudden uproar of its rush there arose within him a succession ofconfused visions. He had noticed a large deserted enclosure, and fanciedthat he could see himself within it at twenty years of age. His reveriewas wandering. An indisposition of rather long duration had, however, atone time interrupted his studies, and led to his being sent into thecountry. He had remained for a long time without seeing Marie; during hisvacations spent at Neuilly he had twice failed to meet her, for she wasalmost always travelling. He knew that she was very ill, in consequenceof a fall from a horse when she was thirteen, a critical moment in agirl's life; and her despairing mother, perplexed by the contradictoryadvice of medical men, was taking her each year to a differentwatering-place. Then he learnt the startling news of the sudden tragicaldeath of that mother, who was so severe and yet so useful to her kin. Shehad been carried off in five days by inflammation of the lungs, which shehad contracted one evening whilst she was out walking at La Bourboule, through having taken off her mantle to place it round the shoulders ofMarie, who had been conveyed thither for treatment. It had been necessarythat the father should at once start off to fetch his daughter, who wasmad with grief, and the corpse of his wife, who had been so suddenly tornfrom him. And unhappily, after losing her, the affairs of the family wentfrom bad to worse in the hands of this architect, who, without counting, flung his fortune into the yawning gulf of his unsuccessful enterprises. Marie no longer stirred from her couch; only Blanche remained to managethe household, and she had matters of her own to attend to, being busywith the last examinations which she had to pass, the diplomas which shewas obstinately intent on securing, foreseeing as she did that she wouldsomeday have to earn her bread. 

All at once, from amidst this mass of confused, half-forgotten incidents, Pierre was conscious of the rise of a vivid vision. Ill-health, heremembered, had again compelled him to take a holiday. He had justcompleted his twenty-fourth year, he was greatly behindhand, having sofar only secured the four minor orders; but on his return asub-deaconship would be conferred on him, and an inviolable vow wouldbind him for evermore. And the Guersaints' little garden at Neuilly, whither he had formerly so often gone to play, again distinctly appearedbefore him. Marie's couch had been rolled under the tall trees at the farend of the garden near the hedge, they were alone together in the sadpeacefulness of an autumnal afternoon, and he saw Marie, clad in deepmourning for her mother and reclining there with legs inert; whilst he, also clad in black, in a cassock already, sat near her on an iron gardenchair. For five years she had been suffering. She was now eighteen, palerand thinner than formerly, but still adorable with her regal golden hair, which illness respected. He believed from what he had heard that she wasdestined to remain infirm, condemned never to become a woman, strickeneven in her sex. The doctors, who failed to agree respecting her case, had abandoned her. Doubtless it was she who told him these things thatdreary afternoon, whilst the yellow withered leaves rained upon them. However, he could not remember the words that they had spoken; her palesmile, her young face, still so charming though already dimmed byregretfulness for life, alone remained present with him. But he realisedthat she had evoked the far-off day of their parting, on that same spot, behind the hedge flecked with sunlight; and all that was already asthough dead--their tears, their embrace, their promise to find oneanother some day with a certainty of happiness. For although they hadfound one another again, what availed it, since she was but a corpse, andhe was about to bid farewell to the life of the world? As the doctorscondemned her, as she would never be woman, nor wife, nor mother, he, onhis side, might well renounce manhood, and annihilate himself, dedicatehimself to God, to whom his mother gave him. And he still felt within himthe soft bitterness of that last interview: Marie smiling painfully atmemory of their childish play and prattle, and speaking to him of thehappiness which he would assuredly find in the service of God; sopenetrated indeed with emotion at this thought, that she had made himpromise that he would let her hear him say his first mass. 

But the train was passing the station of Sainte-Maure, and just then asudden uproar momentarily brought Pierre's attention back to the carriageand its occupants. He fancied that there had been some fresh seizure orswooning, but the suffering faces that he beheld were still the same, ever contracted by the same expression of anxious waiting for the divinesuccour which was so slow in coming. M. Sabathier was vainly striving toget his legs into a comfortable position, whilst Brother Isidore raised afeeble continuous moan like a dying child, and Madame Vetu, a prey toterrible agony, devoured by her disease, sat motionless, and kept herlips tightly closed, her face distorted, haggard, and almost black. Thenoise which Pierre had heard had been occasioned by Madame de Jonquiere, who whilst cleansing a basin had dropped the large zinc water-can. And, despite their torment, this had made the patients laugh, like the simplesouls they were, rendered puerile by suffering. However, SisterHyacinthe, who rightly called them her children, children whom shegoverned with a word, at once set them saying the chaplet again, pendingthe Angelus, which would only be said at Chatellerault, in accordancewith the predetermined programme. And thereupon the "Aves" followed oneafter the other, spreading into a confused murmuring and mumbling amidstthe rattling of the coupling irons and noisy growling of the wheels. 

Pierre had meantime relapsed into his reverie, and beheld himself as hehad been at six-and-twenty, when ordained a priest. Tardy scruples hadcome to him a few days before his ordination, a semi-consciousness thathe was binding himself without having clearly questioned his heart andmind. But he had avoided doing so, living in the dizzy bewilderment ofhis decision, fancying that he had lopped off all human ties and feelingswith a voluntary hatchet-stroke. His flesh had surely died with hischildhood's innocent romance, that white-skinned girl with golden hair, whom now he never beheld otherwise than stretched upon her couch ofsuffering, her flesh as lifeless as his own. And he had afterwards madethe sacrifice of his mind, which he then fancied even an easier one, hoping as he did that determination would suffice to prevent him fromthinking. Besides, it was too late, he could not recoil at the lastmoment, and if when he pronounced the last solemn vow he felt a secretterror, an indeterminate but immense regret agitating him, he forgoteverything, saving a divine reward for his efforts on the day when heafforded his mother the great and long-expected joy of hearing him sayhis first mass. 

He could still see the poor woman in the little church of Neuilly, whichshe herself had selected, the church where the funeral service for hisfather had been celebrated; he saw her on that cold November morning, kneeling almost alone in the dark little chapel, her hands hiding herface as she continued weeping whilst he raised the Host. It was therethat she had tasted her last happiness, for she led a sad and lonelylife, no longer seeing her elder son, who had gone away, swayed by otherideas than her own, bent on breaking off all family intercourse since hisbrother intended to enter the Church. It was said that Guillaume, achemist of great talent, like his father, but at the same time aBohemian, addicted to revolutionary dreams, was living in a little housein the suburbs, where he devoted himself to the dangerous study ofexplosive substances; and folks added that he was living with a woman whohad come no one knew whence. This it was which had severed the last tiebetween himself and his mother, all piety and propriety. For three yearsPierre had not once seen Guillaume, whom in his childhood he hadworshipped as a kind, merry, and fatherly big brother. 

But there came an awful pang to his heart--he once more beheld his motherlying dead. This again was a thunderbolt, an illness of scarce threedays' duration, a sudden passing away, as in the case of Madame deGuersaint. One evening, after a wild hunt for the doctor, he had foundher motionless and quite white. She had died during his absence; and hislips had ever retained the icy thrill of the last kiss that he had givenher. Of everything else--the vigil, the preparations, the funeral--heremembered nothing. All that had become lost in the black night of hisstupor and grief, grief so extreme that he had almost died of it--seizedwith shivering on his return from the cemetery, struck down by a feverwhich during three weeks had kept him delirious, hovering between lifeand death. His brother had come and nursed him and had then attended topecuniary matters, dividing the little inheritance, leaving him the houseand a modest income and taking his own share in money. And as soon asGuillaume had found him out of danger he had gone off again, once morevanishing into the unknown. But then through what a long convalescencehe, Pierre, had passed, buried as it were in that deserted house. He haddone nothing to detain Guillaume, for he realised that there was an abyssbetween them. At first the solitude had brought him suffering, butafterwards it had grown very pleasant, whether in the deep silence of therooms which the rare noises of the street did not disturb, or under thescreening, shady foliage of the little garden, where he could spend wholedays without seeing a soul. His favourite place of refuge, however, wasthe old laboratory, his father's cabinet, which his mother for twentyyears had kept carefully locked up, as though to immure within it all theincredulity and damnation of the past. And despite the gentleness, therespectful submissiveness which she had shown in former times, she wouldperhaps have some day ended by destroying all her husband's books andpapers, had not death so suddenly surprised her. Pierre, however, hadonce more had the windows opened, the writing-table and the bookcasedusted; and, installed in the large leather arm-chair, he now spentdelicious hours there, regenerated as it were by his illness, broughtback to his youthful days again, deriving a wondrous intellectual delightfrom the perusal of the books which he came upon. 

The only person whom he remembered having received during those twomonths of slow recovery was Doctor Chassaigne, an old friend of hisfather, a medical man of real merit, who, with the one ambition of curingdisease, modestly confined himself to the _role_ of the practitioner. Itwas in vain that the doctor had sought to save Madame Froment, but heflattered himself that he had extricated the young priest from grievousdanger; and he came to see him from time to time, to chat with him andcheer him, talking with him of his father, the great chemist, of whom herecounted many a charming anecdote, many a particular, still glowing withthe flame of ardent friendship. Little by little, amidst the weak languorof convalescence, the son had thus beheld an embodiment of charmingsimplicity, affection, and good nature rising up before him. It was hisfather such as he had really been, not the man of stern science whom hehad pictured whilst listening to his mother. Certainly she had nevertaught him aught but respect for that dear memory; but had not herhusband been the unbeliever, the man who denied, and made the angelsweep, the artisan of impiety who sought to change the world that God hadmade? And so he had long remained a gloomy vision, a spectre of damnationprowling about the house, whereas now he became the house's very light, clear and gay, a worker consumed by a longing for truth, who had neverdesired anything but the love and happiness of all. For his part, DoctorChassaigne, a Pyrenean by birth, born in a far-off secluded village wherefolks still believed in sorceresses, inclined rather towards religion, although he had not set his foot inside a church during the forty yearshe had been living in Paris. However, his conviction was absolute: ifthere were a heaven somewhere, Michel Froment was assuredly there, andnot merely there, but seated upon a throne on the Divinity's right hand. 

Then Pierre, in a few minutes, again lived through the frightful tormentwhich, during two long months, had ravaged him. It was not that he hadfound controversial works of an anti-religious character in the bookcase, or that his father, whose papers he sorted, had ever gone beyond histechnical studies as a _savant_. But little by little, despite himself, the light of science dawned upon him, an _ensemble_ of proven phenomena, which demolished dogmas and left within him nothing of the things whichas a priest he should have believed. It seemed, in fact, as thoughillness had renewed him, as though he were again beginning to live andlearn amidst the physical pleasantness of convalescence, that stillsubsisting weakness which lent penetrating lucidity to his brain. At theseminary, by the advice of his masters, he had always kept the spirit ofinquiry, his thirst for knowledge, in check. Much of that which wastaught him there had surprised him; however, he had succeeded in makingthe sacrifice of his mind required of his piety. But now, all thelaboriously raised scaffolding of dogmas was swept away in a revolt ofthat sovereign mind which clamoured for its rights, and which he could nolonger silence. Truth was bubbling up and overflowing in such anirresistible stream that he realised he would never succeed in lodgingerror in his brain again. It was indeed the total and irreparable ruin offaith. Although he had been able to kill his flesh by renouncing theromance of his youth, although he felt that he had altogether masteredcarnal passion, he now knew that it would be impossible for him to makethe sacrifice of his intelligence. And he was not mistaken; it was indeedhis father again springing to life in the depths of his being, and atlast obtaining the mastery in that dual heredity in which, during so manyyears, his mother had dominated. The upper part of his face, hisstraight, towering brow, seemed to have risen yet higher, whilst thelower part, the small chin, the affectionate mouth, were becoming lessdistinct. However, he suffered; at certain twilight hours when hiskindliness, his need of love awoke, he felt distracted with grief at nolonger believing, distracted with desire to believe again; and it wasnecessary that the lighted lamp should be brought in, that he should seeclearly around him and within him, before he could recover the energy andcalmness of reason, the strength of martyrdom, the determination tosacrifice everything to the peace of his conscience. 

Then came the crisis. He was a priest and he no longer believed. This hadsuddenly dawned before him like a bottomless abyss. It was the end of hislife, the collapse of everything. What should he do? Did not simplerectitude require that he should throw off the cassock and return to theworld? But he had seen some renegade priests and had despised them. Amarried priest with whom he was acquainted filled him with disgust. Allthis, no doubt, was but a survival of his long religious training. Heretained the notion that a priest cannot, must not, weaken; the idea thatwhen one has dedicated oneself to God one cannot take possession ofoneself again. Possibly, also, he felt that he was too plainly branded, too different from other men already, to prove otherwise than awkward andunwelcome among them. Since he had been cut off from them he would remainapart in his grievous pride; And, after days of anguish, days of struggleincessantly renewed, in which his thirst for happiness warred with theenergies of his returning health, he took the heroic resolution to remaina priest, and an honest one. He would find the strength necessary forsuch abnegation. Since he had conquered the flesh, albeit unable toconquer the brain, he felt sure of keeping his vow of chastity, and thatwould be unshakable; therein lay the pure, upright life which he wasabsolutely certain of living. What mattered the rest if he alonesuffered, if nobody in the world suspected that his heart was reduced toashes, that nothing remained of his faith, that he was agonising amidstfearful falsehood? His rectitude would prove a firm prop; he would followhis priestly calling like an honest man, without breaking any of the vowshe had taken; he would, in due accordance with the rites, discharge hisduties as a minister of the Divinity, whom he would praise and glorify atthe altar, and distribute as the Bread of Life to the faithful. Who, then, would dare to impute his loss of faith to him as a crime, even ifthis great misfortune should some day become known? And what more couldbe asked of him than lifelong devotion to his vow, regard for hisministry, and the practice of every charity without the hope of anyfuture reward? In this wise he ended by calming himself, still upright, still bearing his head erect, with the desolate grandeur of the priestwho himself no longer believes, but continues watching over the faith ofothers. And he certainly was not alone; he felt that he had manybrothers, priests with ravaged minds, who had sunk into incredulity, andwho yet, like soldiers without a fatherland, remained at the altar, and, despite, everything, found the courage to make the divine illusion shineforth above the kneeling crowds. 

On recovering his health Pierre had immediately resumed his service atthe little church of Neuilly. He said his mass there every morning. Buthe had resolved to refuse any appointment, any preferment. Months andyears went by, and he obstinately insisted on remaining the least knownand the most humble of those priests who are tolerated in a parish, whoappear and disappear after discharging their duty. The acceptance of anyappointment would have seemed to him an aggravation of his falsehood, atheft from those who were more deserving than himself. And he had toresist frequent offers, for it was impossible for his merits to remainunnoticed. Indeed, his obstinate modesty provoked astonishment at thearchbishop's palace, where there was a desire to utilise the power whichcould be divined in him. Now and again, it is true, he bitterly regrettedthat he was not useful, that he did not co-operate in some great work, infurthering the purification of the world, the salvation and happiness ofall, in accordance with his own ardent, torturing desire. Fortunately histime was nearly all his own, and to console himself he gave rein to hispassion for work by devouring every volume in his father's bookcase, andthen again resuming and considering his studies, feverishly preoccupiedwith regard to the history of nations, full of a desire to explore thedepths of the social and religious crisis so that he might ascertainwhether it were really beyond remedy. 

It was at this time, whilst rummaging one morning in one of the largedrawers in the lower part of the bookcase, that he discovered quite acollection of papers respecting the apparitions of Lourdes. It was a verycomplete set of documents, comprising detailed notes of theinterrogatories to which Bernadette had been subjected, copies ofnumerous official documents, and police and medical reports, in additionto many private and confidential letters of the greatest interest. Thisdiscovery had surprised Pierre, and he had questioned, Doctor Chassaigneconcerning it. The latter thereupon remembered that his friend, MichelFroment, had at one time passionately devoted himself to the study ofBernadette's case; and he himself, a native of the village near Lourdes, had procured for the chemist a portion of the documents in thecollection. Pierre, in his turn, then became impassioned, and for a wholemonth continued studying the affair, powerfully attracted by thevisionary's pure, upright nature, but indignant with all that hadsubsequently sprouted up--the barbarous fetishism, the painfulsuperstitions, and the triumphant simony. In the access of unbelief whichhad come upon him, this story of Lourdes was certainly of a nature tocomplete the collapse of his faith. However, it had also excited hiscuriosity, and he would have liked to investigate it, to establish beyonddispute what scientific truth might be in it, and render pureChristianity the service of ridding it of this scoria, this fairy tale, all touching and childish as it was. But he had been obliged torelinquish his studies, shrinking from the necessity of making a journeyto the Grotto, and finding that it would be extremely difficult to obtainthe information which he still needed; and of it all there at last onlyremained within him a tender feeling for Bernadette, of whom he could notthink without a sensation of delightful charm and infinite pity. 

The days went by, and Pierre led a more and more lonely life. DoctorChassaigne had just left for the Pyrenees in a state of mortal anxiety. Abandoning his patients, he had set out for Cauterets with his ailingwife, who was sinking more and more each day, to the infinite distress ofboth his charming daughter and himself. From that moment the little houseat Neuilly fell into deathlike silence and emptiness. Pierre had no otherdistraction than that of occasionally going to see the Guersaints, whohad long since left the neighbouring house, but whom he had found againin a small lodging in a wretched tenement of the district. And the memoryof his first visit to them there was yet so fresh within him, that hefelt a pang at his heart as he recalled his emotion at sight of thehapless Marie. 

That pang roused him from his reverie, and on looking round he perceivedMarie stretched on the seat, even as he had found her on the day which herecalled, already imprisoned in that gutter-like box, that coffin towhich wheels were adapted when she was taken out-of-doors for an airing. She, formerly so brimful of life, ever astir and laughing, was dying ofinaction and immobility in that box. Of her old-time beauty she hadretained nothing save her hair, which clad her as with a royal mantle, and she was so emaciated that she seemed to have grown smaller again, tohave become once more a child. And what was most distressing was theexpression on her pale face, the blank, frigid stare of her eyes whichdid not see, the ever haunting absent look, as of one whom sufferingoverwhelmed. However, she noticed that Pierre was gazing at her, and atonce desired to smile at him; but irresistible moans escaped her, andwhen she did at last smile, it was like a poor smitten creature who isconvinced that she will expire before the miracle takes place. He wasovercome by it, and, amidst all the sufferings with which the carriageabounded, hers were now the only ones that he beheld and heard, as thoughone and all were summed up in her, in the long and terrible agony of herbeauty, gaiety, and youth. 

Then by degrees, without taking his eyes from Marie, he again reverted toformer days, again lived those hours, fraught with a mournful and bittercharm, which he had often spent beside her, when he called at the sorrylodging to keep her company. M. De Guersaint had finally ruined himselfby trying to improve the artistic quality of the religious prints sowidely sold in France, the faulty execution of which quite irritated him. His last resources had been swallowed up in the failure of acolour-printing firm; and, heedless as he was, deficient in foresight, ever trusting in Providence, his childish mind continually swayed byillusions, he did not notice the awful pecuniary embarrassment of thehousehold; but applied himself to the study of aerial navigation, withouteven realising what prodigious activity his elder daughter, Blanche, wasforced to display, in order to earn the living of her two children, asshe was wont to call her father and her sister. It was Blanche who, byrunning about Paris in the dust or the mud from morning to evening inorder to give French or music lessons, contrived to provide the moneynecessary for the unremitting attentions which Marie required. And Marieoften experienced attacks of despair--bursting into tears and accusingherself of being the primary cause of their ruin, as for years and yearsnow it had been necessary to pay for medical attendance and for takingher to almost every imaginable spring--La Bourboule, Aix, Lamalou, Amelie-les-Bains, and others. And the outcome of ten years of varieddiagnosis and treatment was that the doctors had now abandoned her. Somethought her illness to be due to the rupture of certain ligaments, othersbelieved in the presence of a tumour, others again to paralysis due toinjury to the spinal cord, and as she, with maidenly revolt, refused toundergo any examination, and they did not even dare to address precisequestions to her, they each contented themselves with their severalopinions and declared that she was beyond cure. Moreover, she now solelyrelied upon the divine help, having grown rigidly pious since she hadbeen suffering, and finding her only relief in her ardent faith. Everymorning she herself read the holy offices, for to her great sorrow shewas unable to go to church. Her inert limbs indeed seemed quite lifeless, and she had sunk into a condition of extreme weakness, to such a point, in fact, that on certain days it became necessary for her sister to placeher food in her mouth. 

Pierre was thinking of this when all at once he recalled an evening hehad spent with her. The lamp had not yet been lighted, he was seatedbeside her in the growing obscurity, and she suddenly told him that shewished to go to Lourdes, feeling certain that she would return cured. Hehad experienced an uncomfortable sensation on hearing her speak in thisfashion, and quite forgetting himself had exclaimed that it was folly tobelieve in such childishness. He had hitherto made it a rule never toconverse with her on religious matters, having not only refused to be herconfessor, but even to advise her with regard to the petty uncertaintiesof her pietism. In this respect he was influenced by feelings of mingledshame and compassion; to lie to her of all people would have made himsuffer, and, moreover, he would have deemed himself a criminal had heeven by a breath sullied that fervent pure faith which lent her suchstrength against pain. And so, regretting that he had not been able torestrain his exclamation, he remained sorely embarrassed, when all atonce he felt the girl's cold hand take hold of his own. And then, emboldened by the darkness, she ventured in a gentle, faltering voice, totell him that she already knew his secret, his misfortune, thatwretchedness, so fearful for a priest, of being unable to believe. 

Despite himself he had revealed everything during their chats together, and she, with the delicate intuition of a friend, had been able to readhis conscience. She felt terribly distressed on his account; she deemedhim, with that mortal moral malady, to be more deserving of pity thanherself. And then as he, thunderstruck, was still unable to find ananswer, acknowledging the truth of her words by his very silence, sheagain began to speak to him of Lourdes, adding in a low whisper that shewished to confide him as well as herself to the protection of the BlessedVirgin, whom she entreated to restore him to faith. And from that eveningforward she did not cease speaking on the subject, repeating again andagain, that if she went to Lourdes she would be surely cured. But she wasprevented from making the journey by lack of means and she did not evendare to speak to her sister of the pecuniary question. So two months wentby, and day by day she grew weaker, exhausted by her longing dreams, hereyes ever turned towards the flashing light of the miraculous Grotto faraway. Pierre then experienced many painful days. He had at first toldMarie that he would not accompany her. But his decision was somewhatshaken by the thought that if he made up his mind to go, he might profitby the journey to continue his inquiries with regard to Bernadette, whosecharming image lingered in his heart. And at last he even felt penetratedby a delightful feeling, an unacknowledged hope, the hope that Marie wasperhaps right, that the Virgin might take pity on him and restore to himhis former blind faith, the faith of the child who loves and does notquestion. Oh! to believe, to believe with his whole soul, to plunge intofaith for ever! Doubtless there was no other possible happiness. Helonged for faith with all the joyousness of his youth, with all the lovethat he had felt for his mother, with all his burning desire to escapefrom the torment of understanding and knowing, and to slumber forever inthe depths of divine ignorance. It was cowardly, and yet so delightful;to exist no more, to become a mere thing in the hands of the Divinity. And thus he was at last possessed by a desire to make the supremeexperiment. 

A week later the journey to Lourdes was decided upon. Pierre, however, had insisted on a final consultation of medical men in order to ascertainif it were really possible for Marie to travel; and this again was ascene which rose up before him, with certain incidents which he everbeheld whilst others were already fading from his mind. Two of thedoctors who had formerly attended the patient, and one of whom believedin the rupture of certain ligaments, whilst the other asserted the caseto be one of medullary paralysis, had ended by agreeing that thisparalysis existed, and that there was also, possibly, some ligamentaryinjury. In their opinion all the symptoms pointed to this diagnosis, andthe nature of the case seemed to them so evident that they did nothesitate to give certificates, each his own, agreeing almost word forword with one another, and so positive in character as to leave no roomfor doubt. Moreover, they thought that the journey was practicable, though it would certainly prove an exceedingly painful one. Pierrethereupon resolved to risk it, for he had found the doctors very prudent, and very desirous to arrive at the truth; and he retained but a confusedrecollection of the third medical man who had been called in, a distantcousin of his named De Beauclair, who was young, extremely intelligent, but little known as yet, and said by some to be rather strange in histheories. This doctor, after looking at Marie for a long time, had askedsomewhat anxiously about her parents, and had seemed greatly interestedby what was told him of M. De Guersaint, this architect and inventor witha weak and exuberant mind. Then he had desired to measure the sufferer'svisual field, and by a slight discreet touch had ascertained the localityof the pain, which, under certain pressure, seemed to ascend like a heavyshifting mass towards the breast. He did not appear to attach importanceto the paralysis of the legs; but on a direct question being put to himhe exclaimed that the girl ought to be taken to Lourdes and that shewould assuredly be cured there, if she herself were convinced of it. Faith sufficed, said he, with a smile; two pious lady patients of his, whom he had sent thither during the preceding year, had returned inradiant health. He even predicted how the miracle would come about; itwould be like a lightning stroke, an awakening, an exaltation of theentire being, whilst the evil, that horrid, diabolical weight whichstifled the poor girl would once more ascend and fly away as thoughemerging by her mouth. But at the same time he flatly declined to give acertificate. He had failed to agree with his two _confreres_, who treatedhim coldly, as though they considered him a wild, adventurous youngfellow. Pierre confusedly remembered some shreds of the discussion whichhad begun again in his presence, some little part of the diagnosis framedby Beauclair. First, a dislocation of the organ, with a slight lacerationof the ligaments, resulting from the patient's fall from her horse; thena slow healing, everything returning to its place, followed byconsecutive nervous symptoms, so that the sufferer was now simply besetby her original fright, her attention fixed on the injured part, arrestedthere amidst increasing pain, incapable of acquiring fresh notions unlessit were under the lash of some violent emotion. Moreover, he alsoadmitted the probability of accidents due to nutrition, as yetunexplained, and on the course and importance of which he himself wouldnot venture to give an opinion. However, the idea that Marie _dreamt_ herdisease, that the fearful sufferings torturing her came from an injurylong since healed, appeared such a paradox to Pierre when he gazed at herand saw her in such agony, her limbs already stretched out lifeless onher bed of misery, that he did not even pause to consider it; but at thatmoment felt simply happy in the thought that all three doctors agreed inauthorising the journey to Lourdes. To him it was sufficient that she_might_ be cured, and to attain that result he would have followed her tothe end of the world. 

Ah! those last days of Paris, amid what a scramble they were spent! Thenational pilgrimage was about to start, and in order to avoid heavyexpenses, it had occurred to him to obtain _hospitalisation_ for Marie. Then he had been obliged to run about in order to obtain his ownadmission, as a helper, into the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation. M. De Guersaint was delighted with the prospect of the journey, for he wasfond of nature, and ardently desired to become acquainted with thePyrenees. Moreover, he did not allow anything to worry him, but wasperfectly willing that the young priest should pay his railway fare, andprovide for him at the hotel yonder as for a child; and his daughterBlanche, having slipped a twenty-franc piece into his hand at the lastmoment, he had even thought himself rich again. That poor brave Blanchehad a little hidden store of her own, savings to the amount of fiftyfrancs, which it had been absolutely necessary to accept, for she becamequite angry in her determination to contribute towards her sister's cure, unable as she was to form one of the party, owing to the lessons whichshe had to give in Paris, whose hard pavements she must continue pacing, whilst her dear ones were kneeling yonder, amidst the enchantments of theGrotto. And so the others had started on, and were now rolling, everrolling along. 

As they passed the station of Chatellerault a sudden burst of voices madePierre start, and drove away the torpor into which his reverie hadplunged him. What was the matter? Were they reaching Poitiers? But it wasonly half-past twelve o'clock, and it was simply Sister Hyacinthe who hadroused him, by making her patients and pilgrims say the Angelus, thethree "Aves" thrice repeated. Then the voices burst forth, and the soundof a fresh canticle arose, and continued like a lamentation. Fully fiveand twenty minutes must elapse before they would reach Poitiers, where itseemed as if the half-hour's stoppage would bring relief to everysuffering! They were all so uncomfortable, so roughly shaken in thatmalodorous, burning carriage! Such wretchedness was beyond endurance. Bigtears coursed down the cheeks of Madame Vincent, a muttered oath escapedM. Sabathier usually so resigned, and Brother Isidore, La Grivotte, andMadame Vetu seemed to have become inanimate, mere waifs carried along bya torrent. Moreover, Marie no longer answered, but had closed her eyesand would not open them, pursued as she was by the horrible vision ofElise Rouquet's face, that face with its gaping cavities which seemed toher to be the image of death. And whilst the train increased its speed, bearing all this human despair onward, under the heavy sky, athwart theburning plains, there was yet another scare in the carriage. The strangeman had apparently ceased to breathe, and a voice cried out that he wasexpiring. 

III. POITIERS

AS soon as the train arrived at Poitiers, Sister Hyacinthe alighted inall haste, amidst the crowd of porters opening the carriage doors, and ofpilgrims darting forward to reach the platform. "Wait a moment, wait amoment, " she repeated, "let me pass first. I wish to see if all is over. "

Then, having entered the other compartment, she raised the strange man'shead, and seeing him so pale, with such blank eyes, she did at firstthink him already dead. At last, however, she detected a faint breathing. "No, no, " she then exclaimed, "he still breathes. Quick! there is no timeto be lost. " And, perceiving the other Sister, she added: "Sister Clairedes Anges, will you go and fetch Father Massias, who must be in the thirdor fourth carriage of the train? Tell him that we have a patient in verygreat danger here, and ask him to bring the Holy Oils at once. "

Without answering, the other Sister at once plunged into the midst of thescramble. She was small, slender, and gentle, with a meditative air andmysterious eyes, but withal extremely active. 

Pierre, who was standing in the other compartment watching the scene, nowventured to make a suggestion: "And would it not be as well to fetch thedoctor?" said he. 

"Yes, I was thinking of it, " replied Sister Hyacinthe, "and, Monsieurl'Abbe, it would be very kind of you to go for him yourself. "

It so happened that Pierre intended going to the cantine carriage tofetch some broth for Marie. Now that she was no longer being jolted shefelt somewhat relieved, and had opened her eyes, and caused her father toraise her to a sitting posture. Keenly thirsting for fresh air, she wouldhave much liked them to carry her out on to the platform for a moment, but she felt that it would be asking too much, that it would be tootroublesome a task to place her inside the carriage again. So M. DeGuersaint remained by himself on the platform, near the open door, smoking a cigarette, whilst Pierre hastened to the cantine van, where heknew he would find the doctor on duty, with his travelling pharmacy. 

Some other patients, whom one could not think of removing, also remainedin the carriage. Amongst them was La Grivotte, who was stifling andalmost delirious, in such a state indeed as to detain Madame deJonquiere, who had arranged to meet her daughter Raymonde, with MadameVolmar and Madame Desagneaux, in the refreshment-room, in order that theymight all four lunch together. But that unfortunate creature seemed onthe point of expiring, so how could she leave her all alone, on the hardseat of that carriage? On his side, M. Sabathier, likewise riveted to hisseat, was waiting for his wife, who had gone to fetch a bunch of grapesfor him; whilst Marthe had remained with her brother the missionary, whose faint moan never ceased. The others, those who were able to walk, had hustled one another in their haste to alight, all eager as they wereto escape for a moment from that cage of wretchedness where their limbshad been quite numbed by the seven hours' journey which they had so fargone. Madame Maze had at once drawn apart, straying with melancholy faceto the far end of the platform, where she found herself all alone; MadameVetu, stupefied by her sufferings, had found sufficient strength to takea few steps, and sit down on a bench, in the full sunlight, where she didnot even feel the burning heat; whilst Elise Rouquet, who had had thedecency to cover her face with a black wrap, and was consumed by a desirefor fresh water, went hither and thither in search of a drinkingfountain. And meantime Madame Vincent, walking slowly, carried her littleRose about in her arms, trying to smile at her, and to cheer her byshowing her some gaudily coloured picture bills, which the child gravelygazed at, but did not see. 

Pierre had the greatest possible difficulty in making his way through thecrowd inundating the platform. No effort of imagination could enable oneto picture the living torrent of ailing and healthy beings which thetrain had here set down--a mob of more than a thousand persons justemerging from suffocation, and bustling, hurrying hither and thither. Each carriage had contributed its share of wretchedness, like somehospital ward suddenly evacuated; and it was now possible to form an ideaof the frightful amount of suffering which this terrible white traincarried along with it, this train which disseminated a legend of horrorwheresoever it passed. Some infirm sufferers were dragging themselvesabout, others were being carried, and many remained in a heap on theplatform. There were sudden pushes, violent calls, innumerable displaysof distracted eagerness to reach the refreshment-room and the _buvette_. Each and all made haste, going wheresoever their wants called them. Thisstoppage of half an hour's duration, the only stoppage there would bebefore reaching Lourdes, was, after all, such a short one. And the onlygay note, amidst all the black cassocks and the threadbare garments ofthe poor, never of any precise shade of colour, was supplied by thesmiling whiteness of the Little Sisters of the Assumption, all bright andactive in their snowy coifs, wimples, and aprons. 

When Pierre at last reached the cantine van near the middle of the train, he found it already besieged. There was here a petroleum stove, with asmall supply of cooking utensils. The broth prepared from concentratedmeat-extract was being warmed in wrought-iron pans, whilst the preservedmilk in tins was diluted and supplied as occasion required. There weresome other provisions, such as biscuits, fruit, and chocolate, on a fewshelves. But Sister Saint-Francois, to whom the service was entrusted, ashort, stout woman of five-and-forty, with a good-natured fresh-colouredface, was somewhat losing her head in the presence of all the hands soeagerly stretched towards her. Whilst continuing her distribution, shelent ear to Pierre, as he called the doctor, who with his travellingpharmacy occupied another corner of the van. Then, when the young priestbegan to explain matters, speaking of the poor unknown man who was dying, a sudden desire came to her to go and see him, and she summoned anotherSister to take her place. 

"Oh! I wished to ask you, Sister, for some broth for a passenger who isill, " said Pierre, at that moment turning towards her. 

"Very well, Monsieur l'Abbe, I will bring some. Go on in front. "

The doctor and the abbe went off in all haste, rapidly questioning andanswering one another, whilst behind them followed Sister Saint-Francois, carrying the bowl of broth with all possible caution amidst the jostlingof the crowd. The doctor was a dark-complexioned man of eight-and-twenty, robust and extremely handsome, with the head of a young Roman emperor, such as may still be occasionally met with in the sunburnt land ofProvence. As soon as Sister Hyacinthe caught sight of him, she raised anexclamation of surprise: "What! Monsieur Ferrand, is it you?" Indeed, they both seemed amazed at meeting in this manner. 

It is, however, the courageous mission of the Sisters of the Assumptionto tend the ailing poor, those who lie in agony in their humble garrets, and cannot pay for nursing; and thus these good women spend their livesamong the wretched, installing themselves beside the sufferer's pallet inhis tiny lodging, and ministering to every want, attending alike tocooking and cleaning, and living there as servants and relatives, untileither cure or death supervenes. And it was in this wise that SisterHyacinthe, young as she was, with her milky face, and her blue eyes whichever laughed, had installed herself one day in the abode of this youngfellow, Ferrand, then a medical student, prostrated by typhoid fever, andso desperately poor that he lived in a kind of loft reached by a ladder, in the Rue du Four. And from that moment she had not stirred from hisside, but had remained with him until she cured him, with the passion ofone who lived only for others, one who when an infant had been found in achurch porch, and who had no other family than that of those whosuffered, to whom she devoted herself with all her ardently affectionatenature. And what a delightful month, what exquisite comradeship, fraughtwith the pure fraternity of suffering, had followed! When he called her"Sister, " it was really to a sister that he was speaking. And she was amother also, a mother who helped him to rise, and who put him to bed asthough he were her child, without aught springing up between them savesupreme pity, the divine, gentle compassion of charity. She ever showedherself gay, sexless, devoid of any instinct excepting that whichprompted her to assuage and to console. And he worshipped her, veneratedher, and had retained of her the most chaste and passionate ofrecollections. 

"O Sister Hyacinthe!" he murmured in delight. 

Chance alone had brought them face to face again, for Ferrand was not abeliever, and if he found himself in that train it was simply because hehad at the last moment consented to take the place of a friend who wassuddenly prevented from coming. For nearly a twelvemonth he had been ahouse-surgeon at the Hospital of La Pitie. However, this journey toLourdes, in such peculiar circumstances, greatly interested him. 

The joy of the meeting was making them forget the ailing stranger. And sothe Sister resumed: "You see, Monsieur Ferrand, it is for this man thatwe want you. At one moment we thought him dead. Ever since we passedAmboise he has been filling us with fear, and I have just sent for theHoly Oils. Do you find him so very low? Could you not revive him alittle?"

The doctor was already examining the man, and thereupon the sufferers whohad remained in the carriage became greatly interested and began to look. Marie, to whom Sister Saint-Francois had given the bowl of broth, washolding it with such an unsteady hand that Pierre had to take it fromher, and endeavour to make her drink; but she could not swallow, and sheleft the broth scarce tasted, fixing her eyes upon the man waiting to seewhat would happen like one whose own existence is at stake. 

"Tell me, " again asked Sister Hyacinthe, "how do you find him? What ishis illness?"

"What is his illness!" muttered Ferrand; "he has every illness. "

Then, drawing a little phial from his pocket, he endeavoured to introducea few drops of the contents between the sufferer's clenched teeth. Theman heaved a sigh, raised his eyelids and let them fall again; that wasall, he gave no other sign of life. 

Sister Hyacinthe, usually so calm and composed, so little accustomed todespair, became impatient. 

"But it is terrible, " said she, "and Sister Claire des Anges does notcome back! Yet I told her plainly enough where she would find FatherMassias's carriage. _Mon Dieu!_ what will become of us?"

Sister Saint-Francois, seeing that she could render no help, was nowabout to return to the cantine van. Before doing so, however, sheinquired if the man were not simply dying of hunger; for such casespresented themselves, and indeed she had only come to the compartmentwith the view of offering some of her provisions. At last, as she wentoff, she promised that she would make Sister Claire des Anges hasten herreturn should she happen to meet her; and she had not gone twenty yardswhen she turned round and waved her arm to call attention to hercolleague, who with discreet short steps was coming back alone. 

Leaning out of the window, Sister Hyacinthe kept on calling to her, "Makehaste, make haste! Well, and where is Father Massias?"

"He isn't there. "

"What! not there?"

"No. I went as fast as I could, but with all these people about it wasnot possible to get there quickly. When I reached the carriage FatherMassias had already alighted, and gone out of the station, no doubt. "

She thereupon explained, that according to what she had heard, FatherMassias and the priest of Sainte-Radegonde had some appointment together. In other years the national pilgrimage halted at Poitiers forfour-and-twenty hours, and after those who were ill had been placed inthe town hospital the others went in procession to Sainte-Radegonde. *That year, however, there was some obstacle to this course beingfollowed, so the train was going straight on to Lourdes; and FatherMassias was certainly with his friend the priest, talking with him onsome matter of importance. 

 * The church of Sainte-Radegonde, built by the saint of that name in the sixth century, is famous throughout Poitou. In the crypt between the tombs of Ste. Agnes and St. Disciole is that of Ste. Radegonde herself, but it now only contains some particles of her remains, as the greater portion was burnt by the Huguenots in 1562. On a previous occasion (1412) the tomb had been violated by Jean, Duc de Berry, who wished to remove both the saint's head and her two rings. Whilst he was making the attempt, however, the skeleton is said to have withdrawn its hand so that he might not possess himself of the rings. A greater curiosity which the church contains is a footprint on a stone slab, said to have been left by Christ when He appeared to Ste. Radegonde in her cell. This attracts pilgrims from many parts. --Trans. 

"They promised to tell him and send him here with the Holy Oils as soonas they found him, " added Sister Claire. 

However, this was quite a disaster for Sister Hyacinthe. Since Sciencewas powerless, perhaps the Holy Oils would have brought the sufferer somerelief. She had often seen that happen. 

"O Sister, Sister, how worried I am!" she said to her companion. "Do youknow, I wish you would go back and watch for Father Massias and bring himto me as soon as you see him. It would be so kind of you to do so!"

"Yes, Sister, " compliantly answered Sister Claire des Anges, and off shewent again with that grave, mysterious air of hers, wending her waythrough the crowd like a gliding shadow. 

Ferrand, meantime, was still looking at the man, sorely distressed at hisinability to please Sister Hyacinthe by reviving him. And as he made agesture expressive of his powerlessness she again raised her voiceentreatingly: "Stay with me, Monsieur Ferrand, pray stay, " she said. "Wait till Father Massias comes--I shall be a little more at ease withyou here. "

He remained and helped her to raise the man, who was slipping down uponthe seat. Then, taking a linen cloth, she wiped the poor fellow's facewhich a dense perspiration was continually covering. And the spell ofwaiting continued amid the uneasiness of the patients who had remained inthe carriage, and the curiosity of the folks who had begun to assemble onthe platform in front of the compartment. 

All at once however a girl hastily pushed the crowd aside, and, mountingon the footboard, addressed herself to Madame de Jonquiere: "What is thematter, mamma?" she said. "They are waiting for you in therefreshment-room. "

It was Raymonde de Jonquiere, who, already somewhat ripe for herfour-and-twenty years, was remarkably like her mother, being very dark, with a pronounced nose, large mouth, and full, pleasant-looking face. 

"But, my dear, you can see for yourself. I can't leave this poor woman, "replied the lady-hospitaller; and thereupon she pointed to La Grivotte, who had been attacked by a fit of coughing which shook her frightfully. 

"Oh, how annoying, mamma!" retorted Raymonde, "Madame Desagneaux andMadame Volmar were looking forward with so much pleasure to this littlelunch together. "

"Well, it can't be helped, my dear. At all events, you can begin withoutwaiting for me. Tell the ladies that I will come and join them as soon asI can. " Then, an idea occurring to her, Madame de Jonquiere added: "Waita moment, the doctor is here. I will try to get him to take charge of mypatient. Go back, I will follow you. As you can guess, I am dying ofhunger. "

Raymonde briskly returned to the refreshment-room whilst her motherbegged Ferrand to come into her compartment to see if he could dosomething to relieve La Grivotte. At Marthe's request he had alreadyexamined Brother Isidore, whose moaning never ceased; and with asorrowful gesture he had again confessed his powerlessness. However, hehastened to comply with Madame de Jonquiere's appeal, and raised theconsumptive woman to a sitting posture in the hope of thus stopping hercough, which indeed gradually ceased. And then he helped thelady-hospitaller to make her swallow a spoonful of some soothing draught. The doctor's presence in the carriage was still causing a stir among theailing ones. M. Sabathier, who was slowly eating the grapes which hiswife had been to fetch him, did not, however, question Ferrand, for heknew full well what his answer would be, and was weary, as he expressedit, of consulting all the princes of science; nevertheless he feltcomforted as it were at seeing him set that poor consumptive woman on herfeet again. And even Marie watched all that the doctor did withincreasing interest, though not daring to call him herself, certain asshe also was that he could do nothing for her. 

Meantime, the crush on the platform was increasing. Only a quarter of anhour now remained to the pilgrims. Madame Vetu, whose eyes were open butwho saw nothing, sat like an insensible being in the broad sunlight, inthe hope possibly that the scorching heat would deaden her pains; whilstup and down, in front of her, went Madame Vincent ever with the samesleep-inducing step and ever carrying her little Rose, her poor ailingbirdie, whose weight was so trifling that she scarcely felt her in herarms. Many people meantime were hastening to the water tap in order tofill their pitchers, cans, and bottles. Madame Maze, who was of refinedtastes and careful of her person, thought of going to wash her handsthere; but just as she arrived she found Elise Rouquet drinking, and sherecoiled at sight of that disease-smitten face, so terribly disfiguredand robbed of nearly all semblance of humanity. And all the otherslikewise shuddered, likewise hesitated to fill their bottles, pitchers, and cans at the tap from which she had drunk. 

A large number of pilgrims had now begun to eat whilst pacing theplatform. You could hear the rhythmical taps of the crutches carried by awoman who incessantly wended her way through the groups. On the ground, alegless cripple was painfully dragging herself about in search of nobodyknew what. Others, seated there in heaps, no longer stirred. All thesesufferers, momentarily unpacked as it were, these patients of atravelling hospital emptied for a brief half-hour, were taking the airamidst the bewilderment and agitation of the healthy passengers; and thewhole throng had a frightfully woeful, poverty-stricken appearance in thebroad noontide light. 

Pierre no longer stirred from the side of Marie, for M. De Guersaint haddisappeared, attracted by a verdant patch of landscape which could beseen at the far end of the station. And, feeling anxious about her, sinceshe had not been able to finish her broth, the young priest with asmiling air tried to tempt her palate by offering to go and buy her apeach; but she refused it; she was suffering too much, she cared fornothing. She was gazing at him with her large, woeful eyes, on the onehand impatient at this stoppage which delayed her chance of cure, and onthe other terrified at the thought of again being jolted along that hardand endless railroad. 

Just then a stout gentleman whose full beard was turning grey, and whohad a broad, fatherly kind of face, drew near and touched Pierre's arm:"Excuse me, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said he, "but is it not in this carriagethat there is a poor man dying?"

And on the priest returning an affirmative answer, the gentleman becamequite affable and familiar. 

"My name is Vigneron, " he said; "I am the head clerk at the Ministry ofFinances, and applied for leave in order that I might help my wife totake our son Gustave to Lourdes. The dear lad places all his hope in theBlessed Virgin, to whom we pray morning and evening on his behalf. We arein a second-class compartment of the carriage just in front of yours. "

Then, turning round, he summoned his party with a wave of the hand. "Come, come!" said he, "it is here. The unfortunate man is indeed in thelast throes. "

Madame Vigneron was a little woman with the correct bearing of arespectable _bourgeoise_, but her long, livid face denoted impoverishedblood, terrible evidence of which was furnished by her son Gustave. Thelatter, who was fifteen years of age, looked scarcely ten. Twisted out ofshape, he was a mere skeleton, with his right leg so wasted, so reduced, that he had to walk with a crutch. He had a small, thin face, somewhatawry, in which one saw little excepting his eyes, clear eyes, sparklingwith intelligence, sharpened as it were by suffering, and doubtless wellable to dive into the human soul. 

An old puffy-faced lady followed the others, dragging her legs along withdifficulty; and M. Vigneron, remembering that he had forgotten her, stepped back towards Pierre so that he might complete the introduction. "That lady, " said he, "is Madame Chaise, my wife's eldest sister. Shealso wished to accompany Gustave, whom she is very fond of. " And then, leaning forward, he added in a whisper, with a confidential air: "She isthe widow of Chaise, the silk merchant, you know, who left such animmense fortune. She is suffering from a heart complaint which causes hermuch anxiety. "

The whole family, grouped together, then gazed with lively curiosity atwhat was taking place in the railway carriage. People were incessantlyflocking to the spot; and so that the lad might be the better able tosee, his father took him up in his arms for a moment whilst his aunt heldthe crutch, and his mother on her side raised herself on tip-toe. 

The scene in the carriage was still the same; the strange man was stillstiffly seated in his corner, his head resting against the hard wood. Hewas livid, his eyes were closed, and his mouth was twisted by suffering;and every now and then Sister Hyacinthe with her linen cloth wiped awaythe cold sweat which was constantly covering his face. She no longerspoke, no longer evinced any impatience, but had recovered her serenityand relied on Heaven. From time to time she would simply glance towardsthe platform to see if Father Massias were coming. 

"Look at him, Gustave, " said M. Vigneron to his son; "he must beconsumptive. "

The lad, whom scrofula was eating away, whose hip was attacked by anabscess, and in whom there were already signs of necrosis of thevertebrae, seemed to take a passionate interest in the agony he thusbeheld. It did not frighten him, he smiled at it with a smile of infinitesadness. 

"Oh! how dreadful!" muttered Madame Chaise, who, living in continualterror of a sudden attack which would carry her off, turned pale with thefear of death. 

"Ah! well, " replied M. Vigneron, philosophically, "it will come to eachof us in turn. We are all mortal. "

Thereupon, a painful, mocking expression came over Gustave's smile, asthough he had heard other words than those--perchance an unconsciouswish, the hope that the old aunt might die before he himself did, that hewould inherit the promised half-million of francs, and then not longencumber his family. 

"Put the boy down now, " said Madame Vigneron to her husband. "You aretiring him, holding him by the legs like that. "

Then both she and Madame Chaise bestirred themselves in order that thelad might not be shaken. The poor darling was so much in need of care andattention. At each moment they feared that they might lose him. Even hisfather was of opinion that they had better put him in the train again atonce. And as the two women went off with the child, the old gentlemanonce more turned towards Pierre, and with evident emotion exclaimed: "Ah!Monsieur l'Abbe, if God should take him from us, the light of our lifewould be extinguished--I don't speak of his aunt's fortune, which wouldgo to other nephews. But it would be unnatural, would it not, that heshould go off before her, especially as she is so ill? However, we areall in the hands of Providence, and place our reliance in the BlessedVirgin, who will assuredly perform a miracle. "

Just then Madame de Jonquiere, having been reassured by Doctor Ferrand, was able to leave La Grivotte. Before going off, however, she took careto say to Pierre: "I am dying of hunger and am going to therefreshment-room for a moment. But if my patient should begin coughingagain, pray come and fetch me. "

When, after great difficulty, she had managed to cross the platform andreach the refreshment-room, she found herself in the midst of anotherscramble. The better-circumstanced pilgrims had taken the tables byassault, and a great many priests were to be seen hastily lunching amidstall the clatter of knives, forks, and crockery. The three or four waiterswere not able to attend to all the requirements, especially as they werehampered in their movements by the crowd purchasing fruit, bread, andcold meat at the counter. It was at a little table at the far end of theroom that Raymonde was lunching with Madame Desagneaux and Madame Volmar. 

"Ah! here you are at last, mamma!" the girl exclaimed, as Madame deJonquiere approached. "I was just going back to fetch you. You certainlyought to be allowed time to eat!"

She was laughing, with a very animated expression on her face, quitedelighted as she was with the adventures of the journey and thisindifferent scrambling meal. "There, " said she, "I have kept you sometrout with green sauce, and there's a cutlet also waiting for you. Wehave already got to the artichokes. "

Then everything became charming. The gaiety prevailing in that littlecorner rejoiced the sight. 

Young Madame Desagneaux was particularly adorable. A delicate blonde, with wild, wavy, yellow hair, a round, dimpled, milky face, a gay, laughing disposition, and a remarkably good heart, she had made a richmarriage, and for three years past had been wont to leave her husband atTrouville in the fine August weather, in order to accompany the nationalpilgrimage as a lady-hospitaller. This was her great passion, an accessof quivering pity, a longing desire to place herself unreservedly at thedisposal of the sick for five days, a real debauch of devotion from whichshe returned tired to death but full of intense delight. Her only regretwas that she as yet had no children, and with comical passion, sheoccasionally expressed a regret that she had missed her true vocation, that of a sister of charity. 

"Ah! my dear, " she hastily said to Raymonde, "don't pity your mother forbeing so much taken up with her patients. She, at all events, hassomething to occupy her. " And addressing herself to Madame de Jonquiere, she added: "If you only knew how long we find the time in our finefirst-class carriage. We cannot even occupy ourselves with a littleneedlework, as it is forbidden. I asked for a place with the patients, but all were already distributed, so that my only resource will be to tryto sleep tonight. "

She began to laugh, and then resumed: "Yes, Madame Volmar, we will try tosleep, won't we, since talking seems to tire you?" Madame Volmar, wholooked over thirty, was very dark, with a long face and delicate butdrawn features. Her magnificent eyes shone out like brasiers, thoughevery now and then a cloud seemed to veil and extinguish them. At thefirst glance she did not appear beautiful, but as you gazed at her shebecame more and more perturbing, till she conquered you and inspired youwith passionate admiration. It should be said though that she shrank fromall self-assertion, comporting herself with much modesty, ever keeping inthe background, striving to hide her lustre, invariably clad in black andunadorned by a single jewel, although she was the wife of a Parisiandiamond-merchant. 

"Oh! for my part, " she murmured, "as long as I am not hustled too much Iam well pleased. "

She had been to Lourdes as an auxiliary lady-helper already on twooccasions, though but little had been seen of her there--at the hospitalof Our Lady of Dolours--as, on arriving, she had been overcome by suchgreat fatigue that she had been forced, she said, to keep her room. 

However, Madame de Jonquiere, who managed the ward, treated her withgood-natured tolerance. "Ah! my poor friends, " said she, "there will beplenty of time for you to exert yourselves. Get to sleep if you can, andyour turn will come when I can no longer keep up. " Then addressing herdaughter, she resumed: "And you would do well, darling, not to exciteyourself too much if you wish to keep your head clear. "

Raymonde smiled and gave her mother a reproachful glance: "Mamma, mamma, why do you say that? Am I not sensible?" she asked. 

Doubtless she was not boasting, for, despite her youthful, thoughtlessair, the air of one who simply feels happy in living, there appeared inher grey eyes an expression of firm resolution, a resolution to shape herlife for herself. 

"It is true, " the mother confessed with a little confusion, "this littlegirl is at times more sensible than I am myself. Come, pass me thecutlet--it is welcome, I assure you. Lord! how hungry I was!"

The meal continued, enlivened by the constant laughter of MadameDesagneaux and Raymonde. The latter was very animated, and her face, which was already growing somewhat yellow through long pining for asuitor, again assumed the rosy bloom of twenty. They had to eat veryfast, for only ten minutes now remained to them. On all sides one heardthe growing tumult of customers who feared that they would not have timeto take their coffee. 

All at once, however, Pierre made his appearance; a fit of stifling hadagain come over La Grivotte; and Madame de Jonquiere hastily finished herartichoke and returned to her compartment, after kissing her daughter, who wished her "good-night" in a facetious way. The priest, however, hadmade a movement of surprise on perceiving Madame Volmar with the redcross of the lady-hospitallers on her black bodice. He knew her, for hestill called at long intervals on old Madame Volmar, thediamond-merchant's mother, who had been one of his own mother's friends. She was the most terrible woman in the world, religious beyond allreason, so harsh and stern, moreover, as to close the very windowshutters in order to prevent her daughter-in-law from looking into thestreet. And he knew the young woman's story, how she had been imprisonedon the very morrow of her marriage, shut up between her mother-in-law, who tyrannised over her, and her husband, a repulsively ugly monster whowent so far as to beat her, mad as he was with jealousy, although hehimself kept mistresses. The unhappy woman was not allowed out of thehouse excepting it were to go to mass. And one day, at La Trinite, Pierrehad surprised her secret, on seeing her behind the church exchanging afew hasty words with a well-groomed, distinguished-looking man. 

The priest's sudden appearance in the refreshment-room had somewhatdisconcerted Madame Volmar. 

"What an unexpected meeting, Monsieur l'Abbe!" she said, offering him herlong, warm hand. "What a long time it is since I last saw you!" Andthereupon she explained that this was the third year she had gone toLourdes, her mother-in-law having required her to join the Association ofOur Lady of Salvation. "It is surprising that you did not see her at thestation when we started, " she added. "She sees me into the train andcomes to meet me on my return. "

This was said in an apparently simple way, but with such a subtle touchof irony that Pierre fancied he could guess the truth. He knew that shereally had no religious principles at all, and that she merely followedthe rites and ceremonies of the Church in order that she might now andagain obtain an hour's freedom; and all at once he intuitively realisedthat someone must be waiting for her yonder, that it was for the purposeof meeting him that she was thus hastening to Lourdes with her shrinkingyet ardent air and flaming eyes, which she so prudently shrouded with aveil of lifeless indifference. 

"For my part, " he answered, "I am accompanying a friend of my childhood, a poor girl who is very ill indeed. I must ask your help for her; youshall nurse her. "

Thereupon she faintly blushed, and he no longer doubted the truth of hissurmise. However, Raymonde was just then settling the bill with the easyassurance of a girl who is expert in figures; and immediately afterwardsMadame Desagneaux led Madame Volmar away. The waiters were now growingmore distracted and the tables were fast being vacated; for, on hearing abell ring, everybody had begun to rush towards the door. 

Pierre, on his side, was hastening back to his carriage, when he wasstopped by an old priest. "Ah! Monsieur le Cure, " he said, "I saw youjust before we started, but I was unable to get near enough to shakehands with you. "

Thereupon he offered his hand to his brother ecclesiastic, who waslooking and smiling at him in a kindly way. The Abbe Judaine was theparish priest of Saligny, a little village in the department of the Oise. Tall and sturdy, he had a broad pink face, around which clustered a massof white, curly hair, and it could be divined by his appearance that hewas a worthy man whom neither the flesh nor the spirit had evertormented. He believed indeed firmly and absolutely, with a tranquilgodliness, never having known a struggle, endowed as he was with theready faith of a child who is unacquainted with human passions. And eversince the Virgin at Lourdes had cured him of a disease of the eyes, by afamous miracle which folks still talked about, his belief had become yetmore absolute and tender, as though impregnated with divine gratitude. 

"I am pleased that you are with us, my friend, " he gently said; "forthere is much in these pilgrimages for young priests to profit by. I amtold that some of them at times experience a feeling of rebellion. Well, you will see all these poor people praying, --it is a sight which willmake you weep. How can one do otherwise than place oneself in God'shands, on seeing so much suffering cured or consoled?"

The old priest himself was accompanying a patient; and he pointed to afirst-class compartment, at the door of which hung a placard bearing theinscription: "M. L'Abbe Judaine, Reserved. " Then lowering his voice, hesaid: "It is Madame Dieulafay, you know, the great banker's wife. Theirchateau, a royal domain, is in my parish, and when they learned that theBlessed Virgin had vouchsafed me such an undeserved favour, they beggedme to intercede for their poor sufferer. I have already said severalmasses, and most sincerely pray for her. There, you see her yonder on theground. She insisted on being taken out of the carriage, in spite of allthe trouble which one will have to place her in it again. "

On a shady part of the platform, in a kind of long box, there was, as theold priest said, a woman whose beautiful, perfectly oval face, lighted upby splendid eyes, denoted no greater age than six-and-twenty. She wassuffering from a frightful disease. The disappearance from her system ofthe calcareous salts had led to a softening of the osseous framework, theslow destruction of her bones. Three years previously, after the adventof a stillborn child, she had felt vague pains in the spinal column. Andthen, little by little, her bones had rarefied and lost shape, thevertebrae had sunk, the bones of the pelvis had flattened, and those ofthe arms and legs had contracted. Thus shrunken, melting away as it were, she had become a mere human remnant, a nameless, fluid thing, which couldnot be set erect, but had to be carried hither and thither with infinitecare, for fear lest she should vanish between one's fingers. Her face, amotionless face, on which sat a stupefied imbecile expression, stillretained its beauty of outline, and yet it was impossible to gaze at thiswretched shred of a woman without feeling a heart-pang, the keener onaccount of all the luxury surrounding her; for not only was the box inwhich she lay lined with blue quilted silk, but she was covered withvaluable lace, and a cap of rare valenciennes was set upon her head, herwealth thus being proclaimed, displayed, in the midst of her awful agony. 

"Ah! how pitiable it is, " resumed the Abbe Judaine in an undertone. "Tothink that she is so young, so pretty, possessed of millions of money!And if you knew how dearly loved she was, with what adoration she isstill surrounded. That tall gentleman near her is her husband, thatelegantly dressed lady is her sister, Madame Jousseur. "

Pierre remembered having often noticed in the newspapers the name ofMadame Jousseur, wife of a diplomatist, and a conspicuous member of thehigher spheres of Catholic society in Paris. People had even circulated astory of some great passion which she had fought against and vanquished. She also was very prettily dressed, with marvellously tastefulsimplicity, and she ministered to the wants of her sorry sister with anair of perfect devotion. As for the unhappy woman's husband, who at theage of five-and-thirty had inherited his father's colossal business, hewas a clear-complexioned, well-groomed, handsome man, clad in a closelybuttoned frock-coat. His eyes, however, were full of tears, for he adoredhis wife, and had left his business in order to take her to Lourdes, placing his last hope in this appeal to the mercy of Heaven. 

Ever since the morning, Pierre had beheld many frightful sufferings inthat woeful white train. But none had so distressed his soul as did thatwretched female skeleton, slowly liquefying in the midst of its lace andits millions. "The unhappy woman!" he murmured with a shudder. 

The Abbe Judaine, however, made a gesture of serene hope. "The BlessedVirgin will cure her, " said he; "I have prayed to her so much. "

Just then a bell again pealed, and this time it was really the signal forstarting. Only two minutes remained. There was a last rush, and folkshurried back towards the train carrying eatables wrapped in paper, andbottles and cans which they had filled with water. Several of them quitelost their heads, and in their inability to find their carriages, randistractedly from one to the other end of the train; whilst some of theinfirm ones dragged themselves about amidst the precipitate tapping ofcrutches, and others, only able to walk with difficulty, strove to hastentheir steps whilst leaning on the arms of some of the lady-hospitallers. It was only with infinite difficulty that four men managed to replaceMadame Dieulafay in her first-class compartment. The Vignerons, who werecontent with second-class accommodation, had already reinstalledthemselves in their quarters amidst an extraordinary heap of baskets, boxes, and valises which scarcely allowed little Gustave enough room tostretch his poor puny limbs--the limbs as it were of a deformed insect. And then all the women appeared again: Madame Maze gliding along insilence; Madame Vincent raising her dear little girl in her outstretchedarms and dreading lest she should hear her cry out; Madame Vetu, whom ithad been necessary to push into the train, after rousing her from herstupefying torment; and Elise Rouquet, who was quite drenched through herobstinacy in endeavouring to drink from the tap, and was still wiping hermonstrous face. Whilst each returned to her place and the carriage filledonce more, Marie listened to her father, who had come back delighted withhis stroll to a pointsman's little house beyond the station, whence areally pleasant stretch of landscape could be discerned. 

"Shall we lay you down again at once?" asked Pierre, sorely distressed bythe pained expression on Marie's face. 

"Oh no, no, by-and-by!" she replied. "I shall have plenty of time to hearthose wheels roaring in my head as though they were grinding my bones. "

Then, as Ferrand seemed on the point of returning to the cantine van, Sister Hyacinthe begged him to take another look at the strange manbefore he went off. She was still waiting for Father Massias, astonishedat the inexplicable delay in his arrival, but not yet without hope, asSister Claire des Anges had not returned. 

"Pray, Monsieur Ferrand, " said she, "tell me if this unfortunate man isin any immediate danger. "

The young doctor again looked at the sufferer, felt him, and listened tohis breathing. Then with a gesture of discouragement he answered in a lowvoice, "I feel convinced that you will not get him to Lourdes alive. "

Every head was still anxiously stretched forward. If they had only knownthe man's name, the place he had come from, who he was! But it wasimpossible to extract a word from this unhappy stranger, who was about todie there, in that carriage, without anybody being able to give his facea name!

It suddenly occurred to Sister Hyacinthe to have him searched. Under thecircumstances there could certainly be no harm in such a course. "Feel inhis pockets, Monsieur Ferrand, " she said. 

The doctor thereupon searched the man in a gentle, cautious way, but theonly things that he found in his pockets were a chaplet, a knife, andthree sous. And nothing more was ever learnt of the man. 

At that moment, however, a voice announced that Sister Claire des Angeswas at last coming back with Father Massias. All this while the latterhad simply been chatting with the priest of Sainte-Radegonde in one ofthe waiting-rooms. Keen emotion attended his arrival; for a moment allseemed saved. But the train was about to start, the porters were alreadyclosing the carriage doors, and it was necessary that extreme unctionshould be administered in all haste in order to avoid too long a delay. 

"This way, reverend Father!" exclaimed Sister Hyacinthe; "yes, yes, praycome in; our unfortunate patient is here. "

Father Massias, who was five years older than Pierre, whosefellow-student however he had been at the seminary, had a tall, sparefigure with an ascetic countenance, framed round with a light-colouredbeard and vividly lighted up by burning eyes, He was neither the priestharassed by doubt, nor the priest with childlike faith, but an apostlecarried away by his passion, ever ready to fight and vanquish for thepure glory of the Blessed Virgin. In his black cloak with its large hood, and his broad-brimmed flossy hat, he shone resplendently with theperpetual ardour of battle. 

He immediately took from his pocket the silver case containing the HolyOils, and the ceremony began whilst the last carriage doors were beingslammed and belated pilgrims were rushing back to the train; thestation-master, meantime, anxiously glancing at the clock, and realisingthat it would be necessary for him to grant a few minutes' grace. 

"_Credo in unum Deum_, " hastily murmured the Father. 

"_Amen_, " replied Sister Hyacinthe and the other occupants of thecarriage. 

Those who had been able to do so, had knelt upon the seats, whilst theothers joined their hands, or repeatedly made the sign of the cross; andwhen the murmured prayers were followed by the Litanies of the ritual, every voice rose, an ardent desire for the remission of the man's sinsand for his physical and spiritual cure winging its flight heavenwardwith each successive _Kyrie eleison_. Might his whole life, of which theyknew nought, be forgiven him; might he enter, stranger though he was, intriumph into the Kingdom of God!

"_Christe, exaudi nos_. "

"_Ora pro nobis, sancta Dei Genitrix_. "

Father Massias had pulled out the silver needle from which hung a drop ofHoly Oil. In the midst of such a scramble, with the whole trainwaiting--many people now thrusting their heads out of the carriagewindows in surprise at the delay in starting--he could not think offollowing the usual practice, of anointing in turn all the organs of thesenses, those portals of the soul which give admittance to evil. 

He must content himself, as the rules authorised him to do in pressingcases, with one anointment; and this he made upon the man's lips, thoselivid parted lips from between which only a faint breath escaped, whilstthe rest of his face, with its lowered eyelids, already seemedindistinct, again merged into the dust of the earth. 

"_Per istam sanctam unctionem_, " said the Father, "_et suam piissimammisericordiam indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per visum, auditum, odoratum, gustum, tactum, deliquisti_. "*

 * Through this holy unction and His most tender mercy may the Lord pardon thee whatever sins thou hast committed by thy sight, hearing, etc. 

The remainder of the ceremony was lost amid the hurry and scramble of thedeparture. Father Massias scarcely had time to wipe off the oil with thelittle piece of cotton-wool which Sister Hyacinthe held in readiness, before he had to leave the compartment and get into his own as fast aspossible, setting the case containing the Holy Oils in order as he didso, whilst the pilgrims finished repeating the final prayer. 

"We cannot wait any longer! It is impossible!" repeated thestation-master as he bustled about. "Come, come, make haste everybody!"

At last then they were about to resume their journey. Everybody sat down, returned to his or her corner again. Madame de Jonquiere, however, hadchanged her place, in order to be nearer La Grivotte, whose conditionstill worried her, and she was now seated in front of M. Sabathier, whoremained waiting with silent resignation. Moreover, Sister Hyacinthe hadnot returned to her compartment, having decided to remain near theunknown man so that she might watch over him and help him. By followingthis course, too, she was able to minister to Brother Isidore, whosesufferings his sister Marthe was at a loss to assuage. And Marie, turningpale, felt the jolting of the train in her ailing flesh, even before ithad resumed its journey under the heavy sun, rolling onward once morewith its load of sufferers stifling in the pestilential atmosphere of theover-heated carriages. 

At last a loud whistle resounded, the engine puffed, and Sister Hyacintherose up to say: The _Magnificat_, my children!

IV. MIRACLES

JUST as the train was beginning to move, the door of the compartment inwhich Pierre and Marie found themselves was opened and a porter pushed agirl of fourteen inside, saying: "There's a seat here--make haste!"

The others were already pulling long faces and were about to protest, when Sister Hyacinthe exclaimed: "What, is it you, Sophie? So you aregoing back to see the Blessed Virgin who cured you last year!"

And at the same time Madame de Jonquiere remarked: "Ah! Sophie, my littlefriend, I am very pleased to see that you are grateful. "

"Why, yes, Sister; why, yes, madame, " answered the girl, in a pretty way. 

The carriage door had already been closed again, so that it was necessarythat they should accept the presence of this new pilgrim who had fallenfrom heaven as it were at the very moment when the train, which she hadalmost missed, was starting off again. She was a slender damsel and wouldnot take up much room. Moreover these ladies knew her, and all thepatients had turned their eyes upon her on hearing that the BlessedVirgin had been pleased to cure her. They had now got beyond the station, the engine was still puffing, whilst the wheels increased their speed, and Sister Hyacinthe, clapping her hands, repeated: "Come, come, mychildren, the _Magnificat_. "

Whilst the joyful chant arose amidst the jolting of the train, Pierregazed at Sophie. She was evidently a young peasant girl, the daughter ofsome poor husbandman of the vicinity of Poitiers, petted by her parents, treated in fact like a young lady since she had become the subject of amiracle, one of the elect, whom the priests of the district flocked tosee. She wore a straw hat with pink ribbons, and a grey woollen dresstrimmed with a flounce. Her round face although not pretty was a verypleasant one, with a beautifully fresh complexion and clear, intelligenteyes which lent her a smiling, modest air. 

When the _Magnificat_ had been sung, Pierre was unable to resist hisdesire to question Sophie. A child of her age, with so candid an air, soutterly unlike a liar, greatly interested him. 

"And so you nearly missed the train, my child?" he said. 

"I should have been much ashamed if I had, Monsieur l'Abbe, " she replied. "I had been at the station since twelve o'clock. And all at once I sawhis reverence, the priest of Sainte-Radegonde, who knows me well and whocalled me to him, to kiss me and tell me that it was very good of me togo back to Lourdes. But it seems the train was starting and I only justhad time to run on to the platform. Oh! I ran so fast!"

She paused, laughing, still slightly out of breath, but already repentingthat she had been so giddy. 

"And what is your name, my child?" asked Pierre. 

"Sophie Couteau, Monsieur l'Abbe. "

"You do not belong to the town of Poitiers?"

"Oh no! certainly not. We belong to Vivonne, which is seven kilometresaway. My father and mother have a little land there, and things would notbe so bad if there were not eight children at home--I am thefifth, --fortunately the four older ones are beginning to work. "

"And you, my child, what do you do?"

"I, Monsieur l'Abbe! Oh! I am no great help. Since last year, when I camehome cured, I have not been left quiet a single day, for, as you canunderstand, so many people have come to see me, and then too I have beentaken to Monseigneur's, * and to the convents and all manner of otherplaces. And before all that I was a long time ill. I could not walkwithout a stick, and each step I took made me cry out, so dreadfully didmy foot hurt me. "

 * The Bishop's residence. 

"So it was of some injury to the foot that the Blessed Virgin cured you?"

Sophie did not have time to reply, for Sister Hyacinthe, who waslistening, intervened: "Of caries of the bones of the left heel, whichhad been going on for three years, " said she. "The foot was swollen andquite deformed, and there were fistulas giving egress to continualsuppuration. "

On hearing this, all the sufferers in the carriage became intenselyinterested. They no longer took their eyes off this little girl on whom amiracle had been performed, but scanned her from head to foot as thoughseeking for some sign of the prodigy. Those who were able to stand roseup in order that they might the better see her, and the others, theinfirm ones, stretched on their mattresses, strove to raise themselvesand turn their heads. Amidst the suffering which had again come upon themon leaving Poitiers, the terror which filled them at the thought thatthey must continue rolling onward for another fifteen hours, the suddenadvent of this child, favoured by Heaven, was like a divine relief, a rayof hope whence they would derive sufficient strength to accomplish theremainder of their terrible journey. The moaning had abated somewhatalready, and every face was turned towards the girl with an ardent desireto believe. 

This was especially the case with Marie, who, already reviving, joinedher trembling hands, and in a gentle supplicating voice said to Pierre, "Question her, pray question her, ask her to tell us everything--cured, OGod! cured of such a terrible complaint!"

Madame de Jonquiere, who was quite affected, had leant over the partitionto kiss the girl. "Certainly, " said she, "our little friend will tell youall about it. Won't you, my darling? You will tell us what the BlessedVirgin did for you?"

"Oh, certainly! madame-as much as you like, " answered Sophie with hersmiling, modest air, her eyes gleaming with intelligence. Indeed, shewished to begin at once, and raised her right hand with a pretty gesture, as a sign to everybody to be attentive. Plainly enough, she had alreadyacquired the habit of speaking in public. 

She could not be seen, however, from some parts of the carriage, and anidea came to Sister Hyacinthe, who said: "Get up on the seat, Sophie, andspeak loudly, on account of the noise which the train makes. "

This amused the girl, and before beginning she needed time to becomeserious again. "Well, it was like this, " said she; "my foot was pastcure, I couldn't even go to church any more, and it had to be keptbandaged, because there was always a lot of nasty matter coming from it. Monsieur Rivoire, the doctor, who had made a cut in it, so as to seeinside it, said that he should be obliged to take out a piece of thebone; and that, sure enough, would have made me lame for life. But when Igot to Lourdes and had prayed a great deal to the Blessed Virgin, I wentto dip my foot in the water, wishing so much that I might be cured that Idid not even take the time to pull the bandage off. And everythingremained in the water, there was no longer anything the matter with myfoot when I took it out. "

A murmur of mingled surprise, wonder, and desire arose and spread amongthose who heard this marvellous tale, so sweet and soothing to all whowere in despair. But the little one had not yet finished. She had simplypaused. And now, making a fresh gesture, holding her arms somewhat apart, she concluded: "When I got back to Vivonne and Monsieur Rivoire saw myfoot again, he said: 'Whether it be God or the Devil who has cured thischild, it is all the same to me; but in all truth she _is_ cured. '"

This time a burst of laughter rang out. The girl spoke in too recitativea way, having repeated her story so many times already that she knew itby heart. The doctor's remark was sure to produce an effect, and sheherself laughed at it in advance, certain as she was that the otherswould laugh also. However, she still retained her candid, touching air. 

But she had evidently forgotten some particular, for Sister Hyacinthe, aglance from whom had foreshadowed the doctor's jest, now softly promptedher "And what was it you said to Madame la Comtesse, the superintendentof your ward, Sophie?"

"Ah! yes. I hadn't brought many bandages for my foot with me, and I saidto her, 'It was very kind of the Blessed Virgin to cure me the first day, as I should have run out of linen on the morrow. '"

This provoked a fresh outburst of delight. They all thought her so nice, to have been cured like that! And in reply to a question from Madame deJonquiere, she also had to tell the story of her boots, a pair ofbeautiful new boots which Madame la Comtesse had given her, and in whichshe had run, jumped, and danced about, full of childish delight. Boots!think of it, she who for three years had not even been able to wear aslipper. 

Pierre, who had become grave, waxing pale with the secret uneasinesswhich was penetrating him, continued to look at her. And he also askedher other questions. She was certainly not lying, and he merely suspecteda slow distortion of the actual truth, an easily explained embellishmentof the real facts amidst all the joy she felt at being cured and becomingan important little personage. Who now knew if the cicatrisation of herinjuries, effected, so it was asserted, completely, instantaneously, in afew seconds, had not in reality been the work of days? Where were thewitnesses?

Just then Madame de Jonquiere began to relate that she had been at thehospital at the time referred to. "Sophie was not in my ward, " said she, "but I had met her walking lame that very morning--"

Pierre hastily interrupted the lady-hospitaller. "Ah! you saw her footbefore and after the immersion?"

"No, no! I don't think that anybody was able to see it, for it was boundround with bandages. She told you that the bandages had fallen into thepiscina. " And, turning towards the child, Madame de Jonquiere added, "Butshe will show you her foot--won't you, Sophie? Undo your shoe. "

The girl took off her shoe, and pulled down her stocking, with apromptness and ease of manner which showed how thoroughly accustomed shehad become to it all. And she not only stretched out her foot, which wasvery clean and very white, carefully tended indeed, with well-cut, pinknails, but complacently turned it so that the young priest might examineit at his ease. Just below the ankle there was a long scar, whose whityseam, plainly defined, testified to the gravity of the complaint fromwhich the girl had suffered. 

"Oh! take hold of the heel, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said she. "Press it as hardas you like. I no longer feel any pain at all. "

Pierre made a gesture from which it might have been thought that he wasdelighted with the power exercised by the Blessed Virgin. But he wasstill tortured by doubt. What unknown force had acted in this case? Orrather what faulty medical diagnosis, what assemblage of errors andexaggerations, had ended in this fine tale?

All the patients, however, wished to see the miraculous foot, thatoutward and visible sign of the divine cure which each of them was goingin search of. And it was Marie, sitting up in her box, and alreadyfeeling less pain, who touched it first. Then Madame Maze, quite rousedfrom her melancholy, passed it on to Madame Vincent, who would havekissed it for the hope which it restored to her. M. Sabathier hadlistened to all the explanations with a beatific air; Madame Vetu, LaGrivotte, and even Brother Isidore opened their eyes, and evinced signsof interest; whilst the face of Elise Rouquet had assumed anextraordinary expression, transfigured by faith, almost beatified. If asore had thus disappeared, might not her own sore close and disappear, her face retaining no trace of it save a slight scar, and again becomingsuch a face as other people had? Sophie, who was still standing, had tohold on to one of the iron rails, and place her foot on the partition, now on the right, now on the left. And she did not weary of it all, butfelt exceedingly happy and proud at the many exclamations which wereraised, the quivering admiration and religious respect which werebestowed on that little piece of her person, that little foot which hadnow, so to say, become sacred. 

"One must possess great faith, no doubt, " said Marie, thinking aloud. "One must have a pure unspotted soul. " And, addressing herself to M. DeGuersaint, she added: "Father, I feel that I should get well if I wereten years old, if I had the unspotted soul of a little girl. "

"But you are ten years old, my darling! Is it not so, Pierre? A littlegirl of ten years old could not have a more spotless soul. "

Possessed of a mind prone to chimeras, M. De Guersaint was fond ofhearing tales of miracles. As for the young priest, profoundly affectedby the ardent purity which the young girl evinced, he no longer sought todiscuss the question, but let her surrender herself to the consolingillusions which Sophie's tale had wafted through the carriage. 

The temperature had become yet more oppressive since their departure fromPoitiers, a storm was rising in the coppery sky, and it seemed as thoughthe train were rushing through a furnace. The villages passed, mournfuland solitary under the burning sun. At Couhe-Verac they had again saidtheir chaplets, and sung another canticle. At present, however, there wassome slight abatement of the religious exercises. Sister Hyacinthe, whohad not yet been able to lunch, ventured to eat a roll and some fruit inall haste, whilst still ministering to the strange man whose faint, painful breathing seemed to have become more regular. And it was only onpassing Ruffec at three o'clock that they said the vespers of the BlessedVirgin. 

"_Ora pro nobis, sancta Dei Genitrix_. "

"_Ut digni efficiamur promissionibus Christi_. "*

 * "Pray for us, O holy Mother of God, That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ. "

As they were finishing, M. Sabathier, who had watched little Sophie whileshe put on her shoe and stocking, turned towards M. De Guersaint. 

"This child's case is interesting, no doubt, " he remarked. "But it is amere nothing, monsieur, for there have been far more marvellous curesthan that. Do you know the story of Pierre de Rudder, a Belgianworking-man?"

Everybody had again begun to listen. 

"This man, " continued M. Sabathier, "had his leg broken by the fall of atree. Eight years afterwards the two fragments of the bone had not yetjoined together again--the two ends could be seen in the depths of a sorewhich was continually suppurating; and the leg hung down quite limp, swaying in all directions. Well, it was sufficient for this man to drinka glassful of the miraculous water, and his leg was made whole again. Hewas able to walk without crutches, and the doctor said to him: 'Your legis like that of a new-born child. ' Yes, indeed, a perfectly new leg. "

Nobody spoke, but the listeners exchanged glances of ecstasy. 

"And, by the way, " resumed M. Sabathier, "it is like the story of LouisBouriette, a quarryman, one of the first of the Lourdes miracles. Do youknow it? Bouriette had been injured by an explosion during some blastingoperations. The sight of his right eye was altogether destroyed, and hewas even threatened with the loss of the left one. Well, one day he senthis daughter to fetch a bottleful of the muddy water of the source, whichthen scarcely bubbled up to the surface. He washed his eye with thismuddy liquid, and prayed fervently. And, all at once, he raised a cry, for he could see, monsieur, see as well as you and I. The doctor who wasattending him drew up a detailed narrative of the case, and there cannotbe the slightest doubt about its truth. "

"It is marvellous, " murmured M. De Guersaint in his delight. 

"Would you like another example, monsieur? I can give you a famous one, that of Francois Macary, the carpenter of Lavaur. During eighteen yearshe had suffered from a deep varicose ulcer, with considerable enlargementof the tissues in the mesial part of the left leg. He had reached such apoint that he could no longer move, and science decreed that he wouldforever remain infirm. Well, one evening he shuts himself up with abottle of Lourdes water. He takes off his bandages, washes both his legs, and drinks what little water then remains in the bottle. Then he goes tobed and falls asleep; and when he awakes, he feels his legs and looks atthem. There is nothing left; the varicose enlargement, the ulcers, haveall disappeared. The skin of his knee, monsieur, had become as smooth, asfresh as it had been when he was twenty. "

This time there was an explosion of surprise and admiration. The patientsand the pilgrims were entering into the enchanted land of miracles, whereimpossibilities are accomplished at each bend of the pathways, where onemarches on at ease from prodigy to prodigy. And each had his or her storyto tell, burning with a desire to contribute a fresh proof, to fortifyfaith and hope by yet another example. 

That silent creature, Madame Maze, was so transported that she spoke thefirst. "I have a friend, " said she, "who knew the Widow Rizan, that ladywhose cure also created so great a stir. For four-and-twenty years herleft side had been entirely paralysed. Her stomach was unable to retainany solid food, and she had become an inert bag of bones which had to beturned over in bed, The friction of the sheets, too, had ended by rubbingher skin away in parts. Well, she was so low one evening that the doctorannounced that she would die during the night. An hour later, however, she emerged from her torpor and asked her daughter in a faint voice to goand fetch her a glass of Lourdes water from a neighbour's. But she wasonly able to obtain this glass of water on the following morning; and shecried out to her daughter: 'Oh! it is life that I am drinking--rub myface with it, rub my arm and my leg, rub my whole body with it!' And whenher daughter obeyed her, she gradually saw the huge swelling subside, andthe paralysed, tumefied limbs recover their natural suppleness andappearance. Nor was that all, for Madame Rizan cried out that she wascured and felt hungry, and wanted bread and meat--she who had eaten nonefor four-and-twenty years! And she got out of bed and dressed herself, whilst her daughter, who was so overpowered that the neighbours thoughtshe had become an orphan, replied to them: 'No, no, mamma isn't dead, shehas come to life again!'"

This narrative had brought tears to Madame Vincent's eyes. Ah! if she hadonly been able to see her little Rose recover like that, eat with a goodappetite, and run about again! At the same time, another case, which shehad been told of in Paris and which had greatly influenced her indeciding to take her ailing child to Lourdes, returned to her memory. 

"And I, too, " said she, "know the story of a girl who was paralysed. Hername was Lucie Druon, and she was an inmate of an orphan asylum. She wasquite young and could not even kneel down. Her limbs were bent likehoops. Her right leg, the shorter of the two, had ended by becomingtwisted round the left one; and when any of the other girls carried herabout you saw her feet hanging down quite limp, like dead ones. Pleasenotice that she did not even go to Lourdes. She simply performed anovena; but she fasted during the nine days, and her desire to be curedwas so great that she spent her nights in prayer. At last, on the ninthday, whilst she was drinking a little Lourdes water, she felt a violentcommotion in her legs. She picked herself up, fell down, picked herselfup again and walked. All her little companions, who were astonished, almost frightened at the sight, began to cry out 'Lucie can walk! Luciecan walk!' It was quite true. In a few seconds her legs had becomestraight and strong and healthy. She crossed the courtyard and was ableto climb up the steps of the chapel, where the whole sisterhood, transported with gratitude, chanted the _Magnificat_. Ah! the dear child, how happy, how happy she must have been!"

As Madame Vincent finished, two tears fell from her cheeks on to the paleface of her little girl, whom she kissed distractedly. 

The general interest was still increasing, becoming quite impassioned. The rapturous joy born of these beautiful stories, in which Heaveninvariably triumphed over human reality, transported these childlikesouls to such a point that those who were suffering the most grievouslysat up in their turn, and recovered the power of speech. And with thenarratives of one and all was blended a thought of the sufferer's ownailment, a belief that he or she would also be cured, since a malady ofthe same description had vanished like an evil dream beneath the breathof the Divinity. 

"Ah!" stammered Madame Vetu, her articulation hindered by her sufferings, "there was another one, Antoinette Thardivail, whose stomach was beingeaten away like mine. You would have said that dogs were devouring it, and sometimes there was a swelling in it as big as a child's head. Tumours indeed were ever forming in it, like fowl's eggs, so that foreight months she brought up blood. And she also was at the point ofdeath, with nothing but her skin left on her bones, and dying of hunger, when she drank some water of Lourdes and had the pit of her stomachwashed with it. Three minutes afterwards, her doctor, who on the previousday had left her almost in the last throes, scarce breathing, found herup and sitting by the fireside, eating a tender chicken's wing with agood appetite. She had no more tumours, she laughed as she had laughedwhen she was twenty, and her face had regained the brilliancy of youth. Ah! to be able to eat what one likes, to become young again, to ceasesuffering!"

"And the cure of Sister Julienne!" then exclaimed La Grivotte, raisingherself on one of her elbows, her eyes glittering with fever. "In hercase it commenced with a bad cold as it did with me, and then she beganto spit blood. And every six months she fell ill again and had to take toher bed. The last time everybody said that she wouldn't leave it alive. The doctors had vainly tried every remedy, iodine, blistering, andcauterising. In fact, hers was a real case of phthisis, certified by halfa dozen medical men. Well, she comes to Lourdes, and Heaven alone knowsamidst what awful suffering--she was so bad, indeed, that at Toulousethey thought for a moment that she was about to die! The Sisters had tocarry her in their arms, and on reaching the piscina thelady-hospitallers wouldn't bathe her. She was dead, they said. No matter!she was undressed at last, and plunged into the water, quite unconsciousand covered with perspiration. And when they took her out she was so palethat they laid her on the ground, thinking that it was certainly all overwith her at last. But, all at once, colour came back to her cheeks, hereyes opened, and she drew a long breath. She was cured; she dressedherself without any help and made a good meal after she had been to theGrotto to thank the Blessed Virgin. There! there's no gainsaying it, thatwas a real case of phthisis, completely cured as though by medicine!"

Thereupon Brother Isidore in his turn wished to speak; but he was unableto do so at any length, and could only with difficulty manage to say tohis sister: "Marthe, tell them the story of Sister Dorothee which thepriest of Saint-Sauveur related to us. "

"Sister Dorothee, " began the peasant girl in an awkward way, "felt herleg quite numbed when she got up one morning, and from that time she lostthe use of it, for it got as cold and as heavy as a stone. Besides whichshe felt a great pain in the back. The doctors couldn't understand it. She saw half a dozen of them, who pricked her with pins and burnt herskin with a lot of drugs. But it was just as if they had sung to her. Sister Dorothee had well understood that only the Blessed Virgin couldfind the right remedy for her, and so she went off to Lourdes, and hadherself dipped in the piscina. She thought at first that the water wasgoing to kill her, for it was so bitterly cold. But by-and-by it becameso soft that she fancied it was warm, as nice as milk. She had never feltso nice before, it seemed to her as if her veins were opening and thewater were flowing into them. As you will understand, life was returninginto her body since the Blessed Virgin was concerning herself in thecase. She no longer had anything the matter with her when she came out, but walked about, ate the whole of a pigeon for her dinner, and slept allnight long like the happy woman she was. Glory to the Blessed Virgin, eternal gratitude to the most Powerful Mother and her Divine Son!"

Elise Rouquet would also have liked to bring forward a miracle which shewas acquainted with. Only she spoke with so much difficulty owing to thedeformity of her mouth, that she had not yet been able to secure a turn. Just then, however, there was a pause, and drawing the wrap, whichconcealed the horror of her sore, slightly on one side, she profited bythe opportunity to begin. 

"For my part, I wasn't told anything about a great illness, but it was avery funny case at all events, " she said. "It was about a woman, Celestine Dubois, as she was called, who had run a needle right into herhand while she was washing. It stopped there for seven years, for nodoctor was able to take it out. Her hand shrivelled up, and she could nolonger open it. Well, she got to Lourdes, and dipped her hand into thepiscina. But as soon as she did so she began to shriek, and took it outagain. Then they caught hold of her and put her hand into the water byforce, and kept it there while she continued sobbing, with her facecovered with sweat. Three times did they plunge her hand into thepiscina, and each time they saw the needle moving along, till it came outby the tip of the thumb. She shrieked, of course, because the needle wasmoving though her flesh just as though somebody had been pushing it todrive it out. And after that Celestine never suffered again, and only alittle scar could be seen on her hand as a mark of what the BlessedVirgin had done. "

This anecdote produced a greater effect than even the miraculous cures ofthe most fearful illnesses. A needle which moved as though somebody werepushing it! This peopled the Invisible, showed each sufferer his GuardianAngel standing behind him, only awaiting the orders of Heaven in order torender him assistance. And besides, how pretty and childlike the storywas--this needle which came out in the miraculous water after obstinatelyrefusing to stir during seven long years. Exclamations of delightresounded from all the pleased listeners; they smiled and laughed withsatisfaction, radiant at finding that nothing was beyond the power ofHeaven, and that if it were Heaven's pleasure they themselves would allbecome healthy, young, and superb. It was sufficient that one shouldfervently believe and pray in order that nature might be confounded andthat the Incredible might come to pass. Apart from that there was merelya question of good luck, since Heaven seemed to make a selection of thosesufferers who should be cured. 

"Oh! how beautiful it is, father, " murmured Marie, who, revived by thepassionate interest which she took in the momentous subject, had so farcontented herself with listening, dumb with amazement as it were. "Do youremember, " she continued, "what you yourself told me of that poor woman, Joachine Dehaut, who came from Belgium and made her way right acrossFrance with her twisted leg eaten away by an ulcer, the awful smell ofwhich drove everybody away from her? First of all the ulcer was healed;you could press her knee and she felt nothing, only a slight rednessremained to mark where it had been. And then came the turn of thedislocation. She shrieked while she was in the water, it seemed to her asif somebody were breaking her bones, pulling her leg away from her; and, at the same time, she and the woman who was bathing her, saw her deformedfoot rise and extend into its natural shape with the regular movement ofa clock hand. Her leg also straightened itself, the muscles extended, theknee replaced itself in its proper position, all amidst such acute painthat Joachine ended by fainting. But as soon as she recoveredconsciousness, she darted off, erect and agile, to carry her crutches tothe Grotto. "

M. De Guersaint in his turn was laughing with wonderment, waving his handto confirm this story, which had been told him by a Father of theAssumption. He could have related a score of similar instances, said he, each more touching, more extraordinary than the other. He even invokedPierre's testimony, and the young priest, who was unable to believe, contented himself with nodding his head. At first, unwilling as he was toafflict Marie, he had striven to divert his thoughts by gazing though thecarriage window at the fields, trees, and houses which defiled before hiseyes. They had just passed Angouleme, and meadows stretched out, andlines of poplar trees fled away amidst the continuous fanning of the air, which the velocity of the train occasioned. 

They were late, no doubt, for they were hastening onward at full speed, thundering along under the stormy sky, through the fiery atmosphere, devouring kilometre after kilometre in swift succession. However, despitehimself, Pierre heard snatches of the various narratives, and grewinterested in these extravagant stories, which the rough jolting of thewheels accompanied like a lullaby, as though the engine had been turnedloose and were wildly bearing them away to the divine land of dreams, They were rolling, still rolling along, and Pierre at last ceased to gazeat the landscape, and surrendered himself to the heavy, sleep-invitingatmosphere of the carriage, where ecstasy was growing and spreading, carrying everyone far from the world of reality across which they were sorapidly rushing, The sight of Marie's face with its brightened lookfilled the young priest with sincere joy, and he let her retain his hand, which she had taken in order to acquaint him, by the pressure of herfingers, with all the confidence which was reviving in her soul. And whyshould he have saddened her by his doubts, since he was so desirous ofher cure? So he continued clasping her small, moist hand, feelinginfinite affection for her, a dolorous brotherly love which distractedhim, and made him anxious to believe in the pity of the spheres, in asuperior kindness which tempered suffering to those who were plunged indespair, "Oh!" she repeated, "how beautiful it is, Pierre! How beautifulit is! And what glory it will be if the Blessed Virgin deigns to disturbherself for me! Do you really think me worthy of such a favour?"

"Assuredly I do, " he exclaimed; "you are the best and the purest, with aspotless soul as your father said; there are not enough good angels inParadise to form your escort. "

But the narratives were not yet finished. Sister Hyacinthe and Madame deJonquiere were now enumerating all the miracles with which they wereacquainted, the long, long series of miracles which for more than thirtyyears had been flowering at Lourdes, like the uninterrupted budding ofthe roses on the Mystical Rose-tree. They could be counted by thousands, they put forth fresh shoots every year with prodigious verdancy of sap, becoming brighter and brighter each successive season. And the suffererswho listened to these marvellous stories with increasing feverishnesswere like little children who, after hearing one fine fairy tale, ask foranother, and another, and yet another. Oh! that they might have more andmore of those stories in which evil reality was flouted, in which unjustnature was cuffed and slapped, in which the Divinity intervened as thesupreme healer, He who laughs at science and distributes happinessaccording to His own good pleasure. 

First of all there were the deaf and the dumb who suddenly heard andspoke; such as Aurelie Bruneau, who was incurably deaf, with the drums ofboth ears broken, and yet was suddenly enraptured by the celestial musicof a harmonium; such also as Louise Pourchet, who on her side had beendumb for five-and-twenty years, and yet, whilst praying in the Grotto, suddenly exclaimed, "Hail, Mary, full of grace!" And there were others andyet others who were completely cured by merely letting a few drops ofwater fall into their ears or upon their tongues. Then came the processionof the blind: Father Hermann, who felt the Blessed Virgin's gentle handremoving the veil which covered his eyes; Mademoiselle de Pontbriant, whowas threatened with a total loss of sight, but after a simple prayer wasenabled to see better than she had ever seen before; then a child twelveyears old whose corneas resembled marbles, but who, in three seconds, became possessed of clear, deep eyes, bright with an angelic smile. However, there was especially an abundance of paralytics, of lame peoplesuddenly enabled to walk upright, of sufferers for long years powerless tostir from their beds of misery and to whom the voice said: "Arise andwalk!" Delannoy, * afflicted with ataxia, vainly cauterised and burnt, fifteen times an inmate of the Paris hospitals, whence he had emerged withthe concurring diagnosis of twelve doctors, feels a strange force raisinghim up as the Blessed Sacrament goes by, and he begins to follow it, hislegs strong and healthy once more. Marie Louise Delpon, a girl offourteen, suffering from paralysis which had stiffened her legs, drawnback her hands, and twisted her mouth on one side, sees her limbs loosenand the distortion of her mouth disappear as though an invisible hand weresevering the fearful bonds which had deformed her. Marie Vachier, rivetedto her arm-chair during seventeen years by paraplegia, not only runs andflies on emerging from the piscina, but finds no trace even of the soreswith which her long-enforced immobility had covered her body. And GeorgesHanquet, attacked by softening of the spinal marrow, passes withouttransition from agony to perfect health; while Leonie Charton, likewiseafflicted with softening of the medulla, and whose vertebrae bulge out toa considerable extent, feels her hump melting away as though byenchantment, and her legs rise and straighten, renovated and vigorous. 

 * This was one of the most notorious of the recorded cases and had a very strange sequel subsequent to the first publication of this work. Pierre Delannoy had been employed as a ward-assistant in one of the large Paris hospitals from 1877 to 1881, when he came to the conclusion that the life of an in-patient was far preferable to the one he was leading. He, therefore, resolved to pass the rest of his days inside different hospitals in the capacity of invalid. He started by feigning locomotor ataxia, and for six years deceived the highest medical experts in Paris, so curiously did he appear to suffer. He stayed in turn in all the hospitals in the city, being treated with every care and consideration, until at last he met with a doctor who insisted on cauterisation and other disagreeable remedies. Delannoy thereupon opined that the time to be cured had arrived, and cured he became, and was discharged. He next appeared at Lourdes, supported by crutches, and presenting every symptom of being hopelessly crippled. With other infirm and decrepid people he was dipped in the piscina and so efficacious did this treatment prove that he came out another man, threw his crutches to the ground and walked, as an onlooker expressed it, "like a rural postman. " All Lourdes rang with the fame of the miracle, and the Church, after starring Delannoy round the country as a specimen of what could be done at the holy spring, placed him in charge of a home for invalids. But this was too much like hard work, and he soon decamped with all the money he could lay his hands on. Returning to Paris he was admitted to the Hospital of Ste. Anne as suffering from mental debility, but this did not prevent him from running off one night with about $300 belonging to a dispenser. The police were put on his track and arrested him in May, 1895, when he tried to pass himself off as a lunatic; but he had become by this time too well known, and was indicted in due course. At his trial he energetically denied that he had ever shammed, but the Court would not believe him, and sentenced him to four years' imprisonment with hard labour. --Trans. 

Then came all sorts of ailments. First those brought about by scrofula--agreat many more legs long incapable of service and made anew. There wasMargaret Gehier, who had suffered from coxalgia for seven-and-twentyyears, whose hip was devoured by the disease, whose left knee wasanchylosed, and who yet was suddenly able to fall upon her knees to thankthe Blessed Virgin for healing her. There was also Philomene Simonneau, the young Vendeenne, whose left leg was perforated by three horriblesores in the depths of which her carious bones were visible, and whosebones, whose flesh, and whose skin were all formed afresh. 

Next came the dropsical ones: Madame Ancelin, the swelling of whose feet, hands, and entire body subsided without anyone being able to tell whitherall the water had gone; Mademoiselle Montagnon, from whom, on variousoccasions, nearly twenty quarts of water had been drawn, and who, onagain swelling, was entirely rid of the fluid by the application of abandage which had been dipped in the miraculous source. And, in her casealso, none of the water could be found, either in her bed or on thefloor. In the same way, not a complaint of the stomach resisted, alldisappeared with the first glass of water. There was Marie Souchet, whovomited black blood, who had wasted to a skeleton, and who devoured herfood and recovered her flesh in two days' time! There was Marie Jarlaud, who had burnt herself internally through drinking a glass of a metallicsolution used for cleansing and brightening kitchen utensils, and whofelt the tumour which had resulted from her injuries melt rapidly away. Moreover, every tumour disappeared in this fashion, in the piscina, without leaving the slightest trace behind. But that which caused yetgreater wonderment was the manner in which ulcers, cancers, all sorts ofhorrible, visible sores were cicatrised as by a breath from on high. AJew, an actor, whose hand was devoured by an ulcer, merely had to dip itin the water and he was cured. A very wealthy young foreigner, who had awen as large as a hen's egg, on his right wrist, _beheld_ it dissolve. Rose Duval, who, as a result of a white tumour, had a hole in her leftelbow, large enough to accommodate a walnut, was able to watch and followthe prompt action of the new flesh in filling up this cavity! The WidowFromond, with a lip half decoyed by a cancerous formation, merely had toapply the miraculous water to it as a lotion, and not even a red markremained. Marie Moreau, who experienced fearful sufferings from a cancerin the breast, fell asleep, after laying on it a linen cloth soaked insome water of Lourdes, and when she awoke, two hours later, the pain haddisappeared, and her flesh was once more smooth and pink and fresh. 

At last Sister Hyacinthe began to speak of the immediate and completecures of phthisis, and this was the triumph, the healing of that terribledisease which ravages humanity, which unbelievers defied the BlessedVirgin to cure, but which she did cure, it was said, by merely raisingher little finger. A hundred instances, more extraordinary one than theother, pressed forward for citation. 

Marguerite Coupel, who had suffered from phthisis for three years, andthe upper part of whose lungs is destroyed by tuberculosis, rises up andgoes off, radiant with health. Madame de la Riviere, who spits blood, whois ever covered with a cold perspiration, whose nails have alreadyacquired a violet tinge, who is indeed on the point of drawing her lastbreath, requires but a spoonful of the water to be administered to herbetween her teeth, and lo! the rattles cease, she sits up, makes theresponses to the litanies, and asks for some broth. Julie Jadot requiresfour spoonfuls; but then she could no longer hold up her head, she was ofsuch a delicate constitution that disease had reduced her to nothing; andyet, in a few days, she becomes quite fat. Anna Catry, who is in the mostadvanced stage of the malady, with her left lung half destroyed by acavity, is plunged five times into the cold water, contrary to all thedictates of prudence, and she is cured, her lung is healthy once more. Another consumptive girl, condemned by fifteen doctors, has askednothing, has simply fallen on her knees in the Grotto, by chance as itwere, and is afterwards quite surprised at having been cured _aupassage_, through the lucky circumstance of having been there, no doubt, at the hour when the Blessed Virgin, moved to pity, allows miracles tofall from her invisible hands. 

Miracles and yet more miracles! They rained down like the flowers ofdreams from a clear and balmy sky. Some of them were touching, some ofthem were childish. An old woman, who, having her hand anchylosed, hadbeen incapable of moving it for thirty years, washes it in the water andis at once able to make the sign of the Cross. Sister Sophie, who barkedlike a dog, plunges into the piscina and emerges from it with a clear, pure voice, chanting a canticle. Mustapha, a Turk, invokes the White Ladyand recovers the use of his right eye by applying a compress to it. Anofficer of Turcos was protected at Sedan; a cuirassier of Reichsoffenwould have died, pierced in the heart by a bullet, if this bullet afterpassing though his pocket-book had not stayed its flight on reaching alittle picture of Our Lady of Lourdes! And, as with the men and women, sodid the children, the poor, suffering little ones, find mercy; aparalytic boy of five rose and walked after being held for five minutesunder the icy jet of the spring; another one, fifteen years of age, who, lying in bed, could only raise an inarticulate cry, sprang out of thepiscina, shouting that he was cured; another one, but two years old, apoor tiny fellow who had never been able to walk, remained for a quarterof an hour in the cold water and then, invigorated and smiling, took hisfirst steps like a little man! And for all of them, the little ones aswell as the adults, the pain was acute whilst the miracle was beingaccomplished; for the work of repair could not be effected withoutcausing an extraordinary shock to the whole human organism; the bonesgrew again, new flesh was formed, and the disease, driven away, made itsescape in a final convulsion. But how great was the feeling of comfortwhich followed! The doctors could not believe their eyes, theirastonishment burst forth at each fresh cure, when they saw the patientswhom they had despaired of run and jump and eat with ravenous appetites. All these chosen ones, these women cured of their ailments, walked acouple of miles, sat down to roast fowl, and slept the soundest of sleepsfor a dozen hours. Moreover, there was no convalescence, it was a suddenleap from the death throes to complete health. Limbs were renovated, sores were filled up, organs were reformed in their entirety, plumpnessreturned to the emaciated, all with the velocity of a lightning flash!Science was completely baffled. Not even the most simple precautions weretaken, women were bathed at all times and seasons, perspiringconsumptives were plunged into the icy water, sores were left to theirputrefaction without any thought of employing antiseptics. And then whatcanticles of joy, what shouts of gratitude and love arose at each freshmiracle! The favoured one falls upon her knees, all who are present weep, conversions are effected, Protestants and Jews alike embraceCatholicism--other miracles these, miracles of faith, at which Heaventriumphs. And when the favoured one, chosen for the miracle, returns toher village, all the inhabitants crowd to meet her, whilst the bells pealmerrily; and when she is seen springing lightly from the vehicle whichhas brought her home, shouts and sobs of joy burst forth and all intonatethe _Magnificat_: Glory to the Blessed Virgin! Gratitude and love forever!

Indeed, that which was more particularly evolved from the realisation ofall these hopes, from the celebration of all these ardent thanksgivings, was gratitude--gratitude to the Mother most pure and most admirable. Shewas the great passion of every soul, she, the Virgin most powerful, theVirgin most merciful, the Mirror of Justice, the Seat of Wisdom. * Allhands were stretched towards her, Mystical Rose in the dim light of thechapels, Tower of Ivory on the horizon of dreamland, Gate of Heavenleading into the Infinite. Each day at early dawn she shone forth, brightMorning Star, gay with juvenescent hope. And was she not also the Healthof the weak, the Refuge of sinners, the Comforter of the afflicted?France had ever been her well-loved country, she was adored there with anardent worship, the worship of her womanhood and her motherhood, thesoaring of a divine affection; and it was particularly in France that itpleased her to show herself to little shepherdesses. She was so good tothe little and the humble; she continually occupied herself with them;and if she was appealed to so willingly it was because she was known tobe the intermediary of love betwixt Earth and Heaven. Every evening shewept tears of gold at the feet of her divine Son to obtain favours fromHim, and these favours were the miracles which He permitted her towork, --these beautiful, flower-like miracles, as sweet-scented as theroses of Paradise, so prodigiously splendid and fragrant. 

 * For the information of Protestant and other non-Catholic readers it may be mentioned that all the titles enumerated in this passage are taken from the Litany of the Blessed Virgin. --Trans. 

But the train was still rolling, rolling onward. They had just passedContras, it was six o'clock, and Sister Hyacinthe, rising to her, feet, clapped her hands together and once again repeated: "The Angelus, mychildren!"

Never had "Aves" impregnated with greater faith, inflamed with a morefervent desire to be heard by Heaven, winged their flight on high. AndPierre suddenly understood everything, clearly realised the meaning ofall these pilgrimages, of all these trains rolling along through everycountry of the civilised world, of all these eager crowds, hasteningtowards Lourdes, which blazed over yonder like the abode of salvation forbody and for mind. Ah! the poor wretches whom, ever since morning, he hadheard groaning with pain, the poor wretches who exposed their sorrycarcasses to the fatigues of such a journey! They were all condemned, abandoned by science, weary of consulting doctors, of having tried thetorturing effects of futile remedies. And how well one could understandthat, burning with a desire to preserve their lives, unable to resignthemselves to the injustice and indifference of Nature, they should dreamof a superhuman power, of an almighty Divinity who, in their favour, would perchance annul the established laws, alter the course of theplanets, and reconsider His creation! For if the world failed them, didnot the Divinity remain to them? In their cases reality was tooabominable, and an immense need of illusion and falsehood sprang upwithin them. Oh! to believe that there is a supreme Justiciar somewhere, one who rights the apparent wrongs of things and beings; to believe thatthere is a Redeemer, a consoler who is the real master, who can carry thetorrents back to their source, who can restore youth to the aged, andlife to the dead! And when you are covered with sores, when your limbsare twisted, when your stomach is swollen by tumours, when your lungs aredestroyed by disease, to be able to say that all this is of noconsequence, that everything may disappear and be renewed at a sign fromthe Blessed Virgin, that it is sufficient that you should pray to her, touch her heart, and obtain the favour of being chosen by her. And thenwhat a heavenly fount of hope appeared with the prodigious flow of thosebeautiful stories of cure, those adorable fairy tales which lulled andintoxicated the feverish imaginations of the sick and the infirm. Sincelittle Sophie Couteau, with her white, sound foot, had climbed into thatcarriage, opening to the gaze of those within it the limitless heavens ofthe Divine and the Supernatural, how well one could understand the breathof resurrection that was passing over the world, slowly raising those whodespaired the most from their beds of misery, and making their eyes shinesince life was itself a possibility for them, and they were, perhaps, about to begin it afresh. 

Yes, 't was indeed that. If that woeful train was rolling, rolling on, ifthat carriage was full, if the other carriages were full also, if Franceand the world, from the uttermost limits of the earth, were crossed bysimilar trains, if crowds of three hundred thousand believers, bringingthousands of sick along with them, were ever setting out, from one end ofthe year to the other, it was because the Grotto yonder was shining forthin its glory like a beacon of hope and illusion, like a sign of therevolt and triumph of the Impossible over inexorable materiality. Neverhad a more impassionating romance been devised to exalt the souls of menabove the stern laws of life. To dream that dream, this was the great, the ineffable happiness. If the Fathers of the Assumption had seen thesuccess of their pilgrimages increase and spread from year to year, itwas because they sold to all the flocking peoples the bread ofconsolation and illusion, the delicious bread of hope, for whichsuffering humanity ever hungers with a hunger that nothing will everappease. And it was not merely the physical sores which cried aloud forcure, the whole of man's moral and intellectual being likewise shriekedforth its wretchedness, with an insatiable yearning for happiness. To behappy, to place the certainty of life in faith, to lean till death shouldcome upon that one strong staff of travel--such was the desire exhaled byevery breast, the desire which made every moral grief bend the knee, imploring a continuance of grace, the conversion of dear ones, thespiritual salvation of self and those one loved. The mighty cry spreadfrom pole to pole, ascended and filled all the regions of space: To behappy, happy for evermore, both in life and in death!

And Pierre saw the suffering beings around him lose all perception of thejolting and recover their strength as league by league they drew nearerto the miracle. Even Madame Maze grew talkative, certain as she felt thatthe Blessed Virgin would restore her husband to her. With a smile on herface Madame Vincent gently rocked her little Rose in her arms, thinkingthat she was not nearly so ill as those all but lifeless children who, after being plunged in the icy water, sprang out and played. M. Sabathierjested with M. De Guersaint, and explained to him that, next October, when he had recovered the use of his legs, he should go on a trip toRome--a journey which he had been postponing for fifteen years and more. Madame Vetu, quite calmed, feeling nothing but a slight twinge in thestomach, imagined that she was hungry, and asked Madame de Jonquiere tolet her dip some strips of bread in a glass of milk; whilst EliseRouquet, forgetting her sores, ate some grapes, with face uncovered. Andin La Grivotte who was sitting up and Brother Isidore who had ceasedmoaning, all those fine stories had left a pleasant fever, to such apoint that, impatient to be cured, they grew anxious to know the time. For a minute also the man, the strange man, resuscitated. Whilst SisterHyacinthe was again wiping the cold sweat from his brow, he raised hiseyelids, and a smile momentarily brightened his pallid countenance. Yetonce again he, also, had hoped. 

Marie was still holding Pierre's fingers in her own small, warm hand. Itwas seven o'clock, they were not due at Bordeaux till half-past seven;and the belated train was quickening its pace yet more and more, rushingalong with wild speed in order to make up for the minutes it had lost. The storm had ended by coming down, and now a gentle light of infinitepurity fell from the vast clear heavens. 

"Oh! how beautiful it is, Pierre--how beautiful it is!" Marie againrepeated, pressing his hand with tender affection. And leaning towardshim, she added in an undertone: "I beheld the Blessed Virgin a littlewhile ago, Pierre, and it was your cure that I implored and shallobtain. "

The priest, who understood her meaning, was thrown into confusion by thedivine light which gleamed in her eyes as she fixed them on his own. Shehad forgotten her own sufferings; that which she had asked for was hisconversion; and that prayer of faith, emanating, pure and candid, fromthat dear, suffering creature, upset his soul. Yet why should he notbelieve some day? He himself had been distracted by all thoseextraordinary narratives. The stifling heat of the carriage had made himdizzy, the sight of all the woe heaped up there caused his heart to bleedwith pity. And contagion was doing its work; he no longer knew where thereal and the possible ceased, he lacked the power to disentangle such amass of stupefying facts, to explain such as admitted of explanation andreject the others. At one moment, indeed, as a hymn once more resoundedand carried him off with its stubborn importunate rhythm, he ceased to bemaster of himself, and imagined that he was at last beginning to believeamidst the hallucinatory vertigo which reigned in that travellinghospital, rolling, ever rolling onward at full speed. 

V. BERNADETTE

THE train left Bordeaux after a stoppage of a few minutes, during whichthose who had not dined hastened to purchase some provisions. Moreover, the ailing ones were constantly drinking milk, and asking for biscuits, like little children. And, as soon as they were off again, SisterHyacinthe clapped her hands, and exclaimed: "Come, let us make haste; theevening prayer. "

Thereupon, during a quarter of an hour came a confused murmuring, made upof "Paters" and "Aves, " self-examinations, acts of contrition, and vowsof trustful reliance in God, the Blessed Virgin, and the Saints, withthanksgiving for protection and preservation that day, and, at last, aprayer for the living and for the faithful departed. 

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen. "

It was ten minutes past eight o'clock, the shades of night were alreadybedimming the landscape--a vast plain which the evening mist seemed toprolong into the infinite, and where, far away, bright dots of lightshone out from the windows of lonely, scattered houses. In the carriage, the lights of the lamps were flickering, casting a subdued yellow glow onthe luggage and the pilgrims, who were sorely shaken by the spreadingtendency of the train's motion. 

"You know, my children, " resumed Sister Hyacinthe, who had remainedstanding, "I shall order silence when we get to Lamothe, in about anhour's time. So you have an hour to amuse yourselves, but you must bereasonable and not excite yourselves too much. And when we have passedLamothe, you hear me, there must not be another word, another sound, youmust all go to sleep. "

This made them laugh. 

"Oh! but it is the rule, you know, " added the Sister, "and surely youhave too much sense not to obey me. "

Since the morning they had punctually fulfilled the programme ofreligious exercises specified for each successive hour. And now that allthe prayers had been said, the beads told, the hymns chanted, the day'sduties were over, and a brief interval for recreation was allowed beforesleeping. They were, however, at a loss as to what they should do. 

"Sister, " suddenly said Marie, "if you would allow Monsieur l'Abbe toread to us--he reads extremely well, --and as it happens I have a littlebook with me--a history of Bernadette which is so interesting--"

The others did nor let her finish, but with the suddenly awakened desireof children to whom a beautiful story has been promised, loudlyexclaimed: "Oh! yes, Sister. Oh! yes, Sister--"

"Of course I will allow it, " replied Sister Hyacinthe, "since it is aquestion of reading something instructive and edifying. "

Pierre was obliged to consent. But to be able to read the book he wishedto be under the lamp, and it was necessary that he should change seatswith M. De Guersaint, whom the promise of a story had delighted as muchas it did the ailing ones. And when the young priest, after changingseats and declaring that he would be able to see well enough, at lastopened the little book, a quiver of curiosity sped from one end of thecarriage to the other, and every head was stretched out, lending ear withrapt attention. Fortunately, Pierre had a clear, powerful voice and madehimself distinctly heard above the wheels, which, now that the traintravelled across a vast level plain, gave out but a subdued, rumblingsound. 

Before beginning, however, the young priest had examined the book. It wasone of those little works of propaganda issued from the Catholicprinting-presses and circulated in profusion throughout all Christendom. Badly printed, on wretched paper, it was adorned on its blue cover with alittle wood-cut of Our Lady of Lourdes, a naive design alike stiff andawkward. The book itself was short, and half an hour would certainlysuffice to read it from cover to cover without hurrying. 

Accordingly, in his fine, clear voice, with its penetrating, musicaltones, he began his perusal as follows:--

"It happened at Lourdes, a little town near the Pyrenees, on a Thursday, February 11, 1858. The weather was cold, and somewhat cloudy, and in thehumble home of a poor but honest miller named Francois Soubirous therewas no wood to cook the dinner. The miller's wife, Louise, said to heryounger daughter Marie, 'Go and gather some wood on the bank of the Gaveor on the common-land. ' The Gave is a torrent which passes throughLourdes. 

"Marie had an elder sister, named Bernadette, who had lately arrived fromthe country, where some worthy villagers had employed her as ashepherdess. She was a slender, delicate, extremely innocent child, andknew nothing except her rosary. Louise Soubirous hesitated to send herout with her sister, on account of the cold, but at last, yielding to theentreaties of Marie and a young girl of the neighbourhood called JeanneAbadie, she consented to let her go. 

"Following the bank of the torrent and gathering stray fragments of deadwood, the three maidens at last found themselves in front of the Grotto, hollowed out in a huge mass of rock which the people of the districtcalled Massabielle. "

Pierre had reached this point and was turning the page when he suddenlypaused and let the little book fall on his knees. The childish characterof the narrative, its ready-made, empty phraseology, filled him withimpatience. He himself possessed quite a collection of documentsconcerning this extraordinary story, had passionately studied even itsmost trifling details, and in the depths of his heart retained a feelingof tender affection and infinite pity for Bernadette. He had justreflected, too, that on the very next day he would be able to begin thatdecisive inquiry which he had formerly dreamt of making at Lourdes. Infact, this was one of the reasons which had induced him to accompanyMarie on her journey. And he was now conscious of an awakening of all hiscuriosity respecting the Visionary, whom he loved because he felt thatshe had been a girl of candid soul, truthful and ill-fated, though at thesame time he would much have liked to analyse and explain her case. Assuredly, she had not lied, she had indeed beheld a vision and heardvoices, like Joan of Arc; and like Joan of Arc also, she was now, in theopinion of the devout, accomplishing the deliverance of France--from sinif not from invaders. Pierre wondered what force could have producedher--her and her work. How was it that the visionary faculty had becomedeveloped in that lowly girl, so distracting believing souls as to bringabout a renewal of the miracles of primitive times, as to found almost anew religion in the midst of a Holy City, built at an outlay of millions, and ever invaded by crowds of worshippers more numerous and more exaltedin mind than had ever been known since the days of the Crusades?

And so, ceasing to read the book, Pierre began to tell his companions allthat he knew, all that he had divined and reconstructed of that storywhich is yet so obscure despite the vast rivers of ink which it hasalready caused to flow. He knew the country and its manners and customs, through his long conversations with his friend Doctor Chassaigne. And hewas endowed with charming fluency of language, an emotional power ofexquisite purity, many remarkable gifts well fitting him to be a pulpitorator, which he never made use of, although he had known them to bewithin him ever since his seminary days. When the occupants of thecarriage perceived that he knew the story, far better and in far greaterdetail than it appeared in Marie's little book, and that he related italso in such a gentle yet passionate way, there came an increase ofattention, and all those afflicted souls hungering for happiness wentforth towards him. First came the story of Bernadette's childhood atBartres, where she had grown up in the abode of her foster-mother, MadameLagues, who, having lost an infant of her own, had rendered those poorfolks, the Soubirouses, the service of suckling and keeping their childfor them. Bartres, a village of four hundred souls, at a league or sofrom Lourdes, lay as it were in a desert oasis, sequestered amidstgreenery, and far from any frequented highway. The road dips down, thefew houses are scattered over grassland, divided by hedges and plantedwith walnut and chestnut trees, whilst the clear rivulets, which arenever silent, follow the sloping banks beside the pathways, and nothingrises on high save the small ancient romanesque church, which is perchedon a hillock, covered with graves. Wooded slopes undulate upon all sides. Bartres lies in a hollow amidst grass of delicious freshness, grass ofintense greenness, which is ever moist at the roots, thanks to theeternal subterraneous expanse of water which is fed by the mountaintorrents. And Bernadette, who, since becoming a big girl, had paid forher keep by tending lambs, was wont to take them with her, season afterseason, through all the greenery where she never met a soul. It was onlynow and then, from the summit of some slope, that she saw the far-awaymountains, the Pic du Midi, the Pic de Viscos, those masses which roseup, bright or gloomy, according to the weather, and which stretched awayto other peaks, lightly and faintly coloured, vaguely and confusedlyoutlined, like apparitions seen in dreams. 

Then came the home of the Lagueses, where her cradle was still preserved, a solitary, silent house, the last of the village. A meadow planted withpear and apple trees, and only separated from the open country by anarrow stream which one could jump across, stretched out in front of thehouse. Inside the latter, a low and damp abode, there were, on eitherside of the wooden stairway leading to the loft, but two spacious rooms, flagged with stones, and each containing four or five beds. The girls, who slept together, fell asleep at even, gazing at the fine picturesaffixed to the walls, whilst the big clock in its pinewood case gravelystruck the hours in the midst of the deep silence. 

Ah! those years at Bartres; in what sweet peacefulness did Bernadettelive them! Yet she grew up very thin, always in bad health, sufferingfrom a nervous asthma which stifled her in the least veering of the wind;and on attaining her twelfth year she could neither read nor write, norspeak otherwise than in dialect, having remained quite infantile, behindhand in mind as in body. She was a very good little girl, verygentle and well behaved, and but little different from other children, except that instead of talking she preferred to listen. Limited as washer intelligence, she often evinced much natural common-sense, and attimes was prompt in her _reparties_, with a kind of simple gaiety whichmade one smile. It was only with infinite trouble that she was taught herrosary, and when she knew it she seemed bent on carrying her knowledge nofurther, but repeated it all day long, so that whenever you met her withher lambs, she invariably had her chaplet between her fingers, diligentlytelling each successive "Pater" and "Ave. " For long, long hours she livedlike this on the grassy slopes of the hills, hidden away and haunted asit were amidst the mysteries of the foliage, seeing nought of the worldsave the crests of the distant mountains, which, for an instant, everynow and then, would soar aloft in the radiant light, as ethereal as thepeaks of dreamland. 

Days followed days, and Bernadette roamed, dreaming her one narrow dream, repeating the sole prayer she knew, which gave her amidst her solitude, so fresh and naively infantile, no other companion and friend than theBlessed Virgin. But what pleasant evenings she spent in the winter-timein the room on the left, where a fire was kept burning! Her foster-motherhad a brother, a priest, who occasionally read some marvellous stories tothem--stories of saints, prodigious adventures of a kind to make onetremble with mingled fear and joy, in which Paradise appeared upon earth, whilst the heavens opened and a glimpse was caught of the splendour ofthe angels. The books he brought with him were often full ofpictures--God the Father enthroned amidst His glory; Jesus, so gentle andso handsome with His beaming face; the Blessed Virgin, who recurred againand again, radiant with splendour, clad now in white, now in azure, nowin gold, and ever so amiable that Bernadette would see her again in herdreams. But the book which was read more than all others was the Bible, an old Bible which had been in the family for more than a hundred years, and which time and usage had turned yellow. Each winter eveningBernadette's foster-father, the only member of the household who hadlearnt to read, would take a pin, pass it at random between the leaves ofthe book, open the latter, and then start reading from the top of theright-hand page, amidst the deep attention of both the women and thechildren, who ended by knowing the book by heart, and could havecontinued reciting it without a single mistake. 

However, Bernadette, for her part, preferred the religious works in whichthe Blessed Virgin constantly appeared with her engaging smile. True, onereading of a different character amused her, that of the marvellous storyof the Four Brothers Aymon. On the yellow paper cover of the little book, which had doubtless fallen from the bale of some peddler who had lost hisway in that remote region, there was a naive cut showing the four doughtyknights, Renaud and his brothers, all mounted on Bayard, their famousbattle charger, that princely present made to them by the fairy Orlanda. And inside were narratives of bloody fights, of the building andbesieging of fortresses, of the terrible swordthrusts exchanged by Rolandand Renaud, who was at last about to free the Holy Land, withoutmentioning the tales of Maugis the Magician and his marvellousenchantments, and the Princess Clarisse, the King of Aquitaine's sister, who was more lovely than sunlight. Her imagination fired by such storiesas these, Bernadette often found it difficult to get to sleep; and thiswas especially the case on the evenings when the books were left aside, and some person of the company related a tale of witchcraft. The girl wasvery superstitious, and after sundown could never be prevailed upon topass near a tower in the vicinity, which was said to be haunted by thefiend. For that matter, all the folks of the region were superstitious, devout, and simple-minded, the whole countryside being peopled, so tosay, with mysteries--trees which sang, stones from which blood flowed, cross-roads where it was necessary to say three "Paters" and three"Aves, " if you did not wish to meet the seven-horned beast who carriedmaidens off to perdition. And what a wealth of terrifying stories therewas! Hundreds of stories, so that there was no finishing on the eveningswhen somebody started them. First came the wehrwolf adventures, the talesof the unhappy men whom the demon forced to enter into the bodies ofdogs, the great white dogs of the mountains. If you fire a gun at the dogand a single shot should strike him, the man will be delivered; but ifthe shot should fall on the dog's shadow, the man will immediately die. Then came the endless procession of sorcerers and sorceresses. In one ofthese tales Bernadette evinced a passionate interest; it was the story ofa clerk of the tribunal of Lourdes who, wishing to see the devil, wasconducted by a witch into an untilled field at midnight on Good Friday. The devil arrived clad in magnificent scarlet garments, and at onceproposed to the clerk that he should buy his soul, an offer which theclerk pretended to accept. It so happened that the devil was carryingunder his arm a register in which different persons of the town, who hadalready sold themselves, had signed their names. However, the clerk, whowas a cunning fellow, pulled out of his pocket a pretended bottle of ink, which in reality contained holy water, and with this he sprinkled thedevil, who raised frightful shrieks, whilst the clerk took to flight, carrying the register off with him. Then began a wild, mad race, whichmight last throughout the night, over the mountains, through the valleys, across the forests and the torrents. "Give me back my register!" shoutedthe fiend. "No, you sha'n't have it!" replied the clerk. And again andagain it began afresh: "Give me back my register!"--"No, you sha'n't haveit'!" And at last, finding himself out of breath, near the point ofsuccumbing, the clerk, who had his plan, threw himself into the cemetery, which was consecrated ground, and was there able to deride the devil athis ease, waving the register which he had purloined so as to save thesouls of all the unhappy people who had signed their names in it. On theevening when this story was told, Bernadette, before surrendering herselfto sleep, would mentally repeat her rosary, delighted with the thoughtthat hell should have been baffled, though she trembled at the idea thatit would surely return to prowl around her, as soon as the lamp shouldhave been put out. 

Throughout one winter, the long evenings were spent in the church. AbbeAder, the village priest, had authorised it, and many families came, inorder to economise oil and candles. Moreover, they felt less cold whengathered together in this fashion. The Bible was read, and prayers wererepeated, whilst the children ended by falling asleep. Bernadette alonestruggled on to the finish, so pleased she was at being there, in thatnarrow nave whose slender nervures were coloured blue and red. At thefarther end was the altar, also painted and gilded, with its twistedcolumns and its screens on which appeared the Virgin and Ste. Anne, andthe beheading of St. John the Baptist--the whole of a gaudy and somewhatbarbaric splendour. And as sleepiness grew upon her, the child must haveoften seen a mystical vision as it were of those crudely coloured designsrising before her--have seen the blood flowing from St. John's severedhead, have seen the aureolas shining, the Virgin ever returning andgazing at her with her blue, living eyes, and looking as though she wereon the point of opening her vermilion lips in order to speak to her. Forsome months Bernadette spent her evenings in this wise, half asleep infront of that sumptuous, vaguely defined altar, in the incipiency of adivine dream which she carried away with her, and finished in bed, slumbering peacefully under the watchful care of her guardian angel. 

And it was also in that old church, so humble yet so impregnated withardent faith, that Bernadette began to learn her catechism. She wouldsoon be fourteen now, and must think of her first communion. Herfoster-mother, who had the reputation of being avaricious, did not sendher to school, but employed her in or about the house from morning tillevening. M. Barbet, the schoolmaster, never saw her at his classes, though one day, when he gave the catechism lesson, in the place of AbbeAder who was indisposed, he remarked her on account of her piety andmodesty. The village priest was very fond of Bernadette and often spokeof her to the schoolmaster, saying that he could never look at herwithout thinking of the children of La Salette, since they must have beengood, candid, and pious as she was, for the Blessed Virgin to haveappeared to them. * On another occasion whilst the two men were walkingone morning near the village, and saw Bernadette disappear with herlittle flock under some spreading trees in the distance, the Abberepeatedly turned round to look for her, and again remarked "I cannotaccount for it, but every time I meet that child it seems to me as if Isaw Melanie, the young shepherdess, little Maximin's companion. " He wascertainly beset by this singular idea, which became, so to say, aprediction. Moreover, had he not one day after catechism, or one evening, when the villagers were gathered in the church, related that marvellousstory which was already twelve years old, that story of the Lady in thedazzling robes who walked upon the grass without even making it bend, theBlessed Virgin who showed herself to Melanie and Maximin on the banks ofa stream in the mountains, and confided to them a great secret andannounced the anger of her Son? Ever since that day a source had sprungup from the tears which she had shed, a source which cured all ailments, whilst the secret, inscribed on parchment fastened with three seals, slumbered at Rome! And Bernadette, no doubt, with her dreamy, silent air, had listened passionately to that wonderful tale and carried it off withher into the desert of foliage where she spent her days, so that shemight live it over again as she walked along behind her lambs with herrosary, slipping bead by bead between her slender fingers. 

 * It was on September 19, 1846, that the Virgin is said to have appeared in the ravine of La Sezia, adjacent to the valley of La Salette, between Corps and Eutraigues, in the department of the Isere. The visionaries were Melanie Mathieu, a girl of fourteen, and Maximin Giraud, a boy of twelve. The local clergy speedily endorsed the story of the miracle, and thousands of people still go every year in pilgrimage to a church overlooking the valley, and bathe and drink at a so-called miraculous source. Two priests of Grenoble, however, Abbe Deleon and Abbe Cartellier, accused a Mlle. De Lamerliere of having concocted the miracle, and when she took proceedings against them for libel she lost her case. --Trans. 

Thus her childhood ran its course at Bartres. That which delighted one inthis Bernadette, so poor-blooded, so slight of build, was her ecstaticeyes, beautiful visionary eyes, from which dreams soared aloft like birdswinging their flight in a pure limpid sky. Her mouth was large, with lipssomewhat thick, expressive of kindliness; her square-shaped head had astraight brow, and was covered with thick black hair, whilst her facewould have seemed rather common but for its charming expression of gentleobstinacy. Those who did not gaze into her eyes, however, gave her nothought. To them she was but an ordinary child, a poor thing of theroads, a girl of reluctant growth, timidly humble in her ways. Assuredlyit was in her glance that Abbe Ader had with agitation detected thestifling ailment which filled her puny, girlish form with suffering--thatailment born of the greeny solitude in which she had grown up, thegentleness of her bleating lambs, the Angelic Salutation which she hadcarried with her, hither and thither, under the sky, repeating andrepeating it to the point of hallucination, the prodigious stories, too, which she had heard folks tell at her foster-mother's, the long eveningsspent before the living altar-screens in the church, and all theatmosphere of primitive faith which she had breathed in that far-awayrural region, hemmed in by mountains. 

At last, on one seventh of January, Bernadette had just reached herfourteenth birthday, when her parents, finding that she learnt nothing atBartres, resolved to bring her back to Lourdes for good, in order thatshe might diligently study her catechism, and in this wise seriouslyprepare herself for her first communion. And so it happened that she hadalready been at Lourdes some fifteen or twenty days, when on February 11, a Thursday, cold and somewhat cloudy--

But Pierre could carry his narrative no further, for Sister Hyacinthe hadrisen to her feet and was vigorously clapping her hands. "My children, "she exclaimed, "it is past nine o'clock. Silence! silence!"

The train had indeed just passed Lamothe, and was rolling with a dullrumble across a sea of darkness--the endless plains of the Landes whichthe night submerged. For ten minutes already not a sound ought to havebeen heard in the carriage, one and all ought to have been sleeping orsuffering uncomplainingly. However, a mutiny broke out. 

"Oh! Sister!" exclaimed Marie, whose eyes were sparkling, "allow us justanother short quarter of an hour! We have got to the most interestingpart. "

Ten, twenty voices took up the cry: "Oh yes, Sister, please do let ushave another short quarter of an hour!"

They all wished to hear the continuation, burning with as much curiosityas though they had not known the story, so captivated were they by thetouches of compassionate human feeling which Pierre introduced into hisnarrative. Their glances never left him, all their heads were stretchedtowards him, fantastically illumined by the flickering light of thelamps. And it was not only the sick who displayed this interest; the tenwomen occupying the compartment at the far end of the carriage had alsobecome impassioned, and, happy at not missing a single word, turned theirpoor ugly faces now beautified by naive faith. 

"No, I cannot!" Sister Hyacinthe at first declared; "the rules are verystrict--you must be silent. "

However, she weakened, she herself feeling so interested in the tale thatshe could detect her heart beating under her stomacher. Then Marie againrepeated her request in an entreating tone; whilst her father, M. DeGuersaint, who had listened like one hugely amused, declared that theywould all fall ill if the story were not continued. And thereupon, seeingMadame de Jonquiere smile with an indulgent air, Sister Hyacinthe endedby consenting. 

"Well, then, " said she, "I will allow you another short quarter of anhour; but only a short quarter of an hour, mind. That is understood, isit not? For I should otherwise be in fault. "

Pierre had waited quietly without attempting to intervene. And he resumedhis narrative in the same penetrating voice as before, a voice in whichhis own doubts were softened by pity for those who suffer and who hope. 

The scene of the story was now transferred to Lourdes, to the Rue desPetits Fosses, a narrow, tortuous, mournful street taking a downwardcourse between humble houses and roughly plastered dead walls. TheSoubirous family occupied a single room on the ground floor of one ofthese sorry habitations, a room at the end of a dark passage, in whichseven persons were huddled together, the father, the mother, and fivechildren. You could scarcely see in the chamber; from the tiny, dampinner courtyard of the house there came but a greenish light. And in thatroom they slept, all of a heap; and there also they ate, when they hadbread. For some time past, the father, a miller by trade, could only withdifficulty obtain work as a journeyman. And it was from that dark hole, that lowly wretchedness, that Bernadette, the elder girl, with Marie, hersister, and Jeanne, a little friend of the neighbourhood, went out topick up dead wood, on the cold February Thursday already spoken of. 

Then the beautiful tale was unfolded at length; how the three girlsfollowed the bank of the Gave from the other side of the castle, and howthey ended by finding themselves on the Ile du Chalet in front of therock of Massabielle, from which they were only separated by the narrowstream diverted from the Gave, and used for working the mill of Savy. Itwas a wild spot, whither the common herdsman often brought the pigs ofthe neighbourhood, which, when showers suddenly came on, would takeshelter under this rock of Massabielle, at whose base there was a kind ofgrotto of no great depth, blocked at the entrance by eglantine andbrambles. The girls found dead wood very scarce that day, but at last onseeing on the other side of the stream quite a gleaning of branchesdeposited there by the torrent, Marie and Jeanne crossed over through thewater; whilst Bernadette, more delicate than they were, a trifleyoung-ladyfied, perhaps, remained on the bank lamenting, and not daringto wet her feet. She was suffering slightly from humour in the head, andher mother had expressly bidden her to wrap herself in her _capulet_, * alarge white _capulet_ which contrasted vividly with her old black woollendress. When she found that her companions would not help her, sheresignedly made up her mind to take off her _sabots_, and pull down herstockings. It was then about noon, the three strokes of the Angelus rangout from the parish church, rising into the broad calm winter sky, whichwas somewhat veiled by fine fleecy clouds. And it was then that a greatagitation arose within her, resounding in her ears with such atempestuous roar that she fancied a hurricane had descended from themountains, and was passing over her. But she looked at the trees and wasstupefied, for not a leaf was stirring. Then she thought that she hadbeen mistaken, and was about to pick up her _sabots_, when again thegreat gust swept through her; but, this time, the disturbance in her earsreached her eyes, she no longer saw the trees, but was dazzled by awhiteness, a kind of bright light which seemed to her to settle itselfagainst the rock, in a narrow, lofty slit above the Grotto, not unlike anogival window of a cathedral. In her fright she fell upon her knees. Whatcould it be, _mon Dieu_? Sometimes, during bad weather, when her asthmaoppressed her more than usual, she spent very bad nights, incessantlydreaming dreams which were often painful, and whose stifling effect sheretained on awaking, even when she had ceased to remember anything. Flames would surround her, the sun would flash before her face. Had shedreamt in that fashion during the previous night? Was this thecontinuation of some forgotten dream? However, little by little a formbecame outlined, she believed that she could distinguish a figure whichthe vivid light rendered intensely white. In her fear lest it should bethe devil, for her mind was haunted by tales of witchcraft, she began totell her beads. And when the light had slowly faded away, and she hadcrossed the canal and joined Marie and Jeanne, she was surprised to findthat neither of them had seen anything whilst they were picking up thewood in front of the Grotto. On their way back to Lourdes the three girlstalked together. So she, Bernadette, had seen something then? What wasit? At first, feeling uneasy, and somewhat ashamed, she would not answer;but at last she said that she had seen something white. 

 * This is a kind of hood, more generally known among the Bearnese peasantry as a _sarot_. Whilst forming a coif it also completely covers the back and shoulders. --Trans. 

From this the rumours started and grew. The Soubirouses, on being madeacquainted with the circumstance, evinced much displeasure at suchchildish nonsense, and told their daughter that she was not to return tothe rock of Massabielle. All the children of the neighbourhood, however, were already repeating the tale, and when Sunday came the parents had togive way, and allow Bernadette to betake herself to the Grotto with abottle of holy water to ascertain if it were really the devil whom onehad to deal with. She then again beheld the light, the figure became moreclearly defined, and smiled upon her, evincing no fear whatever of theholy water. And, on the ensuing Thursday, she once more returned to thespot accompanied by several persons, and then for the first time theradiant lady assumed sufficient corporality to speak, and say to her: "Dome the kindness to come here for fifteen days. "

Thus, little by little, the lady had assumed a precise appearance. Thesomething clad in white had become indeed a lady more beautiful than aqueen, of a kind such as is only seen in pictures. At first, in presenceof the questions with which all the neighbours plied her from morningtill evening, Bernadette had hesitated, disturbed, perhaps, by scruplesof conscience. But then, as though prompted by the very interrogatoriesto which she was subjected, she seemed to perceive the figure which shehad beheld, more plainly, so that it definitely assumed life, with linesand hues from which the child, in her after-descriptions, never departed. The lady's eyes were blue and very mild, her mouth was rosy and smiling, the oval of her face expressed both the grace of youth and of maternity. Below the veil covering her head and falling to her heels, only a glimpsewas caught of her admirable fair hair, which was slightly curled. Herrobe, which was of dazzling whiteness, must have been of some materialunknown on earth, some material woven of the sun's rays. Her sash, of thesame hue as the heavens, was fastened loosely about her, its long endsstreaming downwards, with the light airiness of morning. Her chaplet, wound about her right arm, had beads of a milky whiteness, whilst thelinks and the cross were of gold. And on her bare feet, on her adorablefeet of virgin snow, flowered two golden roses, the mystic roses of thisdivine mother's immaculate flesh. 

Where was it that Bernadette had seen this Blessed Virgin, of suchtraditionally simple composition, unadorned by a single jewel, having butthe primitive grace imagined by the painters of a people in itschildhood? In which illustrated book belonging to her foster-mother'sbrother, the good priest, who read such attractive stories, had shebeheld this Virgin? Or in what picture, or what statuette, or whatstained-glass window of the painted and gilded church where she had spentso many evenings whilst growing up? And whence, above all things, hadcome those golden roses poised on the Virgin's feet, that piouslyimagined florescence of woman's flesh--from what romance of chivalry, from what story told after catechism by the Abbe Ader, from whatunconscious dream indulged in under the shady foliage of Bartres, whilstever and ever repeating that haunting Angelic Salutation?

Pierre's voice had acquired a yet more feeling tone, for if he did notsay all these things to the simple-minded folks who were listening tohim, still the human explanation of all these prodigies which the feelingof doubt in the depths of his being strove to supply, imparted to hisnarrative a quiver of sympathetic, fraternal love. He loved Bernadettethe better for the great charm of her hallucination--that lady of suchgracious access, such perfect amiability, such politeness in appearingand disappearing so appropriately. At first the great light would showitself, then the vision took form, came and went, leant forward, movedabout, floating imperceptibly, with ethereal lightness; and when itvanished the glow lingered for yet another moment, and then disappearedlike a star fading away. No lady in this world could have such a whiteand rosy face, with a beauty so akin to that of the Virgins on thepicture-cards given to children at their first communions. And it wasstrange that the eglantine of the Grotto did not even hurt her adorablebare feet blooming with golden flowers. 

Pierre, however, at once proceeded to recount the other apparitions. Thefourth and fifth occurred on the Friday and the Saturday; but the Lady, who shone so brightly and who had not yet told her name, contentedherself on these occasions with smiling and saluting without pronouncinga word. On the Sunday, however, she wept, and said to Bernadette, "Prayfor sinners. " On the Monday, to the child's great grief, she did notappear, wishing, no doubt, to try her. But on the Tuesday she confided toher a secret which concerned her (the girl) alone, a secret which she wasnever to divulge*; and then she at last told her what mission it was thatshe entrusted to her: "Go and tell the priests, " she said, "that theymust build a chapel here. " On the Wednesday she frequently murmured theword "Penitence! penitence! penitence!" which the child repeated, afterwards kissing the earth. On the Thursday the Lady said to her: "Go, and drink, and wash at the spring, and eat of the grass that is besideit, " words which the Visionary ended by understanding, when in the depthsof the Grotto a source suddenly sprang up beneath her fingers. And thiswas the miracle of the enchanted fountain. 

 * In a like way, it will be remembered, the apparition at La Salette confided a secret to Melanie and Maximin (see _ante_, note). There can be little doubt that Bernadette was acquainted with the story of the miracle of La Salette. --Trans. 

Then the second week ran its course. The lady did not appear on theFriday, but was punctual on the five following days, repeating hercommands and gazing with a smile at the humble girl whom she had chosento do her bidding, and who, on her side, duly told her beads at eachapparition, kissed the earth, and repaired on her knees to the source, there to drink and wash. At last, on Thursday, March 4, the last day ofthese mystical assignations, the Lady requested more pressingly thanbefore that a chapel might be erected in order that the nations mightcome thither in procession from all parts of the earth. So far, however, in reply to all Bernadette's appeals, she had refused to say who she was;and it was only three weeks later, on Thursday, March 25, that, joiningher hands together, and raising her eyes to Heaven, she said: "I am theImmaculate Conception. " On two other occasions, at somewhat longintervals, April 7 and July 16, she again appeared: the first time toperform the miracle of the lighted taper, that taper above which thechild, plunged in ecstasy, for a long time unconsciously left her hand, without burning it; and the second time to bid Bernadette farewell, tofavour her with a last smile, and a last inclination of the head full ofcharming politeness. This made eighteen apparitions all told; and neveragain did the Lady show herself. 

Whilst Pierre went on with his beautiful, marvellous story, so soothingto the wretched, he evoked for himself a vision of that pitiable, lovableBernadette, whose sufferings had flowered so wonderfully. As a doctor hadroughly expressed it, this girl of fourteen, at a critical period of herlife, already ravaged, too, by asthma, was, after all, simply anexceptional victim of hysteria, afflicted with a degenerate heredity andlapsing into infancy. If there were no violent crises in her case, ifthere were no stiffening of the muscles during her attacks, if sheretained a precise recollection of her dreams, the reason was that hercase was peculiar to herself, and she added, so to say, a new and verycurious form to all the forms of hysteria known at the time. Miraclesonly begin when things cannot be explained; and science, so far, knowsand can explain so little, so infinitely do the phenomena of disease varyaccording to the nature of the patient! But how many shepherdesses therehad been before Bernadette who had seen the Virgin in a similar way, amidst all the same childish nonsense! Was it not always the same story, the Lady clad in light, the secret confided, the spring bursting forth, the mission which had to be fulfilled, the miracles whose enchantmentswould convert the masses? And was not the personal appearance of theVirgin always in accordance with a poor child's dreams--akin to somecoloured figure in a missal, an ideal compounded of traditional beauty, gentleness, and politeness. And the same dreams showed themselves in thenaivete of the means which were to be employed and of the object whichwas to be attained--the deliverance of nations, the building of churches, the processional pilgrimages of the faithful! Then, too, all the wordswhich fell from Heaven resembled one another, calls for penitence, promises of help; and in this respect, in Bernadette's case the only newfeature was that most extraordinary declaration: "I am the ImmaculateConception, " which burst forth--very usefully--as the recognition by theBlessed Virgin herself of the dogma promulgated by the Court of Rome butthree years previously! It was not the Immaculate Virgin who appeared:no, it was the Immaculate Conception, the abstraction itself, the thing, the dogma, so that one might well ask oneself if really the Virgin hadspoken in such a fashion. As for the other words, it was possible thatBernadette had heard them somewhere and stored them up in someunconscious nook of her memory. But these--"I am the ImmaculateConception"--whence had they come as though expressly to fortify adogma--still bitterly discussed--with such prodigious support as thedirect testimony of the Mother conceived without sin? At this thought, Pierre, who was convinced of Bernadette's absolute good faith, whorefused to believe that she had been the instrument of a fraud, began towaver, deeply agitated, feeling his belief in truth totter within him. 

The apparitions, however, had caused intense emotion at Lourdes; crowdsflocked to the spot, miracles began, and those inevitable persecutionsbroke out which ensure the triumph of new religions. Abbe Peyramale, theparish priest of Lourdes, an extremely honest man, with an upright, vigorous mind, was able in all truth to declare that he did not know thischild, that she had not yet been seen at catechism. Where was thepressure, then, where the lesson learnt by heart? There was nothing butthose years of childhood spent at Bartres, the first teachings of AbbeAder, conversations possibly, religious ceremonies in honour of therecently proclaimed dogma, or simply the gift of one of thosecommemorative medals which had been scattered in profusion. Never didAbbe Ader reappear upon the scene, he who had predicted the mission ofthe future Visionary. He was destined to remain apart from Bernadette andher future career, he who, the first, had seen her little soul blossom inhis pious hands. And yet all the unknown forces that had sprung from thatsequestered village, from that nook of greenery where superstition andpoverty of intelligence prevailed, were still making themselves felt, disturbing the brains of men, disseminating the contagion of themysterious. It was remembered that a shepherd of Argeles, speaking of therock of Massabielle, had prophesied that great things would take placethere. Other children, moreover, now fell in ecstasy with their eyesdilated and their limbs quivering with convulsions, but these only sawthe devil. A whirlwind of madness seemed to be passing over the region. An old lady of Lourdes declared that Bernadette was simply a witch andthat she had herself seen the toad's foot in her eye. But for the others, for the thousands of pilgrims who hastened to the spot, she was a saint, and they kissed her garments. Sobs burst forth and frenzy seemed to seizeupon the souls of the beholders, when she fell upon her knees before theGrotto, a lighted taper in her right hand, whilst with the left she toldthe beads of her rosary. She became very pale and quite beautiful, transfigured, so to say. Her features gently ascended in her face, lengthened into an expression of extraordinary beatitude, whilst her eyesfilled with light, and her lips parted as though she were speaking wordswhich could not be heard. And it was quite certain that she had no willof her own left her, penetrated as she was by a dream, possessed by it tosuch a point in the confined, exclusive sphere in which she lived, thatshe continued dreaming it even when awake, and thus accepted it as theonly indisputable reality, prepared to testify to it even at the cost ofher blood, repeating it over and over again, obstinately, stubbornlyclinging to it, and never varying in the details she gave. She did notlie, for she did not know, could not and would not desire anything apartfrom it. 

Forgetful of the flight of time, Pierre was now sketching a charmingpicture of old Lourdes, that pious little town, slumbering at the foot ofthe Pyrenees. The castle, perched on a rock at the point of intersectionof the seven valleys of Lavedan, had formerly been the key of themountain districts. But, in Bernadette's time, it had become a meredismantled, ruined pile, at the entrance of a road leading nowhere. Modern life found its march stayed by a formidable rampart of lofty, snow-capped peaks, and only the trans-Pyrenean railway--had it beenconstructed--could have established an active circulation of social lifein that sequestered nook where human existence stagnated like dead water. Forgotten, therefore, Lourdes remained slumbering, happy and sluggishamidst its old-time peacefulness, with its narrow, pebble-paved streetsand its bleak houses with dressings of marble. The old roofs were stillall massed on the eastern side of the castle; the Rue de la Grotte, thencalled the Rue du Bois, was but a deserted and often impassable road; nohouses stretched down to the Gave as now, and the scum-laden watersrolled through a perfect solitude of pollard willows and tall grass. Onweek-days but few people passed across the Place du Marcadal, such ashousewives hastening on errands, and petty cits airing their leisurehours; and you had to wait till Sundays or fair days to find theinhabitants rigged out in their best clothes and assembled on the ChampCommun, in company with the crowd of graziers who had come down from thedistant tablelands with their cattle. During the season when peopleresort to the Pyrenean-waters, the passage of the visitors to Cauteretsand Bagneres also brought some animation; _diligences_ passed through thetown twice a day, but they came from Pau by a wretched road, and had toford the Lapaca, which often overflowed its banks. Then climbing thesteep ascent of the Rue Basse, they skirted the terrace of the church, which was shaded by large elms. And what soft peacefulness prevailed inand around that old semi-Spanish church, full of ancient carvings, columns, screens, and statues, peopled with visionary patches of gildingand painted flesh, which time had mellowed and which you faintlydiscerned as by the light of mystical lamps! The whole population camethere to worship, to fill their eyes with the dream of the mysterious. There were no unbelievers, the inhabitants of Lourdes were a people ofprimitive faith; each corporation marched behind the banner of its saint, brotherhoods of all kinds united the entire town, on festival mornings, in one large Christian family. And, as with some exquisite flower thathas grown in the soil of its choice, great purity of life reigned there. There was not even a resort of debauchery for young men to wreck theirlives, and the girls, one and all, grew up with the perfume and beauty ofinnocence, under the eyes of the Blessed Virgin, Tower of Ivory and Seatof Wisdom. 

And how well one could understand that Bernadette, born in that holysoil, should flower in it, like one of nature's roses budding in thewayside bushes! She was indeed the very florescence of that region ofancient belief and rectitude; she would certainly not have sproutedelsewhere; she could only appear and develop there, amidst that belatedrace, amidst the slumberous peacefulness of a childlike people, under themoral discipline of religion. And what intense love at once burst forthall around her! What blind confidence was displayed in her mission, whatimmense consolation and hope came to human hearts on the very morrow ofthe first miracles! A long cry of relief had greeted the cure of oldBourriette recovering his sight, and of little Justin Bouhohorts comingto life again in the icy water of the spring. At last, then, the BlessedVirgin was intervening in favour of those who despaired, forcing thatunkind mother, Nature, to be just and charitable. This was divineomnipotence returning to reign on earth, sweeping the laws of the worldaside in order to work the happiness of the suffering and the poor. Themiracles multiplied, blazed forth, from day to day more and moreextraordinary, like unimpeachable proof of Bernadette's veracity. And shewas, indeed, the rose of the divine garden, whose deeds shed perfume, therose who beholds all the other flowers of grace and salvation spring intobeing around her. 

Pierre had reached this point of his story, and was again enumerating themiracles, on the point of recounting the prodigious triumph of theGrotto, when Sister Hyacinthe, awaking with a start from the ecstasy intowhich the narrative had plunged her, hastily rose to her feet. "Really, really, " said she, "there is no sense in it. It will soon be eleveno'clock. "

This was true. They had left Morceux behind them, and would now soon beat Mont de Marsan. So Sister Hyacinthe clapped her hands once more, andadded: "Silence, my children, silence!"

This time they did not dare to rebel, for they felt she was in the right;they were unreasonable. But how greatly they regretted not hearing thecontinuation, how vexed they were that the story should cease when onlyhalf told! The ten women in the farther compartment even let a murmur ofdisappointment escape them; whilst the sick, their faces stilloutstretched, their dilated eyes gazing upon the light of hope, seemed tobe yet listening. Those miracles which ever and ever returned to theirminds and filled them with unlimited, haunting, supernatural joy. 

"And don't let me hear anyone breathe, even, " added Sister Hyacinthegaily, "or otherwise I shall impose penance on you. "

Madame de Jonquiere laughed good-naturedly. "You must obey, my children, "she said; "be good and get to sleep, so that you may have strength topray at the Grotto to-morrow with all your hearts. "

Then silence fell, nobody spoke any further; and the only sounds werethose of the rumbling of the wheels and the jolting of the train as itwas carried along at full speed through the black night. 

Pierre, however, was unable to sleep. Beside him, M. De Guersaint wasalready snoring lightly, looking very happy despite the hardness of hisseat. For a time the young priest saw Marie's eyes wide open, still fullof all the radiance of the marvels that he had related. For a long whileshe kept them ardently fixed upon his own, but at last closed them, andthen he knew not whether she was sleeping, or with eyelids simply closedwas living the everlasting miracle over again. Some of the sufferers weredreaming aloud, giving vent to bursts of laughter which unconscious moansinterrupted. Perhaps they beheld the Archangels opening their flesh towrest their diseases from them. Others, restless with insomnia, turnedover and over, stifling their sobs and gazing fixedly into the darkness. And, with a shudder born of all the mystery he had evoked, Pierre, distracted, no longer master of himself in that delirious sphere offraternal suffering, ended by hating his very mind, and, drawn into closecommunion with all those humble folks, sought to believe like them. Whatcould be the use of that physiological inquiry into Bernadette's case, sofull of gaps and intricacies? Why should he not accept her as a messengerfrom the spheres beyond, as one of the elect chosen for the divinemystery? Doctors were but ignorant men with rough and brutal hands, andit would be so delightful to fall asleep in childlike faith, in theenchanted gardens of the impossible. And for a moment indeed hesurrendered himself, experiencing a delightful feeling of comfort, nolonger seeking to explain anything, but accepting the Visionary with hersumptuous _cortege_ of miracles, and relying on God to think anddetermine for him. Then he looked out through the window, which they didnot dare to open on account of the consumptive patients, and beheld theimmeasurable night which enwrapped the country across which the train wasfleeing. The storm must have burst forth there; the sky was now of anadmirable nocturnal purity, as though cleansed by the masses of fallenwater. Large stars shone out in the dark velvet, alone illumining, withtheir mysterious gleams, the silent, refreshed fields, which incessantlydisplayed only the black solitude of slumber. And across the Landes, through the valleys, between the hills, that carriage of wretchedness andsuffering rolled on and on, over-heated, pestilential, rueful, andwailing, amidst the serenity of the august night, so lovely and so mild. 

They had passed Riscle at one in the morning. Between the jolting, thepainful, the hallucinatory silence still continued. At two o'clock, asthey reached Vic-de-Bigorre, low moans were heard; the bad state of theline, with the unbearable spreading tendency of the train's motion, wassorely shaking the patients. It was only at Tarbes, at half-past two, that silence was at length broken, and that morning prayers were said, though black night still reigned around them. There came first the"Pater, " and then the "Ave, " the "Credo, " and the supplication to God togrant them the happiness of a glorious day. 

"O God, vouchsafe me sufficient strength that I may avoid all that isevil, do all that is good, and suffer uncomplainingly every pain. "

And now there was to be no further stoppage until they reached Lourdes. Barely three more quarters of an hour, and Lourdes, with all its vasthopes, would blaze forth in the midst of that night, so long and cruel. Their painful awakening was enfevered by the thought; a final agitationarose amidst the morning discomfort, as the abominable sufferings beganafresh. 

Sister Hyacinthe, however, was especially anxious about the strange man, whose sweat-covered face she had been continually wiping. He had so farmanaged to keep alive, she watching him without a pause, never havingonce closed her eyes, but unremittingly listening to his faint breathingwith the stubborn desire to take him to the holy Grotto before he died. 

All at once, however, she felt frightened; and addressing Madame deJonquiere, she hastily exclaimed, "Pray pass me the vinegar bottle atonce--I can no longer hear him breathe. "

For an instant, indeed, the man's faint breathing had ceased. His eyeswere still closed, his lips parted; he could not have been paler, he hadan ashen hue, and was cold. And the carriage was rolling along with itsceaseless rattle of coupling-irons; the speed of the train seemed even tohave increased. 

"I will rub his temples, " resumed Sister Hyacinthe. "Help me, do!"

But, at a more violent jolt of the train, the man suddenly fell from theseat, face downward. 

"Ah! _mon Dieu_, help me, pick him up!"

They picked him up, and found him dead. And they had to seat him in hiscorner again, with his back resting against the woodwork. He remainedthere erect, his torso stiffened, and his head wagging slightly at eachsuccessive jolt. Thus the train continued carrying him along, with thesame thundering noise of wheels, while the engine, well pleased, nodoubt, to be reaching its destination, began whistling shrilly, givingvent to quite a flourish of delirious joy as it sped through the calmnight. 

And then came the last and seemingly endless half-hour of the journey, incompany with that wretched corpse. Two big tears had rolled down SisterHyacinthe's cheeks, and with her hands joined she had begun to pray. Thewhole carriage shuddered with terror at sight of that terrible companionwho was being taken, too late alas! to the Blessed Virgin. 

Hope, however, proved stronger than sorrow or pain, and although all thesufferings there assembled awoke and grew again, irritated byoverwhelming weariness, a song of joy nevertheless proclaimed thesufferers' triumphal entry into the Land of Miracles. Amidst the tearswhich their pains drew from them, the exasperated and howling sick beganto chant the "Ave maris Stella" with a growing clamour in whichlamentation finally turned into cries of hope. 

Marie had again taken Pierre's hand between her little feverish fingers. "Oh, _mon Dieu!_" said she, "to think that poor man is dead, and I fearedso much that it was I who would die before arriving. And we arethere--there at last!"

The priest was trembling with intense emotion. "It means that you are tobe cured, Marie, " he replied, "and that I myself shall be cured if youpray for me--"

The engine was now whistling in a yet louder key in the depths of thebluish darkness. They were nearing their destination. The lights ofLourdes already shone out on the horizon. Then the whole train again sanga canticle--the rhymed story of Bernadette, that endless ballad of sixtimes ten couplets, in which the Angelic Salutation ever returns as arefrain, all besetting and distracting, opening to the human mind theportals of the heaven of ecstasy:--

 "It was the hour for ev'ning pray'r; Soft bells chimed on the chilly air. Ave, ave, ave Maria!

 "The maid stood on the torrent's bank, A breeze arose, then swiftly sank. Ave, ave, ave Maria!

 "And she beheld, e'en as it fell, The Virgin on Massabielle. Ave, ave, ave Maria!

 "All white appeared the Lady chaste, A zone of Heaven round her waist. Ave, ave, ave Maria!

 "Two golden roses, pure and sweet, Bloomed brightly on her naked feet. Ave, ave, ave Maria!

 "Upon her arm, so white and round, Her chaplet's milky pearls were wound. Ave, ave, ave Maria!

 "The maiden prayed till, from her eyes, The vision sped to Paradise. Ave, ave, ave Maria!"

THE SECOND DAY

I. THE TRAIN ARRIVES

IT was twenty minutes past three by the clock of the Lourdes railwaystation, the dial of which was illumined by a reflector. Under theslanting roof sheltering the platform, a hundred yards or so in length, some shadowy forms went to and fro, resignedly waiting. Only a red signallight peeped out of the black countryside, far away. 

Two of the promenaders suddenly halted. The taller of them, a Father ofthe Assumption, none other indeed than the Reverend Father Fourcade, director of the national pilgrimage, who had reached Lourdes on theprevious day, was a man of sixty, looking superb in his black cloak withits large hood. His fine head, with its clear, domineering eyes and thickgrizzly beard, was the head of a general whom an intelligentdetermination to conquer inflames. In consequence, however, of a suddenattack of gout he slightly dragged one of his legs, and was leaning onthe shoulder of his companion, Dr. Bonamy, the practitioner attached tothe Miracle Verification Office, a short, thick-set man, with asquare-shaped, clean-shaven face, which had dull, blurred eyes and atranquil cast of features. 

Father Fourcade had stopped to question the station-master whom heperceived running out of his office. "Will the white train be very late, monsieur?" he asked. 

"No, your reverence. It hasn't lost more than ten minutes; it will behere at the half-hour. It's the Bayonne train which worries me; it oughtto have passed through already. "

So saying, he ran off to give an order; but soon came back again, hisslim, nervous figure displaying marked signs of agitation. He lived, indeed, in a state of high fever throughout the period of the greatpilgrimages. Apart from the usual service, he that day expected eighteentrains, containing more than fifteen thousand passengers. The grey andthe blue trains which had started from Paris the first had alreadyarrived at the regulation hour. But the delay in the arrival of the whitetrain was very troublesome, the more so as the Bayonne express--whichpassed over the same rails--had not yet been signalled. It was easy tounderstand, therefore, what incessant watchfulness was necessary, not asecond passing without the entire staff of the station being called uponto exercise its vigilance. 

"In ten minutes, then?" repeated Father Fourcade. 

"Yes, in ten minutes, unless I'm obliged to close the line!" cried thestation-master as he hastened into the telegraph office. 

Father Fourcade and the doctor slowly resumed their promenade. The thingwhich astonished them was that no serious accident had ever happened inthe midst of such a fearful scramble. In past times, especially, the mostterrible disorder had prevailed. Father Fourcade complacently recalledthe first pilgrimage which he had organised and led, in 1875; theterrible endless journey without pillows or mattresses, the patientsexhausted, half dead, with no means of reviving them at hand; and thenthe arrival at Lourdes, the train evacuated in confusion, no _materiel_in readiness, no straps, nor stretchers, nor carts. But now there was apowerful organisation; a hospital awaited the sick, who were no longerreduced to lying upon straw in sheds. What a shock for those unhappyones! What force of will in the man of faith who led them to the scene ofmiracles! The reverend Father smiled gently at the thought of the workwhich he had accomplished. 

Then, still leaning on the doctor's shoulder, he began to question him:"How many pilgrims did you have last year?" he asked. 

"About two hundred thousand. That is still the average. In the year ofthe Coronation of the Virgin the figure rose to five hundred thousand. But to bring that about an exceptional occasion was needed with a greateffort of propaganda. Such vast masses cannot be collected together everyday. "

A pause followed, and then Father Fourcade murmured: "No doubt. Still theblessing of Heaven attends our endeavours; our work thrives more andmore. We have collected more than two hundred thousand francs indonations for this journey, and God will be with us, there will be manycures for you to proclaim to-morrow, I am sure of it. " Then, breakingoff, he inquired: "Has not Father Dargeles come here?"

Dr. Bonamy waved his hand as though to say that he did not know. FatherDargeles was the editor of the "Journal de la Grotte. " He belonged to theOrder of the Fathers of the Immaculate Conception whom the Bishop hadinstalled at Lourdes and who were the absolute masters there; though, when the Fathers of the Assumption came to the town with the nationalpilgrimage from Paris, which crowds of faithful Catholics from Cambrai, Arras, Chartres, Troyes, Rheims, Sens, Orleans, Blois, and Poitiersjoined, they evinced a kind of affectation in disappearing from thescene. Their omnipotence was no longer felt either at the Grotto or atthe Basilica; they seemed to surrender every key together with everyresponsibility. Their superior, Father Capdebarthe, a tall, peasant-likeman, with a knotty frame, a big head which looked as if it had beenfashioned with a bill-hook, and a worn face which retained a ruddymournful reflection of the soil, did not even show himself. Of the wholecommunity you only saw little, insinuating Father Dargeles; but he wasmet everywhere, incessantly on the look-out for paragraphs for hisnewspaper. At the same time, however, although the Fathers of theImmaculate Conception disappeared in this fashion, it could be divinedthat they were behind the vast stage, like a hidden sovereign power, coining money and toiling without a pause to increase the triumphantprosperity of their business. Indeed, they turned even their humility toaccount. 

"It's true that we have had to get up early--two in the morning, " resumedFather Fourcade gaily. "But I wished to be here. What would my poorchildren have said, indeed, if I had not come?"

He was alluding to the sick pilgrims, those who were so much flesh formiracle-working; and it was a fact that he had never missed coming to thestation, no matter what the hour, to meet that woeful white train, thattrain which brought such grievous suffering with it. 

"Five-and-twenty minutes past three--only another five minutes now, "exclaimed Dr. Bonamy repressing a yawn as he glanced at the clock; for, despite his obsequious air, he was at bottom very much annoyed at havinghad to get out of bed so early. However, he continued his slow promenadewith Father Fourcade along that platform which resembled a covered walk, pacing up and down in the dense night which the gas jets here and thereillumined with patches of yellow light. Little parties, dimly outlined, composed of priests and gentlemen in frock-coats, with a solitary officerof dragoons, went to and fro incessantly, talking together the while indiscreet murmuring tones. Other people, seated on benches, ranged alongthe station wall, were also chatting or putting their patience to proofwith their glances wandering away into the black stretch of countrybefore them. The doorways of the offices and waiting-rooms, which werebrilliantly lighted, looked like great holes in the darkness, and all wasflaring in the refreshment-room, where you could see the marble tablesand the counter laden with bottles and glasses and baskets of bread andfruit. 

On the right hand, beyond the roofing of the platform, there was aconfused swarming of people. There was here a goods gate, by which thesick were taken out of the station, and a mass of stretchers, litters, and hand-carts, with piles of pillows and mattresses, obstructed thebroad walk. Three parties of bearers were also assembled here, persons ofwell-nigh every class, but more particularly young men of good society, all wearing red, orange-tipped crosses and straps of yellow leather. Manyof them, too, had adopted the Bearnese cap, the convenient head-gear ofthe region; and a few, clad as though they were bound on some distantexpedition, displayed wonderful gaiters reaching to their knees. Somewere smoking, whilst others, installed in their little vehicles, slept orread newspapers by the light of the neighbouring gas jets. One group, standing apart, were discussing some service question. 

Suddenly, however, one and all began to salute. A paternal-looking man, with a heavy but good-natured face, lighted by large blue eyes, likethose of a credulous child, was approaching. It was Baron Suire, thePresident of the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation. He possessed agreat fortune and occupied a high position at Toulouse. 

"Where is Berthaud?" he inquired of one bearer after another, with a busyair. "Where is Berthaud? I must speak to him. "

The others answered, volunteering contradictory information. Berthaud wastheir superintendent, and whilst some said that they had seen him withthe Reverend Father Fourcade, others affirmed that he must be in thecourtyard of the station inspecting the ambulance vehicles. And theythereupon offered to go and fetch him. 

"No, no, thank you, " replied the Baron. "I shall manage to find himmyself. "

Whilst this was happening, Berthaud, who had just seated himself on abench at the other end of the station, was talking with his young friend, Gerard de Peyrelongue, by way of occupation pending the arrival of thetrain. The superintendent of the bearers was a man of forty, with abroad, regular-featured, handsome face and carefully trimmed whiskers ofa lawyer-like pattern. Belonging to a militant Legitimist family andholding extremely reactionary opinions, he had been Procureur de laRepublique (public prosecutor) in a town of the south of France from thetime of the parliamentary revolution of the twenty-fourth of May* untilthat of the decree of the Religious Communities, ** when he had resignedhis post in a blusterous fashion, by addressing an insulting letter tothe Minister of Justice. And he had never since laid down his arms, buthad joined the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation as a sort of protest, repairing year after year to Lourdes in order to "demonstrate"; convincedas he was that the pilgrimages were both disagreeable and hurtful to theRepublic, and that God alone could re-establish the Monarchy by one ofthose miracles which He worked so lavishly at the Grotto. Despite allthis, however, Berthaud possessed no small amount of good sense, andbeing of a gay disposition, displayed a kind of jovial charity towardsthe poor sufferers whose transport he had to provide for during the threedays that the national pilgrimage remained at Lourdes. 

 * The parliamentary revolution of May, 1873, by which M. Thiers was overthrown and Marshal MacMahon installed in his place with the object of restoring the Monarchy in France. --Trans. 

 ** M. Grevy's decree by which the Jesuits were expelled. --Trans. 

"And so, my dear Gerard, " he said to the young man seated beside him, "your marriage is really to come off this year?"

"Why yes, if I can find such a wife as I want, " replied the other. "Come, cousin, give me some good advice. "

Gerard de Peyrelongue, a short, thin, carroty young man, with apronounced nose and prominent cheek-bones, belonged to Tarbes, where hisfather and mother had lately died, leaving him at the utmost some sevenor eight thousand francs a year. Extremely ambitious, he had been unableto find such a wife as he desired in his native province--awell-connected young woman capable of helping him to push both forwardand upward in the world; and so he had joined the Hospitality, and betookhimself every summer to Lourdes, in the vague hope that amidst the massof believers, the torrent of devout mammas and daughters which flowedthither, he might find the family whose help he needed to enable him tomake his way in this terrestrial sphere. However, he remained inperplexity, for if, on the one hand, he already had several young ladiesin view, on the other, none of them completely satisfied him. 

"Eh, cousin? You will advise me, won't you?" he said to Berthaud. "Youare a man of experience. There is Mademoiselle Lemercier who comes herewith her aunt. She is very rich; according to what is said she has over amillion francs. But she doesn't belong to our set, and besides I thinkher a bit of a madcap. "

Berthaud nodded. "I told you so; if I were you I should choose littleRaymonde, Mademoiselle de Jonquiere. "

"But she hasn't a copper!"

"That's true--she has barely enough to pay for her board. But she isfairly good-looking, she has been well brought up, and she has noextravagant tastes. That is the really important point, for what is theuse of marrying a rich girl if she squanders the dowry she brings you?Besides, I know Madame and Mademoiselle de Jonquiere very well, I meetthem all through the winter in the most influential drawing-rooms ofParis. And, finally, don't forget the girl's uncle, the diplomatist, whohas had the painful courage to remain in the service of the Republic. Hewill be able to do whatever he pleases for his niece's husband. "

For a moment Gerard seemed shaken, and then he relapsed into perplexity. "But she hasn't a copper, " he said, "no, not a copper. It's too stiff. Iam quite willing to think it over, but it really frightens me too much. "

This time Berthaud burst into a frank laugh. "Come, you are ambitious, soyou must be daring. I tell you that it means the secretaryship of anembassy before two years are over. By the way, Madame and Mademoiselle deJonquiere are in the white train which we are waiting for. Make up yourmind and pay your court at once. "

"No, no! Later on. I want to think it over. "

At this moment they were interrupted, for Baron Suire, who had alreadyonce gone by without perceiving them, so completely did the darknessenshroud them in that retired corner, had just recognised the ex-publicprosecutor's good-natured laugh. And, thereupon, with the volubility of aman whose head is easily unhinged, he gave him several orders respectingthe vehicles and the transport service, deploring the circumstance thatit would be impossible to conduct the patients to the Grotto immediatelyon their arrival, as it was yet so extremely early. It had therefore beendecided that they should in the first instance be taken to the Hospitalof Our Lady of Dolours, where they would be able to rest awhile aftertheir trying journey. 

Whilst the Baron and the superintendent were thus settling what measuresshould be adopted, Gerard shook hands with a priest who had sat downbeside him. This was the Abbe des Hermoises, who was barelyeight-and-thirty years of age and had a superb head--such a head as onemight expect to find on the shoulders of a worldly priest. With his hairwell combed, and his person perfumed, he was not unnaturally a greatfavourite among women. Very amiable and distinguished in his manners, hedid not come to Lourdes in any official capacity, but simply for hispleasure, as so many other people did; and the bright, sparkling smile ofa sceptic above all idolatry gleamed in the depths of his fine eyes. Hecertainly believed, and bowed to superior decisions; but the Church--theHoly See--had not pronounced itself with regard to the miracles; and heseemed quite ready to dispute their authenticity. Having lived at Tarbeshe was already acquainted with Gerard. 

"Ah!" he said to him, "how impressive it is--isn't it?--this waiting forthe trains in the middle of the night! I have come to meet a lady--one ofmy former Paris penitents--but I don't know what train she will come by. Still, as you see, I stop on, for it all interests me so much. "

Then another priest, an old country priest, having come to sit down onthe same bench, the Abbe considerately began talking to him, speaking ofthe beauty of the Lourdes district and of the theatrical effect whichwould take place by-and-by when the sun rose and the mountains appeared. 

However, there was again a sudden alert, and the station-master ran alongshouting orders. Removing his hand from Dr. Bonamy's shoulder, FatherFourcade, despite his gouty leg, hastily drew near. 

"Oh! it's that Bayonne express which is so late, " answered thestation-master in reply to the questions addressed to him. "I should likesome information about it; I'm not at ease. "

At this moment the telegraph bells rang out and a porter rushed away intothe darkness swinging a lantern, whilst a distant signal began to work. Thereupon the station-master resumed: "Ah! this time it's the whitetrain. Let us hope we shall have time to get the sick people out beforethe express passes. "

He started off once more and disappeared. Berthaud meanwhile called toGerard, who was at the head of a squad of bearers, and they both madehaste to join their men, into whom Baron Suire was already instillingactivity. The bearers flocked to the spot from all sides, and settingthemselves in motion began dragging their little vehicles across thelines to the platform at which the white train would come in--an unroofedplatform plunged in darkness. A mass of pillows, mattresses, stretchers, and litters was soon waiting there, whilst Father Fourcade, Dr. Bonamy, the priests, the gentlemen, and the officer of dragoons in their turncrossed over in order to witness the removal of the ailing pilgrims. Allthat they could as yet see, far away in the depths of the black country, was the lantern in front of the engine, looking like a red star whichgrew larger and larger. Strident whistles pierced the night, thensuddenly ceased, and you only heard the panting of the steam and the dullroar of the wheels gradually slackening their speed. Then the canticlebecame distinctly audible, the song of Bernadette with the ever-recurring"Aves" of its refrain, which the whole train was chanting in chorus. Andat last this train of suffering and faith, this moaning, singing train, thus making its entry into Lourdes, drew up in the station. 

The carriage doors were at once opened, the whole throng of healthypilgrims, and of ailing ones able to walk, alighted, and streamed overthe platform. The few gas lamps cast but a feeble light on the crowd ofpoverty-stricken beings clad in faded garments, and encumbered with allsorts of parcels, baskets, valises, and boxes. And amidst all thejostling of this scared flock, which did not know in which direction toturn to find its way out of the station, loud exclamations were heard, the shouts of people calling relatives whom they had lost, mingled withthe embraces of others whom relatives or friends had come to meet. Onewoman declared with beatifical satisfaction, "I have slept well. " Apriest went off carrying his travelling-bag, after wishing a crippledlady "good luck!" Most of them had the bewildered, weary, yet joyousappearance of people whom an excursion train sets down at some unknownstation. And such became the scramble and the confusion in the darkness, that they did not hear the railway _employes_ who grew quite hoarsethrough shouting, "This way! this way!" in their eagerness to clear theplatform as soon as possible. 

Sister Hyacinthe had nimbly alighted from her compartment, leaving thedead man in the charge of Sister Claire des Anges; and, losing her headsomewhat, she ran off to the cantine van in the idea that Ferrand wouldbe able to help her. Fortunately she found Father Fourcade in front ofthe van and acquainted him with the fatality in a low voice. Repressing agesture of annoyance, he thereupon called Baron Suire, who was passing, and began whispering in his ear. The muttering lasted for a few seconds, and then the Baron rushed off, and clove his way through the crowd withtwo bearers carrying a covered litter. In this the man was removed fromthe carriage as though he were a patient who had simply fainted, the mobof pilgrims paying no further attention to him amidst all the emotion oftheir arrival. Preceded by the Baron, the bearers carried the corpse intoa goods office, where they provisionally lodged it behind some barrels;one of them, a fair-haired little fellow, a general's son, remaining towatch over it. 

Meanwhile, after begging Ferrand and Sister Saint-Francois to go and waitfor her in the courtyard of the station, near the reserved vehicle whichwas to take them to the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours, Sister Hyacinthereturned to the railway carriage and talked of helping her patients toalight before going away. But Marie would not let her touch her. "No, no!" said the girl, "do not trouble about me, Sister. I shall remain herethe last. My father and Abbe Froment have gone to the van to fetch thewheels; I am waiting for their return; they know how to fix them, andthey will take me away all right, you may be sure of it. "

In the same way M. Sabathier and Brother Isidore did not desire to bemoved until the crowd had decreased. Madame de Jonquiere, who had takencharge of La Grivotte, also promised to see to Madame Vetu's removal inan ambulance vehicle. And thereupon Sister Hyacinthe decided that shewould go off at once so as to get everything ready at the hospital. Moreover, she took with her both little Sophie Couteau and Elise Rouquet, whose face she very carefully wrapped up. Madame Maze preceded them, while Madame Vincent, carrying her little girl, who was unconscious andquite white, struggled through the crowd, possessed by the fixed idea ofrunning off as soon as possible and depositing the child in the Grotto atthe feet of the Blessed Virgin. 

The mob was now pressing towards the doorway by which passengers left thestation, and to facilitate the egress of all these people it at lastbecame necessary to open the luggage gates. The _employes_, at a loss howto take the tickets, held out their caps, which a downpour of the littlecards speedily filled. And in the courtyard, a large square courtyard, skirted on three sides by the low buildings of the station, the mostextraordinary uproar prevailed amongst all the vehicles of divers kindswhich were there jumbled together. The hotel omnibuses, backed againstthe curb of the footway, displayed the most sacred names on their largeboards--Jesus and Mary, St. Michel, the Rosary, and the Sacred Heart. Then there were ambulance vehicles, landaus, cabriolets, brakes, andlittle donkey carts, all entangled together, with their drivers shouting, swearing, and cracking their whips--the tumult being apparently increasedby the obscurity in which the lanterns set brilliant patches of light. 

Rain had fallen heavily a few hours previously. Liquid mud splashed upunder the hoofs of the horses; the foot passengers sank into it to theirankles. M. Vigneron, whom Madame Vigneron and Madame Chaise werefollowing in a state of distraction, raised Gustave, in order to placehim in the omnibus from the Hotel of the Apparitions, after which hehimself and the ladies climbed into the vehicle. Madame Maze, shudderingslightly, like a delicate tabby who fears to dirty the tips of her paws, made a sign to the driver of an old brougham, got into it, and quicklydrove away, after giving as address the Convent of the Blue Sisters. Andat last Sister Hyacinthe was able to install herself with Elise Rouquetand Sophie Couteau in a large _char-a-bancs_, in which Ferrand andSisters Saint-Francois and Claire des Anges were already seated. Thedrivers whipped up their spirited little horses, and the vehicles wentoff at a breakneck pace, amidst the shouts of those left behind, and thesplashing of the mire. 

In presence of that rushing torrent, Madame Vincent, with her dear littleburden in her arms, hesitated to cross over. Bursts of laughter rang outaround her every now and then. Oh! what a filthy mess! And at sight ofall the mud, the women caught up their skirts before attempting to passthrough it. At last, when the courtyard had somewhat emptied, MadameVincent herself ventured on her way, all terror lest the mire should makeher fall in that black darkness. Then, on reaching a downhill road, shenoticed there a number of women of the locality who were on the watch, offering furnished rooms, bed and board, according to the state of thepilgrim's purse. 

"Which is the way to the Grotto, madame, if you please?" asked MadameVincent, addressing one old woman of the party. 

Instead of answering the question, however, the other offered her a cheaproom. "You won't find anything in the hotels, " said she, "for they areall full. Perhaps you will be able to eat there, but you certainly won'tfind a closet even to sleep in. "

Eat, sleep, indeed! Had Madame Vincent any thought of such things; shewho had left Paris with thirty sous in her pocket, all that remained toher after the expenses she had been put to!

"The way to the Grotto, if you please, madame?" she repeated. 

Among the women who were thus touting for lodgers, there was a tall, well-built girl, dressed like a superior servant, and looking very clean, with carefully tended hands. She glanced at Madame Vincent and slightlyshrugged her shoulders. And then, seeing a broad-chested priest with ared face go by, she rushed after him, offered him a furnished room, andcontinued following him, whispering in his ear. 

Another girl, however, at last took pity on Madame Vincent and said toher: "Here, go down this road, and when you get to the bottom, turn tothe right and you will reach the Grotto. "

Meanwhile, the confusion inside the station continued. The healthypilgrims, and those of the sick who retained the use of their legs couldgo off, thus, in some measure, clearing the platform; but the others, themore grievously stricken sufferers whom it was difficult to get out ofthe carriages and remove to the hospital, remained waiting. The bearersseemed to become quite bewildered, rushing madly hither and thither withtheir litters and vehicles, not knowing at what end to set about theprofusion of work which lay before them. 

As Berthaud, followed by Gerard, went along the platform, gesticulating, he noticed two ladies and a girl who were standing under a gas jet and toall appearance waiting. In the girl he recognised Raymonde, and with asign of the hand he at once stopped his companion. "Ah! mademoiselle, "said he, "how pleased I am to see you! Is Madame de Jonquiere quite well?You have made a good journey, I hope?" Then, without a pause, he added:"This is my friend, Monsieur Gerard de Peyrelongue. "

Raymonde gazed fixedly at the young man with her clear, smiling eyes. "Oh! I already have the pleasure of being slightly acquainted with thisgentleman, " she said. "We have previously met one another at Lourdes. "

Thereupon Gerard, who thought that his cousin Berthaud was conductingmatters too quickly, and was quite resolved that he would not enter intoany hasty engagement, contented himself with bowing in a ceremonious way. 

"We are waiting for mamma, " resumed Raymonde. "She is extremely busy; shehas to see after some pilgrims who are very ill. "

At this, little Madame Desagneaux, with her pretty, light wavy-hairedhead, began to say that it served Madame de Jonquiere right for refusingher services. She herself was stamping with impatience, eager to join inthe work and make herself useful, whilst Madame Volmar, silent, shrinkingback as though taking no interest in it at all, seemed simply desirous ofpenetrating the darkness, as though, indeed, she were seeking somebodywith those magnificent eyes of hers, usually bedimmed, but now shiningout like brasiers. 

Just then, however, they were all pushed back. Madame Dieulafay was beingremoved from her first-class compartment, and Madame Desagneaux could notrestrain an exclamation of pity. "Ah! the poor woman!"

There could in fact be no more distressing sight than this young woman, encompassed by luxury, covered with lace in her species of coffin, sowasted that she seemed to be a mere human shred, deposited on thatplatform till it could be taken away. Her husband and her sister, bothvery elegant and very sad, remained standing near her, whilst aman-servant and maid ran off with the valises to ascertain if thecarriage which had been ordered by telegram was in the courtyard. AbbeJudaine also helped the sufferer; and when two men at last took her up hebent over her and wished her _au revoir_, adding some kind words whichshe did not seem to hear. Then as he watched her removal, he resumed, addressing himself to Berthaud, whom he knew: "Ah! the poor people, ifthey could only purchase their dear sufferer's cure. I told them thatprayer was the most precious thing in the Blessed Virgin's eyes, and Ihope that I have myself prayed fervently enough to obtain the compassionof Heaven. Nevertheless, they have brought a magnificent gift, a goldenlantern for the Basilica, a perfect marvel, adorned with precious stones. May the Immaculate Virgin deign to smile upon it!"

In this way a great many offerings were brought by the pilgrims. Somehuge bouquets of flowers had just gone by, together with a kind of triplecrown of roses, mounted on a wooden stand. And the old priest explainedthat before leaving the station he wished to secure a banner, the gift ofthe beautiful Madame Jousseur, Madame Dieulafay's sister. 

Madame de Jonquiere was at last approaching, however, and on perceivingBerthaud and Gerard she exclaimed: "Pray do go to that carriage, gentlemen--that one, there! We want some men very badly. There are threeor four sick persons to be taken out. I am in despair; I can do nothingmyself. "

Gerard ran off after bowing to Raymonde, whilst Berthaud advised Madamede Jonquiere to leave the station with her daughter and those ladiesinstead of remaining on the platform. Her presence was in nowisenecessary, he said; he would undertake everything, and within threequarters of an hour she would find her patients in her ward at thehospital. She ended by giving way, and took a conveyance in company withRaymonde and Madame Desagneaux. As for Madame Volmar, she had at the lastmoment disappeared, as though seized with a sudden fit of impatience. Theothers fancied that they had seen her approach a strange gentleman, withthe object no doubt of making some inquiry of him. However, they would ofcourse find her at the hospital. 

Berthaud joined Gerard again just as the young man, assisted by twofellow-bearers, was endeavouring to remove M. Sabathier from thecarriage. It was a difficult task, for he was very stout and very heavy, and they began to think that he would never pass through the doorway ofthe compartment. However, as he had been got in they ought to be able toget him out; and indeed when two other bearers had entered the carriagefrom the other side, they were at last able to deposit him on theplatform. 

The dawn was now appearing, a faint pale dawn; and the platform presentedthe woeful appearance of an improvised hospital. La Grivotte, who hadlost consciousness, lay there on a mattress pending her removal in alitter; whilst Madame Vetu had been seated against a lamp-post, sufferingso severely from another attack of her ailment that they scarcely daredto touch her. Some hospitallers, whose hands were gloved, were withdifficulty wheeling their little vehicles in which were poor, sordid-looking women with old baskets at their feet. Others, withstretchers on which lay the stiffened, woeful bodies of silent sufferers, whose eyes gleamed with anguish, found themselves unable to pass; butsome of the infirm pilgrims, some unfortunate cripples, contrived to slipthrough the ranks, among them a young priest who was lame, and a littlehumpbacked boy, one of whose legs had been amputated, and who, lookinglike a gnome, managed to drag himself with his crutches from group togroup. Then there was quite a block around a man who was bent in half, twisted by paralysis to such a point that he had to be carried on a chairwith his head and feet hanging downward. It seemed as though hours wouldbe required to clear the platform. 

The dismay therefore reached a climax when the station-master suddenlyrushed up shouting: "The Bayonne express is signalled. Make haste! makehaste! You have only three minutes left!"

Father Fourcade, who had remained in the midst of the throng, leaning onDoctor Bonamy's arm, and gaily encouraging the more stricken of thesufferers, beckoned to Berthaud and said to him: "Finish taking them outof the train; you will be able to clear the platform afterwards!"

The advice was very sensible, and in accordance with it they finishedplacing the sufferers on the platform. In Madame de Jonquiere's carriageMarie now alone remained, waiting patiently. M. De Guersaint and Pierrehad at last returned to her, bringing the two pairs of wheels by means ofwhich the box in which she lay was rolled about. And with Gerard'sassistance Pierre in all haste removed the girl from the train. She wasas light as a poor shivering bird, and it was only the box that gave themany trouble. However, they soon placed it on the wheels and made thelatter fast, and then Pierre might have rolled Marie away had it not beenfor the crowd which hampered him. 

"Make haste! make haste!" furiously repeated the station-master. 

He himself lent a hand, taking hold of a sick man by the feet in order toremove him from the compartment more speedily. And he also pushed thelittle hand-carts back, so as to clear the edge of the platform. In asecond-class carriage, however, there still remained one woman who hadjust been overpowered by a terrible nervous attack. She was howling andstruggling, and it was impossible to think of touching her at thatmoment. But on the other hand the express, signalled by the incessanttinkling of the electric bells, was now fast approaching, and they had toclose the door and in all haste shunt the train to the siding where itwould remain for three days, until in fact it was required to convey itsload of sick and healthy passengers back to Paris. As it went off to thesiding the crowd still heard the cries of the suffering woman, whom ithad been necessary to leave in it, in charge of a Sister, cries whichgrew weaker and weaker, like those of a strengthless child whom one atlast succeeds in consoling. 

"Good Lord!" muttered the station-master; "it was high time!"

In fact the Bayonne express was now coming along at full speed, and thenext moment it rushed like a crash of thunder past that woeful platformlittered with all the grievous wretchedness of a hospital hastilyevacuated. The litters and little handcarts were shaken, but there was noaccident, for the porters were on the watch, and pushed back thebewildered flock which was still jostling and struggling in its eagernessto get away. As soon as the express had passed, however, circulation wasre-established, and the bearers were at last able to complete the removalof the sick with prudent deliberation. 

Little by little the daylight was increasing--a clear dawn it was, whitening the heavens whose reflection illumined the earth, which wasstill black. One began to distinguish things and people clearly. 

"Oh, by-and-by!" Marie repeated to Pierre, as he endeavoured to roll heraway. "Let us wait till some part of the crowd has gone. "

Then, looking around, she began to feel interested in a man of militarybearing, apparently some sixty years of age, who was walking about amongthe sick pilgrims. With a square-shaped head and white bushy hair, hewould still have looked sturdy if he had not dragged his left foot, throwing it inward at each step he took. With the left hand, too, heleant heavily on a thick walking-stick. When M. Sabathier, who hadvisited Lourdes for six years past, perceived him, he became quite gay. "Ah!" said he, "it is you, Commander!"

Commander was perhaps the old man's name. But as he was decorated with abroad red riband, he was possibly called Commander on account of hisdecoration, albeit the latter was that of a mere chevalier. Nobodyexactly knew his story. No doubt he had relatives and children of his ownsomewhere, but these matters remained vague and mysterious. For the lastthree years he had been employed at the railway station as asuperintendent in the goods department, a simple occupation, a littleberth which had been given him by favour and which enabled him to live inperfect happiness. A first stroke of apoplexy at fifty-five years of agehad been followed by a second one three years later, which had left himslightly paralysed in the left side. And now he was awaiting the thirdstroke with an air of perfect tranquillity. As he himself put it, he wasat the disposal of death, which might come for him that night, the nextday, or possibly that very moment. All Lourdes knew him on account of thehabit, the mania he had, at pilgrimage time, of coming to witness thearrival of the trains, dragging his foot along and leaning upon hisstick, whilst expressing his astonishment and reproaching the ailing onesfor their intense desire to be made whole and sound again. 

This was the third year that he had seen M. Sabathier arrive, and all hisanger fell upon him. "What! you have come back _again_!" he exclaimed. "Well, you _must_ be desirous of living this hateful life! But_sacrebleu_! go and die quietly in your bed at home. Isn't that the bestthing that can happen to anyone?"

M. Sabathier evinced no anger, but laughed, exhausted though he was bythe handling to which he had been subjected during his removal from thecarriage. "No, no, " said he, "I prefer to be cured. "

"To be cured, to be cured! That's what they all ask for. They travelhundreds of leagues and arrive in fragments, howling with pain, and allthis to be cured--to go through every worry and every suffering again. Come, monsieur, you would be nicely caught if, at your age and with yourdilapidated old body, your Blessed Virgin should be pleased to restorethe use of your legs to you. What would you do with them, _mon Dieu?_What pleasure would you find in prolonging the abomination of old age fora few years more? It's much better to die at once, while you are likethat! Death is happiness!"

He spoke in this fashion, not as a believer who aspires to the deliciousreward of eternal life, but as a weary man who expects to fall intonihility, to enjoy the great everlasting peace of being no more. 

Whilst M. Sabathier was gaily shrugging his shoulders as though he had achild to deal with, Abbe Judaine, who had at last secured his banner, came by and stopped for a moment in order that he might gently scold theCommander, with whom he also was well acquainted. 

"Don't blaspheme, my dear friend, " he said. "It is an offence against Godto refuse life and to treat health with contempt. If you yourself hadlistened to me, you would have asked the Blessed Virgin to cure your legbefore now. "

At this the Commander became angry. "My leg! The Virgin can do nothing toit! I'm quite at my ease. May death come and may it all be over forever!When the time comes to die you turn your face to the wall and youdie--it's simple enough. "

The old priest interrupted him, however. Pointing to Marie, who was lyingon her box listening to them, he exclaimed: "You tell all our sick to gohome and die--even mademoiselle, eh? She who is full of youth and wishesto live. "

Marie's eyes were wide open, burning with the ardent desire which shefelt to _be_, to enjoy her share of the vast world; and the Commander, who had drawn near, gazed upon her, suddenly seized with deep emotionwhich made his voice tremble. "If mademoiselle gets well, " he said, "Iwill wish her another miracle, that she be happy. "

Then he went off, dragging his foot and tapping the flagstones with theferrule of his stout stick as he continued wending his way, like an angryphilosopher among the suffering pilgrims. 

Little by little, the platform was at last cleared. Madame Vetu and LaGrivotte were carried away, and Gerard removed M. Sabathier in a littlecart, whilst Baron Suire and Berthaud already began giving orders for thegreen train, which would be the next one to arrive. Of all the ailingpilgrims the only one now remaining at the station was Marie, of whomPierre jealously took charge. He had already dragged her into thecourtyard when he noticed that M. De Guersaint had disappeared; but amoment later he perceived him conversing with the Abbe des Hermoises, whose acquaintance he had just made. Their admiration of the beauties ofnature had brought them together. The daylight had now appeared, and thesurrounding mountains displayed themselves in all their majesty. 

"What a lovely country, monsieur!" exclaimed M. De Guersaint. "I havebeen wishing to see the Cirque de Gavarnie for thirty years past. But itis some distance away and the trip must be an expensive one, so that Ifear I shall not be able to make it. "

"You are mistaken, monsieur, " said the Abbe; "nothing is more easilymanaged. By making up a party the expense becomes very slight. And as ithappens, I wish to return there this year, so that if you would like tojoin us--"

"Oh, certainly, monsieur. We will speak of it again. A thousand thanks, "replied M. De Guersaint. 

His daughter was now calling him, however, and he joined her after takingleave of the Abbe in a very cordial manner. Pierre had decided that hewould drag Marie to the hospital so as to spare her the pain oftransference to another vehicle. But as the omnibuses, landaus, and otherconveyances were already coming back, again filling the courtyard inreadiness for the arrival of the next train, the young priest had somedifficulty in reaching the road with the little chariot whose low wheelssank deeply in the mud. Some police agents charged with maintaining orderwere cursing that fearful mire which splashed their boots; and indeed itwas only the touts, the young and old women who had rooms to let, wholaughed at the puddles, which they crossed and crossed again in everydirection, pursuing the last pilgrims that emerged from the station. 

When the little car had begun to roll more easily over the sloping roadMarie suddenly inquired of M. De Guersaint, who was walking near her:"What day of the week is it, father?"

"Saturday, my darling. "

"Ah! yes, Saturday, the day of the Blessed Virgin. Is it to-day that shewill cure me?"

Then she began thinking again; while, at some distance behind her, twobearers came furtively down the road, with a covered stretcher in whichlay the corpse of the man who had died in the train. They had gone totake it from behind the barrels in the goods office, and were nowconveying it to a secret spot of which Father Fourcade had told them. 

II. HOSPITAL AND GROTTO

BUILT, so far as it extends, by a charitable Canon, and left unfinishedthrough lack of money, the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours is a vastpile, four storeys high, and consequently far too lofty, since it isdifficult to carry the sufferers to the topmost wards. As a rule thebuilding is occupied by a hundred infirm and aged paupers; but at theseason of the national pilgrimage these old folks are for three dayssheltered elsewhere, and the hospital is let to the Fathers of theAssumption, who at times lodge in it as many as five and six hundredpatients. Still, however closely packed they may be, the accommodationnever suffices, so that the three or four hundred remaining sufferershave to be distributed between the Hospital of Salvation and the townhospital, the men being sent to the former and the women to the latterinstitution. 

That morning at sunrise great confusion prevailed in the sand-coveredcourtyard of Our Lady of Dolours, at the door of which a couple ofpriests were mounting guard. The temporary staff, with its formidablesupply of registers, cards, and printed formulas, had installed itself inone of the ground-floor rooms on the previous day. The managers weredesirous of greatly improving upon the organisation of the precedingyear. The lower wards were this time to be reserved to the most helplesssufferers; and in order to prevent a repetition of the cases of mistakenidentity which had occurred in the past, very great care was to be takenin filling in and distributing the admission cards, each of which borethe name of a ward and the number of a bed. It became difficult, however, to act in accordance with these good intentions in presence of thetorrent of ailing beings which the white train had brought to Lourdes, and the new formalities so complicated matters that the patients had tobe deposited in the courtyard as they arrived, to wait there until itbecame possible to admit them in something like an orderly manner. It wasthe scene witnessed at the railway station all over again, the samewoeful camping in the open, whilst the bearers and the young seminaristswho acted as the secretary's assistants ran hither and thither inbewilderment. 

"We have been over-ambitious, we wanted to do things too well!" exclaimedBaron Suire in despair. 

There was much truth in his remark, for never had a greater number ofuseless precautions been taken, and they now discovered that, by someinexplicable error, they had allotted not the lower--but thehigher-placed wards to the patients whom it was most difficult to move. It was impossible to begin the classification afresh, however, and so asin former years things must be allowed to take their course, in ahaphazard way. The distribution of the cards began, a young priest at thesame time entering each patient's name and address in a register. Moreover, all the _hospitalisation_ cards bearing the patients' names andnumbers had to be produced, so that the names of the wards and thenumbers of the beds might be added to them; and all these formalitiesgreatly protracted the _defile_. 

Then there was an endless coming and going from the top to the bottom ofthe building, and from one to the other end of each of its four floors. M. Sabathier was one of the first to secure admittance, being placed in aground-floor room which was known as the Family Ward. Sick men were thereallowed to have their wives with them; but to the other wards of thehospital only women were admitted. Brother Isidore, it is true, wasaccompanied by his sister; however, by a special favour it was agreedthat they should be considered as conjoints, and the missionary wasaccordingly placed in the bed next to that allotted to M. Sabathier. Thechapel, still littered with plaster and with its unfinished windowsboarded up, was close at hand. There were also various wards in anunfinished state; still these were filled with mattresses, on whichsufferers were rapidly placed. All those who could walk, however, werealready besieging the refectory, a long gallery whose broad windowslooked into an inner courtyard; and the Saint-Frai Sisters, who managedthe hospital at other times, and had remained to attend to the cooking, began to distribute bowls of coffee and chocolate among the poor womenwhom the terrible journey had exhausted. 

"Rest yourselves and try to gain a little strength, " repeated BaronSuire, who was ever on the move, showing himself here, there, andeverywhere in rapid succession. "You have three good hours before you, itis not yet five, and their reverences have given orders that you are notto be taken to the Grotto until eight o'clock, so as to avoid anyexcessive fatigue. "

Meanwhile, up above on the second floor, Madame de Jonquiere had been oneof the first to take possession of the Sainte-Honorine Ward of which shewas the superintendent. She had been obliged to leave her daughterRaymonde downstairs, for the regulations did not allow young girls toenter the wards, where they might have witnessed sights that werescarcely proper or else too horrible for such eyes as theirs. Raymondehad therefore remained in the refectory as a helper; however, littleMadame Desagneaux, being a lady-hospitaller, had not left thesuperintendent, and was already asking her for orders, in her delightthat she should at last be able to render some assistance. 

"Are all these beds properly made, madame?" she inquired; "perhaps I hadbetter make them afresh with Sister Hyacinthe. "

The ward, whose walls were painted a light yellow, and whose few windowsadmitted but little light from an inner yard, contained fifteen beds, standing in two rows against the walls. 

"We will see by-and-by, " replied Madame de Jonquiere with an absorbedair. She was busy counting the beds and examining the long narrowapartment. And this accomplished she added in an undertone: "I shallnever have room enough. They say that I must accommodate twenty-threepatients. We shall have to put some mattresses down. "

Sister Hyacinthe, who had followed the ladies after leaving SisterSaint-Francois and Sister Claire des Anges in a small adjoining apartmentwhich was being transformed into a linen-room, then began to lift up thecoverlets and examine the bedding. And she promptly reassured MadameDesagneaux with regard to her surmises. "Oh! the beds are properly made, "she said; "everything is very clean too. One can see that the Saint-FraiSisters have attended to things themselves. The reserve mattresses are inthe next room, however, and if madame will lend me a hand we can placesome of them between the beds at once. 

"Oh, certainly!" exclaimed young Madame Desagneaux, quite excited by theidea of carrying mattresses about with her weak slender arms. 

It became necessary for Madame de Jonquiere to calm her. "By-and-by, "said the lady-superintendent; "there is no hurry. Let us wait till ourpatients arrive. I don't much like this ward, it is so difficult to air. Last year I had the Sainte-Rosalie Ward on the first floor. However, wewill organise matters, all the same. "

Some other lady-hospitallers were now arriving, quite a hiveful of busybees, all eager to start on their work. The confusion which so oftenarose was, in fact, increased by the excessive number of nurses, women ofthe aristocracy and upper-middle class, with whose fervent zeal somelittle vanity was blended. There were more than two hundred of them, andas each had to make a donation on joining the Hospitality of Our Lady ofSalvation, the managers did not dare to refuse any applicants, for fearlest they might check the flow of alms-giving. Thus the number oflady-hospitallers increased year by year. Fortunately there were amongthem some who cared for nothing beyond the privilege of wearing the redcloth cross, and who started off on excursions as soon as they reachedLourdes. Still it must be acknowledged that those who devoted themselveswere really deserving, for they underwent five days of awful fatigue, sleeping scarcely a couple of hours each night, and living in the midstof the most terrible and repulsive spectacles. They witnessed the deathagonies, dressed the pestilential sores, cleaned up, changed linen, turned the sufferers over in their beds, went through a sickening andoverwhelming labour to which they were in no wise accustomed. And thusthey emerged from it aching all over, tired to death, with feverish eyesflaming with the joy of the charity which so excited them. 

"And Madame Volmar?" suddenly asked Madame Desagneaux. "I thought weshould find her here. "

This was apparently a subject which Madame de Jonquiere did not care tohave discussed; for, as though she were aware of the truth and wished tobury it in silence, with the indulgence of a woman who compassionateshuman wretchedness, she promptly retorted: "Madame Volmar isn't strong, she must have gone to the hotel to rest. We must let her sleep. "

Then she apportioned the beds among the ladies present, allotting two toeach of them; and this done they all finished taking possession of theplace, hastening up and down and backwards and forwards in order toascertain where the offices, the linen-room, and the kitchens weresituated. 

"And the dispensary?" then asked one of the ladies. 

But there was no dispensary. There was no medical staff even. What wouldhave been the use of any?--since the patients were those whom science hadgiven up, despairing creatures who had come to beg of God the cure whichpowerless men were unable to promise them. Logically enough, alltreatment was suspended during the pilgrimage. If a patient seemed likelyto die, extreme unction was administered. The only medical man about theplace was the young doctor who had come by the white train with hislittle medicine chest; and his intervention was limited to an endeavourto assuage the sufferings of those patients who chanced to ask for himduring an attack. 

As it happened, Sister Hyacinthe was just bringing Ferrand, whom SisterSaint-Francois had kept with her in a closet near the linen-room which heproposed to make his quarters. "Madame, " said he to Madame de Jonquiere, "I am entirely at your disposal. In case of need you will only have toring for me. "

She barely listened to him, however, engaged as she was in a quarrel witha young priest belonging to the management with reference to a deficiencyof certain utensils. "Certainly, monsieur, if we should need a soothingdraught, " she answered, and then, reverting to her discussion, she wenton: "Well, Monsieur l'Abbe, you must certainly get me four or five more. How can we possibly manage with so few? Things are bad enough as it is. "

Ferrand looked and listened, quite bewildered by the extraordinarybehaviour of the people amongst whom he had been thrown by chance sincethe previous day. He who did not believe, who was only present out offriendship and charity, was amazed at this extraordinary scramble ofwretchedness and suffering rushing towards the hope of happiness. And, asa medical man of the new school, he was altogether upset by the carelessneglect of precautions, the contempt which was shown for the most simpleteachings of science, in the certainty which was apparently felt that, ifHeaven should so will it, cure would supervene, sudden and resounding, like a lie given to the very laws of nature. But if this were the case, what was the use of that last concession to human prejudices--why engagea doctor for the journey if none were wanted? At this thought the youngman returned to his little room, experiencing a vague feeling of shame ashe realised that his presence was useless, and even a trifle ridiculous. 

"Get some opium pills ready all the same, " said Sister Hyacinthe, as shewent back with him as far as the linen-room. "You will be asked for some, for I feel anxious about some of the patients. "

While speaking she looked at him with her large blue eyes, so gentle andso kind, and ever lighted by a divine smile. The constant exercise whichshe gave herself brought the rosy flush of her quick blood to her skinall dazzling with youthfulness. And like a good friend who was willingthat he should share the work to which she gave her heart, she added:"Besides, if I should need somebody to get a patient in or out of bed, you will help me, won't you?"

Thereupon, at the idea that he might be of use to her, he was pleasedthat he had come and was there. In his mind's eye, he again beheld her athis bedside, at the time when he had so narrowly escaped death, nursinghim with fraternal hands, with the smiling, compassionate grace of asexless angel, in whom there was something more than a comrade, somethingof a woman left. However, the thought never occurred to him that therewas religion, belief, behind her. 

"Oh! I will help you as much as you like, Sister, " he replied. "I belongto you, I shall be so happy to serve you. You know very well what a debtof gratitude I have to pay you. "

In a pretty way she raised her finger to her lips so as to silence him. Nobody owed her anything. She was merely the servant of the ailing andthe poor. 

At this moment a first patient was making her entry into theSainte-Honorine Ward. It was Marie, lying in her wooden box, whichPierre, with Gerard's assistance, had just brought up-stairs. The last tostart from the railway station, she had secured admission before theothers, thanks to the endless complications which, after keeping them allin suspense, now freed them according to the chance distribution of theadmission cards. M. De Guersaint had quitted his daughter at the hospitaldoor by her own desire; for, fearing the hotels would be very full, shehad wished him to secure two rooms for himself and Pierre at once. Then, on reaching the ward, she felt so weary that, after venting her chagrinat not being immediately taken to the Grotto, she consented to be laid ona bed for a short time. 

"Come, my child, " repeated Madame de Jonquiere, "you have three hoursbefore you. We will put you to bed. It will ease you to take you out ofthat case. "

Thereupon the lady-superintendent raised her by the shoulders, whilstSister Hyacinthe held her feet. The bed was in the central part of theward, near a window. For a moment the poor girl remained on it with hereyes closed, as though exhausted by being moved about so much. Then itbecame necessary that Pierre should be readmitted, for she grew veryfidgety, saying that there were things which she must explain to him. 

"Pray don't go away, my friend, " she exclaimed when he approached her. "Take the case out on to the landing, but stay there, because I want tobe taken down as soon as I can get permission. "

"Do you feel more comfortable now?" asked the young priest. 

"Yes, no doubt--but I really don't know. I so much want to be takenyonder to the Blessed Virgin's feet. "

However, when Pierre had removed the case, the successive arrivals of theother patients supplied her with some little diversion. Madame Vetu, whomtwo bearers had brought up-stairs, holding her under the arms, was laid, fully dressed, on the next bed, where she remained motionless, scarcebreathing, with her heavy, yellow, cancerous mask. None of the patients, it should be mentioned, were divested of their clothes, they were simplystretched out on the beds, and advised to go to sleep if they couldmanage to do so. Those whose complaints were less grievous contentedthemselves with sitting down on their mattresses, chatting together, andputting the things they had brought with them in order. For instance, Elise Rouquet, who was also near Marie, on the other side of the latter'sbed, opened her basket to take a clean fichu out of it, and seemed sorelyannoyed at having no hand-glass with her. In less than ten minutes allthe beds were occupied, so that when La Grivotte appeared, half carriedby Sister Hyacinthe and Sister Claire des Anges, it became necessary toplace some mattresses on the floor. 

"Here! here is one, " exclaimed Madame Desagneaux; "she will be very wellhere, out of the draught from the door. "

Seven other mattresses were soon added in a line, occupying the spacebetween the rows of beds, so that it became difficult to move about. Onehad to be very careful, and follow narrow pathways which had been leftbetween the beds and the mattresses. Each of the patients had retainedpossession of her parcel, or box, or bag, and round about the improvisedshakedowns were piles of poor old things, sorry remnants of garments, straying among the sheets and the coverlets. You might have thoughtyourself in some woeful infirmary, hastily organised after some greatcatastrophe, some conflagration or earthquake which had thrown hundredsof wounded and penniless beings into the streets. 

Madame de Jonquiere made her way from one to the other end of the ward, ever and ever repeating, "Come, my children, don't excite yourselves; tryto sleep a little. "

However, she did not succeed in calming them, and indeed, she herself, like the other lady-hospitallers under her orders, increased the generalfever by her own bewilderment. The linen of several patients had to bechanged, and there were other needs to be attended to. One woman, suffering from an ulcer in the leg, began moaning so dreadfully thatMadame Desagneaux undertook to dress her sore afresh; but she was notskilful, and despite all her passionate courage she almost fainted, sogreatly was she distressed by the unbearable odour. Those patients whowere in better health asked for broth, bowlfuls of which began tocirculate amidst the calls, the answers, and the contradictory orderswhich nobody executed. And meanwhile, let loose amidst this frightfulscramble, little Sophie Couteau, who remained with the Sisters, and wasvery gay, imagined that it was playtime, and ran, and jumped, and hoppedin turn, called and petted first by one and then by another, dear as shewas to all alike for the miraculous hope which she brought them. 

However, amidst this agitation, the hours went by. Seven o'clock had juststruck when Abbe Judaine came in. He was the chaplain of theSainte-Honorine Ward, and only the difficulty of finding an unoccupiedaltar at which he might say his mass had delayed his arrival. As soon ashe appeared, a cry of impatience arose from every bed. 

"Oh! Monsieur le Cure, let us start, let us start at once!"

An ardent desire, which each passing minute heightened and irritated, wasupbuoying them, like a more and more devouring thirst, which only thewaters of the miraculous fountain could appease. And more fervently thanany of the others, La Grivotte, sitting up on her mattress, and joiningher hands, begged and begged that she might be taken to the Grotto. Wasthere not a beginning of the miracle in this--in this awakening of herwill power, this feverish desire for cure which enabled her to setherself erect? Inert and fainting on her arrival, she was now seated, turning her dark glances in all directions, waiting and watching for thehappy moment when she would be removed. And colour also was returning toher livid face. She was already resuscitating. 

"Oh! Monsieur le Cure, pray do tell them to take me--I feel that I shallbe cured, " she exclaimed. 

With a loving, fatherly smile on his good-natured face, Abbe Judainelistened to them all, and allayed their impatience with kind words. Theywould soon set out; but they must be reasonable, and allow sufficienttime for things to be organised; and besides, the Blessed Virgin did notlike to have violence done her; she bided her time, and distributed herdivine favours among those who behaved themselves the best. 

As he paused before Marie's bed and beheld her, stammering entreatieswith joined hands, he again paused. "And you, too, my daughter, you arein a hurry?" he said. "Be easy, there is grace enough in heaven for youall. "

"I am dying of love, Father, " she murmured in reply. "My heart is soswollen with prayers, it stifles me--"

He was greatly touched by the passion of this poor emaciated child, soharshly stricken in her youth and beauty, and wishing to appease her, hecalled her attention to Madame Vetu, who did not move, though with hereyes wide open she stared at all who passed. 

"Look at madame, how quiet she is!" he said. "She is meditating, and shedoes right to place herself in God's hands, like a little child. "

However, in a scarcely audible voice, a mere breath, Madame Vetustammered: "Oh! I am suffering, I am suffering. "

At last, at a quarter to eight o'clock, Madame de Jonquiere warned hercharges that they would do well to prepare themselves. She herself, assisted by Sister Hyacinthe and Madame Desagneaux, buttoned severaldresses, and put shoes on impotent feet. It was a real toilette, for theyall desired to appear to the greatest advantage before the BlessedVirgin. A large number had sufficient sense of delicacy to wash theirhands. Others unpacked their parcels, and put on clean linen. On herside, Elise Rouquet had ended by discovering a little pocket-glass in thehands of a woman near her, a huge, dropsical creature, who was verycoquettish; and having borrowed it, she leant it against the bolster, andthen, with infinite care, began to fasten her fichu as elegantly aspossible about her head, in order to hide her distorted features. Meanwhile, erect in front of her, little Sophie watched her with an airof profound interest. 

It was Abbe Judaine who gave the signal for starting on the journey tothe Grotto. He wished, he said, to accompany his dear suffering daughtersthither, whilst the lady-hospitallers and the Sisters remained in theward, so as to put things in some little order again. Then the ward wasat once emptied, the patients being carried down-stairs amidst renewedtumult. And Pierre, having replaced Marie's box upon its wheels, took thefirst place in the _cortege_, which was formed of a score of littlehandcarts, bath-chairs, and litters. The other wards, however, were alsoemptying, the courtyard became crowded, and the _defile_ was organised inhaphazard fashion. There was soon an interminable train descending therather steep slope of the Avenue de la Grotte, so that Pierre was alreadyreaching the Plateau de la Merlasse when the last stretchers were barelyleaving the precincts of the hospital. 

It was eight o'clock, and the sun, already high, a triumphant August sun, was flaming in the great sky, which was beautifully clear. It seemed asif the blue of the atmosphere, cleansed by the storm of the previousnight, were quite new, fresh with youth. And the frightful _defile_, aperfect "Cour des Miracles" of human woe, rolled along the slopingpavement amid all the brilliancy of that radiant morning. There was noend to the train of abominations; it appeared to grow longer and longer. No order was observed, ailments of all kinds were jumbled together; itseemed like the clearing of some inferno where the most monstrousmaladies, the rare and awful cases which provoke a shudder, had beengathered together. Eczema, roseola, elephantiasis, presented a long arrayof doleful victims. Well-nigh vanished diseases reappeared; one old womanwas affected with leprosy, another was, covered with impetiginous lichenlike a tree which has rotted in the shade. Then came the dropsical ones, inflated like wine-skins; and beside some stretchers there dangled handstwisted by rheumatism, while from others protruded feet swollen by oedemabeyond all recognition, looking, in fact, like bags full of rags. Onewoman, suffering from hydrocephalus, sat in a little cart, the dolorousmotions of her head bespeaking her grievous malady. A tall girl afflictedwith chorea--St. Vitus's dance--was dancing with every limb, without apause, the left side of her face being continually distorted by sudden, convulsive grimaces. A younger one, who followed, gave vent to a bark, akind of plaintive animal cry, each time that the tic douloureux which wastorturing her twisted her mouth and her right cheek, which she seemed tothrow forward. Next came the consumptives, trembling with fever, exhausted by dysentery, wasted to skeletons, with livid skins, recallingthe colour of that earth in which they would soon be laid to rest; andthere was one among them who was quite white, with flaming eyes, wholooked indeed like a death's head in which a torch had been lighted. Thenevery deformity of the contractions followed in succession--twistedtrunks, twisted arms, necks askew, all the distortions of poor creatureswhom nature had warped and broken; and among these was one whose righthand was thrust back behind her ribs whilst her head fell to the leftresting fixedly upon her shoulder. Afterwards came poor rachitic girlsdisplaying waxen complexions and slender necks eaten away by sores, andyellow-faced women in the painful stupor which falls on those whosebosoms are devoured by cancers; whilst others, lying down with theirmournful eyes gazing heavenwards, seemed to be listening to the throbs ofthe tumours which obstructed their organs. And still more and more wentby; there was always something more frightful to come; this womanfollowing that other one increased the general shudder of horror. Fromthe neck of a girl of twenty who had a crushed, flattened head like atoad's, there hung so large a goitre that it fell even to her waist likethe bib of an apron. A blind woman walked along, her head erect, her facepale like marble, displaying the acute inflammation of her poor, ulcerated eyes. An aged woman stricken with imbecility, afflicted withdreadful facial disfigurements, laughed aloud with a terrifying laugh. And all at once an epileptic was seized with convulsions, and beganfoaming on her stretcher, without, however, causing any stoppage of theprocession, which never slackened its march, lashed onward as it was bythe blizzard of feverish passion which impelled it towards the Grotto. 

The bearers, the priests, and the ailing ones themselves had justintonated a canticle, the song of Bernadette, and all rolled along amidthe besetting "Aves, " so that the little carts, the litters, and thepedestrians descended the sloping road like a swollen and overflowingtorrent of roaring water. At the corner of the Rue Saint-Joseph, near thePlateau de la Merlasse, a family of excursionists, who had come fromCauterets or Bagneres, stood at the edge of the footway, overcome withprofound astonishment. These people were evidently well-to-do_bourgeois_, the father and mother very correct in appearance anddemeanour, while their two big girls, attired in light-coloured dresses, had the smiling faces of happy creatures who are amusing themselves. Buttheir first feeling of surprise was soon followed by terror, a growingterror, as if they beheld the opening of some pesthouse of ancient times, some hospital of the legendary ages, evacuated after a great epidemic. The two girls became quite pale, while the father and the mother felt icycold in presence of that endless _defile_ of so many horrors, thepestilential emanations of which were blown full in their faces. O God!to think that such hideousness, such filth, such suffering, should exist!Was it possible--under that magnificently radiant sun, under those broadheavens so full of light and joy whither the freshness of the Gave'swaters ascended, and the breeze of morning wafted the pure perfumes ofthe mountains!

When Pierre, at the head of the _cortege_, reached the Plateau de laMerlasse, he found himself immersed in that clear sunlight, that freshand balmy air. He turned round and smiled affectionately at Marie; and asthey came out on the Place du Rosaire in the morning splendour, they wereboth enchanted with the lovely panorama which spread around them. 

In front, on the east, was Old Lourdes, lying in a broad fold of theground beyond a rock. The sun was rising behind the distant mountains, and its oblique rays clearly outlined the dark lilac mass of thatsolitary rock, which was crowned by the tower and crumbling walls of theancient castle, once the redoubtable key of the seven valleys. Throughthe dancing, golden dust you discerned little of the ruined pile exceptsome stately outlines, some huge blocks of building which looked asthough reared by Cyclopean hands; and beyond the rock you but vaguelydistinguished the discoloured, intermingled house-roofs of the old town. Nearer in than the castle, however, the new town--the rich and noisy citywhich had sprung up in a few years as though by miracle--spread out oneither hand, displaying its hotels, its stylish shops, its lodging-housesall with white fronts smiling amidst patches of greenery. Then there wasthe Gave flowing along at the base of the rock, rolling clamorous, clearwaters, now blue and now green, now deep as they passed under the oldbridge, and now leaping as they careered under the new one, which theFathers of the Immaculate Conception had built in order to connect theGrotto with the railway station and the recently opened Boulevard. And asa background to this delightful picture, this fresh water, this greenery, this gay, scattered, rejuvenated town, the little and the big Gers arose, two huge ridges of bare rock and low herbage, which, in the projectedshade that bathed them, assumed delicate tints of pale mauve and green, fading softly into pink. 

Then, upon the north, on the right bank of the Gave, beyond the hillsfollowed by the railway line, the heights of La Buala ascended, theirwooded slopes radiant in the morning light. On that side lay Bartres. More to the left arose the Serre de Julos, dominated by the Miramont. Other crests, far off, faded away into the ether. And in the foreground, rising in tiers among the grassy valleys beyond the Gave, a number ofconvents, which seemed to have sprung up in this region of prodigies likeearly vegetation, imparted some measure of life to the landscape. First, there was an Orphan Asylum founded by the Sisters of Nevers, whose vastbuildings shone brightly in the sunlight. Next came the Carmeliteconvent, on the highway to Pau, just in front of the Grotto; and thenthat of the Assumptionists higher up, skirting the road to Poueyferre;whilst the Dominicans showed but a corner of their roofs, sequestered inthe far-away solitude. And at last appeared the establishment of theSisters of the Immaculate Conception, those who were called the BlueSisters, and who had founded at the far end of the valley a home wherethey received well-to-do lady pilgrims, desirous of solitude, asboarders. 

At that early hour all the bells of these convents were pealing joyfullyin the crystalline atmosphere, whilst the bells of other convents, on theother, the southern horizon, answered them with the same silvery strainsof joy. The bell of the nunnery of Sainte Clarissa, near the old bridge, rang a scale of gay, clear notes, which one might have fancied to be thechirruping of a bird. And on this side of the town, also, there werevalleys that dipped down between the ridges, and mountains that uprearedtheir bare sides, a commingling of smiling and of agitated nature, anendless surging of heights amongst which you noticed those of Visens, whose slopes the sunlight tinged ornately with soft blue and carmine of arippling, moire-like effect. 

However, when Marie and Pierre turned their eyes to the west, they werequite dazzled. The sun rays were here streaming on the large and thelittle Beout with their cupolas of unequal height. And on this side thebackground was one of gold and purple, a dazzling mountain on whose sidesone could only discern the road which snaked between the trees on its wayto the Calvary above. And here, too, against the sunlit background, radiant like an aureola, stood out the three superposed churches which atthe voice of Bernadette had sprung from the rock to the glory of theBlessed Virgin. First of all, down below, came the church of the Rosary, squat, circular, and half cut out of the rock, at the farther end of anesplanade on either side of which, like two huge arms, were colossalgradient ways ascending gently to the Crypt church. Vast labour had beenexpended here, a quarryful of stones had been cut and set in position, there were arches as lofty as naves supporting the gigantic terracedavenues which had been constructed so that the processions might rollalong in all their pomp, and the little conveyances containing sickchildren might ascend without hindrance to the divine presence. Then camethe Crypt, the subterranean church within the rock, with only its lowdoor visible above the church of the Rosary, whose paved roof, with itsvast promenade, formed a continuation of the terraced inclines. And atlast, from the summit sprang the Basilica, somewhat slender and frail, recalling some finely chased jewel of the Renascence, and looking verynew and very white--like a prayer, a spotless dove, soaring aloft fromthe rocks of Massabielle. The spire, which appeared the more delicate andslight when compared with the gigantic inclines below, seemed like thelittle vertical flame of a taper set in the midst of the vast landscape, those endless waves of valleys and mountains. By the side, too, of thedense greenery of the Calvary hill, it looked fragile and candid, likechildish faith; and at sight of it you instinctively thought of thelittle white arm, the little thin hand of the puny girl, who had herepointed to Heaven in the crisis of her human sufferings. You could notsee the Grotto, the entrance of which was on the left, at the base of therock. Beyond the Basilica, the only buildings which caught the eye werethe heavy square pile where the Fathers of the Immaculate Conception hadtheir abode, and the episcopal palace, standing much farther away, in aspreading, wooded valley. And the three churches were flaming in themorning glow, and the rain of gold scattered by the sun rays was sweepingthe whole countryside, whilst the flying peals of the bells seemed to bethe very vibration of the light, the musical awakening of the lovely daythat was now beginning. 

Whilst crossing the Place du Rosaire, Pierre and Marie glanced at theEsplanade, the public walk with its long central lawn skirted by broadparallel paths and extending as far as the new bridge. Here, with faceturned towards the Basilica, was the great crowned statue of the Virgin. All the sufferers crossed themselves as they went by. And stillpassionately chanting its canticle, the fearful _cortege_ rolled on, through nature in festive array. Under the dazzling sky, past themountains of gold and purple, amidst the centenarian trees, symbolical ofhealth, the running waters whose freshness was eternal, that _cortege_still and ever marched on with its sufferers, whom nature, if not God, had condemned, those who were afflicted with skin diseases, those whoseflesh was eaten away, those who were dropsical and inflated likewine-skins, and those whom rheumatism and paralysis had twisted intopostures of agony. And the victims of hydrocephalus followed, with thedancers of St. Vitus, the consumptives, the rickety, the epileptic, thecancerous, the goitrous, the blind, the mad, and the idiotic. "Ave, ave, ave, Maria!" they sang; and the stubborn plaint acquired increasedvolume, as nearer and nearer to the Grotto it bore that abominabletorrent of human wretchedness and pain, amidst all the fright and horrorof the passers-by, who stopped short, unable to stir, their hearts frozenas this nightmare swept before their eyes. 

Pierre and Marie were the first to pass under the lofty arcade of one ofthe terraced inclines. And then, as they followed the quay of the Gave, they all at once came upon the Grotto. And Marie, whom Pierre wheeled asnear to the railing as possible, was only able to raise herself in herlittle conveyance, and murmur: "O most Blessed Virgin, Virgin mostloved!"

She had seen neither the entrances to the piscinas nor the twelve-pipedfountain, which she had just passed; nor did she distinguish any betterthe shop on her left hand where crucifixes, chaplets, statuettes, pictures, and other religious articles were sold, or the stone pulpit onher right which Father Massias already occupied. Her eyes were dazzled bythe splendour of the Grotto; it seemed to her as if a hundred thousandtapers were burning there behind the railing, filling the low entrancewith the glow of a furnace and illuminating, as with star rays, thestatue of the Virgin, which stood, higher up, at the edge of a narrowogive-like cavity. And for her, apart from that glorious apparition, nothing existed there, neither the crutches with which a part of thevault had been covered, nor the piles of bouquets fading away amidst theivy and the eglantine, nor even the altar placed in the centre near alittle portable organ over which a cover had been thrown. However, as sheraised her eyes above the rock, she once more beheld the slender whiteBasilica profiled against the sky, its slight, tapering spire soaringinto the azure of the Infinite like a prayer. 

"O Virgin most powerful--Queen of the Virgins--Holy Virgin of Virgins!"

Pierre had now succeeded in wheeling Marie's box to the front rank, beyond the numerous oak benches which were set out here in the open airas in the nave of a church. Nearly all these benches were alreadyoccupied by those sufferers who could sit down, while the vacant spaceswere soon filled with litters and little vehicles whose wheels becameentangled together, and on whose close-packed mattresses and pillows allsorts of diseases were gathered pell-mell. Immediately on arriving, theyoung priest had recognised the Vignerons seated with their sorry childGustave in the middle of a bench, and now, on the flagstones, he caughtsight of the lace-trimmed bed of Madame Dieulafay, beside whom herhusband and sister knelt in prayer. Moreover, all the patients of Madamede Jonquiere's carriage took up position here--M. Sabathier and BrotherIsidore side by side, Madame Vetu reclining hopelessly in a conveyance, Elise Rouquet seated, La Grivotte excited and raising herself on herclenched hands. Pierre also again perceived Madame Maze, standingsomewhat apart from the others, and humbling herself in prayer; whilstMadame Vincent, who had fallen on her knees, still holding her littleRose in her arms, presented the child to the Virgin with ardent entreaty, the distracted gesture of a mother soliciting compassion from the motherof divine grace. And around this reserved space was the ever-growingthrong of pilgrims, the pressing, jostling mob which gradually stretchedto the parapet overlooking the Gave. 

"O Virgin most merciful, " continued Marie in an undertone, "Virgin mostfaithful, Virgin conceived without sin!"

Then, almost fainting, she spoke no more, but with her lips still moving, as though in silent prayer, gazed distractedly at Pierre. He thought thatshe wished to speak to him and leant forward: "Shall I remain here atyour disposal to take you to the piscina by-and-by?" he asked. 

But as soon as she understood him she shook her head. And then in afeverish way she said: "No, no, I don't want to be bathed this morning. It seems to me that one must be truly worthy, truly pure, truly holybefore seeking the miracle! I want to spend the whole morning inimploring it with joined hands; I want to pray, to pray with all mystrength and all my soul--" She was stifling, and paused. Then she added:"Don't come to take me back to the hospital till eleven o'clock. I willnot let them take me from here till then. "

However, Pierre did not go away, but remained near her. For a moment, heeven fell upon his knees; he also would have liked to pray with the sameburning faith, to beg of God the cure of that poor sick child, whom heloved with such fraternal affection. But since he had reached the Grottohe had felt a singular sensation invading him, a covert revolt, as itwere, which hampered the pious flight of his prayer. He wished tobelieve; he had spent the whole night hoping that belief would once moreblossom in his soul, like some lovely flower of innocence and candour, assoon as he should have knelt upon the soil of that land of miracle. Andyet he only experienced discomfort and anxiety in presence of thetheatrical scene before him, that pale stiff statue in the false light ofthe tapers, with the chaplet shop full of jostling customers on the onehand, and the large stone pulpit whence a Father of the Assumption wasshouting "Aves" on the other. Had his soul become utterly withered then?Could no divine dew again impregnate it with innocence, render it likethe souls of little children, who at the slightest caressing touch of thesacred legend give themselves to it entirely?

Then, while his thoughts were still wandering, he recognised FatherMassias in the ecclesiastic who occupied the pulpit. He had formerlyknown him, and was quite stirred by his sombre ardour, by the sight ofhis thin face and sparkling eyes, by the eloquence which poured from hislarge mouth as he offered violence to Heaven to compel it to descend uponearth. And whilst he thus examined Father Massias, astonished at feelinghimself so unlike the preacher, he caught sight of Father Fourcade, who, at the foot of the pulpit, was deep in conference with Baron Suire. Thelatter seemed much perplexed by something which Father Fourcade said tohim; however he ended by approving it with a complaisant nod. Then, asAbbe Judaine was also standing there, Father Fourcade likewise spoke tohim for a moment, and a scared expression came over the Abbe's broad, fatherly face while he listened; nevertheless, like the Baron, he at lastbowed assent. 

Then, all at once, Father Fourcade appeared in the pulpit, erect, drawingup his lofty figure which his attack of gout had slightly bent; and hehad not wished that Father Massias, his well-loved brother, whom hepreferred above all others, should altogether go down the narrowstairway, for he had kept him upon one of the steps, and was leaning onhis shoulder. And in a full, grave voice, with an air of sovereignauthority which caused perfect silence to reign around, he spoke asfollows:

"My dear brethren, my dear sisters, I ask your forgiveness forinterrupting your prayers, but I have a communication to make to you, andI have to ask the help of all your faithful souls. We had a very sadaccident to deplore this morning, one of our brethren died in one of thetrains by which you came to Lourdes, died just as he was about to setfoot in the promised land. "

A brief pause followed and Father Fourcade seemed to become yet taller, his handsome face beaming with fervour, amidst his long, streaming, royalbeard. 

"Well, my dear brethren, my dear sisters, " he resumed, "in spite ofeverything, the idea has come to me that we ought not to despair. Whoknows if God Almighty did not will that death in order that He mightprove His Omnipotence to the world? It is as though a voice were speakingto me, urging me to ascend this pulpit and ask your prayers for this man, this man who is no more, but whose life is nevertheless in the hands ofthe most Blessed Virgin who can still implore her Divine Son in hisfavour. Yes, the man is here, I have caused his body to be broughthither, and it depends on you, perhaps, whether a brilliant miracle shalldazzle the universe, if you pray with sufficient ardour to touch thecompassion of Heaven. We will plunge the man's body into the piscina andwe will entreat the Lord, the master of the world, to resuscitate him, togive unto us this extraordinary sign of His sovereign beneficence!"

An icy thrill, wafted from the Invisible, passed through the listeners. They had all become pale, and though the lips of none of them had opened, it seemed as if a murmur sped through their ranks amidst a shudder. 

"But with what ardour must we not pray!" violently resumed FatherFourcade, exalted by genuine faith. "It is your souls, your whole souls, that I ask of you, my dear brothers, my dear sisters, it is a prayer inwhich you must put your hearts, your blood, your very life with whatevermay be most noble and loving in it! Pray with all your strength, praytill you no longer know who you are, or where you are; pray as one loves, pray as one dies, for that which we are about to ask is so precious, sorare, so astounding a grace that only the energy of our worship caninduce God to answer us. And in order that our prayers may be the moreefficacious, in order that they may have time to spread and ascend to thefeet of the Eternal Father, we will not lower the body into the piscinauntil four o'clock this afternoon. And now my dear brethren, now my dearsisters, pray, pray to the most Blessed Virgin, the Queen of the Angels, the Comforter of the Afflicted!"

Then he himself, distracted by emotion, resumed the recital of therosary, whilst near him Father Massias burst into sobs. And thereupon thegreat anxious silence was broken, contagion seized upon the throng, itwas transported and gave vent to shouts, tears, and confused stammeredentreaties. It was as though a breath of delirium were sweeping by, reducing men's wills to naught, and turning all these beings into onebeing, exasperated with love and seized with a mad desire for theimpossible prodigy. 

And for a moment Pierre had thought that the ground was giving waybeneath him, that he was about to fall and faint. But with difficulty hemanaged to rise from his knees and slowly walked away. 

III. FOUNTAIN AND PISCINA

As Pierre went off, ill at ease, mastered by invincible repugnance, unwilling to remain there any longer, he caught sight of M. De Guersaint, kneeling near the Grotto, with the absorbed air of one who is prayingwith his whole soul. The young priest had not seen him since the morning, and did not know whether he had managed to secure a couple of rooms inone or other of the hotels, so that his first impulse was to go and joinhim. Then, however, he hesitated, unwilling to disturb his meditations, for he was doubtless praying for his daughter, whom he fondly loved, inspite of the constant absent-mindedness of his volatile brain. Accordingly, the young priest passed on, and took his way under thetrees. Nine o'clock was now striking, he had a couple of hours beforehim. 

By dint of money, the wild bank where swine had formerly pastured hadbeen transformed into a superb avenue skirting the Gave. It had beennecessary to put back the river's bed in order to gain ground, and layout a monumental quay bordered by a broad footway, and protected by aparapet. Some two or three hundred yards farther on, a hill brought theavenue to an end, and it thus resembled an enclosed promenade, providedwith benches, and shaded by magnificent trees. Nobody passed along, however; merely the overflow of the crowd had settled there, and solitaryspots still abounded between the grassy wall limiting the promenade onthe south, and the extensive fields spreading out northward beyond theGave, as far as the wooded slopes which the white-walled conventsbrightened. Under the foliage, on the margin of the running water, onecould enjoy delightful freshness, even during the burning days of August. 

Thus Pierre, like a man at last awakening from a painful dream, soonfound rest of mind again. He had questioned himself in the acute anxietywhich he felt with regard to his sensations. Had he not reached Lourdesthat morning possessed by a genuine desire to believe, an idea that hewas indeed again beginning to believe even as he had done in the dociledays of childhood when his mother had made him join his hands, and taughthim to fear God? Yet as soon as he had found himself at the Grotto, theidolatry of the worship, the violence of the display of faith, theonslaught upon human reason which he witnessed, had so disturbed him thathe had almost fainted. What would become of him then? Could he not eventry to contend against his doubts by examining things and convincinghimself of their truth, thus turning his journey to profit? At allevents, he had made a bad beginning, which left him sorely agitated, andhe indeed needed the environment of those fine trees, that limpid, rushing water, that calm, cool avenue, to recover from the shock. 

Still pondering, he was approaching the end of the pathway, when he mostunexpectedly met a forgotten friend. He had, for a few seconds, beenlooking at a tall old gentleman who was coming towards him, dressed in atightly buttoned frock-coat and broad-brimmed hat; and he had tried toremember where it was that he had previously beheld that pale face, witheagle nose, and black and penetrating eyes. These he had seen before, hefelt sure of it; but the promenader's long white beard and long curlywhite hair perplexed him. However, the other halted, also lookingextremely astonished, though he promptly exclaimed, "What, Pierre? Is ityou, at Lourdes?"

Then all at once the young priest recognised Doctor Chassaigne, hisfather's old friend, his own friend, the man who had cured and consoledhim in the terrible physical and mental crisis which had come upon himafter his mother's death. 

"Ah! my dear doctor, how pleased I am to see you!" he replied. 

They embraced with deep emotion. And now, in presence of that snowy hairand snowy beard, that slow walk, that sorrowful demeanour, Pierreremembered with what unrelenting ferocity misfortune had fallen on thatunhappy man and aged him. But a few years had gone by, and now, when theymet again, he was bowed down by destiny. 

"You did not know, I suppose, that I had remained at Lourdes?" said thedoctor. "It's true that I no longer write to anybody; in fact, I am nolonger among the living. I live in the land of the dead. " Tears weregathering in his eyes, and emotion made his voice falter as he resumed:"There! come and sit down on that bench yonder; it will please me to livethe old days afresh with you, just for a moment. "

In his turn the young priest felt his sobs choking him. He could onlymurmur: "Ah! my dear doctor, my old friend, I can truly tell you that Ipitied you with my whole heart, my whole soul. "

Doctor Chassaigne's story was one of disaster, the shipwreck of a life. He and his daughter Marguerite, a tall and lovable girl of twenty, hadgone to Cauterets with Madame Chassaigne, the model wife and mother, whose state of health had made them somewhat anxious. A fortnight hadelapsed and she seemed much better, and was already planning severalpleasure trips, when one morning she was found dead in her bed. Herhusband and daughter were overwhelmed, stupefied by this sudden blow, this cruel treachery of death. The doctor, who belonged to Bartres, had afamily vault in the Lourdes cemetery, a vault constructed at his ownexpense, and in which his father and mother already rested. He desired, therefore, that his wife should be interred there, in a compartmentadjoining that in which he expected soon to lie himself. And after theburial he had lingered for a week at Lourdes, when Marguerite, who waswith him, was seized with a great shivering, and, taking to her bed oneevening, died two days afterwards without her distracted father beingable to form any exact notion of the illness which had carried her off. And thus it was not himself, but his daughter, lately radiant with beautyand health, in the very flower of her youth, who was laid in the vacantcompartment by the mother's side. The man who had been so happy, soworshipped by his two helpmates, whose heart had been kept so warm by thelove of two dear creatures all his own, was now nothing more than an old, miserable, stammering, lost being, who shivered in his icy solitude. Allthe joy of his life had departed; he envied the men who broke stones uponthe highways when he saw their barefooted wives and daughters bring themtheir dinners at noontide. And he had refused to leave Lourdes, he hadrelinquished everything, his studies, his practice in Paris, in orderthat he might live near the tomb in which his wife and his daughter sleptthe eternal sleep. 

"Ah, my old friend, " repeated Pierre, "how I pitied you! How frightfulmust have been your grief! But why did you not rely a little on those wholove you? Why did you shut yourself up here with your sorrow?"

The doctor made a gesture which embraced the horizon. "I could not goaway, they are here and keep me with them. It is all over, I am merelywaiting till my time comes to join them again. "

Then silence fell. Birds were fluttering among the shrubs on the bankbehind them, and in front they heard the loud murmur of the Gave. The sunrays were falling more heavily in a slow, golden dust, upon thehillsides; but on that retired bench under the beautiful trees, thecoolness was still delightful. And although the crowd was but a couple ofhundred yards distant, they were, so to say, in a desert, for nobody torehimself away from the Grotto to stray as far as the spot which they hadchosen. 

They talked together for a long time, and Pierre related under whatcircumstances he had reached Lourdes that morning with M. De Guersaintand his daughter, all three forming part of the national pilgrimage. Thenall at once he gave a start of astonishment and exclaimed: "What! doctor, so you now believe that miracles are possible? You, good heavens! whom Iknew as an unbeliever, or at least as one altogether indifferent to thesematters?"

He was gazing at M. Chassaigne quite stupefied by something which he hadjust heard him say of the Grotto and Bernadette. It was amazing, comingfrom a man with so strong a mind, a _savant_ of such intelligence, whosepowerful analytical faculties he had formerly so much admired! How was itthat a lofty, clear mind, nourished by experience and method, had becomeso changed as to acknowledge the miraculous cures effected by that divinefountain which the Blessed Virgin had caused to spurt forth under thepressure of a child's fingers?

"But just think a little, my dear doctor, " he resumed. "It was youyourself who supplied my father with memoranda about Bernadette, yourlittle fellow-villager as you used to call her; and it was you, too, whospoke to me at such length about her, when, later on, I took a momentaryinterest in her story. In your eyes she was simply an ailing child, proneto hallucinations, infantile, but self-conscious of her acts, deficientof will-power. Recollect our chats together, my doubts, and the healthyreason which you again enabled me, to acquire!"

Pierre was feeling very moved, for was not this the strangest ofadventures? He a priest, who in a spirit of resignation had formerlyendeavoured to believe, had ended by completely losing all faith throughintercourse with this same doctor, who was then an unbeliever, but whomhe now found converted, conquered by the supernatural, whilst he himselfwas racked by the torture of no longer believing. 

"You who would only rely on accurate facts, " he said, "you who basedeverything on observation! Do you renounce science then?"

Chassaigne, hitherto quiet, with a sorrowful smile playing on his lips, now made a violent gesture expressive of sovereign contempt. "Scienceindeed!" he exclaimed. "Do I know anything? Can I accomplish anything?You asked me just now what malady it was that killed my poor Marguerite. But I do not know! I, whom people think so learned, so well armed againstdeath, I understood nothing of it, and I could do nothing--not evenprolong my daughter's life for a single hour! And my wife, whom I foundin bed already cold, when on the previous evening she had lain down inmuch better health and quite gay--was I even capable of foreseeing whatought to have been done in her case? No, no! for me at all events, science has become bankrupt. I wish to know nothing; I am but a fool anda poor old man!"

He spoke like this in a furious revolt against all his past life of prideand happiness. Then, having become calm again, he added: "And now I onlyfeel a frightful remorse. Yes, a remorse which haunts me, which everbrings me here, prowling around the people who are praying. It is remorsefor not having in the first instance come and humbled myself at thatGrotto, bringing my two dear ones with me. They would have knelt therelike those women whom you see, I should have knelt beside them, andperhaps the Blessed Virgin would have cured and preserved them. But, foolthat I was, I only knew how to lose them! It is my fault. "

Tears were now streaming from his eyes. "I remember, " he continued, "thatin my childhood at Bartres, my mother, a peasant woman, made me join myhands and implore God's help each morning. The prayer she taught me cameback to my mind, word for word, when I again found myself alone, as weak, as lost, as a little child. What would you have, my friend? I joined myhands as in my younger days, I felt too wretched, too forsaken, I had tookeen a need of a superhuman help, of a divine power which should thinkand determine for me, which should lull me and carry me on with itseternal prescience. How great at first was the confusion, the aberrationof my poor brain, under the frightful, heavy blow which fell upon it! Ispent a score of nights without being able to sleep, thinking that Ishould surely go mad. All sorts of ideas warred within me; I passedthrough periods of revolt when I shook my fist at Heaven, and then Ilapsed into humility, entreating God to take me in my turn. And it was atlast a conviction that there must be justice, a conviction that theremust be love, which calmed me by restoring me my faith. You knew mydaughter, so tall and strong, so beautiful, so brimful of life. Would itnot be the most monstrous injustice if for her, who did not know life, there should be nothing beyond the tomb? She will live again, I amabsolutely convinced of it, for I still hear her at times, she tells methat we shall meet, that we shall see one another again. Oh! the dearbeings whom one has lost, my dear daughter, my dear wife, to see themonce more, to live with them elsewhere, that is the one hope, the oneconsolation for all the sorrows of this world! I have given myself toGod, since God alone can restore them to me!"

He was shaking with a slight tremor, like the weak old man he had become;and Pierre was at last able to understand and explain the conversion ofthis _savant_, this man of intellect who, growing old, had reverted tobelief under the influence of sentiment. First of all, and this he hadpreviously suspected, he discovered a kind of atavism of faith in thisPyrenean, this son of peasant mountaineers, who had been brought up inbelief of the legend, and whom the legend had again mastered even whenfifty years, of positive study had rolled over it. Then, too, there washuman weariness; this man, to whom science had not brought happiness, revolted against science on the day when it seemed to him shallow, powerless to prevent him from shedding tears. And finally there wasdiscouragement, a doubt of all things, ending in a need of certainty onthe part of one whom age had softened, and who felt happy at being ableto fall asleep in credulity. 

Pierre did not protest, however; he did not jeer, for his heart was rentat sight of this tall, stricken old man, with his woeful senility. Is itnot indeed pitiful to see the strongest, the clearest-minded become merechildren again under such blows of fate? "Ah!" he faintly sighed, "if Icould only suffer enough to be able to silence my reason, and kneelyonder and believe in all those fine stories. "

The pale smile, which at times still passed over Doctor Chassaigne'slips, reappeared on them. "You mean the miracles?" said he. "You are apriest, my child, and I know what your misfortune is. The miracles seemimpossible to you. But what do you know of them? Admit that you knownothing, and that what to our senses seems impossible is every minutetaking place. And now we have been talking together for a long time, andeleven o'clock will soon strike, so that you must return to the Grotto. However, I shall expect you, at half-past three, when I will take you tothe Medical Verification Office, where I hope I shall be able to show yousome surprising things. Don't forget, at half-past three. "

Thereupon he sent him off, and remained on the bench alone. The heat hadyet increased, and the distant hills were burning in the furnace-likeglow of the sun. However, he lingered there forgetfully, dreaming in thegreeny half-light amidst the foliage, and listening to the continuousmurmur of the Gave, as if a voice, a dear voice from the realms beyond, were speaking to him. 

Pierre meantime hastened back to Marie. He was able to join her withoutmuch difficulty, for the crowd was thinning, a good many people havingalready gone off to _dejeuner_. And on arriving he perceived the girl'sfather, who was quietly seated beside her, and who at once wished toexplain to him the reason of his long absence. For more than a couple ofhours that morning he had scoured Lourdes in all directions, applying attwenty hotels in turn without being able to find the smallest closetwhere they might sleep. Even the servants' rooms were let and you couldnot have even secured a mattress on which to stretch yourself in somepassage. However, all at once, just as he was despairing, he haddiscovered two rooms, small ones, it is true, and just under the roof, but in a very good hotel, that of the Apparitions, one of the bestpatronised in the town. The persons who had retained these rooms had justtelegraphed that the patient whom they had meant to bring with them wasdead. Briefly, it was a piece of rare good luck, and seemed to make M. DeGuersaint quite gay. 

Eleven o'clock was now striking and the woeful procession of sufferersstarted off again through the sunlit streets and squares. When it reachedthe hospital Marie begged her father and Pierre to go to the hotel, lunchand rest there awhile, and return to fetch her at two o'clock, when thepatients would again be conducted to the Grotto. But when, afterlunching, the two men went up to the rooms which they were to occupy atthe Hotel of the Apparitions, M. De Guersaint, overcome by fatigue, fellso soundly asleep that Pierre had not the heart to awaken him. What wouldhave been the use of it? His presence was not indispensable. And so theyoung priest returned to the hospital alone. Then the _cortege_ againdescended the Avenue de la Grotte, again wended its way over the Plateaude la Merlasse, again crossed the Place du Rosaire, past an ever-growingcrowd which shuddered and crossed itself amid all the joyousness of thatsplendid August day. It was now the most glorious hour of a lovelyafternoon. 

When Marie was again installed in front of the Grotto she inquired if herfather were coming. "Yes, " answered Pierre; "he is only taking a littlerest. "

She waved her hand as though to say that he was acting rightly, and thenin a sorely troubled voice she added: "Listen, Pierre; don't take me tothe piscina for another hour. I am not yet in a state to find favour fromHeaven, I wish to pray, to keep on praying. "

After evincing such an ardent desire to come to Lourdes, terror wasagitating her now that the moment for attempting the miracle was at hand. In fact, she began to relate that she had been unable to eat anything, and a girl who overheard her at once approached saying: "If you feel tooweak, my dear young lady, remember we have some broth here. "

Marie looked at her and recognised Raymonde. Several young girls were inthis wise employed at the Grotto to distribute cups of broth and milkamong the sufferers. Some of them, indeed, in previous years haddisplayed so much coquetry in the matter of silk, aprons trimmed withlace, that a uniform apron, of modest linen, with a small check pattern, blue and white, had been imposed on them. Nevertheless, in spite of thisenforced simplicity, Raymonde, thanks to her freshness and her active, good-natured, housewifely air, had succeeded in making herself look quitecharming. 

"You will remember, won't you?" she added; "you have only to make me asign and I will serve you. "

Marie thanked her, saying, however, that she felt sure she would not beable to take anything; and then, turning towards the young priest, sheresumed: "One hour--you must allow me one more hour, my friend. "

Pierre wished at any rate to remain near her, but the entire space wasreserved to the sufferers, the bearers not being allowed there. So he hadto retire, and, caught in the rolling waves of the crowd, he foundhimself carried towards the piscinas, where he came upon an extraordinaryspectacle which stayed his steps. In front of the low buildings where thebaths were, three by three, six for the women and three for the men, heperceived under the trees a long stretch of ground enclosed by a ropefastened to the tree-trunks; and here, various sufferers, some sitting intheir bath-chairs and others lying on the mattresses of their litters, were drawn up in line, waiting to be bathed, whilst outside the rope, ahuge, excited throng was ever pressing and surging. A Capuchin, erect inthe centre of the reserved space, was at that moment conducting theprayers. "Aves" followed one after the other, repeated by the crowd in aloud confused murmur. Then, all at once, as Madame Vincent, who, palewith agony, had long been waiting, was admitted to the baths, carryingher dear burden, her little girl who looked like a waxen image of thechild Christ, the Capuchin let himself fall upon his knees with his armsextended, and cried aloud: "Lord, heal our sick!" He raised this cry adozen, twenty times, with a growing fury, and each time the crowdrepeated it, growing more and more excited at each shout, till it sobbedand kissed the ground in a state of frenzy. It was like a hurricane ofdelirium rushing by and laying every head in the dust. Pierre was utterlydistracted by the sob of suffering which arose from the very bowels ofthese poor folks--at first a prayer, growing louder and louder, thenbursting forth like a demand in impatient, angry, deafening, obstinateaccents, as though to compel the help of Heaven. "Lord, heal oursick!"--"Lord, heal our sick!" The shout soared on high incessantly. 

An incident occurred, however; La Grivotte was weeping hot tears becausethey would not bathe her. "They say that I'm a consumptive, " sheplaintively exclaimed, "and that they can't dip consumptives in coldwater. Yet they dipped one this morning; I saw her. So why won't they dipme? I've been wearing myself out for the last half-hour in telling themthat they are only grieving the Blessed Virgin, for I am going to becured, I feel it, I am going to be cured!"

As she was beginning to cause a scandal, one of the chaplains of thepiscinas approached and endeavoured to calm her. They would see what theycould do for her, by-and-by, said he; they would consult the reverendFathers, and, if she were very good, perhaps they would bathe her all thesame. 

Meantime the cry continued: "Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!"And Pierre, who had just perceived Madame Vetu, also waiting at thepiscina entry, could no longer turn his eyes away from her hope-torturedface, whose eyes were fixed upon the doorway by which the happy ones, theelect, emerged from the divine presence, cured of all their ailments. However, a sudden increase of the crowd's frenzy, a perfect rage ofentreaties, gave him such a shock as to draw tears from his eyes. MadameVincent was now coming out again, still carrying her little girl in herarms, her wretched, her fondly loved little girl, who had been dipped ina fainting state in the icy water, and whose little face, but imperfectlywiped, was as pale as ever, and indeed even more woeful and lifeless. Themother was sobbing, crucified by this long agony, reduced to despair bythe refusal of the Blessed Virgin, who had remained insensible to herchild's sufferings. And yet when Madame Vetu in her turn entered, withthe eager passion of a dying woman about to drink the water of life, thehaunting, obstinate cry burst out again, without sign of discouragementor lassitude: "Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!" The Capuchinhad now fallen with his face to the ground, and the howling crowd, witharms outstretched, devoured the soil with its kisses. 

Pierre wished to join Madame Vincent to soothe her with a few kind, encouraging words; however, a fresh string of pilgrims not only preventedhim from passing, but threw him towards the fountain which another throngbesieged. There was here quite a range of low buildings, a long stonewall with carved coping, and it had been necessary for the people to formin procession, although there were twelve taps from which the water fellinto a narrow basin. Many came hither to fill bottles, metal cans, andstoneware pitchers. To prevent too great a waste of water, the tap onlyacted when a knob was pressed with the hand. And thus many weak-handedwomen lingered there a long time, the water dripping on their feet. Thosewho had no cans to fill at least came to drink and wash their faces. Pierre noticed one young man who drank seven small glassfuls of water, and washed his eyes seven times without wiping them. Others were drinkingout of shells, tin goblets, and leather cups. And he was particularlyinterested by the sight of Elise Rouquet, who, thinking it useless to goto the piscinas to bathe the frightful sore which was eating away herface, had contented herself with employing the water of the fountain as alotion, every two hours since her arrival that morning. She knelt down, threw back her fichu, and for a long time applied a handkerchief to herface--a handkerchief which she had soaked with the miraculous fluid likea sponge; and the crowd around rushed upon the fountain in such fury thatfolks no longer noticed her diseased face, but washed themselves anddrank from the same pipe at which she constantly moistened herhandkerchief. 

Just then, however, Gerard, who passed by dragging M. Sabathier to thepiscinas, called to Pierre, whom he saw unoccupied, and asked him to comeand help him, for it would not be an easy task to move and bathe thishelpless victim of ataxia. And thus Pierre lingered with the sufferer inthe men's piscina for nearly half an hour, whilst Gerard returned to theGrotto to fetch another patient. These piscinas seemed to the youngpriest to be very well arranged. They were divided into threecompartments, three baths separated by partitions, with steps leadinginto them. In order that one might isolate the patient, a linen curtainhug before each entry, which was reached through a kind of waiting-roomhaving a paved floor, and furnished with a bench and a couple of chairs. Here the patients undressed and dressed themselves with an awkward haste, a nervous kind of shame. One man, whom Pierre found there when heentered, was still naked, and wrapped himself in the curtain beforeputting on a bandage with trembling hands. Another one, a consumptive whowas frightfully emaciated, sat shivering and groaning, his livid skinmottled with violet marks. However, Pierre became more interested inBrother Isidore, who was just being removed from one of the baths. He hadfainted away, and for a moment, indeed, it was thought that he was dead. But at last he began moaning again, and one's heart filled with pity atsight of his long, lank frame, which suffering had withered, and which, with his diseased hip, looked a human remnant on exhibition. The twohospitallers who had been bathing him had the greatest difficulty to puton his shirt, fearful as they were that if he were suddenly shaken hemight expire in their arms. 

"You will help me, Monsieur l'Abbe, won't you?" asked another hospitalleras he began to undress M. Sabathier. 

Pierre hastened to give his services, and found that the attendant, discharging such humble duties, was none other than the Marquis deSalmon-Roquebert whom M. De Guersaint had pointed out to him on the wayfrom the station to the hospital that morning. A man of forty, with alarge, aquiline, knightly nose set in a long face, the Marquis was thelast representative of one of the most ancient and illustrious familiesof France. Possessing a large fortune, a regal mansion in the Rue deLille at Paris, and vast estates in Normandy, he came to Lourdes eachyear, for the three days of the national pilgrimage, influenced solely byhis benevolent feelings, for he had no religious zeal and simply observedthe rites of the Church because it was customary for noblemen to do so. And he obstinately declined any high functions. Resolved to remain ahospitaller, he had that year assumed the duty of bathing the patients, exhausting the strength of his arms, employing his fingers from morningtill night in handling rags and re-applying dressings to sores. 

"Be careful, " he said to Pierre; "take off the stockings very slowly. Just now, some flesh came away when they were taking off the things ofthat poor fellow who is being dressed again, over yonder. "

Then, leaving M. Sabathier for a moment in order to put on the shoes ofthe unhappy sufferer whom he alluded to, the Marquis found the left shoewet inside. Some matter had flowed into the fore part of it, and he hadto take the usual medical precautions before putting it on the patient'sfoot, a task which he performed with extreme care; and so as not to touchthe man's leg, into which an ulcer was eating. 

"And now, " he said to Pierre, as he returned to M. Sabathier, "pull downthe drawers at the same time I do, so that we may get them off at onepull. "

In addition to the patients and the hospitallers selected for duty at thepiscinas, the only person in the little dressing-room was a chaplain whokept on repeating "Paters" and "Aves, " for not even a momentary pause wasallowed in the prayers. Merely a loose curtain hung before the doorwayleading to the open space which the rope enclosed; and the ardentclamorous entreaties of the throng were incessantly wafted into the room, with the piercing shouts of the Capuchin, who ever repeated "Lord, healour sick! Lord, heal our sick!" A cold light fell from the high windowsof the building and constant dampness reigned there, with the mouldysmell like that of a cellar dripping with water. 

At last M. Sabathier was stripped, divested of all garments save a littleapron which had been fastened about his loins for decency's sake. 

"Pray don't plunge me, " said he; "let me down into the water by degrees. "

In point of fact that cold water quite terrified him. He was still wontto relate that he had experienced such a frightful chilling sensation onthe first occasion that he had sworn never to go in again. According tohis account, there could be no worse torture than that icy cold. And thentoo, as he put it, the water was scarcely inviting; for, through fearlest the output of the source should not suffice, the Fathers of theGrotto only allowed the water of the baths to be changed twice a day. Andnearly a hundred patients being dipped in the same water, it can beimagined what a terrible soup the latter at last became. All manner ofthings were found in it, so that it was like a frightful _consomme_ ofall ailments, a field of cultivation for every kind of poisonous germ, aquintessence of the most dreaded contagious diseases; the miraculousfeature of it all being that men should emerge alive from their immersionin such filth. 

"Gently, gently, " repeated M. Sabathier to Pierre and the Marquis, whohad taken hold of him under the hips in order to carry him to the bath. And he gazed with childlike terror at that thick, livid water on whichfloated so many greasy, nauseating patches of scum. However, his dread ofthe cold was so great that he preferred the polluted baths of theafternoon, since all the bodies that were dipped in the water during theearly part of the day ended by slightly warming it. 

"We will let you slide down the steps, " exclaimed the Marquis in anundertone; and then he instructed Pierre to hold the patient with all hisstrength under the arm-pits. 

"Have no fear, " replied the priest; "I will not let go. "

M. Sabathier was then slowly lowered. You could now only see his back, his poor painful back which swayed and swelled, mottled by the ripplingof a shiver. And when they dipped him his head fell back in a spasm, asound like the cracking of bones was heard, and breathing hard, he almoststifled. 

The chaplain, standing beside the bath, had begun calling with renewedfervour: "Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!"

M. De Salmon-Roquebert repeated the cry, which the regulations requiredthe hospitallers to raise at each fresh immersion. Pierre, therefore, hadto imitate his companion, and his pitiful feelings at the sight of somuch suffering were so intense that he regained some little of his faith. It was long indeed since he had prayed like this, devoutly wishing thatthere might be a God in heaven, whose omnipotence could assuage thewretchedness of humanity. At the end of three or four minutes, however, when with great difficulty they drew M. Sabathier, livid and shivering, out of the bath, the young priest fell into deeper, more despairingsorrow than ever at beholding how downcast, how overwhelmed the suffererwas at having experienced no relief. Again had he made a futile attempt;for the seventh time the Blessed Virgin had not deigned to listen to hisprayers. He closed his eyes, from between the lids of which big tearsbegan to roll while they were dressing him again. 

Then Pierre recognised little Gustave Vigneron coming in, on his crutch, to take his first bath. His relatives, his father, his mother, and hisaunt, Madame Chaise, all three of substantial appearance and exemplarypiety, had just fallen on their knees at the door. Whispers ran throughthe crowd; it was said that the gentleman was a functionary of theMinistry of Finances. However, while the child was beginning to undress, a tumult arose, and Father Fourcade and Father Massias, suddenlyarriving, gave orders to suspend the immersions. The great miracle wasabout to be attempted, the extraordinary favour which had been soardently prayed for since the morning--the restoration of the dead man tolife. 

The prayers were continuing outside, rising in a furious appeal whichdied away in the sky of that warm summer afternoon. Two bearers came inwith a covered stretcher, which they deposited in the middle of thedressing-room. Baron Suire, President of the Association, followed, accompanied by Berthaud, one of its principal officers, for the affairwas causing a great stir among the whole staff, and before anything wasdone a few words were exchanged in low voices between the gentlemen andthe two Fathers of the Assumption. Then the latter fell upon their knees, with arms extended, and began to pray, their faces illumined, transfigured by their burning desire to see God's omnipotence displayed. 

"Lord, hear us! Lord, grant our prayer!"

M. Sabathier had just been taken away, and the only patient now presentwas little Gustave, who had remained on a chair, half-undressed andforgotten. The curtains of the stretcher were raised, and the man'scorpse appeared, already stiff, and seemingly reduced and shrunken, withlarge eyes which had obstinately remained wide open. It was necessary, however, to undress the body, which was still fully clad, and thisterrible duty made the bearers momentarily hesitate. Pierre noticed thatthe Marquis de Salmon-Roquebert, who showed such devotion to the living, such freedom from all repugnance whenever they were in question, had nowdrawn aside and fallen on his knees, as though to avoid the necessity oftouching that lifeless corpse. And the young priest thereupon followedhis example, and knelt near him in order to keep countenance. 

Father Massias meanwhile was gradually becoming excited, praying in soloud a voice that it drowned that of his superior, Father Fourcade:"Lord, restore our brother to us!" he cried. "Lord, do it for Thy glory!"

One of the hospitallers had already begun to pull at the man's trousers, but his legs were so stiff that the garment would not come off. In factthe corpse ought to have been raised up; and the other hospitaller, whowas unbuttoning the dead man's old frock coat, remarked in an undertonethat it would be best to cut everything away with a pair of scissors. Otherwise there would be no end of the job. 

Berthaud, however, rushed up to them, after rapidly consulting BaronSuire. As a politician he secretly disapproved of Father Fourcade'saction in making such an attempt, only they could not now do otherwisethan carry matters to an issue; for the crowd was waiting and had beenentreating God on the dead man's behalf ever since the morning. Thewisest course, therefore, was to finish with the affair at once, showingas much respect as possible for the remains of the deceased. In lieu, therefore, of pulling the corpse about in order to strip it bare, Berthaud was of opinion that it would be better to dip it in the piscinaclad as it was. Should the man resuscitate, it would be easy to procurefresh clothes for him; and in the contrary event, no harm would have beendone. This is what he hastily said to the bearers; and forthwith hehelped them to pass some straps under the man's hips and arms. 

Father Fourcade had nodded his approval of this course, whilst FatherMassias prayed with increased fervour: "Breathe upon him, O Lord, and heshall be born anew! Restore his soul to him, O, Lord, that he may glorifyThee!"

Making an effort, the two hospitallers now raised the man by means of thestraps, carried him to the bath, and slowly lowered him into the water, at each moment fearing that he would slip away from their hold. Pierre, although overcome by horror, could not do otherwise than look at them, and thus he distinctly beheld the immersion of this corpse in its sorrygarments, which on being wetted clung to the bones, outlining theskeleton-like figure of the deceased, who floated like a man who has beendrowned. But the repulsive part of it all was, that in spite of the_rigor mortis_, the head fell backward into the water, and was submergedby it. In vain did the hospitallers try to raise it by pulling theshoulder straps; as they made the attempt, the man almost sank to thebottom of the bath. And how could he have recovered his breath when hismouth was full of water, his staring eyes seemingly dying afresh, beneaththat watery veil?

Then, during the three long minutes allowed for the immersion, the twoFathers of the Assumption and the chaplain, in a paroxysm of desire andfaith, strove to compel the intervention of Heaven, praying in such loudvoices that they seemed to choke. 

"Do Thou but look on him, O Lord, and he will live again! Lord! may herise at Thy voice to convert the earth! Lord! Thou hast but one word tosay and all Thy people will acclaim Thee!"

At last, as though some vessel had broken in his throat, Father Massiasfell groaning and choking on his elbows, with only enough strength lefthim to kiss the flagstones. And from without came the clamour of thecrowd, the ever-repeated cry, which the Capuchin was still leading:"Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!" This appeal seemed sosingular at that moment, that Pierre's sufferings were increased. Hecould feel, too, that the Marquis was shuddering beside him. And so therelief was general when Berthaud, thoroughly annoyed with the wholebusiness, curtly shouted to the hospitallers: "Take him out! Take him outat once!"

The body was removed from the bath and laid on the stretcher, lookinglike the corpse of a drowned man with its sorry garments clinging to itslimbs. The water was trickling from the hair, and rivulets began fallingon either side, spreading out in pools on the floor. And naturally, deadas the man had been, dead he remained. 

The others had all risen and stood looking at him amidst a distressingsilence. Then, as he was covered up and carried away, Father Fourcadefollowed the bier leaning on the shoulder of Father Massias and dragginghis gouty leg, the painful weight of which he had momentarily forgotten. But he was already recovering his strong serenity, and as a hush fellupon the crowd outside, he could be heard saying: "My dear brothers, mydear sisters, God has not been willing to restore him to us, doubtlessbecause in His infinite goodness He has desired to retain him among Hiselect. "

And that was all; there was no further question of the dead man. Patientswere again being brought into the dressing-room, the two other baths werealready occupied. And now little Gustave, who had watched that terriblescene with his keen inquisitive eyes, evincing no sign of terror, finished undressing himself. His wretched body, the body of a scrofulouschild, appeared with its prominent ribs and projecting spine, its limbsso thin that they looked like mere walking-sticks. Especially was thisthe case as regards the left one, which was withered, wasted to the bone;and he also had two sores, one on the hip, and the other in the loins, the last a terrible one, the skin being eaten away so that you distinctlysaw the raw flesh. Yet he smiled, rendered so precocious by hissufferings that, although but fifteen years old and looking no more thanten, he seemed to be endowed with the reason and philosophy of a grownman. 

The Marquis de Salmon-Roquebert, who had taken him gently in his arms, refused Pierre's offer of service: "Thanks, but he weighs no more than abird. And don't be frightened, my dear little fellow. I will do itgently. "

"Oh, I am not afraid of cold water, monsieur, " replied the boy; "you mayduck me. "

Then he was lowered into the bath in which the dead man had been dipped. Madame Vigneron and Madame Chaise, who were not allowed to enter, hadremained at the door on their knees, whilst the father, M. Vigneron, whowas admitted into the dressing-room, went on making the sign of thecross. 

Finding that his services were no longer required, Pierre now departed. The sudden idea that three o'clock must have long since struck and thatMarie must be waiting for him made him hasten his steps. However, whilsthe was endeavouring to pierce the crowd, he saw the girl arrive in herlittle conveyance, dragged along by Gerard, who had not ceasedtransporting sufferers to the piscina. She had become impatient, suddenlyfilled with a conviction that she was at last in a frame of mind to findgrace. And at sight of Pierre she reproached him, saying, "What, myfriend, did you forget me?"

He could find no answer, but watched her as she was taken into thepiscina reserved for women, and then, in mortal sorrow, fell upon hisknees. It was there that he would wait for her, humbly kneeling, in orderthat he might take her back to the Grotto, cured without doubt andsinging a hymn of praise. Since she was certain of it, would she notassuredly be cured? However, it was in vain that he sought for words ofprayer in the depths of his distracted being. He was still under the blowof all the terrible things that he had beheld, worn out with physicalfatigue, his brain depressed, no longer knowing what he saw or what hebelieved. His desperate affection for Marie alone remained, making himlong to humble himself and supplicate, in the thought that when littleones really love and entreat the powerful they end by obtaining favours. And at last he caught himself repeating the prayers of the crowd, in adistressful voice that came from the depths of his being "Lord, heal oursick! Lord, heal our sick!"

Ten minutes, a quarter of an hour perhaps, went by. Then Marie reappearedin her little conveyance. Her face was very pale and wore an expressionof despair. Her beautiful hair was fastened above her head in a heavygolden coil which the water had not touched. And she was not cured. Thestupor of infinite discouragement hollowed and lengthened her face, andshe averted her eyes as though to avoid meeting those of the priest whothunderstruck, chilled to the heart, at last made up his mind to graspthe handle of the little vehicle, so as to take the girl back to theGrotto. 

And meantime the cry of the faithful, who with open arms were kneelingthere and kissing the earth, again rose with a growing fury, excited bythe Capuchin's shrill voice: "Lord, heal our sick! Heal our sick, OLord!"

As Pierre was placing Marie in position again in front of the Grotto, anattack of weakness came over her and she almost fainted. Gerard, who wasthere, saw Raymonde quickly hurry to the spot with a cup of broth, and atonce they began zealously rivalling each other in their attentions to theailing girl. Raymonde, holding out the cup in a pretty way, and assumingthe coaxing airs of an expert nurse, especially insisted that Marieshould accept the bouillon; and Gerard, glancing at this portionlessgirl, could not help finding her charming, already expert in the businessof life, and quite ready to manage a household with a firm hand withoutceasing to be amiable. Berthaud was no doubt right, this was the wifethat he, Gerard, needed. 

"Mademoiselle, " said he to Raymonde, "shall I raise the young lady alittle?"

"Thank you, monsieur, I am quite strong enough. And besides I will giveit to her in spoonfuls; that will be the better way. "

Marie, however, obstinately preserving her fierce silence as sherecovered consciousness, refused the broth with a gesture. She wished tobe left in quietness, she did not want anybody to question her. And itwas only when the others had gone off smiling at one another, that shesaid to Pierre in a husky voice: "Has not my father come then?"

After hesitating for a moment the priest was obliged to confess thetruth. "I left him sleeping and he cannot have woke up. "

Then Marie relapsed into her state of languid stupor and dismissed him inhis turn, with the gesture with which she declined all succour. She nolonger prayed, but remained quite motionless, gazing fixedly with herlarge eyes at the marble Virgin, the white statue amidst the radiance ofthe Grotto. And as four o'clock was now striking, Pierre with his heartsore went off to the Verification Office, having suddenly remembered theappointment given him by Doctor Chassaigne. 

IV. VERIFICATION

THE doctor was waiting for the young priest outside the VerificationOffice, in front of which a compact and feverish crowd of pilgrims wasassembled, waylaying and questioning the patients who went in, andacclaiming them as they came out whenever the news spread of any miracle, such as the restoration of some blind man's sight, some deaf woman'shearing, or some paralytic's power of motion. 

Pierre had no little difficulty in making his way through the throng, butat last he reached his friend. "Well, " he asked, "are we going to have amiracle--a real, incontestable one I mean?"

The doctor smiled, indulgent despite his new faith. "Ah, well, " said he, "a miracle is not worked to order. God intervenes when He pleases. "

Some hospitallers were mounting guard at the door, but they all knew M. Chassaigne, and respectfully drew aside to let him enter with hiscompanion. The office where the cures were verified was very badlyinstalled in a wretched wooden shanty divided into two apartments, firsta narrow ante-chamber, and then a general meeting room which was by nomeans so large as it should have been. However, there was a question ofproviding the department with better accommodation the following year;with which view some large premises, under one of the inclined ways ofthe Rosary, were already being fitted up. 

The only article of furniture in the antechamber was a wooden bench onwhich Pierre perceived two female patients awaiting their turn in thecharge of a young hospitaller. But on entering the meeting room thenumber of persons packed inside it quite surprised him, whilst thesuffocating heat within those wooden walls on which the sun was sofiercely playing, almost scorched his face. It was a square bare room, painted a light yellow, with the panes of its single window covered withwhitening, so that the pressing throng outside might see nothing of whatwent on within. One dared not even open this window to admit a littlefresh air, for it was no sooner set ajar than a crowd of inquisitiveheads peeped in. The furniture was of a very rudimentary kind, consistingsimply of two deal tables of unequal height placed end to end and noteven covered with a cloth; together with a kind of big "canterbury"littered with untidy papers, sets of documents, registers and pamphlets, and finally some thirty rush-seated chairs placed here and there over thefloor and a couple of ragged arm-chairs usually reserved for thepatients. 

Doctor Bonamy at once hastened forward to greet Doctor Chassaigne, whowas one of the latest and most glorious conquests of the Grotto. He founda chair for him and, bowing to Pierre's cassock, also made the youngpriest sit down. Then, in the tone of extreme politeness which wascustomary with him, he exclaimed: "_Mon cher confrere_, you will kindlyallow me to continue. We were just examining mademoiselle. "

He referred to a deaf peasant girl of twenty, who was seated in one ofthe arm-chairs. Instead of listening, however, Pierre, who was veryweary, still with a buzzing in his head, contented himself with gazing atthe scene, endeavouring to form some notion of the people assembled inthe room. There were some fifty altogether, many of them standing andleaning against the walls. Half a dozen, however, were seated at the twotables, a central position being occupied by the superintendent of thepiscinas, who was constantly consulting a thick register; whilst aroundhim were a Father of the Assumption and three young seminarists who actedas secretaries, writing, searching for documents, passing them andclassifying them again after each examination. Pierre, however, took mostinterest in a Father of the Immaculate Conception, Father Dargeles, whohad been pointed out to him that morning as being the editor of the"Journal de la Grotte. " This ecclesiastic, whose thin little face, withits blinking eyes, pointed nose, and delicate mouth was ever smiling, hadmodestly seated himself at the end of the lower table where heoccasionally took notes for his newspaper. He alone, of the community towhich he belonged, showed himself during the three days of the nationalpilgrimage. Behind him, however, one could divine the presence of all theothers, the slowly developed hidden power which organised everything andraked in all the proceeds. 

The onlookers consisted almost entirely of inquisitive people andwitnesses, including a score of doctors and a few priests. The medicalmen, who had come from all parts, mostly preserved silence, only a few ofthem occasionally venturing to ask a question; and every now and thenthey would exchange oblique glances, more occupied apparently in watchingone another than in verifying the facts submitted to their examination. Who could they be? Some names were mentioned, but they were quiteunknown. Only one had caused any stir, that of a celebrated doctor, professor at a Catholic university. 

That afternoon, however, Doctor Bonamy, who never sat down, busy as hewas conducting the proceedings and questioning the patients, reservedmost of his attentions for a short, fair-haired man, a writer of sometalent who contributed to one of the most widely read Paris newspapers, and who, in the course of a holiday tour, had by chance reached Lourdesthat morning. Was not this an unbeliever whom it might be possible toconvert, whose influence it would be desirable to gain foradvertisement's sake? Such at all events appeared to be M. Bonamy'sopinion, for he had compelled the journalist to take the secondarm-chair, and with an affectation of smiling good-nature was treatinghim to a full performance, again and again repeating that he and hispatrons had nothing to hide, and that everything took place in the mostopen manner. 

"We only desire light, " he exclaimed. "We never cease to call for theinvestigations of all willing men. "

Then, as the alleged cure of the deaf girl did not seem at all apromising case, he addressed her somewhat roughly: "Come, come, my girl, this is only a beginning. You must come back when there are more distinctsigns of improvement. " And turning to the journalist he added in anundertone: "If we were to believe them they would all be healed. But theonly cures we accept are those which are thoroughly proven, which are asapparent as the sun itself. Pray notice moreover that I say cures and notmiracles; for we doctors do not take upon ourselves to interpret andexplain. We are simply here to see if the patients, who submit themselvesto our examination, have really lost all symptoms of their ailments. "

Thereupon he struck an attitude. Doubtless he spoke like this in orderthat his rectitude might not be called in question. Believing withoutbelieving, he knew that science was yet so obscure, so full of surprises, that what seemed impossible might always come to pass; and thus, in thedeclining years of his life, he had contrived to secure an exceptionalposition at the Grotto, a position which had both its inconveniences andits advantages, but which, taken for all in all, was very comfortable andpleasant. 

And now, in reply to a question from the Paris journalist, he began toexplain his mode of proceeding. Each patient who accompanied thepilgrimage arrived provided with papers, amongst which there was almostalways a certificate of the doctor who had been attending the case. Attimes even there were certificates given by several doctors, hospitalbulletins and so forth--quite a record of the illness in its variousstages. And thus if a cure took place and the cured person came forward, it was only necessary to consult his or her set of documents in order toascertain the nature of the ailment, and then examination would show ifthat ailment had really disappeared. 

Pierre was now listening. Since he had been there, seated and restinghimself, he had grown calmer, and his mind was clear once more. It wasonly the heat which at present caused him any inconvenience. And thus, interested as he was by Doctor Bonamy's explanations, and desirous offorming an opinion, he would have spoken out and questioned, had it notbeen for his cloth which condemned him to remain in the background. Hewas delighted, therefore, when the little fair-haired gentleman, theinfluential writer, began to bring forward the objections which at onceoccurred to him. * Was it not most unfortunate that one doctor shoulddiagnose the illness and that another one should verify the cure? In thismode of proceeding there was certainly a source of frequent error. Thebetter plan would have been for a medical commission to examine all thepatients as soon as they arrived at Lourdes and draw up reports on everycase, to which reports the same commission would have referred wheneveran alleged cure was brought before it. Doctor Bonamy, however, did notfall in with this suggestion. He replied, with some reason, that acommission would never suffice for such gigantic labour. Just think ofit! A thousand patients to examine in a single morning! And how manydifferent theories there would be, how many contrary diagnoses, how manyendless discussions, all of a nature to increase the general uncertainty!The preliminary examination of the patients, which was almost alwaysimpossible, would, even if attempted, leave the door open for as manyerrors as the present system. In practice, it was necessary to remaincontent with the certificates delivered by the medical men who had beenin attendance on the patients, and these certificates accordinglyacquired capital, decisive importance. Doctor Bonamy ran through thedocuments lying on one of the tables and gave the Paris journalist someof these certificates to read. A great many of them unfortunately werevery brief. Others, more skilfully drawn up, clearly specified the natureof the complaint; and some of the doctors' signatures were even certifiedby the mayors of the localities where they resided. Nevertheless doubtsremained, innumerable and not to be surmounted. Who were these doctors?Who could tell if they possessed sufficient scientific authority to writeas they did? With all respect to the medical profession, were there notinnumerable doctors whose attainments were very limited? And, besides, might not these have been influenced by circumstances that one knewnothing of, in some cases by considerations of a personal character? Onewas tempted to ask for an inquiry respecting each of these medical men. Since everything was based on the documents supplied by the patients, these documents ought to have been most carefully controlled; for therecould be no proof of any miracle if the absolute certainty of the allegedailments had not been demonstrated by stringent examination. 

 * The reader will doubtless have understood that the Parisian journalist is none other than M. Zola himself--Trans. 

Very red and covered with perspiration, Doctor Bonamy waved his arms. "But that is the course we follow, that is the course we follow!" saidhe. "As soon as it seems to us that a case of cure cannot be explained bynatural means, we institute a minute inquiry, we request the person whohas been cured to return here for further examination. And as you cansee, we surround ourselves with all means of enlightenment. Thesegentlemen here, who are listening to us, are nearly every one of themdoctors who have come from all parts of France. We always entreat them toexpress their doubts if they feel any, to discuss the cases with us, anda very detailed report of each discussion is drawn up. You hear me, gentlemen; by all means protest if anything occurs here of a nature tooffend your sense of truth. "

Not one of the onlookers spoke. Most of the doctors present wereundoubtedly Catholics, and naturally enough they merely bowed. As for theothers, the unbelievers, the _savants_ pure and simple, they looked onand evinced some interest in certain phenomena, but considerations ofcourtesy deterred them from entering into discussions which they knewwould have been useless. When as men of sense their discomfort became toogreat, and they felt themselves growing angry, they simply left the room. 

As nobody breathed a word, Doctor Bonamy became quite triumphant, and onthe journalist asking him if he were all alone to accomplish so muchwork, he replied: "Yes, all alone; but my functions as doctor of theGrotto are not so complicated as you may think, for, I repeat it, theysimply consist in verifying cures whenever any take place. " However, hecorrected himself, and added with a smile: "All! I was forgetting, I amnot quite alone, I have Raboin, who helps me to keep things a little bitin order here. "

So saying, he pointed to a stout, grey-haired man of forty, with a heavyface and bull-dog jaw. Raboin was an ardent believer, one of thoseexcited beings who did not allow the miracles to be called in question. And thus he often suffered from his duties at the Verification Office, where he was ever ready to growl with anger when anybody disputed aprodigy. The appeal to the doctors had made him quite lose his temper, and his superior had to calm him. 

"Come, Raboin, my friend, be quiet!" said Doctor Bonamy. "All sincereopinions are entitled to a hearing. "

However, the _defile_ of patients was resumed. A man was now brought inwhose trunk was so covered with eczema that when he took off his shirt akind of grey flour fell from his skin. He was not cured, but simplydeclared that he came to Lourdes every year, and always went away feelingrelieved. Then came a lady, a countess, who was fearfully emaciated, andwhose story was an extraordinary one. Cured of tuberculosis by theBlessed Virgin, a first time, seven years previously, she hadsubsequently given birth to four children, and had then again fallen intoconsumption. At present she was a morphinomaniac, but her first bath hadalready relieved her so much, that she proposed taking part in thetorchlight procession that same evening with the twenty-seven members ofher family whom she had brought with her to Lourdes. Then there was awoman afflicted with nervous aphonia, who after months of absolutedumbness had just recovered her voice at the moment when the BlessedSacrament went by at the head of the four o'clock procession. 

"Gentlemen, " declared Doctor Bonamy, affecting the graciousness of a_savant_ of extremely liberal views, "as you are aware, we do not drawany conclusions when a nervous affection is in question. Still you willkindly observe that this woman was treated at the Salpetriere for sixmonths, and that she had to come here to find her tongue suddenlyloosened. "

Despite all these fine words he displayed some little impatience, for hewould have greatly liked to show the gentleman from Paris one of thoseremarkable instances of cure which occasionally presented themselvesduring the four o'clock procession--that being the moment of grace andexaltation when the Blessed Virgin interceded for those whom she hadchosen. But on this particular afternoon there had apparently been none. The cures which had so far passed before them were doubtful ones, deficient in interest. Meanwhile, out-of-doors, you could hear thestamping and roaring of the crowd, goaded into a frenzy by repeatedhymns, enfevered by its earnest desire for the Divine interposition, andgrowing more and more enervated by the delay. 

All at once, however, a smiling, modest-looking young girl, whose cleareyes sparkled with intelligence, entered the office. "Ah!" exclaimedDoctor Bonamy joyously, "here is our little friend Sophie. A remarkablecure, gentlemen, which took place at the same season last year, and theresults of which I will ask permission to show you. "

Pierre had immediately recognized Sophie Couteau, the _miraculee_ who hadgot into the train at Poitiers. And he now witnessed a repetition of thescene which had already been enacted in his presence. Doctor Bonamy begangiving detailed explanations to the little fair-haired gentleman, whodisplayed great attention. The case, said the doctor, had been one ofcaries of the bones of the left heel, with a commencement of necrosisnecessitating excision; and yet the frightful, suppurating sore had beenhealed in a minute at the first immersion in the piscina. 

"Tell the gentlemen how it happened, Sophie, " he added. 

The little girl made her usual pretty gesture as a sign to everybody tobe attentive. And then she began: "Well, it was like this; my foot waspast cure, I couldn't even go to church any more, and it had to be keptbandaged because there was always a lot of matter coming from it. Monsieur Rivoire, the doctor, who had made a cut in it so as to seeinside it, said that he should be obliged to take out a piece of thebone; and that, sure enough, would have made me lame for life. But when Igot to Lourdes, and had prayed a great deal to the Blessed Virgin, I wentto dip my foot in the water, wishing so much that I might be cured, thatI did not even take the time to pull the bandages off. And everythingremained in the water; there was no longer anything the matter with myfoot when I took it out. "

Doctor Bonamy listened, and punctuated each word with an approving nod. "And what did your doctor say, Sophie?" he asked. 

"When I got back to Vivonne, and Monsieur Rivoire saw my foot again, hesaid: 'Whether it be God or the Devil who has cured this child, it is allthe same to me; but in all truth, she is cured. '"

A burst of laughter rang out. The doctor's remark was sure to produce aneffect. 

"And what was it, Sophie, that you said to Madame la Comtesse, thesuperintendent of your ward?"

"Ah, yes! I hadn't brought many bandages for my foot with me, and I saidto her, 'It was very kind of the Blessed Virgin to cure me the first day, as I should have run out of linen on the morrow. '"

Then there was fresh laughter, a general display of satisfaction atseeing her look so pretty, telling her story, which she now knew byheart, in too recitative a manner, but, nevertheless, remaining verytouching and truthful in appearance. 

"Take off your shoe, Sophie, " now said Doctor Bonamy; "show your foot tothese gentlemen. Let them feel it. Nobody must retain any doubt. "

The little foot promptly appeared, very white, very clean, carefullytended indeed, with its scar just below the ankle, a long scar, whosewhity seam testified to the gravity of the complaint. Some of the medicalmen had drawn near, and looked on in silence. Others, whose opinions, nodoubt, were already formed, did not disturb themselves, though one ofthem, with an air of extreme politeness, inquired why the Blessed Virginhad not made a new foot while she was about it, for this would assuredlyhave given her no more trouble. Doctor Bonamy, however, quickly replied, that if the Blessed Virgin had left a scar, it was certainly in orderthat a trace, a proof of the miracle, might remain. Then he entered intotechnical particulars, demonstrating that a fragment of bone and fleshmust have been instantly formed, and this, of course, could not beexplained in any natural way. 

"_Mon Dieu_!" interrupted the little fair-haired gentleman, "there is noneed of any such complicated affair. Let me merely see a finger cut witha penknife, let me see it dipped in the water, and let it come out withthe cut cicatrised. The miracle will be quite as great, and I shall bowto it respectfully. " Then he added: "If I possessed a source which couldthus close up sores and wounds, I would turn the world topsy-turvy. I donot know exactly how I should manage it, but at all events I would summonthe nations, and the nations would come. I should cause the miracles tobe verified in such an indisputable manner, that I should be the masterof the earth. Just think what an extraordinary power it would be--adivine power. But it would be necessary that not a doubt should remain, the truth would have to be as patent, as apparent as the sun itself. Thewhole world would behold it and believe!"

Then he began discussing various methods of control with the doctor. Hehad admitted that, owing to the great number of patients, it would bedifficult, if not impossible, to examine them all on their arrival. Only, why didn't they organise a special ward at the hospital, a ward whichwould be reserved for cases of visible sores? They would have thirty suchcases all told, which might be subjected to the preliminary examinationof a committee. Authentic reports would be drawn up, and the sores mighteven be photographed. Then, if a case of cure should present itself, thecommission would merely have to authenticate it by a fresh report. And inall this there would be no question of any internal complaint, thediagnostication of which is difficult, and liable to be controverted. There would be visible evidence of the ailment, and cure could be proved. 

Somewhat embarrassed, Doctor Bonamy replied: "No doubt, no doubt; all weask for is enlightenment. The difficulty would be in forming thecommittee you speak of. If you only knew how little medical men agree!However, there is certainly an idea in what you say. "

Fortunately a fresh patient now came to his assistance. Whilst littleSophie Couteau, already forgotten, was putting on, her shoes again, EliseRouquet appeared, and, removing her wrap, displayed her diseased face toview. She related that she had been bathing it with her handkerchief eversince the morning, and it seemed to her that her sore, previously sofresh and raw, was already beginning to dry and grow paler in colour. This was true; Pierre noticed, with great surprise, that the aspect ofthe sore was now less horrible. This supplied fresh food for thediscussion on visible sores, for the little fair-haired gentleman clungobstinately to his idea of organising a special ward. Indeed, said he, ifthe condition of this girl had been verified that morning, and she shouldbe cured, what a triumph it would have been for the Grotto, which couldhave claimed to have healed a lupus! It would then have no longer beenpossible to deny that miracles were worked. 

Doctor Chassaigne had so far kept in the background, motionless andsilent, as though he desired that the facts alone should exercise theirinfluence on Pierre. But he now leant forward and said to him in anundertone: "Visible sores, visible sores indeed! That gentleman can haveno idea that our most learned medical men suspect many of these sores tobe of nervous origin. Yes, we are discovering that complaints of thiskind are often simply due to bad nutrition of the skin. These questionsof nutrition are still so imperfectly studied and understood! And somemedical men are also beginning to prove that the faith which heals caneven cure sores, certain forms of lupus among others. And so I would askwhat certainty that gentleman would obtain with his ward for visiblesores? There would simply be a little more confusion and passion inarguing the eternal question. No, no! Science is vain, it is a sea ofuncertainty. "

He smiled sorrowfully whilst Doctor Bonamy, after advising Elise Rouquetto continue using the water as lotion and to return each day for furtherexamination, repeated with his prudent, affable air: "At all events, gentlemen, there are signs of improvement in this case--that is beyonddoubt. "

But all at once the office was fairly turned topsy-turvy by the arrivalof La Grivotte, who swept in like a whirlwind, almost dancing withdelight and shouting in a full voice: "I am cured! I am cured!"

And forthwith she began to relate that they had first of all refused tobathe her, and that she had been obliged to insist and beg and sob inorder to prevail upon them to do so, after receiving Father Fourcade'sexpress permission. And then it had all happened as she had previouslysaid it would. She had not been immersed in the icy water for threeminutes--all perspiring as she was with her consumptive rattle--beforeshe had felt strength returning to her like a whipstroke lashing herwhole body. And now a flaming excitement possessed her; radiant, stampingher feet, she was unable to keep still. 

"I am cured, my good gentlemen, I am cured!"

Pierre looked at her, this time quite stupefied. Was this the same girlwhom, on the previous night, he had seen lying on the carriage seat, annihilated, coughing and spitting blood, with her face of ashen hue? Hecould not recognise her as she now stood there, erect and slender, hercheeks rosy, her eyes sparkling, upbuoyed by a determination to live, ajoy in living already. 

"Gentlemen, " declared Doctor Bonamy, "the case appears to me to be a veryinteresting one. We will see. "

Then he asked for the documents concerning La Grivotte. But they couldnot be found among all the papers heaped together on the tables. Theyoung seminarists who acted as secretaries began turning everything over;and the superintendent of the piscinas who sat in their midst himself hadto get up to see if these documents were in the "canterbury. " At last, when he had sat down again, he found them under the register which layopen before him. Among them were three medical certificates which he readaloud. All three of them agreed in stating that the case was one ofadvanced phthisis, complicated by nervous incidents which invested itwith a peculiar character. 

Doctor Bonamy wagged his head as though to say that such an _ensemble_ oftestimony could leave no room for doubt. Forthwith, he subjected thepatient to a prolonged auscultation. And he murmured: "I hear nothing--Ihear nothing. " Then, correcting himself, he added: "At least I hearscarcely anything. "

Finally he turned towards the five-and-twenty or thirty doctors who wereassembled there in silence. "Will some of you gentlemen, " he asked, "kindly lend me the help of your science? We are here to study anddiscuss these questions. "

At first nobody stirred. Then there was one who ventured to come forwardand, in his turn subject the patient to auscultation. But instead ofdeclaring himself, he continued reflecting, shaking his head anxiously. At last he stammered that in his opinion one must await furtherdevelopments. Another doctor, however, at once took his place, and thisone expressed a decided opinion. He could hear nothing at all, that womancould never have suffered from phthisis. Then others followed him; infact, with the exception of five or six whose smiling faces remainedimpenetrable, they all joined the _defile_. And the confusion nowattained its apogee; for each gave an opinion sensibly differing fromthat of his colleagues, so that a general uproar arose and one could nolonger hear oneself speak. Father Dargeles alone retained the calmness ofperfect serenity, for he had scented one of those cases which impassionpeople and redound to the glory of Our Lady of Lourdes. He was alreadytaking notes on a corner of the table. 

Thanks to all the noise of the discussion, Pierre and Doctor Chassaigne, seated at some distance from the others, were now able to talk togetherwithout being heard. "Oh! those piscinas!" said the young priest, "I havejust seen them. To think that the water should be so seldom changed! Whatfilth it is, what a soup of microbes! What a terrible blow for thepresent-day mania, that rage for antiseptic precautions! How is it thatsome pestilence does not carry off all these poor people? The opponentsof the microbe theory must be having a good laugh--"

M. Chassaigne stopped him. "No, no, my child, " said he. "The baths may bescarcely clean, but they offer no danger. Please notice that thetemperature of the water never rises above fifty degrees, and thatseventy-seven are necessary for the cultivation of germs. * Besides, scarcely any contagious diseases come to Lourdes, neither cholera, nortyphus, nor variola, nor measles, nor scarlatina. We only see certainorganic affections here, paralysis, scrofula, tumours, ulcers andabscesses, cancers and phthisis; and the latter cannot be transmitted bythe water of the baths. The old sores which are bathed have nothing tofear, and offer no risk of contagion. I can assure you that on this pointthere is even no necessity for the Blessed Virgin to intervene. "

 * The above are Fahrenheit degrees. --Trans. 

"Then, in that case, doctor, " rejoined Pierre, "when you were practising, you would have dipped all your patients in icy water--women at no matterwhat season, rheumatic patients, people suffering from diseases of theheart, consumptives, and so on? For instance, that unhappy girl, halfdead, and covered with sweat--would you have bathed her?"

"Certainly not! There are heroic methods of treatment to which, inpractice, one does not dare to have recourse. An icy bath may undoubtedlykill a consumptive; but do we know, whether, in certain circumstances, itmight not save her? I, who have ended by admitting that a supernaturalpower is at work here, I willingly admit that some cures must take placeunder natural conditions, thanks to that immersion in cold water whichseems to us idiotic and barbarous. Ah! the things we don't know, thethings we don't know!"

He was relapsing into his anger, his hatred of science, which he scornedsince it had left him scared and powerless beside the deathbed of hiswife and his daughter. "You ask for certainties, " he resumed, "butassuredly it is not medicine which will give you them. Listen for amoment to those gentlemen and you will be edified. Is it not beautiful, all that confusion in which so many opinions clash together? Certainlythere are ailments with which one is thoroughly acquainted, even to themost minute details of their evolution; there are remedies also, theeffects of which have been studied with the most scrupulous care; but thething that one does not know, that one cannot know, is the relation ofthe remedy to the ailment, for there are as many cases as there may bepatients, each liable to variation, so that experimentation begins afreshevery time. This is why the practice of medicine remains an art, forthere can be no experimental finality in it. Cure always depends onchance, on some fortunate circumstance, on some bright idea of thedoctor's. And so you will understand that all the people who come anddiscuss here make me laugh when they talk about the absolute laws ofscience. Where are those laws in medicine? I should like to have themshown to me. "

He did not wish to say any more, but his passion carried him away, so hewent on: "I told you that I had become a believer--nevertheless, to speakthe truth, I understand very well why this worthy Doctor Bonamy is solittle affected, and why he continues calling upon doctors in all partsof the world to come and study his miracles. The more doctors that mightcome, the less likelihood there would be of the truth being establishedin the inevitable battle between contradictory diagnoses and methods oftreatment. If men cannot agree about a visible sore, they surely cannotdo so about an internal lesion the existence of which will be admitted bysome, and denied by others. And why then should not everything become amiracle? For, after all, whether the action comes from nature or fromsome unknown power, medical men are, as a rule, none the less astonishedwhen an illness terminates in a manner which they have not foreseen. Nodoubt, too, things are very badly organised here. Those certificates fromdoctors whom nobody knows have no real value. All documents ought to bestringently inquired into. But even admitting any absolute scientificstrictness, you must be very simple, my dear child, if you imagine that apositive conviction would be arrived at, absolute for one and all. Erroris implanted in man, and there is no more difficult task than that ofdemonstrating to universal satisfaction the most insignificant truth. "

Pierre had now begun to understand what was taking place at Lourdes, theextraordinary spectacle which the world had been witnessing for years, amidst the reverent admiration of some and the insulting laughter ofothers. Forces as yet but imperfectly studied, of which one was evenignorant, were certainly at work--auto-suggestion, long prepareddisturbance of the nerves; inspiriting influence of the journey, theprayers, and the hymns; and especially the healing breath, the unknownforce which was evolved from the multitude, in the acute crisis of faith. Thus it seemed to him anything but intelligent to believe in trickery. The facts were both of a much more lofty and much more simple nature. There was no occasion for the Fathers of the Grotto to descend tofalsehood; it was sufficient that they should help in creating confusion, that they should utilise the universal ignorance. It might even beadmitted that everybody acted in good faith--the doctors void of geniuswho delivered the certificates, the consoled patients who believedthemselves cured, and the impassioned witnesses who swore that they hadbeheld what they described. And from all this was evolved the obviousimpossibility of proving whether there was a miracle or not. And suchbeing the case, did not the miracle naturally become a reality for thegreater number, for all those who suffered and who had need of hope?

Then, as Doctor Bonamy, who had noticed that they were chatting apart, came up to them, Pierre ventured to inquire: "What is about theproportion of the cures to the number of cases?"

"About ten per cent. , " answered the doctor; and reading in the youngpriest's eyes the words that he could not utter, he added in a verycordial way: "Oh! there would be many more, they would all be cured if wechose to listen to them. But it is as well to say it, I am only here tokeep an eye on the miracles, like a policeman as it were. My onlyfunctions are to check excessive zeal, and to prevent holy things frombeing made ridiculous. In one word, this office is simply an office wherea _visa_ is given when the cures have been verified and seem real ones. "

He was interrupted, however, by a low growl. Raboin was growing angry:"The cures verified, the cures verified, " he muttered. "What is the useof that? There is no pause in the working of the miracles. What is theuse of verifying them so far as believers are concerned? _They_ merelyhave to bow down and believe. And what is the use, too, as regards theunbelievers? _They_ will never be convinced. The work we do here is somuch foolishness. "

Doctor Bonamy severely ordered him to hold his tongue. "You are a rebel, Raboin, " said he; "I shall tell Father Capdebarthe that I won't have youhere any longer since you pass your time in sowing disobedience. "

Nevertheless, there was truth in what had just been said by this man, whoso promptly showed his teeth, eager to bite whenever his faith wasassailed; and Pierre looked at him with sympathy. All the work of theVerification Office--work anything but well performed--was indeeduseless, for it wounded the feelings of the pious, and failed to satisfythe incredulous. Besides, can a miracle be proved? No, you must believein it! When God is pleased to intervene, it is not for man to try tounderstand. In the ages of real belief, Science did not make anymeddlesome attempt to explain the nature of the Divinity. And why shouldit come and interfere here? By doing so, it simply hampered faith anddiminished its own prestige. No, no, there must be no Science, you mustthrow yourself upon the ground, kiss it, and believe. Or else you musttake yourself off. No compromise was possible. If examination once beganit must go on, and must, fatally, conduct to doubt. 

Pierre's greatest sufferings, however, came from the extraordinaryconversations which he heard around him. There were some believerspresent who spoke of the miracles with the most amazing ease andtranquillity. The most stupefying stories left their serenity entire. Another miracle, and yet another! And with smiles on their faces, theirreason never protesting, they went on relating such imaginings as couldonly have come from diseased brains. They were evidently living in such astate of visionary fever that nothing henceforth could astonish them. Andnot only did Pierre notice this among folks of simple, childish minds, illiterate, hallucinated creatures like Raboin, but also among the men ofintellect, the men with cultivated brains, the _savants_ like DoctorBonamy and others. It was incredible. And thus Pierre felt a growingdiscomfort arising within him, a covert anger which would doubtless endby bursting forth. His reason was struggling, like that of some poorwretch who after being flung into a river, feels the waters seize himfrom all sides and stifle him; and he reflected that the minds which, like Doctor Chassaigne's, sink at last into blind belief, must passthough this same discomfort and struggle before the final shipwreck. 

He glanced at his old friend and saw how sorrowful he looked, struck downby destiny, as weak as a crying child, and henceforth quite alone inlife. Nevertheless, he was unable to check the cry of protest which roseto his lips: "No, no, if we do not know everything, even if we shallnever know everything, there is no reason why we should leave offlearning. It is wrong that the Unknown should profit by man's debilityand ignorance. On the contrary, the eternal hope should be that thethings which now seem inexplicable will some day be explained; and wecannot, under healthy conditions, have any other ideal than this marchtowards the discovery of the Unknown, this victory slowly achieved byreason amidst all the miseries both of the flesh and of the mind. Ah!reason--it is my reason which makes me suffer, and it is from my reasontoo that I await all my strength. When reason dies, the whole beingperishes. And I feel but an ardent thirst to satisfy my reason more andmore, even though I may lose all happiness in doing so. "

Tears were appearing in Doctor Chassaigne's eyes; doubtless the memory ofhis dear dead ones had again flashed upon him. And, in his turn, hemurmured: "Reason, reason, yes, certainly it is a thing to be very proudof; it embodies the very dignity of life. But there is love, which islife's omnipotence, the one blessing to be won again when you have lostit. "

His voice sank in a stifled sob; and as in a mechanical way he began tofinger the sets of documents lying on the table, he espied among them onewhose cover bore the name of Marie de Guersaint in large letters. Heopened it and read the certificates of the two doctors who had inferredthat the case was one of paralysis of the marrow. "Come, my child, " hethen resumed, "I know that you feel warm affection for Mademoiselle deGuersaint. What should you say if she were cured here? There are heresome certificates, bearing honourable names, and you know that paralysisof this nature is virtually incurable. Well, if this young person shouldall at once run and jump about as I have seen so many others do, wouldyou not feel very happy, would you not at last acknowledge theintervention of a supernatural power?"

Pierre was about to reply, when he suddenly remembered his cousinBeauclair's expression of opinion, the prediction that the miracle wouldcome about like a lightning stroke, an awakening, an exaltation of thewhole being; and he felt his discomfort increase and contented himselfwith replying: "Yes, indeed, I should be very happy. And you are right;there is doubtless only a determination to secure happiness in all theagitation one beholds here. "

However, he could remain in that office no longer. The heat was becomingso great that perspiration streamed down the faces of those present. Doctor Bonamy had begun to dictate a report of the examination of LaGrivotte to one of the seminarists, while Father Dargeles, watchful withregard to the phraseology employed, occasionally rose and whispered someverbal alteration in the writer's ear. Meantime, the tumult around themwas continuing; the discussion among the medical men had taken anotherturn and now bore on certain technical points of no significance withregard to the case in question. You could no longer breathe within thosewooden walls, nausea was upsetting every heart and every head. The littlefair-haired gentleman, the influential writer from Paris, had alreadygone away, quite vexed at not having seen a real miracle. 

Pierre thereupon said to Doctor Chassaigne, "Let us go; I shall be takenill if I stay here any longer. "

They left the office at the same time as La Grivotte, who was at lastbeing dismissed. And as soon as they reached the door they foundthemselves caught in a torrential, surging, jostling crowd, which waseager to behold the girl so miraculously healed; for the report of themiracle must have already spread, and one and all were struggling to seethe chosen one, question her, and touch her. And she, with her empurpledcheeks, her flaming eyes, her dancing gait, could do nothing but repeat, "I am cured, I am cured!"

Shouts drowned her voice, she herself was submerged, carried off amidstthe eddies of the throng. For a moment one lost sight of her as thoughshe had sunk in those tumultuous waters; then she suddenly reappearedclose to Pierre and the doctor, who endeavoured to extricate her from thecrush. They had just perceived the Commander, one of whose manias was tocome down to the piscinas and the Grotto in order to vent his angerthere. With his frock-coat tightly girding him in military fashion, hewas, as usual, leaning on his silver-knobbed walking-stick, slightlydragging his left leg, which his second attack of paralysis hadstiffened. And his face reddened and his eyes flashed with anger when LaGrivotte, pushing him aside in order that she might pass, repeated amidstthe wild enthusiasm of the crowd, "I am cured, I am cured!"

"Well!" he cried, seized with sudden fury, "so much the worse for you, mygirl!"

Exclamations arose, folks began to laugh, for he was well known, and hismaniacal passion for death was forgiven him. However, when he beganstammering confused words, saying that it was pitiful to desire life whenone was possessed of neither beauty nor fortune, and that this girl oughtto have preferred to die at once rather than suffer again, people beganto growl around him, and Abbe Judaine, who was passing, had to extricatehim from his trouble. The priest drew him away. "Be quiet, my friend, bequiet, " he said. "It is scandalous. Why do you rebel like this againstthe goodness of God who occasionally shows His compassion for oursufferings by alleviating them? I tell you again that you yourself oughtto fall on your knees and beg Him to restore to you the use of your legand let you live another ten years. "

The Commander almost choked with anger. "What!" he replied, "ask to livefor another ten years, when my finest day will be the day I die! Showmyself as spiritless, as cowardly as the thousands of patients whom I seepass along here, full of a base terror of death, shrieking aloud theirweakness, their passion to remain alive! Ah! no, I should feel too muchcontempt for myself. I want to die!--to die at once! It will be sodelightful to be no more. "

He was at last out of the scramble of the pilgrims, and again foundhimself near Doctor Chassaigne and Pierre on the bank of the Gave. And headdressed himself to the doctor, whom he often met: "Didn't they try torestore a dead man to life just now?" he asked; "I was told of it--italmost suffocated me. Eh, doctor? You understand? That man was happyenough to be dead, and they dared to dip him in their water in thecriminal hope to make him alive again! But suppose they had succeeded, suppose their water had animated that poor devil once more--for one neverknows what may happen in this funny world--don't you think that the manwould have had a perfect right to spit his anger in the face of thosecorpse-menders? Had he asked them to awaken him? How did they know if hewere not well pleased at being dead? Folks ought to be consulted at anyrate. Just picture them playing the same vile trick on me when I at lastfall into the great deep sleep. Ah! I would give them a nice reception. 'Meddle with what concerns you, ' I should say, and you may be sure Ishould make all haste to die again!"

He looked so singular in the fit of rage which had come over him thatAbbe Judaine and the doctor could not help smiling. Pierre, however, remained grave, chilled by the great quiver which swept by. Were notthose words he had just heard the despairing imprecations of Lazarus? Hehad often imagined Lazarus emerging from the tomb and crying aloud: "Whyhast Thou again awakened me to this abominable life, O Lord? I wassleeping the eternal, dreamless sleep so deeply; I was at last enjoyingsuch sweet repose amidst the delights of nihility! I had known everywretchedness and every dolour, treachery, vain hope, defeat, sickness; asone of the living I had paid my frightful debt to suffering, for I wasborn without knowing why, and I lived without knowing how; and now, behold, O Lord, Thou requirest me to pay my debt yet again; Thoucondemnest me to serve my term of punishment afresh! Have I then beenguilty of some inexpiable transgression that thou shouldst inflict suchcruel chastisement upon me? Alas! to live again, to feel oneself die alittle in one's flesh each day, to have no intelligence save such as isrequired in order to doubt; no will, save such as one must have to beunable; no tenderness, save such as is needed to weep over one's ownsorrows. Yet it was passed, I had crossed the terrifying threshold ofdeath, I had known that second which is so horrible that it sufficeth topoison the whole of life. I had felt the sweat of agony cover me withmoisture, the blood flow back from my limbs, my breath forsake me, fleeaway in a last gasp. And Thou ordainest that I should know this distressa second time, that I should die twice, that my human misery shouldexceed that of all mankind. Then may it be even now, O Lord! Yes, Ientreat Thee, do also this great miracle; may I once more lay myself downin this grave, and again fall asleep without suffering from theinterruption of my eternal slumber. Have mercy upon me, and forbear frominflicting on me the torture of living yet again; that torture which isso frightful that Thou hast never inflicted it on any being. I havealways loved Thee and served Thee; and I beseech Thee do not make of methe greatest example of Thy wrath, a cause of terror unto allgenerations. But show unto me Thy gentleness and loving kindness, O Lord!restore unto me the slumber I have earned, and let me sleep once moreamid the delights of Thy nihility. "

While Pierre was pondering in this wise, Abbe Judaine had led theCommander away, at last managing to calm him; and now the young priestshook hands with Doctor Chassaigne, recollecting that it was past fiveo'clock, and that Marie must be waiting for him. On his way back to theGrotto, however, he encountered the Abbe des Hermoises deep inconversation with M. De Guersaint, who had only just left his room at thehotel, and was quite enlivened by his good nap. He and his companion wereadmiring the extraordinary beauty which the fervour of faith imparted tosome women's countenances, and they also spoke of their projected trip tothe Cirque de Gavarnie. 

On learning, however, that Marie had taken a first bath with no effect, M. De Guersaint at once followed Pierre. They found the poor girl stillin the same painful stupor, with her eyes still fixed on the BlessedVirgin who had not deigned to hear her. She did not answer the lovingwords which her father addressed to her, but simply glanced at him withher large distressful eyes, and then again turned them upon the marblestatue which looked so white amid the radiance of the tapers. And whilstPierre stood waiting to take her back to the hospital, M. De Guersaintdevoutly fell upon his knees. At first he prayed with passionate ardourfor his daughter's cure, and then he solicited, on his own behalf, thefavour of finding some wealthy person who would provide him with themillion francs that he needed for his studies on aerial navigation. 

V. BERNADETTE'S TRIALS

ABOUT eleven o'clock that night, leaving M. De Guersaint in his room atthe Hotel of the Apparitions, it occurred to Pierre to return for amoment to the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours before going to bedhimself. He had left Marie in such a despairing state, so fiercelysilent, that he was full of anxiety about her. And when he had asked forMadame de Jonquiere at the door of the Sainte-Honorine Ward he became yetmore anxious, for the news was by no means good. The young girl, said thesuperintendent, had not even opened her mouth. She would answer nobody, and had even refused to eat. Madame de Jonquiere, insisted therefore thatPierre should come in. True, the presence of men was forbidden in thewomen's wards at night-time, but then a priest is not a man. 

"She only cares for you and will only listen to you, " said the worthylady. "Pray come in and sit down near her till Abbe Judaine arrives. Hewill come at about one in the morning to administer the communion to ourmore afflicted sufferers, those who cannot move and who have to eat atdaybreak. You will be able to assist him. "

Pierre thereupon followed Madame de Jonquiere, who installed him at thehead of Marie's bed. "My dear child, " she said to the girl, "I havebrought you somebody who is very fond of you. You will be able to chatwith him, and you will be reasonable now, won't you?"

Marie, however, on recognising Pierre, gazed at him with an air ofexasperated suffering, a black, stern expression of revolt. 

"Would you like him to read something to you, " resumed Madame deJonquiere, "something that would ease and console you as he did in thetrain? No? It wouldn't interest you, you don't care for it? Well, we willsee by-and-by. I will leave him with you, and I am sure you will be quitereasonable again in a few minutes. "

Pierre then began speaking to her in a low voice, saying all the kindconsoling things that his heart could think of, and entreating her not toallow herself to sink into such despair. If the Blessed Virgin had notcured her on the first day, it was because she reserved her for someconspicuous miracle. But he spoke in vain. Marie had turned her headaway, and did not even seem to listen as she lay there with a bitterexpression on her mouth and a gleam of irritation in her eyes, whichwandered away into space. Accordingly he ceased speaking and began togaze at the ward around him. 

The spectacle was a frightful one. Never before had such a nausea of pityand terror affected his heart. They had long since dined, neverthelessplates of food which had been brought up from the kitchens still layabout the beds; and all through the night there were some who ate whilstothers continued restlessly moaning, asking to be turned over or helpedout of bed. As the hours went by a kind of vague delirium seemed to comeupon almost all of them. Very few were able to sleep quietly. Some hadbeen undressed and were lying between the sheets, but the greater numberwere simply stretched out on the beds, it being so difficult to get theirclothes off that they did not even change their linen during the fivedays of the pilgrimage. In the semi-obscurity, moreover, the obstructionof the ward seemed to have increased. To the fifteen beds ranged alongthe walls and the seven mattresses filling the central space, some freshpallets had been added, and on all sides there was a confused litter ofragged garments, old baskets, boxes, and valises. Indeed, you no longerknew where to step. Two smoky lanterns shed but a dim light upon thisencampment of dying women, in which a sickly smell prevailed; for, instead of any freshness, merely the heavy heat of the August night camein through the two windows which had been left ajar. Nightmare-likeshadows and cries sped to and fro, peopling the inferno, amidst thenocturnal agony of so much accumulated suffering. 

However, Pierre recognised Raymonde, who, her duties over, had come tokiss her mother, before going to sleep in one of the garrets reserved tothe Sisters of the hospital. For her own part, Madame de Jonquiere, taking her functions to heart, did not close her eyes during the threenights spent at Lourdes. 

She certainly had an arm-chair in which to rest herself, but she neversat down in it for a moment with out being disturbed. It must be admittedthat she was bravely seconded by little Madame Desagneaux, who displayedsuch enthusiastic zeal that Sister Hyacinthe asked her, with a smile:"Why don't you take the vows?" whereupon she responded, with an air ofscared surprise: "Oh! I can't, I'm married, you know, and I'm very fondof my husband. " As for Madame Volmar, she had not even shown herself; butit was alleged that Madame de Jonquiere had sent her to bed on hearingher complain of a frightful headache. And this had put Madame Desagneauxin quite a temper; for, as she sensibly enough remarked, a person had nobusiness to offer to nurse the sick when the slightest exertion exhaustedher. She herself, however, at last began to feel her legs and armsaching, though she would not admit it, but hastened to every patient whomshe heard calling, ever ready as she was to lend a helping hand. In Parisshe would have rung for a servant rather than have moved a candlestickherself; but here she was ever coming and going, bringing and emptyingbasins, and passing her arms around patients to hold them up, whilstMadame de Jonquiere slipped pillows behind them. However, shortly aftereleven o'clock, she was all at once overpowered. Having imprudentlystretched herself in the armchair for a moment's rest, she there fellsoundly asleep, her pretty head sinking on one of her shoulders amidsther lovely, wavy fair hair, which was all in disorder. And from thatmoment neither moan nor call, indeed no sound whatever, could waken her. 

Madame de Jonquiere, however, had softly approached the young priestagain. "I had an idea, " said she in a low voice, "of sending for MonsieurFerrand, the house-surgeon, you know, who accompanies us. He would havegiven the poor girl something to calm her. Only he is busy downstairstrying to relieve Brother Isidore, in the Family Ward. Besides, as youknow, we are not supposed to give medical attendance here; our workconsists in placing our dear sick ones in the hands of the BlessedVirgin. "

Sister Hyacinthe, who had made up her mind to spend the night with thesuperintendent, now drew, near. "I have just come from the Family Ward, "she said; "I went to take Monsieur Sabathier some oranges which I hadpromised him, and I saw Monsieur Ferrand, who had just succeeded inreviving Brother Isidore. Would you like me to go down and fetch him?"

But Pierre declined the offer. "No, no, " he replied, "Marie will besensible. I will read her a few consoling pages by-and-by, and then shewill rest. "

For the moment, however, the girl still remained obstinately silent. Oneof the two lanterns was hanging from the wall close by, and Pierre coulddistinctly see her thin face, rigid and motionless like stone. Then, farther away, in the adjoining bed, he perceived Elise Rouquet, who wassound asleep and no longer wore her fichu, but openly displayed her face, the ulcerations of which still continued to grow paler. And on the youngpriest's left hand was Madame Vetu, now greatly weakened, in a hopelessstate, unable to doze off for a moment, shaken as she was by a continuousrattle. He said a few kind words to her, for which she thanked him with anod; and, gathering her remaining strength together, she was at last ableto say: "There were several cures to-day; I was very pleased to hear ofthem. "

On a mattress at the foot of her bed was La Grivotte, who in a fever ofextraordinary activity kept on sitting up to repeat her favourite phrase:"I am cured, I am cured!" And she went on to relate that she had eatenhalf a fowl for dinner, she who had been unable to eat for long monthspast. Then, too, she had followed the torchlight procession on footduring nearly a couple of hours, and she would certainly have danced tilldaybreak had the Blessed Virgin only been pleased to give a ball. Andonce more she repeated: "I am cured, yes, cured, quite cured!"

Thereupon Madame Vetu found enough strength to say with childlikeserenity and perfect, gladsome abnegation: "The Blessed Virgin did wellto cure her since she is poor. I am better pleased than if it had beenmyself, for I have my little shop to depend upon and can wait. We eachhave our turn, each our turn. "

One and all displayed a like charity, a like pleasure that others shouldhave been cured. Seldom, indeed, was any jealousy shown; they surrenderedthemselves to a kind of epidemical beatitude, to a contagious hope thatthey would all be cured whenever it should so please the Blessed Virgin. And it was necessary that she should not be offended by any undueimpatience; for assuredly she had her reasons and knew right well why shebegan by healing some rather than others. Thus with the fraternity bornof common suffering and hope, the most grievously afflicted patientsprayed for the cure of their neighbours. None of them ever despaired, each fresh miracle was the promise of another one, of the one which wouldbe worked on themselves. Their faith remained unshakable. A story wastold of a paralytic woman, some farm servant, who with extraordinarystrength of will had contrived to take a few steps at the Grotto, and whowhile being conveyed back to the hospital had asked to be set down thatshe might return to the Grotto on foot. But she had gone only half thedistance when she had staggered, panting and livid; and on being broughtto the hospital on a stretcher, she had died there, cured, however, saidher neighbours in the ward. Each, indeed, had her turn; the BlessedVirgin forgot none of her dear daughters unless it were her design togrant some chosen one immediate admission into Paradise. 

All at once, at the moment when Pierre was leaning towards her, againoffering to read to her, Marie burst into furious sobs. Letting her headfall upon her friend's shoulder, she vented all her rebellion in a low, terrible voice, amidst the vague shadows of that awful room. She hadexperienced what seldom happened to her, a collapse of faith, a suddenloss of courage, all the rage of the suffering being who can no longerwait. Such was her despair, indeed, that she even became sacrilegious. 

"No, no, " she stammered, "the Virgin is cruel; she is unjust, for she didnot cure me just now. Yet I felt so certain that she would grant myprayer, I had prayed to her so fervently. I shall never be cured, nowthat the first day is past. It was a Saturday, and I was convinced that Ishould be cured on a Saturday. I did not want to speak--and oh! preventme, for my heart is too full, and I might say more than I ought to do. "

With fraternal hands he had quickly taken hold of her head, and he wasendeavouring to stifle the cry of her rebellion. "Be quiet, Marie, Ientreat you! It would never do for anyone to hear you--you so pious! Doyou want to scandalise every soul?"

But in spite of her efforts she was unable to keep silence. "I shouldstifle, I must speak out, " she said. "I no longer love her, no longerbelieve in her. The tales which are related here are all falsehoods;there is _nothing_, she does not even exist, since she does not hear whenone speaks to her, and sobs. If you only knew all that I said to her! Oh!I want to go away at once. Take me away, carry me away in your arms, sothat I may go and die in the street, where the passers-by, at least, willtake pity on my sufferings!"

She was growing weak again, and had once more fallen on her back, stammering, talking childishly. "Besides, nobody loves me, " she said. "Myfather was not even there. And you, my friend, forsook me. When I sawthat it was another who was taking me to the piscinas, I began to feel achill. Yes, that chill of doubt which I often felt in Paris. And that isat least certain, I doubted--perhaps, indeed, that is why she did notcure me. I cannot have prayed well enough, I am not pious enough, nodoubt. "

She was no longer blaspheming, but seeking for excuses to explain thenon-intervention of Heaven. However, her face retained an angryexpression amidst this struggle which she was waging with the SupremePower, that Power which she had loved so well and entreated so fervently, but which had not obeyed her. When, on rare occasions, a fit of rage ofthis description broke out in the ward, and the sufferers, lying on theirbeds, rebelled against their fate, sobbing and lamenting, and at timeseven swearing, the lady-hospitallers and the Sisters, somewhat shocked, would content themselves with simply closing the bed-curtains. Grace haddeparted, one must await its return. And at last, sometimes after longhours, the rebellious complaints would die away, and peace would reignagain amidst the deep, woeful silence. 

"Calm yourself, calm yourself, I implore you, " Pierre gently repeated toMarie, seeing that a fresh attack was coming upon her, an attack of doubtin herself, of fear that she was unworthy of the divine assistance. 

Sister Hyacinthe, moreover, had again drawn near. "You will not be ableto take the sacrament by-and-by, my dear child, " said she, "if youcontinue in such a state. Come, since we have given Monsieur l'Abbepermission to read to you, why don't you let him do so?"

Marie made a feeble gesture as though to say that she consented, andPierre at once took out of the valise at the foot of her bed, the littleblue-covered book in which the story of Bernadette was so naivelyrelated. As on the previous night, however, when the train was rollingon, he did not confine himself to the bald phraseology of the book, butbegan improvising, relating all manner of details in his own fashion, inorder to charm the simple folks who listened to him. Nevertheless, withhis reasoning, analytical proclivities, he could not prevent himself fromsecretly re-establishing the real facts, imparting, for himself alone, ahuman character to this legend, whose wealth of prodigies contributed sogreatly to the cure of those that suffered. Women were soon sitting up onall the surrounding beds. They wished to hear the continuation of thestory, for the thought of the sacrament which they were passionatelyawaiting had prevented almost all of them from getting to sleep. Andseated there, in the pale light of the lantern hanging from the wallabove him, Pierre little by little raised his voice, so that he might beheard by the whole ward. 

"The persecutions began with the very first miracles. Called a liar and alunatic, Bernadette was threatened with imprisonment. Abbe Peyramale, theparish priest of Lourdes, and Monseigneur Laurence, Bishop of Tarbes, like the rest of the clergy, refrained from all intervention, waiting thecourse of events with the greatest prudence; whilst the civilauthorities, the Prefect, the Public Prosecutor, the Mayor, and theCommissary of Police, indulged in excessive anti-religious zeal. "

Continuing his perusal in this fashion, Pierre saw the real story rise upbefore him with invincible force. His mind travelled a short distancebackward and he beheld Bernadette at the time of the first apparitions, so candid, so charming in her ignorance and good faith, amidst all hersufferings. And she was truly the visionary, the saint, her face assumingan expression of superhuman beauty during her crises of ecstasy. Her browbeamed, her features seemed to ascend, her eyes were bathed with light, whilst her parted lips burnt with divine love. And then her whole personbecame majestic; it was in a slow, stately way that she made the sign ofthe cross, with gestures which seemed to embrace the whole horizon. Theneighbouring valleys, the villages, the towns, spoke of Bernadette alone. Although the Lady had not yet told her name, she was recognised, andpeople said, "It is she, the Blessed Virgin. " On the first market-day, somany people flocked into Lourdes that the town quite overflowed. Allwished to see the blessed child whom the Queen of the Angels had chosen, and who became so beautiful when the heavens opened to her enrapturedgaze. The crowd on the banks of the Gave grew larger each morning, andthousands of people ended by installing themselves there, jostling oneanother that they might lose nothing of the spectacle! As soon asBernadette appeared, a murmur of fervour spread: "Here is the saint, thesaint, the saint!" Folks rushed forward to kiss her garments. She was aMessiah, the eternal Messiah whom the nations await, and the need of whomis ever arising from generation to generation. And, moreover, it was everthe same adventure beginning afresh: an apparition of the Virgin to ashepherdess; a voice exhorting the world to penitence; a spring gushingforth; and miracles astonishing and enrapturing the crowds that hastenedto the spot in larger and larger numbers. 

Ah! those first miracles of Lourdes, what a spring-tide flowering ofconsolation and hope they brought to the hearts of the wretched, uponwhom poverty and sickness were preying! Old Bourriette's restoredeyesight, little Bouhohort's resuscitation in the icy water, the deafrecovering their hearing, the lame suddenly enabled to walk, and so manyother cases, Blaise Maumus, Bernade Soubies, * Auguste Bordes, BlaisetteSoupenne, Benoite Cazeaux, in turn cured of the most dreadful ailments, became the subject of endless conversations, and fanned the illusions ofall those who suffered either in their hearts or their flesh. OnThursday, March 4th, the last day of the fifteen visits solicited by theVirgin, there were more than twenty thousand persons assembled before theGrotto. Everybody, indeed, had come down from the mountains. And thisimmense throng found at the Grotto the divine food that it hungered for, a feast of the Marvellous, a sufficient meed of the Impossible to contentits belief in a superior Power, which deigned to bestow some attentionupon poor folks, and to intervene in the wretched affairs of this lowerworld, in order to re-establish some measure of justice and kindness. Itwas indeed the cry of heavenly charity bursting forth, the invisiblehelping hand stretched out at last to dress the eternal sores ofhumanity. Ah! that dream in which each successive generation soughtrefuge, with what indestructible energy did it not arise among thedisinherited ones of this world as soon as it found a favourable spot, prepared by circumstances! And for centuries, perhaps, circumstances hadnever so combined to kindle the mystical fire of faith as they did atLourdes. 

 * I give this name as written by M. Zola; but in other works on Lourdes I find it given as "Bernarde Loubie--a bed-ridden old woman, cured of a paralytic affection by drinking the water of the Grotto. "--Trans. 

A new religion was about to be founded, and persecutions at once began, for religions only spring up amidst vexations and rebellions. And even asit was long ago at Jerusalem, when the tidings of miracles spread, thecivil authorities--the Public Prosecutor, the Justice of the Peace, theMayor, and particularly the Prefect of Tarbes--were all roused and beganto bestir themselves. The Prefect was a sincere Catholic, a worshipper, aman of perfect honour, but he also had the firm mind of a publicfunctionary, was a passionate defender of order, and a declared adversaryof fanaticism which gives birth to disorder and religious perversion. Under his orders at Lourdes there was a Commissary of Police, a man ofgreat intelligence and shrewdness, who had hitherto discharged hisfunctions in a very proper way, and who, legitimately enough, beheld inthis affair of the apparitions an opportunity to put his gift ofsagacious skill to the proof. So the struggle began, and it was thisCommissary who, on the first Sunday in Lent, at the time of the firstapparitions, summoned Bernadette to his office in order that he mightquestion her. He showed himself affectionate, then angry, thenthreatening, but all in vain; the answers which the girl gave him wereever the same. The story which she related, with its slowly accumulateddetails, had little by little irrevocably implanted itself in herinfantile mind. And it was no lie on the part of this poor sufferingcreature, this exceptional victim of hysteria, but an unconscioushaunting, a radical lack of will-power to free herself from her originalhallucination. She knew not how to exert any such will, she could not, she would not exert it. Ah! the poor child, the dear child, so amiableand so gentle, so incapable of any evil thought, from that time forwardlost to life, crucified by her fixed idea, whence one could only haveextricated her by changing her environment, by restoring her to the openair, in some land of daylight and human affection. But she was the chosenone, she had beheld the Virgin, she would suffer from it her whole lifelong and die from it at last!

Pierre, who knew Bernadette so well, and who felt a fraternal pity forher memory, the fervent compassion with which one regards a human saint, a simple, upright, charming creature tortured by her faith, allowed hisemotion to appear in his moist eyes and trembling voice. And a pause inhis narrative ensued. Marie, who had hitherto been lying there quitestiff, with a hard expression of revolt still upon her face, opened herclenched hands and made a vague gesture of pity. "Ah, " she murmured, "thepoor child, all alone to contend against those magistrates, and soinnocent, so proud, so unshakable in her championship of the truth!"

The same compassionate sympathy was arising from all the beds in theward. That hospital inferno with its nocturnal wretchedness, itspestilential atmosphere, its pallets of anguish heaped together, itsweary lady-hospitallers and Sisters flitting phantom-like hither andthither, now seemed to be illumined by a ray of divine charity. Was notthe eternal illusion of happiness rising once more amidst tears andunconscious falsehoods? Poor, poor Bernadette! All waxed indignant at thethought of the persecutions which she had endured in defence of herfaith. 

Then Pierre, resuming his story, related all that the child had had tosuffer. After being questioned by the Commissary she had to appear beforethe judges of the local tribunal. The entire magistracy pursued her, andendeavoured to wring a retractation from her. But the obstinacy of herdream was stronger than the common sense of all the civil authorities puttogether. Two doctors who were sent by the Prefect to make a carefulexamination of the girl came, as all doctors would have done, to thehonest opinion that it was a case of nervous trouble, of which the asthmawas a sure sign, and which, in certain circumstances, might have inducedvisions. This nearly led to her removal and confinement in a hospital atTarbes. But public exasperation was feared. A bishop had fallen on hisknees before her. Some ladies had sought to buy favours from her forgold. Moreover she had found a refuge with the Sisters of Nevers, whotended the aged in the town asylum, and there she made her firstcommunion, and was with difficulty taught to read and write. As theBlessed Virgin seemed to have chosen her solely to work the happiness ofothers, and she herself had not been cured, it was very sensibly decidedto take her to the baths of Cauterets, which were so near at hand. However, they did her no good. And no sooner had she returned to Lourdesthan the torture of being questioned and adored by a whole people beganafresh, became aggravated, and filled her more and more with horror ofthe world. Her life was over already; she would be a playful child nomore; she could never be a young girl dreaming of a husband, a young wifekissing the cheeks of sturdy children. She had beheld the Virgin, she wasthe chosen one, the martyr. If the Virgin, said believers, had confidedthree secrets to her, investing her with a triple armour as it were, itwas simply in order to sustain her in her appointed course. 

The clergy had for a long time remained aloof, on its own side full ofdoubt and anxiety. Abby Peyramale, the parish priest of Lourdes, was aman of somewhat blunt ways, but full of infinite kindness, rectitude, andenergy whenever he found himself in what he thought the right path. Onthe first occasion when Bernadette visited him, he received this childwho had been brought up at Bartres and had not yet been seen atCatechism, almost as sternly as the Commissary of Police had done; infact, he refused to believe her story, and with some irony told her toentreat the Lady to begin by making the briars blossom beneath her feet, which, by the way, the Lady never did. And if the Abbe ended by takingthe child under his protection like a good pastor who defends his flock, it was simply through the advent of persecution and the talk ofimprisoning this puny child, whose clear eyes shone so frankly, and whoclung with such modest, gentle stubbornness to her original tale. Besides, why should he have continued denying the miracle after merelydoubting it like a prudent priest who had no desire to see religion mixedup in any suspicious affair? Holy Writ is full of prodigies, all dogma isbased on the mysterious; and that being so, there was nothing to preventhim, a priest, from believing that the Virgin had really entrustedBernadette with a pious message for him, an injunction to build a churchwhither the faithful would repair in procession. Thus it was that hebegan loving and defending Bernadette for her charm's sake, whilst stillrefraining from active interference, awaiting as he did the decision ofhis Bishop. 

This Bishop, Monseigneur Laurence, seemed to have shut himself up in hisepiscopal residence at Tarbes, locking himself within it and preservingabsolute silence as though there were nothing occurring at Lourdes of anature to interest him. He had given strict instructions to his clergy, and so far not a priest had appeared among the vast crowds of people whospent their days before the Grotto. He waited, and even allowed thePrefect to state in his administrative circulars that the civil and thereligious authorities were acting in concert. In reality, he cannot havebelieved in the apparitions of the Grotto of Massabielle, which hedoubtless considered to be the mere hallucinations of a sick child. Thisaffair, which was revolutionising the region, was of sufficientimportance for him to have studied it day by day, and the manner in whichhe disregarded it for so long a time shows how little inclined he was toadmit the truth of the alleged miracles, and how greatly he desired toavoid compromising the Church in a matter which seemed destined to endbadly. With all his piety, Monseigneur Laurence had a cool, practicalintellect, which enabled him to govern his diocese with great good sense. Impatient and ardent people nicknamed him Saint Thomas at the time, onaccount of the manner in which his doubts persisted until events at lastforced his hand. Indeed, he turned a deaf ear to all the stories thatwere being related, firmly resolved as he was that he would only listento them if it should appear certain that religion had nothing to lose. 

However, the persecutions were about to become more pronounced. TheMinister of Worship in Paris, who had been informed of what was going on, required that a stop should be put to all disorders, and so the Prefectcaused the approaches to the Grotto to be occupied by the military. TheGrotto had already been decorated with vases of flowers offered by thezeal of the faithful and the gratitude of sufferers who had been healed. Money, moreover, was thrown into it; gifts to the Blessed Virginabounded. Rudimentary improvements, too, were carried out in aspontaneous way; some quarrymen cut a kind of reservoir to receive themiraculous water, and others removed the large blocks of stone, andtraced a path in the hillside. However, in presence of the swellingtorrents of people, the Prefect, after renouncing his idea of arrestingBernadette, took the serious resolution of preventing all access to theGrotto by placing a strong palisade in front of it. Some regrettableincidents had lately occurred; various children pretended that they hadseen the devil, some of them being guilty of simulation in this respect, whilst others had given way to real attacks of hysteria, in thecontagious nervous unhinging which was so prevalent. But what a terriblebusiness did the removal of the offerings from the Grotto prove! It wasonly towards evening that the Commissary was able to find a girl willingto let him have a cart on hire, and two hours later this girl fell from aloft and broke one of her ribs. Likewise, a man who had lent an axe hadone of his feet crushed on the morrow by the fall of a block of stone. *It was in the midst of jeers and hisses that the Commissary carried offthe pots of flowers, the tapers which he found burning, the coppers andthe silver hearts which lay upon the sand. People clenched their fists, and covertly called him "thief" and "murderer. " Then the posts for thepalisades were planted in the ground, and the rails were nailed to thecrossbars, no little labour being performed to shut off the Mystery, inorder to bar access to the Unknown, and put the miracles in prison. Andthe civil authorities were simple enough to imagine that it was all over, that those few bits of boarding would suffice to stay the poor people whohungered for illusion and hope. 

 * Both of these accidents were interpreted as miracles. --Trans. 

But as soon as the new religion was proscribed, forbidden by the law asan offence, it began to burn with an inextinguishable flame in the depthsof every soul. Believers came to the river bank in far greater numbers, fell upon their knees at a short distance from the Grotto, and sobbedaloud as they gazed at the forbidden heaven. And the sick, the poorailing folks, who were forbidden to seek cure, rushed on the Grottodespite all prohibitions, slipped in whenever they could find an apertureor climbed over the palings when their strength enabled them to do so, inthe one ardent desire to steal a little of the water. What! there was aprodigious water in that Grotto, which restored the sight to the blind, which set the infirm erect upon their legs again, which instantaneouslyhealed all ailments; and there were officials cruel enough to put thatwater under lock and key so that it might not cure any more poor people!Why, it was monstrous! And a cry of hatred arose from all the humbleones, all the disinherited ones who had as much need of the Marvellous asof bread to live! In accordance with a municipal decree, the names of alldelinquents were to be taken by the police, and thus one soon beheld awoeful _defile_ of old women and lame men summoned before the Justice ofthe Peace for the sole offence of taking a little water from the fount oflife! They stammered and entreated, at their wit's end when a fine wasimposed upon them. And, outside, the crowd was growling; ragefulunpopularity was gathering around those magistrates who treated humanwretchedness so harshly, those pitiless masters who after taking all thewealth of the world, would not even leave to the poor their dream of therealms beyond, their belief that a beneficent superior power took amaternal interest in them, and was ready to endow them with peace of souland health of body. One day a whole band of poverty-stricken and ailingfolks went to the Mayor, knelt down in his courtyard, and implored himwith sobs to allow the Grotto to be reopened; and the words they spokewere so pitiful that all who heard them wept. A mother showed her childwho was half-dead; would they let the little one die like that in herarms when there was a source yonder which had saved the children of othermothers? A blind man called attention to his dim eyes; a pale, scrofulousyouth displayed the sores on his legs; a paralytic woman sought to joinher woeful twisted hands: did the authorities wish to see them allperish, did they refuse them the last divine chance of life, condemnedand abandoned as they were by the science of man? And equally great wasthe distress of the believers, of those who were convinced that a cornerof heaven had opened amidst the night of their mournful existences, andwho were indignant that they should be deprived of the chimericaldelight, the supreme relief for their human and social sufferings, whichthey found in the belief that the Blessed Virgin had indeed come downfrom heaven to bring them the priceless balm of her intervention. However, the Mayor was unable to promise anything, and the crowd withdrewweeping, ready for rebellion, as though under the blow of some great actof injustice, an act of idiotic cruelty towards the humble and the simplefor which Heaven would assuredly take vengeance. 

The struggle went on for several months; and it was an extraordinaryspectacle which those sensible men--the Minister, the Prefect, and theCommissary of Police--presented, all animated with the best intentionsand contending against the ever-swelling crowd of despairing ones, whowould not allow the doors of dreamland to be closed upon them, who wouldnot be shut off from the mystic glimpse of future happiness in which theyfound consolation for their present wretchedness. The authoritiesrequired order, the respect of a discreet religion, the triumph ofreason; whereas the need of happiness carried the people off into anenthusiastic desire for cure both in this world and in the next. Oh! tocease suffering, to secure equality in the comforts of life; to march onunder the protection of a just and beneficent Mother, to die only toawaken in heaven! And necessarily the burning desire of the multitude, the holy madness of the universal joy, was destined to sweep aside therigid, morose conceptions of a well-regulated society in which theever-recurring epidemical attacks of religious hallucination arecondemned as prejudicial to good order and healthiness of mind. 

The Sainte-Honorine Ward, on hearing the story, likewise revolted. Pierreagain had to pause, for many were the stifled exclamations in which theCommissary of Police was likened to Satan and Herod. La Grivotte had satup on her mattress, stammering: "Ah! the monsters! To behave like that tothe Blessed Virgin who has cured me!"

And even Madame Vetu--once more penetrated by a ray of hope amidst thecovert certainty she felt that she was going to die--grew angry at theidea that the Grotto would not have existed had the Prefect won the day. "There would have been no pilgrimages, " she said, "we should not be here, hundreds of us would not be cured every year. "

A fit of stifling came over her, however, and Sister Hyacinthe had toraise her to a sitting posture. Madame de Jonquiere was profiting by theinterruption to attend to a young woman afflicted with a spinalcomplaint, whilst two other women, unable to remain on their beds, sounbearable was the heat, prowled about with short, silent steps, lookingquite white in the misty darkness. And from the far end of the ward, where all was black, there resounded a noise of painful breathing, whichhad been going on without a pause, accompanying Pierre's narrative like arattle. Elise Rouquet alone was sleeping peacefully, still stretched uponher back, and displaying her disfigured countenance, which was slowlydrying. 

Midnight had struck a quarter of an hour previously, and Abbe Judainemight arrive at any moment for the communion. Grace was now againdescending into Marie's heart, and she was convinced that if the BlessedVirgin had refused to cure her it was, indeed, her own fault in havingdoubted when she entered the piscina. And she, therefore, repented of herrebellion as of a crime. Could she ever be forgiven? Her pale face sankdown among her beautiful fair hair, her eyes filled with tears, and shelooked at Pierre with an expression of anguish. "Oh! how wicked I was, myfriend, " she said. "It was through hearing you relate how that Prefectand those magistrates sinned through pride, that I understood mytransgression. One must believe, my friend; there is no happiness outsidefaith and love. "

Then, as Pierre wished to break off at the point which he had reached, they all began protesting and calling for the continuation of hisnarrative, so that he had to promise to go on to the triumph of theGrotto. 

Its entrance remained barred by the palisade, and you had to comesecretly at night if you wished to pray and carry off a stolen bottle ofwater. Still, the fear of rioting increased, for it was rumoured thatwhole villages intended to come down from the hills in order to deliverGod, as they naively expressed it. It was a _levee en masse_ of thehumble, a rush of those who hungered for the miraculous, so irresistiblein its impetuosity that mere common sense, mere considerations of publicorder were to be swept away like chaff. And it was Monseigneur Laurence, in his episcopal residence at Tarbes, who was first forced to surrender. All his prudence, all his doubts were outflanked by the popular outburst. For five long months he had been able to remain aloof, preventing hisclergy from following the faithful to the Grotto, and defending theChurch against the tornado of superstition which had been let loose. Butwhat was the use of struggling any longer? He felt the wretchedness ofthe suffering people committed to his care to be so great that heresigned himself to granting them the idolatrous religion for which herealised them to be eager. Some prudence remaining to him, however, hecontented himself in the first instance with drawing up an _ordonnance_, appointing a commission of inquiry, which was to investigate thequestion; this implied the acceptance of the miracles after a period oflonger or shorter duration. If Monseigneur Laurence was the man ofhealthy culture and cool reason that he is pictured to have been, howgreat must have been his anguish on the morning when he signed that_ordonnance_! He must have knelt in his oratory, and have begged theSovereign Master of the world to dictate his conduct to him. He did notbelieve in the apparitions; he had a loftier, more intellectual idea ofthe manifestations of the Divinity. Only would he not be showing truepity and mercy in silencing the scruples of his reason, the nobleprejudices of his faith, in presence of the necessity of granting thatbread of falsehood which poor humanity requires in order to be happy?Doubtless, he begged the pardon of Heaven for allowing it to be mixed upin what he regarded as childish pastime, for exposing it to ridicule inconnection with an affair in which there was only sickliness anddementia. But his flock suffered so much, hungered so ravenously for themarvellous, for fairy stories with which to lull the pains of life. Andthus, in tears, the Bishop at last sacrificed his respect for the dignityof Providence to his sensitive pastoral charity for the woeful humanflock. 

Then the Emperor in his turn gave way. He was at Biarritz at the time, and was kept regularly informed of everything connected with this affairof the apparitions, with which the entire Parisian press was alsooccupying itself, for the persecutions would not have been complete ifthe pens of Voltairean newspaper-men had not meddled in them. And whilsthis Minister, his Prefect, and his Commissary of Police were fighting forcommon sense and public order, the Emperor preserved his wontedsilence--the deep silence of a day-dreamer which nobody ever penetrated. Petitions arrived day by day, yet he held his tongue. Bishops came, greatpersonages, great ladies of his circle watched and drew him on one side, and still he held his tongue. A truceless warfare was being waged aroundhim: on one side the believers and the men of fanciful minds whom theMysterious strongly interested; on the other the unbelievers and thestatesmen who distrusted the disturbances of the imagination;--and stilland ever he held his tongue. Then, all at once, with the sudden decisionof a naturally timid man, he spoke out. The rumour spread that he hadyielded to the entreaties of his wife Eugenie. No doubt she didintervene, but the Emperor was more deeply influenced by a revival of hisold humanitarian dreams, his genuine compassion for the disinherited. *Like the Bishop, he did not wish to close the portals of illusion to thewretched by upholding the unpopular decree which forbade despairingsufferers to go and drink life at the holy source. So he sent a telegram, a curt order to remove the palisade, so as to allow everybody free accessto the Grotto. 

 * I think this view of the matter the right one, for, as all who know the history of the Second Empire are aware, it was about this time that the Emperor began taking great interest in the erection of model dwellings for the working classes, and the plantation and transformation of the sandy wastes of the Landes. --Trans. 

Then came a shout of joy and triumph. The decree annulling the previousone was read at Lourdes to the sound of drum and trumpet. The Commissaryof Police had to come in person to superintend the removal of thepalisade. He was afterwards transferred elsewhere like the Prefect. *People flocked to Lourdes from all parts, the new _cultus_ was organisedat the Grotto, and a cry of joy ascended: God had won the victory!God?--alas, no! It was human wretchedness which had won the battle, humanwretchedness with its eternal need of falsehood, its hunger for themarvellous, its everlasting hope akin to that of some condemned man who, for salvation's sake, surrenders himself into the hands of an invisibleOmnipotence, mightier than nature, and alone capable, should it bewilling, of annulling nature's laws. And that which had also conqueredwas the sovereign compassion of those pastors, the merciful Bishop andmerciful Emperor who allowed those big sick children to retain the fetichwhich consoled some of them and at times even cured others. 

 * The Prefect was transferred to Grenoble, and curiously enough his new jurisdiction extended over the hills and valleys of La Salette, whither pilgrims likewise flocked to drink, pray, and wash themselves at a miraculous fountain. Warned by experience, however, Baron Massy (such was the Prefect's name) was careful to avoid any further interference in religious matters. --Trans. 

In the middle of November the episcopal commission came to Lourdes toprosecute the inquiry which had been entrusted to it. It questionedBernadette yet once again, and studied a large number of miracles. However, in order that the evidence might be absolute, it only registeredsome thirty cases of cure. And Monseigneur Laurence declared himselfconvinced. Nevertheless, he gave a final proof of his prudence, bycontinuing to wait another three years before declaring in a pastoralletter that the Blessed Virgin had in truth appeared at the Grotto ofMassabielle and that numerous miracles had subsequently taken placethere. Meantime, he had purchased the Grotto itself, with all the landaround it, from the municipality of Lourdes, on behalf of his see. Workwas then begun, modestly at first, but soon on a larger and larger scaleas money began to flow in from all parts of Christendom. The Grotto wascleared and enclosed with an iron railing. The Gave was thrown back intoa new bed, so as to allow of spacious approaches to the shrine, withlawns, paths, and walks. At last, too, the church which the Virgin hadasked for, the Basilica, began to rise on the summit of the rock itself. From the very first stroke of the pick, Abbe Peyramale, the parish priestof Lourdes, went on directing everything with even excessive zeal, forthe struggle had made him the most ardent and most sincere of allbelievers in the work that was to be accomplished. With his somewhatrough but truly fatherly nature, he had begun to adore Bernadette, makingher mission his own, and devoting himself, soul and body, to realisingthe orders which he had received from Heaven through her innocent mouth. And he exhausted himself in mighty efforts; he wished everything to bevery beautiful and very grand, worthy of the Queen of the Angels who haddeigned to visit this mountain nook. The first religious ceremony did nottake place till six years after the apparitions. A marble statue of theVirgin was installed with great pomp on the very spot where she hadappeared. It was a magnificent day, all Lourdes was gay with flags, andevery bell rang joyously. Five years later, in 1869, the first mass wascelebrated in the crypt of the Basilica, whose spire was not yetfinished. Meantime, gifts flowed in without a pause, a river of gold wasstreaming towards the Grotto, a whole town was about to spring up fromthe soil. It was the new religion completing its foundations. The desireto be healed did heal; the thirst for a miracle worked the miracle. ADeity of pity and hope was evolved from man's sufferings, from thatlonging for falsehood and relief which, in every age of humanity, hascreated the marvellous palaces of the realms beyond, where an almightyPower renders justice and distributes eternal happiness. 

And thus the ailing ones of the Sainte-Honorine Ward only beheld in thevictory of the Grotto the triumph of their hopes of cure. Along the rowsof beds there was a quiver of joy when, with his heart stirred by allthose poor faces turned towards him, eager for certainty, Pierrerepeated: "God had conquered. Since that day the miracles have neverceased, and it is the most humble who are the most frequently relieved. "

Then he laid down the little book. Abbe Judaine was coming in, and theSacrament was about to be administered. Marie, however, again penetratedby the fever of faith, her hands burning, leant towards Pierre. "Oh, myfriend!" said she, "I pray you hear me confess my fault and absolve me. Ihave blasphemed, and have been guilty of mortal sin. If you do notsuccour me, I shall be unable to receive the Blessed Sacrament, and yet Iso greatly need to be consoled and strengthened. "

The young priest refused her request with a wave of the hand. He hadnever been willing to act as confessor to this friend, the only woman hehad loved in the healthy, smiling days of youth. However, she insisted. "I beg you to do so, " said she; "you will help to work the miracle of mycure. "

Then he gave way and received the avowal of her fault, that impiousrebellion induced by suffering, that rebellion against the Virgin who hadremained deaf to her prayers. And afterwards he granted her absolution inthe sacramental form. 

Meanwhile Abbe Judaine had already deposited the ciborium on a littletable, between two lighted tapers, which looked like woeful stars in thesemi-obscurity of the ward. Madame de Jonquiere had just decided to openone of the windows quite wide, for the odour emanating from all thesuffering bodies and heaped-up rags had become unbearable. But no aircame in from the narrow courtyard into which the window opened; thoughblack with night, it seemed like a well of fire. Having offered to act asserver, Pierre repeated the "Confiteor. " Then, after responding with the"Misereatur" and the "Indulgentiam, " the chaplain, who wore his alb, raised the pyx, saying, "Behold the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sinsof the world. " All the women who, writhing in agony, were impatientlyawaiting the communion, like dying creatures who await life from somefresh medicine which is a long time coming, thereupon thrice repeated, inall humility, and with lips almost closed: "Lord, I am not worthy thatThou shouldst enter under my roof; but only say the word and my soulshall be healed. "

Abbe Judaine had begun to make the round of those woeful beds, accompanied by Pierre, and followed by Madame de Jonquiere and SisterHyacinthe, each of whom carried one of the lighted tapers. The Sisterdesignated those who were to communicate; and, murmuring the customaryLatin words, the priest leant forward and placed the Host somewhat atrandom on the sufferer's tongue. Almost all were waiting for him withwidely opened, glittering eyes, amidst the disorder of that hastilypitched camp. Two were found to be sound asleep, however, and had to beawakened. Several were moaning without being conscious of it, andcontinued moaning even after they had received the sacrament. At the farend of the ward, the rattle of the poor creature who could not be seenstill resounded. And nothing could have been more mournful than theappearance of that little _cortege_ in the semi-darkness, amidst whichthe yellow flames of the tapers gleamed like stars. 

But Marie's face, to which an expression of ecstasy had returned, waslike a divine apparition. Although La Grivotte was hungering for thebread of life, they had refused her the sacrament on this occasion, as itwas to be administered to her in the morning at the Rosary; Madame Vetu, however, had received the Host on her black tongue in a hiccough. And nowMarie was lying there under the pale light of the tapers, looking sobeautiful amidst her fair hair, with her eyes dilated and her featurestransfigured by faith, that everyone admired her. She received thesacrament with rapture; Heaven visibly descended into her poor, youthfulframe, reduced to such physical wretchedness. And, clasping Pierre'shand, she detained him for a moment, saying: "Oh! she will heal me, myfriend, she has just promised me that she will do so. Go and take somerest. I shall sleep so soundly now!"

As he withdrew in company with Abbe Judaine, Pierre caught sight oflittle Madame Desagneaux stretched out in the arm-chair in whichweariness had overpowered her. Nothing could awaken her. It was nowhalf-past one in the morning; and Madame de Jonquiere and her assistant, Sister Hyacinthe, were still going backwards and forwards, turning thepatients over, cleansing them, and dressing their sores. However, theward was becoming more peaceful, its heavy darkness had grown lessoppressive since Bernadette with her charm had passed through it. Thevisionary's little shadow was now flitting in triumph from bed to bed, completing its work, bringing a little of heaven to each of thedespairing ones, each of the disinherited ones of this world; and as theyall at last sank to sleep they could see the little shepherdess, soyoung, so ill herself, leaning over them and kissing them with a kindlysmile. 

THE THIRD DAY

I. BED AND BOARD

AT seven o'clock on the morning of that fine, bright, warm August Sunday, M. De Guersaint was already up and dressed in one of the two little roomswhich he had fortunately been able to secure on the third floor of theHotel of the Apparitions. He had gone to bed at eleven o'clock the nightbefore and had awoke feeling quite fresh and gay. As soon as he wasdressed he entered the adjoining room which Pierre occupied; but theyoung priest, who had not returned to the hotel until past one in themorning, with his blood heated by insomnia, had been unable to doze offuntil daybreak and was now still slumbering. His cassock flung across achair, his other garments scattered here and there, testified to hisgreat weariness and agitation of mind. 

"Come, come, you lazybones!" cried M. De Guersaint gaily; "can't you hearthe bells ringing?"

Pierre awoke with a start, quite surprised to find himself in that littlehotel room into which the sunlight was streaming. All the joyous peals ofthe bells, the music of the chiming, happy town, moreover, came inthrough the window which he had left open. 

"We shall never have time to get to the hospital before eight o'clock tofetch Marie, " resumed M. De Guersaint, "for we must have some breakfast, eh?"

"Of course, make haste and order two cups of chocolate. I will get up atonce, I sha'n't be long, " replied Pierre. 

In spite of the fatigue which had already stiffened his joints, he sprangout of bed as soon as he was alone, and made all haste with his toilet. However, he still had his head in the washing basin, ducking it in thefresh, cool water, when M. De Guersaint, who was unable to remain alone, came back again. "I've given the order, " said he; "they will bring it up. Ah! what a curious place this hotel is! You have of course seen thelandlord, Master Majeste, clad in white from head to foot and looking sodignified in his office. The place is crammed, it appears; they havenever had so many people before. So it is no wonder that there should besuch a fearful noise. I was wakened up three times during the night. People kept on talking in the room next to mine. And you, did you sleepwell?"

"No, indeed, " answered Pierre; "I was tired to death, but I couldn'tclose my eyes. No doubt it was the uproar you speak of that preventedme. "

In his turn he then began to talk of the thin partitions, and the mannerin which the house had been crammed with people until it seemed as thoughthe floors and the walls would collapse with the strain. The place hadbeen shaking all night long; every now and then people suddenly rushedalong the passages, heavy footfalls resounded, gruff voices ascendednobody knew whence; without speaking of all the moaning and coughing, thefrightful coughing which seemed to re-echo from every wall. Throughoutthe night people evidently came in and went out, got up and lay downagain, paying no attention to time in the disorder in which they lived, amid shocks of passion which made them hurry to their devotionalexercises as to pleasure parties. 

"And Marie, how was she when you left her last night?" M. De Guersaintsuddenly inquired. 

"A great deal better, " replied Pierre; "she had an attack of extremediscouragement, but all her courage and faith returned to her at last. "

A pause followed; and then the girl's father resumed with his tranquiloptimism: "Oh! I am not anxious. Things will go on all right, you'll see. For my own part, I am delighted. I had asked the Virgin to grant me herprotection in my affairs--you know, my great invention of navigableballoons. Well, suppose I told you that she has already shown me herfavour? Yes, indeed yesterday evening while I was talking with Abbe desHermoises, he told me that at Toulouse he would no doubt be able to finda person to finance me--one of his friends, in fact, who is extremelywealthy and takes great interest in mechanics! And in this I at once sawthe hand of God!" M. De Guersaint began laughing with his childish laugh, and then he added: "That Abbe des Hermoises is a charming man. I shallsee this afternoon if there is any means of my accompanying him on anexcursion to the Cirque de Gavarnie at small cost. "

Pierre, who wished to pay everything, the hotel bill and all the rest, atonce encouraged him in this idea. "Of course, " said he, "you ought not tomiss this opportunity to visit the mountains, since you have so great awish to do so. Your daughter will be very happy to know that you arepleased. "

Their talk, however, was now interrupted by a servant girl bringing thetwo cups of chocolate with a couple of rolls on a metal tray covered witha napkin. She left the door open as she entered the room, so that aglimpse was obtained of some portion of the passage. "Ah! they arealready doing my neighbour's room!" exclaimed M. De Guersaint. "He is amarried man, isn't he? His wife is with him?"

The servant looked astonished. "Oh, no, " she replied, "he is quitealone!"

"Quite alone? Why, I heard people talking in his room this morning. "

"You must be mistaken, monsieur, " said the servant; "he has just gone outafter giving orders that his room was to be tidied up at once. " And then, while taking the cups of chocolate off the tray and placing them on thetable, she continued: "Oh! he is a very respectable gentleman. Last yearhe was able to have one of the pavilions which Monsieur Majeste lets outto visitors, in the lane by the side of the hotel; but this year heapplied too late and had to content himself with that room, which greatlyworried him, for it isn't a large one, though there is a big cupboard init. As he doesn't care to eat with everybody, he takes his meals there, and he orders good wine and the best of everything, I can tell you. "

"That explains it all!" replied M. De Guersaint gaily; "he dined too welllast night, and I must have heard him talking in his sleep. "

Pierre had been listening somewhat inquisitively to all this chatter. "And on this side, my side, " said he, "isn't there a gentleman with twoladies, and a little boy who walks about with a crutch?"

"Yes, Monsieur l'Abbe, I know them. The aunt, Madame Chaise, took one ofthe two rooms for herself; and Monsieur and Madame Vigneron with theirson Gustave have had to content themselves with the other one. This isthe second year they have come to Lourdes. They are very respectablepeople too. "

Pierre nodded. During the night he had fancied he could recognise thevoice of M. Vigneron, whom the heat doubtless had incommoded. However, the servant was now thoroughly started, and she began to enumerate theother persons whose rooms were reached by the same passage; on the lefthand there was a priest, then a mother with three daughters, and then anold married couple; whilst on the right lodged another gentleman who wasall alone, a young lady, too, who was unaccompanied, and then a familyparty which included five young children. The hotel was crowded to itsgarrets. The servants had had to give up their rooms the previous eveningand lie in a heap in the washhouse. During the night, also, some campbedsteads had even been set up on the landings; and one honourableecclesiastic, for lack of other accommodation, had been obliged to sleepon a billiard-table. 

When the girl had retired and the two men had drunk their chocolate, M. De Guersaint went back into his own room to wash his hands again, for hewas very careful of his person; and Pierre, who remained alone, feltattracted by the gay sunlight, and stepped for a moment on to the narrowbalcony outside his window. Each of the third-floor rooms on this side ofthe hotel was provided with a similar balcony, having a carved-woodbalustrade. However, the young priest's surprise was very great, for hehad scarcely stepped outside when he suddenly saw a woman protrude herhead over the balcony next to him--that of the room occupied by thegentleman whom M. De Guersaint and the servant had been speaking of. 

And this woman he had recognised: it was Madame Volmar. There was nomistaking her long face with its delicate drawn features, its magnificentlarge eyes, those brasiers over which a veil, a dimming _moire_, seemedto pass at times. She gave a start of terror on perceiving him. And he, extremely ill at ease, grieved that he should have frightened her, madeall haste to withdraw into his apartment. A sudden light had dawned uponhim, and he now understood and could picture everything. So this was whyshe had not been seen at the hospital, where little Madame Desagneaux wasalways asking for her. Standing motionless, his heart upset, Pierre fellinto a deep reverie, reflecting on the life led by this woman whom heknew, that torturing conjugal life in Paris between a fiercemother-in-law and an unworthy husband, and then those three days ofcomplete liberty spent at Lourdes, that brief bonfire of passion to whichshe had hastened under the sacrilegious pretext of serving the divinity. Tears whose cause he could not even explain, tears that ascended from thevery depths of his being, from his own voluntary chastity, welled intohis eyes amidst the feeling of intense sorrow which came over him. 

"Well, are you ready?" joyously called M. De Guersaint as he came back, with his grey jacket buttoned up and his hands gloved. 

"Yes, yes, let us go, " replied Pierre, turning aside and pretending tolook for his hat so that he might wipe his eyes. 

Then they went out, and on crossing the threshold heard on their lefthand an unctuous voice which they recognised; it was that of M. Vigneron, who was loudly repeating the morning prayers. A moment afterwards came ameeting which interested them. They were walking down the passage whenthey were passed by a middle-aged, thick-set, sturdy-looking gentleman, wearing carefully trimmed whiskers. He bent his back and passed sorapidly that they were unable to distinguish his features, but theynoticed that he was carrying a carefully made parcel. And immediatelyafterwards he slipped a key into the lock of the room adjoining M. DeGuersaint's, and opening the door disappeared noiselessly, like a shadow. 

M. De Guersaint had glanced round: "Ah! my neighbour, " said he; "he hasbeen to market and has brought back some delicacies, no doubt!"

Pierre pretended not to hear, for his companion was so light-minded thathe did not care to trust him with a secret which was not his own. Besides, a feeling of uneasiness was returning to him, a kind of chasteterror at the thought that the world and the flesh were there takingtheir revenge, amidst all the mystical enthusiasm which he could feelaround him. 

They reached the hospital just as the patients were being brought out tobe carried to the Grotto; and they found that Marie had slept well andwas very gay. She kissed her father and scolded him when she learnt thathe had not yet decided on his trip to Gavarnie. She should really bedispleased with him, she said, if he did not go. Still with the samerestful, smiling expression, she added that she did not expect to becured that day; and then, assuming an air of mystery, she begged Pierreto obtain permission for her to spend the following night before theGrotto. This was a favour which all the sufferers ardently coveted, butwhich only a few favoured ones with difficulty secured. After protesting, anxious as he felt with regard to the effect which a night spent in theopen air might have upon her health, the young priest, seeing how unhappyshe had suddenly become, at last promised that he would make theapplication. Doubtless she imagined that she would only obtain a hearingfrom the Virgin when they were alone together in the slumberingpeacefulness of the night. That morning, indeed, she felt so lost amongthe innumerable patients who were heaped together in front of the Grotto, that already at ten o'clock she asked to be taken back to the hospital, complaining that the bright light tired her eyes. And when her father andthe priest had again installed her in the Sainte-Honorine Ward, she gavethem their liberty for the remainder of the day. "No, don't come to fetchme, " she said, "I shall not go back to the Grotto this afternoon--itwould be useless. But you will come for me this evening at nine o'clock, won't you, Pierre? It is agreed, you have given me your word. "

He repeated that he would endeavour to secure the requisite permission, and that, if necessary, he would apply to Father Fourcade in person. 

"Then, till this evening, darling, " said M. De Guersaint, kissing hisdaughter. And he and Pierre went off together, leaving her lying on herbed, with an absorbed expression on her features, as her large, smilingeyes wandered away into space. 

It was barely half-past ten when they got back to the Hotel of theApparitions; but M. De Guersaint, whom the fine weather delighted, talkedof having _dejeuner_ at once, so that he might the sooner start upon aramble through Lourdes. First of all, however, he wished to go up to hisroom, and Pierre following him, they encountered quite a drama on theirway. The door of the room occupied by the Vignerons was wide open, andlittle Gustave could be seen lying on the sofa which served as his bed. He was livid; a moment previously he had suddenly fainted, and this hadmade the father and mother imagine that the end had come. Madame Vigneronwas crouching on a chair, still stupefied by her fright, whilst M. Vigneron rushed about the room, thrusting everything aside in order thathe might prepare a glass of sugared-water, to which he added a few dropsof some elixir. This draught, he exclaimed, would set the lad rightagain. But all the same, it was incomprehensible. The boy was stillstrong, and to think that he should have fainted like that, and haveturned as white as a chicken! Speaking in this wise, M. Vigneron glancedat Madame Chaise, the aunt, who was standing in front of the sofa, looking in good health that morning; and his hands shook yet moreviolently at the covert idea that if that stupid attack had carried offhis son, they would no longer have inherited the aunt's fortune. He wasquite beside himself at this thought, and eagerly opening the boy's mouthhe compelled him to swallow the entire contents of the glass. Then, however, when he heard Gustave sigh, and saw him open his eyes again, hisfatherly good-nature reappeared, and he shed tears, and called the ladhis dear little fellow. But on Madame Chaise drawing near to offer someassistance, Gustave repulsed her with a sudden gesture of hatred, asthough he understood how this woman's money unconsciously perverted hisparents, who, after all, were worthy folks. Greatly offended, the oldlady turned on her heel, and seated herself in a corner, whilst thefather and mother, at last freed from their anxiety, returned thanks tothe Blessed Virgin for having preserved their darling, who smiled at themwith his intelligent and infinitely sorrowful smile, knowing andunderstanding everything as he did, and no longer having any taste forlife, although he was not fifteen. 

"Can we be of any help to you?" asked Pierre in an obliging way. 

"No, no, I thank you, gentlemen, " replied M. Vigneron, coming for amoment into the passage. "But oh! we did have a fright! Think of it, anonly son, who is so dear to us too. "

All around them the approach of the _dejeuner_ hour was now throwing thehouse into commotion. Every door was banging, and the passages and thestaircase resounded with the constant pitter-patter of feet. Three biggirls passed by, raising a current of air with the sweep of their skirts. Some little children were crying in a neighbouring room. Then there wereold people who seemed quite scared, and distracted priests who, forgetting their calling, caught up their cassocks with both hands, sothat they might run the faster to the dining-room. From the top to thebottom of the house one could feel the floors shaking under the excessiveweight of all the people who were packed inside the hotel. 

"Oh, I hope that it is all over now, and that the Blessed Virgin willcure him, " repeated M. Vigneron, before allowing his neighbours toretire. "We are going down-stairs, for I must confess that all this hasmade me feel faint. I need something to eat, I am terribly hungry. "

When Pierre and M. De Guersaint at last left their rooms, and wentdown-stairs, they found to their annoyance that there was not thesmallest table-corner vacant in the large dining-room. A mostextraordinary mob had assembled there, and the few seats that were stillunoccupied were reserved. A waiter informed them that the room neveremptied between ten and one o'clock, such was the rush of appetite, sharpened by the keen mountain air. So they had to resign themselves towait, requesting the waiter to warn them as soon as there should be acouple of vacant places. Then, scarcely knowing what to do withthemselves, they went to walk about the hotel porch, whence there was aview of the street, along which the townsfolk, in their Sunday best, streamed without a pause. 

All at once, however, the landlord of the Hotel of the Apparitions, Master Majeste in person, appeared before them, clad in white from headto foot; and with a great show of politeness he inquired if the gentlemenwould like to wait in the drawing-room. He was a stout man offive-and-forty, and strove to bear the burden of his name in a rightroyal fashion. Bald and clean-shaven, with round blue eyes in a waxyface, displaying three superposed chins, he always deported himself withmuch dignity. He had come from Nevers with the Sisters who managed theorphan asylum, and was married to a dusky little woman, a native ofLourdes. In less than fifteen years they had made their hotel one of themost substantial and best patronised establishments in the town. Ofrecent times, moreover, they had started a business in religiousarticles, installed in a large shop on the left of the hotel porch andmanaged by a young niece under Madame Majeste's Supervision. 

"You can wait in the drawing-room, gentlemen, " again suggested thehotel-keeper whom Pierre's cassock rendered very attentive. 

They replied, however, that they preferred to walk about and wait in theopen air. And thereupon Majeste would not leave them, but deigned to chatwith them for a moment as he was wont to do with those of his customerswhom he desired to honour. The conversation turned at first on theprocession which would take place that night and which promised to be asuperb spectacle as the weather was so fine. There were more than fiftythousand strangers gathered together in Lourdes that day, for visitorshad come in from all the neighbouring bathing stations. This explainedthe crush at the _table d'hote_. Possibly the town would run short ofbread as had been the case the previous year. 

"You saw what a scramble there is, " concluded Majeste, "we really don'tknow how to manage. It isn't my fault, I assure you, if you are keptwaiting for a short time. "

At this moment, however, a postman arrived with a large batch ofnewspapers and letters which he deposited on a table in the office. Hehad kept one letter in his hand and inquired of the landlord, "Have you aMadame Maze here?"

"Madame Maze, Madame Maze, " repeated the hotel-keeper. "No, no, certainlynot. "

Pierre had heard both question and answer, and drawing near he exclaimed, "I know of a Madame Maze who must be lodging with the Sisters of theImmaculate Conception, the Blue Sisters as people call them here, Ithink. "

The postman thanked him for the information and went off, but a somewhatbitter smile had risen to Majeste's lips. "The Blue Sisters, " hemuttered, "ah! the Blue Sisters. " Then, darting a side glance at Pierre'scassock, he stopped short, as though he feared that he might say toomuch. Yet his heart was overflowing; he would have greatly liked to easehis feelings, and this young priest from Paris, who looked soliberal-minded, could not be one of the "band" as he called all those whodischarged functions at the Grotto and coined money out of Our Lady ofLourdes. Accordingly, little by little, he ventured to speak out. 

"I am a good Christian, I assure you, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said he. "In factwe are all good Christians here. And I am a regular worshipper and takethe sacrament every Easter. But, really, I must say that members of areligious community ought not to keep hotels. No, no, it isn't right!"

And thereupon he vented all the spite of a tradesman in presence of whathe considered to be disloyal competition. Ought not those Blue Sisters, those Sisters of the Immaculate Conception, to have confined themselvesto their real functions, the manufacture of wafers for sacramentalpurposes, and the repairing and washing of church linen? Instead of that, however, they had transformed their convent into a vast hostelry, whereladies who came to Lourdes unaccompanied found separate rooms, and wereable to take their meals either in privacy or in a general dining-room. Everything was certainly very clean, very well organised and veryinexpensive, thanks to the thousand advantages which the Sisters enjoyed;in fact, no hotel at Lourdes did so much business. "But all the same, "continued Majeste, "I ask you if it is proper. To think of nuns sellingvictuals! Besides, I must tell you that the lady superior is really aclever woman, and as soon as she saw the stream of fortune rolling in, she wanted to keep it all for her own community and resolutely partedwith the Fathers of the Grotto who wanted to lay their hands on it. Yes, Monsieur l'Abbe, she even went to Rome and gained her cause there, sothat now she pockets all the money that her bills bring in. Think of it, nuns, yes nuns, _mon Dieu_! letting furnished rooms and keeping a _tabled'hote_!"

He raised his arms to heaven, he was stifling with envy and vexation. 

"But as your house is crammed, " Pierre gently objected, "as you no longerhave either a bed or a plate at anybody's disposal, where would you putany additional visitors who might arrive here?"

Majeste at once began protesting. "Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe!" said he, "onecan see very well that you don't know the place. It's quite true thatthere is work for all of us, and that nobody has reason to complainduring the national pilgrimage. But that only lasts four or five days, and in ordinary times the custom we secure isn't nearly so great. Formyself, thank Heaven, I am always satisfied. My house is well known, itoccupies the same rank as the Hotel of the Grotto, where two landlordshave already made their fortunes. But no matter, it is vexing to seethose Blue Sisters taking all the cream of the custom, for instance theladies of the _bourgeoisie_ who spend a fortnight and three weeks here ata stretch; and that, too, just in the quiet season, when there are notmany people here. You understand, don't you? There are people of positionwho dislike uproar; they go by themselves to the Grotto, and pray thereall day long, for days together, and pay good prices for theiraccommodation without any higgling. "

Madame Majeste, whom Pierre and M. De Guersaint had not noticed leaningover an account-book in which she was adding up some figures, thereuponintervened in a shrill voice: "We had a customer like that, gentlemen, who stayed here for two months last year. She went to the Grotto, cameback, went there again, took her meals, and went to bed. And never did wehave a word of complaint from her; she was always smiling, as though tosay that she found everything very nice. She paid her bill, too, withouteven looking at it. Ah! one regrets people of that kind. "

Short, thin, very dark, and dressed in black, with a little white collar, Madame Majeste had risen to her feet; and she now began to solicitcustom: "If you would like to buy a few little souvenirs of Lourdesbefore you leave, gentlemen, I hope that you will not forget us. We havea shop close by, where you will find an assortment of all the articlesthat are most in request. As a rule, the persons who stay here are kindenough not to deal elsewhere. "

However, Majeste was again wagging his head, with the air of a goodChristian saddened by the scandals of the time. "Certainly, " said he, "Idon't want to show any disrespect to the reverend Fathers, but it must inall truth be admitted that they are too greedy. You must have seen theshop which they have set up near the Grotto, that shop which is alwayscrowded, and where tapers and articles of piety are sold. A bishopdeclared that it was shameful, and that the buyers and sellers ought tobe driven out of the temple afresh. It is said, too, that the Fathers runthat big shop yonder, just across the street, which supplies all thepetty dealers in the town. And, according to the reports which circulate, they have a finger in all the trade in religious articles, and levy apercentage on the millions of chaplets, statuettes, and medals which aresold every year at Lourdes. "

Majeste had now lowered his voice, for his accusations were becomingprecise, and he ended by trembling somewhat at his imprudence in talkingso confidentially to strangers. However, the expression of Pierre'sgentle, attentive face reassured him; and so he continued with thepassion of a wounded rival, resolved to go on to the very end: "I amwilling to admit that there is some exaggeration in all this. But all thesame, it does religion no good for people to see the reverend Fatherskeeping shops like us tradesmen. For my part, of course, I don't go andask for a share of the money which they make by their masses, or apercentage on the presents which they receive, so why should they startselling what I sell? Our business was a poor one last year owing to them. There are already too many of us; nowadays everyone at Lourdes sells'religious articles, ' to such an extent, in fact, that there will soon beno butchers or wine merchants left--nothing but bread to eat and water todrink. Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe, it is no doubt nice to have the BlessedVirgin with us, but things are none the less very bad at times. "

A person staying at the hotel at that moment disturbed him, but hereturned just as a young girl came in search of Madame Majeste. Thedamsel, who evidently belonged to Lourdes, was very pretty, small butplump, with beautiful black hair, and a round face full of bright gaiety. 

"That is our niece Apolline, " resumed Majeste. "She has been keeping ourshop for two years past. She is the daughter of one of my wife'sbrothers, who is in poor circumstances. She was keeping sheep at Ossun, in the neighbourhood of Bartres, when we were struck by her intelligenceand nice looks and decided to bring her here; and we don't repent havingdone so, for she has a great deal of merit, and has become a very goodsaleswoman. "

A point to which he omitted to refer, was that there were rumours currentof somewhat flighty conduct on Mademoiselle Apolline's part. But sheundoubtedly had her value: she attracted customers by the power, possibly, of her large black eyes, which smiled so readily. During hissojourn at Lourdes the previous year, Gerard de Peyrelongue had scarcelystirred from the shop she managed, and doubtless it was only thematrimonial ideas now flitting through his head that prevented him fromreturning thither. It seemed as though the Abbe des Hermoises had takenhis place, for this gallant ecclesiastic brought a great many ladies tomake purchases at the repository. 

"Ah! you are speaking of Apolline, " said Madame Majeste, at that momentcoming back from the shop. "Have you noticed one thing about her, gentlemen--her extraordinary likeness to Bernadette? There, on the wallyonder, is a photograph of Bernadette when she was eighteen years old. "

Pierre and M. De Guersaint drew near to examine the portrait, whilstMajeste exclaimed: "Bernadette, yes, certainly--she was rather likeApolline, but not nearly so nice; she looked so sad and poor. "

He would doubtless have gone on chattering, but just then the waiterappeared and announced that there was at last a little table vacant. M. De Guersaint had twice gone to glance inside the dining-room, for he waseager to have his _dejeuner_ and spend the remainder of that fine Sundayout-of-doors. So he now hastened away, without paying any furtherattention to Majeste, who remarked, with an amiable smile, that thegentlemen had not had so very long to wait after all. 

To reach the table mentioned by the waiter, the architect and Pierre hadto cross the dining-room from end to end. It was a long apartment, painted a light oak colour, an oily yellow, which was already peelingaway in places and soiled with stains in others. You realised that rapidwear and tear went on here amidst the continual scramble of the bigeaters who sat down at table. The only ornaments were a gilt zinc clockand a couple of meagre candelabra on the mantelpiece. Guipure curtains, moreover, hung at the five large windows looking on to the street, whichwas flooded with sunshine; some of the fierce arrow-like rays penetratinginto the room although the blinds had been lowered. And, in the middle ofthe apartment, some forty persons were packed together at the _tabled'hote_, which was scarcely eleven yards in length and did not supplyproper accommodation for more than thirty people; whilst at the littletables standing against the walls upon either side another forty personssat close together, hustled by the three waiters each time that they wentby. You had scarcely reached the threshold before you were deafened bythe extraordinary uproar, the noise of voices and the clatter of forksand plates; and it seemed, too, as if you were entering a damp oven, fora warm, steamy mist, laden with a suffocating smell of victuals, assailedthe face. 

Pierre at first failed to distinguish anything, but, when he wasinstalled at the little table--a garden-table which had been broughtindoors for the occasion, and on which there was scarcely room for twocovers--he felt quite upset, almost sick, in fact, at the sight presentedby the _table d'hote_, which his glance now enfiladed from end to end. People had been eating at it for an hour already, two sets of customershad followed one upon the other, and the covers were strewn about inhiggledy-piggledy fashion. On the cloth were numerous stains of wine andsauce, while there was no symmetry even in the arrangement of the glassfruit-stands, which formed the only decorations of the table. And one'sastonishment increased at sight of the motley mob which was collectedthere--huge priests, scraggy girls, mothers overflowing with superfluousfat, gentlemen with red faces, and families ranged in rows and displayingall the pitiable, increasing ugliness of successive generations. Allthese people were perspiring, greedily swallowing, seated slantwise, lacking room to move their arms, and unable even to use their handsdeftly. And amidst this display of appetite, increased tenfold byfatigue, and of eager haste to fill one's stomach in order to return tothe Grotto more quickly, there was a corpulent ecclesiastic who in nowise hurried, but ate of every dish with prudent slowness, crunching hisfood with a ceaseless, dignified movement of the jaws. 

"_Fichtre_!" exclaimed M. De Guersaint, "it is by no means cool in here. All the same, I shall be glad of something to eat, for I've felt asinking in the stomach ever since I have been at Lourdes. And you--areyou hungry?"

"Yes, yes, I shall eat, " replied Pierre, though, truth to tell, he feltquite upset. 

The _menu_ was a copious one. There was salmon, an omelet, mutton cutletswith mashed potatoes, stewed kidneys, cauliflowers, cold meats, andapricot tarts--everything cooked too much, and swimming in sauce which, but for its grittiness, would have been flavourless. However, there wassome fairly fine fruit on the glass stands, particularly some peaches. And, besides, the people did not seem at all difficult to please; theyapparently had no palates, for there was no sign of nausea. Hemmed inbetween an old priest and a dirty, full-bearded man, a girl of delicatebuild, who looked very pretty with her soft eyes and silken skin, waseating some kidneys with an expression of absolute beatitude, althoughthe so-called "sauce" in which they swam was simply greyish water. 

"Hum!" resumed even M. De Guersaint, "this salmon is not so bad. Add alittle salt to it and you will find it all right. "

Pierre made up his mind to eat, for after all he must take sustenance forstrength's sake. At a little table close by, however, he had just caughtsight of Madame Vigneron and Madame Chaise, who sat face to face, apparently waiting. And indeed, M. Vigneron and his son Gustave soonappeared, the latter still pale, and leaning more heavily than usual onhis crutch. "Sit down next to your aunt, " said his father; "I will takethe chair beside your mother. " But just then he perceived his twoneighbours, and stepping up to them, he added: "Oh! he is now all rightagain. I have been rubbing him with some eau-de-Cologne, and by-and-by hewill be able to take his bath at the piscina. "

Thereupon M. Vigneron sat down and began to devour. But what an awfulfright he had had! He again began talking of it aloud, despite himself, so intense had been his terror at the thought that the lad might go offbefore his aunt. The latter related that whilst she was kneeling at theGrotto the day before, she had experienced a sudden feeling of relief; infact, she flattered herself that she was cured of her heart complaint, and began giving precise particulars, to which her brother-in-lawlistened with dilated eyes, full of involuntary anxiety. Most certainlyhe was a good-natured man, he had never desired anybody's death; only hefelt indignant at the idea that the Virgin might cure this old woman, andforget his son, who was so young. Talking and eating, he had got to thecutlets, and was swallowing the mashed potatoes by the forkful, when hefancied he could detect that Madame Chaise was sulking with her nephew. "Gustave, " he suddenly inquired, "have you asked your aunt'sforgiveness?" The lad, quite astonished, began staring at his father withhis large clear eyes. "Yes, " added M. Vigneron, "you behaved very badly, you pushed her back just now when she wanted to help you to sit up. "

Madame Chaise said nothing, but waited with a dignified air, whilstGustave, who, without any show of appetite, was finishing the _noix_ ofhis cutlet, which had been cut into small pieces, remained with his eyeslowered on his plate, this time obstinately refusing to make the sorryshow of affection which was demanded of him. 

"Come, Gustave, " resumed his father, "be a good boy. You know how kindyour aunt is, and all that she intends to do for you. "

But no, he would not yield. At that moment, indeed, he really hated thatwoman, who did not die quickly enough, who polluted the affection of hisparents, to such a point that when he saw them surround him withattentions he no longer knew whether it were himself or the inheritancewhich his life represented that they wished to save. However, MadameVigneron, so dignified in her demeanour, came to her husband's help. "Youreally grieve me, Gustave, " said she; "ask your aunt's forgiveness, oryou will make me quite angry with you. "

Thereupon he gave way. What was the use of resisting? Was it not betterthat his parents should obtain that money? Would he not himself die lateron, so as to suit the family convenience? He was aware of all that; heunderstood everything, even when not a word was spoken. So keen was thesense of hearing with which suffering had endowed him, that he even heardthe others' thoughts. 

"I beg your pardon, aunt, " he said, "for not having behaved well to youjust now. "

Then two big tears rolled from his eyes, whilst he smiled with the air ofa tender-hearted man who has seen too much of life and can no longer bedeceived by anything. Madame Chaise at once kissed him and told him thatshe was not at all angry. And the Vignerons' delight in living wasdisplayed in all candour. 

"If the kidneys are not up to much, " M. De Guersaint now said to Pierre, "here at all events are some cauliflowers with a good flavour. "

The formidable mastication was still going on around them. Pierre hadnever seen such an amount of eating, amidst such perspiration, in anatmosphere as stifling as that of a washhouse full of hot steam. Theodour of the victuals seemed to thicken into a kind of smoke. You had toshout to make yourself heard, for everybody was talking in loud tones, and the scared waiters raised a fearful clatter in changing the platesand forks; not to mention the noise of all the jaw-crunching, a mill-likegrinding which was distinctly audible. What most hurt the feelings of theyoung priest, however, was the extraordinary promiscuity of the _tabled'hote_, at which men and women, young girls and ecclesiastics, werepacked together in chance order, and satisfied their hunger like a packof hounds snapping at offal in all haste. Baskets of bread went round andwere promptly emptied. And there was a perfect massacre of cold meats, all the remnants of the victuals of the day before, leg of mutton, veal, and ham, encompassed by a fallen mass of transparent jelly which quiveredlike soft glue. They had all eaten too much already, but these viandsseemed to whet their appetites afresh, as though the idea had come tothem that nothing whatever ought to be left. The fat priest in the middleof the table, who had shown himself such a capital knife-and-fork, wasnow lingering over the fruit, having just got to his third peach, a hugeone, which he slowly peeled and swallowed in slices with an air ofcompunction. 

All at once, however, the whole room was thrown into agitation. A waiterhad come in and begun distributing the letters which Madame Majeste hadfinished sorting. "Hallo!" exclaimed M. Vigneron; "a letter for me! Thisis surprising--I did not give my address to anybody. " Then, at a suddenrecollection, he added, "Yes I did, though; this must have come fromSauvageot, who is filling my place at the Ministry. " He opened theletter, his hands began to tremble, and suddenly he raised a cry: "Thechief clerk is dead!"

Deeply agitated, Madame Vigneron was also unable to bridle her tongue:"Then you will have the appointment!"

This was the secret dream in which they had so long and so fondlyindulged: the chief clerk's death, in order that he, Vigneron, assistantchief clerk for ten years past, might at last rise to the supreme post, the bureaucratic marshalship. And so great was his delight that he castaside all restraint. "Ah! the Blessed Virgin is certainly protecting me, my dear. Only this morning I again prayed to her for a rise, and, yousee, she grants my prayer!"

However, finding Madame Chaise's eyes fixed upon his own, and seeingGustave smile, he realised that he ought not to exult in this fashion. Each member of the family no doubt thought of his or her interests andprayed to the Blessed Virgin for such personal favours as might bedesired. And so, again putting on his good-natured air, he resumed: "Imean that the Blessed Virgin takes an interest in every one of us andwill send us all home well satisfied. Ah! the poor chief, I'm sorry forhim. I shall have to send my card to his widow. "

In spite of all his efforts he could not restrain his exultation, and nolonger doubted that his most secret desires, those which he did not evenconfess to himself, would soon be gratified. And so all honour was doneto the apricot tarts, even Gustave being allowed to eat a portion of one. 

"It is surprising, " now remarked M. De Guersaint, who had just ordered acup of coffee; "it is surprising that one doesn't see more sick peoplehere. All these folks seem to me to have first-rate appetites. "

After a close inspection, however, in addition to Gustave, who ate nomore than a little chicken, he ended by finding a man with a goitreseated at the _table d'hote_ between two women, one of whom certainlysuffered from cancer. Farther on, too, there was a girl so thin and palethat she must surely be a consumptive. And still farther away there was afemale idiot who had made her entry leaning on two relatives, and withexpressionless eyes and lifeless features was now carrying her food toher mouth with a spoon, and slobbering over her napkin. Perhaps therewere yet other ailing ones present who could not be distinguished amongall those noisy appetites, ailing ones whom the journey had braced, andwho were eating as they had not eaten for a long time past. The apricottarts, the cheese, the fruits were all engulfed amidst the increasingdisorder of the table, where at last there only remained the stains ofall the wine and sauce which had been spilt upon the cloth. 

It was nearly noon. "We will go back to the Grotto at once, eh?" said M. Vigneron. 

Indeed, "To the Grotto! To the Grotto!" were well-nigh the only words younow heard. The full mouths were eagerly masticating and swallowing, inorder that they might repeat prayers and hymns again with all speed. "Well, as we have the whole afternoon before us, " declared M. DeGuersaint, "I suggest that we should visit the town a little. I want tosee also if I can get a conveyance for my excursion, as my daughter soparticularly wishes me to make it. "

Pierre, who was stifling, was glad indeed to leave the dining-room. Inthe porch he was able to breathe again, though even there he found atorrent of customers, new arrivals who were waiting for places. No soonerdid one of the little tables become vacant than its possession waseagerly contested, whilst the smallest gap at the _table d'hote_ wasinstantly filled up. In this wise the assault would continue for morethan another hour, and again would the different courses of the _menu_appear in procession, to be engulfed amidst the crunching of jaws, thestifling heat, and the growing nausea. 

II. THE "ORDINARY. "

WHEN Pierre and M. De Guersaint got outside they began walking slowlyamidst the ever-growing stream of the Sundayfied crowd. The sky was abright blue, the sun warmed the whole town, and there was a festivegaiety in the atmosphere, the keen delight that attends those great fairswhich bring entire communities into the open air. When they had descendedthe crowded footway of the Avenue de la Grotte, and had reached thecorner of the Plateau de la Merlasse, they found their way barred by athrong which was flowing backward amidst a block of vehicles and stampingof horses. "There is no hurry, however, " remarked M. De Guersaint. "Myidea is to go as far as the Place du Marcadal in the old town; for theservant girl at the hotel told me of a hairdresser there whose brotherlets out conveyances cheaply. Do you mind going so far?"

"I?" replied Pierre. "Go wherever you like, I'll follow you. "

"All right--and I'll profit by the opportunity to have a shave. "

They were nearing the Place du Rosaire, and found themselves in front ofthe lawns stretching to the Gave, when an encounter again stopped them. Mesdames Desagneaux and Raymonde de Jonquiere were here, chatting gailywith Gerard de Peyrelongue. Both women wore light-coloured gowns, seasidedresses as it were, and their white silk parasols shone in the brightsunlight. They imparted, so to say, a pretty note to the scene--a touchof society chatter blended with the fresh laughter of youth. 

"No, no, " Madame Desagneaux was saying, "we certainly can't go and visityour 'ordinary' like that--at the very moment when all your comrades areeating. "

Gerard, however, with a very gallant air, insisted on their accompanyinghim, turning more particularly towards Raymonde, whose somewhat massiveface was that day brightened by the radiant charm of health. 

"But it is a very curious sight, I assure you, " said the young man, "andyou would be very respectfully received. Trust yourself to me, mademoiselle. Besides, we should certainly find M. Berthaud there, and hewould be delighted to do you the honours. "

Raymonde smiled, her clear eyes plainly saying that she was quiteagreeable. And just then, as Pierre and M. De Guersaint drew near inorder to present their respects to the ladies, they were made acquaintedwith the question under discussion. The "ordinary" was a kind ofrestaurant or _table d'hote_ which the members of the Hospitality of OurLady of Salvation--the bearers, the hospitallers of the Grotto, thepiscinas, and the hospitals--had established among themselves with theview of taking their meals together at small cost. Many of them were notrich, for they were recruited among all classes; however, they hadcontrived to secure three good meals for the daily payment of threefrancs apiece. And in fact they soon had provisions to spare anddistributed them among the poor. Everything was in their own management;they purchased their own supplies, recruited a cook and a few waiters, and did not disdain to lend a hand themselves, in order that everythingmight be comfortable and orderly. 

"It must be very interesting, " said M, de Guersaint, when theseexplanations had been given him. "Let us go and see it, if we are not inthe way. "

Little Madame Desagneaux thereupon gave her consent. "Well, if we aregoing in a party, " said she, "I am quite willing. But when this gentlemanfirst proposed to take Raymonde and me, I was afraid that it might not bequite proper. "

Then, as she began to laugh, the others followed her example. She hadaccepted M. De Guersaint's arm, and Pierre walked beside her on the otherhand, experiencing a sudden feeling of sympathy for this gay littlewoman, who was so full of life and so charming with her fair frizzy hairand creamy complexion. 

Behind them came Raymonde, leaning upon Gerard's arm and talking to himin the calm, staid voice of a young lady who holds the best principlesdespite her air of heedless youth. And since here was the husband whomshe had so often dreamt of, she resolved that she would this time securehim, make him beyond all question her own. She intoxicated him with theperfume of health and youth which she diffused, and at the same timeastonished him by her knowledge of housewifely duties and of the mannerin which money may be economised even in the most trifling matters; forhaving questioned him with regard to the purchases which he and hiscomrades made for their "ordinary, " she proceeded to show him that theymight have reduced their expenditure still further. 

Meantime M. De Guersaint and Madame Desagneaux were also chattingtogether: "You must be fearfully tired, madame, " said the architect. 

But with a gesture of revolt, and an exclamation of genuine anger, shereplied: "Oh no, indeed! Last night, it is true, fatigue quite overcameme at the hospital; I sat down and dozed off, and Madame de Jonquiere andthe other ladies were good enough to let me sleep on. " At this the othersagain began to laugh; but still with the same angry air she continued:"And so I slept like a log until this morning. It was disgraceful, especially as I had sworn that I would remain up all night. " Then, merriment gaining upon her in her turn, she suddenly burst into asonorous laugh, displaying her beautiful white teeth. "Ah! a pretty nurseI am, and no mistake! It was poor Madame de Jonquiere who had to remainon her legs all the time. I tried to coax her to come out with us justnow. But she preferred to take a little rest. "

Raymonde, who overheard these words, thereupon raised her voice to say:"Yes, indeed, my poor mamma could no longer keep on her feet. It was Iwho compelled her to lie down, telling her that she could go to sleepwithout any uneasiness, for we should get on all right without her--"

So saying, the girl gave Gerard a laughing glance. He even fancied thathe could detect a faint squeeze of the fresh round arm which was restingon his own, as though, indeed, she had wished to express her happiness atbeing alone with him so that they might settle their own affairs withoutany interference. This quite delighted him; and he began to explain thatif he had not had _dejeuner_ with his comrades that day, it was becausesome friends had invited him to join them at the railway-stationrefreshment-room at ten o'clock, and had not given him his liberty untilafter the departure of the eleven-thirty train. 

"Ah! the rascals!" he suddenly resumed. "Do you hear them, mademoiselle?"

The little party was now nearing its destination, and the uproariouslaughter and chatter of youth rang out from a clump of trees whichconcealed the old zinc and plaster building in which the "ordinary" wasinstalled. Gerard began by taking the visitors into the kitchen, a veryspacious apartment, well fitted up, and containing a huge range and animmense table, to say nothing of numerous gigantic cauldrons. Here, moreover, the young man called the attention of his companions to thecircumstance that the cook, a fat, jovial-looking man, had the red crosspinned on his white jacket, being himself a member of the pilgrimage. Then, pushing open a door, Gerard invited his friends to enter the commonroom. 

It was a long apartment containing two rows of plain deal tables; and theonly other articles of furniture were numerous rush-seated tavern chairs, with an additional table which served as a sideboard. The whitewashedwalls and the flooring of shiny, red tiles looked, however, extremelyclean amidst this intentional bareness, which was similar to that of amonkish refectory. But, the feature of the place which more particularlystruck you, as you crossed the threshold, was the childish gaiety whichreigned there; for, packed together at the tables, were a hundred andfifty hospitallers of all ages, eating with splendid appetites, laughing, applauding, and singing, with their mouths full. A wondrous fraternityunited these men, who had flocked to Lourdes from every province ofFrance, and who belonged to all classes, and represented every degree offortune. Many of them knew nothing of one another, save that they methere and elbowed one another during three days every year, livingtogether like brothers, and then going off and remaining in absoluteignorance of each other during the rest of the twelvemonth. Nothing couldbe more charming, however, than to meet again at the next pilgrimage, united in the same charitable work, and to spend a few days of hardlabour and boyish delight in common once more; for it all became, as itwere, an "outing" of a number of big fellows, let loose under a lovelysky, and well pleased to be able to enjoy themselves and laugh together. And even the frugality of the table, with the pride of managing thingsthemselves, of eating the provisions which they had purchased and cooked, added to the general good humour. 

"You see, " explained Gerard, "we are not at all inclined to be sad, although we have so much hard work to get through. The Hospitalitynumbers more than three hundred members, but there are only about onehundred and fifty here at a time, for we have had to organise twosuccessive services, so that there may always be some of us on duty atthe Grotto and the hospitals. "

The sight of the little party of visitors assembled on the threshold ofthe room seemed to have increased the general delight; and Berthaud, thesuperintendent of the bearers, who was lunching at the head of one of thetables, gallantly rose up to receive the ladies. 

"But it smells very nice, " exclaimed Madame Desagneaux in her giddy way. "Won't you invite us to come and taste your cookery to-morrow?"

"Oh! we can't ask ladies, " replied Berthaud, laughing. "But if yougentlemen would like to join us to-morrow we should be extremely pleasedto entertain you. "

He had at once noticed the good understanding which prevailed betweenGerard and Raymonde, and seemed delighted at it, for he greatly wishedhis cousin to make this match. He laughed pleasantly, at the enthusiasticgaiety which the young girl displayed as she began to question him. "Isnot that the Marquis de Salmon-Roquebert, " she asked, "who is sittingover yonder between those two young men who look like shop assistants?"

"They are, in fact, the sons of a small stationer at Tarbes, " repliedBerthaud; "and that is really the Marquis, your neighbour of the Rue deLille, the owner of that magnificent mansion, one of the richest and mostnoble men of title in France. You see how he is enjoying our muttonstew!"

It was true, the millionaire Marquis seemed delighted to be able to boardhimself for his three francs a day, and to sit down at table in genuinedemocratic fashion by the side of petty _bourgeois_ and workmen who wouldnot have dared to accost him in the street. Was not that chance tablesymbolical of social communion, effected by the joint practice ofcharity? For his part, the Marquis was the more hungry that day, as hehad bathed over sixty patients, sufferers from all the most abominablediseases of unhappy humanity, at the piscinas that morning. And the scenearound him seemed like a realisation of the evangelical commonalty; butdoubtless it was so charming and so gay simply because its duration waslimited to three days. 

Although M. De Guersaint had but lately risen from table, his curiosityprompted him to taste the mutton stew, and he pronounced it perfect. Meantime, Pierre caught sight of Baron Suire, the director of theHospitality, walking about between the rows of tables with an air of someimportance, as though he had allotted himself the task of keeping an eyeon everything, even on the manner in which his staff fed itself. Theyoung priest thereupon remembered the ardent desire which Marie hadexpressed to spend the night in front of the Grotto, and it occurred tohim that the Baron might be willing to give the necessary authorisation. 

"Certainly, " replied the director, who had become quite grave whilstlistening to Pierre, "we do sometimes allow it; but it is always a verydelicate matter! You assure me at all events that this young person isnot consumptive? Well, well, since you say that she so much desires it Iwill mention the matter to Father Fourcade and warn Madame de Jonquiere, so that she may let you take the young lady away. "

He was in reality a very good-natured fellow, albeit so fond of assumingthe air of an indispensable man weighed down by the heaviestresponsibilities. In his turn he now detained the visitors, and gave themfull particulars concerning the organisation of the Hospitality. Itsmembers said prayers together every morning. Two board meetings were heldeach day, and were attended by all the heads of departments, as well asby the reverend Fathers and some of the chaplains. All the hospitallerstook the Sacrament as frequently as possible. And, moreover, there weremany complicated tasks to be attended to, a prodigious rotation ofduties, quite a little world to be governed with a firm hand. The Baronspoke like a general who each year gains a great victory over the spiritof the age; and, sending Berthaud back to finish his _dejeuner_, heinsisted on escorting the ladies into the little sanded courtyard, whichwas shaded by some fine trees. 

"It is very interesting, very interesting, " repeated Madame Desagneaux. "We are greatly obliged to you for your kindness, monsieur. "

"Don't mention it, don't mention it, madame, " answered the Baron. "It isI who am pleased at having had an opportunity to show you my littlearmy. "

So far Gerard had not quitted Raymonde's side; but M. De Guersaint andPierre were already exchanging glances suggestive of leave-taking, inorder that they might repair by themselves to the Place du Marcadal, whenMadame Desagneaux suddenly remembered that a friend had requested her tosend her a bottle of Lourdes water. And she thereupon asked Gerard howshe was to execute this commission. The young man began to laugh. "Willyou again accept me as a guide?" said he. "And by the way, if thesegentlemen like to come as well, I will show you the place where thebottles are filled, corked, packed in cases, and then sent off. It is acurious sight. "

M. De Guersaint immediately consented; and all five of them set outagain, Madame Desagneaux still between the architect and the priest, whilst Raymonde and Gerard brought up the rear. The crowd in the burningsunlight was increasing; the Place du Rosaire was now overflowing with anidle sauntering mob resembling some concourse of sight-seers on a day ofpublic rejoicing. 

The bottling and packing shops were situated under one of the arches onthe left-hand side of the Place. They formed a suite of three apartmentsof very simple aspect. In the first one the bottles were filled in themost ordinary of fashions. A little green-painted zinc barrel, not unlikea watering-cask, was dragged by a man from the Grotto, and thelight-coloured bottles were then simply filled at its tap, one by one;the blouse-clad workman entrusted with the duty exercising no particularwatchfulness to prevent the water from overflowing. In fact there wasquite a puddle of it upon the ground. There were no labels on thebottles; the little leaden capsules placed over the corks alone bore aninscription, and they were coated with a kind of ceruse, doubtless toensure preservation. Then came two other rooms which formed regularpacking shops, with carpenters' benches, tools, and heaps of shavings. The boxes, most frequently made for one bottle or for two, were puttogether with great care, and the bottles were deposited inside them, onbeds of fine wood parings. The scene reminded one in some degree of thepacking halls for flowers at Nice and for preserved fruits at Grasse. 

Gerard went on giving explanations with a quiet, satisfied air. "Thewater, " he said, "really comes from the Grotto, as you can yourselvessee, so that all the foolish jokes which one hears really have no basis. And everything is perfectly simple, natural, and goes on in the broaddaylight. I would also point out to you that the Fathers don't sell thewater as they are accused of doing. For instance, a bottle of water herecosts twenty centimes, * which is only the price of the bottle itself. Ifyou wish to have it sent to anybody you naturally have to pay for thepacking and the carriage, and then it costs you one franc and seventycentimes. ** However, you are perfectly at liberty to go to the source andfill the flasks and cans and other receptacles that you may choose tobring with you. "

 * Four cents, U. S. A. 

 ** About 32 cents, U. S. A. 

Pierre reflected that the profits of the reverend Fathers in this respectcould not be very large ones, for their gains were limited to what theymade by manufacturing the boxes and supplying the bottles, which latter, purchased by the thousand, certainly did not cost them so much as twentycentimes apiece. However, Raymonde and Madame Desagneaux, as well as M. De Guersaint, who had such a lively imagination, experienced deepdisappointment at sight of the little green barrel, the capsules, stickywith ceruse, and the piles of shavings lying around the benches. They haddoubtless imagined all sorts of ceremonies, the observance of certainrites in bottling the miraculous water, priests in vestments pronouncingblessings, and choir-boys singing hymns of praise in pure crystallinevoices. For his part, Pierre, in presence of all this vulgar bottling andpacking, ended by thinking of the active power of faith. When one ofthose bottles reaches some far-away sick-room, and is unpacked there, andthe sufferer falls upon his knees, and so excites himself bycontemplating and drinking the pure water that he actually brings aboutthe cure of his ailment, there must truly be a most extraordinary plungeinto all-powerful illusion. 

"Ah!" exclaimed Gerard as they came out, "would you like to see thestorehouse where the tapers are kept, before going to the offices? It isonly a couple of steps away. "

And then, not even waiting for their answer, he led them to the oppositeside of the Place du Rosaire. His one desire was to amuse Raymonde, but, in point of fact, the aspect of the place where the tapers were storedwas even less entertaining than that of the packing-rooms which they hadjust left. This storehouse, a kind of deep vault under one of theright-hand arches of the Place, was divided by timber into a number ofspacious compartments, in which lay an extraordinary collection oftapers, classified according to size. The overplus of all the tapersoffered to the Grotto was deposited here; and such was the number ofthese superfluous candles that the little conveyances stationed near theGrotto railing, ready to receive the pilgrims' offerings, had to bebrought to the storehouse several times a day in order to be emptiedthere, after which they were returned to the Grotto, and were promptlyfilled again. In theory, each taper that was offered ought to have beenburnt at the feet of the Virgin's statue; but so great was the number ofthese offerings, that, although a couple of hundred tapers of all sizeswere kept burning by day and night, it was impossible to exhaust thesupply, which went on increasing and increasing. There was a rumour thatthe Fathers could not even find room to store all this wax, but had tosell it over and over again; and, indeed, certain friends of the Grottoconfessed, with a touch of pride, that the profit on the tapers alonewould have sufficed to defray all the expenses of the business. 

The quantity of these votive candles quite stupefied Raymonde and MadameDesagneaux. How many, how many there were! The smaller ones, costing fromfifty centimes to a franc apiece, were piled up in fabulous numbers. M. De Guersaint, desirous of getting at the exact figures, quite losthimself in the puzzling calculation he attempted. As for Pierre, it wasin silence that he gazed upon this mass of wax, destined to be burnt inopen daylight to the glory of God; and although he was by no means arigid utilitarian, and could well understand that some apparent acts ofextravagance yield an illusive enjoyment and satisfaction which providehumanity with as much sustenance as bread, he could not, on the otherhand, refrain from reflecting on the many benefits which might have beenconferred on the poor and the ailing with the money represented by allthat wax, which would fly away in smoke. 

"But come, what about that bottle which I am to send off?" abruptly askedMadame Desagneaux. 

"We will go to the office, " replied Gerard. "In five minutes everythingwill be settled. "

They had to cross the Place du Rosaire once more and ascend the stonestairway leading to the Basilica. The office was up above, on the lefthand, at the corner of the path leading to the Calvary. The building wasa paltry one, a hut of lath and plaster which the wind and the rain hadreduced to a state of ruin. On a board outside was the inscription:"Apply here with reference to Masses, Offerings, and Brotherhoods. Forwarding office for Lourdes water. Subscriptions to the 'Annals of O. L. Of Lourdes. '" How many millions of people must have already passedthrough this wretched shanty, which seemed to date from the innocent dayswhen the foundations of the adjacent Basilica had scarcely been laid!

The whole party went in, eager to see what might be inside. But theysimply found a wicket at which Madame Desagneaux had to stop in order togive her friend's name and address; and when she had paid one franc andseventy centimes, a small printed receipt was handed her, such as youreceive on registering luggage at a railway station. 

As soon as they were outside again Gerard pointed to a large buildingstanding two or three hundred yards away, and resumed: "There, that iswhere the Fathers reside. "

"But we see nothing of them, " remarked Pierre. 

This observation so astonished the young man that he remained for amoment without replying. "It's true, " he at last said, "we do not seethem, but then they give up the custody of everything--the Grotto and allthe rest--to the Fathers of the Assumption during the nationalpilgrimage. "

Pierre looked at the building which had been pointed out to him, andnoticed that it was a massive stone pile resembling a fortress. Thewindows were closed, and the whole edifice looked lifeless. Yeteverything at Lourdes came from it, and to it also everything returned. It seemed, in fact, to the young priest that he could hear the silent, formidable rake-stroke which extended over the entire valley, whichcaught hold of all who had come to the spot, and placed both the gold andthe blood of the throng in the clutches of those reverend Fathers!However, Gerard just then resumed in a low voice "But come, they do showthemselves, for here is the reverend superior, Father Capdebarthehimself. "

An ecclesiastic was indeed just passing, a man with the appearance of apeasant, a knotty frame, and a large head which looked as though carvedwith a billhook. His opaque eyes were quite expressionless, and his face, with its worn features, had retained a loamy tint, a gloomy, russetreflection of the earth. Monseigneur Laurence had really made a politicselection in confiding the organisation and management of the Grotto tothose Garaison missionaries, who were so tenacious and covetous, for themost part sons of mountain peasants and passionately attached to thesoil. 

However, the little party now slowly retraced its steps by way of thePlateau de la Merlasse, the broad boulevard which skirts the inclined wayon the left hand and leads to the Avenue de la Grotte. It was alreadypast one o'clock, but people were still eating their _dejeuners_ from oneto the other end of the overflowing town. Many of the fifty thousandpilgrims and sight-seers collected within it had not yet been able to sitdown and eat; and Pierre, who had left the _table d'hote_ still crowded, who had just seen the hospitallers squeezing together so gaily at the"ordinary, " found more and more tables at each step he took. On all sidespeople were eating, eating without a pause. Hereabouts, however, in theopen air, on either side of the broad road, the hungry ones were humblefolk who had rushed upon the tables set up on either footway--tablesformed of a couple of long boards, flanked by two forms, and shaded fromthe sun by narrow linen awnings. Broth and coffee were sold at theseplaces at a penny a cup. The little loaves heaped up in high baskets alsocost a penny apiece. Hanging from the poles which upheld the awnings weresausages, chitterlings, and hams. Some of the open-air _restaurateurs_were frying potatoes, and others were concocting more or less savourymesses of inferior meat and onions. A pungent smoke, a violent odour, arose into the sunlight, mingling with the dust which was raised by thecontinuous tramp of the promenaders. Rows of people, moreover, werewaiting at each cantine, so that each time a party rose from table freshcustomers took possession of the benches ranged beside theoilcloth-covered planks, which were so narrow that there was scarcelyroom for two bowls of soup to be placed side by side. And one and allmade haste, and devoured with the ravenous hunger born of their fatigue, that insatiable appetite which so often follows upon great moral shocks. In fact, when the mind had exhausted itself in prayer, when everythingphysical had been forgotten amidst the mental flight into the legendaryheavens, the human animal suddenly appeared, again asserted itself, andbegan to gorge. Moreover, under that dazzling Sunday sky, the scene waslike that of a fair-field with all the gluttony of a merrymakingcommunity, a display of the delight which they felt in living, despitethe multiplicity of their abominable ailments and the dearth of themiracles they hoped for. 

"They eat, they amuse themselves; what else can one expect?" remarkedGerard, guessing the thoughts of his amiable companions. 

"Ah! poor people!" murmured Pierre, "they have a perfect right to do so. "

He was greatly touched to see human nature reassert itself in thisfashion. However, when they had got to the lower part of the boulevardnear the Grotto, his feelings were hurt at sight of the desperateeagerness displayed by the female vendors of tapers and bouquets, whowith the rough fierceness of conquerors assailed the passers-by in bands. They were mostly young women, with bare heads, or with kerchiefs tiedover their hair, and they displayed extraordinary effrontery. Even theold ones were scarcely more discreet. With parcels of tapers under theirarms, they brandished the one which they offered for sale and even thrustit into the hand of the promenader. "Monsieur, " "madame, " they called, "buy a taper, buy a taper, it will bring you luck!" One gentleman, whowas surrounded and shaken by three of the youngest of these harpies, almost lost the skirts of his frock-coat in attempting to escape theirclutches. Then the scene began afresh with the bouquets--large roundbouquets they were, carelessly fastened together and looking likecabbages. "A bouquet, madame!" was the cry. "A bouquet for the BlessedVirgin!" If the lady escaped, she heard muttered insults behind her. Trafficking, impudent trafficking, pursued the pilgrims to the veryoutskirts of the Grotto. Trade was not merely triumphantly installed inevery one of the shops, standing close together and transforming eachstreet into a bazaar, but it overran the footways and barred the roadwith hand-carts full of chaplets, medals, statuettes, and religiousprints. On all sides people were buying almost to the same extent as theyate, in order that they might take away with them some souvenir of thisholy Kermesse. And the bright gay note of this commercial eagerness, thisscramble of hawkers, was supplied by the urchins who rushed about throughthe crowd, crying the "Journal de la Grotte. " Their sharp, shrill voicespierced the ear: "The 'Journal de la Grotte, ' this morning's number, twosous, the 'Journal de la Grotte. '"

Amidst the continual pushing which accompanied the eddying of theever-moving crowd, Gerard's little party became separated. He andRaymonde remained behind the others. They had begun talking together inlow tones, with an air of smiling intimacy, lost and isolated as theywere in the dense crowd. And Madame Desagneaux at last had to stop, lookback, and call to them: "Come on, or we shall lose one another!"

As they drew near, Pierre heard the girl exclaim: "Mamma is so very busy;speak to her before we leave. " And Gerard thereupon replied: "It isunderstood. You have made me very happy, mademoiselle. "

Thus the husband had been secured, the marriage decided upon, during thischarming promenade among the sights of Lourdes. Raymonde had completedher conquest, and Gerard had at last taken a resolution, realising howgay and sensible she was, as she walked beside him leaning on his arm. 

M. De Guersaint, however, had raised his eyes, and was heard inquiring:"Are not those people up there, on that balcony, the rich folk who madethe journey in the same train as ourselves?--You know whom I mean, thatlady who is so very ill, and whose husband and sister accompany her?"

He was alluding to the Dieulafays; and they indeed were the persons whomhe now saw on the balcony of a suite of rooms which they had rented in anew house overlooking the lawns of the Rosary. They here occupied afirst-floor, furnished with all the luxury that Lourdes could provide, carpets, hangings, mirrors, and many other things, without mentioning astaff of servants despatched beforehand from Paris. As the weather was sofine that afternoon, the large armchair on which lay the poor ailingwoman had been rolled on to the balcony. You could see her there, clad ina lace _peignoir_. Her husband, always correctly attired in a blackfrock-coat, stood beside her on her right hand, whilst her sister, in adelightful pale mauve gown, sat on her left smiling and leaning overevery now and then so as to speak to her, but apparently receiving noreply. 

"Oh!" declared little Madame Desagneaux, "I have often heard people speakof Madame Jousseur, that lady in mauve. She is the wife of a diplomatistwho neglects her, it seems, in spite of her great beauty; and last yearthere was a deal of talk about her fancy for a young colonel who is wellknown in Parisian society. It is said, however, in Catholic _salons_ thather religious principles enabled her to conquer it. "

They all five remained there, looking up at the balcony. "To think, "resumed Madame Desagneaux, "that her sister, poor woman, was once herliving portrait. " And, indeed, there was an expression of greaterkindliness and more gentle gaiety on Madame Dieulafay's face. And now yousee her--no different from a dead woman except that she is above insteadof under ground--with her flesh wasted away, reduced to a livid, bonelessthing which they scarcely dare to move. Ah! the unhappy woman!

Raymonde thereupon assured the others that Madame Dieulafay, who had beenmarried scarcely two years previously, had brought all the jewellerygiven her on the occasion of her wedding to offer it as a gift to OurLady of Lourdes; and Gerard confirmed this assertion, saying that thejewellery had been handed over to the treasurer of the Basilica that verymorning with a golden lantern studded with gems and a large sum of moneydestined for the relief of the poor. However, the Blessed Virgin couldnot have been touched as yet, for the sufferer's condition seemed, ifanything, to be worse. 

From that moment Pierre no longer beheld aught save that young woman onthat handsome balcony, that woeful, wealthy creature lying there highabove the merrymaking throng, the Lourdes mob which was feasting andlaughing in the Sunday sunshine. The two dear ones who were so tenderlywatching over her--her sister who had forsaken her society triumphs, herhusband who had forgotten his financial business, his millions dispersedthroughout the world--increased, by their irreproachable demeanour, thewoefulness of the group which they thus formed high above all otherheads, and face to face with the lovely valley. For Pierre they aloneremained; and they were exceedingly wealthy and exceedingly wretched. 

However, lingering in this wise on the footway with their eyes upturned, the five promenaders narrowly escaped being knocked down and run over, for at every moment fresh vehicles were coming up, for the most partlandaus drawn by four horses, which were driven at a fast trot, and whosebells jingled merrily. The occupants of these carriages were tourists, visitors to the waters of Pau, Bareges, and Cauterets, whom curiosity hadattracted to Lourdes, and who were delighted with the fine weather andquite inspirited by their rapid drive across the mountains. They wouldremain at Lourdes only a few hours; after hastening to the Grotto and theBasilica in seaside costumes, they would start off again, laughing, andwell pleased at having seen it all. In this wise families in lightattire, bands of young women with bright parasols, darted hither andthither among the grey, neutral-tinted crowd of pilgrims, imparting toit, in a yet more pronounced manner, the aspect of a fair-day mob, amidstwhich folks of good society deign to come and amuse themselves. 

All at once Madame Desagneaux raised a cry "What, is it you, Berthe?" Andthereupon she embraced a tall, charming brunette who had just alightedfrom a landau with three other young women, the whole party smiling andanimated. Everyone began talking at once, and all sorts of merryexclamations rang out, in the delight they felt at meeting in thisfashion. "Oh! we are at Cauterets, my dear, " said the tall brunette. "Andas everybody comes here, we decided to come all four together. And yourhusband, is he here with you?"

Madame Desagneaux began protesting: "Of course not, " said she. "He is atTrouville, as you ought to know. I shall start to join him on Thursday. "

"Yes, yes, of course, " resumed the tall brunette, who, like her friend, seemed to be an amiable, giddy creature, "I was forgetting; you are herewith the pilgrimage. "

Then Madame Desagneaux offered to guide her friends, promising to showthem everything of interest in less than a couple of hours; and turningto Raymonde, who stood by, smiling, she added "Come with us, my dear;your mother won't be anxious. "

The ladies and Pierre and M. De Guersaint thereupon exchanged bows: andGerard also took leave, tenderly pressing Raymonde's hand, with his eyesfixed on hers, as though to pledge himself definitively. The womenswiftly departed, directing their steps towards the Grotto, and whenGerard also had gone off, returning to his duties, M. De Guersaint saidto Pierre: "And the hairdresser on the Place du Marcadal, I really mustgo and see him. You will come with me, won't you?"

"Of course I will go wherever you like. I am quite at your disposal asMarie does not need us. "

Following the pathways between the large lawns which stretch out in frontof the Rosary, they reached the new bridge, where they had anotherencounter, this time with Abbe des Hermoises, who was acting as guide totwo young married ladies who had arrived that morning from Tarbes. Walking between them with the gallant air of a society priest, he wasshowing them Lourdes and explaining it to them, keeping them well away, however, from its more repugnant features, its poor and its ailing folk, its odour of low misery, which, it must be admitted, had well-nighdisappeared that fine, sunshiny day. At the first word which M. DeGuersaint addressed to him with respect to the hiring of a vehicle forthe trip to Gavarnie, the Abbe was seized with a dread lest he should beobliged to leave his pretty lady-visitors: "As you please, my dear sir, "he replied. "Kindly attend to the matter, and--you are quite right, makethe cheapest arrangements possible, for I shall have two ecclesiastics ofsmall means with me. There will be four of us. Let me know at the hotelthis evening at what hour we shall start. "

Thereupon he again joined his lady-friends, and led them towards theGrotto, following the shady path which skirts the Gave, a cool, sequestered path well suited for lovers' walks. 

Feeling somewhat tired, Pierre had remained apart from the others, leaning against the parapet of the new bridge. And now for the first timehe was struck by the prodigious number of priests among the crowd. He sawall varieties of them swarming across the bridge: priests of correct mienwho had come with the pilgrimage and who could be recognised by their airof assurance and their clean cassocks; poor village priests who were farmore timid and badly clothed, and who, after making sacrifices in orderthat they might indulge in the journey, would return home quite scaredand, finally, there was the whole crowd of unattached ecclesiastics whohad come nobody knew whence, and who enjoyed such absolute liberty thatit was difficult to be sure whether they had even said their mass thatmorning. They doubtless found this liberty very agreeable; and thus thegreater number of them, like Abbe des Hermoises, had simply come on aholiday excursion, free from all duties, and happy at being able to livelike ordinary men, lost, unnoticed as they were in the multitude aroundthem. And from the young, carefully groomed and perfumed priest, to theold one in a dirty cassock and shoes down at heel, the entire species hadits representative in the throng--there were corpulent ones, others butmoderately fat, thin ones, tall ones and short ones, some whom faith hadbrought and whom ardour was consuming, some also who simply plied theircalling like worthy men, and some, moreover, who were fond of intriguing, and who were only present in order that they might help the good cause. However, Pierre was quite surprised to see such a stream of priests passbefore him, each with his special passion, and one and all hurrying tothe Grotto as one hurries to a duty, a belief, a pleasure, or a task. Henoticed one among the number, a very short, slim, dark man with apronounced Italian accent, whose glittering eyes seemed to be taking aplan of Lourdes, who looked, indeed, like one of those spies who come andpeer around with a view to conquest; and then he observed another one, anenormous fellow with a paternal air, who was breathing hard throughinordinate eating, and who paused in front of a poor sick woman, andended by slipping a five-franc piece into her hand. 

Just then, however, M. De Guersaint returned: "We merely have to go downthe boulevard and the Rue Basse, " said he. 

Pierre followed him without answering. He had just felt his cassock onhis shoulders for the first time that afternoon, for never had it seemedso light to him as whilst he was walking about amidst the scramble of thepilgrimage. The young fellow was now living in a state of mingledunconsciousness and dizziness, ever hoping that faith would fall upon himlike a lightning flash, in spite of all the vague uneasiness which wasgrowing within him at sight of the things which he beheld. However, thespectacle of that ever-swelling stream of priests no longer wounded hisheart; fraternal feelings towards these unknown colleagues had returnedto him; how many of them there must be who believed no more than he didhimself, and yet, like himself, honestly fulfilled their mission asguides and consolers!

"This boulevard is a new one, you know, " said M. De Guersaint, all atonce raising his voice. "The number of houses built during the lasttwenty years is almost beyond belief. There is quite a new town here. "

The Lapaca flowed along behind the buildings on their right and, theircuriosity inducing them to turn into a narrow lane, they came upon somestrange old structures on the margin of the narrow stream. Severalancient mills here displayed their wheels; among them one whichMonseigneur Laurence had given to Bernadette's parents after theapparitions. Tourists, moreover, were here shown the pretended abode ofBernadette, a hovel whither the Soubirous family had removed on leavingthe Rue des Petits Fosses, and in which the young girl, as she wasalready boarding with the Sisters of Nevers, can have but seldom slept. At last, by way of the Rue Basse, Pierre and his companion reached thePlace du Marcadal. 

This was a long, triangular, open space, the most animated and luxuriousof the squares of the old town, the one where the cafes, the chemists, all the finest shops were situated. And, among the latter, one showedconspicuously, coloured as it was a lively green, adorned with loftymirrors, and surmounted by a broad board bearing in gilt letters theinscription: "Cazaban, Hairdresser". 

M. De Guersaint and Pierre went in, but there was nobody in the salon andthey had to wait. A terrible clatter of forks resounded from theadjoining room, an ordinary dining-room transformed into a _tabled'hote_, in which some twenty people were having _dejeuner_ although itwas already two o'clock. The afternoon was progressing, and yet peoplewere still eating from one to the other end of Lourdes. Like every otherhouseholder in the town, whatever his religious convictions might be, Cazaban, in the pilgrimage season, let his bedrooms, surrendered hisdining-room, end sought refuge in his cellar, where, heaped up with hisfamily, he ate and slept, although this unventilated hole was no morethan three yards square. However, the passion for trading and moneymakingcarried all before it; at pilgrimage time the whole populationdisappeared like that of a conquered city, surrendering even the beds ofits women and its children to the pilgrims, seating them at its tables, and supplying them with food. 

"Is there nobody here?" called M. De Guersaint after waiting a moment. 

At last a little man made his appearance, Cazaban himself, a type of theknotty but active Pyrenean, with a long face, prominent cheek-bones, anda sunburned complexion spotted here and there with red. His big, glittering eyes never remained still; and the whole of his spare littlefigure quivered with incessant exuberance of speech and gesture. 

"For you, monsieur--a shave, eh?" said he. "I must beg your pardon forkeeping you waiting; but my assistant has gone out, and I was in therewith my boarders. If you will kindly sit down, I will attend to you atonce. "

Thereupon, deigning to operate in person, Cazaban began to stir up thelather and strop the razor. He had glanced rather nervously, however, atthe cassock worn by Pierre, who without a word had seated himself in acorner and taken up a newspaper in the perusal of which he appeared to beabsorbed. 

A short interval of silence followed; but it was fraught with sufferingfor Cazaban, and whilst lathering his customer's chin he began tochatter: "My boarders lingered this morning such a long time at theGrotto, monsieur, that they have scarcely sat down to _dejeuner_. You canhear them, eh? I was staying with them out of politeness. However, I owemyself to my customers as well, do I not? One must try to pleaseeverybody. "

M. De Guersaint, who also was fond of a chat, thereupon began to questionhim: "You lodge some of the pilgrims, I suppose?"

"Oh! we all lodge some of them, monsieur; it is necessary for the town, "replied the barber. 

"And you accompany them to the Grotto?"

At this, however, Cazaban revolted, and, holding up his razor, heanswered with an air of dignity "Never, monsieur, never! For five yearspast I have not been in that new town which they are building. "

He was still seeking to restrain himself, and again glanced at Pierre, whose face was hidden by the newspaper. The sight of the red cross pinnedon M. De Guersaint's jacket was also calculated to render him prudent;nevertheless his tongue won the victory. "Well, monsieur, opinions arefree, are they not?" said he. "I respect yours, but for my part I don'tbelieve in all that phantasmagoria! Oh I've never concealed it! I wasalready a republican and a freethinker in the days of the Empire. Therewere barely four men of those views in the whole town at that time. Oh!I'm proud of it. "

He had begun to shave M. De Guersaint's left cheek and was quitetriumphant. From that moment a stream of words poured forth from hismouth, a stream which seemed to be inexhaustible. To begin with, hebrought the same charges as Majeste against the Fathers of the Grotto. Hereproached them for their dealings in tapers, chaplets, prints, andcrucifixes, for the disloyal manner in which they competed with those whosold those articles as well as with the hotel and lodging-house keepers. And he was also wrathful with the Blue Sisters of the ImmaculateConception, for had they not robbed him of two tenants, two old ladies, who spent three weeks at Lourdes each year? Moreover you could divinewithin him all the slowly accumulated, overflowing spite with which theold town regarded the new town--that town which had sprung up so quicklyon the other side of the castle, that rich city with houses as big aspalaces, whither flowed all the life, all the luxury, all the money ofLourdes, so that it was incessantly growing larger and wealthier, whilstits elder sister, the poor, antique town of the mountains, with itsnarrow, grass-grown, deserted streets, seemed near the point of death. Nevertheless the struggle still continued; the old town seemed determinednot to die, and, by lodging pilgrims and opening shops on her side, endeavoured to compel her ungrateful junior to grant her a share of thespoils. But custom only flowed to the shops which were near the Grotto, and only the poorer pilgrims were willing to lodge so far away; so thatthe unequal conditions of the struggle intensified the rupture and turnedthe high town and the low town into two irreconcilable enemies, whopreyed upon one another amidst continual intrigues. 

"Ah, no! They certainly won't see me at their Grotto, " resumed Cazaban, with his rageful air. "What an abusive use they make of that Grotto oftheirs! They serve it up in every fashion! To think of such idolatry, such gross superstition in the nineteenth century! Just ask them if theyhave cured a single sufferer belonging to the town during the last twentyyears! Yet there are plenty of infirm people crawling about our streets. It was our folk that benefited by the first miracles; but it would seemthat the miraculous water has long lost all its power, so far as we areconcerned. We are too near it; people have to come from a long distanceif they want it to act on them. It's really all too stupid; why, Iwouldn't go there even if I were offered a hundred francs!"

Pierre's immobility was doubtless irritating the barber. He had now begunto shave M. De Guersaint's right cheek; and was inveighing against theFathers of the Immaculate Conception, whose greed for gain was the onecause of all the misunderstanding. These Fathers who were at home there, since they had purchased from the Municipality the land on which theydesired to build, did not even carry out the stipulations of the contractthey had signed, for there were two clauses in it forbidding all trading, such as the sale of the water and of religious articles. Innumerableactions might have been brought against them. But they snapped theirfingers, and felt themselves so powerful that they no longer allowed asingle offering to go to the parish, but arranged matters so that thewhole harvest of money should be garnered by the Grotto and the Basilica. 

And, all at once, Cazaban candidly exclaimed: "If they were onlyreasonable, if they would only share with us!" Then, when M. De Guersainthad washed his face, and reseated himself, the hairdresser resumed: "Andif I were to tell you, monsieur, what they have done with our poor town!Forty years ago all the young girls here conducted themselves properly, Iassure you. I remember that in my young days when a young man was wickedhe generally had to go elsewhere. But times have changed, our manners areno longer the same. Nowadays nearly all the girls content themselves withselling candles and nosegays; and you must have seen them catching holdof the passers-by and thrusting their goods into their hands! It isreally shameful to see so many bold girls about! They make a lot ofmoney, acquire lazy habits, and, instead of working during the winter, simply wait for the return of the pilgrimage season. And I assure youthat the young men don't need to go elsewhere nowadays. No, indeed! Andadd to all this the suspicious floating element which swells thepopulation as soon as the first fine weather sets in--the coachmen, thehawkers, the cantine keepers, all the low-class, wandering folk reekingwith grossness and vice--and you can form an idea of the honest new townwhich they have given us with the crowds that come to their Grotto andtheir Basilica!"

Greatly struck by these remarks, Pierre had let his newspaper fall andbegun to listen. It was now, for the first time, that he fully realisedthe difference between the two Lourdes--old Lourdes so honest and sopious in its tranquil solitude, and new Lourdes corrupted, demoralised bythe circulation of so much money, by such a great enforced increase ofwealth, by the ever-growing torrent of strangers sweeping through it, bythe fatal rotting influence of the conflux of thousands of people, thecontagion of evil examples. And what a terrible result it seemed when onethought of Bernadette, the pure, candid girl kneeling before the wildprimitive grotto, when one thought of all the naive faith, all thefervent purity of those who had first begun the work! Had they desiredthat the whole countryside should be poisoned in this wise by lucre andhuman filth? Yet it had sufficed that the nations should flock there fora pestilence to break out. 

Seeing that Pierre was listening, Cazaban made a final threateninggesture as though to sweep away all this poisonous superstition. Then, relapsing into silence, he finished cutting M. De Guersaint's hair. 

"There you are, monsieur!"

The architect rose, and it was only now that he began to speak of theconveyance which he wished to hire. At first the hairdresser declined toenter into the matter, pretending that they must apply to his brother atthe Champ Commun; but at last he consented to take the order. Apair-horse landau for Gavarnie was priced at fifty francs. However, hewas so pleased at having talked so much, and so flattered at hearinghimself called an honest man, that he eventually agreed to charge onlyforty francs. There were four persons in the party, so this would maketen francs apiece. And it was agreed that they should start off at abouttwo in the morning, so that they might get back to Lourdes at a tolerablyearly hour on the Monday evening. 

"The landau will be outside the Hotel of the Apparitions at the appointedtime, " repeated Cazaban in his emphatic way. "You may rely on me, monsieur. "

Then he began to listen. The clatter of crockery did not cease in theadjoining room. People were still eating there with that impulsivevoracity which had spread from one to the other end of Lourdes. And allat once a voice was heard calling for more bread. 

"Excuse me, " hastily resumed Cazaban, "my boarders want me. " Andthereupon he rushed away, his hands still greasy through fingering thecomb. 

The door remained open for a second, and on the walls of the dining-roomPierre espied various religious prints, and notably a view of the Grotto, which surprised him; in all probability, however, the hairdresser onlyhung these engravings there during the pilgrimage season by way ofpleasing his boarders. 

It was now nearly three o'clock. When the young priest and M. DeGuersaint got outside they were astonished at the loud pealing of bellswhich was flying through the air. The parish church had responded to thefirst stroke of vespers chiming at the Basilica; and now all theconvents, one after another, were contributing to the swelling peals. Thecrystalline notes of the bell of the Carmelites mingled with the gravenotes of the bell of the Immaculate Conception; and all the joyous bellsof the Sisters of Nevers and the Dominicans were jingling together. Inthis wise, from morning till evening on fine days of festivity, thechimes winged their flight above the house-roofs of Lourdes. And nothingcould have been gayer than that sonorous melody resounding in the broadblue heavens above the gluttonous town, which had at last lunched, andwas now comfortably digesting as it strolled about in the sunlight. 

III. THE NIGHT PROCESSION

AS soon as night had fallen Marie, still lying on her bed at the Hospitalof Our Lady of Dolours, became extremely impatient, for she had learntfrom Madame de Jonquiere that Baron Suire had obtained from FatherFourcade the necessary permission for her to spend the night in front ofthe Grotto. Thus she kept on questioning Sister Hyacinthe, asking her:"Pray, Sister, is it not yet nine o'clock?"

"No, my child, it is scarcely half-past eight, " was the reply. "Here is anice woollen shawl for you to wrap round you at daybreak, for the Gave isclose by, and the mornings are very fresh, you know, in these mountainousparts. "

"Oh! but the nights are so lovely, Sister, and besides, I sleep so littlehere!" replied Marie; "I cannot be worse off out-of-doors. _Mon Dieu_, how happy I am; how delightful it will be to spend the whole night withthe Blessed Virgin!"

The entire ward was jealous of her; for to remain in prayer before theGrotto all night long was the most ineffable of joys, the supremebeatitude. It was said that in the deep peacefulness of night the chosenones undoubtedly beheld the Virgin, but powerful protection was needed toobtain such a favour as had been granted to Marie; for nowadays thereverend Fathers scarcely liked to grant it, as several sufferers haddied during the long vigil, falling asleep, as it were, in the midst oftheir ecstasy. 

"You will take the Sacrament at the Grotto tomorrow morning, before youare brought back here, won't you, my child?" resumed Sister Hyacinthe. 

However, nine o'clock at last struck, and, Pierre not arriving, the girlwondered whether he, usually so punctual, could have forgotten her? Theothers were now talking to her of the night procession, which she wouldsee from beginning to end if she only started at once. The ceremoniesconcluded with a procession every night, but the Sunday one was alwaysthe finest, and that evening, it was said, would be remarkably splendid, such, indeed, as was seldom seen. Nearly thirty thousand pilgrims wouldtake part in it, each carrying a lighted taper: the nocturnal marvels ofthe sky would be revealed; the stars would descend upon earth. At thisthought the sufferers began to bewail their fate; what a wretched lot wastheirs, to be tied to their beds, unable to see any of those wonders. 

At last Madame de Jonquiere approached Marie's bed. "My dear girl, " saidshe, "here is your father with Monsieur l'Abbe. "

Radiant with delight, the girl at once forgot her weary waiting. "Oh!pray let us make haste, Pierre, " she exclaimed; "pray let us make haste!"

They carried her down the stairs, and the young priest harnessed himselfto the little car, which gently rolled along, under the star-studdedheavens, whilst M. De Guersaint walked beside it. The night was moonless, but extremely beautiful; the vault above looked like deep blue velvet, spangled with diamonds, and the atmosphere was exquisitely mild and pure, fragrant with the perfumes from the mountains. Many pilgrims werehurrying along the street, all bending their steps towards the Grotto, but they formed a discreet, pensive crowd, with naught of the fair-field, lounging character of the daytime throng. And, as soon as the Plateau dela Merlasse was reached, the darkness spread out, you entered into agreat lake of shadows formed by the stretching lawns and lofty trees, andsaw nothing rising on high save the black, tapering spire of theBasilica. 

Pierre grew rather anxious on finding that the crowd became more and morecompact as he advanced. Already on reaching the Place du Rosaire it wasdifficult to take another forward step. "There is no hope of getting tothe Grotto yet awhile, " he said. "The best course would be to turn intoone of the pathways behind the pilgrims' shelter-house and wait there. "

Marie, however, greatly desired to see the procession start. "Oh! praytry to go as far as the Gave, " said she. "I shall then see everythingfrom a distance; I don't want to go near. "

M. De Guersaint, who was equally inquisitive, seconded this proposal. "Don't be uneasy, " he said to Pierre. "I am here behind, and will takecare to let nobody jostle her. "

Pierre had to begin pulling the little vehicle again. It took him aquarter of an hour to pass under one of the arches of the inclined way onthe left hand, so great was the crush of pilgrims at that point. Then, taking a somewhat oblique course, he ended by reaching the quay besidethe Gave, where there were only some spectators standing on the sidewalk, so that he was able to advance another fifty yards. At last he halted, and backed the little car against the quay parapet, in full view of theGrotto. "Will you be all right here?" he asked. 

"Oh yes, thank you. Only you must sit me up; I shall then be able to seemuch better. "

M. De Guersaint raised her into a sitting posture, and then for his partclimbed upon the stonework running from one to the other end of the quay. A mob of inquisitive people had already scaled it in part, likesight-seers waiting for a display of fireworks; and they were all raisingthemselves on tiptoe, and craning their necks to get a better view. Pierre himself at last grew interested, although there was, so far, little to see. 

Some thirty thousand people were assembled, and, every moment there werefresh arrivals. All carried candles, the lower parts of which werewrapped in white paper, on which a picture of Our Lady of Lourdes wasprinted in blue ink. However, these candles were not yet lighted, and theonly illumination that you perceived above the billowy sea of heads wasthe bright, forge-like glow of the taper-lighted Grotto. A great buzzingarose, whiffs of human breath blew hither and thither, and these aloneenabled you to realise that thousands of serried, stifling creatures weregathered together in the black depths, like a living sea that was evereddying and spreading. There were even people hidden away under the treesbeyond the Grotto, in distant recesses of the darkness of which one hadno suspicion. 

At last a few tapers began to shine forth here and there, like suddensparks of light spangling the obscurity at random. Their number rapidlyincreased, eyots of stars were formed, whilst at other points there weremeteoric trails, milky ways, so to say, flowing midst the constellations. The thirty thousand tapers were being lighted one by one, their beamsgradually increasing in number till they obscured the bright glow of theGrotto and spread, from one to the other end of the promenade, the smallyellow flames of a gigantic brasier. 

"Oh! how beautiful it is, Pierre!" murmured Marie; "it is like theresurrection of the humble, the bright awakening of the souls of thepoor. "

"It is superb, superb!" repeated M. De Guersaint, with impassionedartistic satisfaction. "Do you see those two trails of light yonder, which intersect one another and form a cross?"

Pierre's feelings, however, had been touched by what Marie had just said. He was reflecting upon her words. There was truth in them. Taken singly, those slender flames, those mere specks of light, were modest andunobtrusive, like the lowly; it was only their great number that suppliedthe effulgence, the sun-like resplendency. Fresh ones were continuallyappearing, farther and farther away, like waifs and strays. "Ah!"murmured the young priest, "do you see that one which has just begun toflicker, all by itself, far away--do you see it, Marie? Do you see how itfloats and slowly approaches until it is merged in the great lake oflight?"

In the vicinity of the Grotto one could see now as clearly as in thedaytime. The trees, illumined from below, were intensely green, like thepainted trees in stage scenery. Above the moving brasier were somemotionless banners, whose embroidered saints and silken cords showed withvivid distinctness. And the great reflection ascended to the rock, evento the Basilica, whose spire now shone out, quite white, against theblack sky; whilst the hillsides across the Gave were likewise brightened, and displayed the pale fronts of their convents amidst their sombrefoliage. 

There came yet another moment of uncertainty. The flaming lake, in whicheach burning wick was like a little wave, rolled its starry sparkling asthough it were about to burst from its bed and flow away in a river. Thenthe banners began to oscillate, and soon a regular motion set in. 

"Oh! so they won't pass this way!" exclaimed M. De Guersaint in a tone ofdisappointment. 

Pierre, who had informed himself on the matter, thereupon explained thatthe procession would first of all ascend the serpentine road--constructedat great cost up the hillside--and that it would afterwards pass behindthe Basilica, descend by the inclined way on the right hand, and thenspread out through the gardens. 

"Look!" said he; "you can see the foremost tapers ascending amidst thegreenery. "

Then came an enchanting spectacle. Little flickering lights detachedthemselves from the great bed of fire, and began gently rising, withoutit being possible for one to tell at that distance what connected themwith the earth. They moved upward, looking in the darkness like goldenparticles of the sun. And soon they formed an oblique streak, a streakwhich suddenly twisted, then extended again until it curved once more. Atlast the whole hillside was streaked by a flaming zigzag, resemblingthose lightning flashes which you see falling from black skies in cheapengravings. But, unlike the lightning, the luminous trail did not fadeaway; the little lights still went onward in the same slow, gentle, gliding manner. Only for a moment, at rare intervals, was there a suddeneclipse; the procession, no doubt, was then passing behind some clump oftrees. But, farther on, the tapers beamed forth afresh, rising heavenwardby an intricate path, which incessantly diverged and then started upwardagain. At last, however, the time came when the lights no longerascended, for they had reached the summit of the hill and had begun todisappear at the last turn of the road. 

Exclamations were rising from the crowd. "They are passing behind theBasilica, " said one. "Oh! it will take them twenty minutes before theybegin coming down on the other side, " remarked another. "Yes, madame, "said a third, "there are thirty thousand of them, and an hour will go bybefore the last of them leaves the Grotto. "

Ever since the start a sound of chanting had risen above the low rumblingof the crowd. The hymn of Bernadette was being sung, those sixty coupletsbetween which the Angelic Salutation, with its all-besetting rhythm, wasever returning as a refrain. When the sixty couplets were finished theywere sung again; and that lullaby of "Ave, ave, ave Maria!" came backincessantly, stupefying the mind, and gradually transporting thosethousands of beings into a kind of wide-awake dream, with a vision ofParadise before their eyes. And, indeed, at night-time when they wereasleep, their beds would rock to the eternal tune, which they still andever continued singing. 

"Are we going to stop here?" asked M. De Guersaint, who speedily gottired of remaining in any one spot. "We see nothing but the same thingover and over again. "

Marie, who had informed herself by listening to what was said in thecrowd, thereupon exclaimed: "You were quite right, Pierre; it would bemuch better to go back yonder under the trees. I so much wish to seeeverything. "

"Yes, certainly; we will seek a spot whence you may see it all, " repliedthe priest. "The only difficulty lies in getting away from here. "

Indeed, they were now inclosed within the mob of sight-seers; and, inorder to secure a passage, Pierre with stubborn perseverance had to keepon begging a little room for a suffering girl. 

M. De Guersaint meantime brought up the rear, screening the littleconveyance so that it might not be upset by the jostling; whilst Marieturned her head, still endeavouring to see the sheet of flame spread outbefore the Grotto, that lake of little sparkling waves which never seemedto diminish, although the procession continued to flow from it without apause. 

At last they all three found themselves out of the crowd, near one of thearches, on a deserted spot where they were able to breathe for a moment. They now heard nothing but the distant canticle with its besettingrefrain, and they only saw the reflection of the tapers, hovering like aluminous cloud in the neighbourhood of the Basilica. 

"The best plan would be to climb to the Calvary, " said M. De Guersaint. "The servant at the hotel told me so this morning. From up there, itseems, the scene is fairy-like. "

But they could not think of making the ascent. Pierre at once enumeratedthe difficulties. "How could we hoist ourselves to such a height withMarie's conveyance?" he asked. "Besides, we should have to come downagain, and that would be dangerous work in the darkness amidst all thescrambling. "

Marie herself preferred to remain under the trees in the gardens, whereit was very mild. So they started off, and reached the esplanade in frontof the great crowned statue of the Virgin. It was illuminated by means ofblue and yellow globes which encompassed it with a gaudy splendour; anddespite all his piety M. De Guersaint could not help finding thesedecorations in execrable taste. 

"There!" exclaimed Marie, "a good place would be near those shrubsyonder. "

She was pointing to a shrubbery near the pilgrims' shelter-house; and thespot was indeed an excellent one for their purpose, as it enabled them tosee the procession come down by the gradient way on the left, and watchit as it passed between the lawns to the new bridge and back again. Moreover, a delightful freshness prevailed there by reason of thevicinity of the Gave. There was nobody there as yet, and one could enjoydeep peacefulness in the dense shade which fell from the big plane-treesbordering the path. 

In his impatience to see the first tapers reappear as soon as they shouldhave passed behind the Basilica, M. De Guersaint had risen on tiptoe. "Isee nothing as yet, " he muttered, "so whatever the regulations may be Ishall sit on the grass for a moment. I've no strength left in my legs. "Then, growing anxious about his daughter, he inquired: "Shall I cover youup? It is very cool here. "

"Oh, no! I'm not cold, father!" answered Marie; "I feel so happy. It islong since I breathed such sweet air. There must be some rosesabout--can't you smell that delicious perfume?" And turning to Pierre sheasked: "Where are the roses, my friend? Can you see them?"

When M. De Guersaint had seated himself on the grass near the littlevehicle, it occurred to Pierre to see if there was not some bed of rosesnear at hand. But is was in vain that he explored the dark lawns; hecould only distinguish sundry clumps of evergreens. And, as he passed infront of the pilgrims' shelter-house on his way back, curiosity promptedhim to enter it. 

This building formed a long and lofty hall, lighted by large windows upontwo sides. With bare walls and a stone pavement, it contained no otherfurniture than a number of benches, which stood here and there inhaphazard fashion. There was neither table nor shelf, so that thehomeless pilgrims who had sought refuge there had piled up their baskets, parcels, and valises in the window embrasures. Moreover, the place wasapparently empty; the poor folk that it sheltered had no doubt joined theprocession. Nevertheless, although the door stood wide open, an almostunbearable smell reigned inside. The very walls seemed impregnated withan odour of poverty, and in spite of the bright sunshine which hadprevailed during the day, the flagstones were quite damp, soiled andsoaked with expectorations, spilt wine, and grease. This mess had beenmade by the poorer pilgrims, who with their dirty skins and wretched ragslived in the hall, eating and sleeping in heaps on the benches. Pierrespeedily came to the conclusion that the pleasant smell of roses mustemanate from some other spot; still, he was making the round of the hall, which was lighted by four smoky lanterns, and which he believed to bealtogether unoccupied, when, against the left-hand wall, he was surprisedto espy the vague figure of a woman in black, with what seemed to be awhite parcel lying on her lap. She was all alone in that solitude, anddid not stir; however, her eyes were wide open. 

He drew near and recognised Madame Vincent. She addressed him in a deep, broken voice: "Rose has suffered so dreadfully to-day! Since daybreak shehas not ceased moaning. And so, as she fell asleep a couple of hours ago, I haven't dared to stir for fear lest she should awake and suffer again. "

Thus the poor woman remained motionless, martyr-mother that she was, having for long months held her daughter in her arms in this fashion, inthe stubborn hope of curing her. In her arms, too, she had brought her toLourdes; in her arms she had carried her to the Grotto; in her arms shehad rocked her to sleep, having neither a room of her own, nor even ahospital bed at her disposal. 

"Isn't the poor little thing any better?" asked Pierre, whose heart achedat the sight. 

"No, Monsieur l'Abbe; no, I think not. "

"But you are very badly off here on this bench. You should have made anapplication to the pilgrimage managers instead of remaining like this, inthe street, as it were. Some accommodation would have been found for yourlittle girl, at any rate; that's certain. "

"Oh! what would have been the use of it, Monsieur l'Abbe? She is allright on my lap. And besides, should I have been allowed to stay withher? No, no, I prefer to have her on my knees; it seems to me that itwill end by curing her. " Two big tears rolled down the poor woman'smotionless cheeks, and in her stifled voice she continued: "I am notpenniless. I had thirty sous when I left Paris, and I still have tenleft. All I need is a little bread, and she, poor darling, can no longerdrink any milk even. I have enough to last me till we go back, and if shegets well again, oh! we shall be rich, rich, rich!"

She had leant forward while speaking, and by the flickering light of alantern near by, gazed at Rose, who was breathing faintly, with partedlips. "You see how soundly she is sleeping, " resumed the unhappy mother. "Surely the Blessed Virgin will take pity on her and cure her, won't she, Monsieur l'Abbe? We only have one day left; still, I don't despair; and Ishall again pray all night long without moving from here. She will becured to-morrow; we must live till then. "

Infinite pity was filling the heart of Pierre, who, fearing that he alsomight weep, now went away. "Yes, yes, my poor woman, we must hope, stillhope, " said he, as he left her there among the scattered benches, in thatdeserted, malodorous hall, so motionless in her painful maternal passionas to hold her own breath, fearful lest the heaving of her bosom shouldawaken the poor little sufferer. And in deepest grief, with closed lips, she prayed ardently. 

On Pierre returning to Marie's side, the girl inquired of him: "Well, andthose roses? Are there any near here?"

He did not wish to sadden her by telling her what he had seen, so hesimply answered: "No, I have searched the lawns; there are none. "

"How singular!" she rejoined, in a thoughtful way. "The perfume is bothso sweet and penetrating. You can smell it, can't you? At this moment itis wonderfully strong, as though all the roses of Paradise were floweringaround us in the darkness. "

A low exclamation from her father interrupted her. M. De Guersaint hadrisen to his feet again on seeing some specks of light shine out abovethe gradient ways on the left side of the Basilica. "At last! Here theycome!" said he. 

It was indeed the head of the procession again appearing; and at once thespecks of light began to swarm and extend in long, wavering double files. The darkness submerged everything except these luminous points, whichseemed to be at a great elevation, and to emerge, as it were, from theblack depths of the Unknown. And at the same time the everlastingcanticle was again heard, but so lightly, for the procession was faraway, that it seemed as yet merely like the rustle of a coming storm, stirring the leaves of the trees. 

"Ah! I said so, " muttered M. De Guersaint; "one ought to be at theCalvary to see everything. " With the obstinacy of a child he kept onreturning to his first idea, again and again complaining that they hadchosen "the worst possible place. "

"But why don't you go up to the Calvary, papa?" at last said Marie. "There is still time. Pierre will stay here with me. " And with a mournfullaugh she added: "Go; you know very well that nobody will run away withme. "

He at first refused to act upon the suggestion, but, unable to resist hisdesire, he all at once fell in with it. And he had to hasten his steps, crossing the lawns at a run. "Don't move, " he called; "wait for me underthe trees. I will tell you of all that I may see up there. "

Then Pierre and Marie remained alone in that dim, solitary nook, whencecame such a perfume of roses, albeit no roses could be found. And theydid not speak, but in silence watched the procession, which was nowcoming down from the hill with a gentle, continuous, gliding motion. 

A double file of quivering stars leapt into view on the left-hand side ofthe Basilica, and then followed the monumental, gradient way, whose curveis gradually described. At that distance you were still unable to see thepilgrims themselves, and you beheld simply those well-disciplinedtravelling lights tracing geometrical lines amidst the darkness. Underthe deep blue heavens, even the buildings at first remained vague, forming but blacker patches against the sky. Little by little, however, as the number of candles increased, the principal architecturallines--the tapering spire of the Basilica, the cyclopean arches of thegradient ways, the heavy, squat facade of the Rosary--became moredistinctly visible. And with that ceaseless torrent of bright sparks, flowing slowly downward with the stubborn persistence of a stream whichhas overflowed its banks and can be stopped by nothing, there came as itwere an aurora, a growing, invading mass of light, which would at lastspread its glory over the whole horizon. 

"Look, look, Pierre!" cried Marie, in an access of childish joy. "Thereis no end of them; fresh ones are ever shining out. "

Indeed, the sudden appearances of the little lights continued withmechanical regularity, as though some inexhaustible celestial source werepouring forth all those solar specks. The head of the procession had justreached the gardens, near the crowned statue of the Virgin, so that asyet the double file of flames merely outlined the curves of the Rosaryand the broad inclined way. However, the approach of the multitude wasforetokened by the perturbation of the atmosphere, by the gusts of humanbreath coming from afar; and particularly did the voices swell, thecanticle of Bernadette surging with the clamour of a rising tide, throughwhich, with rhythmical persistence, the refrain of "Ave, ave, ave Maria!"rolled ever in a louder key. 

"Ah, that refrain!" muttered Pierre; "it penetrates one's very skin. Itseems to me as though my whole body were at last singing it. "

Again did Marie give vent to that childish laugh of hers. "It is true, "said she; "it follows me about everywhere. I heard it the other nightwhilst I was asleep. And now it is again taking possession of me, rockingme, wafting me above the ground. " Then she broke off to say: "Here theycome, just across the lawn, in front of us. "

The procession had entered one of the long, straight paths; and then, turning round the lawn by way of the Breton's Cross, it came back by aparallel path. It took more than a quarter of an hour to execute thismovement, during which the double file of tapers resembled two longparallel streams of flame. That which ever excited one's admiration wasthe ceaseless march of this serpent of fire, whose golden coils crept sogently over the black earth, winding, stretching into the far distance, without the immense body ever seeming to end. There must have been somejostling and scrambling every now and then, for some of the luminouslines shook and bent as though they were about to break; but order wassoon re-established, and then the slow, regular, gliding movement set inafresh. There now seemed to be fewer stars in the heavens; it was asthough a milky way had fallen from on high, rolling its glittering dustof worlds, and transferring the revolutions of the planets from theempyrean to earth. A bluish light streamed all around; there was naughtbut heaven left; the buildings and the trees assumed a visionary aspectin the mysterious glow of those thousands of tapers, whose number stilland ever increased. 

A faint sigh of admiration came from Marie. She was at a loss for words, and could only repeat "How beautiful it is! _Mon Dieu_! how beautiful itis! Look, Pierre, is it not beautiful?"

However, since the procession had been going by at so short a distancefrom them it had ceased to be a rhythmic march of stars which no humanhand appeared to guide, for amidst the stream of light they coulddistinguish the figures of the pilgrims carrying the tapers, and at timeseven recognise them as they passed. First they espied La Grivotte, who, exaggerating her cure, and repeating that she had never felt in betterhealth, had insisted upon taking part in the ceremony despite thelateness of the hour; and she still retained her excited demeanour, herdancing gait in that cool night air, which often made her shiver. Thenthe Vignerons appeared; the father at the head of the party, raising histaper on high, and followed by Madame Vigneron and Madame Chaise, whodragged their weary legs; whilst little Gustave, quite worn out, kept ontapping the sanded path with his crutch, his right hand covered meantimewith all the wax that had dripped upon it. Every sufferer who could walkwas there, among others Elise Rouquet, who, with her bare red face, passed by like some apparition from among the damned. Others werelaughing; Sophie Couteau, the little girl who had been miraculouslyhealed the previous year, was quite forgetting herself, playing with hertaper as though it were a switch. Heads followed heads without a pause, heads of women especially, more often with sordid, common features, butat times wearing an exalted expression, which you saw for a second ere itvanished amidst the fantastic illumination. And there was no end to thatterrible march past; fresh pilgrims were ever appearing. Among themPierre and Marie noticed yet another little black shadowy figure, glidingalong in a discreet, humble way; it was Madame Maze, whom they would nothave recognised if she had not for a moment raised her pale face, downwhich the tears were streaming. 

"Look!" exclaimed Pierre; "the first tapers in the procession arereaching the Place du Rosaire, and I am sure that half of the pilgrimsare still in front of the Grotto. "

Marie had raised her eyes. Up yonder, on the left-hand side of theBasilica, she could see other lights incessantly appearing with thatmechanical kind of movement which seemed as though it would never cease. "Ah!" she said, "how many, how many distressed souls there are! For eachof those little flames is a suffering soul seeking deliverance, is itnot?"

Pierre had to lean over in order to hear her, for since the processionhad been streaming by, so near to them, they had been deafened by thesound of the endless canticle, the hymn of Bernadette. The voices of thepilgrims rang out more loudly than ever amidst the increasing vertigo;the couplets became jumbled together--each batch of processionistschanted a different one with the ecstatic voices of beings possessed, whocan no longer hear themselves. There was a huge indistinct clamour, thedistracted clamour of a multitude intoxicated by its ardent faith. Andmeantime the refrain of "Ave, ave, ave Maria!" was ever returning, rising, with its frantic, importunate rhythm, above everything else. 

All at once Pierre and Marie, to their great surprise, saw M. DeGuersaint before them again. "Ah! my children, " he said, "I did not wantto linger too long up there, I cut through the procession twice in orderto get back to you. But what a sight, what a sight it is! It is certainlythe first beautiful thing that I have seen since I have been here!"Thereupon he began to describe the procession as he had beheld it fromthe Calvary height. "Imagine, " said he, "another heaven, a heaven downbelow reflecting that above, a heaven entirely filled by a single immenseconstellation. The swarming stars seem to be lost, to lie in dim farawaydepths; and the trail of fire is in form like a monstrance--yes, a realmonstrance, the base of which is outlined by the inclined ways, the stemby the two parallel paths, and the Host by the round lawn which crownsthem. It is a monstrance of burning gold, shining out in the depths ofthe darkness with a perpetual sparkle of moving stars. Nothing else seemsto exist; it is gigantic, paramount. I really never saw anything soextraordinary before!"

He was waving his arms, beside himself, overflowing with the emotion ofan artist. 

"Father dear, " said Marie, tenderly, "since you have come back you oughtto go to bed. It is nearly eleven o'clock, and you know that you have tostart at two in the morning. " Then, to render him compliant, she added:"I am so pleased that you are going to make that excursion! Only, comeback early to-morrow evening, because you'll see, you'll see--" Shestopped short, not daring to express her conviction that she would becured. 

"You are right; I will go to bed, " replied M. De Guersaint, quite calmed. "Since Pierre will be with you I sha'n't feel anxious. "

"But I don't wish Pierre to pass the night out here. He will join youby-and-by after he has taken me to the Grotto. I sha'n't have any furtherneed of anybody; the first bearer who passes can take me back to thehospital to-morrow morning. "

Pierre had not interrupted her, and now he simply said: "No, no, Marie, Ishall stay. Like you, I shall spend the night at the Grotto. "

She opened her mouth to insist and express her displeasure. But he hadspoken those words so gently, and she had detected in them such adolorous thirst for happiness, that, stirred to the depths of her soul, she stayed her tongue. 

"Well, well, my children, " replied her father, "settle the matter betweenyou. I know that you are both very sensible. And now good-night, anddon't be at all uneasy about me. "

He gave his daughter a long, loving kiss, pressed the young priest'shands, and then went off, disappearing among the serried ranks of theprocession, which he once more had to cross. 

Then they remained alone in their dark, solitary nook under the spreadingtrees, she still sitting up in her box, and he kneeling on the grass, with his elbow resting on one of the wheels. And it was truly sweet tolinger there while the tapers continued marching past, and, after aturning movement, assembled on the Place du Rosaire. What delightedPierre was that nothing of all the daytime junketing remained. It seemedas though a purifying breeze had come down from the mountains, sweepingaway all the odour of strong meats, the greedy Sunday delights, thescorching, pestilential, fair-field dust which, at an earlier hour, hadhovered above the town. Overhead there was now only the vast sky, studdedwith pure stars, and the freshness of the Gave was delicious, whilst thewandering breezes were laden with the perfumes of wild flowers. Themysterious Infinite spread far around in the sovereign peacefulness ofnight, and nothing of materiality remained save those littlecandle-flames which the young priest's companion had compared tosuffering souls seeking deliverance. All was now exquisitely restful, instinct with unlimited hope. Since Pierre had been there all theheart-rending memories of the afternoon, of the voracious appetites, theimpudent simony, and the poisoning of the old town, had gradually lefthim, allowing him to savour the divine refreshment of that beautifulnight, in which his whole being was steeped as in some revivifying water. 

A feeling of infinite sweetness had likewise come over Marie, whomurmured: "Ah! how happy Blanche would be to see all these marvels. "

She was thinking of her sister, who had been left in Paris to all theworries of her hard profession as a teacher forced to run hither andthither giving lessons. And that simple mention of her sister, of whomMarie had not spoken since her arrival at Lourdes, but whose figure nowunexpectedly arose in her mind's eye, sufficed to evoke a vision of allthe past. 

Then, without exchanging a word, Marie and Pierre lived their childhood'sdays afresh, playing together once more in the neighbouring gardensparted by the quickset hedge. But separation came on the day when heentered the seminary and when she kissed him on the cheeks, vowing thatshe would never forget him. Years went by, and they found themselvesforever parted: he a priest, she prostrated by illness, no longer withany hope of ever being a woman. That was their whole story--an ardentaffection of which they had long been ignorant, then absolute severance, as though they were dead, albeit they lived side by side. They againbeheld the sorry lodging whence they had started to come to Lourdes afterso much battling, so much discussion--his doubts and her passionatefaith, which last had conquered. And it seemed to them truly delightfulto find themselves once more quite alone together, in that dark nook onthat lovely night, when there were as many stars upon earth as there werein heaven. 

Marie had hitherto retained the soul of a child, a spotless soul, as herfather said, good and pure among the purest. Stricken low in herthirteenth year, she had grown no older in mind. Although she was nowthree-and-twenty, she was still a child, a child of thirteen, who hadretired within herself, absorbed in the bitter catastrophe which hadannihilated her. You could tell this by the frigidity of her glance, byher absent expression, by the haunted air she ever wore, unable as shewas to bestow a thought on anything but her calamity. And never waswoman's soul more pure and candid, arrested as it had been in itsdevelopment. She had had no other romance in life save that tearfulfarewell to her friend, which for ten long years had sufficed to fill herheart. During the endless days which she had spent on her couch ofwretchedness, she had never gone beyond this dream--that if she had grownup in health, he doubtless would not have become a priest, in order tolive near her. She never read any novels. The pious works which she wasallowed to peruse maintained her in the excitement of a superhuman love. Even the rumours of everyday life died away at the door of the room whereshe lived in seclusion; and, in past years, when she had been taken fromone to the other end of France, from one inland spa to another, she hadpassed through the crowds like a somnambulist who neither sees nor hearsanything, possessed, as she was, by the idea of the calamity that hadbefallen her, the bond which made her a sexless thing. Hence her purityand childishness; hence she was but an adorable daughter of suffering, who, despite the growth of her sorry flesh, harboured nothing in herheart save that distant awakening of passion, the unconscious love of herthirteenth year. 

Her hand sought Pierre's in the darkness, and when she found it, comingto meet her own, she, for a long time, continued pressing it. Ah! howsweet it was! Never before, indeed, had they tasted such pure and perfectjoy in being together, far from the world, amidst the sovereignenchantment of darkness and mystery. Around them nothing subsisted, savethe revolving stars. The lulling hymns were like the very vertigo thatbore them away. And she knew right well that after spending a night ofrapture at the Grotto, she would, on the morrow, be cured. Of this shewas, indeed, absolutely convinced; she would prevail upon the BlessedVirgin to listen to her; she would soften her, as soon as she should bealone, imploring her face to face. And she well understood what Pierrehad wished to say a short time previously, when expressing his desire tospend the whole night outside the Grotto, like herself. Was it not thathe intended to make a supreme effort to believe, that he meant to fallupon his knees like a little child, and beg the all-powerful Mother torestore his lost faith? Without need of any further exchange of words, their clasped hands repeated all those things. They mutually promisedthat they would pray for each other, and so absorbed in each other didthey become that they forgot themselves, with such an ardent desire forone another's cure and happiness, that for a moment they attained to thedepths of the love which offers itself in sacrifice. It was divineenjoyment. 

"Ah!" murmured Pierre, "how beautiful is this blue night, this infinitedarkness, which has swept away all the hideousness of things and beings, this deep, fresh peacefulness, in which I myself should like to bury mydoubts!"

His voice died away, and Marie, in her turn, said in a very low voice:"And the roses, the perfume of the roses? Can't you smell them, myfriend? Where can they be since you could not see them?"

"Yes, yes, I smell them, but there are none, " he replied. "I shouldcertainly have seen them, for I hunted everywhere. "

"How can you say that there are no roses when they perfume the air aroundus, when we are steeped in their aroma? Why, there are moments when thescent is so powerful that I almost faint with delight in inhaling it!They must certainly be here, innumerable, under our very feet. "

"No, no, " said Pierre, "I swear to you I hunted everywhere, and there areno roses. They must be invisible, or they may be the very grass we treadand the spreading trees that are around us; their perfume may come fromthe soil itself, from the torrent which flows along close by, from thewoods and the mountains that rise yonder. "

For a moment they remained silent. Then, in an undertone, she resumed:"How sweet they smell, Pierre! And it seems to me that even our claspedhands form a bouquet. "

"Yes, they smell delightfully sweet; but it is from you, Marie, that theperfume now ascends, as though the roses were budding from your hair. "

Then they ceased speaking. The procession was still gliding along, and atthe corner of the Basilica bright sparks were still appearing, flashingsuddenly from out of the obscurity, as though spurting from someinvisible source. The vast train of little flames, marching in doublefile, threw a riband of light across the darkness. But the great sightwas now on the Place du Rosaire, where the head of the procession, stillcontinuing its measured evolutions, was revolving and revolving in acircle which ever grew smaller, with a stubborn whirl which increased thedizziness of the weary pilgrims and the violence of their chants. Andsoon the circle formed a nucleus, the nucleus of a nebula, so to say, around which the endless riband of fire began to coil itself. And thebrasier grew larger and larger--there was first a pool, then a lake oflight. The whole vast Place du Rosaire changed at last into a burningocean, rolling its little sparkling wavelets with the dizzy motion of awhirlpool that never rested. A reflection like that of dawn whitened theBasilica; while the rest of the horizon faded into deep obscurity, amidstwhich you only saw a few stray tapers journeying alone, like glowwormsseeking their way with the help of their little lights. However, astraggling rear-guard of the procession must have climbed the Calvaryheight, for up there, against the sky, some moving stars could also beseen. Eventually the moment came when the last tapers appeared downbelow, marched round the lawns, flowed away, and were merged in the seaof flame. Thirty thousand tapers were burning there, still and everrevolving, quickening their sparkles under the vast calm heavens wherethe planets had grown pale. A luminous glow ascended in company with thestrains of the canticle which never ceased. And the roar of voicesincessantly repeating the refrain of "Ave, ave, ave Maria!" was like thevery crackling of those hearts of fire which were burning away in prayersin order that souls might be saved. 

The candles had just been extinguished, one by one, and the night wasfalling again, paramount, densely black, and extremely mild, when Pierreand Marie perceived that they were still there, hand in hand, hidden awayamong the trees. In the dim streets of Lourdes, far off, there were nowonly some stray, lost pilgrims inquiring their way, in order that theymight get to bed. Through the darkness there swept a rustling sound--therustling of those who prowl and fall asleep when days of festivity drawto a close. But the young priest and the girl lingered in their nookforgetfully, never stirring, but tasting delicious happiness amidst theperfume of the invisible roses. 

IV. THE VIGIL

WHEN Pierre dragged Marie in her box to the front of the Grotto, andplaced her as near as possible to the railing, it was past midnight, andabout a hundred persons were still there, some seated on the benches, butthe greater number kneeling as though prostrated in prayer. The Grottoshone from afar, with its multitude of lighted tapers, similar to theillumination round a coffin, though all that you could distinguish was astar-like blaze, from the midst of which, with visionary whiteness, emerged the statue of the Virgin in its niche. The hanging foliageassumed an emerald sheen, the hundreds of crutches covering the vaultresembled an inextricable network of dead wood on the point ofreflowering. And the darkness was rendered more dense by so great abrightness, the surroundings became lost in a deep shadow in whichnothing, neither walls nor trees, remained; whilst all alone ascended theangry and continuous murmur of the Gave, rolling along beneath thegloomy, boundless sky, now heavy with a gathering storm. 

"Are you comfortable, Marie?" gently inquired Pierre. "Don't you feelchilly?"

She had just shivered. But it was only at a breath from the other world, which had seemed to her to come from the Grotto. 

"No, no, I am so comfortable! Only place the shawl over my knees. And--thank you, Pierre--don't be anxious about me. I no longer requireanyone now that I am with her. "

Her voice died away, she was already falling into an ecstasy, her handsclasped, her eyes raised towards the white statue, in a beatifictransfiguration of the whole of her poor suffering face. 

Yet Pierre remained a few minutes longer beside her. He would have likedto wrap her in the shawl, for he perceived the trembling of her littlewasted hands. But he feared to annoy her, so confined himself to tuckingher in like a child; whilst she, slightly raised, with her elbows on theedges of her box, and her eyes fixed on the Grotto, no longer beheld him. 

A bench stood near, and he had just seated himself upon it, intending tocollect his thoughts, when his glance fell upon a woman kneeling in thegloom. Dressed in black, she was so slim, so discreet, so unobtrusive, sowrapt in darkness, that at first he had not noticed her. After a while, however, he recognised her as Madame Maze. The thought of the letterwhich she had received during the day then recurred to him. And the sightof her filled him with pity; he could feel for the forlornness of thissolitary woman, who had no physical sore to heal, but only implored theBlessed Virgin to relieve her heart-pain by converting her inconstanthusband. The letter had no doubt been some harsh reply, for, with bowedhead, she seemed almost annihilated, filled with the humility of somepoor beaten creature. It was only at night-time that she readily forgotherself there, happy at disappearing, at being able to weep, suffermartyrdom, and implore the return of the lost caresses, for hourstogether, without anyone suspecting her grievous secret. Her lips did noteven move; it was her wounded heart which prayed, which desperatelybegged for its share of love and happiness. 

Ah! that inextinguishable thirst for happiness which brought them allthere, wounded either in body or in spirit; Pierre also felt it parchinghis throat, in an ardent desire to be quenched. He longed to cast himselfupon his knees, to beg the divine aid with the same humble faith as thatwoman. But his limbs were as though tied; he could not find the words hewanted, and it was a relief when he at last felt someone touch him on thearm. "Come with me, Monsieur l'Abbe, if you do not know the Grotto, " saida voice. "I will find you a place. It is so pleasant there at this time!"

He raised his head, and recognised Baron Suire, the director of theHospitality of Our Lady of Salvation. This benevolent and simple man nodoubt felt some affection for him. He therefore accepted his offer, andfollowed him into the Grotto, which was quite empty. The Baron had a key, with which he locked the railing behind them. 

"You see, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said he, "this is the time when one canreally be comfortable here. For my part, whenever I come to spend a fewdays at Lourdes, I seldom retire to rest before daybreak, as I havefallen into the habit of finishing my night here. The place is deserted, one is quite alone, and is it not pleasant? How well one feels oneself tobe in the abode of the Blessed Virgin!"

He smiled with a kindly air, doing the honours of the Grotto like an oldfrequenter of the place, somewhat enfeebled by age, but full of genuineaffection for this delightful nook. Moreover, in spite of his greatpiety, he was in no way ill at ease there, but talked on and explainedmatters with the familiarity of a man who felt himself to be the friendof Heaven. 

"Ah! you are looking at the tapers, " he said. "There are about twohundred of them which burn together night and day; and they end by makingthe place warm. It is even warm here in winter. "

Indeed, Pierre was beginning to feel incommoded by the warm odour of thewax. Dazzled by the brilliant light into which he was penetrating, hegazed at the large, central, pyramidal holder, all bristling with littletapers, and resembling a luminous clipped yew glistening with stars. Inthe background, a straight holder, on a level with the ground, upheld thelarge tapers, which, like the pipes of an organ, formed a row of unevenheight, some of them being as large as a man's thigh. And yet otherholders, resembling massive candelabra, stood here and there on thejutting parts of the rock. The vault of the Grotto sank towards the left, where the stone seemed baked and blackened by the eternal flames whichhad been heating it for years. And the wax was perpetually dripping likefine snow; the trays of the holders were smothered with it, whitened byits ever-thickening dust. In fact, it coated the whole rock, which hadbecome quite greasy to the touch; and to such a degree did it cover theground that accidents had occurred, and it had been necessary to spreadsome mats about to prevent persons from slipping. 

"You see those large ones there, " obligingly continued Baron Suire. "Theyare the most expensive and cost sixty francs apiece; they will continueburning for a month. The smallest ones, which cost but five sous each, only last three hours. Oh! we don't husband them; we never run short. Look here! Here are two more hampers full, which there has not yet beentime to remove to the storehouse. "

Then he pointed to the furniture, which comprised a harmonium coveredwith a cloth, a substantial dresser with several large drawers in whichthe sacred vestments were kept, some benches and chairs reserved for theprivileged few who were admitted during the ceremonies, and finally avery handsome movable altar, which was adorned with engraved silverplates, the gift of a great lady, and--for fear of injury fromdampness--was only brought out on the occasions of remunerativepilgrimages. 

Pierre was disturbed by all this well-meant chatter. His religiousemotion lost some of its charm. In spite of his lack of faith, he had, onentering, experienced a feeling of agitation, a heaving of the soul, asthough the mystery were about to be revealed to him. It was at the sametime both an anxious and a delicious feeling. And he beheld things whichdeeply stirred him: bunches of flowers, lying in a heap at the Virgin'sfeet, with the votive offerings of children--little faded shoes, a tinyiron corselet, and a doll-like crutch which almost seemed to be a toy. Beneath the natural ogival cavity in which the apparition had appeared, at the spot where the pilgrims rubbed the chaplets and medals they wishedto consecrate, the rock was quite worn away and polished. Millions ofardent lips had pressed kisses on the wall with such intensity of lovethat the stone was as though calcined, streaked with black veins, shininglike marble. 

However, he stopped short at last opposite a cavity in which lay aconsiderable pile of letters and papers of every description. 

"Ah! I was forgetting, " hastily resumed Baron Suire; "this is the mostinteresting part of it. These are the letters which the faithful throwinto the Grotto through the railing every day. We gather them up andplace them there; and in the winter I amuse myself by glancing throughthem. You see, we cannot burn them without opening them, for they oftencontain money--francs, half-francs, and especially postage-stamps. "

He stirred up the letters, and, selecting a few at random, showed theaddresses, and opened them to read. Nearly all of them were letters fromilliterate persons, with the superscription, "To Our Lady of Lourdes, "scrawled on the envelopes in big, irregular handwriting. Many of themcontained requests or thanks, incorrectly worded and wondrously spelt;and nothing was more affecting than the nature of some of the petitions:a little brother to be saved, a lawsuit to be gained, a lover to bepreserved, a marriage to be effected. Other letters, however, were angryones, taking the Blessed Virgin to task for not having had the politenessto acknowledge a former communication by granting the writer's prayers. Then there were still others, written in a finer hand, with carefullyworded phrases containing confessions and fervent entreaties; and thesewere from women who confided to the Queen of Heaven things which theydared not even say to a priest in the shadow of the confessional. Finally, one envelope, selected at random, merely contained a photograph;a young girl had sent her portrait to Our Lady of Lourdes, with thisdedication: "To my good Mother. " In short, they every day received thecorrespondence of a most powerful Queen, to whom both prayers and secretswere addressed, and who was expected to reply with favours and kindnessesof every kind. The franc and half-franc pieces were simple tokens of loveto propitiate her; while, as for the postage-stamps, these could only besent for convenience' sake, in lieu of coined money; unless, indeed, theywere sent guilelessly, as in the case of a peasant woman who had added apostscript to her letter to say that she enclosed a stamp for the reply. 

"I can assure you, " concluded the Baron, "that there are some very niceones among them, much less foolish than you might imagine. During aperiod of three years I constantly found some very interesting lettersfrom a lady who did nothing without relating it to the Blessed Virgin. She was a married woman, and entertained a most dangerous passion for afriend of her husband's. Well, Monsieur l'Abbe, she overcame it; theBlessed Virgin answered her by sending her an armour for her chastity, anall-divine power to resist the promptings of her heart. " Then he brokeoff to say: "But come and seat yourself here, Monsieur l'Abbe. You willsee how comfortable you will be. "

Pierre went and placed himself beside him on a bench on the left hand, atthe spot where the rock sloped down. This was a deliciously reposefulcorner, and neither the one nor the other spoke; a profound silence hadensued, when, behind him, Pierre heard an indistinct murmur, a lightcrystalline voice, which seemed to come from the Invisible. He gave astart, which Baron Suire understood. 

"That is the spring which you hear, " said he; "it is there, underground, below this grating. Would you like to see it?"

And without waiting for Pierre's reply, he at once bent down to open oneof the iron plates protecting the spring, mentioning that it was thusclosed up in order to prevent freethinkers from throwing poison into it. For a moment this extraordinary idea quite amazed the priest; but heended by attributing it entirely to the Baron, who was, indeed, verychildish. The latter, meantime, was vainly struggling with the padlock, which opened by a combination of letters, and refused to yield to hisendeavours. "It is singular, " he muttered; "the word is _Rome_, and I ampositive that it hasn't been changed. The damp destroys everything. Everytwo years or so we are obliged to replace those crutches up there, otherwise they would all rot away. Be good enough to bring me a taper. "

By the light of the candle which Pierre then took from one of theholders, he at last succeeded in unfastening the brass padlock, which wascovered with _vert-de-gris_. Then, the plate having been raised, thespring appeared to view. Upon a bed of muddy gravel, in a fissure of therock, there was a limpid stream, quite tranquil, but seemingly spreadingover a rather large surface. The Baron explained that it had beennecessary to conduct it to the fountains through pipes coated withcement; and he even admitted that, behind the piscinas, a large cisternhad been dug in which the water was collected during the night, asotherwise the small output of the source would not suffice for the dailyrequirements. 

"Will you taste it?" he suddenly asked. "It is much better here, freshfrom the earth. "

Pierre did not answer; he was gazing at that tranquil, innocent water, which assumed a moire-like golden sheen in the dancing light of thetaper. The falling drops of wax now and again ruffled its surface. And, as he gazed at it, the young priest pondered upon all the mystery itbrought with it from the distant mountain slopes. 

"Come, drink some!" said the Baron, who had already dipped and filled aglass which was kept there handy. The priest had no choice but to emptyit; it was good pure, water, fresh and transparent, like that which flowsfrom all the lofty uplands of the Pyrenees. 

After refastening the padlock, they both returned to the bench. Now andagain Pierre could still hear the spring flowing behind him, with a musicresembling the gentle warble of some unseen bird. And now the Baron againraised his voice, giving him the history of the Grotto at all times andseasons, in a pathetic babble, replete with puerile details. 

The summer was the roughest season, for then came the great itinerantpilgrimage crowds, with the uproarious fervour of thousands of eagerbeings, all praying and vociferating together. But with the autumn camethe rain, those diluvial rains which beat against the Grotto entrance fordays together; and with them arrived the pilgrims from remote countries, small, silent, and ecstatic bands of Indians, Malays, and even Chinese, who fell upon their knees in the mud at the sign from the missionariesaccompanying them. Of all the old provinces of France, it was Brittanythat sent the most devout pilgrims, whole parishes arriving together, themen as numerous as the women, and all displaying a pious deportment, asimple and unostentatious faith, such as might edify the world. Then camethe winter, December with its terrible cold, its dense snow-driftsblocking the mountain ways. But even then families put up at the hotels, and, despite everything, faithful worshippers--all those who, fleeing thenoise of the world, wished to speak to the Virgin in the tender intimacyof solitude--still came every morning to the Grotto. Among them were somewhom no one knew, who appeared directly they felt certain they would bealone there to kneel and love like jealous lovers; and who departed, frightened away by the first suspicion of a crowd. And how warm andpleasant the place was throughout the foul winter weather! In spite ofrain and wind and snow, the Grotto still continued flaring. Even duringnights of howling tempest, when not a soul was there, it lighted up theempty darkness, blazing like a brasier of love that nothing couldextinguish. The Baron related that, at the time of the heavy snowfall ofthe previous winter, he had spent whole afternoons there, on the benchwhere they were then seated. A gentle warmth prevailed, although the spotfaced the north and was never reached by a ray of sunshine. No doubt thecircumstance of the burning tapers continually heating the rock explainedthis generous warmth; but might one not also believe in some charmingkindness on the part of the Virgin, who endowed the spot with perpetualspringtide? And the little birds were well aware of it; when the snow onthe ground froze their feet, all the finches of the neighbourhood soughtshelter there, fluttering about in the ivy around the holy statue. Atlength came the awakening of the real spring: the Gave, swollen withmelted snow, and rolling on with a voice of thunder: the trees, under theaction of their sap, arraying themselves in a mantle of greenery, whilstthe crowds, once more returning, noisily invaded the sparkling Grotto, whence they drove the little birds of heaven. 

"Yes, yes, " repeated Baron Suire, in a declining voice, "I spent somemost delightful winter days here all alone. I saw no one but a woman, wholeant against the railing to avoid kneeling in the snow. She was quiteyoung, twenty-five perhaps, and very pretty--dark, with magnificent blueeyes. She never spoke, and did not even seem to pray, but remained therefor hours together, looking intensely sad. I do not know who she was, norhave I ever seen her since. "

He ceased speaking; and when, a couple of minutes later, Pierre, surprised at his silence, looked at him, he perceived that he had fallenasleep. With his hands clasped upon his belly, his chin resting on hischest, he slept as peacefully as a child, a smile hovering the whileabout his mouth. Doubtless, when he said that he spent the night there, he meant that he came thither to indulge in the early nap of a happy oldman, whose dreams are of the angels. And now Pierre tasted all the charmsof the solitude. It was indeed true that a feeling of peacefulness andcomfort permeated the soul in this rocky nook. It was occasioned by thesomewhat stifling fumes of the burning wax, by the transplendent ecstasyinto which one sank amidst the glare of the tapers. The young priestcould no longer distinctly see the crutches on the roof, the votiveofferings hanging from the sides, the altar of engraved silver, and theharmonium in its wrapper, for a slow intoxication seemed to be stealingover him, a gradual prostration of his whole being. And he particularlyexperienced the divine sensation of having left the living world, ofhaving attained to the far realms of the marvellous and the superhuman, as though that simple iron railing yonder had become the very barrier ofthe Infinite. 

However, a slight noise on his left again disturbed him. It was thespring flowing, ever flowing on, with its bird-like warble. Ah! how hewould have liked to fall upon his knees and believe in the miracle, toacquire a certain conviction that that divine water had gushed from therock solely for the healing of suffering humanity. Had he not come thereto prostrate himself and implore the Virgin to restore the faith of hischildhood? Why, then, did he not pray, why did he not beseech her tobring him back to grace? His feeling of suffocation increased, theburning tapers dazzled him almost to the point of giddiness. And, all atonce, the recollection came to him that for two days past, amidst thegreat freedom which priests enjoyed at Lourdes, he had neglected to sayhis mass. He was in a state of sin, and perhaps it was the weight of thistransgression which was oppressing his heart. He suffered so much that hewas at last compelled to rise from his seat and walk away. He gentlyclosed the gate behind him, leaving Baron Suire still asleep do thebench. Marie, he found, had not stirred, but was still raised on herelbows, with her ecstatic eyes uplifted towards the figure of the Virgin. 

"How are you, Marie?" asked Pierre. "Don't you feel cold?"

She did not reply. He felt her hands and found them warm and soft, albeitslightly trembling. "It is not the cold which makes you tremble, is it, Marie?" he asked. 

In a voice as gentle as a zephyr she replied: "No, no! let me be; I am sohappy! I shall see her, I feel it. Ah! what joy!"

So, after slightly pulling up her shawl, he went forth into the night, aprey to indescribable agitation. Beyond the bright glow of the Grotto wasa night as black as ink, a region of darkness, into which he plunged atrandom. Then, as his eyes became accustomed to this gloom, he foundhimself near the Gave, and skirted it, following a path shaded by talltrees, where he again came upon a refreshing obscurity. This shade andcoolness, both so soothing, now brought him relief. And his only surprisewas that he had not fallen on his knees in the Grotto, and prayed, evenas Marie was praying, with all the power of his soul. What could be theobstacle within him? Whence came the irresistible revolt which preventedhim from surrendering himself to faith even when his overtaxed, torturedbeing longed to yield? He understood well enough that it was his reasonalone which protested, and the time had come when he would gladly havekilled that voracious reason, which was devouring his life and preventinghim from enjoying the happiness allowed to the ignorant and the simple. Perhaps, had he beheld a miracle, he might have acquired enough strengthof will to believe. For instance, would he not have bowed himself down, vanquished at last, if Marie had suddenly risen up and walked before him. The scene which he conjured up of Marie saved, Marie cured, affected himso deeply that he stopped short, his trembling arms uplifted towards thestar-spangled vault of heaven. What a lovely night it was!--so deep andmysterious, so airy and fragrant; and what joy rained down at the hopethat eternal health might be restored, that eternal love might everrevive, even as spring returns! Then he continued his walk, following thepath to the end. But his doubts were again coming back to him; when youneed a miracle to gain belief, it means that you are incapable ofbelieving. There is no need for the Almighty to prove His existence. Pierre also felt uneasy at the thought that, so long as he had notdischarged his priestly duties by saying his mass, his prayers would notbe answered. Why did he not go at once to the church of the Rosary, whosealtars, from midnight till noon, are placed at the disposal of thepriests who come from a distance? Thus thinking, he descended by anotherpath, again finding himself beneath the trees, near the leafy spot whencehe and Marie had watched the procession of tapers. Not a light nowremained, there was but a boundless expanse of gloom. 

Here Pierre experienced a fresh attack of faintness, and as though togain time, he turned mechanically into the pilgrims' shelter-house. Itsdoor had remained wide open; still this failed to sufficiently ventilatethe spacious hall, which was now full of people. On the very thresholdPierre felt oppressed by the stifling heat emanating from the multitudeof bodies, the dense pestilential smell of human breath and perspiration. The smoking lanterns gave out so bad a light that he had to pick his waywith extreme care in order to avoid treading upon outstretched limbs; forthe overcrowding was extraordinary, and many persons, unable to find roomon the benches, had stretched themselves on the pavement, on the dampstone slabs fouled by all the refuse of the day. And on all sidesindescribable promiscuousness prevailed: prostrated by overpoweringweariness, men, women, and priests were lying there, pell-mell, atrandom, open-mouthed and utterly exhausted. A large number were snoring, seated on the slabs, with their backs against the walls and their headsdrooping on their chests. Others had slipped down, with limbsintermingled, and one young girl lay prostrate across an old countrypriest, who in his calm, childlike slumber was smiling at the angels. Itwas like a cattle-shed sheltering poor wanderers of the roads, all thosewho were homeless on that beautiful holiday night, and who had dropped inthere and fallen fraternally asleep. Still, there were some who found norepose in their feverish excitement, but turned and twisted, or rose upto finish eating the food which remained in their baskets. Others couldbe seen lying perfectly motionless, their eyes wide open and fixed uponthe gloom. The cries of dreamers, the wailing of sufferers, arose amidstgeneral snoring. And pity came to the heart, a pity full of anguish, atsight of this flock of wretches lying there in heaps in loathsome rags, whilst their poor spotless souls no doubt were far away in the blue realmof some mystical dream. Pierre was on the point of withdrawing, feelingsick at heart, when a low continuous moan attracted his attention. Helooked, and recognised Madame Vincent, on the same spot and in the sameposition as before, still nursing little Rose upon her lap. "Ah! Monsieurl'Abbe, " the poor woman murmured, "you hear her; she woke up nearly anhour ago, and has been sobbing ever since. Yet I assure you I have notmoved even a finger, I felt so happy at seeing her sleep. "

The priest bent down, examining the little one, who had not even thestrength to raise her eyelids. A plaintive cry no stronger than a breathwas coming from her lips; and she was so white that he shuddered, for hefelt that death was hovering near. 

"Dear me! what shall I do?" continued the poor mother, utterly worn out. "This cannot last; I can no longer bear to hear her cry. And if you knewall that I have been saying to her: 'My jewel, my treasure, my angel, Ibeseech you cry no more. Be good; the Blessed Virgin will cure you!' Andyet she still cries on. "

With these words the poor creature burst out sobbing, her big tearsfalling on the face of the child, whose rattle still continued. "Had itbeen daylight, " she resumed, "I would long ago have left this hall, themore especially as she disturbs the others. There is an old lady yonderwho has already complained. But I fear it may be chilly outside; andbesides, where could I go in the middle of the night? Ah! Blessed Virgin, Blessed Virgin, take pity upon us!"

Overcome by emotion, Pierre kissed the child's fair head, and thenhastened away to avoid bursting into tears like the sorrowing mother. Andhe went straight to the Rosary, as though he were determined to conquerdeath. 

He had already beheld the Rosary in broad daylight, and had beendispleased by the aspect of this church, which the architect, fettered bythe rockbound site, had been obliged to make circular and low, so that itseemed crushed beneath its great cupola, which square pillars supported. The worst was that, despite its archaic Byzantine style, it altogetherlacked any religious appearance, and suggested neither mystery normeditation. Indeed, with the glaring light admitted by the cupola and thebroad glazed doors it was more like some brand-new corn-market. And then, too, it was not yet completed: the decorations were lacking, the barewalls against which the altars stood had no other embellishment than someartificial roses of coloured paper and a few insignificant votiveofferings; and this bareness heightened the resemblance to some vastpublic hall. Moreover, in time of rain the paved floor became as muddy asthat of a general waiting-room at a railway station. The high altar was atemporary structure of painted wood. Innumerable rows of benches filledthe central rotunda, benches free to the public, on which people couldcome and rest at all hours, for night and day alike the Rosary remainedopen to the swarming pilgrims. Like the shelter-house, it was a cow-shedin which the Almighty received the poor ones of the earth. 

On entering, Pierre felt himself to be in some common hall trod by thefootsteps of an ever-changing crowd. But the brilliant sunlight no longerstreamed on the pallid walls, the tapers burning at every altar simplygleamed like stars amidst the uncertain gloom which filled the building. A solemn high mass had been celebrated at midnight with extraordinarypomp, amidst all the splendour of candles, chants, golden vestments, andswinging, steaming censers; but of all this glorious display there nowremained only the regulation number of tapers necessary for thecelebration of the masses at each of the fifteen altars ranged around theedifice. These masses began at midnight and did not cease till noon. Nearly four hundred were said during those twelve hours at the Rosaryalone. Taking the whole of Lourdes, where there were altogether somefifty altars, more than two thousand masses were celebrated daily. And sogreat was the abundance of priests, that many had extreme difficulty infulfilling their duties, having to wait for hours together before theycould find an altar unoccupied. What particularly struck Pierre thatevening, was the sight of all the altars besieged by rows of priestspatiently awaiting their turn in the dim light at the foot of the steps;whilst the officiating minister galloped through the Latin phrases, hastily punctuating them with the prescribed signs of the cross. And theweariness of all the waiting ones was so great, that most of them wereseated on the flagstones, some even dozing on the altar steps in heaps, quite overpowered, relying on the beadle to come and rouse them. 

For a moment Pierre walked about undecided. Was he going to wait like theothers? However, the scene determined him against doing so. At everyaltar, at every mass, a crowd of pilgrims was gathered, communicating inall haste with a sort of voracious fervour. Each pyx was filled andemptied incessantly; the priests' hands grew tired in thus distributingthe bread of life; and Pierre's surprise increased at the sight. Neverbefore had he beheld a corner of this earth so watered by the divineblood, whence faith took wing in such a flight of souls. It was like areturn to the heroic days of the Church, when all nations prostratedthemselves beneath the same blast of credulity in their terrifiedignorance which led them to place their hope of eternal happiness in anAlmighty God. He could fancy himself carried back some eight or ninecenturies, to the time of great public piety, when people believed in theapproaching end of the world; and this he could fancy the more readily asthe crowd of simple folk, the whole host that had attended high mass, wasstill seated on the benches, as much at ease in God's house as at home. Many had no place of refuge. Was not the church their home, the asylumwhere consolation awaited them both by day and by night? Those who knewnot where to sleep, who had not found room even at the shelter place, came to the Rosary, where sometimes they succeeded in finding a vacantseat on a bench, at others sufficient space to lie down on theflagstones. And others who had beds awaiting them lingered there for thejoy of passing a whole night in that divine abode, so full of beautifuldreams. Until daylight the concourse and promiscuity were extraordinary;every row of benches was occupied, sleeping persons were scattered inevery corner and behind every pillar; men, women, children were leaningagainst each other, their heads on one another's shoulders, their breathmingling in calm unconsciousness. It was the break-up of a religiousgathering overwhelmed by sleep, a church transformed into a chancehospital, its doors wide open to the lovely August night, giving accessto all who were wandering in the darkness, the good and the bad, theweary and the lost. And all over the place, from each of the fifteenaltars, the bells announcing the elevation of the Host incessantlysounded, whilst from among the mob of sleepers bands of believers now andagain arose, went and received the sacrament, and then returned to mingleonce more with the nameless, shepherdless flock which the semi-obscurityenveloped like a veil. 

With an air of restless indecision, Pierre was still wandering throughthe shadowy groups, when an old priest, seated on the step of an altar, beckoned to him. For two hours he had been waiting there, and now thathis turn was at length arriving he felt so faint that he feared he mightnot have strength to say the whole of his mass, and preferred, therefore, to surrender his place to another. No doubt the sight of Pierre, wandering so distressfully in the gloom, had moved him. He pointed thevestry out to him, waited until he returned with chasuble and chalice, and then went off and fell into a sound sleep on one of the neighbouringbenches. Pierre thereupon said his mass in the same way as he said it atParis, like a worthy man fulfilling a professional duty. He outwardlymaintained an air of sincere faith. But, contrary to what he had expectedfrom the two feverish days through which he had just gone, from theextraordinary and agitating surroundings amidst which he had spent thelast few hours, nothing moved him nor touched his heart. He had hopedthat a great commotion would overpower him at the moment of thecommunion, when the divine mystery is accomplished; that he would findhimself in view of Paradise, steeped in grace, in the very presence ofthe Almighty; but there was no manifestation, his chilled heart did noteven throb, he went on to the end pronouncing the usual words, making theregulation gestures, with the mechanical accuracy of the profession. Inspite of his effort to be fervent, one single idea kept obstinatelyreturning to his mind--that the vestry was far too small, since such anenormous number of masses had to be said. How could the sacristans manageto distribute the holy vestments and the cloths? It puzzled him, andengaged his thoughts with absurd persistency. 

At length, to his surprise, he once more found himself outside. Again hewandered through the night, a night which seemed to him utterly void, darker and stiller than before. The town was lifeless, not a light wasgleaming. There only remained the growl of the Gave, which his accustomedears no longer heard. And suddenly, similar to a miraculous apparition, the Grotto blazed before him, illumining the darkness with itseverlasting brasier, which burnt with a flame of inextinguishable love. He had returned thither unconsciously, attracted no doubt by thoughts ofMarie. Three o'clock was about to strike, the benches before the Grottowere emptying, and only some twenty persons remained there, dark, indistinct forms, kneeling in slumberous ecstasy, wrapped in divinetorpor. It seemed as though the night in progressing had increased thegloom, and imparted a remote visionary aspect to the Grotto. All fadedaway amidst delicious lassitude, sleep reigned supreme over the dim, far-spreading country side; whilst the voice of the invisible watersseemed to be merely the breathing of this pure slumber, upon which theBlessed Virgin, all white with her aureola of tapers, was smiling. Andamong the few unconscious women was Madame Maze, still kneeling, withclasped hands and bowed head, but so indistinct that she seemed to havemelted away amidst her ardent prayer. 

Pierre, however, had immediately gone up to Marie. He was shivering, andfancied that she must be chilled by the early morning air. "I beseechyou, Marie, cover yourself up, " said he. "Do you want to suffer stillmore?" And thereupon he drew up the shawl which had slipped off her, andendeavoured to fasten it about her neck. "You are cold, Marie, " he added;"your hands are like ice. "

She did not answer, she was still in the same attitude as when he hadleft her a couple of hours previously. With her elbows resting on theedges of her box, she kept herself raised, her soul still lifted towardsthe Blessed Virgin and her face transfigured, beaming with a celestialjoy. Her lips moved, though no sound came from them. Perhaps she wasstill carrying on some mysterious conversation in the world ofenchantments, dreaming wide awake, as she had been doing ever since hehad placed her there. He spoke to her again, but still she answered not. At last, however, of her own accord, she murmured in a far-away voice:"Oh! I am so happy, Pierre! I have seen her; I prayed to her for you, andshe smiled at me, slightly nodding her head to let me know that she heardme and would grant my prayers. And though she did not speak to me, Pierre, I understood what she wished me to know. 'Tis to-day, at fouro'clock in the afternoon, when the Blessed Sacrament passes by, that Ishall be cured!"

He listened to her in deep agitation. Had she been sleeping with her eyeswide open? Was it in a dream that she had seen the marble figure of theBlessed Virgin bend its head and smile? A great tremor passed through himat the thought that this poor child had prayed for him. And he walked upto the railing, and dropped upon his knees, stammering: "O Marie! OMarie!" without knowing whether this heart-cry were intended for theVirgin or for the beloved friend of his childhood. And he remained there, utterly overwhelmed, waiting for grace to come to him. 

Endless minutes went by. This was indeed the superhuman effort, thewaiting for the miracle which he had come to seek for himself, the suddenrevelation, the thunderclap which was to sweep away his unbelief andrestore him, rejuvenated and triumphant, to the faith of thesimple-minded. He surrendered himself, he wished that some mighty powermight ravage his being and transform it. But, even as before whilstsaying his mass, he heard naught within him but an endless silence, feltnothing but a boundless vacuum. There was no divine intervention, hisdespairing heart almost seemed to cease beating. And although he stroveto pray, to fix his mind wholly upon that powerful Virgin, socompassionate to poor humanity, his thoughts none the less wandered, wonback by the outside world, and again turning to puerile trifles. Withinthe Grotto, on the other side of the railing, he had once more caughtsight of Baron Suire, still asleep, still continuing his pleasant napwith his hands clasped in front of him. Other things also attracted hisattention: the flowers deposited at the feet of the Virgin, the letterscast there as though into a heavenly letter-box, the delicate lace-likework of wax which remained erect around the flames of the larger tapers, looking like some rich silver ornamentation. Then, without any apparentreason, his thoughts flew away to the days of his childhood, and hisbrother Guillaume's face rose before him with extreme distinctness. Hehad not seen him since their mother's death. He merely knew that he led avery secluded life, occupying himself with scientific matters, in alittle house in which he had buried himself with a mistress and two bigdogs; and he would have known nothing more about him, but for havingrecently read his name in a newspaper in connection with somerevolutionary attempt. It was stated that he was passionately devotinghimself to the study of explosives, and in constant intercourse with theleaders of the most advanced parties. Why, however, should Guillaumeappear to him in this wise, in this ecstatic spot, amidst the mysticallight of the tapers, --appear to him, moreover, such as he had formerlyknown him, so good, affectionate, and brotherly, overflowing with charityfor every affliction! The thought haunted him for a moment, and filledhim with painful regret for that brotherliness now dead and gone. Then, with hardly a moment's pause, his mind reverted to himself, and herealised that he might stubbornly remain there for hours withoutregaining faith. Nevertheless, he felt a sort of tremor pass through him, a final hope, a feeling that if the Blessed Virgin should perform thegreat miracle of curing Marie, he would at last believe. It was like afinal delay which he allowed himself, an appointment with Faith for thatvery day, at four o'clock in the afternoon, when, according to what thegirl had told him, the Blessed Sacrament would pass by. And at thisthought his anguish at once ceased, he remained kneeling, worn out withfatigue and overcome by invincible drowsiness. 

The hours passed by, the resplendent illumination of the Grotto was stillprojected into the night, its reflection stretching to the neighbouringhillsides and whitening the walls of the convents there. However, Pierrenoticed it grow paler and paler, which surprised him, and he rousedhimself, feeling thoroughly chilled; it was the day breaking, beneath aleaden sky overcast with clouds. He perceived that one of those storms, so sudden in mountainous regions, was rapidly rising from the south. Thethunder could already be heard rumbling in the distance, whilst gusts ofwind swept along the roads. Perhaps he also had been sleeping, for he nolonger beheld Baron Suire, whose departure he did not remember havingwitnessed. There were scarcely ten persons left before the Grotto, thoughamong them he again recognised Madame Maze with her face hidden in herhands. However, when she noticed that it was daylight and that she couldbe seen, she rose up, and vanished at a turn of the narrow path leadingto the convent of the Blue Sisters. 

Feeling anxious, Pierre went up to Marie to tell her she must not remainthere any longer, unless she wished to get wet through. "I will take youback to the hospital, " said he. 

She refused and then entreated: "No, no! I am waiting for mass; Ipromised to communicate here. Don't trouble about me, return to the hotelat once, and go to bed, I implore you. You know very well that coveredvehicles are sent here for the sick whenever it rains. "

And she persisted in refusing to leave, whilst on his side he kept onrepeating that he did not wish to go to bed. A mass, it should bementioned, was said at the Grotto early every morning, and it was adivine joy for the pilgrims to be able to communicate, amidst the gloryof the rising sun, after a long night of ecstasy. And now, just as somelarge drops of rain were beginning to fall, there came the priest, wearing a chasuble and accompanied by two acolytes, one of whom, in orderto protect the chalice, held a large white silk umbrella, embroideredwith gold, over him. 

Pierre, after pushing Marie's little conveyance close to the railing, sothat the girl might be sheltered by the overhanging rock, under which thefew other worshippers had also sought refuge, had just seen her receivethe sacrament with ardent fervour, when his attention was attracted by apitiful spectacle which quite wrung his heart. 

Beneath a dense, heavy deluge of rain, he caught sight of Madame Vincent, still with that precious, woeful burden, her little Rose, whom withoutstretched arms she was offering to the Blessed Virgin. Unable to stayany longer at the shelter-house owing to the complaints caused by thechild's constant moaning, she had carried her off into the night, andduring two hours had roamed about in the darkness, lost, distracted, bearing this poor flesh of her flesh, which she pressed to her bosom, unable to give it any relief. She knew not what road she had taken, beneath what trees she had strayed, so absorbed had she been in herrevolt against the unjust sufferings which had so sorely stricken thispoor little being, so feeble and so pure, and as yet quite incapable ofsin. Was it not abominable that the grip of disease should for weeks havebeen incessantly torturing her child, whose cry she knew not how toquiet? She carried her about, rocking her in her arms as she went wildlyalong the paths, obstinately hoping that she would at last get her tosleep, and so hush that wail which was rending her heart. And suddenly, utterly worn-out, sharing each of her daughter's death pangs, she foundherself opposite the Grotto, at the feet of the miracle-working Virgin, she who forgave and who healed. 

"O Virgin, Mother most admirable, heal her! O Virgin, Mother of DivineGrace, heal her!"

She had fallen on her knees, and with quivering, outstretched arms wasstill offering her expiring daughter, in a paroxysm of hope and desirewhich seemed to raise her from the ground. And the rain, which she nevernoticed, beat down behind her with the fury of an escaped torrent, whilstviolent claps of thunder shook the mountains. For one moment she thoughther prayer was granted, for Rose had slightly shivered as though visitedby the archangel, her face becoming quite white, her eyes and mouthopening wide; and with one last little gasp she ceased to cry. 

"O Virgin, Mother of Our Redeemer, heal her! O Virgin, All-powerfulMother, heal her!"

But the poor woman felt her child become even lighter in her extendedarms. And now she became afraid at no longer hearing her moan, at seeingher so white, with staring eyes and open mouth, without a sign of life. How was it that she did not smile if she were cured? Suddenly a loudheart-rending cry rang out, the cry of the mother, surpassing even thedin of the thunder in the storm, whose violence was increasing. Her childwas dead. And she rose up erect, turned her back on that deaf Virgin wholet little children die, and started off like a madwoman beneath thelashing downpour, going straight before her without knowing whither, andstill and ever carrying and nursing that poor little body which she hadheld in her arms during so many days and nights. A thunderbolt fell, shivering one of the neighbouring trees, as though with the stroke of agiant axe, amidst a great crash of twisted and broken branches. 

Pierre had rushed after Madame Vincent, eager to guide and help her. Buthe was unable to follow her, for he at once lost sight of her behind theblurring curtain of rain. When he returned, the mass was drawing to anend, and, as soon as the rain fell less violently, the officiating priestwent off under the white silk umbrella embroidered with gold. Meantime akind of omnibus awaited the few patients to take them back to thehospital. 

Marie pressed Pierre's hands. "Oh! how happy I am!" she said. "Do notcome for me before three o'clock this afternoon. "

On being left amidst the rain, which had now become an obstinate finedrizzle, Pierre re-entered the Grotto and seated himself on the benchnear the spring. He would not go to bed, for in spite of his weariness hedreaded sleep in the state of nervous excitement in which he had beenplunged ever since the day before. Little Rose's death had increased hisfever; he could not banish from his mind the thought of that heart-brokenmother, wandering along the muddy paths with the dead body of her child. What could be the reasons which influenced the Virgin? He was amazed thatshe could make a choice. Divine Mother as she was, he wondered how herheart could decide upon healing only ten out of a hundred sufferers--thatten per cent. Of miracles which Doctor Bonamy had proved by statistics. He, Pierre, had already asked himself the day before which ones he wouldhave chosen had he possessed the power of saving ten. A terrible power inall truth, a formidable selection, which he would never have had thecourage to make. Why this one, and not that other? Where was the justice, where the compassion? To be all-powerful and heal every one of them, wasnot that the desire which rose from each heart? And the Virgin seemed tohim to be cruel, badly informed, as harsh and indifferent as evenimpassible nature, distributing life and death at random, or inaccordance with laws which mankind knew nothing of. 

The rain was at last leaving off, and Pierre had been there a couple ofhours when he felt that his feet were damp. He looked down, and wasgreatly surprised, for the spring was overflowing through the gratings. The soil of the Grotto was already covered; whilst outside a sheet ofwater was flowing under the benches, as far as the parapet against theGave. The late storms had swollen the waters in the neighbourhood. Pierrethereupon reflected that this spring, in spite of its miraculous origin, was subject to the laws that governed other springs, for it certainlycommunicated with some natural reservoirs, wherein the rain penetratedand accumulated. And then, to keep his ankles dry, he left the place. 

V. THE TWO VICTIMS

PIERRE walked along thirsting for fresh air, his head so heavy that hetook off his hat to relieve his burning brow. Despite all the fatigue ofthat terrible night of vigil, he did not think of sleeping. He was kepterect by that rebellion of his whole being which he could not quiet. Eight o'clock was striking, and he walked at random under the gloriousmorning sun, now shining forth in a spotless sky, which the storm seemedto have cleansed of all the Sunday dust. 

All at once, however, he raised his head, anxious to know where he was;and he was quite astonished, for he found that he had already covered adeal of ground, and was now below the station, near the municipalhospital. He was hesitating at a point where the road forked, not knowingwhich direction to take, when a friendly hand was laid on his shoulder, and a voice inquired: "Where are you going at this early hour?"

It was Doctor Chassaigne who addressed him, drawing up his lofty figure, clad in black from head to foot. "Have you lost yourself?" he added; "doyou want to know your way?"

"No, thanks, no, " replied Pierre, somewhat disturbed. "I spent the nightat the Grotto with that young patient to whom I am so much attached, andmy heart was so upset that I have been walking about in the hope it woulddo me good, before returning to the hotel to take a little sleep. "

The doctor continued looking at him, clearly detecting the frightfulstruggle which was raging within him, the despair which he felt at beingunable to sink asleep in faith, the suffering which the futility of allhis efforts brought him. "Ah, my poor child!" murmured M. Chassaigne; andin a fatherly way he added: "Well, since you are walking, suppose we takea walk together? I was just going down yonder, to the bank of the Gave. Come along, and on our way back you will see what a lovely view we shallhave. "

For his part, the doctor took a walk of a couple of hours' duration eachmorning, ever alone, seeking, as it were, to tire and exhaust his grief. First of all, as soon as he had risen, he repaired to the cemetery, andknelt on the tomb of his wife and daughter, which, at all seasons, hedecked with flowers. And afterwards he would roam along the roads, withtearful eyes, never returning home until fatigue compelled him. 

With a wave of the hand, Pierre accepted his proposal, and in perfectsilence they went, side by side, down the sloping road. They remained fora long time without speaking; the doctor seemed more overcome than washis wont that morning; it was as though his chat with his dear lost oneshad made his heart bleed yet more copiously. He walked along with hishead bowed; his face, round which his white hair streamed, was very pale, and tears still blurred his eyes. And yet it was so pleasant, so warm inthe sunlight on that lovely morning. The road now followed the Gave onits right bank, on the other side of the new town; and you could see thegardens, the inclined ways, and the Basilica. And, all at once, theGrotto appeared, with the everlasting flare of its tapers, now paling inthe broad light. 

Doctor Chassaigne, who had turned his head, made the sign of the cross, which Pierre did not at first understand. And when, in his turn, he hadperceived the Grotto, he glanced in surprise at his old friend, and oncemore relapsed into the astonishment which had come over him a couple ofdays previously on finding this man of science, this whilom atheist andmaterialist, so overwhelmed by grief that he was now a believer, longingfor the one delight of meeting his dear ones in another life. His hearthad swept his reason away; old and lonely as he was, it was only theillusion that he would live once more in Paradise, where loving soulsmeet again, that prolonged his life on earth. This thought increased theyoung priest's discomfort. Must he also wait until he had grown old andendured equal sufferings in order to find a refuge in faith?

Still walking beside the Gave, leaving the town farther and fartherbehind them, they were lulled as it were by the noise of those clearwaters rolling over the pebbles between banks shaded by trees. And theystill remained silent, walking on with an equal step, each, on his ownside, absorbed in his sorrows. 

"And Bernadette, " Pierre suddenly inquired; "did you know her?"

The doctor raised his head. "Bernadette? Yes, yes, " said he. "I saw heronce--afterwards. " He relapsed into silence for a moment, and then beganchatting: "In 1858, you know, at the time of the apparitions, I wasthirty years of age. I was in Paris, still young in my profession, andopposed to all supernatural notions, so that I had no idea of returningto my native mountains to see a girl suffering from hallucinations. Fiveor six years later, however, some time about 1864, I passed throughLourdes, and was inquisitive enough to pay Bernadette a visit. She wasthen still at the asylum with the Sisters of Nevers. "

Pierre remembered that one of the reasons of his journey had been hisdesire to complete his inquiry respecting Bernadette. And who could tellif grace might not come to him from that humble, lovable girl, on the daywhen he should be convinced that she had indeed fulfilled a mission ofdivine love and forgiveness? For this consummation to ensue it wouldperhaps suffice that he should know her better and learn to feel that shewas really the saint, the chosen one, as others believed her to havebeen. 

"Tell me about her, I pray you, " he said; "tell me all you know of her. "

A faint smile curved the doctor's lips. He understood, and would havegreatly liked to calm and comfort the young priest whose soul was sogrievously tortured by doubt. "Oh! willingly, my poor child!" heanswered. "I should be so happy to help you on the path to light. You dowell to love Bernadette--that may save you; for since all those old-timethings I have deeply reflected on her case, and I declare to you that Inever met a more charming creature, or one with a better heart. "

Then, to the slow rhythm of their footsteps along the well-kept, sunlitroad, in the delightful freshness of morning, the doctor began to relatehis visit to Bernadette in 1864. She had then just attained her twentiethbirthday, the apparitions had taken place six years previously, and shehad astonished him by her candid and sensible air, her perfect modesty. The Sisters of Nevers, who had taught her to read, kept her with them atthe asylum in order to shield her from public inquisitiveness. She foundan occupation there, helping them in sundry petty duties; but she wasvery often taken ill, and would spend weeks at a time in her bed. Thedoctor had been particularly struck by her beautiful eyes, pure, candid, and frank, like those of a child. The rest of her face, said he, hadbecome somewhat spoilt; her complexion was losing its clearness, herfeatures had grown less delicate, and her general appearance was that ofan ordinary servant-girl, short, puny, and unobtrusive. Her piety wasstill keen, but she had not seemed to him to be the ecstatical, excitablecreature that many might have supposed; indeed, she appeared to have arather positive mind which did not indulge in flights of fancy; and sheinvariably had some little piece of needlework, some knitting, someembroidery in her hand. In a word, she appeared to have entered thecommon path, and in nowise resembled the intensely passionate femaleworshippers of the Christ. She had no further visions, and never of herown accord spoke of the eighteen apparitions which had decided her life. To learn anything it was necessary to interrogate her, to address precisequestions to her. These she would briefly answer, and then seek to changethe conversation, as though she did not like to talk of such mysteriousthings. If wishing to probe the matter further, you asked her the natureof the three secrets which the Virgin had confided to her, she wouldremain silent, simply averting her eyes. And it was impossible to makeher contradict herself; the particulars she gave invariably agreed withher original narrative, and, indeed, she always seemed to repeat the samewords, with the same inflections of the voice. 

"I had her in hand during the whole of one afternoon, " continued DoctorChassaigne, "and there was not the variation of a syllable in her story. It was disconcerting. Still, I am prepared to swear that she was notlying, that she never lied, that she was altogether incapable offalsehood. "

Pierre boldly ventured to discuss this point. "But won't you admit, doctor, the possibility of some disorder of the will?" he asked. "Has itnot been proved, is it not admitted nowadays, that when certaindegenerate creatures with childish minds fall into an hallucination, afancy of some kind or other, they are often unable to free themselvesfrom it, especially when they remain in the same environment in which thephenomenon occurred? Cloistered, living alone with her fixed idea, Bernadette, naturally enough, obstinately clung to it. "

The doctor's faint smile returned to his lips, and vaguely waving hisarm, he replied: "Ah! my child, you ask me too much. You know very wellthat I am now only a poor old man, who prides himself but little on hisscience, and no longer claims to be able to explain anything. However, Ido of course know of that famous medical-school example of the young girlwho allowed herself to waste away with hunger at home, because sheimagined that she was suffering from a serious complaint of the digestiveorgans, but who nevertheless began to eat when she was taken elsewhere. However, that is but one circumstance, and there are so manycontradictory cases. "

For a moment they became silent, and only the rhythmical sound of theirsteps was heard along the road. Then the doctor resumed: "Moreover, it isquite true that Bernadette shunned the world, and was only happy in hersolitary corner. She was never known to have a single intimate femalefriend, any particular human love for anybody. She was kind and gentletowards all, but it was only for children that she showed any livelyaffection. And as, after all, the medical man is not quite dead withinme, I will confess to you that I have sometimes wondered if she remainedas pure in mind, as, most undoubtedly, she did remain in body. However, Ithink it quite possible, given her sluggish, poor-blooded temperament, not to speak of the innocent sphere in which she grew up, first Bartres, and then the convent. Still, a doubt came to me when I heard of thetender interest which she took in the orphan asylum built by the Sistersof Nevers, farther along this very road. Poor little girls are receivedinto it, and shielded from the perils of the highways. And if Bernadettewished it to be extremely large, so as to lodge all the little lambs indanger, was it not because she herself remembered having roamed the roadswith bare feet, and still trembled at the idea of what might have becomeof her but for the help of the Blessed Virgin?"

Then, resuming his narrative, he went on telling Pierre of the crowdsthat flocked to see Bernadette and pay her reverence in her asylum atLourdes. This had proved a source of considerable fatigue to her. Not aday went by without a stream of visitors appearing before her. They camefrom all parts of France, some even from abroad; and it soon provednecessary to refuse the applications of those who were actuated by mereinquisitiveness, and to grant admittance only to the genuine believers, the members of the clergy, and the people of mark on whom the doors couldnot well have been shut. A Sister was always present to protectBernadette against the excessive indiscretion of some of her visitors, for questions literally rained upon her, and she often grew faint throughhaving to repeat her story so many times. Ladies of high position fell ontheir knees, kissed her gown, and would have liked to carry a piece of itaway as a relic. She also had to defend her chaplet, which in theirexcitement they all begged her to sell to them for a fabulous amount. Oneday a certain marchioness endeavoured to secure it by giving her anotherone which she had brought with her--a chaplet with a golden cross andbeads of real pearls. Many hoped that she would consent to work a miraclein their presence; children were brought to her in order that she mightlay her hands upon them; she was also consulted in cases of illness, andattempts were made to purchase her influence with the Virgin. Large sumswere offered to her. At the slightest sign, the slightest expression of adesire to be a queen, decked with jewels and crowned with gold, she wouldhave been overwhelmed with regal presents. And while the humble remainedon their knees on her threshold, the great ones of the earth pressedround her, and would have counted it a glory to act as her escort. It waseven related that one among them, the handsomest and wealthiest ofprinces, came one clear sunny April day to ask her hand in marriage. 

"But what always struck and displeased me, " said Pierre, "was herdeparture from Lourdes when she was two-and-twenty, her suddendisappearance and sequestration in the convent of Saint Gildard atNevers, whence she never emerged. Didn't that give a semblance of truthto those spurious rumours of insanity which were circulated? Didn't ithelp people to suppose that she was being shut up, whisked away for fearof some indiscretion on her part, some naive remark or other which mighthave revealed the secret of a prolonged fraud? Indeed, to speak plainly, I will confess to you that for my own part I still believe that she wasspirited away. "

Doctor Chassaigne gently shook his head. "No, no, " said he, "there was nostory prepared in advance in this affair, no big melodrama secretlystaged and afterwards performed by more or less unconscious actors. Thedevelopments came of themselves, by the sole force of circumstances; andthey were always very intricate, very difficult to analyse. Moreover, itis certain that it was Bernadette herself who wished to leave Lourdes. Those incessant visits wearied her, she felt ill at ease amidst all thatnoisy worship. All that _she_ desired was a dim nook where she might livein peace, and so fierce was she at times in her disinterestedness, thatwhen money was handed to her, even with the pious intent of having a masssaid or a taper burnt, she would fling it upon the floor. She neveraccepted anything for herself or for her family, which remained inpoverty. And with such pride as she possessed, such natural simplicity, such a desire to remain in the background, one can very well understandthat she should have wished to disappear and cloister herself in somelonely spot so as to prepare herself to make a good death. Her work wasaccomplished; she had initiated this great movement scarcely knowing howor why; and she could really be of no further utility. Others were aboutto conduct matters to an issue and insure the triumph of the Grotto. "

"Let us admit, then, that she went off of her own accord, " said Pierre;"still, what a relief it must have been for the people you speak of, whothenceforth became the real masters, whilst millions of money wereraining down on Lourdes from the whole world. "

"Oh! certainly; I don't pretend that any attempt was made to detain herhere!" exclaimed the doctor. "Frankly, I even believe that she was insome degree urged into the course she took. She ended by becomingsomewhat of an incumbrance. It was not that any annoying revelations werefeared from her; but remember that with her extreme timidity and frequentillnesses she was scarcely ornamental. Besides, however small the roomwhich she took up at Lourdes, however obedient she showed herself, shewas none the less a power, and attracted the multitude, which made her, so to say, a competitor of the Grotto. For the Grotto to remain alone, resplendent in its glory, it was advisable that Bernadette shouldwithdraw into the background, become as it were a simple legend. Such, indeed, must have been the reasons which induced Monseigneur Laurence, the Bishop of Tarbes, to hasten her departure. The only mistake that wasmade was in saying that it was a question of screening her from theenterprises of the world, as though it were feared that she might fallinto the sin of pride, by growing vain of the saintly fame with which thewhole of Christendom re-echoed. And this was doing her a grave injury, for she was as incapable of pride as she was of falsehood. Never, indeed, was there a more candid or more modest child. "

The doctor was growing impassioned, excited. But all at once he becamecalm again, and a pale smile returned to his lips. "'Tis true, " said he, "I love her; the more I have thought of her, the more have I learned tolove her. But you must not think, Pierre, that I am completely brutifiedby belief. If I nowadays acknowledge the existence of an unseen power, ifI feel a need of believing in another, better, and more just life, Inevertheless know right well that there are men remaining in this worldof ours; and at times, even when they wear the cowl or the cassock, thework they do is vile. "

There came another interval of silence. Each was continuing his dreamapart from the other. Then the doctor resumed: "I will tell you of afancy which has often haunted me. Suppose we admit that Bernadette wasnot the shy, simple child we knew her to be; let us endow her with aspirit of intrigue and domination, transform her into a conqueress, aleader of nations, and try to picture what, in that case, would havehappened. It is evident that the Grotto would be hers, the Basilica also. We should see her lording it at all the ceremonies, under a dais, with agold mitre on her head. She would distribute the miracles; with asovereign gesture her little hand would lead the multitudes to heaven. All the lustre and glory would come from her, she being the saint, thechosen one, the only one that had been privileged to see the Divinityface to face. And indeed nothing would seem more just, for she wouldtriumph after toiling, enjoy the fruit of her labour in all glory. Butyou see, as it happens, she is defrauded, robbed. The marvellous harvestssown by her are reaped by others. During the twelve years which she livedat Saint Gildard, kneeling in the gloom, Lourdes was full of victors, priests in golden vestments chanting thanksgivings, and blessing churchesand monuments erected at a cost of millions. She alone did not behold thetriumph of the new faith, whose author she had been. You say that shedreamt it all. Well, at all events, what a beautiful dream it was, adream which has stirred the whole world, and from which she, dear girl, never awakened!"

They halted and sat down for a moment on a rock beside the road, beforereturning to the town. In front of them the Gave, deep at this point ofits course, was rolling blue waters tinged with dark moire-likereflections, whilst, farther on, rushing hurriedly over a bed of largestones, the stream became so much foam, a white froth, light like snow. Amidst the gold raining from the sun, a fresh breeze came down from themountains. 

Whilst listening to that story of how Bernadette had been exploited andsuppressed, Pierre had simply found in it all a fresh motive for revolt;and, with his eyes fixed on the ground, he began to think of theinjustice of nature, of that law which wills that the strong shoulddevour the weak. Then, all at once raising his head, he inquired: "Anddid you also know Abbe Peyramale?"

The doctor's eyes brightened once more, and he eagerly replied:"Certainly I did! He was an upright, energetic man, a saint, an apostle. He and Bernadette were the great makers of Our Lady of Lourdes. Like her, he endured frightful sufferings, and, like her, he died from them. Thosewho do not know his story can know nothing, understand nothing, of thedrama enacted here. "

Thereupon he related that story at length. Abbe Peyramale was the parishpriest of Lourdes at the time of the apparitions. A native of the region, tall, broad-shouldered, with a powerful leonine head, he was extremelyintelligent, very honest and goodhearted, though at times violent anddomineering. He seemed built for combat. An enemy of all piousexaggerations, discharging the duties of his ministry in a broad, liberalspirit, he regarded the apparitions with distrust when he first heard ofthem, refused to believe in Bernadette's stories, questioned her, anddemanded proofs. It was only at a later stage, when the blast of faithbecame irresistible, upsetting the most rebellious minds and masteringthe multitude, that he ended, in his turn, by bowing his head; and whenhe was finally conquered, it was more particularly by his love for thehumble and the oppressed which he could not restrain when he beheldBernadette threatened with imprisonment. The civil authorities werepersecuting one of his flock; at this his shepherd's heart awoke, and, inher defence, he gave full reign to his ardent passion for justice. Moreover, the charm which the child diffused had worked upon him; he felther to be so candid, so truthful, that he began to place a blind faith inher and love her even as everybody else loved her. Moreover, why shouldhe have curtly dismissed all questions of miracles, when miracles aboundin the pages of Holy Writ? It was not for a minister of religion, whatever his prudence, to set himself up as a sceptic when entirepopulations were falling on their knees and the Church seemed to be onthe eve of another great triumph. Then, too, he had the nature of one wholeads men, who stirs up crowds, who builds, and in this affair he hadreally found his vocation, the vast field in which he might exercise hisenergy, the great cause to which he might wholly devote himself with allhis passionate ardour and determination to succeed. 

From that moment, then, Abbe Peyramale had but one thought, to executethe orders which the Virgin had commissioned Bernadette to transmit tohim. He caused improvements to be carried out at the Grotto. A railingwas placed in front of it; pipes were laid for the conveyance of thewater from the source, and a variety of work was accomplished in order toclear the approaches. However, the Virgin had particularly requested thata chapel might be built; and he wished to have a church, quite atriumphal Basilica. He pictured everything on a grand scale, and, full ofconfidence in the enthusiastic help of Christendom, he worried thearchitects, requiring them to design real palaces worthy of the Queen ofHeaven. As a matter of fact, offerings already abounded, gold poured fromthe most distant dioceses, a rain of gold destined to increase and neverend. Then came his happy years: he was to be met among the workmen at allhours, instilling activity into them like the jovial, good-natured fellowhe was, constantly on the point of taking a pick or trowel in handhimself, such was his eagerness to behold the realisation of his dream. But days of trial were in store for him: he fell ill, and lay in dangerof death on the fourth of April, 1864, when the first procession startedfrom his parish church to the Grotto, a procession of sixty thousandpilgrims, which wound along the streets amidst an immense concourse ofspectators. 

On the day when Abbe Peyramale rose from his bed, saved, a first time, from death, he found himself despoiled. To second him in his heavy task, Monseigneur Laurence, the Bishop, had already given him as assistant aformer episcopal secretary, Father Sempe, whom he had appointed warden ofthe Missionaries of Geraison, a community founded by himself. FatherSempe was a sly, spare little man, to all appearance most disinterestedand humble, but in reality consumed by all the thirst of ambition. At theoutset he kept in his place, serving the parish priest of Lourdes like afaithful subordinate, attending to matters of all kinds in order tolighten the other's work, and acquiring information on every possiblesubject in his desire to render himself indispensable. He must soon haverealised what a rich farm the Grotto was destined to become, and what acolossal revenue might be derived from it, if only a little skill wereexercised. And thenceforth he no longer stirred from the episcopalresidence, but ended by acquiring great influence over the calm, practical Bishop, who was in great need of money for the charities of hisdiocese. And thus it was that during Abbe Peyramale's illness FatherSempe succeeded in effecting a separation between the parish of Lourdesand the domain of the Grotto, which last he was commissioned to manage atthe head of a few Fathers of the Immaculate Conception, over whom theBishop placed him as Father Superior. 

The struggle soon began, one of those covert, desperate, mortal struggleswhich are waged under the cloak of ecclesiastical discipline. There was apretext for rupture all ready, a field of battle on which the longerpurse would necessarily end by conquering. It was proposed to build a newparish church, larger and more worthy of Lourdes than the old one alreadyin existence, which was admitted to have become too small since thefaithful had been flocking into the town in larger and larger numbers. Moreover, it was an old idea of Abbe Peyramale, who desired to carry outthe Virgin's orders with all possible precision. Speaking of the Grotto, she had said that people would go "thither in procession"; and the Abbehad always seen the pilgrims start in procession from the town, whitherthey were expected to return in the same fashion, as indeed had been thepractice on the first occasions after the apparitions. A central point, arallying spot, was therefore required, and the Abbe's dream was to erecta magnificent church, a cathedral of gigantic proportions, which wouldaccommodate a vast multitude. Builder as he was by temperament, impassioned artisan working for the glory of Heaven, he already picturedthis cathedral springing from the soil, and rearing its clanging belfryin the sunlight. And it was also his own house that he wished to build, the edifice which would be his act of faith and adoration, the templewhere he would be the pontiff, and triumph in company with the sweetmemory of Bernadette, in full view of the spot of which both he and shehad been so cruelly dispossessed. Naturally enough, bitterly as he feltthat act of spoliation, the building of this new parish church was insome degree his revenge, his share of all the glory, besides being a taskwhich would enable him to utilise both his militant activity and thefever that had been consuming him ever since he had ceased going to theGrotto, by reason of his soreness of heart. 

At the outset of the new enterprise there was again a flash ofenthusiasm. At the prospect of seeing all the life and all the money flowinto the new city which was springing from the ground around theBasilica, the old town, which felt itself thrust upon one side, espousedthe cause of its priest. The municipal council voted a sum of one hundredthousand francs, which, unfortunately, was not to be paid until the newchurch should be roofed in. Abbe Peyramale had already accepted the plansof his architect--plans which, he had insisted, should be on a grandscale--and had also treated with a contractor of Chartres, who engaged tocomplete the church in three or four years if the promised supplies offunds should be regularly forthcoming. The Abbe believed that offeringswould assuredly continue raining down from all parts, and so he launchedinto this big enterprise without any anxiety, overflowing with a carelessbravery, and fully expecting that Heaven would not abandon him on theroad. He even fancied that he could rely upon the support of MonseigneurJourdan, who had now succeeded Monseigneur Laurence as Bishop of Tarbes, for this prelate, after blessing the foundation-stone of the new church, had delivered an address in which he admitted that the enterprise wasnecessary and meritorious. And it seemed, too, as though Father Sempe, with his customary humility, had bowed to the inevitable and acceptedthis vexatious competition, which would compel him to relinquish a shareof the plunder; for he now pretended to devote himself entirely to themanagement of the Grotto, and even allowed a collection-box forcontributions to the building of the new parish church to be placedinside the Basilica. 

Then, however, the secret, rageful struggle began afresh. Abbe Peyramale, who was a wretched manager, exulted on seeing his new church so rapidlytake shape. The work was being carried on at a fast pace, and he troubledabout nothing else, being still under the delusion that the BlessedVirgin would find whatever money might be needed. Thus he was quitestupefied when he at last perceived that the offerings were falling off, that the money of the faithful no longer reached him, as though, indeed, someone had secretly diverted its flow. And eventually the day came whenhe was unable to make the stipulated payments. In all this there had beenso much skilfully combined strangulation, of which he only became awarelater on. Father Sempe, however, had once more prevailed on the Bishop togrant his favour exclusively to the Grotto. There was even a talk of someconfidential circulars distributed through the various dioceses, so thatthe many sums of money offered by the faithful should no longer be sentto the parish. The voracious, insatiable Grotto was bent upon securingeverything, and to such a point were things carried that five hundredfranc notes slipped into the collection-box at the Basilica were keptback; the box was rifled and the parish robbed. Abbe Peyramale, however, in his passion for the rising church, his child, continued fighting mostdesperately, ready if need were to give his blood. He had at firsttreated with the contractor in the name of the vestry; then, when he wasat a loss how to pay, he treated in his own name. His life was bound upin the enterprise, he wore himself out in the heroic efforts which hemade. Of the four hundred thousand francs that he had promised, he hadonly been able to pay two hundred thousand; and the municipal councilstill obstinately refused to hand over the hundred thousand francs whichit had voted, until the new church should be covered in. This was actingagainst the town's real interests. However, it was said that Father Sempewas trying to bring influence to bear on the contractor. And, all atonce, the work was stopped. 

From that moment the death agony began. Wounded in the heart, the AbbePeyramale, the broad-shouldered mountaineer with the leonine face, staggered and fell like an oak struck down by a thunderbolt. He took tohis bed, and never left it alive. Strange stories circulated: it was saidthat Father Sempe had sought to secure admission to the parsonage undersome pious pretext, but in reality to see if his much-dreaded adversarywere really mortally stricken; and it was added, that it had beennecessary to drive him from the sick-room, where his presence was anoutrageous scandal. Then, when the unhappy priest, vanquished and steepedin bitterness, was dead, Father Sempe was seen triumphing at the funeral, from which the others had not dared to keep him away. It was affirmedthat he openly displayed his abominable delight, that his face wasradiant that day with the joy of victory. He was at last rid of the onlyman who had been an obstacle to his designs, whose legitimate authorityhe had feared. He would no longer be forced to share anything withanybody now that both the founders of Our Lady of Lourdes had beensuppressed--Bernadette placed in a convent, and Abbe Peyramale loweredinto the ground. The Grotto was now his own property, the alms would cometo him alone, and he could do what he pleased with the eight hundredthousand francs* or so which were at his disposal every year. He wouldcomplete the gigantic works destined to make the Basilica aself-supporting centre, and assist in embellishing the new town in orderto increase the isolation of the old one and seclude it behind its rock, like an insignificant parish submerged beneath the splendour of itsall-powerful neighbour. All the money, all the sovereignty, would be his;he henceforth would reign. 

 * About 145, 000 dollars. 

However, although the works had been stopped, and the new parish churchwas slumbering inside its wooden fence, it was none the less more thanhalf built. The vaulted aisles were already erected. And the imperfectpile remained there like a threat, for the town might some day attempt tofinish it. Like Abbe Peyramale, therefore, it must be killed for good, turned into an irreparable ruin. The secret labour therefore continued, awork of refined cruelty and slow destruction. To begin with, the newparish priest, a simple-minded creature, was cowed to such a point thathe no longer opened the envelopes containing remittances for the parish;all the registered letters were at once taken to the Fathers. Then thesite selected for the new parish church was criticised, and the diocesanarchitect was induced to draw up a report stating that the old church wasstill in good condition and of ample size for the requirements of thecommunity. Moreover, influence was brought to bear on the Bishop, andrepresentations were made to him respecting the annoying features of thepecuniary difficulties which had arisen with the contractor. With alittle imagination poor Peyramale was transformed into a violent, obstinate madman, through whose undisciplined zeal the Church had almostbeen compromised. And, at last, the Bishop, forgetting that he himselfhad blessed the foundation-stone, issued a pastoral letter laying theunfinished church under interdict, and prohibiting all religious servicesin it. This was the supreme blow. Endless lawsuits had already begun; thecontractor, who had only received two hundred thousand francs for thefive hundred thousand francs' worth of work which had been executed, hadtaken proceedings against Abbe Peyramale's heir-at-law, the vestry, andthe town, for the last still refused to pay over the amount which it hadvoted. At first the Prefect's Council declared itself incompetent to dealwith the case, and when it was sent back to it by the Council of State, it rendered a judgment by which the town was condemned to pay the hundredthousand francs and the heir-at-law to finish the church. At the sametime the vestry was put out of court. However, there was a fresh appealto the Council of State, which quashed this judgment, and condemned thevestry, and, in default, the heir-at-law, to pay the contractor. Neitherparty being solvent, matters remained in this position. The lawsuits hadlasted fifteen years. The town had now resignedly paid over the hundredthousand francs, and only two hundred thousand remained owing to thecontractor. However, the costs and the accumulated interest had soincreased the amount of indebtedness that it had risen to six hundredthousand francs; and as, on the other hand, it was estimated that fourhundred thousand francs would be required to finish the church, a millionwas needed to save this young ruin from certain destruction. The Fathersof the Grotto were thenceforth able to sleep in peace; they hadassassinated the poor church; it was as dead as Abbe Peyramale himself. 

The bells of the Basilica rang out triumphantly, and Father Sempe reignedas a victor at the conclusion of that great struggle, that dagger warfarein which not only a man but stones also had been done to death in theshrouding gloom of intriguing sacristies. And old Lourdes, obstinate andunintelligent, paid a hard penalty for its mistake in not giving moresupport to its minister, who had died struggling, killed by his love forhis parish, for now the new town did not cease to grow and prosper at theexpense of the old one. All the wealth flowed to the former: the Fathersof the Grotto coined money, financed hotels and candle shops, and soldthe water of the source, although a clause of their agreement with themunicipality expressly prohibited them from carrying on any commercialpursuits. 

The whole region began to rot and fester; the triumph of the Grotto hadbrought about such a passion for lucre, such a burning, feverish desireto possess and enjoy, that extraordinary perversion set in, growing worseand worse each day, and changing Bernadette's peaceful Bethlehem into aperfect Sodom or Gomorrah. Father Sempe had ensured the triumph of hisDivinity by spreading human abominations all around and wreckingthousands of souls. Gigantic buildings rose from the ground, five or sixmillions of francs had already been expended, everything being sacrificedto the stern determination to leave the poor parish out in the cold andkeep the entire plunder for self and friends. Those costly, colossalgradient ways had only been erected in order to avoid compliance with theVirgin's express desire that the faithful should come to the Grotto inprocession. For to go down from the Basilica by the incline on the left, and climb up to it again by the incline on the right, could certainly notbe called going to the Grotto in procession: it was simply so muchrevolving in a circle. However, the Fathers cared little about that; theyhad succeeded in compelling people to start from their premises andreturn to them, in order that they might be the sole proprietors of theaffair, the opulent farmers who garnered the whole harvest. AbbePeyramale lay buried in the crypt of his unfinished, ruined church, andBernadette, who had long since dragged out her life of suffering in thedepths of a convent far away, was now likewise sleeping the eternal sleepunder a flagstone in a chapel. 

Deep silence fell when Doctor Chassaigne had finished this longnarrative. Then, with a painful effort, he rose to his feet again: "Itwill soon be ten o'clock, my dear child, " said he, "and I want you totake a little rest. Let us go back. "

Pierre followed him without speaking; and they retraced their stepstoward the town at a more rapid pace. 

"Ah! yes, " resumed the doctor, "there were great iniquities and greatsufferings in it all. But what else could you expect? Man spoils andcorrupts the most beautiful things. And you cannot yet understand all thewoeful sadness of the things of which I have been talking to you. Youmust see them, lay your hand on them. Would you like me to show youBernadette's room and Abbe Peyramale's unfinished church this evening?"

"Yes, I should indeed, " replied Pierre. 

"Well, I will meet you in front of the Basilica after the four-o'clockprocession, and you can come with me. "

Then they spoke no further, each becoming absorbed in his reverie oncemore. 

The Gave, now upon their right hand, was flowing through a deep gorge, akind of cleft into which it plunged, vanishing from sight among thebushes. But at intervals a clear stretch of it, looking like unburnishedsilver, would appear to view; and, farther on, after a sudden turn in theroad, they found it flowing in increased volume across a plain, where itspread at times into glassy sheets which must often have changed theirbeds, for the gravelly soil was ravined on all sides. The sun was nowbecoming very hot, and was already high in the heavens, whose limpidazure assumed a deeper tinge above the vast circle of mountains. 

And it was at this turn of the road that Lourdes, still some distanceaway, reappeared to the eyes of Pierre and Doctor Chassaigne. In thesplendid morning atmosphere, amid a flying dust of gold and purple rays, the town shone whitely on the horizon, its houses and monuments becomingmore and more distinct at each step which brought them nearer. And thedoctor, still silent, at last waved his arm with a broad, mournfulgesture in order to call his companion's attention to this growing town, as though to a proof of all that he had been telling him. There, indeed, rising up in the dazzling daylight, was the evidence which confirmed hiswords. 

The flare of the Grotto, fainter now that the sun was shining, couldalready be espied amidst the greenery. And soon afterwards the giganticmonumental works spread out: the quay with its freestone parapet skirtingthe Gave, whose course had been diverted; the new bridge connecting thenew gardens with the recently opened boulevard; the colossal gradientways, the massive church of the Rosary, and, finally, the slim, taperingBasilica, rising above all else with graceful pride. Of the new townspread all around the monuments, the wealthy city which had sprung, asthough by enchantment, from the ancient impoverished soil, the greatconvents and the great hotels, you could, at this distance, merelydistinguish a swarming of white facades and a scintillation of newslates; whilst, in confusion, far away, beyond the rocky mass on whichthe crumbling castle walls were profiled against the sky, appeared thehumble roofs of the old town, a jumble of little time-worn roofs, pressing timorously against one another. And as a background to thisvision of the life of yesterday and to-day, the little and the big Gersrose up beneath the splendour of the everlasting sun, and barred thehorizon with their bare slopes, which the oblique rays were tingeing withstreaks of pink and yellow. 

Doctor Chassaigne insisted on accompanying Pierre to the Hotel of theApparitions, and only parted from him at its door, after reminding him oftheir appointment for the afternoon. It was not yet eleven o'clock. Pierre, whom fatigue had suddenly mastered, forced himself to eat beforegoing to bed, for he realised that want of food was one of the chiefcauses of the weakness which had come over him. He fortunately found avacant seat at the _table d'hote_, and made some kind of a _dejeuner_, half asleep all the time, and scarcely knowing what was served to him. Then he went up-stairs and flung himself on his bed, after taking care totell the servant to awake him at three o'clock. 

However, on lying down, the fever that consumed him at first preventedhim from closing his eyes. A pair of gloves, forgotten in the next room, had reminded him of M. De Guersaint, who had left for Gavarnie beforedaybreak, and would only return in the evening. What a delightful giftwas thoughtlessness, thought Pierre. For his own part, with his limbsworn out by weariness and his mind distracted, he was sad unto death. Everything seemed to conspire against his willing desire to regain thefaith of his childhood. The tale of Abbe Peyramale's tragic adventureshad simply aggravated the feeling of revolt which the story ofBernadette, chosen and martyred, had implanted in his breast. And thus heasked himself whether his search after the truth, instead of restoringhis faith, would not rather lead him to yet greater hatred of ignoranceand credulity, and to the bitter conviction that man is indeed all alonein the world, with naught to guide him save his reason. 

At last he fell asleep, but visions continued hovering around him in hispainful slumber. He beheld Lourdes, contaminated by Mammon, turned into aspot of abomination and perdition, transformed into a huge bazaar, whereeverything was sold, masses and souls alike! He beheld also AbbePeyramale, dead and slumbering under the ruins of his church, among thenettles which ingratitude had sown there. And he only grew calm again, only tasted the delights of forgetfulness when a last pale, woeful visionhad faded from his gaze--a vision of Bernadette upon her knees in agloomy corner at Nevers, dreaming of her far-away work, which she wasnever, never to behold. 

THE FOURTH DAY

I. THE BITTERNESS OP DEATH

AT the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours, that morning, Marie remainedseated on her bed, propped up by pillows. Having spent the whole night atthe Grotto, she had refused to let them take her back there. And, asMadame de Jonquiere approached her, to raise one of the pillows which wasslipping from its place, she asked: "What day is it, madame?"

"Monday, my dear child. "

"Ah! true. One so soon loses count of time. And, besides, I am so happy!It is to-day that the Blessed Virgin will cure me!"

She smiled divinely, with the air of a day-dreamer, her eyes gazing intovacancy, her thoughts so far away, so absorbed in her one fixed idea, that she beheld nothing save the certainty of her hope. Round about her, the Sainte-Honorine Ward was now quite deserted, all the patients, excepting Madame Vetu, who lay at the last extremity in the next bed, having already started for the Grotto. But Marie did not even notice herneighbour; she was delighted with the sudden stillness which had fallen. One of the windows overlooking the courtyard had been opened, and theglorious morning sunshine entered in one broad beam, whose golden dustwas dancing over her bed and streaming upon her pale hands. It was indeedpleasant to find this room, so dismal at nighttime with its many beds ofsickness, its unhealthy atmosphere, and its nightmare groans, thussuddenly filled with sunlight, purified by the morning air, and wrappedin such delicious silence! "Why don't you try to sleep a little?"maternally inquired Madame de Jonquiere. "You must be quite worn out byyour vigil. "

Marie, who felt so light and cheerful that she no longer experienced anypain, seemed surprised. 

"But I am not at all tired, and I don't feel a bit sleepy. Go to sleep?Oh! no, that would be too sad. I should no longer know that I was goingto be cured!"

At this the superintendent laughed. "Then why didn't you let them takeyou to the Grotto?" she asked. "You won't know what to do with yourselfall alone here. "

"I am not alone, madame, I am with her, " replied Marie; and thereupon, her vision returning to her, she clasped her hands in ecstasy. "Lastnight, you know, I saw her bend her head towards me and smile. I quiteunderstood her, I could hear her voice, although she never opened herlips. When the Blessed Sacrament passes at four o'clock I shall becured. "

Madame de Jonquiere tried to calm her, feeling rather anxious at thespecies of somnambulism in which she beheld her. However, the sick girlwent on: "No, no, I am no worse, I am waiting. Only, you must surely see, madame, that there is no need for me to go to the Grotto this morning, since the appointment which she gave me is for four o'clock. " And then thegirl added in a lower tone: "Pierre will come for me at half-past three. At four o'clock I shall be cured. "

The sunbeam slowly made its way up her bare arms, which were now almosttransparent, so wasted had they become through illness; whilst herglorious fair hair, which had fallen over her shoulders, seemed like thevery effulgence of the great luminary enveloping her. The trill of a birdcame in from the courtyard, and quite enlivened the tremulous silence ofthe ward. Some child who could not be seen must also have been playingclose by, for now and again a soft laugh could be heard ascending in thewarm air which was so delightfully calm. 

"Well, " said Madame de Jonquiere by way of conclusion, "don't sleep then, as you don't wish to. But keep quite quiet, and it will rest you all thesame. "

Meantime Madame Vetu was expiring in the adjoining bed. They had notdared to take her to the Grotto, for fear they should see her die on theway. For some little time she had lain there with her eyes closed; andSister Hyacinthe, who was watching, had beckoned to Madame Desagneaux inorder to acquaint her with the bad opinion she had formed of the case. Both of them were now leaning over the dying woman, observing her withincreasing anxiety. The mask upon her face had turned more yellow thanever, and now looked like a coating of mud; her eyes too had become moresunken, her lips seemed to have grown thinner, and the death rattle hadbegun, a slow, pestilential wheezing, polluted by the cancer which wasfinishing its destructive work. All at once she raised her eyelids, andwas seized with fear on beholding those two faces bent over her own. Could her death be near, that they should thus be gazing at her? Immensesadness showed itself in her eyes, a despairing regret of life. It wasnot a vehement revolt, for she no longer had the strength to struggle;but what a frightful fate it was to have left her shop, her surroundings, and her husband, merely to come and die so far away; to have braved theabominable torture of such a journey, to have prayed both day and night, and then, instead of having her prayer granted, to die when othersrecovered!

However, she could do no more than murmur "Oh! how I suffer; oh! how Isuffer. Do something, anything, to relieve this pain, I beseech you. "

Little Madame Desagneaux, with her pretty milk-white face showing amidsther mass of fair, frizzy hair, was quite upset. She was not used todeathbed scenes, she would have given half her heart, as she expressedit, to see that poor woman recover. And she rose up and began to questionSister Hyacinthe, who was also in tears but already resigned, knowing asshe did that salvation was assured when one died well. Could nothingreally be done, however? Could not something be tried to ease the dyingwoman? Abbe Judaine had come and administered the last sacrament to her acouple of hours earlier that very morning. She now only had Heaven tolook to; it was her only hope, for she had long since given up expectingaid from the skill of man. 

"No, no! we must do something, " exclaimed Madame Desagneaux. Andthereupon she went and fetched Madame de Jonquiere from beside Marie'sbed. "Look how this poor creature is suffering, madame!" she exclaimed. "Sister Hyacinthe says that she can only last a few hours longer. But wecannot leave her moaning like this. There are things which give relief. Why not call that young doctor who is here?"

"Of course we will, " replied the superintendent. "We will send for him atonce. "

They seldom thought of the doctor in the wards. It only occurred to theladies to send for him when a case was at its very worst, when one oftheir patients was howling with pain. Sister Hyacinthe, who herself feltsurprised at not having thought of Ferrand, whom she believed to be in anadjoining room, inquired if she should fetch him. 

"Certainly, " was the reply. "Bring him as quickly as possible. "

When the Sister had gone off, Madame de Jonquiere made Madame Desagneauxhelp her in slightly raising the dying woman's head, thinking that thismight relieve her. The two ladies happened to be alone there thatmorning, all the other lady-hospitallers having gone to their devotionsor their private affairs. However, from the end of the large desertedward, where, amidst the warm quiver of the sunlight such sweettranquillity prevailed, there still came at intervals the light laughterof the unseen child. 

"Can it be Sophie who is making such a noise?" suddenly asked thelady-superintendent, whose nerves were somewhat upset by all the worry ofthe death which she foresaw. Then quickly walking to the end of the ward, she found that it was indeed Sophie Couteau--the young girl somiraculously healed the previous year--who, seated on the floor behind abed, had been amusing herself, despite her fourteen years, in making adoll out of a few rags. She was now talking to it, so happy, so absorbedin her play, that she laughed quite heartily. "Hold yourself up, mademoiselle, " said she. "Dance the polka, that I may see how you can doit! One! two! dance, turn, kiss the one you like best!"

Madame de Jonquiere, however, was now coming up. "Little girl, " she said, "we have one of our patients here in great pain, and not expected torecover. You must not laugh so loud. "

"Ah! madame, I didn't know, " replied Sophie, rising up, and becomingquite serious, although still holding the doll in her hand. "Is she goingto die, madame?"

"I fear so, my poor child. "

Thereupon Sophie became quite silent. She followed the superintendent, and seated herself on an adjoining bed; whence, without the slightestsign of fear, but with her large eyes burning with curiosity, she beganto watch Madame Vetu's death agony. In her nervous state, MadameDesagneaux was growing impatient at the delay in the doctor's arrival;whilst Marie, still enraptured, and resplendent in the sunlight, seemedunconscious of what was taking place about her, wrapt as she was indelightful expectancy of the miracle. 

Not having found Ferrand in the small apartment near the linen-room whichhe usually occupied, Sister Hyacinthe was now searching for him all overthe building. During the past two days the young doctor had become morebewildered than ever in that extraordinary hospital, where his assistancewas only sought for the relief of death pangs. The small medicine-chestwhich he had brought with him proved quite useless; for there could be nothought of trying any course of treatment, as the sick were not there tobe doctored, but simply to be cured by the lightning stroke of a miracle. And so he mainly confined himself to administering a few opium pills, inorder to deaden the severer sufferings. He had been fairly amazed whenaccompanying Doctor Bonamy on a round through the wards. It had resolveditself into a mere stroll, the doctor, who had only come out ofcuriosity, taking no interest in the patients, whom he neither questionednor examined. He solely concerned himself with the pretended cases ofcure, stopping opposite those women whom he recognised from having seenthem at his office where the miracles were verified. One of them hadsuffered from three complaints, only one of which the Blessed Virgin hadso far deigned to cure; but great hopes were entertained respecting theother two. Sometimes, when a wretched woman, who the day before hadclaimed to be cured, was questioned with reference to her health, shewould reply that her pains had returned to her. However, this neverdisturbed the doctor's serenity; ever conciliatory, the good man declaredthat Heaven would surely complete what Heaven had begun. Whenever therewas an improvement in health, he would ask if it were not something to bethankful for. And, indeed, his constant saying was: "There's animprovement already; be patient!" What he most dreaded were theimportunities of the lady-superintendents, who all wished to detain himto show him sundry extraordinary cases. Each prided herself on having themost serious illnesses, the most frightful, exceptional cases in herward; so that she was eager to have them medically authenticated, inorder that she might share in the triumph should cure supervene. Onecaught the doctor by the arm and assured him that she felt confident shehad a leper in her charge; another entreated him to come and look at ayoung girl whose back, she said, was covered with fish's scales; whilst athird, whispering in his ear, gave him some terrible details about amarried lady of the best society. He hastened away, however, refusing tosee even one of them, or else simply promising to come back later on whenhe was not so busy. As he himself said, if he listened to all thoseladies, the day would pass in useless consultations. However, he at lastsuddenly stopped opposite one of the miraculously cured inmates, and, beckoning Ferrand to his side, exclaimed: "Ah! now here is an interestingcure!" and Ferrand, utterly bewildered, had to listen to him whilst hedescribed all the features of the illness, which had totally disappearedat the first immersion in the piscina. 

At last Sister Hyacinthe, still wandering about, encountered AbbeJudaine, who informed her that the young doctor had just been summoned tothe Family Ward. It was the fourth time he had gone thither to attend toBrother Isidore, whose sufferings were as acute as ever, and whom hecould only fill with opium. In his agony, the Brother merely asked to besoothed a little, in order that he might gather together sufficientstrength to return to the Grotto in the afternoon, as he had not beenable to do so in the morning. However, his pains increased, and at lasthe swooned away. 

When the Sister entered the ward she found the doctor seated at themissionary's bedside. "Monsieur Ferrand, " she said, "come up-stairs withme to the Sainte-Honorine Ward at once. We have a patient there at thepoint of death. "

He smiled at her; indeed, he never beheld her without feeling brighterand comforted. "I will come with you, Sister, " he replied. "But you'llwait a minute, won't you? I must try to restore this poor man. "

She waited patiently and made herself useful. The Family Ward, situatedon the ground-floor, was also full of sunshine and fresh air whichentered through three large windows opening on to a narrow strip ofgarden. In addition to Brother Isidore, only Monsieur Sabathier hadremained in bed that morning, with the view of obtaining a little rest;whilst Madame Sabathier, taking advantage of the opportunity, had gone topurchase a few medals and pictures, which she intended for presents. Comfortably seated on his bed, his back supported by some pillows, theex-professor was rolling the beads of a chaplet between his fingers. Hewas no longer praying, however, but merely continuing the operation in amechanical manner, his eyes, meantime, fixed upon his neighbour, whoseattack he was following with painful interest. 

"Ah! Sister, " said he to Sister Hyacinthe, who had drawn near, "that poorBrother fills me with admiration. Yesterday I doubted the Blessed Virginfor a moment, seeing that she did not deign to hear me, though I havebeen coming here for seven years past; but the example set me by thatpoor martyr, so resigned amidst his torments, has quite shamed me for mywant of faith. You can have no idea how grievously he suffers, and youshould see him at the Grotto, with his eyes glowing with divine hope! Itis really sublime! I only know of one picture at the Louvre--a picture bysome unknown Italian master--in which there is the head of a monkbeatified by a similar faith. "

The man of intellect, the ex-university-professor, reared on literatureand art, was reappearing in this poor old fellow, whose life had beenblasted, and who had desired to become a free patient, one of the poor ofthe earth, in order to move the pity of Heaven. He again began thinkingof his own case, and with tenacious hopefulness, which the futility ofseven journeys to Lourdes had failed to destroy, he added: "Well, I stillhave this afternoon, since we sha'n't leave till to-morrow. The water iscertainly very cold, but I shall let them dip me a last time; and all themorning I have been praying and asking pardon for my revolt of yesterday. When the Blessed Virgin chooses to cure one of her children, it onlytakes her a second to do so; is that not so, Sister? May her will bedone, and blessed be her name!"

Passing the beads of the chaplet more slowly between his fingers, heagain began saying his "Aves" and "Paters, " whilst his eyelids drooped onhis flabby face, to which a childish expression had been returning duringthe many years that he had been virtually cut off from the world. 

Meantime Ferrand had signalled to Brother Isidore's sister, Marthe, tocome to him. She had been standing at the foot of the bed with her armshanging down beside her, showing the tearless resignation of a poor, narrow-minded girl whilst she watched that dying man whom she worshipped. She was no more than a faithful dog; she had accompanied her brother andspent her scanty savings, without being of any use save to watch himsuffer. Accordingly, when the doctor told her to take the invalid in herarms and raise him up a little, she felt quite happy at being of someservice at last. Her heavy, freckled, mournful face actually grew bright. 

"Hold him, " said the doctor, "whilst I try to give him this. "

When she had raised him, Ferrand, with the aid of a small spoon, succeeded in introducing a few drops of liquid between his set teeth. Almost immediately the sick man opened his eyes and heaved a deep sigh. He was calmer already; the opium was taking effect and dulling the painwhich he felt burning his right side, as though a red-hot iron were beingapplied to it. However, he remained so weak that, when he wished tospeak, it became necessary to place one's ear close to his mouth in orderto catch what he said. With a slight sign he had begged Ferrand to bendover him. "You are the doctor, monsieur, are you not?" he faltered. "Giveme sufficient strength that I may go once more to the Grotto, thisafternoon. I am certain that, if I am able to go, the Blessed Virgin willcure me. "

"Why, of course you shall go, " replied the young man. "Don't you feelever so much better?"

"Oh! ever so much better--no! I know very well what my condition is, because I saw many of our Brothers die, out there in Senegal. When theliver is attacked and the abscess has worked its way outside, it meansthe end. Sweating, fever, and delirium follow. But the Blessed Virginwill touch the sore with her little finger and it will be healed. Oh! Iimplore you all, take me to the Grotto, even if I should be unconscious!"

Sister Hyacinthe had also approached, and leant over him. "Be easy, dearBrother, " said she. "You shall go to the Grotto after _dejeuner_, and wewill all pray for you. "

At length, in despair at these delays and extremely anxious about MadameVetu, she was able to get Ferrand away. Still, the Brother's state filledher with pity; and, as they ascended the stairs, she questioned thedoctor, asking him if there were really no more hope. The other made agesture expressive of absolute hopelessness. It was madness to come toLourdes when one was in such a condition. However, he hastened to add, with a smile: "I beg your pardon, Sister. You know that I am unfortunateenough not to be a believer. "

But she smiled in her turn, like an indulgent friend who tolerates theshortcomings of those she loves. "Oh! that doesn't matter, " she replied. "I know you; you're all the same a good fellow. Besides, we see so manypeople, we go amongst such pagans that it would be difficult to shockus. "

Up above, in the Sainte-Honorine Ward, they found Madame Vetu stillmoaning, a prey to most intolerable suffering. Madame de Jonquiere andMadame Desagneaux had remained beside the bed, their faces turning pale, their hearts distracted by that death-cry, which never ceased. And whenthey consulted Ferrand in a whisper, he merely replied, with a slightshrug of the shoulders, that she was a lost woman, that it was only aquestion of hours, perhaps merely of minutes. All he could do was tostupefy her also, in order to ease the atrocious death agony which heforesaw. She was watching him, still conscious, and also very obedient, never refusing the medicine offered her. Like the others, she now had butone ardent desire--to go back to the Grotto--and she gave expression toit in the stammering accents of a child who fears that its prayer may notbe granted: "To the Grotto--will you? To the Grotto!"

"You shall be taken there by-and-by, I promise you, " said SisterHyacinthe. "But you must be good. Try to sleep a little to gain somestrength. "

The sick woman appeared to sink into a doze, and Madame de Jonquiere thenthought that she might take Madame Desagneaux with her to the other endof the ward to count the linen, a troublesome business, in which theybecame quite bewildered, as some of the articles were missing. MeantimeSophie, seated on the bed opposite Madame Vetu, had not stirred. She hadlaid her doll on her lap, and was waiting for the lady's death, sincethey had told her that she was about to die. Sister Hyacinthe, moreover, had remained beside the dying woman, and, unwilling to waste her time, had taken a needle and cotton to mend some patient's bodice which had ahole in the sleeve. 

"You'll stay a little while with us, won't you?" she asked Ferrand. 

The latter, who was still watching Madame Vetu, replied: "Yes, yes. Shemay go off at any moment. I fear hemorrhage. " Then, catching sight ofMarie on the neighbouring bed, he added in a lower voice: "How is she?Has she experienced any relief?"

"No, not yet. Ah, dear child! we all pray for her very sincerely. She isso young, so sweet, and so sorely afflicted. Just look at her now! Isn'tshe pretty? One might think her a saint amid all this sunshine, with herlarge, ecstatic eyes, and her golden hair shining like an aureola!"

Ferrand watched Marie for a moment with interest. Her absent air, herindifference to all about her, the ardent faith, the internal joy whichso completely absorbed her, surprised him. "She will recover, " hemurmured, as though giving utterance to a prognostic. "She will recover. "

Then he rejoined Sister Hyacinthe, who had seated herself in theembrasure of the lofty window, which stood wide open, admitting the warmair of the courtyard. The sun was now creeping round, and only a narrowgolden ray fell upon her white coif and wimple. Ferrand stood opposite toher, leaning against the window bar and watching her while she sewed. "Doyou know, Sister, " said he, "this journey to Lourdes, which I undertookto oblige a friend, will be one of the few delights of my life. "

She did not understand him, but innocently asked: "Why so?"

"Because I have found you again, because I am here with you, assistingyou in your admirable work. And if you only knew how grateful I am toyou, what sincere affection and reverence I feel for you!"

She raised her head to look him straight in the face, and began jestingwithout the least constraint. She was really delicious, with her purelily-white complexion, her small laughing mouth, and adorable blue eyeswhich ever smiled. And you could realise that she had grown up in allinnocence and devotion, slender and supple, with all the appearance of agirl hardly in her teens. 

"What! You are so fond of me as all that!" she exclaimed. "Why?"

"Why I'm fond of you? Because you are the best, the most consoling, themost sisterly of beings. You are the sweetest memory in my life, thememory I evoke whenever I need to be encouraged and sustained. Do you nolonger remember the month we spent together, in my poor room, when I wasso ill and you so affectionately nursed me?"

"Of course, of course I remember it! Why, I never had so good a patientas you. You took all I offered you; and when I tucked you in, afterchanging your linen, you remained as still as a little child. "

So speaking, she continued looking at him, smiling ingenuously the while. He was very handsome and robust, in the very prime of youth, with arather pronounced nose, superb eyes, and red lips showing under his blackmoustache. But she seemed to be simply pleased at seeing him there beforeher moved almost to tears. 

"Ah! Sister, I should have died if it hadn't been for you, " he said. "Itwas through having you that I was cured. "

Then, as they gazed at one another, with tender gaiety of heart, thememory of that adorable month recurred to them. They no longer heardMadame Vetu's death moans, nor beheld the ward littered with beds, and, with all its disorder, resembling some infirmary improvised after apublic catastrophe. They once more found themselves in a small attic atthe top of a dingy house in old Paris, where air and light only reachedthem through a tiny window opening on to a sea of roofs. And how charmingit was to be alone there together--he who had been prostrated by fever, she who had appeared there like a good angel, who had quietly come fromher convent like a comrade who fears nothing! It was thus that she nursedwomen, children, and men, as chance ordained, feeling perfectly happy solong as she had something to do, some sufferer to relieve. She neverdisplayed any consciousness of her sex; and he, on his side, never seemedto have suspected that she might be a woman, except it were for theextreme softness of her hands, the caressing accents of her voice, thebeneficent gentleness of her manner; and yet all the tender love of amother, all the affection of a sister, radiated from her person. Duringthree weeks, as she had said, she had nursed him like a child, helpinghim in and out of bed, and rendering him every necessary attention, without the slightest embarrassment or repugnance, the holy purity bornof suffering and charity shielding them both the while. They were indeedfar removed from the frailties of life. And when he became convalescent, what a happy existence began, how joyously they laughed, like two oldfriends! She still watched over him, scolding him and gently slapping hisarms when he persisted in keeping them uncovered. He would watch herstanding at the basin, washing him a shirt in order to save him thetrifling expense of employing a laundress. No one ever came up there;they were quite alone, thousands of miles away from the world, delightedwith this solitude, in which their youth displayed such fraternal gaiety. 

"Do you remember, Sister, the morning when I was first able to walkabout?" asked Ferrand. "You helped me to get up, and supported me whilstI awkwardly stumbled about, no longer knowing how to use my legs. We didlaugh so. "

"Yes, yes, you were saved, and I was very pleased. "

"And the day when you brought me some cherries--I can see it all again:myself reclining on my pillows, and you seated at the edge of the bed, with the cherries lying between us in a large piece of white paper. Irefused to touch them unless you ate some with me. And then we took themin turn, one at a time, until the paper was emptied; and they were verynice. "

"Yes, yes, very nice. It was the same with the currant syrup: you wouldonly drink it when I took some also. "

Thereupon they laughed yet louder; these recollections quite delightedthem. But a painful sigh from Madame Vetu brought them back to thepresent. Ferrand leant over and cast a glance at the sick woman, who hadnot stirred. The ward was still full of a quivering peacefulness, whichwas only broken by the clear voice of Madame Desagneaux counting thelinen. Stifling with emotion, the young man resumed in a lower tone: "Ah!Sister, were I to live a hundred years, to know every joy, everypleasure, I should never love another woman as I love you!"

Then Sister Hyacinthe, without, however, showing any confusion, bowed herhead and resumed her sewing. An almost imperceptible blush tinged herlily-white skin with pink. 

"I also love you well, Monsieur Ferrand, " she said, "but you must notmake me vain. I only did for you what I do for so many others. It is mybusiness, you see. And there was really only one pleasant thing about itall, that the Almighty cured you. "

They were now again interrupted. La Grivotte and Elise Rouquet hadreturned from the Grotto before the others. La Grivotte at once squatteddown on her mattress on the floor, at the foot of Madame Vetu's bed, and, taking a piece of bread from her pocket, proceeded to devour it. Ferrand, since the day before, had felt some interest in this consumptive patient, who was traversing such a curious phase of agitation, a prey to aninordinate appetite and a feverish need of motion. For the moment, however, Elise Rouquet's case interested him still more; for it had nowbecome evident that the lupus, the sore which was eating away her face, was showing signs of cure. She had continued bathing her face at themiraculous fountain, and had just come from the Verification Office, where Doctor Bonamy had triumphed. Ferrand, quite surprised, went andexamined the sore, which, although still far from healed, was alreadypaler in colour and slightly desiccated, displaying all the symptoms ofgradual cure. And the case seemed to him so curious, that he resolved tomake some notes upon it for one of his old masters at the medicalcollege, who was studying the nervous origin of certain skin diseases dueto faulty nutrition. 

"Have you felt any pricking sensation?" he asked. 

"Not at all, monsieur, " she replied. "I bathe my face and tell my beadswith my whole soul, and that is all. "

La Grivotte, who was vain and jealous, and ever since the day before hadbeen going in triumph among the crowds, thereupon called to the doctor. "I say, monsieur, I am cured, cured, cured completely!"

He waved his hand to her in a friendly way, but refused to examine her. "I know, my girl. There is nothing more the matter with you. "

Just then Sister Hyacinthe called to him. She had put her sewing down onseeing Madame Vetu raise herself in a frightful fit of nausea. In spiteof her haste, however, she was too late with the basin; the sick womanhad brought up another discharge of black matter, similar to soot; but, this time, some blood was mixed with it, little specks of violet-colouredblood. It was the hemorrhage coming, the near end which Ferrand had beendreading. 

"Send for the superintendent, " he said in a low voice, seating himself atthe bedside. 

Sister Hyacinthe ran for Madame de Jonquiere. The linen having beencounted, she found her deep in conversation with her daughter Raymonde, at some distance from Madame Desagneaux, who was washing her hands. 

Raymonde had just escaped for a few minutes from the refectory, where shewas on duty. This was the roughest of her labours. The long narrow room, with its double row of greasy tables, its sickening smell of food andmisery, quite disgusted her. And taking advantage of the half-hour stillremaining before the return of the patients, she had hurried up-stairs, where, out of breath, with a rosy face and shining eyes, she had thrownher arms around her mother's neck. 

"Ah! mamma, " she cried, "what happiness! It's settled!"

Amazed, her head buzzing, busy with the superintendence of her ward, Madame de Jonquiere did not understand. "What's settled, my child?" sheasked. 

Then Raymonde lowered her voice, and, with a faint blush, replied: "Mymarriage!"

It was now the mother's turn to rejoice. Lively satisfaction appearedupon her face, the fat face of a ripe, handsome, and still agreeablewoman. She at once beheld in her mind's eye their little lodging in theRue Vaneau, where, since her husband's death, she had reared her daughterwith great difficulty upon the few thousand francs he had left her. Thismarriage, however, meant a return to life, to society, the good old timescome back once more. 

"Ah! my child, how happy you make me!" she exclaimed. 

But a feeling of uneasiness suddenly restrained her. God was her witnessthat for three years past she had been coming to Lourdes through puremotives of charity, for the one great joy of nursing His belovedinvalids. Perhaps, had she closely examined her conscience, she might, behind her devotion, have found some trace of her fondness for authority, which rendered her present managerial duties extremely pleasant to her. However, the hope of finding a husband for her daughter among thesuitable young men who swarmed at the Grotto was certainly her lastthought. It was a thought which came to her, of course, but merely assomething that was possible, though she never mentioned it. However, herhappiness, wrung an avowal from her:

"Ah! my child, your success doesn't surprise me. I prayed to the BlessedVirgin for it this morning. "

Then she wished to be quite sure, and asked for further information. Raymonde had not yet told her of her long walk leaning on Gerard's armthe day before, for she did not wish to speak of such things until shewas triumphant, certain of having at last secured a husband. And now itwas indeed settled, as she had exclaimed so gaily: that very morning shehad again seen the young man at the Grotto, and he had formally becomeengaged to her. M. Berthaud would undoubtedly ask for her hand on hiscousin's behalf before they took their departure from Lourdes. 

"Well, " declared Madame de Jonquiere, who was now convinced, smiling, anddelighted at heart, "I hope you will be happy, since you are so sensibleand do not need my aid to bring your affairs to a successful issue. Kissme. "

It was at this moment that Sister Hyacinthe arrived to announce MadameVetu's imminent death. Raymonde at once ran off. And Madame Desagneaux, who was wiping her hands, began to complain of the lady-assistants, whohad all disappeared precisely on the morning when they were most wanted. "For instance, " said she, "there's Madame Volmar. I should like to knowwhere she can have got to. She has not been seen, even for an hour, eversince our arrival. "

"Pray leave Madame Volmar alone!" replied Madame de Jonquiere with someasperity. "I have already told you that she is ill. "

They both hastened to Madame Vetu. Ferrand stood there waiting; andSister Hyacinthe having asked him if there were indeed nothing to bedone, he shook his head. The dying woman, relieved by her first emesis, now lay inert, with closed eyes. But, a second time, the frightful nauseareturned to her, and she brought up another discharge of black mattermingled with violet-coloured blood. Then she had another short intervalof calm, during which she noticed La Grivotte, who was greedily devouringher hunk of bread on the mattress on the floor. 

"She is cured, isn't she?" the poor woman asked, feeling that she herselfwas dying. 

La Grivotte heard her, and exclaimed triumphantly: "Oh, yes, madame, cured, cured, cured completely!"

For a moment Madame Vetu seemed overcome by a miserable feeling of grief, the revolt of one who will not succumb while others continue to live. Butalmost immediately she became resigned, and they heard her add veryfaintly, "It is the young ones who ought to remain. "

Then her eyes, which remained wide open, looked round, as though biddingfarewell to all those persons, whom she seemed surprised to see abouther. She attempted to smile as she encountered the eager gaze ofcuriosity which little Sophie Couteau still fixed upon her: the charmingchild had come to kiss her that very morning, in her bed. Elise Rouquet, who troubled herself about nobody, was meantime holding her hand-glass, absorbed in the contemplation of her face, which seemed to her to begrowing beautiful, now that the sore was healing. But what especiallycharmed the dying woman was the sight of Marie, so lovely in her ecstasy. She watched her for a long time, constantly attracted towards her, astowards a vision of light and joy. Perhaps she fancied that she alreadybeheld one of the saints of Paradise amid the glory of the sun. 

Suddenly, however, the fits of vomiting returned, and now she solelybrought up blood, vitiated blood, the colour of claret. The rush was sogreat that it bespattered the sheet, and ran all over the bed. In vaindid Madame de Jonquiere and Madame Desagneaux bring cloths; they wereboth very pale and scarce able to remain standing. Ferrand, knowing howpowerless he was, had withdrawn to the window, to the very spot where hehad so lately experienced such delicious emotion; and with an instinctivemovement, of which she was surely unconscious, Sister Hyacinthe hadlikewise returned to that happy window, as though to be near him. 

"Really, can you do nothing?" she inquired. 

"No, nothing! She will go off like that, in the same way as a lamp thathas burnt out. "

Madame Vetu, who was now utterly exhausted, with a thin red stream stillflowing from her mouth, looked fixedly at Madame de Jonquiere whilstfaintly moving her lips. The lady-superintendent thereupon bent over herand heard these slowly uttered words:

"About my husband, madame--the shop is in the Rue Mouffetard--oh! it'squite a tiny one, not far from the Gobelins. --He's a clockmaker, he is;he couldn't come with me, of course, having to attend to the business;and he will be very much put out when he finds I don't come back. --Yes, Icleaned the jewelry and did the errands--" Then her voice grew fainter, her words disjointed by the death rattle, which began. "Therefore, madame, I beg you will write to him, because I haven't done so, and nowhere's the end. --Tell him my body had better remain here at Lourdes, onaccount of the expense. --And he must marry again; it's necessary for onein trade--his cousin--tell him his cousin--"

The rest became a confused murmur. Her weakness was too great, her breathwas halting. Yet her eyes continued open and full of life, amid her pale, yellow, waxy mask. And those eyes seemed to fix themselves despairinglyon the past, on all that which soon would be no more: the littleclockmaker's shop hidden away in a populous neighbourhood; the gentlehumdrum existence, with a toiling husband who was ever bending over hiswatches; the great pleasures of Sunday, such as watching children flytheir kites upon the fortifications. And at last these staring eyes gazedvainly into the frightful night which was gathering. 

A last time did Madame de Jonquiere lean over her, seeing that her lipswere again moving. There came but a faint breath, a voice from far away, which distantly murmured in an accent of intense grief: "She did not cureme. "

And then Madame Vetu expired, very gently. 

As though this were all that she had been waiting for, little SophieCouteau jumped from the bed quite satisfied, and went off to play withher doll again at the far end of the ward. Neither La Grivotte, who wasfinishing her bread, nor Elise Rouquet, busy with her mirror, noticed thecatastrophe. However, amidst the cold breath which seemingly swept by, while Madame de Jonquiere and Madame Desagneaux--the latter of whom wasunaccustomed to the sight of death--were whispering together inagitation, Marie emerged from the expectant rapture in which thecontinuous, unspoken prayer of her whole being had plunged her so long. And when she understood what had happened, a feeling of sisterlycompassion--the compassion of a suffering companion, on her side certainof cure--brought tears to her eyes. 

"Ah! the poor woman!" she murmured; "to think that she has died so farfrom home, in such loneliness, at the hour when others are being bornanew!"

Ferrand, who, in spite of professional indifference, had also beenstirred by the scene, stepped forward to verify the death; and it was ona sign from him that Sister Hyacinthe turned up the sheet, and threw itover the dead woman's face, for there could be no question of removingthe corpse at that moment. The patients were now returning from theGrotto in bands, and the ward, hitherto so calm, so full of sunshine, wasagain filling with the tumult of wretchedness and pain--deep coughing andfeeble shuffling, mingled with a noisome smell--a pitiful display, infact, of well-nigh every human infirmity. 

II. THE SERVICE AT THE GROTTO

ON that day, Monday, the crowd at the Grotto, was enormous. It was thelast day that the national pilgrimage would spend at Lourdes, and FatherFourcade, in his morning address, had said that it would be necessary tomake a supreme effort of fervour and faith to obtain from Heaven all thatit might be willing to grant in the way of grace and prodigious cure. So, from two o'clock in the afternoon, twenty thousand pilgrims wereassembled there, feverish, and agitated by the most ardent hopes. Fromminute to minute the throng continued increasing, to such a point, indeed, that Baron Suire became alarmed, and came out of the Grotto tosay to Berthaud: "My friend, we shall be overwhelmed, that's certain. Double your squads, bring your men closer together. "

The Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation was alone entrusted with thetask of keeping order, for there were neither guardians nor policemen, ofany sort present; and it was for this reason that the President of theAssociation was so alarmed. However, Berthaud, under grave circumstances, was a leader whose words commanded attention, and who was endowed withenergy that could be relied on. 

"Be easy, " said he; "I will be answerable for everything. I shall notmove from here until the four-o'clock procession has passed by. "

Nevertheless, he signalled to Gerard to approach. 

"Give your men the strictest instructions, " he said to him. "Only thosepersons who have cards should be allowed to pass. And place your mennearer each other; tell them to hold the cord tight. "

Yonder, beneath the ivy which draped the rock, the Grotto opened, withthe eternal flaring of its candles. From a distance it looked rathersquat and misshapen, a very narrow and modest aperture for the breath ofthe Infinite which issued from it, turning all faces pale and bowingevery head. The statue of the Virgin had become a mere white spot, whichseemed to move amid the quiver of the atmosphere, heated by the smallyellow flames. To see everything it was necessary to raise oneself; forthe silver altar, the harmonium divested of its housing, the heap ofbouquets flung there, and the votive offerings streaking the smoky wallswere scarcely distinguishable from behind the railing. And the day waslovely; never yet had a purer sky expanded above the immense crowd; thesoftness of the breeze in particular seemed delicious after the storm ofthe night, which had brought down the over-oppressive heat of the twofirst days. 

Gerard had to fight his way with his elbows in order to repeat the ordersto his men. The crowd had already begun pushing. "Two more men here!" hecalled. "Come, four together, if necessary, and hold the rope well!"

The general impulse was instinctive and invincible; the twenty thousandpersons assembled there were drawn towards the Grotto by an irresistibleattraction, in which burning curiosity mingled with the thirst formystery. All eyes converged, every mouth, hand, and body was bornetowards the pale glitter of the candles and the white moving speck of themarble Virgin. And, in order that the large space reserved to the sick, in front of the railings, might not be invaded by the swelling mob, ithad been necessary to inclose it with a stout rope which the bearers atintervals of two or three yards grasped with both hands. Their orderswere to let nobody pass excepting the sick provided with hospital cardsand the few persons to whom special authorisations had been granted. Theylimited themselves, therefore, to raising the cords and then letting themfall behind the chosen ones, without heeding the supplications of theothers. In fact they even showed themselves somewhat rough, taking acertain pleasure in exercising the authority with which they wereinvested for a day. In truth, however, they were very much pushed about, and had to support each other and resist with all the strength of theirloins to avoid being swept away. 

While the benches before the Grotto and the vast reserved space werefilling with sick people, handcarts, and stretchers, the crowd, theimmense crowd, swayed about on the outskirts. Starting from the Place duRosaire, it extended to the bottom of the promenade along the Gave, wherethe pavement throughout its entire length was black with people, so densea human sea that all circulation was prevented. On the parapet was aninterminable line of women--most of them seated, but some few standing soas to see the better--and almost all carrying silk parasols, which, withholiday-like gaiety, shimmered in the sunlight. The managers had wishedto keep a path open in order that the sick might be brought along; but itwas ever being invaded and obstructed, so that the carts and stretchersremained on the road, submerged and lost until a bearer freed them. Nevertheless, the great tramping was that of a docile flock, an innocent, lamb-like crowd; and it was only the involuntary pushing, the blindrolling towards the light of the candles that had to be contendedagainst. No accident had ever happened there, notwithstanding theexcitement, which gradually increased and threw the people into theunruly delirium of faith. 

However, Baron Suire again forced his way through the throng. "Berthaud!Berthaud!" he called, "see that the _defile_ is conducted less rapidly. There are women and children stifling. "

This time Berthaud gave a sign of impatience. "Ah! hang it, I can't beeverywhere! Close the gate for a moment if it's necessary. "

It was a question of the march through the Grotto which went onthroughout the afternoon. The faithful were permitted to enter by thedoor on the left, and made their exit by that on the right. 

"Close the gate!" exclaimed the Baron. "But that would be worse; theywould all get crushed against it!"

As it happened Gerard was there, thoughtlessly talking for an instantwith Raymonde, who was standing on the other side of the cord, holding abowl of milk which she was about to carry to a paralysed old woman; andBerthaud ordered the young fellow to post two men at the entrance gate ofthe iron railing, with instructions only to allow the pilgrims to enterby tens. When Gerard had executed this order, and returned, he foundBerthaud laughing and joking with Raymonde. She went off on her errand, however, and the two men stood watching her while she made the paralysedwoman drink. 

"She is charming, and it's settled, eh?" said Berthaud. "You are going tomarry her, aren't you?"

"I shall ask her mother to-night. I rely upon you to accompany me. "

"Why, certainly. You know what I told you. Nothing could be moresensible. The uncle will find you a berth before six months are over. "

A push of the crowd separated them, and Berthaud went off to make surewhether the march through the Grotto was now being accomplished in amethodical manner, without any crushing. For hours the same unbroken tiderolled in--women, men, and children from all parts of the world, all whochose, all who passed that way. As a result, the crowd was singularlymixed: there were beggars in rags beside neat _bourgeois_, peasants ofeither sex, well dressed ladies, servants with bare hair, young girlswith bare feet, and others with pomatumed hair and foreheads bound withribbons. Admission was free; the mystery was open to all, to unbelieversas well as to the faithful, to those who were solely influenced bycuriosity as well as to those who entered with their hearts faint withlove. And it was a sight to see them, all almost equally affected by thetepid odour of the wax, half stifling in the heavy tabernacle air whichgathered beneath the rocky vault, and lowering their eyes for fear ofslipping on the gratings. Many stood there bewildered, not even bowing, examining the things around with the covert uneasiness of indifferentfolks astray amidst the redoubtable mysteries of a sanctuary. But thedevout crossed themselves, threw letters, deposited candles and bouquets, kissed the rock below the Virgin's statue, or else rubbed their chaplets, medals, and other small objects of piety against it, as the contactsufficed to bless them. And the _defile_ continued, continued without endduring days and months as it had done for years; and it seemed as if thewhole world, all the miseries and sufferings of humanity, came in turnand passed in the same hypnotic, contagious kind of round, through thatrocky nook, ever in search of happiness. 

When Berthaud had satisfied himself that everything was working well, hewalked about like a mere spectator, superintending his men. Only onematter remained to trouble him: the procession of the Blessed Sacrament, during which such frenzy burst forth that accidents were always to befeared. 

This last day seemed likely to be a very fervent one, for he already felta tremor of exalted faith rising among the crowd. The treatment neededfor miraculous care was drawing to an end; there had been the fever ofthe journey, the besetting influence of the same endlessly repeatedhymns, and the stubborn continuation of the same religious exercises; andever and ever the conversation had been turned on miracles, and the mindfixed on the divine illumination of the Grotto. Many, not having sleptfor three nights, had reached a state of hallucination, and walked aboutin a rageful dream. No repose was granted them, the continual prayerswere like whips lashing their souls. The appeals to the Blessed Virginnever ceased; priest followed priest in the pulpit, proclaiming theuniversal dolour and directing the despairing supplications of thethrong, during the whole time that the sick remained with hands claspedand eyes raised to heaven before the pale, smiling, marble statue. 

At that moment the white stone pulpit against the rock on the right ofthe Grotto was occupied by a priest from Toulouse, whom Berthaud knew, and to whom he listened for a moment with an air of approval. He was astout man with an unctuous diction, famous for his rhetorical successes. However, all eloquence here consisted in displaying the strength of one'slungs in a violent delivery of the phrase or cry which the whole crowdhad to repeat; for the addresses were nothing more than so muchvociferation interspersed with "Ayes" and "Paters. "

The priest, who had just finished the Rosary, strove to increase hisstature by stretching his short legs, whilst shouting the first appeal ofthe litanies which he improvised, and led in his own way, according tothe inspiration which possessed him. 

"Mary, we love thee!" he called. 

And thereupon the crowd repeated in a lower, confused, and broken tone:"Mary, we love thee!"

From that moment there was no stopping. The voice of the priest rang outat full swing, and the voices of the crowd responded in a dolorousmurmur:

"Mary, thou art our only hope!"

"Mary, thou art our only hope!"

"Pure Virgin, make us purer, among the pure!"

"Pure Virgin, make us purer, among the pure!"

"Powerful Virgin, save our sick!"

"Powerful Virgin, save our sick!"

Often, when the priest's imagination failed him, or he wished to thrust acry home with greater force, he would repeat it thrice; while the docilecrowd would do the same, quivering under the enervating effect of thepersistent lamentation, which increased the fever. 

The litanies continued, and Berthaud went back towards the Grotto. Thosewho defiled through it beheld an extraordinary sight when they turned andfaced the sick. The whole of the large space between the cords wasoccupied by the thousand or twelve hundred patients whom the nationalpilgrimage had brought with it; and beneath the vast, spotless sky onthat radiant day there was the most heart-rending jumble of sufferersthat one could behold. The three hospitals of Lourdes had emptied theirchambers of horror. To begin with, those who were still able to remainseated had been piled upon the benches. Many of them, however, werepropped up with cushions, whilst others kept shoulder to shoulder, thestrong ones supporting the weak. Then, in front of the benches, beforethe Grotto itself, were the more grievously afflicted sufferers lying atfull length; the flagstones disappearing from view beneath this woefulassemblage, which was like a large, stagnant pool of horror. There was anindescribable block of vehicles, stretchers, and mattresses. Some of theinvalids in little boxes not unlike coffins had raised themselves up andshowed above the others, but the majority lay almost on a level with theground. There were some lying fully dressed on the check-patterned ticksof mattresses; whilst others had been brought with their bedding, so thatonly their heads and pale hands were seen outside the sheets. Few ofthese pallets were clean. Some pillows of dazzling whiteness, which by alast feeling of coquetry had been trimmed with embroidery, alone shoneout among all the filthy wretchedness of all the rest--a fearfulcollection of rags, worn-out blankets, and linen splashed with stains. And all were pushed, squeezed, piled up by chance as they came, women, men, children, and priests, people in nightgowns beside people who werefully attired being jumbled together in the blinding light of day. 

And all forms of disease were there, the whole frightful processionwhich, twice a day, left the hospitals to wend its way through horrifiedLourdes. There were the heads eaten away by eczema, the foreheads crownedwith roseola, and the noses and mouths which elephantiasis hadtransformed into shapeless snouts. Next, the dropsical ones, swollen outlike leathern bottles; the rheumatic ones with twisted hands and swollenfeet, like bags stuffed full of rags; and a sufferer from hydrocephalus, whose huge and weighty skull fell backwards. Then the consumptive ones, with livid skins, trembling with fever, exhausted by dysentery, wasted toskeletons. Then the deformities, the contractions, the twisted trunks, the twisted arms, the necks all awry; all the poor broken, poundedcreatures, motionless in their tragic, marionette-like postures. Then thepoor rachitic girls displaying their waxen complexions and slender neckseaten into by sores; the yellow-faced, besotted-looking women in thepainful stupor which falls on unfortunate creatures devoured by cancer;and the others who turned pale, and dared not move, fearing as they didthe shock of the tumours whose weighty pain was stifling them. On thebenches sat bewildered deaf women, who heard nothing, but sang on all thesame, and blind ones with heads erect, who remained for hours turnedtoward the statue of the Virgin which they could not see. And there wasalso the woman stricken with imbecility, whose nose was eaten away, andwho laughed with a terrifying laugh, displaying the black, empty cavernof her mouth; and then the epileptic woman, whom a recent attack had leftas pale as death, with froth still at the corners of her lips. 

But sickness and suffering were no longer of consequence, since they wereall there, seated or stretched with their eyes upon the Grotto. The poor, fleshless, earthy-looking faces became transfigured, and began to glowwith hope. Anchylosed hands were joined, heavy eyelids found the strengthto rise, exhausted voices revived as the priest shouted the appeals. Atfirst there was nothing but indistinct stuttering, similar to slightpuffs of air rising, here and there above the multitude. Then the cryascended and spread through the crowd itself from one to the other end ofthe immense square. 

"Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us!" cried the priest in histhundering voice. 

And the sick and the pilgrims repeated louder and louder: "Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us!"

Then the flow of the litany set in, and continued with increasing speed:

"Most pure Mother, most chaste Mother, thy children are at thy feet!"

"Most pure Mother, most chaste Mother, thy children are at thy feet!"

"Queen of the Angels, say but a word, and our sick shall be healed!"

"Queen of the Angels, say but a word, and our sick shall be healed!"

In the second row of sufferers, near the pulpit, was M. Sabathier, whohad asked to be brought there early, wishing to choose his place like anold _habitue_ who knew the cosy corners. Moreover, it seemed to him thatit was of paramount importance that he should be as near as possible, under the very eyes of the Virgin, as though she required to see herfaithful in order not to forget them. However, for the seven years thathe had been coming there he had nursed this one hope of being some daynoticed by her, of touching her, and of obtaining his cure, if not byselection, at least by seniority. This merely needed patience on his partwithout the firmness of his faith being in the least shaken by his way ofthinking. Only, like a poor, resigned man just a little weary of beingalways put off, he sometimes allowed himself diversions. For instance, hehad obtained permission to keep his wife near him, seated on acamp-stool, and he liked to talk to her, and acquaint her with hisreflections. 

"Raise me a little, my dear, " said he. "I am slipping. I am veryuncomfortable. "

Attired in trousers and a coarse woollen jacket, he was sitting upon hismattress, with his back leaning against a tilted chair. 

"Are you better?" asked his wife, when she had raised him. 

"Yes, yes, " he answered; and then began to take an interest in BrotherIsidore, whom they had succeeded in bringing in spite of everything, andwho was lying upon a neighbouring mattress, with a sheet drawn up to hischin, and nothing protruding but his wasted hands, which lay clasped uponthe blanket. 

"Ah! the poor man, " said M. Sabathier. "It's very imprudent, but theBlessed Virgin is so powerful when she chooses!"

He took up his chaplet again, but once more broke off from his devotionson perceiving Madame Maze, who had just glided into the reservedspace--so slender and unobtrusive that she had doubtless slipped underthe ropes without being noticed. She had seated herself at the end of abench and, very quiet and motionless, did not occupy more room there thana child. And her long face, with its weary features, the face of a womanof two-and-thirty faded before her time, wore an expression of unlimitedsadness, infinite abandonment. 

"And so, " resumed M. Sabathier in a low voice, again addressing his wifeafter attracting her attention by a slight movement of the chin, "it'sfor the conversion of her husband that this lady prays. You came acrossher this morning in a shop, didn't you?"

"Yes, yes, " replied Madame Sabathier. "And, besides, I had some talkabout her with another lady who knows her. Her husband is acommercial-traveller. He leaves her for six months at a time, and goesabout with other people. Oh! he's a very gay fellow, it seems, very nice, and he doesn't let her want for money; only she adores him, she cannotaccustom herself to his neglect, and comes to pray the Blessed Virgin togive him back to her. At this moment, it appears, he is close by, atLuchon, with two ladies--two sisters. "

M. Sabathier signed to his wife to stop. He was now looking at theGrotto, again becoming a man of intellect, a professor whom questions ofart had formerly impassioned. "You see, my dear, " he said, "they havespoilt the Grotto by endeavouring to make it too beautiful. I am certainit looked much better in its original wildness. It has lost itscharacteristic features--and what a frightful shop they have stuck there, on the left!"

However, he now experienced sudden remorse for his thoughtlessness. Whilst he was chatting away, might not the Blessed Virgin be noticing oneof his neighbours, more fervent, more sedate than himself? Feelinganxious on the point, he reverted to his customary modesty and patience, and with dull, expressionless eyes again began waiting for the goodpleasure of Heaven. 

Moreover, the sound of a fresh voice helped to bring him back to thisannihilation, in which nothing was left of the cultured reasoner that hehad formerly been. It was another preacher who had just entered thepulpit, a Capuchin this time, whose guttural call, persistently repeated, sent a tremor through the crowd. 

"Holy Virgin of virgins, be blessed!"

"Holy Virgin of virgins, be blessed!"

"Holy Virgin of virgins, turn not thy face from thy children!"

"Holy Virgin of virgins, turn not thy face from thy children!"

"Holy Virgin of virgins, breathe upon our sores, and our sores shallheal!"

"Holy Virgin of virgins, breathe upon our sores, and our sores shallheal!"

At the end of the first bench, skirting the central path, which wasbecoming crowded, the Vigneron family had succeeded in finding room forthemselves. They were all there: little Gustave, seated in a sinkingposture, with his crutch between his legs; his mother, beside him, following the prayers like a punctilious _bourgeoise_; his aunt, MadameChaise, on the other side, so inconvenienced by the crowd that she wasstifling; and M. Vigneron, who remained silent and, for a moment, hadbeen examining Madame Chaise attentively. 

"What is the matter with you, my dear?" he inquired. "Do you feelunwell?"

She was breathing with difficulty. "Well, I don't know, " she answered;"but I can't feel my limbs, and my breath fails me. "

At that very moment the thought had occurred to him that all theagitation, fever, and scramble of a pilgrimage could not be very good forheart-disease. Of course he did not desire anybody's death, he had neverasked the Blessed Virgin for any such thing. If his prayer foradvancement had already been granted through the sudden death of hischief, it must certainly be because Heaven had already ordained thelatter's death. And, in the same way, if Madame Chaise should die first, leaving her fortune to Gustave, he would only have to bow before the willof God, which generally requires that the aged should go off before theyoung. Nevertheless, his hope unconsciously became so keen that he couldnot help exchanging a glance with his wife, to whom had come the sameinvoluntary thought. 

"Gustave, draw back, " he exclaimed; "you are inconveniencing your aunt. "And then, as Raymonde passed, he asked; "Do you happen to have a glass ofwater, mademoiselle? One of our relatives here is losing consciousness. "

But Madame Chaise refused the offer with a gesture. She was gettingbetter, recovering her breath with an effort. "No, I want nothing, thankyou, " she gasped. "There, I'm better--still, I really thought this timethat I should stifle!"

Her fright left her trembling, with haggard eyes in her pale face. Sheagain joined her hands, and begged the Blessed Virgin to save her fromother attacks and cure her; while the Vignerons, man and wife, honestfolk both of them, reverted to the covert prayer for happiness that theyhad come to offer up at Lourdes: a pleasant old age, deservedly gained bytwenty years of honesty, with a respectable fortune which in later yearsthey would go and enjoy in the country, cultivating flowers. On the otherhand, little Gustave, who had seen and noted everything with his brighteyes and intelligence sharpened by suffering, was not praying, butsmiling at space, with his vague enigmatical smile. What could be the useof his praying? He knew that the Blessed Virgin would not cure him, andthat he would die. 

However, M. Vigneron could not remain long without busying himself abouthis neighbours. Madame Dieulafay, who had come late, had been depositedin the crowded central pathway; and he marvelled at the luxury about theyoung woman, that sort of coffin quilted with white silk, in which shewas lying, attired in a pink dressing-gown trimmed with Valencienneslace. The husband in a frock-coat, and the sister in a black gown ofsimple but marvellous elegance, were standing by; while Abbe Judaine, kneeling near the sufferer, finished offering up a fervent prayer. 

When the priest had risen, M. Vigneron made him a little room on thebench beside him; and he then took the liberty of questioning him. "Well, Monsieur le Cure, does that poor young woman feel a little better?"

Abbe Judaine made a gesture of infinite sadness. 

"Alas! no. I was full of so much hope! It was I who persuaded the familyto come. Two years ago the Blessed Virgin showed me such extraordinarygrace by curing my poor lost eyes, that I hoped to obtain another favourfrom her. However, I will not despair. We still have until to-morrow. "

M. Vigneron again looked towards Madame Dieulafay and examined her face, still of a perfect oval and with admirable eyes; but it wasexpressionless, with ashen hue, similar to a mask of death, amidst thelace. "It's really very sad, " he murmured. 

"And if you had seen her last summer!" resumed the priest. "They havetheir country seat at Saligny, my parish, and I often dined with them. Icannot help feeling sad when I look at her elder sister, Madame Jousseur, that lady in black who stands there, for she bears a strong resemblanceto her; and the poor sufferer was even prettier, one of the beauties ofParis. And now compare them together--observe that brilliancy, thatsovereign grace, beside that poor, pitiful creature--it oppresses one'sheart--ah! what a frightful lesson!"

He became silent for an instant. Saintly man that he was naturally, altogether devoid of passions, with no keen intelligence to disturb himin his faith, he displayed a naive admiration for beauty, wealth, andpower, which he had never envied. Nevertheless, he ventured to express adoubt, a scruple, which troubled his usual serenity. "For my part, Ishould have liked her to come here with more simplicity, without allthat surrounding of luxury, because the Blessed Virgin prefers thehumble--But I understand very well that there are certain socialexigencies. And, then, her husband and sister love her so! Remember thathe has forsaken his business and she her pleasures in order to come herewith her; and so overcome are they at the idea of losing her that theireyes are never dry, they always have that bewildered look which you cannotice. So they must be excused for trying to procure her the comfort oflooking beautiful until the last hour. "

M. Vigneron nodded his head approvingly. Ah! it was certainly not thewealthy who had the most luck at the Grotto! Servants, country folk, poorbeggars, were cured, while ladies returned home with their ailmentsunrelieved, notwithstanding their gifts and the big candles they hadburnt. And, in spite of himself, Vigneron then looked at Madame Chaise, who, having recovered from her attack, was now reposing with acomfortable air. 

But a tremor passed through the crowd and Abbe Judaine spoke again: "Hereis Father Massias coming towards the pulpit. He is a saint; listen tohim. "

They knew him, and were aware that he could not make his appearancewithout every soul being stirred by sudden hope, for it was reported thatthe miracles were often brought to pass by his great fervour. His voice, full of tenderness and strength, was said to be appreciated by theVirgin. 

All heads were therefore uplifted and the emotion yet further increasedwhen Father Fourcade was seen coming to the foot of the pulpit, leaningon the shoulder of his well-beloved brother, the preferred of all; and hestayed there, so that he also might hear him. His gouty foot had beenpaining him more acutely since the morning, so that it required greatcourage on his part to remain thus standing and smiling. The increasingexaltation of the crowd made him happy, however; he foresaw prodigies anddazzling cures which would redound to the glory of Mary and Jesus. 

Having ascended the pulpit, Father Massias did not at once speak. Heseemed, very tall, thin, and pale, with an ascetic face, elongated themore by his discoloured beard. His eyes sparkled, and his large eloquentmouth protruded passionately. 

"Lord, save us, for we perish!" he suddenly cried; and in a fever, whichincreased minute by minute, the transported crowd repeated: "Lord, saveus, for we perish!"

Then he opened his arms and again launched forth his flaming cry, as ifhe had torn it from his glowing heart: "Lord, if it be Thy will, Thoucanst heal me!"

"Lord, if it be Thy will, Thou canst heal me!"

"Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under my roof, but onlysay the word, and I shall be healed!"

"Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under my roof, but onlysay the word, and I shall be healed!"

Marthe, Brother Isidore's sister, had now begun to talk in a whisper toMadame Sabathier, near whom she had at last seated herself. They hadformed an acquaintance at the hospital; and, drawn together by so muchsuffering, the servant had familiarly confided to the _bourgeoise_ howanxious she felt about her brother; for she could plainly see that he hadvery little breath left in him. The Blessed Virgin must be quick indeedif she desired to save him. It was already a miracle that they had beenable to bring him alive as far as the Grotto. 

In her resignation, poor, simple creature that she was, she did not weep;but her heart was so swollen that her infrequent words came faintly fromher lips. Then a flood of past memories suddenly returned to her; andwith her utterance thickened by prolonged silence, she began to relieveher heart: "We were fourteen at home, at Saint Jacut, near Vannes. He, big as he was, has always been delicate, and that was why he remainedwith our priest, who ended by placing him among the Christian Brothers. The elder ones took over the property, and, for my part, I preferredgoing out to service. Yes, it was a lady who took me with her to Paris, five years ago already. Ah! what a lot of trouble there is in life!Everyone has so much trouble!"

"You are quite right, my girl, " replied Madame Sabathier, looking thewhile at her husband, who was devoutly repeating each of Father Massias'sappeals. 

"And then, " continued Marthe, "there I learned last month that Isidore, who had returned from a hot climate where he had been on a mission, hadbrought a bad sickness back with him. And, when I ran to see him, he toldme he should die if he did not leave for Lourdes, but that he couldn'tmake the journey, because he had nobody to accompany him. Then, as I hadeighty francs saved up, I gave up my place, and we set out together. Yousee, madame, if I am so fond of him, it's because he used to bring megooseberries from the parsonage, whereas all the others beat me. "

She relapsed into silence for a moment, her countenance swollen by grief, and her poor eyes so scorched by watching that no tears could come fromthem. Then she began to stutter disjointed words: "Look at him, madame. It fills one with pity. Ah! my God, his poor cheeks, his poor chin, hispoor face--"

It was, in fact, a lamentable spectacle. Madame Sabathier's heart wasquite upset when she observed Brother Isidore so yellow, cadaverous, steeped in a cold sweat of agony. Above the sheet he still only showedhis clasped hands and his face encircled with long scanty hair; but ifthose wax-like hands seemed lifeless, if there was not a feature of thatlong-suffering face that stirred, its eyes were still alive, inextinguishable eyes of love, whose flame sufficed to illumine the wholeof his expiring visage--the visage of a Christ upon the cross. And neverhad the contrast been so clearly marked between his low forehead andunintelligent, loutish, peasant air, and the divine splendour which camefrom his poor human mask, ravaged and sanctified by suffering, sublime atthis last hour in the passionate radiance of his faith. His flesh hadmelted, as it were; he was no longer a breath, nothing but a look, alight. 

Since he had been set down there his eyes had not strayed from the statueof the Virgin. Nothing else existed around him. He did not see theenormous multitude, he did not even hear the wild cries of the priests, the incessant cries which shook this quivering crowd. His eyes aloneremained to him, his eyes burning with infinite tenderness, and they werefixed upon the Virgin, never more to turn from her. They drank her in, even unto death; they made a last effort of will to disappear, die out inher. For an instant, however, his mouth half opened and his drawn visagerelaxed as an expression of celestial beatitude came over it. Thennothing more stirred, his eyes remained wide open, still obstinatelyfixed upon the white statue. 

A few seconds elapsed. Marthe had felt a cold breath, chilling the rootsof her hair. "I say, madame, look!" she stammered. 

Madame Sabathier, who felt anxious, pretended that she did notunderstand. "What is it, my girl?"

"My brother! look! He no longer moves. He opened his mouth, and has notstirred since. " Then they both shuddered, feeling certain he was dead. Hehad, indeed, just passed away, without a rattle, without a breath, as iflife had escaped in his glance, through his large, loving eyes, ravenouswith passion. He had expired gazing upon the Virgin, and nothing couldhave been so sweet; and he still continued to gaze upon her with his deadeyes, as though with ineffable delight. 

"Try to close his eyes, " murmured Madame Sabathier. "We shall soon knowthen. "

Marthe had already risen, and, leaning forward, so as not to be observed, she endeavoured to close the eyes with a trembling finger. But each timethey reopened, and again looked at the Virgin with invincible obstinacy. He was dead, and Marthe had to leave his eyes wide open, steeped inunbounded ecstasy. 

"Ah! it's finished, it's quite finished, madame!" she stuttered. 

Two tears then burst from her heavy eyelids and ran down her cheeks;while Madame Sabathier caught hold of her hand to keep her quiet. Therehad been whisperings, and uneasiness was already spreading. But whatcourse could be adopted? It was impossible to carry off the corpse amidstsuch a mob, during the prayers, without incurring the risk of creating adisastrous effect. The best plan would be to leave it there, pending afavourable moment. The poor fellow scandalised no one, he did not seemany more dead now than he had seemed ten minutes previously, andeverybody would think that his flaming eyes were still alive, ardentlyappealing to the divine compassion of the Blessed Virgin. 

Only a few persons among those around knew the truth. M. Sabathier, quitescared, had made a questioning sign to his wife, and on being answered bya prolonged affirmative nod, he had returned to his prayers without anyrebellion, though he could not help turning pale at the thought of themysterious almighty power which sent death when life was asked for. TheVignerons, who were very much interested, leaned forward, and whisperedas though in presence of some street accident, one of those pettyincidents which in Paris the father sometimes related on returning homefrom the Ministry, and which sufficed to occupy them all, throughout theevening. Madame Jousseur, for her part, had simply turned round andwhispered a word or two in M. Dieulafay's ear, and then they had bothreverted to the heart-rending contemplation of their own dear invalid;whilst Abbe Judaine, informed by M. Vigneron, knelt down, and in a low, agitated voice recited the prayers for the dead. Was he not a Saint, thatmissionary who had returned from a deadly climate, with a mortal wound inhis side, to die there, beneath the smiling gaze of the Blessed Virgin?And Madame Maze, who also knew what had happened, suddenly felt a tastefor death, and resolved that she would implore Heaven to suppress heralso, in unobtrusive fashion, if it would not listen to her prayer andgive her back her husband. 

But the cry of Father Massias rose into a still higher key, burst forthwith a strength of terrible despair, with a rending like that of a sob:"Jesus, son of David, I am perishing, save me!"

And the crowd sobbed after him in unison "Jesus, son of David, I amperishing, save me!"

Then, in quick succession, and in higher and higher keys, the appealswent on proclaiming the intolerable misery of the world:

"Jesus, son of David, take pity on Thy sick children!"

"Jesus, son of David, take pity on Thy sick children!"

"Jesus, son of David, come, heal them, that they may live!"

"Jesus, son of David, come, heal them, that they may live!"

It was delirium. At the foot of the pulpit Father Fourcade, succumbing tothe extraordinary passion which overflowed from all hearts, had likewiseraised his arms, and was shouting the appeals in his thundering voice asthough to compel the intervention of Heaven. And the exaltation was stillincreasing beneath this blast of desire, whose powerful breath bowedevery head in turn, spreading even to the young women who, in a spirit ofmere curiosity, sat watching the scene from the parapet of the Gave; forthese also turned pale under their sunshades. 

Miserable humanity was clamouring from the depths of its abyss ofsuffering, and the clamour swept along, sending a shudder down everyspine, for one and all were plunged in agony, refusing to die, longing tocompel God to grant them eternal life. Ah! life, life! that was what allthose unfortunates, who had come so far, amid so many obstacles, wanted--that was the one boon they asked for in their wild desire to liveit over again, to live it always! O Lord, whatever our misery, whateverthe torment of our life may be, cure us, grant that we may begin to liveagain and suffer once more what we have suffered already. However unhappywe may be, to be is what we wish. It is not heaven that we ask Thee for, it is earth; and grant that we may leave it at the latest possiblemoment, never leave it, indeed, if such be Thy good pleasure. And evenwhen we no longer implore a physical cure, but a moral favour, it isstill happiness that we ask Thee for; happiness, the thirst for whichalone consumes us. O Lord, grant that we may be happy and healthy; let uslive, ay, let us live forever!

This wild cry, the cry of man's furious desire for life, came in brokenaccents, mingled with tears, from every breast. 

"O Lord, son of David, heal our sick!"

"O Lord, son of David, heal our sick!"

Berthaud had twice been obliged to dash forward to prevent the cords fromgiving way under the unconscious pressure of the crowd. Baron Suire, indespair, kept on making signs, begging someone to come to his assistance;for the Grotto was now invaded, and the march past had become the meretrampling of a flock rushing to its passion. In vain did Gerard againleave Raymonde and post himself at the entrance gate of the iron railing, so as to carry out the orders, which were to admit the pilgrims by tens. He was hustled and swept aside, while with feverish excitement everybodyrushed in, passing like a torrent between the flaring candles, throwingbouquets and letters to the Virgin, and kissing the rock, which thepressure of millions of inflamed lips had polished. It was faith runwild, the great power that nothing henceforth could stop. 

And now, whilst Gerard stood there, hemmed in against the iron railing, he heard two countrywomen, whom the advance was bearing onward, raiseloud exclamations at sight of the sufferers lying on the stretchersbefore them. One of them was so greatly impressed by the pallid face ofBrother Isidore, whose large dilated eyes were still fixed on the statueof the Virgin, that she crossed herself, and, overcome by devoutadmiration, murmured: "Oh! look at that one; see how he is praying withhis whole heart, and how he gazes on Our Lady of Lourdes!"

The other peasant woman thereupon replied "Oh! she will certainly curehim, he is so beautiful!"

Indeed, as the dead man lay there, his eyes still fixedly staring whilsthe continued his prayer of love and faith, his appearance touched everyheart. No one in that endless, streaming throng could behold him withoutfeeling edified. 

III. MARIE'S CURE

IT was good Abbe Judaine who was to carry the Blessed Sacrament in thefour-o'clock procession. Since the Blessed Virgin had cured him of adisease of the eyes, a miracle with which the Catholic press stillresounded, he had become one of the glories of Lourdes, was given thefirst place, and honoured with all sorts of attentions. 

At half-past three he rose, wishing to leave the Grotto, but theextraordinary concourse of people quite frightened him, and he feared hewould be late if he did not succeed in getting out of it. Fortunatelyhelp came to him in the person of Berthaud. "Monsieur le Cure, " exclaimedthe superintendent of the bearers, "don't attempt to pass out by way ofthe Rosary; you would never arrive in time. The best course is to ascendby the winding paths--and come! follow me; I will go before you. "

By means of his elbows, he thereupon parted the dense throng and opened apath for the priest, who overwhelmed him with thanks. "You are too kind. It's my fault; I had forgotten myself. But, good heavens! how shall wemanage to pass with the procession presently?"

This procession was Berthaud's remaining anxiety. Even on ordinary daysit provoked wild excitement, which forced him to take special measures;and what would now happen, as it wended its way through this densemultitude of thirty thousand persons, consumed by such a fever of faith, already on the verge of divine frenzy? Accordingly, in a sensible way, hetook advantage of this opportunity to give Abbe Judaine the best advice. 

"Ah! Monsieur le Cure, pray impress upon your colleagues of the clergythat they must not leave any space between their ranks; they should comeon slowly, one close behind the other. And, above all, the banners shouldbe firmly grasped, so that they may not be overthrown. As for yourself, Monsieur le Cure, see that the canopy-bearers are strong, tighten thecloth around the monstrance, and don't be afraid to carry it in bothhands with all your strength. "

A little frightened by this advice, the priest went on expressing histhanks. "Of course, of course; you are very good, " said he. "Ah!monsieur, how much I am indebted to you for having helped me to escapefrom all those people!"

Then, free at last, he hastened towards the Basilica by the narrowserpentine path which climbs the hill; while his companion again plungedinto the mob, to return to his post of inspection. 

At that same moment Pierre, who was bringing Marie to the Grotto in herlittle cart, encountered on the other side, that of the Place du Rosaire, the impenetrable wall formed by the crowd. The servant at the hotel hadawakened him at three o'clock, so that he might go and fetch the younggirl at the hospital. There seemed to be no hurry; they apparently hadplenty of time to reach the Grotto before the procession. However, thatimmense throng, that resisting, living wall, through which he did notknow how to break, began to cause him some uneasiness. He would neversucceed in passing with the little car if the people did not evince someobligingness. "Come, ladies, come!" he appealed. "I beg of you! You see, it's for a patient!"

The ladies, hypnotised as they were by the spectacle of the Grottosparkling in the distance, and standing on tiptoe so as to lose nothingof the sight, did not move, however. Besides, the clamour of the litanieswas so loud at this moment that they did not even hear the young priest'sentreaties. 

Then Pierre began again: "Pray stand on one side, gentlemen; allow me topass. A little room for a sick person. Come, please, listen to what I amsaying!"

But the men, beside themselves, in a blind, deaf rapture, would stir nomore than the women. 

Marie, however, smiled serenely, as if ignorant of the impediments, andconvinced that nothing in the world could prevent her from going to hercure. However, when Pierre had found an aperture, and begun to work hisway through the moving mass, the situation became more serious. From allparts the swelling human waves beat against the frail chariot, and attimes threatened to submerge it. At each step it became necessary tostop, wait, and again entreat the people. Pierre had never before feltsuch an anxious sensation in a crowd. True, it was not a threatening mob, it was as innocent as a flock of sheep; but he found a troubling thrillin its midst, a peculiar atmosphere that upset him. And, in spite of hisaffection for the humble, the ugliness of the features around him, thecommon, sweating faces, the evil breath, and the old clothes, smelling ofpoverty, made him suffer even to nausea. 

"Now, ladies, now, gentlemen, it's for a patient, " he repeated. "A littleroom, I beg of you!"

Buffeted about in this vast ocean, the little vehicle continued toadvance by fits and starts, taking long minutes to get over a few yardsof ground. At one moment you might have thought it swamped, for no signof it could be detected. Then, however, it reappeared near the piscinas. Tender sympathy had at length been awakened for this sick girl, so wastedby suffering, but still so beautiful. When people had been compelled togive way before the priest's stubborn pushing, they turned round, but didnot dare to get angry, for pity penetrated them at sight of that thin, suffering face, shining out amidst a halo of fair hair. Words ofcompassion and admiration were heard on all sides: "Ah, the poorchild!"--"Was it not cruel to be infirm at her age?"--"Might the BlessedVirgin be merciful to her!" Others, however, expressed surprise, struckas they were by the ecstasy in which they saw her, with her clear eyesopen to the spheres beyond, where she had placed her hope. She beheldHeaven, she would assuredly be cured. And thus the little car left, as itwere, a feeling of wonder and fraternal charity behind it, as it made itsway with so much difficulty through that human ocean. 

Pierre, however, was in despair and at the end of his strength, when someof the stretcher-bearers came to his aid by forming a path for thepassage of the procession--a path which Berthaud had ordered them to keepclear by means of cords, which they were to hold at intervals of a coupleof yards. From that moment the young priest was able to drag Marie alongin a fairly easy manner, and at last place her within the reserved space, where he halted, facing the Grotto on the left side. You could no longermove in this reserved space, where the crowd seemed to increase everyminute. And, quite exhausted by the painful journey he had justaccomplished, Pierre reflected what a prodigious concourse of peoplethere was; it had seemed to him as if he were in the midst of an ocean, whose waves he had heard heaving around him without a pause. 

Since leaving the hospital Marie had not opened her lips. He nowrealised, however, that she wished to speak to him, and accordingly bentover her. "And my father, " she inquired, "is he here? Hasn't he returnedfrom his excursion?"

Pierre had to answer that M. De Guersaint had not returned, and that hehad doubtless been delayed against his will. And thereupon she merelyadded with a smile: "Ah I poor father, won't he be pleased when he findsme cured!"

Pierre looked at her with tender admiration. He did not remember havingever seen her looking so adorable since the slow wasting of sickness hadbegun. Her hair, which alone disease had respected, clothed her in gold. Her thin, delicate face had assumed a dreamy expression, her eyeswandering away to the haunting thought of her sufferings, her featuresmotionless, as if she had fallen asleep in a fixed thought until theexpected shock of happiness should waken her. She was absent fromherself, ready, however, to return to consciousness whenever God mightwill it. And, indeed, this delicious infantile creature, this little girlof three-and-twenty, still a child as when an accident had struck her, delaying her growth, preventing her from becoming a woman, was at lastready to receive the visit of the angel, the miraculous shock which woulddraw her out of her torpor and set her upright once more. Her morningecstasy continued; she had clasped her hands, and a leap of her wholebeing had ravished her from earth as soon as she had perceived the imageof the Blessed Virgin yonder. And now she prayed and offered herselfdivinely. 

It was an hour of great mental trouble for Pierre. He felt that the dramaof his priestly life was about to be enacted, and that if he did notrecover faith in this crisis, it would never return to him. And he waswithout bad thoughts, without resistance, hoping with fervour, he also, that they might both be healed! Oh! that he might be convinced by hercure, that he might believe like her, that they might be saved together!He wished to pray, ardently, as she herself did. But in spite of himselfhe was preoccupied by the crowd, that limitless crowd, among which hefound it so difficult to drown himself, disappear, become nothing morethan a leaf in the forest, lost amidst the rustle of all the leaves. Hecould not prevent himself from analysing and judging it. He knew that forfour days past it had been undergoing all the training of suggestion;there had been the fever of the long journey, the excitement of the newlandscapes, the days spent before the splendour of the Grotto, thesleepless nights, and all the exasperating suffering, ravenous forillusion. Then, again, there had been the all-besetting prayers, thosehymns, those litanies, which agitated it without a pause. Another priesthad followed Father Massias in the pulpit, a little thin, dark Abbe, whomPierre heard hurling appeals to the Virgin and Jesus in a lashing voicewhich resounded like a whip. Father Massias and Father Fourcade hadremained at the foot of the pulpit, and were now directing the cries ofthe crowd, whose lamentations rose in louder and louder tones beneath thelimpid sunlight. The general exaltation had yet increased; it was thehour when the violence done to Heaven at last produced the miracles. 

All at once a paralytic rose up and walked towards the Grotto, holdinghis crutch in the air; and this crutch, waving like a flag above theswaying heads, wrung loud applause from the faithful. They were all onthe look-out for prodigies, they awaited them with the certainty thatthey would take place, innumerable and wonderful. Some eyes seemed tobehold them, and feverish voices pointed them out. Another woman had beencured! Another! Yet another! A deaf person had heard, a mute had spoken, a consumptive had revived! What, a consumptive? Certainly, that was adaily occurrence! Surprise was no longer possible; you might havecertified that an amputated leg was growing again without astonishinganyone. Miracle-working became the actual state of nature, the usualthing, quite commonplace, such was its abundance. The most incrediblestories seemed quite simple to those overheated imaginations, given whatthey expected from the Blessed Virgin. And you should have heard thetales that went about, the quiet affirmations, the expressions ofabsolute certainty which were exchanged whenever a delirious patientcried out that she was cured. Another! Yet another! However, a piteousvoice would at times exclaim: "Ah! she's cured; that one; she's lucky, she is!"

Already, at the Verification Office, Pierre had suffered from thiscredulity of the folk among whom he lived. But here it surpassedeverything he could have imagined; and he was exasperated by theextravagant things he heard people say in such a placid fashion, with theopen smiles of children. Accordingly he tried to absorb himself in histhoughts and listen to nothing. "O God!" he prayed, "grant that my reasonmay be annihilated, that I may no longer desire to understand, that I mayaccept the unreal and impossible. " For a moment he thought the spirit ofinquiry dead within him, and allowed the cry of supplication to carry himaway: "Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!" He repeated this appealwith all his charity, clasped his hands, and gazed fixedly at the statueof the Virgin, until he became quite giddy, and imagined that the figuremoved. Why should he not return to a state of childhood like the others, since happiness lay in ignorance and falsehood? Contagion would surelyend by acting; he would become nothing more than a grain of sand amonginnumerable other grains, one of the humblest among the humble ones underthe millstone, who trouble not about the power that crushes them. Butjust at that second, when he hoped that he had killed the old man in him, that he had annihilated himself along with his will and intelligence, thestubborn work of thought, incessant and invincible, began afresh in thedepths of his brain. Little by little, notwithstanding his efforts to thecontrary, he returned to his inquiries, doubted, and sought the truth. What was the unknown force thrown off by this crowd, the vital fluidpowerful enough to work the few cures that really occurred? There washere a phenomenon that no physiologist had yet studied. Ought one tobelieve that a multitude became a single being, as it were, able toincrease the power of auto-suggestion tenfold upon itself? Might oneadmit that, under certain circumstances of extreme exaltation, amultitude became an agent of sovereign will compelling the obedience ofmatter? That would have explained how sudden cure fell at times upon themost sincerely excited of the throng. The breaths of all of them unitedin one breath, and the power that acted was a power of consolation, hope, and life. 

This thought, the outcome of his human charity, filled Pierre withemotion. For another moment he was able to regain possession of himself, and prayed for the cure of all, deeply touched by the belief that hehimself might in some degree contribute towards the cure of Marie. Butall at once, without knowing what transition of ideas led to it, arecollection returned to him of the medical consultation which he hadinsisted upon prior to the young girl's departure for Lourdes. The scenerose before him with extraordinary clearness and precision; he saw theroom with its grey, blue-flowered wall-paper, and he heard the threedoctors discuss and decide. The two who had given certificatesdiagnosticating paralysis of the marrow spoke discreetly, slowly, likeesteemed, well-known, perfectly honourable practitioners; but Pierrestill heard the warm, vivacious voice of his cousin Beauclair, the thirddoctor, a young man of vast and daring intelligence, who was treatedcoldly by his colleagues as being of an adventurous turn of mind. And atthis supreme moment Pierre was surprised to find in his memory thingswhich he did not know were there; but it was only an instance of thatsingular phenomenon by which it sometimes happens that words scarcelistened to, words but imperfectly heard, words stored away in the brainalmost in spite of self, will awaken, burst forth, and impose themselveson the mind after they have long been forgotten. And thus it now seemedto him that the very approach of the miracle was bringing him a vision ofthe conditions under which--according to Beauclair's predictions--themiracle would be accomplished. 

In vain did Pierre endeavour to drive away this recollection by prayingwith an increase of fervour. The scene again appeared to him, and the oldwords rang out, filling his ears like a trumpet-blast. He was now againin the dining-room, where Beauclair and he had shut themselves up afterthe departure of the two others, and Beauclair recapitulated the historyof the malady: the fall from a horse at the age of fourteen; thedislocation and displacement of the organ, with doubtless a slightlaceration of the ligaments, whence the weight which the sufferer hadfelt, and the weakness of the legs leading to paralysis. Then, a slowhealing of the disorder, everything returning to its place of itself, butwithout the pain ceasing. In fact this big, nervous child, whose mind hadbeen so grievously impressed by her accident, was unable to forget it;her attention remained fixed on the part where she suffered, and shecould not divert it, so that, even after cure, her sufferings hadcontinued--a neuropathic state, a consecutive nervous exhaustion, doubtless aggravated by accidents due to faulty nutrition as yetimperfectly understood. And further, Beauclair easily explained thecontrary and erroneous diagnosis of the numerous doctors who had attendedher, and who, as she would not submit to examination, had groped in thedark, some believing in a tumour, and the others, the more numerous, convinced of some lesion of the marrow. He alone, after inquiring intothe girl's parentage, had just begun to suspect a simple state ofauto-suggestion, in which she had obstinately remained ever since thefirst violent shock of pain; and among the reasons which he gave for thisbelief were the contraction of her visual field, the fixity of her eyes, the absorbed, inattentive expression of her face, and above all thenature of the pain she felt, which, leaving the organ, had borne to theleft, where it continued in the form of a crushing, intolerable weight, which sometimes rose to the breast in frightful fits of stifling. Asudden determination to throw off the false notion she had formed of hercomplaint, the will to rise, breathe freely, and suffer no more, couldalone place her on her feet again, cured, transfigured, beneath the lashof some intense emotion. 

A last time did Pierre endeavour to see and hear no more, for he feltthat the irreparable ruin of all belief in the miraculous was in him. And, in spite of his efforts, in spite of the ardour with which he beganto cry, "Jesus, son of David, heal our sick!" he still saw, he stillheard Beauclair telling him, in his calm, smiling manner how the miraclewould take place, like a lightning flash, at the moment of extremeemotion, under the decisive circumstance which would complete theloosening of the muscles. The patient would rise and walk in a wildtransport of joy, her legs would all at once be light again, relieved ofthe weight which had so long made them like lead, as though this weighthad melted, fallen to the ground. But above all, the weight which boreupon the lower part of the trunk, which rose, ravaged the breast, andstrangled the throat, would this time depart in a prodigious soaringflight, a tempest blast bearing all the evil away with it. And was it notthus that, in the Middle Ages, possessed women had by the mouth cast upthe Devil, by whom their flesh had so long been tortured? And Beauclairhad added that Marie would at last become a woman, that in that moment ofsupreme joy she would cease to be a child, that although seemingly wornout by her prolonged dream of suffering, she would all at once berestored to resplendent health, with beaming face, and eyes full of life. 

Pierre looked at her, and his trouble increased still more on seeing herso wretched in her little cart, so distractedly imploring health, herwhole being soaring towards Our Lady of Lourdes, who gave life. Ah! mightshe be saved, at the cost even of his own damnation! But she was too ill;science lied like faith; he could not believe that this child, whoselimbs had been dead for so many years, would indeed return to life. And, in the bewildered doubt into which he again relapsed, his bleeding heartclamoured yet more loudly, ever and ever repeating with the deliriouscrowd: "Lord, son of David, heal our sick!--Lord, son of David, heal oursick!"

At that moment a tumult arose agitating one and all. People shuddered, faces were turned and raised. It was the cross of the four-o'clockprocession, a little behind time that day, appearing from beneath one ofthe arches of the monumental gradient way. There was such applause andsuch violent, instinctive pushing that Berthaud, waving his arms, commanded the bearers to thrust the crowd back by pulling strongly on thecords. Overpowered for a moment, the bearers had to throw themselvesbackward with sore hands; however, they ended by somewhat enlarging thereserved path, along which the procession was then able to slowly wendits way. At the head came a superb beadle, all blue and gold, followed bythe processional cross, a tall cross shining like a star. Then followedthe delegations of the different pilgrimages with their banners, standards of velvet and satin, embroidered with metal and bright silk, adorned with painted figures, and bearing the names of towns: Versailles, Rheims, Orleans, Poitiers, and Toulouse. One, which was quite white, magnificently rich, displayed in red letters the inscription "Associationof Catholic Working Men's Clubs. " Then came the clergy, two or threehundred priests in simple cassocks, about a hundred in surplices, andsome fifty clothed in golden chasubles, effulgent like stars. They allcarried lighted candles, and sang the "Laudate Sion Salvatorem" in fullvoices. And then the canopy appeared in royal pomp, a canopy of purplesilk, braided with gold, and upheld by four ecclesiastics, who, it couldbe seen, had been selected from among the most robust. Beneath it, between two other priests who assisted him, was Abbe Judaine, vigorouslyclasping the Blessed Sacrament with both hands, as Berthaud hadrecommended him to do; and the somewhat uneasy glances that he cast onthe encroaching crowd right and left showed how anxious he was that noinjury should befall the heavy divine monstrance, whose weight wasalready straining his wrists. When the slanting sun fell upon him infront, the monstrance itself looked like another sun. Choir-boys meantimewere swinging censers in the blinding glow which gave splendour to theentire procession; and, finally, in the rear, there was a confused massof pilgrims, a flock-like tramping of believers and sightseers allaflame, hurrying along, and blocking the track with their ever-rollingwaves. 

Father Massias had returned to the pulpit a moment previously; and thistime he had devised another pious exercise. After the burning cries offaith, hope, and love that he threw forth, he all at once commandedabsolute silence, in order that one and all might, with closed lips, speak to God in secret for a few minutes. These sudden spells of silencefalling upon the vast crowd, these minutes of mute prayer, in which allsouls unbosomed their secrets, were deeply, wonderfully impressive. Theirsolemnity became formidable; you heard desire, the immense desire forlife, winging its flight on high. Then Father Massias invited the sickalone to speak, to implore God to grant them what they asked of Hisalmighty power. And, in response, came a pitiful lamentation, hundreds oftremulous, broken voices rising amidst a concert of sobs. "Lord Jesus, ifit please Thee, Thou canst cure me!"--"Lord Jesus take pity on Thy child, who is dying of love!"--"Lord Jesus, grant that I may see, grant that Imay hear, grant that I may walk!" And, all at once, the shrill voice of alittle girl, light and vivacious as the notes of a flute, rose above theuniversal sob, repeating in the distance: "Save the others, save theothers, Lord Jesus!" Tears streamed from every eye; these supplicationsupset all hearts, threw the hardest into the frenzy of charity, into asublime disorder which would have impelled them to open their breastswith both hands, if by doing so they could have given their neighbourstheir health and youth. And then Father Massias, not letting thisenthusiasm abate, resumed his cries, and again lashed the delirious crowdwith them; while Father Fourcade himself sobbed on one of the steps ofthe pulpit, raising his streaming face to heaven as though to command Godto descend on earth. 

But the procession had arrived; the delegations, the priests, had rangedthemselves on the right and left; and, when the canopy entered the spacereserved to the sick in front of the Grotto, when the sufferers perceivedJesus the Host, the Blessed Sacrament, shining like a sun, in the handsof Abbe Judaine, it became impossible to direct the prayers, all voicesmingled together, and all will was borne away by vertigo. The cries, calls, entreaties broke, lapsing into groans. Human forms rose frompallets of suffering; trembling arms were stretched forth; clenched handsseemingly desired to clutch at the miracle on the way. "Lord Jesus, saveus, for we perish!"--"Lord Jesus, we worship Thee; heal us!"--"LordJesus, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God; heal us!" Thricedid the despairing, exasperated voices give vent to the supremelamentation in a clamour which rushed up to Heaven; and the tearsredoubled, flooding all the burning faces which desire transformed. Atone moment, the delirium became so great, the instinctive leap toward theBlessed Sacrament seemed so irresistible, that Berthaud placed thebearers who were there in a chain about it. This was the extremeprotective manoeuvre, a hedge of bearers drawn up on either side of thecanopy, each placing an arm firmly round his neighbour's neck, so as toestablish a sort of living wall. Not the smallest aperture was left init; nothing whatever could pass. Still, these human barriers staggeredunder the pressure of the unfortunate creatures who hungered for life, who wished to touch, to kiss Jesus; and, oscillating and recoiling, thebearers were at last thrust against the canopy they were defending, andthe canopy itself began swaying among the crowd, ever in danger of beingswept away like some holy bark in peril of being wrecked. 

Then, at the very climax of this holy frenzy, the miracles began amidstsupplications and sobs, as when the heavens open during a storm, and athunderbolt falls on earth. A paralytic woman rose and cast aside hercrutches. There was a piercing yell, and another woman appeared erect onher mattress, wrapped in a white blanket as in a winding sheet; andpeople said it was a half-dead consumptive who had thus beenresuscitated. Then grace fell upon two others in quick succession: ablind woman suddenly perceived the Grotto in a flame; a dumb woman fellon both her knees, thanking the Blessed Virgin in a loud, clear voice. And all in a like way prostrated themselves at the feet of Our Lady ofLourdes, distracted with joy and gratitude. 

But Pierre had not taken his eyes off Marie, and he was overcome withtender emotion at what he saw. The sufferer's eyes were stillexpressionless, but they had dilated, while her poor, pale face, with itsheavy mask, was contracted as if she were suffering frightfully. She didnot speak in her despair; she undoubtedly thought that she was again inthe clutches of her ailment. But all at once, when the Blessed Sacramentpassed by, and she saw the star-like monstrance sparkling in the sun, asensation of dizziness came over her. She imagined herself struck bylightning. Her eyes caught fire from the glare which flashed upon her, and at last regained their flame of life, shining out like stars. Andunder the influence of a wave of blood her face became animated, suffusedwith colour, beaming with a smile of joy and health. And, suddenly, Pierre saw her rise, stand upright in her little car, staggering, stuttering, and finding in her mind only these caressing words: "Oh, myfriend! Oh, my friend!"

He hurriedly drew near in order to support her. But she drove him backwith a gesture. She was regaining strength, looking so touching, sobeautiful, in the little black woollen gown and slippers which she alwayswore; tall and slender, too, and crowned as with a halo of gold by herbeautiful flaxen hair, which was covered with a simple piece of lace. Thewhole of her virgin form was quivering as if some powerful fermentationhad regenerated her. First of all, it was her legs that were relieved ofthe chains that bound them; and then, while she felt the spirit oflife--the life of woman, wife, and mother--within her, there came a finalagony, an enormous weight that rose to her very throat. Only, this time, it did not linger there, did not stifle her, but burst from her openmouth, and flew away in a cry of sublime joy. 

"I am cured!--I am cured!"

Then there was an extraordinary sight. The blanket lay at her feet, shewas triumphant, she had a superb, glowing face. And her cry of cure hadresounded with such rapturous delight that the entire crowd wasdistracted by it. She had become the sole point of interest, the otherssaw none but her, erect, grown so radiant and so divine. 

"I am cured!--I am cured!"

Pierre, at the violent shock his heart had received, had begun to weep. Indeed, tears glistened again in every eye. Amidst exclamations ofgratitude and praise, frantic enthusiasm passed from one to another, throwing the thousands of pilgrims who pressed forward to see into astate of violent emotion. Applause broke out, a fury of applause, whosethunder rolled from one to the other end of the valley. 

However, Father Fourcade began waving his arms, and Father Massias was atlast able to make himself heard from the pulpit: "God has visited us, mydear brothers, my dear sisters!" said he. "_Magnificat anima meaDominum_, My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced inGod my Saviour. "

And then all the voices, the thousands of voices, began the chant ofadoration and gratitude. The procession found itself at a stand-still. Abbe Judaine had been able to reach the Grotto with the monstrance, buthe patiently remained there before giving the Benediction. The canopy wasawaiting him outside the railings, surrounded by priests in surplices andchasubles, all a glitter of white and gold in the rays of the settingsun. 

Marie, however, had knelt down, sobbing; and, whilst the canticle lasted, a burning prayer of faith and love ascended from her whole being. But thecrowd wanted to see her walk, delighted women called to her, a groupsurrounded her, and swept her towards the Verification Office, so thatthe miracle might be proved true, as patent as the very light of the sun. Her box was forgotten, Pierre followed her, while she, stammering andhesitating, she who for seven years had not used her legs, advanced withadorable awkwardness, the uneasy, charming gait of a little child makingits first steps; and it was so affecting, so delicious, that the youngpriest thought of nothing but the immense happiness of seeing her thusreturn to her childhood. Ah! the dear friend of infancy, the deartenderness of long ago, so she would at last be the beautiful andcharming woman that she had promised to be as a young girl when, in thelittle garden at Neuilly, she had looked so gay and pretty beneath thetall trees flecked with sunlight!

The crowd continued to applaud her furiously, a huge wave of peopleaccompanied her; and all remained awaiting her egress, swarming in afever before the door, when she had entered the office, whither Pierreonly was admitted with her. 

That particular afternoon there were few people at the VerificationOffice. The small square room, with its hot wooden walls and rudimentaryfurniture, its rush-bottomed chairs, and its two tables of unequalheight, contained, apart from the usual staff only some five or sixdoctors, seated and silent. At the tables were the inspector of thepiscinas and two young Abbes making entries in the registers, andconsulting the sets of documents; while Father Dargeles, at one end, wrote a paragraph for his newspaper. And, as it happened, Doctor Bonamywas just then examining Elise Rouquet, who, for the third time, had cometo have the increasing cicatrisation of her sore certified. 

"Anyhow, gentlemen, " exclaimed the doctor, "have you ever seen a lupusheal in this way so rapidly? I am aware that a new work has appeared onfaith healing in which it is stated that certain sores may have a nervousorigin. Only that is by no means proved in the case of lupus, and I defya committee of doctors to assemble and explain mademoiselle's cure byordinary means. "

He paused, and turning towards Father Dargeles, inquired: "Have younoted, Father, that the suppuration has completely disappeared, and thatthe skin is resuming its natural colour?"

However, he did not wait for the reply, for just then Marie entered, followed by Pierre; and by her beaming radiance he immediately guessedwhat good-fortune was befalling him. She looked superb, admirably fittedto transport and convert the multitude. He therefore promptly dismissedElise Rouquet, inquired the new arrival's name, and asked one of theyoung priests to look for her papers. Then, as she slightly staggered, hewished to seat her in the arm-chair. 

"Oh no! oh no!" she exclaimed. "I am so happy to be able to use my legs!"

Pierre, with a glance, had sought for Doctor Chassaigne, whom he wassorry not to see there. He remained on one side, waiting while theyrummaged in the untidy drawers without being able to place their hands onthe required papers. "Let's see, " repeated Dr. Bonamy; "Marie deGuersaint, Marie de Guersaint. I have certainly seen that name before. "

At last Raboin discovered the documents classified under a wrong letter;and when the doctor had perused the two medical certificates he becamequite enthusiastic. "Here is something very interesting, gentlemen, " saidhe. "I beg you to listen attentively. This young lady, whom you seestanding here, was afflicted with a very serious lesion of the marrow. And, if one had the least doubt of it, these two certificates wouldsuffice to convince the most incredulous, for they are signed by twodoctors of the Paris faculty, whose names are well known to us all. "

Then he passed the certificates to the doctors present, who read them, wagging their heads the while. It was beyond dispute; the medical men whohad drawn up these documents enjoyed the reputation of being honest andclever practitioners. 

"Well, gentlemen, if the diagnosis is not disputed--and it cannot be whena patient brings us documents of this value--we will now see what changehas taken place in the young lady's condition. "

However, before questioning her he turned towards Pierre. "Monsieurl'Abbe, " said he, "you came from Paris with Mademoiselle de Guersaint, Ithink. Did you converse with the doctors before your departure?"

The priest shuddered amidst all his great delight. 

"I was present at the consultation, monsieur, " he replied. 

And again the scene rose up before him. He once more saw the two doctors, so serious and rational, and he once more saw Beauclair smiling, whilehis colleagues drew up their certificates, which were identical. And washe, Pierre, to reduce these certificates to nothing, reveal the otherdiagnosis, the one that allowed of the cure being explainedscientifically? The miracle had been predicted, shattered beforehand. 

"You will observe, gentlemen, " now resumed Dr. Bonamy, "that the presenceof the Abbe gives these proofs additional weight. However, mademoisellewill now tell us exactly what she felt. "

He had leant over Father Dargeles's shoulder to impress upon him that hemust not forget to make Pierre play the part of a witness in thenarrative. 

"_Mon Dieu_! gentlemen, how can I tell you?" exclaimed Marie in a haltingvoice, broken by her surging happiness. "Since yesterday I had feltcertain that I should be cured. And yet, a little while ago, when thepins and needles seized me in the legs again, I was afraid it might onlybe another attack. For an instant I doubted. Then the feeling stopped. But it began again as soon as I recommenced praying. Oh! I prayed, Iprayed with all my soul! I ended by surrendering myself like a child. 'Blessed Virgin, Our Lady of Lourdes, do with me as thou wilt, ' I said. But the feeling did not cease, it seemed as if my blood were boiling; avoice cried to me: 'Rise! Rise!' And I felt the miracle fall on me in acracking of all my bones, of all my flesh, as if I had been struck bylightning. "

Pierre, very pale, listened to her. Beauclair had positively told himthat the cure would come like a lightning flash, that under the influenceof extreme excitement a sudden awakening of will so long somnolent wouldtake place within her. 

"It was my legs which the Holy Virgin first of all delivered, " shecontinued. "I could well feel that the iron bands which bound them weregliding along my skin like broken chains. Then the weight which stillsuffocated me, there, in the left side, began to ascend; and I thought Iwas going to die, it hurt me so. But it passed my chest, it passed mythroat, and I felt it there in my mouth, and spat it out violently. Itwas all over, I no longer had any pain, it had flown away!"

She had made a gesture expressive of the motion of a night bird beatingits wings, and, lapsing into silence, stood smiling at Pierre, who wasbewildered. Beauclair had told him all that beforehand, using almost thesame words and the same imagery. Point by point, his prognostics wererealised, there was nothing more in the case than natural phenomena, which had been foreseen. 

Raboin, however, had followed Marie's narrative with dilated eyes and thepassion of a pietist of limited intelligence, ever haunted by the idea ofhell. "It was the devil, " he cried; "it was the devil that she spat out!"

Doctor Bonamy, who was more wary, made him hold his tongue. And turningtowards the doctors he said: "Gentlemen, you know that we always avoidpronouncing the big word of miracle here. Only here is a fact, and I amcurious to know how any of you can explain it by natural means. Sevenyears ago this young lady was struck with serious paralysis, evidentlydue to a lesion of the marrow. And that cannot be denied; thecertificates are there, irrefutable. She could no longer walk, she couldno longer make a movement without a cry of pain, she had reached thatextreme state of exhaustion which precedes but by little an unfortunateissue. All at once, however, here she rises, walks, laughs, and beams onus. The paralysis has completely disappeared, no pain remains, she is aswell as you and I. Come, gentlemen, approach, examine her, and tell mewhat has happened. "

He triumphed. Not one of the doctors spoke. Two, who were doubtless trueCatholics, had shown their approval of his speech by their vigorous nods, while the others remained motionless, with a constrained air, not caringto mix themselves up in the business. However, a little thin man, whoseeyes shone behind the glasses he was wearing, ended by rising to take acloser look at Marie. He caught hold of her hand, examined the pupils ofher eyes, and merely seemed preoccupied by the air of transfigurationwhich she wore. Then, in a very courteous manner, without even showing adesire to discuss the matter, he came back and sat down again. 

"The case is beyond science, that is all I can assume, " concluded DoctorBonamy, victoriously. "I will add that we have no convalescence here;health is at once restored, full, entire. Observe the young lady. Hereyes are bright, her colour is rosy, her physiognomy has recovered itslively gaiety. Without doubt, the healing of the tissues will proceedsomewhat slowly, but one can already say that mademoiselle has been bornagain. Is it not so, Monsieur l'Abbe, you who have seen her sofrequently; you no longer recognise her, eh?"

"That's true, that's true, " stammered Pierre. 

And, in fact, she already appeared strong to him, her cheeks full andfresh, gaily blooming. But Beauclair had also foreseen this sudden joyfulchange, this straightening and resplendency of her invalid frame, whenlife should re-enter it, with the will to be cured and be happy. Onceagain, however, had Doctor Bonamy leant over Father Dargeles, who wasfinishing his note, a brief but fairly complete account of the affair. They exchanged a few words in low tones, consulting together, and thedoctor ended by saying: "You have witnessed these marvels, Monsieurl'Abbe, so you will not refuse to sign the careful report which thereverend Father has drawn up for publication in the 'Journal de laGrotte. '"

He--Pierre--sign that page of error and falsehood! A revolt roused him, and he was on the point of shouting out the truth. But he felt the weightof his cassock on his shoulders; and, above all, Marie's divine joyfilled his heart. He was penetrated with deep happiness at seeing hersaved. Since they had ceased questioning her she had come and leant onhis arm, and remained smiling at him with eyes full of enthusiasm. 

"Oh, my, friend, thank the Blessed Virgin!" she murmured in a low voice. "She has been so good to me; I am now so well, so beautiful, so young!And how pleased my father, my poor father, will be!"

Then Pierre signed. Everything was collapsing within him, but it wasenough that she should be saved; he would have thought it sacrilegious tointerfere with the faith of that child, the great pure faith which hadhealed her. 

When Marie reappeared outside the office, the applause began afresh, thecrowd clapped their hands. It now seemed that the miracle was official. However, certain charitable persons, fearing that she might again fatigueherself and again require her little car, which she had abandoned beforethe Grotto, had brought it to the office, and when she found it there shefelt deeply moved. Ah! that box in which she had lived so many years, that rolling coffin in which she had sometimes imagined herself buriedalive, how many tears, how much despair, how many bad days it hadwitnessed! And, all at once, the idea occurred to her that it had so longbeen linked with her sufferings, it ought also to share her triumph. Itwas a sudden inspiration, a kind of holy folly, that made her seize thehandle. 

At that moment the procession passed by, returning from the Grotto, whereAbbe Judaine had pronounced the Benediction. And thereupon Marie, dragging the little car, placed herself behind the canopy. And, in herslippers, her head covered with a strip of lace, her bosom heaving, herface erect, glowing, and superb, she walked on behind the clergy, dragging after her that car of misery, that rolling coffin, in which shehad endured so much agony. And the crowd which acclaimed her, the franticcrowd, followed in her wake. 

IV. TRIUMPH--DESPAIR

PIERRE also had followed Marie, and like her was behind the canopy, carried along as it were by the blast of glory which made her drag herlittle car along in triumph. Every moment, however, there was so muchtempestuous pushing that the young priest would assuredly have fallen ifa rough hand had not upheld him. 

"Don't be alarmed, " said a voice; "give me your arm, otherwise you won'tbe able to remain on your feet. "

Pierre turned round, and was surprised to recognise Father Massias, whohad left Father Fourcade in the pulpit in order to accompany theprocession. An extraordinary fever was sustaining him, throwing himforward, as solid as a rock, with eyes glowing like live coals, and anexcited face covered with perspiration. 

"Take care, then!" he again exclaimed; "give me your arm. "

A fresh human wave had almost swept them away. And Pierre now yielded tothe support of this terrible enthusiast, whom he remembered as afellow-student at the seminary. What a singular meeting it was, and howgreatly he would have liked to possess that violent faith, that madfaith, which was making Massias pant, with his throat full of sobs, whilst he continued giving vent to the ardent entreaty "Lord Jesus, healour sick! Lord Jesus, heal our sick!"

There was no cessation of this cry behind the canopy, where there wasalways a crier whose duty it was to accord no respite to the slowclemency of Heaven. At times a thick voice full of anguish, and at othersa shrill and piercing voice, would arise. The Father's, which was animperious one, was now at last breaking through sheer emotion. 

"Lord Jesus, heal our sick! Lord Jesus, heal our sick!"

The rumour of Marie's wondrous cure, of the miracle whose fame wouldspeedily fill all Christendom, had already spread from one to the otherend of Lourdes; and from this had come the increased vertigo of themultitude, the attack of contagious delirium which now caused it to whirland rush toward the Blessed Sacrament like the resistless flux of arising tide. One and all yielded to the desire of beholding the Sacramentand touching it, of being cured and becoming happy. The Divinity waspassing; and now it was not merely a question of ailing beings glowingwith a desire for life, but a longing for happiness which consumed allpresent and raised them up with bleeding, open hearts and eager hands. 

Berthaud, who feared the excesses of this religious adoration, haddecided to accompany his men. He commanded them, carefully watching overthe double chain of bearers beside the canopy in order that it might notbe broken. 

"Close your ranks--closer--closer!" he called, "and keep your arms firmlylinked!"

These young men, chosen from among the most vigorous of the bearers, hadan extremely difficult duty to discharge. The wall which they formed, shoulder to shoulder, with arms linked at the waist and the neck, kept ongiving way under the involuntary assaults of the throng. Nobody, certainly, fancied that he was pushing, but there was constant eddying, and deep waves of people rolled towards the procession from afar andthreatened to submerge it. 

When the canopy had reached the middle of the Place du Rosaire, AbbeJudaine really thought that he would be unable to go any farther. Numerous conflicting currents had set in over the vast expanse, and werewhirling, assailing him from all sides, so that he had to halt under theswaying canopy, which shook like a sail in a sudden squall on the opensea. He held the Blessed Sacrament aloft with his numbed hands, eachmoment fearing that a final push would throw him over; for he fullyrealised that the golden monstrance, radiant like a sun, was the onepassion of all that multitude, the Divinity they demanded to kiss, inorder that they might lose themselves in it, even though they shouldannihilate it in doing so. Accordingly, while standing there, the priestanxiously turned his eyes on Berthaud. 

"Let nobody pass!" called the latter to the bearers--"nobody! The ordersare precise; you hear me?"

Voices, however, were rising in supplication on all sides, wretchedbeings were sobbing with arms outstretched and lips protruding, in thewild desire that they might be allowed to approach and kneel at thepriest's feet. What divine grace it would be to be thrown upon the groundand trampled under foot by the whole procession!* An infirm old mandisplayed his withered hand in the conviction that it would be made soundagain were he only allowed to touch the monstrance. A dumb woman wildlypushed her way through the throng with her broad shoulders, in order thatshe might loosen her tongue by a kiss. Others were shouting, imploring, and even clenching their fists in their rage with those cruel men whodenied cure to their bodily sufferings and their mental wretchedness. Theorders to keep them back were rigidly enforced, however, for the mostserious accidents were feared. 

 * One is here irresistibly reminded of the car of Juggernaut, and of the Hindoo fanatics throwing themselves beneath its wheels in the belief that they would thus obtain an entrance into Paradise. --Trans. 

"Nobody, nobody!" repeated Berthaud; "let nobody whatever pass!"

There was a woman there, however, who touched every heart withcompassion. Clad in wretched garments, bareheaded, her face wet withtears, she was holding in her arms a little boy of ten years or so, whoselimp, paralysed legs hung down inertly. The lad's weight was too greatfor one so weak as herself, still she did not seem to feel it. She hadbrought the boy there, and was now entreating the bearers with aninvincible obstinacy which neither words nor hustling could conquer. 

At last, as Abbe Judaine, who felt deeply moved, beckoned to her toapproach, two of the bearers, in deference to his compassion, drew apart, despite all the danger of opening a breach, and the woman then rushedforward with her burden, and fell in a heap before the priest. For amoment he rested the foot of the monstrance on the child's head, and themother herself pressed her eager, longing lips to it; and, as theystarted off again, she wished to remain behind the canopy, and followedthe procession, with streaming hair and panting breast, staggering thewhile under the heavy burden, which was fast exhausting her strength. 

They managed, with great difficulty, to cross the remainder of the Placedu Rosaire, and then the ascent began, the glorious ascent by way of themonumental incline; whilst upon high, on the fringe of heaven, theBasilica reared its slim spire, whence pealing bells were winging theirflight, sounding the triumphs of Our Lady of Lourdes. And now it wastowards an apotheosis that the canopy slowly climbed, towards the loftyportal of the high-perched sanctuary which stood open, face to face withthe Infinite, high above the huge multitude whose waves continued soaringacross the valley's squares and avenues. Preceding the processionalcross, the magnificent beadle, all blue and silver, was already rearingthe level of the Rosary cupola, the spacious esplanade formed by the roofof the lower church, across which the pilgrimage deputations began towind, with their bright-coloured silk and velvet banners waving in theruddy glow of the sunset. Then came the clergy, the priests in snowysurplices, and the priests in golden chasubles, likewise shining out likea procession of stars. And the censers swung, and the canopy continuedclimbing, without anything of its bearers being seen, so that it seemedas though a mysterious power, some troop of invisible angels, werecarrying it off in this glorious ascension towards the open portal ofheaven. 

A sound of chanting had burst forth; the voices in the procession nolonger called for the healing of the sick, now that the _cortege_ hadextricated itself from amidst the crowd. The miracle had been worked, andthey were celebrating it with the full power of their lungs, amidst thepealing of the bells and the quivering gaiety of the atmosphere. 

"_Magnificat anima mea Dominum_"--they began. "My soul doth magnify theLord. "

'Twas the song of gratitude, already chanted at the Grotto, and againspringing from every heart: "_Et exsultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutarimeo_. " "And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour. "

Meantime it was with increasing, overflowing joy that Marie took part inthat radiant ascent, by the colossal gradient way, towards the glowingBasilica. It seemed to her, as she continued climbing, that she wasgrowing stronger and stronger, that her legs, so long lifeless, becamefirmer at each step. The little car which she victoriously dragged behindher was like the earthly tenement of her illness, the _inferno_ whencethe Blessed Virgin had extricated her, and although its handle was makingher hands sore, she nevertheless wished to pull it up yonder with her, inorder that she might cast it at last at the feet of the Almighty. Noobstacle could stay her course, she laughed through the big tears whichwere falling on her cheeks, her bosom was swelling, her demeanourbecoming warlike. One of her slippers had become unfastened, and thestrip of lace had fallen from her head to her shoulders. Nevertheless, with her lovely fair hair crowning her like a helmet and her face beamingbrightly, she still marched on and on with such an awakening of will andstrength that, behind her, you could hear her car leap and rattle overthe rough slope of the flagstones, as though it had been a mere toy. 

Near Marie was Pierre, still leaning on the arm of Father Massias, whohad not relinquished his hold. Lost amidst the far-spreading emotion, theyoung priest was unable to reflect. Moreover his companion's sonorousvoice quite deafened him. 

"_Deposuit potentes de sede et exaltavit humiles_. " "He hath put down themighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble. "

On Pierre's other side, the right, Berthaud, who no longer had any causefor anxiety, was now also following the canopy. He had given his bearersorders to break their chain, and was gazing with an expression of delighton the human sea through which the procession had lately passed. Thehigher they the incline, the more did the Place du Rosaire and theavenues and paths of the gardens expand below them, black with theswarming multitude. It was a bird's-eye view of a whole nation, anant-hill which ever increased in size, spreading farther and fartheraway. "Look!" Berthaud at last exclaimed to Pierre. "How vast and howbeautiful it is! Ah! well, the year won't have been a bad one after all. "

Looking upon Lourdes as a centre of propaganda, where his politicalrancour found satisfaction, he always rejoiced when there was a numerouspilgrimage, as in his mind it was bound to prove unpleasant to theGovernment. Ah! thought he, if they had only been able to bring theworking classes of the towns thither, and create a Catholic democracy. "Last year we scarcely reached the figure of two hundred thousandpilgrims, " he continued, "but we shall exceed it this year, I hope. " Andthen, with the gay air of the jolly fellow that he was, despite hissectarian passions, he added: "Well, 'pon my word, I was really pleasedjust now when there was such a crush. Things are looking up, I thought, things are looking up. "

Pierre, however, was not listening to him; his mind had been struck bythe grandeur of the spectacle. That multitude, which spread out more andmore as the procession rose higher and higher above it, that magnificentvalley which was hollowed out below and ever became more and moreextensive, displaying afar off its gorgeous horizon of mountains, filledhim with quivering admiration. His mental trouble was increased by itall, and seeking Marie's glance, he waved his arm to draw her attentionto the vast circular expanse of country. And his gesture deceived her, for in the purely spiritual excitement that possessed her she did notbehold the material spectacle he pointed at, but thought that he wascalling earth to witness the prodigious favours which the Blessed Virginhad heaped upon them both; for she imagined that he had had his share ofthe miracle, and that in the stroke of grace which had set her erect withher flesh healed, he, so near to her that their hearts mingled, had felthimself enveloped and raised by the same divine power, his soul savedfrom doubt, conquered by faith once more. How could he have witnessed herwondrous cure, indeed, without being convinced? Moreover, she had prayedso fervently for him outside the Grotto on the previous night. And now, therefore, to her excessive delight, she espied him transfigured likeherself, weeping and laughing, restored to God again. And this lentincreased force to her blissful fever; she dragged her little car alongwith unwearying hands, and--as though it were their double cross, her ownredemption and her friend's redemption which she was carrying up thatincline with its resounding flagstones--she would have liked to drag ityet farther, for leagues and leagues, ever higher and higher, to the mostinaccessible summits, to the transplendent threshold of Paradise itself. 

"O Pierre, Pierre!" she stammered, "how sweet it is that this greathappiness should have fallen on us together--yes, together! I prayed forit so fervently, and she granted my prayer, and saved you even in savingme. Yes, I felt your soul mingling with my own. Tell me that our mutualprayers have been granted, tell me that I have won your salvation even asyou have won mine!"

He understood her mistake and shuddered. 

"If you only knew, " she continued, "how great would have been my griefhad I thus ascended into light alone. Oh! to be chosen without you, tosoar yonder without you! But with you, Pierre, it is rapturous delight!We have been saved together, we shall be happy forever! I feel allneedful strength for happiness, yes, strength enough to raise the world!"

And in spite of everything, he was obliged to answer her and lie, revolting at the idea of spoiling, dimming that great and pure felicity. "Yes, yes, be happy, Marie, " he said, "for I am very happy myself, andall our sufferings are redeemed. "

But even while he spoke he felt a deep rending within him, as though abrutal hatchet-stroke were parting them forever. Amidst their commonsufferings, she had hitherto remained the little friend of childhood'sdays, the first artlessly loved woman, whom he knew to be still his own, since she could belong to none. But now she was cured, and he remainedalone in his hell, repeating to himself that she would never more be his!This sudden thought so upset him that he averted his eyes, in despair atreaping such suffering from the prodigious felicity with which sheexulted. 

However the chant went on, and Father Massias, hearing nothing and seeingnothing, absorbed as he was in his glowing gratitude to God, shouted thefinal verse in a thundering voice: "_Sicut locutus est ad patres nostros, Abraham, et semini ejus in saecula_. " "As He spake to our fathers, toAbraham, and to his seed for ever!"

Yet another incline had to be climbed, yet another effort had to be madeup that rough acclivity, with its large slippery flagstones. And theprocession rose yet higher, and the ascent still went on in the full, bright light. There came a last turn, and the wheels of Marie's cargrated against a granite curb. Then, still higher, still and ever higher, did it roll until it finally reached what seemed to be the very fringe ofheaven. 

And all at once the canopy appeared on the summit of the giganticinclined ways, on the stone balcony overlooking the stretch of countryoutside the portal of the Basilica. Abbe Judaine stepped forward holdingthe Blessed Sacrament aloft with both hands. Marie, who had pulled hercar up the balcony steps, was near him, her heart beating from herexertion, her face all aglow amidst the gold of her loosened hair. Thenall the clergy, the snowy surplices, and the dazzling chasubles rangedthemselves behind, whilst the banners waved like bunting decking thewhite balustrades. And a solemn minute followed. 

From on high there could have been no grander spectacle. First, immediately below, there was the multitude, the human sea with its darkwaves, its heaving billows, now for a moment stilled, amidst which youonly distinguished the small pale specks of the faces uplifted towardsthe Basilica, in expectation of the Benediction; and as far as the eyecould reach, from the place du Rosaire to the Gave, along the paths andavenues and across the open spaces, even to the old town in the distance;those little pale faces multiplied and multiplied, all with lips parted, and eyes fixed upon the august heaven was about to open to their gaze. 

Then the vast amphitheatre of slopes and hills and mountains surgedaloft, ascended upon all sides, crests following crests, until they fadedaway in the far blue atmosphere. The numerous convents among the trees onthe first of the northern slopes, beyond the torrent--those of theCarmelites, the Dominicans, the Assumptionists, and the Sisters ofNevers--were coloured by a rosy reflection from the fire-like glow of thesunset. Then wooded masses rose one above the other, until they reachedthe heights of Le Buala, which were surmounted by the Serre de Julos, inits turn capped by the Miramont. 

Deep valleys opened on the south, narrow gorges between piles of giganticrocks whose bases were already steeped in lakes of bluish shadow, whilstthe summits sparkled with the smiling farewell of the sun. The hills ofVisens upon this side were empurpled, and shewed like a promontory ofcoral, in front of the stagnant lake of the ether, which was bright witha sapphire-like transparency. But, on the east, in front of you, thehorizon again spread out to the very point of intersection of the sevenvalleys. The castle which had formerly guarded them still stood with itskeep, its lofty walls, its black outlines--the outlines of a fiercefortress of feudal time, --upon the rock whose base was watered by theGave; and upon this side of the stern old pile was the new town, lookingquite gay amidst its gardens, with its swarm of white house-fronts, itslarge hotels, its lodging-houses, and its fine shops, whose windows wereglowing like live embers; whilst, behind the castle, the discolouredroofs of old Lourdes spread out in confusion, in a ruddy light whichhovered over them like a cloud of dust. At this late hour, when thedeclining luminary was sinking in royal splendour behind the little Gersand the big Gers, those two huge ridges of bare rock, spotted withpatches of short herbage, formed nothing but a neutral, somewhat violet, background, as though, indeed, they were two curtains of sober hue drawnacross the margin of the horizon. 

And higher and still higher, in front of this immensity, did Abbe Judainewith both hands raise the Blessed Sacrament. He moved it slowly from oneto the other horizon, causing it to describe a huge sign of the crossagainst the vault of heaven. He saluted the convents, the heights of LeBuala, the Serre de Julos, and the Miramont, upon his left; he salutedthe huge fallen rocks of the dim valleys, and the empurpled hills ofVisens, on his right; he saluted the new and the old town, the castlebathed by the Gave, the big and the little Gers, already drowsy, in frontof him; and he saluted the woods, the torrents, the mountains, the faintchains linking the distant peaks, the whole earth, even beyond thevisible horizon: Peace upon earth, hope and consolation to mankind! Themultitude below had quivered beneath that great sign of the cross whichenveloped it. It seemed as though a divine breath were passing, rollingthose billows of little pale faces which were as numerous as the waves ofan ocean. A loud murmur of adoration ascended; all those parted lipsproclaimed the glory of God when, in the rays of the setting sun, theillumined monstrance again shone forth like another sun, a sun of puregold, describing the sign of the cross in streaks of flame upon thethreshold of the Infinite. 

The banners, the clergy, with Abbe Judaine under the canopy, were alreadyreturning to the Basilica, when Marie, who was also entering it, stilldragging her car by the handle, was stopped by two ladies, who kissedher, weeping. They were Madame de Jonquiere and her daughter Raymonde, who had come thither to witness the Benediction, and had been told of themiracle. 

"Ah! my dear child, what happiness!" repeated the lady-hospitaller; "andhow proud I am to have you in my ward! It is so precious a favour for allof us that the Blessed Virgin should have been pleased to select you. "

Raymonde, meanwhile, had kept one of the young girl's hands in her own. "Will you allow me to call you my friend, mademoiselle?" said she. "Ifelt so much pity for you, and I am now so pleased to see you walking, sostrong and beautiful already. Let me kiss you again. It will bring mehappiness. "

"Thank you, thank you with all my heart, " Marie stammered amidst herrapture. "I am so happy, so very happy!"

"Oh! we will not leave you, " resumed Madame de Jonquiere. "You hear me, Raymonde? We must follow her, and kneel beside her, and we will take herback after the ceremony. "

Thereupon the two ladies joined the _cortege_, and, following the canopy, walked beside Pierre and Father Massias, between the rows of chairs whichthe deputations already occupied, to the very centre of the choir. Thebanners alone were allowed on either side of the high altar; but Marieadvanced to its steps, still dragging her car, whose wheels resoundedover the flagstones. She had at last brought it to the spot whither thesacred madness of her desire had longingly impelled her to drag it. Shehad brought it, indeed, woeful, wretched-looking as it was, into thesplendour of God's house, so that it might there testify to the truth ofthe miracle. The threshold had scarcely been crossed when the organsburst into a hymn of triumph, the sonorous acclamation of a happy people, from amidst which there soon arose a celestial, angelic voice, of joyfulshrillness and crystalline purity. Abbe Judaine had placed the BlessedSacrament upon the altar, and the crowd was streaming into the nave, eachtaking a seat, installing him or herself in a corner, pending thecommencement of the ceremony. Marie had at once fallen on her kneesbetween Madame de Jonquiere and Raymonde, whose eyes were moist withtender emotion; whilst Father Massias, exhausted by the extraordinarytension of the nerves which had been sustaining him ever since hisdeparture from the Grotto, had sunk upon the ground, sobbing, with hishead between his hands. Behind him Pierre and Berthaud remained standing, the latter still busy with his superintendence, his eyes ever on thewatch, seeing that good order was preserved even during the most violentoutbursts of emotion. 

Then, amidst all his mental confusion, increased by the deafening strainsof the organ, Pierre raised his head and examined the interior of theBasilica. The nave was narrow and lofty, and streaked with brightcolours, which numerous windows flooded with light. There were scarcelyany aisles; they were reduced to the proportions of a mere passagerunning between the side-chapels and the clustering columns, and thiscircumstance seemed to increase the slim loftiness of the nave, thesoaring of the stonework in perpendicular lines of infantile, gracefulslenderness. A gilded railing, as transparent as lace, closed the choir, where the high altar, of white marble richly sculptured, arose in all itslavish chasteness. But the feature of the building which astonished youwas the mass of extraordinary ornamentation which transformed the wholeof it into an overflowing exhibition of embroidery and jewellery. Whatwith all the banners and votive offerings, the perfect river of giftswhich had flowed into it and remained clinging to its walls in a streamof gold and silver, velvet and silk, covering it from top to bottom, itwas, so to say, the ever-glowing sanctuary of gratitude, whose thousandrich adornments seemed to be chanting a perpetual canticle of faith andthankfulness. 

The banners, in particular, abounded, as innumerable as the leaves oftrees. Some thirty hung from the vaulted roof, whilst others weresuspended, like pictures, between the little columns around thetriforium. And others, again, displayed themselves on the walls, waved inthe depths of the side-chapels, and encompassed the choir with a heavenof silk, satin, and velvet. You could count them by hundreds, and youreyes grew weary of admiring them. Many of them were quite celebrated, sorenowned for their skilful workmanship that talented embroideresses tookthe trouble to come to Lourdes on purpose to examine them. Among thesewere the banner of our Lady of Fourvieres, bearing the arms of the cityof Lyons; the banner of Alsace, of black velvet embroidered with gold;the banner of Lorraine, on which you beheld the Virgin casting her cloakaround two children; and the white and blue banner of Brittany, on whichbled the sacred heart of Jesus in the midst of a halo. All empires andkingdoms of the earth were represented; the most distant lands--Canada, Brazil, Chili, Haiti--here had their flags, which, in all piety, werebeing offered as a tribute of homage to the Queen of Heaven. 

Then, after the banners, there were other marvels, the thousands andthousands of gold and silver hearts which were hanging everywhere, glittering on the walls like stars in the heavens. Some were groupedtogether in the form of mystical roses, others described festoons andgarlands, others, again, climbed up the pillars, surrounded the windows, and constellated the deep, dim chapels. Below the triforium somebody hadhad the ingenious idea of employing these hearts to trace in tall lettersthe various words which the Blessed Virgin had addressed to Bernadette;and thus, around the nave, there extended a long frieze of words, thedelight of the infantile minds which busied themselves with spellingthem. It was a swarming, a prodigious resplendency of hearts, whoseinfinite number deeply impressed you when you thought of all the hands, trembling with gratitude, which had offered them. Moreover, theadornments comprised many other votive offerings, and some of quite anunexpected description. There were bridal wreaths and crosses of honour, jewels and photographs, chaplets, and even spurs, in glass cases orframes. There were also the epaulets and swords of officers, togetherwith a superb sabre, left there in memory of a miraculous conversion. 

But all this was not sufficient; other riches, riches of every kind, shone out on all sides--marble statues, diadems enriched with brilliants, a marvellous carpet designed at Blois and embroidered by ladies of allparts of France, and a golden palm with ornaments of enamel, the gift ofthe sovereign pontiff. The lamps suspended from the vaulted roof, some ofthem of massive gold and the most delicate workmanship, were also gifts. They were too numerous to be counted, they studded the nave with stars ofgreat price. Immediately in front of the tabernacle there was one, amasterpiece of chasing, offered by Ireland. Others--one from Lille, onefrom Valence, one from Macao in far-off China--were veritable jewels, sparkling with precious stones. And how great was the resplendency whenthe choir's score of chandeliers was illumined, when the hundreds oflamps and the hundreds of candles burned all together, at the greatevening ceremonies! The whole church then became a conflagration, thethousands of gold and silver hearts reflecting all the little flames withthousands of fiery scintillations. It was like a huge and wondrousbrasier; the walls streamed with live flakes of light; you seemed to beentering into the blinding glory of Paradise itself; whilst on all sidesthe innumerable banners spread out their silk, their satin, and theirvelvet, embroidered with sanguifluous sacred hearts, victorious saints, and Virgins whose kindly smiles engendered miracles. 

Ah! how many ceremonies had already displayed their pomp in thatBasilica! Worship, prayer, chanting, never ceased there. From one end ofthe year to the other incense smoked, organs roared, and kneelingmultitudes prayed there with their whole souls. Masses, vespers, sermons, were continually following one upon another; day by day the religiousexercises began afresh, and each festival of the Church was celebratedwith unparalleled magnificence. The least noteworthy anniversary supplieda pretext for pompous solemnities. Each pilgrimage was granted its shareof the dazzling resplendency. It was necessary that those suffering onesand those humble ones who had come from such long distances should besent home consoled and enraptured, carrying with them a vision ofParadise espied through its opening portals. They beheld the luxurioussurroundings of the Divinity, and would forever remain enraptured by thesight. In the depths of bare, wretched rooms, indeed, by the side ofhumble pallets of suffering throughout all Christendom, a vision of theBasilica with its blazing riches continually arose like a vision offortune itself, like a vision of the wealth of that life to be, intowhich the poor would surely some day enter after their long, long miseryin this terrestrial sphere. 

Pierre, however, felt no delight; no consolation, no hope, came to him ashe gazed upon all the splendour. His frightful feeling of discomfort wasincreasing, all was becoming black within him, with that blackness of thetempest which gathers when men's thoughts and feelings pant and shriek. He had felt immense desolation rising in his soul ever since Marie, crying that she was healed, had risen from her little car and walkedalong with such strength and fulness of life. Yet he loved her like apassionately attached brother, and had experienced unlimited happiness onseeing that she no longer suffered. Why, therefore, should her felicitybring him such agony? He could now no longer gaze at her, kneeling there, radiant amidst her tears, with beauty recovered and increased, withouthis poor heart bleeding as from some mortal wound. Still he wished toremain there, and so, averting his eyes, he tried to interest himself inFather Massias, who was still shaking with violent sobbing on theflagstones, and whose prostration and annihilation, amidst the consumingillusion of divine love, he sorely envied. For a moment, moreover, hequestioned Berthaud, feigning to admire some banner and requestinginformation respecting it. 

"Which one?" asked the superintendent of the bearers; "that lace bannerover there?"

"Yes, that one on the left. "

"Oh! it is a banner offered by Le Puy. The arms are those of Le Puy andLourdes linked together by the Rosary. The lace is so fine that if youcrumpled the banner up, you could hold it in the hollow of your hand. "

However, Abbe Judaine was now stepping forward; the ceremony was about tobegin. Again did the organs resound, and again was a canticle chanted, whilst, on the altar, the Blessed Sacrament looked like the sovereignplanet amidst the scintillations of the gold and silver hearts, asinnumerable as stars. And then Pierre lacked the strength to remain thereany longer. Since Marie had Madame de Jonquiere and Raymonde with her, and they would accompany her back, he might surely go off by himself, vanish into some shadowy corner, and there, at last, vent his grief. In afew words he excused himself, giving his appointment with DoctorChassaigne as a pretext for his departure. However, another fear suddenlycame to him, that of being unable to leave the building, so densely didthe serried throng of believers bar the open doorway. But immediatelyafterwards he had an inspiration, and, crossing the sacristy, descendedinto the crypt by the narrow interior stairway. 

Deep silence and sepulchral gloom suddenly succeeded to the joyous chantsand prodigious radiance of the Basilica above. Cut in the rock, the cryptformed two narrow passages, parted by a massive block of stone whichupheld the nave, and conducting to a subterranean chapel under the apse, where some little lamps remained burning both day and night. A dim forestof pillars rose up there, a mystic terror reigned in that semi-obscuritywhere the mystery ever quivered. The chapel walls remained bare, like thevery stones of the tomb, in which all men must some day sleep the lastsleep. And along the passages, against their sides, covered from top tobottom with marble votive offerings, you only saw a double row ofconfessionals; for it was here, in the lifeless tranquillity of thebowels of the earth, that sins were confessed; and there were priests, speaking all languages, to absolve the sinners who came thither from thefour corners of the world. 

At that hour, however, when the multitude was thronging the Basilicaabove, the crypt had become quite deserted. Not a soul, save Pierre's, throbbed there ever so faintly; and he, amidst that deep silence, thatdarkness, that coolness of the grave, fell upon his knees. It was not, however, through any need of prayer and worship, but because his wholebeing was giving way beneath his crushing mental torment. He felt atorturing longing to be able to see clearly within himself. Ah! why couldhe not plunge even more deeply into the heart of things, reflect, understand, and at last calm himself. 

And it was a fearful agony that he experienced. He tried to remember allthe minutes that had gone by since Marie, suddenly springing from herpallet of wretchedness, had raised her cry of resurrection. Why had heeven then, despite his fraternal joy in seeing her erect, felt such anawful sensation of discomfort, as though, indeed, the greatest of allpossible misfortunes had fallen upon him? Was he jealous of the divinegrace? Did he suffer because the Virgin, whilst healing her, hadforgotten him, whose soul was so afflicted? He remembered how he hadgranted himself a last delay, fixed a supreme appointment with Faith forthe moment when the Blessed Sacrament should pass by, were Marie onlycured; and she was cured, and still he did not believe, and henceforththere was no hope, for never, never would he be able to believe. Thereinlay the bare, bleeding sore. The truth burst upon him with blindingcruelty and certainty--she was saved, he was lost. That pretended miraclewhich had restored her to life had, in him, completed the ruin of allbelief in the supernatural. That which he had, for a moment, dreamed ofseeking, and perhaps finding, at Lourdes, --naive faith, the happy faithof a little child, --was no longer possible, would never bloom again afterthat collapse of the miraculous, that cure which Beauclair had foretold, and which had afterwards come to pass, exactly as had been predicted. Jealous! No--he was not jealous; but he was ravaged, full of mortalsadness at thus remaining all alone in the icy desert of hisintelligence, regretting the illusion, the lie, the divine love of thesimpleminded, for which henceforth there was no room in his heart. 

A flood of bitterness stifled him, and tears started from his eyes. Hehad slipped on to the flagstones, prostrated by his anguish. And, bydegrees, he remembered the whole delightful story, from the day whenMarie, guessing how he was tortured by doubt, had become so passionatelyeager for his conversion, taking hold of his hand in the gloom, retainingit in her own, and stammering that she would pray for him--oh! pray forhim with her whole soul. She forgot herself, she entreated the BlessedVirgin to save her friend rather than herself if there were but one gracethat she could obtain from her Divine Son. Then came another memory, thememory of the delightful hours which they had spent together amid thedense darkness of the trees during the night procession. There, again, they had prayed for one another, mingled one in the other with so ardenta desire for mutual happiness that, for a moment, they had attained tothe very depths of the love which gives and immolates itself. And nowtheir long, tear-drenched tenderness, their pure idyl of suffering, wasending in this brutal separation; she on her side saved, radiant amidstthe hosannas of the triumphant Basilica; and he lost, sobbing withwretchedness, bowed down in the depths of the dark crypt in an icy, grave-like solitude. It was as though he had just lost her again, andthis time forever and forever. 

All at once Pierre felt the sharp stab which this thought dealt hisheart. He at last understood his pain--a sudden light illumined theterrible crisis of woe amidst which he was struggling. He had lost Mariefor the first time on the day when he had become a priest, saying tohimself that he might well renounce his manhood since she, stricken inher sex by incurable illness, would never be a woman. But behold! she_was_ cured. Behold! she _had_ become a woman. She had all at onceappeared to him very strong, very beautiful, living, and desirable. He, who was dead, however, could not become a man again. Never more would hebe able to raise the tombstone which crushed and imprisoned his flesh. She fled away alone, leaving him in the cold grave. The whole wide worldwas opening before her with smiling happiness, with the love which laughsin the sunlit paths, with the husband, with children, no doubt. Whereashe, buried, as it were to his shoulders, had naught of his body free, save his brain, and that remained free, no doubt, in order that he mightsuffer the more. She had still been his so long as she had not belongedto another; and if he had been enduring such agony during the past hour, it was only through this final rending which, this time, parted her fromhim forever and forever. 

Then rage shook Pierre from head to foot. He was tempted to return to theBasilica, and cry the truth aloud to Marie. The miracle was a lie! Thehelpful beneficence of an all-powerful Divinity was but so much illusion!Nature alone had acted, life had conquered once again. And he would havegiven proofs: he would have shown how life, the only sovereign, workedfor health amid all the sufferings of this terrestrial sphere. And thenthey would have gone off together; they would have fled far, far away, that they might be happy. But a sudden terror took possession of him. What! lay hands upon that little spotless soul, kill all belief in it, fill it with the ruins which worked such havoc in his own soul? It all atonce occurred to him that this would be odious sacrilege. He wouldafterwards become horrified with himself, he would look upon himself asher murderer were he some day to realise that he was unable to give her ahappiness equal to that which she would have lost. Perhaps, too, shewould not believe him. And, moreover, would she ever consent to marry apriest who had broken his vows? She who would always retain the sweet andnever-to be-forgotten memory of how she had been healed in ecstasy! Hisdesign then appeared to him insane, monstrous, polluting. And his revoltrapidly subsided, until he only retained a feeling of infinite weariness, a sensation of a burning, incurable wound--the wound of his poor, bruised, lacerated heart. 

Then, however, amidst his abandonment, the void in which he was whirling, a supreme struggle began, filling him again with agony. What should hedo? His sufferings made a coward of him, and he would have liked to flee, so that he might never see Marie again. For he understood very well thathe would now have to lie to her, since she thought that he was saved likeherself, converted, healed in soul, even as she had been healed in body. She had told him of her joy while dragging her car up the colossalgradient way. Oh! to have had that great happiness together, together; tohave felt their hearts melt and mingle one in the other! And even then hehad already lied, as he would always be obliged to lie in order that hemight not spoil her pure and blissful illusion. He let the lastthrobbings of his veins subside, and vowed that he would find sufficientstrength for the sublime charity of feigning peacefulness of soul, therapture of one who is redeemed. For he wished her to be whollyhappy--without a regret, without a doubt--in the full serenity of faith, convinced that the blessed Virgin had indeed given her consent to theirpurely mystical union. What did his torments matter? Later on, perhaps, he might recover possession of himself. Amidst his desolate solitude ofmind would there not always be a little joy to sustain him, all that joywhose consoling falsity he would leave to her?

Several minutes again elapsed, and Pierre, still overwhelmed, remained onthe flagstones, seeking to calm his fever. He no longer thought, he nolonger lived; he was a prey to that prostration of the entire being whichfollows upon great crises. But, all at once, he fancied he could hear asound of footsteps, and thereupon he painfully rose to his feet, andfeigned to be reading the inscriptions graven in the marble votive slabsalong the walls. He had been mistaken--nobody was there; nevertheless, seeking to divert his mind, he continued perusing the inscriptions, atfirst in a mechanical kind of way, and then, little by little, feeling afresh emotion steal over him. 

The sight was almost beyond imagination. Faith, love, and gratitudedisplayed themselves in a hundred, a thousand ways on these marble slabswith gilded lettering. Some of the inscriptions were so artless as toprovoke a smile. A colonel had sent a sculptured representation of hisfoot with the words: "Thou hast preserved it; grant that it may serveThee. " Farther on you read the line: "May Her protection extend to theglass trade. " And then, by the frankness of certain expressions ofthanks, you realised of what a strange character the appeals had been. "To Mary the Immaculate, " ran one inscription, "from a father of afamily, in recognition of health restored, a lawsuit won, and advancementgained. " However, the memory of these instances faded away amidst thechorus of soaring, fervent cries. There was the cry of the lovers: "Pauland Anna entreat Our Lady of Lourdes to bless their union. " There was thecry of the mothers in various forms: "Gratitude to Mary, who has thricehealed my child. "--"Gratitude to Mary for the birth of Antoinette, whom Idedicate, like myself and all my kin, to Her. "--"P. D. , three years old, has been preserved to the love of his parents. " And then came the cry ofthe wives, the cry, too, of the sick restored to health, and of the soulsrestored to happiness: "Protect my husband; grant that my husband mayenjoy good health. "--"I was crippled in both legs, and now I amhealed. "--"We came, and now we hope. "--"I prayed, I wept, and She heardme. " And there were yet other cries, cries whose veiled glow conjured upthoughts of long romances: "Thou didst join us together; protect us, wepray Thee. "--"To Mary, for the greatest of all blessings. " And the samecries, the same words--gratitude, thankfulness, homage, acknowledgment, --occurred again and again, ever with the same passionatefervour. All! those hundreds, those thousands of cries which were forevergraven on that marble, and from the depths of the crypt rose clamorouslyto the Virgin, proclaiming the everlasting devotion of the unhappy beingswhom she had succoured. 

Pierre did not weary of reading them, albeit his mouth was bitter andincreasing desolation was filling him. So it was only he who had nosuccour to hope for! When so many sufferers were listened to, he alonehad been unable to make himself heard! And he now began to think of theextraordinary number of prayers which must be said at Lourdes from oneend of the year to the other. He tried to cast them up; those said duringthe days spent at the Grotto and during the nights spent at the Rosary, those said at the ceremonies at the Basilica, and those said at thesunlight and the starlight processions. But this continual entreaty ofevery second was beyond computation. It seemed as if the faithful weredetermined to weary the ears of the Divinity, determined to extortfavours and forgiveness by the very multitude, the vast multitude oftheir prayers. The priests said that it was necessary to offer to God theacts of expiation which the sins of France required, and that when thenumber of these acts of expiation should be large enough, God would smiteFrance no more. What a harsh belief in the necessity of chastisement!What a ferocious idea born of the gloomiest pessimism! How evil life mustbe if it were indeed necessary that such imploring cries, such cries ofphysical and moral wretchedness, should ever and ever ascend to Heaven!

In the midst of all his sadness, Pierre felt deep compassion penetratehis heart. He was upset by the thought that mankind should be sowretched, reduced to such a state of woe, so bare, so weak, so utterlyforsaken, that it renounced its own reason to place the one solepossibility of happiness in the hallucinatory intoxication of dreams. Tears once more filled his eyes; he wept for himself and for others, forall the poor tortured beings who feel a need of stupefying and numbingtheir pains in order to escape from the realities of the world. He againseemed to hear the swarming, kneeling crowd of the Grotto, raising theglowing entreaty of its prayer to Heaven, the multitude of twenty andthirty thousand souls from whose midst ascended such a fervour of desirethat you seemed to see it smoking in the sunlight like incense. Thenanother form of the exaltation of faith glowed, beneath the crypt, in theChurch of the Rosary, where nights were spent in a paradise of rapture, amidst the silent delights of the communion, the mute appeals in whichthe whole being pines, burns, and soars aloft. And as though the criesraised before the Grotto and the perpetual adoration of the Rosary werenot sufficient, that clamour of ardent entreaty burst forth afresh on thewalls of the crypt around him; and here it was eternised in marble, hereit would continue shrieking the sufferings of humanity even into thefar-away ages. It was the marble, it was the walls themselves praying, seized by that shudder of universal woe which penetrated even the world'sstones. And, at last, the prayers ascended yet higher, still higher, soared aloft from the radiant Basilica, which was humming and buzzingabove him, full as it now was of a frantic multitude, whose mighty voice, bursting into a canticle of hope, he fancied he could hear through theflagstones of the nave. And it finally seemed to him that he was beingwhirled away, transported, as though he were indeed amidst the veryvibrations of that huge wave of prayer, which, starting from the dust ofthe earth, ascended the tier of superposed churches, spreading fromtabernacle to tabernacle, and filling even the walls with such pity thatthey sobbed aloud, and that the supreme cry of wretchedness pierced itsway into heaven with the white spire, the lofty golden cross, above thesteeple. O Almighty God, O Divinity, Helpful Power, whoever, whateverThou mayst be, take pity upon poor mankind and make human sufferingcease!

All at once Pierre was dazzled. He had followed the left-hand passage, and was coming out into broad daylight, above the inclined ways, and twoaffectionate arms at once caught hold of him and clasped him. It wasDoctor Chassaigne, whose appointment he had forgotten, and who had beenwaiting there to take him to visit Bernadette's room and Abbe Peyramale'schurch. "Oh! what joy must be yours, my child!" exclaimed the good oldman. "I have just learnt the great news, the extraordinary favour whichOur Lady of Lourdes has granted to your young friend. Recollect what Itold you the day before yesterday. I am now at ease--you are saved!"

A last bitterness came to the young priest who was very pale. However, hewas able to smile, and he gently answered: "Yes, we are saved, we arevery happy. "

It was the lie beginning; the divine illusion which in a spirit ofcharity he wished to give to others. 

And then one more spectacle met Pierre's eyes. The principal door of theBasilica stood wide open, and a red sheet of light from the setting sunwas enfilading the nave from one to the other end. Everything was flaringwith the splendour of a conflagration--the gilt railings of the choir, the votive offerings of gold and silver, the lamps enriched with preciousstones, the banners with their bright embroideries, and the swingingcensers, which seemed like flying jewels. And yonder, in the depths ofthis burning splendour, amidst the snowy surplices and the goldenchasubles, he recognised Marie, with hair unbound, hair of gold like allelse, enveloping her in a golden mantle. And the organs burst into a hymnof triumph; and the delirious people acclaimed God; and Abbe Judaine, whohad again just taken the Blessed Sacrament from off the altar, raised italoft and presented it to their gaze for the last time; and radiantlymagnificent it shone out like a glory amidst the streaming gold of theBasilica, whose prodigious triumph all the bells proclaimed in clanging, flying peals. 

V. CRADLE AND GRAVE

IMMEDIATELY afterwards, as they descended the steps, Doctor Chassaignesaid to Pierre: "You have just seen the triumph; I will now show you twogreat injustices. "

And he conducted him into the Rue des Petits-Fosses to visit Bernadette'sroom, that low, dark chamber whence she set out on the day the BlessedVirgin appeared to her. 

The Rue des Petits-Fosses starts from the former Rue des Bois, now theRue de la Grotte, and crosses the Rue du Tribunal. It is a winding lane, slightly sloping and very gloomy. The passers-by are few; it is skirtedby long walls, wretched-looking houses, with mournful facades in whichnever a window opens. All its gaiety consists in an occasional tree in acourtyard. 

"Here we are, " at last said the doctor. 

At the part where he had halted, the street contracted, becoming verynarrow, and the house faced the high, grey wall of a barn. Raising theirheads, both men looked up at the little dwelling, which seemed quitelifeless, with its narrow casements and its coarse, violet pargeting, displaying the shameful ugliness of poverty. The entrance passage downbelow was quite black; an old light iron gate was all that closed it; andthere was a step to mount, which in rainy weather was immersed in thewater of the gutter. 

"Go in, my friend, go in, " said the doctor. "You have only to push thegate. "

The passage was long, and Pierre kept on feeling the damp wall with hishand, for fear of making a false step. It seemed to him as if he weredescending into a cellar, in deep obscurity, and he could feel a slipperysoil impregnated with water beneath his feet. Then at the end, inobedience to the doctor's direction, he turned to the right. 

"Stoop, or you may hurt yourself, " said M. Chassaigne; "the door is verylow. There, here we are. "

The door of the room, like the gate in the street, stood wide open, as ifthe place had been carelessly abandoned; and Pierre, who had stopped inthe middle of the chamber, hesitating, his eyes still full of the brightdaylight outside, could distinguish absolutely nothing. He had falleninto complete darkness, and felt an icy chill about the shoulders similarto the sensation that might be caused by a wet towel. 

But, little by little, his eyes became accustomed to the dimness. Twowindows of unequal size opened on to a narrow, interior courtyard, whereonly a greenish light descended, as at the bottom of a well; and to readthere, in the middle of the day, it would be necessary to have a candle. Measuring about fifteen feet by twelve, the room was flagged with largeuneven stones; while the principal beam and the rafters of the roof, which were visible, had darkened with time and assumed a dirty, sootyhue. Opposite the door was the chimney, a miserable plaster chimney, witha mantelpiece formed of a rotten old plank. There was a sink between thischimney and one of the windows. The walls, with their decaying, damp-stained plaster falling off by bits, were full of cracks, andturning a dirty black like the ceiling. There was no longer any furniturethere; the room seemed abandoned; you could only catch a glimpse of someconfused, strange objects, unrecognisable in the heavy obscurity thathung about the corners. 

After a spell of silence, the doctor exclaimed "Yes, this is the room;all came from here. Nothing has been changed, with the exception that thefurniture has gone. I have tried to picture how it was placed: the bedscertainly stood against this wall, opposite the windows; there must havebeen three of them at least, for the Soubirouses were seven--the father, mother, two boys, and three girls. Think of that! Three beds filling thisroom! Seven persons living in this small space! All of them buried alive, without air, without light, almost without bread! What frightful misery!What lowly, pity-awaking poverty!"

But he was interrupted. A shadowy form, which Pierre at first took for anold woman, entered. It was a priest, however, the curate of the parish, who now occupied the house. He was acquainted with the doctor. 

"I heard your voice, Monsieur Chassaigne, and came down, " said he. "Sothere you are, showing the room again?"

"Just so, Monsieur l' Abbe; I took the liberty. It does not inconvenienceyou?"

"Oh! not at all, not at all! Come as often as you please, and bring otherpeople. "

He laughed in an engaging manner, and bowed to Pierre, who, astonished bythis quiet carelessness, observed: "The people who come, however, mustsometimes plague you?"

The curate in his turn seemed surprised. "Indeed, no! Nobody comes. Yousee the place is scarcely known. Every one remains over there at theGrotto. I leave the door open so as not to be worried. But days and daysoften pass without my hearing even the sound of a mouse. "

Pierre's eyes were becoming more and more accustomed to the obscurity;and among the vague, perplexing objects which filled the corners, heended by distinguishing some old barrels, remnants of fowl cages, andbroken tools, a lot of rubbish such as is swept away and thrown to thebottom of cellars. Hanging from the rafters, moreover, were someprovisions, a salad basket full of eggs, and several bunches of big pinkonions. 

"And, from what I see, " resumed Pierre, with a slight shudder, "you havethought that you might make use of the room?"

The curate was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "Of course, that's it, "said he. "What can one do? The house is so small, I have so little space. And then you can't imagine how damp it is here; it is altogetherimpossible to occupy the room. And so, _mon Dieu_, little by little allthis has accumulated here by itself, contrary to one's own desire. "

"It has become a lumber-room, " concluded Pierre. 

"Oh no! hardly that. An unoccupied room, and yet in truth, if you insiston it, it is a lumber-room!"

His uneasiness was increasing, mingled with a little shame. DoctorChassaigne remained silent and did not interfere; but he smiled, and wasvisibly delighted at his companion's revolt against human ingratitude. Pierre, unable to restrain himself, now continued: "You must excuse me, Monsieur l'Abbe, if I insist. But just reflect that you owe everything toBernadette; but for her Lourdes would still be one of the least knowntowns of France. And really it seems to me that out of mere gratitude theparish ought to have transformed this wretched room into a chapel. "

"Oh! a chapel!" interrupted the curate. "It is only a question of a humancreature: the Church could not make her an object of worship. "

"Well, we won't say a chapel, then; but at all events there ought to besome lights and flowers--bouquets of roses constantly renewed by thepiety of the inhabitants and the pilgrims. In a word, I should like somelittle show of affection--a touching souvenir, a picture ofBernadette--something that would delicately indicate that she deserves tohave a place in all hearts. This forgetfulness and desertion areshocking. It is monstrous that so much dirt should have been allowed toaccumulate!"

The curate, a poor, thoughtless, nervous man, at once adopted Pierre'sviews: "In reality, you are a thousand times right, " said he; "but Imyself have no power, I can do nothing. Whenever they ask me for theroom, to set it to rights, I will give it up and remove my barrels, although I really don't know where else to put them. Only, I repeat, itdoes not depend on me. I can do nothing, nothing at all!" Then, under thepretext that he had to go out, he hastened to take leave and run awayagain, saying to Doctor Chassaigne: "Remain, remain as long as youplease; you are never in my way. "

When the doctor once more found himself alone with Pierre he caught holdof both his hands with effusive delight. "Ah, my dear child, " said he, "how pleased you have made me! How admirably you expressed to him allthat has been boiling in my own heart so long! Like you, I thought ofbringing some roses here every morning. I should have simply had the roomcleaned, and would have contented myself with placing two large bunchesof roses on the mantelpiece; for you know that I have long felt deepaffection for Bernadette, and it seemed to me that those roses would belike the very flowering and perfume of her memory. Only--only--" and sosaying he made a despairing gesture, "only courage failed me. Yes, I saycourage, no one having yet dared to declare himself openly against theFathers of the Grotto. One hesitates and recoils in the fear of stirringup a religious scandal. Fancy what a deplorable racket all this wouldcreate. And so those who are as indignant as I am are reduced to thenecessity of holding their tongues--preferring a continuance of silenceto anything else. " Then, by way of conclusion, he added: "The ingratitudeand rapacity of man, my dear child, are sad things to see. Each time Icome into this dim wretchedness, my heart swells and I cannot restrain mytears. "

He ceased speaking, and neither of them said another word, both beingovercome by the extreme melancholy which the surroundings fostered. Theywere steeped in gloom. The dampness made them shudder as they stood thereamidst the dilapidated walls and the dust of the old rubbish piled uponeither side. And the idea returned to them that without Bernadette noneof the prodigies which had made Lourdes a town unique in the world wouldhave existed. It was at her voice that the miraculous spring had gushedforth, that the Grotto, bright with candles, had opened. Immense workswere executed, new churches rose from the ground, giant-like causewaysled up to God. An entire new city was built, as if by enchantment, withgardens, walks, quays, bridges, shops, and hotels. And people from theuttermost parts of the earth flocked thither in crowds, and the rain ofmillions fell with such force and so abundantly that the young cityseemed likely to increase indefinitely--to fill the whole valley, fromone to the other end of the mountains. If Bernadette had been suppressednone of those things would have existed, the extraordinary story wouldhave relapsed into nothingness, old unknown Lourdes would still have beenplunged in the sleep of ages at the foot of its castle. Bernadette wasthe sole labourer and creatress; and yet this room, whence she had setout on the day she beheld the Virgin, this cradle, indeed, of the miracleand of all the marvellous fortune of the town, was disdained, left a preyto vermin, good only for a lumber-room, where onions and empty barrelswere put away. 

Then the other side of the question vividly appeared in Pierre's mind, and he again seemed to see the triumph which he had just witnessed, theexaltation of the Grotto and Basilica, while Marie, dragging her littlecar, ascended behind the Blessed Sacrament, amidst the clamour of themultitude. But the Grotto especially shone out before him. It was nolonger the wild, rocky cavity before which the child had formerly knelton the deserted bank of the torrent; it was a chapel, transformed andenriched, a chapel illumined by a vast number of candles, where nationsmarched past in procession. All the noise, all the brightness, all theadoration, all the money, burst forth there in a splendour of constantvictory. Here, at the cradle, in this dark, icy hole, there was not asoul, not a taper, not a hymn, not a flower. Of the infrequent visitorswho came thither, none knelt or prayed. All that a few tender-heartedpilgrims had done in their desire to carry away a souvenir had been toreduce to dust, between their fingers, the half-rotten plank serving as amantelshelf. The clergy ignored the existence of this spot of misery, which the processions ought to have visited as they might visit a stationof glory. It was there that the poor child had begun her dream, one coldnight, lying in bed between her two sisters, and seized with a fit of herailment while the whole family was fast asleep. It was thence, too, thatshe had set out, unconsciously carrying along with her that dream, whichwas again to be born within her in the broad daylight and to flower soprettily in a vision such as those of the legends. And no one nowfollowed in her footsteps. The manger was forgotten, and left indarkness--that manger where had germed the little humble seed which overyonder was now yielding such prodigious harvests, reaped by the workmenof the last hour amidst the sovereign pomp of ceremonies. 

Pierre, whom the great human emotion of the story moved to tears, at lastsummed up his thoughts in three words, saying in a low voice, "It isBethlehem. "

"Yes, " remarked Doctor Chassaigne, in his turn, "it is the wretchedlodging, the chance refuge, where new religions are born of suffering andpity. And at times I ask myself if all is not better thus: if it is notbetter that this room should remain in its actual state of wretchednessand abandonment. It seems to me that Bernadette has nothing to lose byit, for I love her all the more when I come to spend an hour here. "

He again became silent, and then made a gesture of revolt: "But no, no! Icannot forgive it--this ingratitude sets me beside myself. I told you Iwas convinced that Bernadette had freely gone to cloister herself atNevers. But although no one smuggled her away, what a relief it was forthose whom she had begun to inconvenience here! And they are the samemen, so anxious to be the absolute masters, who at the present timeendeavour by all possible means to wrap her memory in silence. Ah! mydear child, if I were to tell you all!"

Little by little he spoke out and relieved himself. Those Fathers of theGrotto, who showed such greed in trading on the work of Bernadette, dreaded her still more now that she was dead than they had done whilstshe was alive. So long as she had lived, their great terror had assuredlybeen that she might return to Lourdes to claim a portion of the spoil;and her humility alone reassured them, for she was in nowise of adomineering disposition, and had herself chosen the dim abode ofrenunciation where she was destined to pass away. But at present theirfears had increased at the idea that a will other than theirs might bringthe relics of the visionary back to Lourdes; that, thought had, indeed, occurred to the municipal council immediately after her death; the townhad wished to raise a tomb, and there had been talk of opening asubscription. The Sisters of Nevers, however, formally refused to give upthe body, which they said belonged to them. Everyone felt that theSisters were acting under the influence of the Fathers, who were veryuneasy, and energetically bestirred themselves to prevent by all means intheir power the return of those venerated ashes, in whose presence atLourdes they foresaw a possible competition with the Grotto itself. Couldthey have imagined some such threatening occurrence as this--a monumentaltomb in the cemetery, pilgrims proceeding thither in procession, the sickfeverishly kissing the marble, and miracles being worked there amidst aholy fervour? This would have been disastrous rivalry, a certaindisplacement of all the present devotion and prodigies. And the great, the sole fear, still and ever returned to them, that of having to dividethe spoils, of seeing the money go elsewhere should the town, now taughtby experience, know how to turn the tomb to account. 

The Fathers were even credited with a scheme of profound craftiness. Theywere supposed to have the secret idea of reserving Bernadette's remainsfor themselves; the Sisters of Nevers having simply undertaken to keep itfor them within the peaceful precincts of their chapel. Only, they werewaiting, and would not bring it back until the affluence of the pilgrimsshould decrease. What was the use of a solemn return at present, whencrowds flocked to the place without interruption and in increasingnumbers? Whereas, when the extraordinary success of Our Lady of Lourdesshould decline, like everything else in this world, one could imaginewhat a reawakening of faith would attend the solemn, resounding ceremonyat which Christendom would behold the relics of the chosen one takepossession of the soil whence she had made so many marvels spring. Andthe miracles would then begin again on the marble of her tomb before theGrotto or in the choir of the Basilica. 

"You may search, " continued Doctor Chassaigne, "but you won't find asingle official picture of Bernadette at Lourdes. Her portrait is sold, but it is hung no where, in no sanctuary. It is systematic forgetfulness, the same sentiment of covert uneasiness as that which has wrought silenceand abandonment in this sad chamber where we are. In the same way as theyare afraid of worship at her tomb, so are they afraid of crowds comingand kneeling here, should two candles burn or a couple of bouquets ofroses bloom upon this chimney. And if a paralytic woman were to riseshouting that she was cured, what a scandal would arise, how disturbedwould be those good traders of the Grotto on seeing their monopolyseriously threatened! They are the masters, and the masters they intendto remain; they will not part with any portion of the magnificent farmthat they have acquired and are working. Nevertheless they tremble--yes, they tremble at the memory of the workers of the first hour, of thatlittle girl who is still so great in death, and for whose hugeinheritance they burn with such greed that after having sent her to liveat Nevers, they dare not even bring back her corpse, but leave itimprisoned beneath the flagstones of a convent!"

Ah! how wretched was the fate of that poor creature, who had been cut offfrom among the living, and whose corpse in its turn was condemned toexile! And how Pierre pitied her, that daughter of misery, who seemed tohave been chosen only that she might suffer in her life and in her death!Even admitting that an unique, persistent will had not compelled her todisappear, still guarding her even in her tomb, what a strange successionof circumstances there had been--how it seemed as if someone, uneasy atthe idea of the immense power she might grasp, had jealously sought tokeep her out of the way! In Pierre's eyes she remained the chosen one, the martyr; and if he could no longer believe, if the history of thisunfortunate girl sufficed to complete within him the ruin of his faith, it none the less upset him in all his brotherly love for mankind byrevealing a new religion to him, the only one which might still fill hisheart, the religion of life, of human sorrow. 

Just then, before leaving the room, Doctor Chassaigne exclaimed: "Andit's here that one must believe, my dear child. Do you see this obscurehole, do you think of the resplendent Grotto, of the triumphant Basilica, of the town built, of the world created, the crowds that flock toLourdes! And if Bernadette was only hallucinated, only an idiot, wouldnot the outcome be more astonishing, more inexplicable still? What! Anidiot's dream would have sufficed to stir up nations like this! No! no!The Divine breath which alone can explain prodigies passed here. "

Pierre was on the point of hastily replying "Yes!" It was true, a breathhad passed there, the sob of sorrow, the inextinguishable yearningtowards the Infinite of hope. If the dream of a suffering child hadsufficed to attract multitudes, to bring about a rain of millions andraise a new city from the soil, was it not because this dream in ameasure appeased the hunger of poor mankind, its insatiable need of beingdeceived and consoled? She had once more opened the Unknown, doubtless ata favourable moment both socially and historically; and the crowds hadrushed towards it. Oh! to take refuge in mystery, when reality is sohard, to abandon oneself to the miraculous, since cruel nature seemsmerely one long injustice! But although you may organise the Unknown, reduce it to dogmas, make revealed religions of it, there is neveranything at the bottom of it beyond the appeal of suffering, the cry oflife, demanding health, joy, and fraternal happiness, and ready to acceptthem in another world if they cannot be obtained on earth. What use is itto believe in dogmas? Does it not suffice to weep and love?

Pierre, however, did not discuss the question. He withheld the answerthat was on his lips, convinced, moreover, that the eternal need of thesupernatural would cause eternal faith to abide among sorrowing mankind. The miraculous, which could not be verified, must be a food necessary tohuman despair. Besides, had he not vowed in all charity that he would notwound anyone with his doubts?

"What a prodigy, isn't it?" repeated the doctor. 

"Certainly, " Pierre ended by answering. "The whole human drama has beenplayed, all the unknown forces have acted in this poor room, so damp anddark. "

They remained there a few minutes more in silence; they walked round thewalls, raised their eyes toward the smoky ceiling, and cast a finalglance at the narrow, greenish yard. Truly it was a heart-rending sight, this poverty of the cobweb level, with its dirty old barrels, itsworn-out tools, its refuse of all kinds rotting in the corners in heaps. And without adding a word they at last slowly retired, feeling extremelysad. 

It was only in the street that Doctor Chassaigne seemed to awaken. Hegave a slight shudder and hastened his steps, saying: "It is notfinished, my dear child; follow me. We are now going to look at the othergreat iniquity. " He referred to Abbe Peyramale and his church. 

They crossed the Place du Porche and turned into the Rue Saint Pierre; afew minutes would suffice them. But their conversation had again fallenon the Fathers of the Grotto, on the terrible, merciless war waged byFather Sempe against the former Cure of Lourdes. The latter had beenvanquished, and had died in consequence, overcome by feelings offrightful bitterness; and, after thus killing him by grief, they hadcompleted the destruction of his church, which he had left unfinished, without a roof, open to the wind and to the rain. With what a gloriousdream had that monumental edifice filled the last year of the Cure'slife! Since he had been dispossessed of the Grotto, driven from the workof Our Lady of Lourdes, of which he, with Bernadette, had been the firstartisan, his church had become his revenge, his protestation, his ownshare of the glory, the House of the Lord where he would triumph in hissacred vestments, and whence he would conduct endless processions incompliance with the formal desire of the Blessed Virgin. Man of authorityand domination as he was at bottom, a pastor of the multitude, a builderof temples, he experienced a restless delight in hurrying on the work, with the lack of foresight of an eager man who did not allow indebtednessto trouble him, but was perfectly contented so long as he always had aswarm of workmen busy on the scaffoldings. And thus he saw his churchrise up, and pictured it finished, one bright summer morning, all new inthe rising sun. 

Ah! that vision constantly evoked gave him courage for the struggle, amidst the underhand, murderous designs by which he felt himself to beenveloped. His church, towering above the vast square, at last rose inall its colossal majesty. He had decided that it should be in theRomanesque style, very large, very simple, its nave nearly three hundredfeet long, its steeple four hundred and sixty feet high. It shone outresplendently in the clear sunlight, freed on the previous day of thelast scaffolding, and looking quite smart in its newness, with its broadcourses of stone disposed with perfect regularity. And, in thought, hesauntered around it, charmed with its nudity, its stupendous candour, itschasteness recalling that of a virgin child, for there was not a piece ofsculpture, not an ornament that would have uselessly loaded it. The roofsof the nave, transept, and apse were of equal height above theentablature, which was decorated with simple mouldings. In the same waythe apertures in the aisles and nave had no other adornments thanarchivaults with mouldings, rising above the piers. He stopped in thoughtbefore the great coloured glass windows of the transept, whose roses weresparkling; and passing round the building he skirted the semicircularapse against which stood the vestry building with its two rows of littlewindows; and then he returned, never tiring of his contemplation of thatregal ordonnance, those great lines standing out against the blue sky, those superposed roofs, that enormous mass of stone, whose soliditypromised to defy centuries. But, when he closed his eyes he, above allelse, conjured up, with rapturous pride, a vision of the facade andsteeple; down below, the three portals, the roofs of the two lateral onesforming terraces, while from the central one, in the very middle of thefacade, the steeple boldly sprang. Here again columns resting on pierssupported archivaults with simple mouldings. Against the gable, at apoint where there was a pinnacle, and between the two lofty windowslighting the nave, was a statue of Our Lady of Lourdes under a canopy. Upabove, were other bays with freshly painted luffer-boards. Buttressesstarted from the ground at the four corners of the steeple-base, becomingless and less massive from storey to storey, till they reached the spire, a bold, tapering spire in stone, flanked by four turrets and adorned withpinnacles, and soaring upward till it vanished in the sky. And to theparish priest of Lourdes it seemed as if it were his own fervent soulwhich had grown and flown aloft with this spire, to testify to his faiththroughout the ages, there on high, quite close to God. 

At other times another vision delighted him still more. He thought hecould see the inside of his church on the day of the first solemn mass hewould perform there. The coloured windows threw flashes of fire brilliantlike precious stones; the twelve chapels, the aisles, were beaming withlighted candles. And he was at the high altar of marble and gold; and thefourteen columns of the nave in single blocks of Pyrenean marble, magnificent marble purchased with money that had come from the fourcorners of Christendom, rose up supporting the vaulted roof, while thesonorous voices of the organs filled the whole building with a hymn ofjoy. A multitude of the faithful was gathered there, kneeling on theflags in front of the choir, which was screened by ironwork as delicateas lace, and covered with admirably carved wood. The pulpit, the regalpresent of a great lady, was a marvel of art cut in massive oak. Thebaptismal fonts had been hewn out of hard stone by an artist of greattalent. Pictures by masters ornamented the walls. Crosses, pyxes, precious monstrances, sacred vestments, similar to suns, were piled up inthe vestry cupboards. And what a dream it was to be the pontiff of such atemple, to reign there after having erected it with passion, to bless thecrowds who hastened to it from the entire earth, while the flying pealsfrom the steeple told the Grotto and Basilica that they had over there, in old Lourdes, a rival, a victorious sister, in whose great nave Godtriumphed also!

After following the Rue Saint Pierre for a moment, Doctor Chassaigne andhis companion turned into the little Rue de Langelle. 

"We are coming to it, " said the doctor. But though Pierre looked aroundhim he could see no church. There were merely some wretched hovels, awhole district of poverty, littered with foul buildings. At length, however, at the bottom of a blind alley, he perceived a remnant of thehalf-rotten palings which still surrounded the vast square site borderedby the Rue Saint Pierre, the Rue de Bagneres, the Rue de Langelle, andthe Rue des Jardins. 

"We must turn to the left, " continued the doctor, who had entered anarrow passage among the rubbish. "Here we are!"

And the ruin suddenly appeared amidst the ugliness and wretchedness thatmasked it. 

The whole great carcase of the nave and the aisles, the transept and theapse was standing. The walls rose on all sides to the point where thevaulting would have begun. You entered as into a real church, you couldwalk about at ease, identifying all the usual parts of an edifice of thisdescription. Only when you raised your eyes you saw the sky; the roofswere wanting, the rain could fall and the wind blow there freely. Somefifteen years previously the works had been abandoned, and things hadremained in the same state as the last workman had left them. What struckyou first of all were the ten pillars of the nave and the four pillars ofthe choir, those magnificent columns of Pyrenean marble, each of a singleblock, which had been covered with a casing of planks in order to protectthem from damage. The bases and capitals were still in the rough, awaiting the sculptors. And these isolated columns, thus cased in wood, had a mournful aspect indeed. Moreover, a dismal sensation filled you atsight of the whole gaping enclosure, where grass had sprung up all overthe ravaged, bumpy soil of the aisles and the nave, a thick cemeterygrass, through which the women of the neighbourhood had ended by makingpaths. They came in to spread out their washing there. And even now acollection of poor people's washing--thick sheets, shirts in shreds, andbabies' swaddling clothes--was fast drying in the last rays of the sun, which glided in through the broad, empty bays. 

Slowly, without speaking, Pierre and Doctor Chassaigne walked round theinside of the church. The ten chapels of the aisles formed a species ofcompartments full of rubbish and remnants. The ground of the choir hadbeen cemented, doubtless to protect the crypt below againstinfiltrations; but unfortunately the vaults must be sinking; there was ahollow there which the storm of the previous night had transformed into alittle lake. However, it was these portions of the transept and the apsewhich had the least suffered. Not a stone had moved; the great centralrose windows above the triforium seemed to be awaiting their colouredglass, while some thick planks, forgotten atop of the walls of the apse, might have made anyone think that the workmen would begin covering it thenext day. But, when Pierre and the doctor had retraced their steps, andwent out to look at the facade, the lamentable woefulness of the youngruin was displayed to their gaze. On this side, indeed, the works had notbeen carried forward to anything like the same extent: the porch with itsthree portals alone was built, and fifteen years of abandonment hadsufficed for the winter weather to eat into the sculptures, the smallcolumns and the archivaults, with a really singular destructive effect, as though the stones, deeply penetrated, destroyed, had melted awaybeneath tears. The heart grieved at the sight of the decay which hadattacked the work before it was even finished. Not yet to be, andnevertheless to crumble away in this fashion under the sky! To bearrested in one's colossal growth, and simply strew the weeds with ruins!

They returned to the nave, and were overcome by the frightful sadnesswhich this assassination of a monument provoked. The spacious plot ofwaste ground inside was littered with the remains of scaffoldings, whichhad been pulled down when half rotten, in fear lest their fall mightcrush people; and everywhere amidst the tall grass were boards, put-logs, moulds for arches, mingled with bundles of old cord eaten away by damp. There was also the long narrow carcase of a crane rising up like agibbet. Spade-handles, pieces of broken wheelbarrows, and heaps ofgreenish bricks, speckled with moss and wild convolvuli in bloom, werestill lying among the forgotten materials. In the beds of nettles youhere and there distinguished the rails of a little railway laid down forthe trucks, one of which was lying overturned in a corner. But thesaddest sight in all this death of things was certainly the portableengine which had remained in the shed that sheltered it. For fifteenyears it had been standing there cold and lifeless. A part of the roof ofthe shed had ended by falling in upon it, and now the rain drenched it atevery shower. A bit of the leather harness by which the crane was workedhung down, and seemed to bind the engine like a thread of some giganticspider's web. And its metal-work, its steel and copper, was alsodecaying, as if rusted by lichens, covered with the vegetation of oldage, whose yellowish patches made it look like a very ancient, grass-grown machine which the winters had preyed upon. This lifelessengine, this cold engine with its empty firebox and its silent boiler, was like the very soul of the departed labour vainly awaiting the adventof some great charitable heart, whose coming through the eglantine andthe brambles would awaken this sleeping church in the wood from its heavyslumber of ruin. 

At last Doctor Chassaigne spoke: "Ah!" he said, "when one thinks thatfifty thousand francs would have sufficed to prevent such a disaster!With fifty thousand francs the roof could have been put on, the heavywork would have been saved, and one could have waited patiently. But theywanted to kill the work just as they had killed the man. " With a gesturehe designated the Fathers of the Grotto, whom he avoided naming. "And tothink, " he continued, "that their annual receipts are eight hundredthousand francs. However, they prefer to send presents to Rome topropitiate powerful friends there. "

In spite of himself, he was again opening hostilities against theadversaries of Cure Peyramale. The whole story caused a holy anger ofjustice to haunt him. Face to face with those lamentable ruins, hereturned to the facts--the enthusiastic Cure starting on the building ofhis beloved church, and getting deeper and deeper into debt, whilstFather Sempe, ever on the lookout, took advantage of each of hismistakes, discrediting him with the Bishop, arresting the flow ofofferings, and finally stopping the works. Then, after the conquered manwas dead, had come interminable lawsuits, lawsuits lasting fifteen years, which gave the winters time to devour the building. And now it was insuch a woeful state, and the debt had risen to such an enormous figure, that all seemed over. The slow death, the death of the stones, wasbecoming irrevocable. The portable engine beneath its tumbling shed wouldfall to pieces, pounded by the rain and eaten away by the moss. 

"I know very well that they chant victory, " resumed the doctor; "thatthey alone remain. It is just what they wanted--to be the absolutemasters, to have all the power, all the money for themselves alone. I maytell you that their terror of competition has even made them intrigueagainst the religious Orders that have attempted to come to Lourdes. Jesuits, Dominicans, Benedictines, Capuchins, and Carmelites have madeapplications at various times, and the Fathers of the Grotto have alwayssucceeded in keeping them away. They only tolerate the female Orders, andwill only have one flock. And the town belongs to them; they have openedshop there, and sell God there wholesale and retail!"

Walking slowly, he had while speaking returned to the middle of the nave, amidst the ruins, and with a sweeping wave of the arm he pointed to allthe devastation surrounding him. "Look at this sadness, this frightfulwretchedness! Over yonder the Rosary and Basilica cost them threemillions of francs. "*

 * About 580, 000 dollars. 

Then, as in Bernadette's cold, dark room, Pierre saw the Basilica risebefore him, radiant in its triumph. It was not here that you found therealisation of the dream of Cure Peyramale, officiating and blessingkneeling multitudes while the organs resounded joyfully. The Basilica, over yonder, appeared, vibrating with the pealing of its bells, clamorouswith the superhuman joy of an accomplished miracle, all sparkling withits countless lights, its banners, its lamps, its hearts of silver andgold, its clergy attired in gold, and its monstrance akin to a goldenstar. It flamed in the setting sun, it touched the heavens with itsspire, amidst the soaring of the milliards of prayers which caused itswalls to quiver. Here, however, was the church that had died before beingborn, the church placed under interdict by a mandamus of the Bishop, thechurch falling into dust, and open to the four winds of heaven. Eachstorm carried away a little more of the stones, big flies buzzed allalone among the nettles which had invaded the nave; and there were noother devotees than the poor women of the neighbourhood, who came thitherto turn their sorry linen, spread upon the grass. 

It seemed amidst the mournful silence as though a low voice were sobbing, perhaps the voice of the marble columns weeping over their useless beautyunder their wooden shirts. At times birds would fly across the desertedapse uttering a shrill cry. Bands of enormous rats which had taken refugeunder bits of the lowered scaffoldings would fight, and bite, and boundout of their holes in a gallop of terror. And nothing could have been moreheart-rending than the sight of this pre-determined ruin, face to facewith its triumphant rival, the Basilica, which beamed with gold. 

Again Doctor Chassaigne curtly said, "Come. "

They left the church, and following the left aisle, reached a door, roughly fashioned out of a few planks nailed together; and, when they hadpassed down a half-demolished wooden staircase, the steps of which shookbeneath their feet, they found themselves in the crypt. 

It was a low vault, with squat arches, on exactly the same plan as thechoir. The thick, stunted columns, left in the rough, also awaited theirsculptors. Materials were lying about, pieces of wood were rotting on thebeaten ground, the whole vast hall was white with plaster in theabandonment in which unfinished buildings are left. At the far end, threebays, formerly glazed, but in which not a pane of glass remained, threw aclear, cold light upon the desolate bareness of the walls. 

And there, in the middle, lay Cure Peyramale's corpse. Some pious friendshad conceived the touching idea of thus burying him in the crypt of hisunfinished church. The tomb stood on a broad step and was all marble. Theinscriptions, in letters of gold, expressed the feelings of thesubscribers, the cry of truth and reparation that came from the monumentitself. You read on the face: "This tomb has been erected by the aid ofpious offerings from the entire universe to the blessed memory of thegreat servant of Our Lady of Lourdes. " On the right side were these wordsfrom a Brief of Pope Pius IX. : "You have entirely devoted yourself toerecting a temple to the Mother of God. " And on the left were these wordsfrom the New Testament: "Happy are they who suffer persecution forjustice' sake. " Did not these inscriptions embody the true plaint, thelegitimate hope of the vanquished man who had fought so long in the soledesire of strictly executing the commands of the Virgin as transmitted tohim by Bernadette? She, Our Lady of Lourdes, was there personified by aslender statuette, standing above the commemorative inscription, againstthe naked wall whose only decorations were a few bead wreaths hangingfrom nails. And before the tomb, as before the Grotto, were five or sixbenches in rows, for the faithful who desired to sit down. 

But with another gesture of sorrowful compassion, Doctor Chassaigne hadsilently pointed out to Pierre a huge damp spot which was turning thewall at the far end quite green. Pierre remembered the little lake whichhe had noticed up above on the cracked cement flooring of thechoir--quite a quantity of water left by the storm of the previous night. Infiltration had evidently commenced, a perfect stream ran down, invadingthe crypt, whenever there was heavy rain. And they both felt a pang attheir hearts when they perceived that the water was trickling along thevaulted roof in narrow threads, and thence falling in large, regularrhythmical drops upon the tomb. The doctor could not restrain a groan. "Now it rains, " he said; "it rains on him!"

Pierre remained motionless, in a kind of awe. In the presence of thatfalling water, at the thought of the blasts which must rush at wintertime through the glassless windows, that corpse appeared to him bothwoeful and tragic. It acquired a fierce grandeur, lying there alone inits splendid marble tomb, amidst all the rubbish, at the bottom of thecrumbling ruins of its own church. It was the solitary guardian, the deadsleeper and dreamer watching over the empty spaces, open to all the birdsof night. It was the mute, obstinate, eternal protest, and it wasexpectation also. Cure Peyramale, stretched in his coffin, having alleternity before him to acquire patience, there, without weariness, awaited the workmen who would perhaps return thither some fine Aprilmorning. If they should take ten years to do so, he would be there, andif it should take them a century, he would be there still. He was waitingfor the rotten scaffoldings up above, among the grass of the nave, to beresuscitated like the dead, and by the force of some miracle to standupright once more, along the walls. He was waiting, too, for themoss-covered engine to become all at once burning hot, recover itsbreath, and raise the timbers for the roof. His beloved enterprise, hisgigantic building, was crumbling about his head, and yet with joinedhands and closed eyes he was watching over its ruins, watching andwaiting too. 

In a low voice, the doctor finished the cruel story, telling how, afterpersecuting Cure Peyramale and his work, they persecuted his tomb. Therehad formerly been a bust of the Cure there, and pious hands had kept alittle lamp burning before it. But a woman had one day fallen with herface to the earth, saying that she had perceived the soul of thedeceased, and thereupon the Fathers of the Grotto were in a flutter. Weremiracles about to take place there? The sick already passed entire daysthere, seated on the benches before the tomb. Others knelt down, kissedthe marble, and prayed to be cured. And at this a feeling of terrorarose: supposing they should be cured, supposing the Grotto should find acompetitor in this martyr, lying all alone, amidst the old tools leftthere by the masons! The Bishop of Tarbes, informed and influenced, thereupon published the mandamus which placed the church under interdict, forbidding all worship there and all pilgrimages and processions to thetomb of the former priest of Lourdes. As in the case of Bernadette, hismemory was proscribed, his portrait could be found, officially, nowhere. In the same manner as they had shown themselves merciless against theliving man, so did the Fathers prove merciless to his memory. Theypursued him even in his tomb. They alone, again nowadays, prevented theworks of the church from being proceeded with, by raising continualobstacles, and absolutely refusing to share their rich harvest of alms. And they seemed to be waiting for the winter rains to fall and completethe work of destruction, for the vaulted roof of the crypt, the walls, the whole gigantic pile to crumble down upon the tomb of the martyr, uponthe body of the defeated man, so that he might be buried beneath them andat last pounded to dust!

"Ah!" murmured the doctor, "I, who knew him so valiant, so enthusiasticin all noble labour! Now, you see it, it rains, it rains on him!"

Painfully, he set himself on his knees and found relief in a long prayer. 

Pierre, who could not pray, remained standing. Compassionate sorrow wasoverflowing from his heart. He listened to the heavy drops from the roofas one by one they broke on the tomb with a slow rhythmical pit-a-pat, which seemed to be numbering the seconds of eternity, amidst the profoundsilence. And he reflected on the eternal misery of this world, on thechoice which suffering makes in always falling on the best. The two greatmakers of Our Lady of Lourdes, Bernadette and Cure Peyramale, rose up inthe flesh again before him, like woeful victims, tortured during theirlives and exiled after their deaths. That alone, indeed, would havecompleted within him the destruction of his faith; for the Bernadette, whom he had just found at the end of his researches, was but a humansister, loaded with every dolour. But none the less he preserved a tenderbrotherly veneration for her, and two tears slowly trickled down hischeeks. 

THE FIFTH DAY

I. EGOTISM AND LOVE

AGAIN that night Pierre, at the Hotel of the Apparitions, was unable toobtain a wink of sleep. After calling at the hospital to inquire afterMarie, who, since her return from the procession, had been soundlyenjoying the delicious, restoring sleep of a child, he had gone to bedhimself feeling anxious at the prolonged absence of M. De Guersaint. Hehad expected him at latest at dinner-time, but probably some mischancehad detained him at Gavarnie; and he thought how disappointed Marie wouldbe if her father were not there to embrace her the first thing in themorning. With a man like M. De Guersaint, so pleasantly heedless and sohare-brained, everything was possible, every fear might be realised. 

Perhaps this anxiety had at first sufficed to keep Pierre awake in spiteof his great fatigue; but afterwards the nocturnal noises of the hotelhad really assumed unbearable proportions. The morrow, Tuesday, was theday of departure, the last day which the national pilgrimage would spendat Lourdes, and the pilgrims no doubt were making the most of their time, coming from the Grotto and returning thither in the middle of the night, endeavouring as it were to force the grace of Heaven by their commotion, and apparently never feeling the slightest need of repose. The doorsslammed, the floors shook, the entire building vibrated beneath thedisorderly gallop of a crowd. Never before had the walls reverberatedwith such obstinate coughs, such thick, husky voices. Thus Pierre, a preyto insomnia, tossed about on his bed and continually rose up, beset withthe idea that the noise he heard must have been made by M. De Guersaintwho had returned. For some minutes he would listen feverishly; but hecould only hear the extraordinary sounds of the passage, amid which hecould distinguish nothing precisely. Was it the priest, the mother andher three daughters, or the old married couple on his left, who werefighting with the furniture? or was it rather the larger family, or thesingle gentleman, or the young single woman on his right, whom someincomprehensible occurrences were leading into adventures? At one momenthe jumped from his bed, wishing to explore his absent friend's emptyroom, as he felt certain that some deeds of violence were taking place init. But although he listened very attentively when he got there, the onlysound he could distinguish was the tender caressing murmur of two voices. Then a sudden recollection of Madame Volmar came to him, and he returnedshuddering to bed. 

At length, when it was broad daylight and Pierre had just fallen asleep, a loud knocking at his door awoke him with a start. This time there couldbe no mistake, a loud voice broken by sobs was calling "Monsieur l'Abbe!Monsieur l'Abbe! for Heaven's sake wake up!"

Surely it must be M. De Guersaint who had been brought back dead, atleast. Quite scared, Pierre ran and opened the door, in his night-shirt, and found himself in the presence of his neighbour, M. Vigneron. 

"Oh! for Heaven's sake, Monsieur l'Abbe, dress yourself at once!"exclaimed the assistant head-clerk. "Your holy ministry is required. "And he began to relate that he had just got up to see the time by hiswatch on the mantelpiece, when he had heard some most frightful sighsissuing from the adjoining room, where Madame Chaise slept. She had leftthe communicating door open in order to be more with them, as shepleasantly expressed it. Accordingly he had hastened in, and flung theshutters open so as to admit both light and air. "And what a sight, Monsieur l'Abbe!" he continued. "Our poor aunt lying on her bed, nearlypurple in the face already, her mouth wide open in a vain effort tobreathe, and her hands fumbling with the sheet. It's her heart complaint, you know. Come, come at once, Monsieur l'Abbe, and help her, I imploreyou!"

Pierre, utterly bewildered, could find neither his breeches nor hiscassock. "Of course, of course I'll come with you, " said he. "But I havenot what is necessary for administering the last sacraments. "

M. Vigneron had assisted him to dress, and was now stooping down lookingfor his slippers. "Never mind, " he said, "the mere sight of you willassist her in her last moments, if Heaven has this affliction in storefor us. Here! put these on your feet, and follow me at once--oh! atonce!"

He went off like a gust of wind and plunged into the adjoining room. Allthe doors remained wide open. The young priest, who followed him, noticednothing in the first room, which was in an incredible state of disorder, beyond the half-naked figure of little Gustave, who sat on the sofaserving him as a bed, motionless, very pale, forgotten, and shiveringamid this drama of inexorable death. Open bags littered the floor, thegreasy remains of supper soiled the table, the parents' bed seemeddevastated by the catastrophe, its coverlets torn off and lying on thefloor. And almost immediately afterwards he caught sight of the mother, who had hastily enveloped herself in an old yellow dressing-gown, standing with a terrified look in the inner room. 

"Well, my love, well, my love?" repeated M. Vigneron, in stammeringaccents. 

With a wave of her hand and without uttering a word Madame Vigneron drewtheir attention to Madame Chaise, who lay motionless, with her head sunkin the pillow and her hands stiffened and twisted. She was blue in theface, and her mouth gaped, as though with the last great gasp that hadcome from her. 

Pierre bent over her. Then in a low voice he said: "She is dead!"

Dead! The word rang through the room where a heavy silence reigned, andthe husband and wife looked at each other in amazement, bewilderment. Soit was over? The aunt had died before Gustave, and the youngsterinherited her five hundred thousand francs. How many times had they dwelton that dream; whose sudden realisation dumfounded them? How many timeshad despair overcome them when they feared that the poor child mightdepart before her? Dead! Good heavens! was it their fault? Had theyreally prayed to the Blessed Virgin for this? She had shown herself sogood to them that they trembled at the thought that they had not beenable to express a wish without its being granted. In the death of thechief clerk, so suddenly carried off so that they might have his place, they had already recognised the powerful hand of Our Lady of Lourdes. Hadshe again loaded them with favours, listening even to the unconsciousdreams of their desire? Yet they had never desired anyone's death; theywere worthy people incapable of any bad action, loving their relations, fulfilling their religious duties, going to confession, partaking of thecommunion like other people without any ostentation. Whenever theythought of those five hundred thousand francs, of their son who might bethe first to go, and of the annoyance it would be to them to see anotherand far less worthy nephew inherit that fortune, it was merely in theinnermost recesses of their hearts, in short, quite innocently andnaturally. Certainly they _had_ thought of it when they were at theGrotto, but was not the Blessed Virgin wisdom itself? Did she not knowfar better than ourselves what she ought to do for the happiness of boththe living and the dead?

Then Madame Vigneron in all sincerity burst into tears and wept for thesister whom she loved so much. "Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe, " she said, "I sawher expire; she passed away before my eyes. What a misfortune that youwere not here sooner to receive her soul! She died without a priest; yourpresence would have consoled her so much. "

A prey also to emotion, his eyes full of tears, Vigneron sought toconsole his wife. "Your sister was a saint, " said he; "she communicatedagain yesterday morning, and you need have no anxiety concerning her; hersoul has gone straight to heaven. No doubt, if Monsieur l'Abbe had beenhere in time she would have been glad to see him. But what would you?Death was quicker. I went at once, and really there is nothing for us toreproach ourselves with. "

Then, turning towards the priest, he added "Monsieur l'Abbe, it was herexcessive piety which certainly hastened her end. Yesterday, at theGrotto, she had a bad attack, which was a warning. And in spite of herfatigue she obstinately followed the procession afterwards. I thoughtthen that she could not last long. Yet, out of delicacy, one did not liketo say anything to her, for fear of frightening her. "

Pierre gently knelt down and said the customary prayers, with that humanemotion which was his nearest approach to faith in the presence ofeternal life and eternal death, both so pitiful. Then, as he remainedkneeling a little longer, he overheard snatches of the conversationaround him. 

Little Gustave, forgotten on his couch amid the disorder of the otherroom, must have lost patience, for he had begun to cry and call out, "Mamma! mamma! mamma!"

At length Madame Vigneron went to quiet him, and it occurred to her tocarry him in her arms to kiss his poor aunt for the last time. But atfirst he struggled and refused, crying so much that M. Vigneron wasobliged to interfere and try to make him ashamed of himself. What! he whowas never frightened of anything! who bore suffering with the courage ofa grown-up man! And to think it was a question of kissing his poor aunt, who had always been so kind, whose last thought must most certainly havebeen for him!

"Give him to me, " said he to his wife; "he's going to be good. "

Gustave ended by clinging to his father's neck. He came shivering in hisnight-shirt, displaying his wretched little body devoured by scrofula. Itseemed indeed as though the miraculous water of the piscinas, far fromcuring him, had freshened the sore on his back; whilst his scraggy leghung down inertly like a dry stick. 

"Kiss her, " resumed M. Vigneron. 

The child leant forward and kissed his aunt on the forehead. It was notdeath which upset him and caused him to struggle. Since he had been inthe room he had been looking at the dead woman with an air of quietcuriosity. He did not love her, he had suffered on her account so long. He had the ideas and feelings of a man, and the weight of them wasstifling him as, like his complaint, they developed and became moreacute. He felt full well that he was too little, that children ought notto understand what only concerns their elders. 

However, his father, seating himself out of the way, kept him on hisknee, whilst his mother closed the window and lit the two candles on themantelpiece. "Ah! my poor dear, " murmured M. Vigneron, feeling that hemust say something, "it's a cruel loss for all of us. Our trip is nowcompletely spoilt; this is our last day, for we start this afternoon. Andthe Blessed Virgin, too, was showing herself so kind to us. "

However, seeing his son's surprised look, a look of infinite sadness andreproach, he hastened to add: "Yes, of course, I know that she hasn't yetquite cured you. But we must not despair of her kindness. She loves us sowell, she shows us so many favours that she will certainly end by curingyou, since that is now the only favour that remains for her to grant us. "

Madame Vigneron, who was listening, drew near and said: "How happy weshould have been to have returned to Paris all three hale and hearty!Nothing is ever perfect!"

"I say!" suddenly observed Monsieur Vigneron, "I sha'n't be able to leavewith you this afternoon, on account of the formalities which have to begone through. I hope that my return ticket will still be availableto-morrow!"

They were both getting over the frightful shock, feeling a sense ofrelief in spite of their affection for Madame Chaise; and, in fact, theywere already forgetting her, anxious above all things to leave Lourdes assoon as possible, as though the principal object of their journey hadbeen attained. A decorous, unavowed delight was slowly penetrating them. 

"When I get back to Paris there will be so much for me to do, " continuedM. Vigneron. "I, who now only long for repose! All the same I shallremain my three years at the Ministry, until I can retire, especially nowthat I am certain of the retiring pension of chief clerk. Butafterwards--oh! afterwards I certainly hope to enjoy life a bit. Sincethis money has come to us I shall purchase the estate of Les Billottes, that superb property down at my native place which I have always beendreaming of. And I promise you that I sha'n't find time hanging heavy onmy hands in the midst of my horses, my dogs, and my flowers!"

Little Gustave was still on his father's knee, his night-shirt tucked up, his whole wretched misshapen body shivering, and displaying thescragginess of a slowly dying child. When he perceived that his father, now full of his dream of an opulent life, no longer seemed to notice thathe was there, he gave one of his enigmatical smiles, in which melancholywas tinged with malice. "But what about me, father?" he asked. 

M. Vigneron started, like one aroused from sleep, and did not at firstseem to understand. "You, little one? You'll be with us, of course!"

But Gustave gave him a long, straight look, without ceasing to smile withhis artful, though woeful lips. "Oh! do you think so?" he asked. 

"Of course I think so! You'll be with us, and it will be very nice to bewith us. "

Uneasy, stammering, unable to find the proper words, M. Vigneron felt achill come over him when his son shrugged his skinny shoulders with anair of philosophical disdain and answered: "Oh, no! I shall be dead. "

And then the terrified father was suddenly able to detect in the child'sdeep glance the glance of a man who was very aged, very knowing in allthings, acquainted with all the abominations of life through having gonethrough them. What especially alarmed him was the abrupt conviction thatthis child had always seen into the innermost recesses of his heart, evenfarther than the things he dared to acknowledge to himself. He couldrecall that when the little sufferer had been but a baby in his cradlehis eyes would frequently be fixed upon his own--and even then those eyeshad been rendered so sharp by suffering, endowed, too, with such anextraordinary power of divination, that they had seemed able to dive intothe unconscious thoughts buried in the depths of his brain. And by asingular counter-effect all the things that he had never owned to himselfhe now found in his child's eyes--he beheld them, read them there, against his will. The story of his cupidity lay unfolded before him, hisanger at having such a sorry son, his anguish at the idea that MadameChaise's fortune depended upon such a fragile existence, his eager desirethat she might make haste and die whilst the youngster was still there, in order that he might finger the legacy. It was simply a question ofdays, this duel as to which should go off first. And then, at the end, itstill meant death--the youngster must in his turn disappear, whilst he, the father, alone pocketed the cash, and lived joyfully to a good oldage. And these frightful things shone forth so clearly from the keen, melancholy, smiling eyes of the poor condemned child, passed from son tofather with such evident distinctness, that for a moment it seemed tothem that they were shouting them aloud. 

However, M. Vigneron struggled against it all, and, averting his head, began energetically protesting: "How! You'll be dead? What an idea! It'sabsurd to have such ideas as that!"

Meantime, Madame Vigneron was sobbing. "You wicked child, " she gasped;"how can you make us so unhappy, when we already have such a cruel lossto deplore?"

Gustave had to kiss them, and to promise them that he would live fortheir sakes. Yet he did not cease smiling, conscious as he was that a lieis necessary when one does not wish to be too miserable, and quiteprepared, moreover, to leave his parents happy behind him, since even theBlessed Virgin herself was powerless to grant him in this world thelittle happy lot to which each creature should be born. 

His mother took him back to bed, and Pierre at length rose up, just as M. Vigneron had finished arranging the chamber of death in a suitablemanner. "You'll excuse me, won't you, Monsieur l'Abbe?" said he, accompanying the young priest to the door. "I'm not quite myself. Well, it's an unpleasant time to go through. I must get over it somehow, however. "

When Pierre got into the passage he stopped for a moment, listening to asound of voices which was ascending the stairs. He had just been thinkingof M. De Guersaint again, and imagined that he could recognise his voice. However, whilst he stood there waiting, an incident occurred which causedhim intense discomfort. The door of the room next to M. De Guersaint'ssoftly opened and a woman, clad in black, slipped into the passage. Asshe turned, she found herself face to face with Pierre, in such a fashionthat it was impossible for them to pretend not to recognise each other. 

The woman was Madame Volmar. Six o'clock had not yet struck, and she wasgoing off, hoping that nobody would notice her, with the intention ofshowing herself at the hospital, and there spending this last morning, inorder, in some measure, to justify her journey to Lourdes. When sheperceived Pierre, she began to tremble, and, at first, could onlystammer: "Oh, Monsieur l'Abbe, Monsieur l'Abbe!"

Then, noticing that the priest had left his door wide open, she seemed togive way to the fever consuming her, to a need of speaking out, explaining things and justifying herself. With her face suffused by arush of blood she entered the young man's room, whither he had to followher, greatly disturbed by this strange adventure. And, as he still leftthe door open, it was she who, in her desire to confide her sorrow andher sin to him, begged that he would close it. 

"Oh! I pray you, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said she, "do not judge me tooharshly. "

He made a gesture as though to reply that he did not allow himself theright to pass judgment upon her. 

"But yes, but yes, " she responded; "I know very well that you areacquainted with my misfortune. You saw me once in Paris behind the churchof La Trinite, and the other day you recognised me on the balcony here!You were aware that I was there--in that room. But if you only knew--ah, if you only knew!"

Her lips were quivering, and tears were welling into her eyes. As helooked at her he was surprised by the extraordinary beauty transfiguringher face. This woman, invariably clad in black, extremely simple, withnever a jewel, now appeared to him in all the brilliancy of her passion;no longer drawing back into the gloom, no longer seeking to bedim thelustre of her eyes, as was her wont. She, who at first sight did not seempretty, but too dark and slender, with drawn features, a large mouth andlong nose, assumed, as he now examined her, a troubling charm, apowerful, irresistible beauty. Her eyes especially--her large, magnificent eyes, whose brasiers she usually sought to cover with a veilof indifference--were flaring like torches; and he understood that sheshould be loved, adored, to madness. 

"If you only knew, Monsieur l'Abbe, " she continued. "If I were only totell you all that I have suffered. Doubtless you have suspected somethingof it, since you are acquainted with my mother-in-law and my husband. Onthe few occasions when you have called on us you cannot but haveunderstood some of the abominable things which go on in my home, though Ihave always striven to appear happy in my silent little corner. But tolive like that for ten years, to have no existence--never to love, neverto be loved--no, no, it was beyond my power!"

And then she related the whole painful story: her marriage with thediamond merchant, a disastrous, though it seemed an advantageous one; hermother-in-law, with the stern soul of a jailer or an executioner, and herhusband, a monster of physical ugliness and mental villainy. Theyimprisoned her, they did not even allow her to look out of a window. Theyhad beaten her, they had pitilessly assailed her in her tastes, herinclinations, in all her feminine weaknesses. She knew that her husbandwandered in his affections, and yet if she smiled to a relative, if shehad a flower in her corsage on some rare day of gaiety, he would tear itfrom her, enter into the most jealous rage, and seize and bruise herwrists whilst shouting the most fearful threats. For years and years shehad lived in that hell, hoping, hoping still, having within her such apower of life, such an ardent need of affection, that she continuedwaiting for happiness, ever thinking, at the faintest breath, that it wasabout to enter. 

"I swear to you, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said she, "that I could not dootherwise than I have done. I was too unhappy: my whole being longed forsomeone who would care for me. And when my friend the first time told methat he loved me it was all over--I was his forever. Ah! to be loved, tobe spoken to gently, to have someone near you who is always solicitousand amiable; to know that in absence he thinks of you, that there is aheart somewhere in which you live... Ah! if it be a crime, Monsieurl'Abbe, I cannot, cannot feel remorse for it. I will not even say that Iwas urged to it; I simply say that it came to me as naturally as mybreath, because it was as necessary to my life!"

She had carried her hand to her lips as though to throw a kiss to theworld, and Pierre felt deeply disturbed in presence of this lovely woman, who personified all the ardour of human passion, and at the same time afeeling of deep pity began to arise within him. 

"Poor woman!" he murmured. 

"It is not to the priest that I am confessing, " she resumed; "it is tothe man that I am speaking, to a man by whom I should greatly like to beunderstood. No, I am not a believer: religion has not sufficed me. It issaid that some women find contentment in it, a firm protection evenagainst all transgressions. But I have ever felt cold in church, wearyunto death. Oh! I know very well that it is wrong to feign piety, tomingle religion with my heart affairs. But what would you? I am forced toit. If you saw me in Paris behind La Trinite it was because that churchis the only place to which I am allowed to go alone; and if you find mehere at Lourdes it is because, in the whole long year, I have but thesethree days of happiness and freedom. "

Again she began to tremble. Hot tears were coursing down her cheeks. Avision of it all arose in Pierre's mind, and, distracted by the thoughtof the ardent earthly love which possessed this unhappy creature, heagain murmured: "Poor woman!"

"And, Monsieur l'Abbe, " she continued, "think of the hell to which I amabout to return! For weeks and months I live my life of martyrdom withoutcomplaint. Another year, another year must go by without a day, an hourof happiness! Ah! I am indeed very unhappy, Monsieur l'Abbe, yet do younot think all the same that I am a good woman?"

He had been deeply moved by her sincere display of mingled grief andpassion. He felt in her the breath of universal desire--a sovereignflame. And his compassion overflowed from his heart, and his words werewords of pardon. "Madame, " he said, "I pity you and respect youinfinitely. "

Then she spoke no further, but looked at him with her large tear-blurredeyes. And suddenly catching hold of both his hands, she grasped themtightly with her burning fingers. And then she went off, vanishing downthe passage as light, as ethereal, as a shadow. 

However, Pierre suffered from her presence in that room even more acutelyafter she had departed. He opened the window wide that the fresh airmight carry off the breath of passion which she had left there. Alreadyon the Sunday when he had seen her on the balcony he had been seized withterror at the thought that she personified the revenge of the world andthe flesh amidst all the mystical exaltation of immaculate Lourdes. Andnow his terror was returning to him. Love seemed stronger than faith, andperhaps it was only love that was divine. To love, to belong to oneanother, to create and continue life--was not that the one sole object ofnature outside of all social and religious policies? For a moment he wasconscious of the abyss before him: his chastity was his last prop, thevery dignity of his spoilt life; and he realised that, if after yieldingto his reason he also yielded to his flesh, he would be utterly lost. Allhis pride of purity, all his strength which he had placed in professionalrectitude, thereupon returned to him, and he again vowed that he wouldnever be a man, since he had voluntarily cut himself off from among men. 

Seven o'clock was striking, and Pierre did not go back to bed, but beganto wash himself, thoroughly enjoying the cool water, which ended bycalming his fever. As he finished dressing, the anxious thought of M. DeGuersaint recurred to him on hearing a sound of footsteps in the passage. These steps stopped outside his room and someone knocked. With a feelingof relief he went to open the door, but on doing so exclaimed in greatsurprise "What, it's you! How is it that you're already up, running aboutto see people?"

Marie stood on the threshold smiling, whilst behind her was SisterHyacinthe, who had come with her, and who also was smiling, with herlovely, candid eyes. 

"Ah! my friend, " said the girl, "I could not remain in bed. I sprang outdirectly I saw the sunshine. I had such a longing to walk, to run andjump about like a child, and I begged and implored so much that Sisterwas good enough to come with me. I think I should have got out throughthe window if the door had been closed against me. "

Pierre ushered them in, and an indescribable emotion oppressed him as heheard her jest so gaily and saw her move about so freely with such graceand liveliness. She, good heavens! she whom he had seen for years withlifeless legs and colourless face! Since he had left her the day beforeat the Basilica she had blossomed into full youth and beauty. One nighthad sufficed for him to find again, developed it is true, the sweetcreature whom he had loved so tenderly, the superb, radiant child whom hehad embraced so wildly in the by-gone days behind the flowering hedge, beneath the sun-flecked trees. 

"How tall and lovely you are, Marie!" said he, in spite of himself. 

Then Sister Hyacinthe interposed: "Hasn't the Blessed Virgin done thingswell, Monsieur l'Abbe? When she takes us in hand, you see, she turns usout as fresh as roses and smelling quite as sweet. "

"Ah!" resumed Marie, "I'm so happy; I feel quite strong and well andspotless, as though I had just been born!"

All this was very delicious to Pierre. It seemed to him that theatmosphere was now truly purified of Madame Volmar's presence. Mariefilled the room with her candour, with the perfume and brightness of herinnocent youth. And yet the joy he felt at the sight of pure beauty andlife reflowering was not exempt from sadness. For, after all, the revoltwhich he had felt in the crypt, the wound of his wrecked life, mustforever leave him a bleeding heart. As he gazed upon all thatresuscitated grace, as the woman he loved thus reappeared before him inthe flower of her youth, he could not but remember that she would neverbe his, that he belonged no longer to the world, but to the grave. However, he no longer lamented; he experienced a boundless melancholy--asensation of utter nothingness as he told himself that he was dead, thatthis dawn of beauty was rising on the tomb in which his manhood slept. Itwas renunciation, accepted, resolved upon amidst all the desolategrandeur attaching to those lives which are led contrary to nature's law. Then, like the other woman, the impassioned one, Marie took hold ofPierre's hands. But hers were so soft, so fresh, so soothing! She lookedat him with so little confusion and a great longing which she dared notexpress. After a while, however, she summoned up her courage and said:"Will you kiss me, Pierre? It would please me so much. "

He shuddered, his heart crushed by this last torture. Ah! the kisses ofother days--those kisses which had ever lingered on his lips! Never sincehad he kissed her, and to-day she was like a sister flinging her armsaround his neck. She kissed him with a loud smack on both his cheeks, andoffering her own, insisted on his doing likewise to her. So twice, in histurn, he embraced her. 

"I, too, Marie, " said he, "am pleased, very pleased, I assure you. " Andthen, overcome by emotion, his courage exhausted, whilst at the same timefilled with delight and bitterness, he burst into sobs, weeping with hisface buried in his hands, like a child seeking to hide its tears. 

"Come, come, we must not give way, " said Sister Hyacinthe, gaily. "Monsieur l'Abbe would feel too proud if he fancied that we had merelycome on his account. M. De Guersaint is about, isn't he?"

Marie raised a cry of deep affection. "Ah! my dear father! After all, it's he who'll be most pleased!"

Thereupon Pierre had to relate that M. De Guersaint had not returned fromhis excursion to Gavarnie. His increasing anxiety showed itself while hespoke, although he sought to explain his friend's absence, surmising allsorts of obstacles and unforeseen complications. Marie, however, did notseem afraid, but again laughed, saying that her father never could bepunctual. Still she was extremely eager for him to see her walking, tofind her on her legs again, resuscitated, in the fresh blossoming of heryouth. 

All at once Sister Hyacinthe, who had gone to lean over the balcony, returned to the room, saying "Here he comes! He's down below, justalighting from his carriage. "

"Ah!" cried Marie, with the eager playfulness of a school-girl, "let'sgive him a surprise. Yes, we must hide, and when he's here we'll showourselves all of a sudden. "

With these words, she hastily dragged Sister Hyacinthe into the adjoiningroom. 

Almost immediately afterwards, M. De Guersaint entered like a whirlwindfrom the passage, the door communicating with which had been quicklyopened by Pierre, and, shaking the young priest's hand, the belatedexcursionist exclaimed: "Here I am at last! Ah! my friend, you can't haveknown what to think since four o'clock yesterday, when you expected meback, eh? But you have no idea of the adventures we have had. To beginwith, one of the wheels of our landau came off just as we reachedGavarnie; then, yesterday evening--though we managed to start offagain--a frightful storm detained us all night long at Saint-Sauveur. Iwasn't able to sleep a wink. " Then, breaking off, he inquired, "And you, are you all right?"

"I wasn't able to sleep either, " said the priest; "they made such a noisein the hotel. "

But M. De Guersaint had already started off again: "All the same, it wasdelightful. I must tell you; you can't imagine it. I was with threedelightful churchmen. Abbe des Hermoises is certainly the most charmingman I know. Oh! we did laugh--we did laugh!"

Then he again stopped, to inquire, "And how's my daughter?"

Thereupon a clear laugh behind him caused him to turn round, and heremained with his mouth wide open. Marie was there, and was walking, witha look of rapturous delight upon her face, which was beaming with health. He had never for a moment doubted the miracle, and was not in the leastsurprised that it had taken place, for he had returned with theconviction that everything would end well, and that he would surely findher cured. But what so utterly astounded him was the prodigious spectaclewhich he had not foreseen: his daughter, looking so beautiful, so divine, in her little black gown!--his daughter, who had not even brought a hatwith her, and merely had a piece of lace tied over her lovely fairhair!--his daughter, full of life, blooming, triumphant, similar to allthe daughters of all the fathers whom he had envied for so many years!

"O my child! O my child!" he exclaimed. 

And, as she had flown into his arms, he pressed her to his heart, andthen they fell upon their knees together. Everything disappeared frombefore them in a radiant effusion of faith and love. This heedless, hare-brained man, who fell asleep instead of accompanying his daughter tothe Grotto, who went off to Gavarnie on the day the Blessed Virgin was tocure her, overflowed with such paternal affection, with such Christianfaith so exalted by thankfulness, that for a moment he appeared sublime. 

"O Jesus! O Mary! let me thank you for having restored my child to me! Omy child, we shall never have breath enough, soul enough, to renderthanks to Mary and Jesus for the great happiness they have vouchsafed us!O my child, whom they have resuscitated, O my child, whom they have madeso beautiful again, take my heart to offer it to them with your own! I amyours, I am theirs eternally, O my beloved child, my adored child!"

Kneeling before the open window they both, with uplifted eyes, gazedardently on heaven. The daughter had rested her head on her father'sshoulder; whilst he had passed an arm round her waist. They had becomeone. Tears slowly trickled down their enraptured faces, which weresmiling with superhuman felicity, whilst they stammered togetherdisconnected expressions of gratitude. 

"O Jesus, we give Thee thanks! O Holy Mother of Jesus, we give theethanks! We love you, we adore you both. You have rejuvenated the bestblood in our veins; it is yours, it circulates only for you. OAll-powerful Mother, O Divine and Well-beloved Son, behold a daughter anda father who bless you, who prostrate themselves with joy at your feet. "

So affecting was this mingling of two beings, happy at last after so manydark days, this happiness, which could but stammer as though still tingedwith suffering, that Pierre was again moved to tears. But this time theywere soothing tears which relieved his heart. Ah! poor pitiable humanity!how pleasant it was to see it somewhat consoled and enraptured! and whatdid it matter, after all, if its great joys of a few seconds' durationsprang from the eternal illusion! Was not the whole of humanity, pitiablehumanity, saved by love, personified by that poor childish man whosuddenly became sublime because he found his daughter resuscitated?

Standing a little aside, Sister Hyacinthe was also weeping, her heartvery full, full of human emotion which she had never before experienced, she who had known no other parents than the Almighty and the BlessedVirgin. Silence had now fallen in this room full of so much tearfulfraternity. And it was she who spoke the first, when the father and thedaughter, overcome with emotion, at length rose up. 

"Now, mademoiselle, " she said, "we must be quick and get back to thehospital. "

But they all protested. M. De Guersaint wished to keep his daughter withhim, and Marie's eyes expressed an eager desire, a longing to enjoy life, to walk and ramble through the whole vast world. 

"Oh! no, no!" said the father, "I won't give her back to you. We'll eachhave a cup of milk, for I'm dying of thirst; then we'll go out and walkabout. Yes, yes, both of us! She shall take my arm, like a little woman!"

Sister Hyacinthe laughed again. "Very well!" said she, "I'll leave herwith you, and tell the ladies that you've stolen her from me. But for myown part I must be off. You've no idea what an amount of work we have toget through at the hospital if we are to be ready in time to leave: thereare all the patients and things to be seen to; and all is in the greatestconfusion!"

"So to-day's really Tuesday, and we leave this afternoon?" asked Monsieurde Guersaint, already absent-minded again. 

"Of course we do, and don't forget! The white train starts at 3. 40. Andif you're sensible you'll bring your daughter back early so that she mayhave a little rest. "

Marie walked with the Sister to the door, saying "Be easy, I will be verygood. Besides, I want to go back to the Grotto, to thank the BlessedVirgin once more. "

When they found themselves all three alone in the little room full ofsunshine, it was delicious. Pierre called the servant and told her tobring them some milk, some chocolate, and cakes, in fact the nicestthings he could think of. And although Marie had already broken her fast, she ate again, so great an appetite had come upon her since the nightbefore. They drew the table to the window and made quite a feast amidstthe keen air from the mountains, whilst the hundred bells of Lourdes, proclaimed with flying peals the glory of that radiant day. Theychattered and laughed, and the young woman told her father the story ofthe miracle, with all the oft-repeated details. She related, too, how shehad left her box at the Basilica, and how she had slept twelve hourswithout stirring. Then M. De Guersaint on his side wished to relate hisexcursion, but got mixed and kept coming back to the miracle. Finally, itappeared that the Cirque de Gavarnie was something colossal. Only, whenyou looked at it from a distance it seemed small, for you lost all senseof proportion. The gigantic snow-covered tiers of cliffs, the topmostridge standing out against the sky with the outlines of some cyclopeanfortress with razed keep and jagged ramparts, the great cascade, whoseceaseless jet seemed so slow when in reality it must have rushed downwith a noise like thunder, the whole immensity, the forests on right andleft, the torrents and the landslips, looked as though they might havebeen held in the palm of one's hand, when one gazed upon them from thevillage market-place. And what had impressed him most, what he repeatedlyalluded to, were the strange figures described by the snow, which hadremained up there amongst the rocks. Amongst others was a huge crucifix, a white cross, several thousand yards in length, which you might havethought had been thrown across the amphitheatre from one end to theother. 

However, all at once M. De Guersaint broke off to inquire: "By the way, what's happening at our neighbour's? As I came up-stairs a little whileago I met Monsieur Vigneron running about like a madman; and, through theopen doorway of their room, I fancied I saw Madame Vigneron looking veryred. Has their son Gustave had another attack?"

Pierre had quite forgotten Madame Chaise lying dead on the other side ofthe partition. He seemed to feel a cold breath pass over him. "No, no, "he answered, "the child is all right. " And he said no more, preferring toremain silent. Why spoil this happy hour of new life and reconqueredyouth by mingling with it the image of death? However, from that momenthe himself could not cease thinking of the proximity of nothingness. Andhe thought, too, of that other room where Madame Volmar's friend was nowalone, stifling his sobs with his lips pressed upon a pair of gloveswhich he had stolen from her. All the sounds of the hotel were nowbecoming audible again--the coughs, the sighs, the indistinct voices, thecontinual slamming of doors, the creaking of the floors beneath the greataccumulation of travellers, and all the stir in the passages, along whichflying skirts were sweeping, and families galloping distractedly amidstthe hurry-scurry of departure. 

"On my word! you'll do yourself an injury, " all at once cried Monsieur deGuersaint, on seeing his daughter take up another cake. 

Marie was quite merry too. But at a sudden thought tears came into hereyes, and she exclaimed: "Ah! how glad I am! but also how sorry when Ithink that everybody is not as pleased as myself. "

II. PLEASANT HOURS

IT was eight o'clock, and Marie was so impatient that she could not keepstill, but continued going to the window, as if she wished to inhale allthe air of the vast, expanse and the immense sky. Ah! what a pleasure tobe able to run about the streets, across the squares, to go everywhere asfar as she might wish. And to show how strong she was, to have the prideof walking leagues in the presence of everyone, now that the BlessedVirgin had cured her! It was an irresistible impulsion, a flight of herentire being, her blood, and her heart. 

However, just as she was setting out she made up her mind that her firstvisit with her father ought to be to the Grotto, where both of them hadto thank Our Lady of Lourdes. Then they would be free; they would havetwo long hours before them, and might walk wherever they chose, beforeshe returned to lunch and pack up her few things at the hospital. 

"Well, is everyone ready?" repeated M. De Guersaint. "Shall we make amove?"

Pierre took his hat, and all three went down-stairs, talking very loudand laughing on the staircase, like boisterous school-boys going fortheir holidays. They had almost reached the street, when at the doorwayMadame Majeste rushed forward. She had evidently been waiting for them togo out. 

"Ah! mademoiselle; ah! gentlemen, allow me to congratulate you, " shesaid. "We have heard of the extraordinary favour that has been grantedyou; we are so happy, so much flattered, when the Blessed Virgin ispleased to select one of our customers!"

Her dry, harsh face was melting with amiability, and she observed themiraculously healed girl with the fondest of eyes. Then she impulsivelycalled her husband, who was passing: "Look, my dear! It's mademoiselle;it's mademoiselle. "

Majeste's clean-shaven face, puffed out with yellow fat, assumed a happyand grateful expression. "Really, mademoiselle, I cannot tell you howhonoured we feel, " said he. "We shall never forget that your papa put upat our place. It has already excited the envy of many people. "

While he spoke Madame Majeste stopped the other travellers who were goingout, and with a sign summoned the families already seated in thedining-room; indeed, she would have called in the whole street if theyhad given her time, to show that she had in her house the miracle atwhich all Lourdes had been marvelling since the previous day. Peopleended by collecting there, a crowd gathered little by little, while shewhispered in the ear of each "Look! that's she; the young party, youknow, the young party who--"

But all at once she exclaimed: "I'll go and fetch Apolline from the shop;I must show mademoiselle to Apolline. "

Thereupon, however, Majeste, in a very dignified way, restrained her. "No, " he said, "leave Apolline; she has three ladies to serve already. Mademoiselle and these gentlemen will certainly not leave Lourdes withoutmaking a few purchases. The little souvenirs that one carries away withone are so pleasant to look at later on! And our customers make a pointof never buying elsewhere than here, in the shop which we have annexed tothe hotel. "

"I have already offered my services, " added Madame Majeste, "and I renewthem. Apolline will be so happy to show mademoiselle all our prettiestarticles, at prices, too, which are incredibly low! Oh! there are somedelightful things, delightful!"

Marie was becoming impatient at being detained in this manner, and Pierrewas suffering from the increasing curiosity which they were arousing. Asfor M. De Guersaint, he enjoyed this popularity and triumph of hisdaughter immensely, and promised to return. 

"Certainly, " said he, "we will purchase a few little knick-knacks. Somesouvenirs for ourselves, and some presents that we shall have to make, but later on, when we come back. "

At last they escaped and descended the Avenue de la Grotte. The weatherwas again superb after the storms of the two preceding nights. Cooled bythe rain, the morning air was delicious amidst the gaiety which thebright sun shed around. A busy crowd, well pleased with life, was alreadyhurrying along the pavements. And what pleasure it all was for Marie, towhom everything seemed new, charming, inappreciable! In the morning shehad had to allow Raymonde to lend her a pair of boots, for she had takengood care not to put any in her portmanteau, superstitiously fearing thatthey might bring her bad luck. However, Raymonde's boots fitted heradmirably, and she listened with childish delight to the little heelstapping merrily on the flagstones. And she did not remember having everseen houses so white, trees so green, and passers-by so happy. All hersenses seemed holiday-making, endowed with a marvellously delicatesensibility; she heard music, smelt distant perfumes, savoured the airgreedily, as though it were some delicious fruit. But what sheconsidered, above all, so nice, so charming, was to walk along in thiswise on her father's arm. She had never done so before, although she hadfelt the desire for years, as for one of those impossible pleasures withwhich people occupy their minds when invalided. And now her dream wasrealised and her heart beat with joy. She pressed against her father, andstrove to walk very upright and look very handsome, so as to do himhonour. And he was quite proud, as happy as she was, showing, exhibitingher, overcome with joy at the thought that she belonged to him, that shewas his blood, his flesh, his daughter, henceforth beaming with youth andhealth. 

As they were all three crossing the Plateau de la Merlasse, alreadyobstructed by a band of candle and bouquet sellers running after thepilgrims, M. De Guersaint exclaimed, "We are surely not going to theGrotto empty-handed!"

Pierre, who was walking on the other side of Marie, himself brightened byher merry humour, thereupon stopped, and they were at once surrounded bya crowd of female hawkers, who with eager fingers thrust their goods intotheir faces. "My beautiful young lady! My good gentleman! Buy of me, ofme, of me!" Such was the onslaught that it became necessary to strugglein order to extricate oneself. M. De Guersaint ended by purchasing thelargest nosegay he could see--a bouquet of white marguerites, as roundand hard as a cabbage--from a handsome, fair-haired, well developed girlof twenty, who was extremely bold both in look and manner. It only costtwenty sons, and he insisted on paying for it out of his own littlepurse, somewhat abashed meantime by the girl's unblushing effrontery. Then Pierre in his turn settled for the three candles which Marie hadtaken from an old woman, candles at two francs each, a very reasonableprice, as she repeatedly said. And on being paid, the old creature, whohad an angular face, covetous eyes, and a nose like the beak of a bird ofprey, returned profuse and mellifluous thanks: "May Our Lady of Lourdesbless you, my beautiful young lady! May she cure you of your complaints, you and yours!" This enlivened them again, and they set out once more, all three laughing, amused like children at the idea that the goodwoman's wish had already been accomplished. 

At the Grotto Marie wished to file off at once, in order to offer thebouquet and candles herself before even kneeling down. There were notmany people there as yet, and having gone to the end of the line theirturn came after waiting some three or four minutes. And with whatenraptured glances did she then examine everything--the altar of engravedsilver, the harmonium-organ, the votive offerings, the candle-holders, streaming with wax blazing in broad daylight. She was now inside thatGrotto which she had hitherto only seen from her box of misery; shebreathed there as in Paradise itself, steeped rapturously in a pleasantwarmth and odour, which slightly oppressed her. When she had placed thetapers at the bottom of the large basket, and had raised herself ontiptoe to fix the bouquet on one of the spears of the iron railing, sheimprinted a long kiss upon the rock, below the statue of the BlessedVirgin, at the very spot, indeed, which millions of lips had alreadypolished. And the stone received a kiss of love in which she put forthall the strength of her gratitude, a kiss with which her heart melted. 

When she was once more outside, Marie prostrated and humbled herself inan almost endless act of thanksgiving. Her father also had knelt downnear her, and mingled the fervour of his gratitude with hers. But hecould not remain doing the same thing for long. Little by little hebecame uneasy, and ended by bending down to his daughter's ear to tellher that he had a call to make which he had previously forgotten. Assuredly the best course would be for her to remain where she was, praying, and waiting for him. While she completed her devotions he wouldhurry along and get his troublesome errand over; and then they might walkabout at ease wheresoever they liked. She did not understand him, did noteven hear him, but simply nodded her head, promising that she would notmove, and then such tender faith again took possession of her that hereyes, fixed on the white statue of the Virgin, filled with tears. 

When M. De Guersaint had joined Pierre, who had remained a short distanceoff, he gave him the following explanation. "My dear fellow, " he said, "it's a matter of conscience; I formally promised the coachman who droveus to Gavarnie that I would see his master and tell him the real cause ofour delay. You know whom I mean--the hairdresser on the Place duMarcadal. And, besides, I want to get shaved. "

Pierre, who felt uneasy at this proposal, had to give way in face of thepromise that they would be back within a quarter of an hour. Only, as thedistance seemed long, he on his side insisted on taking a trap which wasstanding at the bottom of the Plateau de la Merlasse. It was a sort ofgreenish cabriolet, and its driver, a fat fellow of about thirty, withthe usual Basque cap on his head, was smoking a cigarette whilst waitingto be hired. Perched sideways on the seat with his knees wide apart, hedrove them on with the tranquil indifference of a well-fed man whoconsiders himself the master of the street. 

"We will keep you, " said Pierre as he alighted, when they had reached thePlace du Marcadal. 

"Very well, very well, Monsieur l'Abbe! I'll wait for you!" And then, leaving his lean horse in the hot sun, the driver went to chat and laughwith a strong, dishevelled servant-girl who was washing a dog in thebasin of the neighbouring fountain. 

Cazaban, as it happened, was just then on the threshold of his shop, thelofty windows and pale green painting of which enlivened the dull Place, which was so deserted on week-days. When he was not pressed with work hedelighted to parade in this manner, standing between his two windows, which pots of pomatum and bottles of perfumery decorated with brightshades of colour. 

He at once recognised the gentlemen. "Very flattered, very much honoured. Pray walk in, I beg of you, " he said. 

Then, at the first words which M. De Guersaint said to him to excuse theman who had driven him to Gavarnie, he showed himself well disposed. Ofcourse it was not the man's fault; he could not prevent wheels coming topieces, or storms falling. So long as the travellers did not complain allwas well. 

"Oh!" thereupon exclaimed M. De Guersaint, "it's a magnificent country, never to be forgotten. "

"Well, monsieur, as our neighbourhood pleases you, you must come and seeus again; we don't ask anything better, " said Cazaban; and, on thearchitect seating himself in one of the arm-chairs and asking to beshaved, he began to bustle about. 

His assistant was still absent, running errands for the pilgrims whom helodged, a whole family, who were taking a case of chaplets, plasterVirgins, and framed engravings away with them. You heard a confusedtramping of feet and violent bursts of conversation coming from the firstfloor, all the helter-skelter of people whom the approaching departureand the packing of purchases lying hither and thither drove almost crazy. In the adjoining dining-room, the door of which had remained open, twochildren were draining the dregs of some cups of chocolate which stoodabout amidst the disorder of the breakfast service. The whole of thehouse had been let, entirely given over, and now had come the last hoursof this invasion which compelled the hairdresser and his wife to seekrefuge in the narrow cellar, where they slept on a small camp-bed. 

While Cazaban was rubbing M. De Guersaint's cheeks with soap-suds, thearchitect questioned him. "Well, are you satisfied with the season?"

"Certainly, monsieur, I can't complain. As you hear, my travellers areleaving to-day, but I am expecting others to-morrow morning; barelysufficient time for a sweep out. It will be the same up to October. "

Then, as Pierre remained standing, walking about the shop and looking atthe walls with an air of impatience, he turned round politely and said:"Pray be seated, Monsieur l'Abbe; take a newspaper. It will not be long. "

The priest having thanked him with a nod, and refusing to sit down, thehairdresser, whose tongue was ever itching to talk, continued: "Oh! asfor myself, I am always busy, my house is renowned for the cleanliness ofthe beds and the excellence of the fare. Only the town is not satisfied. Ah, no! I may even say that I have never known so much discontent here. "

He became silent for a moment, and shaved his customer's left cheek; thenagain pausing in his work he suddenly declared with a cry, wrung from himby conviction, "The Fathers of the Grotto are playing with fire, monsieur, that is all I have to say. "

From that moment, however, the vent-plug was withdrawn, and he talked andtalked and talked again. His big eyes rolled in his long face withprominent cheek-bones and sunburnt complexion sprinkled with red, whilethe whole of his nervous little body continued on the jump, agitated byhis growing exuberance of speech and gesture. He returned to his formerindictment, and enumerated all the many grievances that the old town hadagainst the Fathers. The hotel-keepers complained; the dealers inreligious fancy articles did not take half the amount they ought to haverealised; and, finally, the new town monopolised both the pilgrims andthe cash; there was now no possibility for anyone but the keepers of thelodging-houses, hotels, and shops open in the neighbourhood of the Grottoto make any money whatever. It was a merciless struggle, a deadlyhostility increasing from day to day, the old city losing a little of itslife each season, and assuredly destined to disappear, --to be choked, assassinated, by the young town. Ah! their dirty Grotto! He would ratherhave his feet cut off than tread there. Wasn't it heart-rending, thatknick-knack shop which they had stuck beside it? A shameful thing, atwhich a bishop had shown himself so indignant that it was said he hadwritten to the Pope! He, Cazaban, who flattered himself with being afreethinker and a Republican of the old days, who already under theEmpire had voted for the Opposition candidates, assuredly had the rightto declare that he did not believe in their dirty Grotto, and that he didnot care a fig for it!

"Look here, monsieur, " he continued; "I am going to tell you a fact. Mybrother belongs to the municipal council, and it's through him that Iknow it. I must tell you first of all that we now have a Republicanmunicipal council, which is much worried by the demoralisation of thetown. You can no longer go out at night without meeting girls in thestreets--you know, those candle hawkers! They gad about with the driverswho come here when the season commences, and swell the suspiciousfloating population which comes no one knows whence. And I must alsoexplain to you the position of the Fathers towards the town. When theypurchased the land at the Grotto they signed an agreement by which theyundertook not to engage in any business there. Well, they have opened ashop in spite of their signature. Is not that an unfair rivalry, unworthyof honest people? So the new council decided on sending them a deputationto insist on the agreement being respected, and enjoining them to closetheir shop at once. What do you think they answered, monsieur? Oh! whatthey have replied twenty times before, what they will always answer, whenthey are reminded of their engagements: 'Very well, we consent to keepthem, but we are masters at our own place, and we'll close the Grotto!'"

He raised himself up, his razor in the air, and, repeating his words, hiseyes dilated by the enormity of the thing, he said, "'We'll close theGrotto. '"

Pierre, who was continuing his slow walk, suddenly stopped and said inhis face, "Well! the municipal council had only to answer, 'Close it. '"

At this Cazaban almost choked; the blood rushed to his face, he wasbeside himself, and stammered out "Close the Grotto?--Close the Grotto?"

"Certainly! As the Grotto irritates you and rends your heart; as it's acause of continual warfare, injustice, and corruption. Everything wouldbe over, we should hear no more about it. That would really be a capitalsolution, and if the council had the power it would render you a serviceby forcing the Fathers to carry out their threat. "

As Pierre went on speaking, Cazaban's anger subsided. He became very calmand somewhat pale, and in the depths of his big eyes the priest detectedan expression of increasing uneasiness. Had he not gone too far in hispassion against the Fathers? Many ecclesiastics did not like them;perhaps this young priest was simply at Lourdes for the purpose ofstirring-up an agitation against them. Then who knows?--it might possiblyresult in the Grotto being closed later on. But it was by the Grotto thatthey all lived. If the old city screeched with rage at only picking upthe crumbs, it was well pleased to secure even that windfall; and thefreethinkers themselves, who coined money with the pilgrims, likeeveryone else, held their tongues, ill at ease, and even frightened, whenthey found people too much of their opinion with regard to theobjectionable features of new Lourdes. It was necessary to be prudent. 

Cazaban thereupon returned to M. De Guersaint, whose other cheek he beganshaving, murmuring the while in an off-hand manner: "Oh! what I say aboutthe Grotto is not because it troubles me much in reality, and, besides, everyone must live. "

In the dining-room, the children, amidst deafening shouts, had justbroken one of the bowls, and Pierre, glancing through the open doorway, again noticed the engravings of religious subjects and the plaster Virginwith which the hairdresser had ornamented the apartment in order toplease his lodgers. And just then, too, a voice shouted from the firstfloor that the trunk was ready, and that they would be much obliged ifthe assistant would cord it as soon as he returned. 

However, Cazaban, in the presence of these two gentlemen whom, as amatter of fact, he did not know, remained suspicious and uneasy, hisbrain haunted by all sorts of disquieting suppositions. He was in despairat the idea of having to let them go away without learning anything aboutthem, especially after having exposed himself. If he had only been ableto withdraw the more rabid of his biting remarks about the Fathers. Accordingly, when M. De Guersaint rose to wash his chin, he yielded to adesire to renew the conversation. 

"Have you heard talk of yesterday's miracle? The town is quite upsidedown with it; more than twenty people have already given me an account ofwhat occurred. Yes, it seems they obtained an extraordinary miracle, aparalytic young lady got up and dragged her invalid carriage as far asthe choir of the Basilica. "

M. De Guersaint, who was about to sit down after wiping himself, gave acomplacent laugh. "That young lady is my daughter, " he said. 

Thereupon, under this sudden and fortunate flash of enlightenment, Cazaban became all smiles. He felt reassured, and combed M. DeGuersaint's hair with a masterly touch, amid a returning exuberance ofspeech and gesture. "Ah! monsieur, I congratulate you, I am flattered athaving you in my hands. Since the young lady your daughter is cured, yourfather's heart is at ease. Am I not right?"

And he also found a few pleasant words for Pierre. Then, when he haddecided to let them go, he looked at the priest with an air ofconviction, and remarked, like a sensible man, desirous of coming to aconclusion on the subject of miracles: "There are some, Monsieur l'Abbe, which are good fortunes for everybody. From time to time we require oneof that description. "

Outside, M. De Guersaint had to go and fetch the coachman, who was stilllaughing with the servant-girl, while her dog, dripping with water, wasshaking itself in the sun. In five minutes the trap brought them back tothe bottom of the Plateau de la Merlasse. The trip had taken a goodhalf-hour. Pierre wanted to keep the conveyance, with the idea of showingMarie the town without giving her too much fatigue. So, while the fatherran to the Grotto to fetch his daughter, he waited there beneath thetrees. 

The coachman at once engaged in conversation with the priest. He had litanother cigarette and showed himself very familiar. He came from avillage in the environs of Toulouse, and did not complain, for he earnedgood round sums each day at Lourdes. You fed well there, said he, youamused yourself, it was what you might call a good neighbourhood. He saidthese things with the _abandon_ of a man who was not troubled withreligious scruples, but yet did not forget the respect which he owed toan ecclesiastic. 

At last, from the top of his box, where he remained half lying down, dangling one of his legs, he allowed this remark to fall slowly from hislips: "Ah! yes, Monsieur l'Abbe, Lourdes has caught on well, but thequestion is whether it will all last long!"

Pierre, who was very much struck by the remark, was pondering on itsinvoluntary profundity, when M. De Guersaint reappeared, bringing Mariewith him. He had found her kneeling on the same spot, in the same act offaith and thankfulness, at the feet of the Blessed Virgin; and it seemedas if she had brought all the brilliant light of the Grotto away in hereyes, so vividly did they sparkle with divine joy at her cure. She wouldnot entertain a proposal to keep the trap. No, no! she preferred to go onfoot; she did not care about seeing the town, so long as she might foranother hour continue walking on her father's arm through the gardens, the streets, the squares, anywhere they pleased! And, when Pierre hadpaid the driver, it was she who turned into a path of the Esplanadegarden, delighted at being able to saunter in this wise beside the turfand the flower beds, under the great trees. The grass, the leaves, theshady solitary walks where you heard the everlasting rippling of theGave, were so sweet and fresh! But afterwards she wished to return by wayof the streets, among the crowd, that she might find the agitation, noise, and life, the need of which possessed her whole being. 

In the Rue St. Joseph, on perceiving the panorama, where the formerGrotto was depicted, with Bernadette kneeling down before it on the dayof the miracle of the candle, the idea occurred to Pierre to go in. Mariebecame as happy as a child; and even M. De Guersaint was full of innocentdelight, especially when he noticed that among the batch of pilgrims whodived at the same time as themselves into the depths of the obscurecorridor, several recognised in his daughter the girl so miraculouslyhealed the day before, who was already famous, and whose name flew frommouth to mouth. Up above, on the circular platform, when they came outinto the diffuse light, filtering through a vellum, there was a sort ofovation around Marie; soft whispers, beatifical glances, a rapture ofdelight in seeing, following, and touching her. Now glory had come, shewould be loved in that way wherever she went, and it was not until theshowman who gave the explanations had placed himself at the head of thelittle party of visitors, and begun to walk round, relating the incidentdepicted on the huge circular canvas, nearly five hundred feet in length, that she was in some measure forgotten. The painting represented theseventeenth apparition of the Blessed Virgin to Bernadette, on the daywhen, kneeling before the Grotto during her vision, she had heedlesslyleft her hand on the flame of the candle without burning it. The whole ofthe old primitive landscape of the Grotto was shown, the whole scene wasset out with all its historical personages: the doctor verifying themiracle watch in hand, the Mayor, the Commissary of Police, and thePublic Prosecutor, whose names the showman gave out, amidst the amazementof the public following him. 

Then, by an unconscious transition of ideas, Pierre recalled the remarkwhich the driver of the cabriolet had made a short time previously:"Lourdes has caught on well, but the question is whether it will all lastlong. " That, in fact, was the question. How many venerated sanctuarieshad thus been built already, at the bidding of innocent chosen children, to whom the Blessed Virgin had shown herself! It was always the samestory beginning afresh: an apparition; a persecuted shepherdess, who wascalled a liar; next the covert propulsion of human misery hungering afterillusion; then propaganda, and the triumph of the sanctuary shining likea star; and afterwards decline, and oblivion, when the ecstatic dream ofanother visionary gave birth to another sanctuary elsewhere. It seemed asif the power of illusion wore away; that it was necessary in the courseof centuries to displace it, set it amidst new scenery, under freshcircumstances, in order to renew its force. La Salette had dethroned theold wooden and stone Virgins that had healed; Lourdes had just dethronedLa Salette, pending the time when it would be dethroned itself by OurLady of to-morrow, she who will show her sweet, consoling features tosome pure child as yet unborn. Only, if Lourdes had met with such rapid, such prodigious fortune, it assuredly owed it to the little sincere soul, the delightful charm of Bernadette. Here there was no deceit, nofalsehood, merely the blossoming of suffering, a delicate sick child whobrought to the afflicted multitude her dream of justice and equality inthe miraculous. She was merely eternal hope, eternal consolation. Besides, all historical and social circumstances seem to have combined toincrease the need of this mystical flight at the close of a terriblecentury of positivist inquiry; and that was perhaps the reason whyLourdes would still long endure in its triumph, before becoming a merelegend, one of those dead religions whose powerful perfume hasevaporated. 

Ah! that ancient Lourdes, that city of peace and belief, the onlypossible cradle where the legend could come into being, how easily Pierreconjured it up before him, whilst walking round the vast canvas of thePanorama! That canvas said everything; it was the best lesson of thingsthat could be seen. The monotonous explanations of the showman were notheard; the landscape spoke for itself. First of all there was the Grotto, the rocky hollow beside the Gave, a savage spot suitable forreverie--bushy slopes and heaps of fallen stone, without a path amongthem; and nothing yet in the way of ornamentation--no monumental quay, nogarden paths winding among trimly cut shrubs; no Grotto set in order, deformed, enclosed with iron railings; above all, no shop for the sale ofreligious articles, that simony shop which was the scandal of all pioussouls. The Virgin could not have selected a more solitary and charmingnook wherein to show herself to the chosen one of her heart, the pooryoung girl who came thither still possessed by the dream of her painfulnights, even whilst gathering dead wood. And on the opposite side of theGave, behind the rock of the castle, was old Lourdes, confident andasleep. Another age was then conjured up; a small town, with narrowpebble-paved streets, black houses with marble dressings, and an antique, semi-Spanish church, full of old carvings, and peopled with visions ofgold and painted flesh. Communication with other places was only kept upby the Bagneres and Cauterets _diligences_, which twice a day forded theLapaca to climb the steep causeway of the Rue Basse. The spirit of thecentury had not breathed on those peaceful roofs sheltering a belatedpopulation which had remained childish, enclosed within the narrow limitsof strict religious discipline. There was no debauchery; a slow antiquecommerce sufficed for daily life, a poor life whose hardships were thesafeguards of morality. And Pierre had never better understood howBernadette, born in that land of faith and honesty, had flowered like anatural rose, budding on the briars of the road. 

"It's all the same very curious, " observed M. De Guersaint when theyfound themselves in the street again. "I'm not at all sorry I saw it. "

Marie was also laughing with pleasure. "One would almost think oneselfthere. Isn't it so, father? At times it seems as if the people were goingto move. And how charming Bernadette looks on her knees, in ecstasy, while the candle flame licks her fingers without burning them. "

"Let us see, " said the architect; "we have only an hour left, so we mustthink of making our purchases, if we wish to buy anything. Shall we takea look at the shops? We certainly promised Majeste to give him thepreference; but that does not prevent us from making a few inquiries. Eh!Pierre, what do you say?"

"Oh! certainly, as you like, " answered the priest. "Besides, it will giveus a walk. "

And he thereupon followed the young girl and her father, who returned tothe Plateau de la Merlasse. Since he had quitted the Panorama he felt asthough he no longer knew where he was. It seemed to him as if he had allat once been transported from one to another town, parted by centuries. He had left the solitude, the slumbering peacefulness of old Lourdes, which the dead light of the vellum had increased, to fall at last intonew Lourdes, sparkling with brightness and noisy with the crowd. Teno'clock had just struck, and extraordinary animation reigned on thefootways, where before breakfast an entire people was hastening tocomplete its purchases, so that it might have nothing but its departureto think of afterwards. The thousands of pilgrims of the nationalpilgrimage streamed along the thoroughfares and besieged the shops in afinal scramble. You would have taken the cries, the jostling, and thesudden rushes for those at some fair just breaking up amidst a ceaselessroll of vehicles. Many, providing themselves with provisions for thejourney, cleared the open-air stalls where bread and slices of sausagesand ham were sold. Others purchased fruit and wine; baskets were filledwith bottles and greasy parcels until they almost burst. A hawker who waswheeling some cheeses about on a small truck saw his goods carried off asif swept away by the wind. But what the crowd more particularly purchasedwere religious articles, and those hawkers whose barrows were loaded withstatuettes and sacred engravings were reaping golden gains. The customersat the shops stood in strings on the pavement; the women were belted withimmense chaplets, had Blessed Virgins tucked under their arms, and wereprovided with cans which they meant to fill at the miraculous spring. Carried in the hand or slung from the shoulder, some of them quite plainand others daubed over with a Lady of Lourdes in blue paint, these cansheld from one to ten quarts apiece; and, shining with all the brightnessof new tin, clashing, too, at times with the sharp jingle of stew-pans, they added a gay note to the aspect of the noisy multitude. And the feverof dealing, the pleasure of spending one's money, of returning home withone's pockets crammed with photographs and medals, lit up all faces witha holiday expression, transforming the radiant gathering into afair-field crowd with appetites either beyond control or satisfied. 

On the Plateau de la Merlasse, M. De Guersaint for a moment felt temptedto enter one of the finest and most patronised shops, on the board overwhich were these words in large letters: "Soubirous, Brother ofBernadette. "

"Eh! what if we were to make our purchases there? It would be moreappropriate, more interesting to remember. "

However, he passed on, repeating that they must see everything first ofall. 

Pierre had looked at the shop kept by Bernadette's brother with a heavyheart. It grieved him to find the brother selling the Blessed Virgin whomthe sister had beheld. However, it was necessary to live, and he hadreason to believe that, beside the triumphant Basilica resplendent withgold, the visionary's relatives were not making a fortune, thecompetition being so terrible. If on the one hand the pilgrims leftmillions behind them at Lourdes, on the other there were more than twohundred dealers in religious articles, to say nothing of the hotel andlodging-house keepers, to whom the largest part of the spoils fell; andthus the gain, so eagerly disputed, ended by being moderate enough afterall. Along the Plateau on the right and left of the repository kept byBernadette's brother, other shops appeared, an uninterrupted row of them, pressing one against the other, each occupying a division of a longwooden structure, a sort of gallery erected by the town, which derivedfrom it some sixty thousand francs a year. It formed a regular bazaar ofopen stalls, encroaching on the pavements so as to tempt people to stopas they passed along. For more than three hundred yards no other tradewas plied: a river of chaplets, medals, and statuettes streamed withoutend behind the windows; and in enormous letters on the boards aboveappeared the venerated names of Saint Roch, Saint Joseph, Jerusalem, TheImmaculate Virgin, The Sacred Heart of Mary, all the names in Paradisethat were most likely to touch and attract customers. 

"Really, " said M. De Guersaint, "I think it's the same thing all over theplace. Let us go anywhere. " He himself had had enough of it, thisinterminable display was quite exhausting him. 

"But as you promised to make the purchases at Majeste's, " said Marie, whowas not, in the least tired, "the best thing will be to go back. "

"That's it; let's return to Majeste's place. "

But the rows of shops began again in the Avenue de la Grotte. Theyswarmed on both sides; and among them here were jewellers, drapers, andumbrella-makers, who also dealt in religious articles. There was even aconfectioner who sold boxes of pastilles _a l'eau de Lourdes_, with afigure of the Virgin on the cover. A photographer's windows were crammedwith views of the Grotto and the Basilica, and portraits of Bishops andreverend Fathers of all Orders, mixed up with views of famous sites inthe neighbouring mountains. A bookseller displayed the last Catholicpublications, volumes bearing devout titles, and among them theinnumerable works published on Lourdes during the last twenty years, someof which had had a wonderful success, which was still fresh in memory. Inthis broad, populous thoroughfare the crowd streamed along in more openorder; their cans jingled, everyone was in high spirits, amid the brightsunrays which enfiladed the road from one end to the other. And it seemedas if there would never be a finish to the statuettes, the medals, andthe chaplets; one display followed another; and, indeed, there were milesof them running through the streets of the entire town, which was everthe same bazaar selling the same articles. 

In front of the Hotel of the Apparitions M. De Guersaint again hesitated. "Then it's decided, we are going to make our purchases there?" he asked. 

"Certainly, " said Marie. "See what a beautiful shop it is!"

And she was the first to enter the establishment, which was, in fact, oneof the largest in the street, occupying the ground-floor of the hotel onthe left hand. M. De Guersaint and Pierre followed her. 

Apolline, the niece of the Majestes, who was in charge of the place, wasstanding on a stool, taking some holy-water vases from a top shelf toshow them to a young man, an elegant bearer, wearing beautiful yellowgaiters. She was laughing with the cooing sound of a dove, and lookedcharming with her thick black hair and her superb eyes, set in a somewhatsquare face, which had a straight forehead, chubby cheeks, and full redlips. Jumping lightly to the ground, she exclaimed: "Then you don't thinkthat this pattern would please madame, your aunt?"

"No, no, " answered the bearer, as he went off. "Obtain the other pattern. I shall not leave until to-morrow, and will come back. "

When Apolline learnt that Marie was the young person visited by themiracle of whom Madame Majeste had been talking ever since the previousday, she became extremely attentive. She looked at her with her merrysmile, in which there was a dash of surprise and covert incredulity. However, like the clever saleswoman that she was, she was profuse incomplimentary remarks. "Ah, mademoiselle, I shall be so happy to sell toyou! Your miracle is so beautiful! Look, the whole shop is at yourdisposal. We have the largest choice. "

Marie was ill at ease. "Thank you, " she replied, "you are very good. Butwe have only come to buy a few small things. "

"If you will allow us, " said M. De Guersaint, "we will choose ourselves. "

"Very well. That's it, monsieur. Afterwards we will see!"

And as some other customers now came in, Apolline forgot them, returnedto her duties as a pretty saleswoman, with caressing words and seductiveglances, especially for the gentlemen, whom she never allowed to leaveuntil they had their pockets full of purchases. 

M. De Guersaint had only two francs left of the louis which Blanche, hiseldest daughter, had slipped into his hand when he was leaving, aspocket-money; and so he did not dare to make any large selection. ButPierre declared that they would cause him great pain if they did notallow him to offer them the few things which they would like to take awaywith them from Lourdes. It was therefore understood that they would firstof all choose a present for Blanche, and then Marie and her father shouldselect the souvenirs that pleased them best. 

"Don't let us hurry, " repeated M. De Guersaint, who had become very gay. "Come, Marie, have a good look. What would be most likely to pleaseBlanche?"

All three looked, searched, and rummaged. But their indecision increasedas they went from one object to another. With its counters, show-cases, and nests of drawers, furnishing it from top to bottom, the spacious shopwas a sea of endless billows, overflowing with all the religiousknick-knacks imaginable. There were the chaplets: skeins of chapletshanging along the walls, and heaps of chaplets lying in the drawers, fromhumble ones costing twenty sons a dozen, to those of sweet-scented wood, agate, and lapis-lazuli, with chains of gold or silver; and some of them, of immense length, made to go twice round the neck or waist, had carvedbeads, as large as walnuts, separated by death's-heads. Then there werethe medals: a shower of medals, boxes full of medals, of all sizes, ofall metals, the cheapest and the most precious. They bore differentinscriptions, they represented the Basilica, the Grotto, or theImmaculate Conception; they were engraved, _repoussees_, or enamelled, executed with care, or made by the gross, according to the price. Andnext there were the Blessed Virgins, great and small, in zinc, wood, ivory, and especially plaster; some entirely white, others tinted inbright colours, in accordance with the description given by Bernadette;the amiable and smiling face, the extremely long veil, the blue sash, andthe golden roses on the feet, there being, however, some slightmodification in each model so as to guarantee the copyright. And therewas another flood of other religious objects: a hundred varieties ofscapularies, a thousand different sorts of sacred pictures: fineengravings, large chromo-lithographs in glaring colours, submergedbeneath a mass of smaller pictures, which were coloured, gilded, varnished, decorated with bouquets of flowers, and bordered with lacepaper. And there was also jewellery: rings, brooches, and bracelets, loaded with stars and crosses, and ornamented with saintly figures. Finally, there was the Paris article, which rose above and submerged allthe rest: pencil-holders, purses, cigar-holders, paperweights, paper-knives, even snuff-boxes; and innumerable other objects on whichthe Basilica, Grotto, and Blessed Virgin ever and ever appeared, reproduced in every way, by every process that is known. Heaped togetherpell-mell in one of the cases reserved to articles at fifty centimesapiece were napkin-rings, egg-cups, and wooden pipes, on which was carvedthe beaming apparition of Our Lady of Lourdes. 

Little by little, M. De Guersaint, with the annoyance of a man who prideshimself on being an artist, became disgusted and quite sad. "But all thisis frightful, frightful!" he repeated at every new article he took up tolook at. 

Then he relieved himself by reminding Pierre of the ruinous attempt whichhe had made to improve the artistic quality of religious prints. Theremains of his fortune had been lost in that attempt, and the thoughtmade him all the more angry, in presence of the wretched productions withwhich the shop was crammed. Had anyone ever seen things of such idiotic, pretentious, and complicated ugliness! The vulgarity of the ideas and thesilliness of the expressions portrayed rivalled the commonplace characterof the composition. You were reminded of fashion-plates, the covers ofboxes of sweets, and the wax dolls' heads that revolve in hairdressers'windows; it was an art abounding in false prettiness, painfully childish, with no really human touch in it, no tone, and no sincerity. And thearchitect, who was wound up, could not stop, but went on to express hisdisgust with the buildings of new Lourdes, the pitiable disfigurement ofthe Grotto, the colossal monstrosity of the inclined ways, the disastrouslack of symmetry in the church of the Rosary and the Basilica, the formerlooking too heavy, like a corn market, whilst the latter had an anaemicalstructural leanness with no kind of style but the mongrel. 

"Ah! one must really be very fond of God, " he at last concluded, "to havecourage enough to come and adore Him amidst such horrors! They havefailed in everything, spoilt everything, as though out of pleasure. Notone of them has experienced that moment of true feeling, of realnaturalness and sincere faith, which gives birth to masterpieces. Theyare all clever people, but all plagiarists; not one has given his mindand being to the undertaking. And what must they not require to inspirethem, since they have failed to produce anything grand even in this landof miracles?"

Pierre did not reply, but he was very much struck by these reflections, which at last gave him an explanation of a feeling of discomfort that hehad experienced ever since his arrival at Lourdes. This discomfort arosefrom the difference between the modern surroundings and the faith of pastages which it sought to resuscitate. He thought of the old cathedralswhere quivered that faith of nations; he pictured the former attributesof worship--the images, the goldsmith's work, the saints in wood andstone--all of admirable power and beauty of expression. The fact was thatin those ancient times the workmen had been true believers, had giventheir whole souls and bodies and all the candour of their feelings totheir productions, just as M. De Guersaint said. But nowadays architectsbuilt churches with the same practical tranquillity that they erectedfive-storey houses, just as the religious articles, the chaplets, themedals, and the statuettes were manufactured by the gross in the populousquarters of Paris by merrymaking workmen who did not even follow theirreligion. And thus what slopwork, what toymakers', ironmongers' stuff itall was! of a prettiness fit to make you cry, a silly sentimentality fitto make your heart turn with disgust! Lourdes was inundated, devastated, disfigured by it all to such a point as to quite upset persons with anydelicacy of taste who happened to stray through its streets. It clashedjarringly with the attempted resuscitation of the legends, ceremonies, and processions of dead ages; and all at once it occurred to Pierre thatthe social and historical condemnation of Lourdes lay in this, that faithis forever dead among a people when it no longer introduces it into thechurches it builds or the chaplets it manufactures. 

However, Marie had continued examining the shelves with the impatience ofa child, hesitating, and finding nothing which seemed to her worthy ofthe great dream of ecstasy which she would ever keep within her. 

"Father, " she said, "it is getting late; you must take me back to thehospital; and to make up my mind, look, I will give Blanche this medalwith the silver chain. After all it's the most simple and prettiest thinghere. She will wear it; it will make her a little piece of jewellery. Asfor myself, I will take this statuette of Our Lady of Lourdes, this smallone, which is rather prettily painted. I shall place it in my room andsurround it with fresh flowers. It will be very nice, will it not?"

M. De Guersaint approved of her idea, and then busied himself with hisown choice. "O dear! oh dear! how embarrassed I am!" said he. 

He was examining some ivory-handled penholders capped with pea-likeballs, in which were microscopic photographs, and while bringing one ofthe little holes to his eye to look in it he raised an exclamation ofmingled surprise and pleasure. "Hallo! here's the Cirque de Gavarnie! Ah!it's prodigious; everything is there; how can that colossal panorama havebeen got into so small a space? Come, I'll take this penholder; it'scurious, and will remind me of my excursion. "

Pierre had simply chosen a portrait of Bernadette, the large photographwhich represents her on her knees in a black gown, with a handkerchieftied over her hair, and which is said to be the only one in existencetaken from life. He hastened to pay, and they were all three on the pointof leaving when Madame Majeste entered, protested, and positivelyinsisted on making Marie a little present, saying that it would bring herestablishment good-fortune. "I beg of you, mademoiselle, take ascapulary, " said she. "Look among those there. The Blessed Virgin whochose you will repay me in good luck. "

She raised her voice and made so much fuss that the purchasers fillingthe shop were interested, and began gazing at the girl with envious eyes. It was popularity bursting out again around her, a popularity which endedeven by reaching the street when the landlady went to the threshold ofthe shop, making signs to the tradespeople opposite and putting all theneighbourhood in a flutter. 

"Let us go, " repeated Marie, feeling more and more uncomfortable. 

But her father, on noticing a priest come in, detained her. "Ah! Monsieurl'Abbe des Hermoises!"

It was in fact the handsome Abbe, clad in a cassock of fine clothemitting a pleasant odour, and with an expression of soft gaiety on hisfresh-coloured face. He had not noticed his companion of the previousday, but had gone straight to Apolline and taken her on one side. AndPierre overheard him saying in a subdued tone: "Why didn't you bring memy three-dozen chaplets this morning?"

Apolline again began laughing with the cooing notes of a dove, and lookedat him sideways, roguishly, without answering. 

"They are for my little penitents at Toulouse. I wanted to place them atthe bottom of my trunk; and you offered to help me pack my linen. "

She continued laughing, and her pretty eyes sparkled. 

"However, I shall not leave before to-morrow. Bring them me to-night, will you not? When you are at liberty. It's at the end of the street, atDuchene's. "

Thereupon, with a slight movement of her red lips, and in a somewhatbantering way, which left him in doubt as to whether she would keep herpromise, she replied: "Certainly, Monsieur l'Abbe, I will go. "

They were now interrupted by M. De Guersaint, who came forward to shakethe priest's hand. And the two men at once began talking again of theCirque de Gavarnie: they had had a delightful trip, a most pleasant time, which they would never forget. Then they enjoyed a laugh at the expenseof their two companions, ecclesiastics of slender means, good-naturedfellows, who had much amused them. And the architect ended by remindinghis new friend that he had kindly promised to induce a personage atToulouse, who was ten times a millionaire, to interest himself in hisstudies on navigable balloons. "A first advance of a hundred thousandfrancs would be sufficient, " he said. 

"You can rely on me, " answered Abbe des Hermoises. "You will not haveprayed to the Blessed Virgin in vain. "

However, Pierre, who had kept Bernadette's portrait in his hand, had justthen been struck by the extraordinary likeness between Apolline and thevisionary. It was the same rather massive face, the same full thickmouth, and the same magnificent eyes; and he recollected that MadameMajeste had already pointed out to him this striking resemblance, whichwas all the more peculiar as Apolline had passed through a similarpoverty-stricken childhood at Bartres before her aunt had taken her withher to assist in keeping the shop. Bernadette! Apolline! What a strangeassociation, what an unexpected reincarnation at thirty years' distance!And, all at once, with this Apolline, who was so flightily merry andcareless, and in regard to whom there were so many odd rumours, newLourdes rose before his eyes: the coachmen, the candle-girls, the personswho let rooms and waylaid tenants at the railway station, the hundreds offurnished houses with discreet little lodgings, the crowd of freepriests, the lady hospitallers, and the simple passers-by, who came thereto satisfy their appetites. Then, too, there was the trading maniaexcited by the shower of millions, the entire town given up to lucre, theshops transforming the streets into bazaars which devoured one another, the hotels living gluttonously on the pilgrims, even to the Blue Sisterswho kept a _table d'hote_, and the Fathers of the Grotto who coined moneywith their God! What a sad and frightful course of events, the vision ofpure Bernadette inflaming multitudes, making them rush to the illusion ofhappiness, bringing a river of gold to the town, and from that momentrotting everything. The breath of superstition had sufficed to makehumanity flock thither, to attract abundance of money, and to corruptthis honest corner of the earth forever. Where the candid lily hadformerly bloomed there now grew the carnal rose, in the new loam ofcupidity and enjoyment. Bethlehem had become Sodom since an innocentchild had seen the Virgin. 

"Eh? What did I tell you?" exclaimed Madame Majeste, perceiving thatPierre was comparing her niece with the portrait. "Apolline is Bernadetteall over!"

The young girl approached with her amiable smile, flattered at first bythe comparison. 

"Let's see, let's see!" said Abbe des Hermoises, with an air of livelyinterest. 

He took the photograph in his turn, compared it with the girl, and thenexclaimed in amazement: "It's wonderful; the same features. I had notnoticed it before. Really I'm delighted--"

"Still I fancy she had a larger nose, " Apolline ended by remarking. 

The Abbe then raised an exclamation of irresistible admiration: "Oh! youare prettier, much prettier, that's evident. But that does not matter, anyone would take you for two sisters. "

Pierre could not refrain from laughing, he thought the remark sopeculiar. Ah! poor Bernadette was absolutely dead, and she had no sister. She could not have been born again; it would have been impossible for herto exist in the region of crowded life and passion which she had made. 

At length Marie went off leaning on her father's arm, and it was agreedthat they would both call and fetch her at the hospital to go to thestation together. More than fifty people were awaiting her in the streetin a state of ecstasy. They bowed to her and followed her; and one womaneven made her infirm child, whom she was bringing back from the Grotto, touch her gown. 

III. DEPARTURE

At half-past two o'clock the white train, which was to leave Lourdes atthree-forty, was already in the station, alongside the second platform. For three days it had been waiting on a siding, in the same state as whenit had come from Paris, and since it had been run into the station againwhite flags had been waving from the foremost and hindmost of itscarriages, by way of preventing any mistakes on the part of the pilgrims, whose entraining was usually a very long and troublesome affair. Moreover, all the fourteen trains of the pilgrimage were timed to leavethat day. The green train had started off at ten o'clock, followed by thepink and the yellow trains, and the others--the orange, the grey, and theblue--would start in turn after the white train had taken its departure. It was, indeed, another terrible day's work for the station staff, amidsta tumult and a scramble which altogether distracted them. 

However, the departure of the white train was always the event of the daywhich provoked most interest and emotion, for it took away with it allthe more afflicted patients, amongst whom were naturally those loved bythe Virgin and chosen by her for the miraculous cures. Accordingly, alarge, serried crowd was collected under the roofing of the spaciousplatform, a hundred yards in length, where all the benches were alreadycovered with waiting pilgrims and their parcels. In the refreshment-room, at one end of the buildings, men were drinking beer and women orderinglemonade at the little tables which had been taken by assault, whilst atthe other end bearers stood on guard at the goods entrance so as to keepthe way clear for the speedy passage of the patients, who would soon bearriving. And all along the broad platform there was incessant coming andgoing, poor people rushing hither and thither in bewilderment, prieststrotting along to render assistance, gentlemen in frock-coats looking onwith quiet inquisitiveness: indeed, all the jumbling and jostling of themost mixed, most variegated throng ever elbowed in a railway station. 

At three o'clock, however, the sick had not yet reached the station, andBaron Suire was in despair, his anxiety arising from the dearth ofhorses, for a number of unexpected tourists had arrived at Lourdes thatmorning and hired conveyances for Bareges, Cauterets, and Gavarnie. Atlast, however, the Baron espied Berthaud and Gerard arriving in allhaste, after scouring the town; and when he had rushed up to them theysoon pacified him by announcing that things were going splendidly. Theyhad been able to procure the needful animals, and the removal of thepatients from the hospital was now being carried out under the mostfavorable circumstances. Squads of bearers with their stretchers andlittle carts were already in the station yard, watching for the arrivalof the vans, breaks, and other vehicles which had been recruited. Areserve supply of mattresses and cushions was, moreover, heaped up besidea lamp-post. Nevertheless, just as the first patients arrived, BaronSuire again lost his head, whilst Berthaud and Gerard hastened to theplatform from which the train would start. There they began tosuperintend matters, and gave orders amidst an increasing scramble. 

Father Fourcade was on this platform, walking up and down alongside thetrain, on Father Massias's arm. Seeing Doctor Bonamy approach, he stoppedshort to speak to him: "Ah, doctor, " said he, "I am pleased to see you. Father Massias, who is about to leave us, was again telling me just nowof the extraordinary favor granted by the Blessed Virgin to thatinteresting young person, Mademoiselle Marie de Guersaint. There has notbeen such a brilliant miracle for years! It is signal good-fortune forus--a blessing which should render our labours fruitful. All Christendomwill be illumined, comforted, enriched by it. "

He was radiant with pleasure, and forthwith the doctor with hisclean-shaven face, heavy, peaceful features, and usually tired eyes, alsobegan to exult: "Yes, your reverence, it is prodigious, prodigious! Ishall write a pamphlet about it. Never was cure produced by supernaturalmeans in a more authentic manner. Ah! what a stir it will create!"

Then, as they had begun walking to and fro again, all three together, henoticed that Father Fourcade was dragging his leg with increaseddifficulty, leaning heavily the while on his companion's arm. "Is yourattack of gout worse, your reverence?" he inquired. "You seem to besuffering a great deal. "

"Oh! don't speak of it; I wasn't able to close my eyes all night! It isvery annoying that this attack should have come on me the very day of myarrival here! It might as well have waited. But there is nothing to bedone, so don't let us talk of it any more. I am, at all events, verypleased with this year's result. "

"Ah! yes, yes indeed, " in his turn said Father Massias, in a voice whichquivered with fervour; "we may all feel proud, and go away with ourhearts full of enthusiasm and gratitude. How many prodigies there havebeen, in addition to the healing of that young woman you spoke of! Thereis no counting all the miracles: deaf women and dumb women have recoveredtheir faculties, faces disfigured by sores have become as smooth as thehand, moribund consumptives have come to life again and eaten and danced!It is not a train of sufferers, but a train of resurrection, a train ofglory, that I am about to take back to Paris!"

He had ceased to see the ailing creatures around him, and in theblindness of his faith was soaring triumphantly. 

Then, alongside the carriages, whose compartments were beginning to fill, they all three continued their slow saunter, smiling at the pilgrims whobowed to them, and at times again stopping to address a kind word to somemournful woman who, pale and shivering, passed by upon a stretcher. Theyboldly declared that she was looking much better, and would assuredlysoon get well. 

However, the station-master, who was incessantly bustling about, passedby, calling in a shrill voice: "Don't block up the platform, please;don't block up the platform!" And on Berthaud pointing out to him that itwas, at all events, necessary to deposit the stretchers on the platformbefore hoisting the patients into the carriages, he became quite angry:"But, come, come; is it reasonable?" he asked. "Look at that littlehand-cart which has been left on the rails over yonder. I expect thetrain to Toulouse in a few minutes. Do you want your people to be crushedto death?"

Then he went off at a run to instruct some porters to keep the bewilderedflock of pilgrims away from the rails. Many of them, old and simplepeople, did not even recognise the colour of their train, and this wasthe reason why one and all wore cards of some particular hue hanging fromtheir necks, so that they might be led and entrained like marked cattle. And what a constant state of excitement it was, with the starting ofthese fourteen special trains, in addition to all the ordinary traffic, in which no change had been made. 

Pierre arrived, valise in hand, and found some difficulty in reaching theplatform. He was alone, for Marie had expressed an ardent desire to kneelonce more at the Grotto, so that her soul might burn with gratitudebefore the Blessed Virgin until the last moment; and so he had left M. DeGuersaint to conduct her thither whilst he himself settled the hotelbill. Moreover, he had made them promise that they would take a fly tothe station, and they would certainly arrive within a quarter of an hour. Meantime, his idea was to seek their carriage, and there rid himself ofhis valise. This, however, was not an easy task, and he only recognisedthe carriage eventually by the placard which had been swinging from it inthe sunlight and the storms during the last three days--a square ofpasteboard bearing the names of Madame de Jonquiere and Sisters Hyacintheand Claire des Anges. There could be no mistake, and Pierre againpictured the compartments full of his travelling companions. Somecushions already marked M. Sabathier's corner, and on the seat whereMarie had experienced such suffering he still found some scratches causedby the ironwork of her box. Then, having deposited his valise in his ownplace, he remained on the platform waiting and looking around him, with aslight feeling of surprise at not perceiving Doctor Chassaigne, who hadpromised to come and embrace him before the train started. 

Now that Marie was well again, Pierre had laid his bearer straps aside, and merely wore the red cross of the pilgrimage on his cassock. Thestation, of which he had caught but a glimpse, in the livid dawn amidstthe anguish of the terrible morning of their arrival, now surprised himby its spacious platforms, its broad exits, and its clear gaiety. Hecould not see the mountains, but some verdant slopes rose up on the otherside, in front of the waiting-rooms; and that afternoon the weather wasdelightfully mild, the sky of a milky whiteness, with light fleecy cloudsveiling the sun, whence there fell a broad diffuse light, like anacreous, pearly dust: "maiden's weather, " as country folk are wont tosay. 

The big clock had just struck three, and Pierre was looking at it when hesaw Madame Desagneaux and Madame Volmar arrive, followed by Madame deJonquiere and her daughter. These ladies, who had driven from thehospital in a landau, at once began looking for their carriage, and itwas Raymonde who first recognised the first-class compartment in whichshe had travelled from Paris. "Mamma, mamma, here; here it is!" shecalled. "Stay a little while with us; you have plenty of time to installyourself among your patients, since they haven't yet arrived. "

Pierre now again found himself face to face with Madame Volmar, and theirglances met. However, he gave no sign of recognition, and on her sidethere was but a slight sudden drooping of the eyelids. She had againassumed the air of a languid, indolent, black-robed woman, who modestlyshrinks back, well pleased to escape notice. Her brasier-like eyes nolonger glowed; it was only at long intervals that they kindled into aspark beneath the veil of indifference, the moire-like shade, whichdimmed them. 

"Oh! it was a fearful sick headache!" she was repeating to MadameDesagneaux. "And, you can see, I've hardly recovered the use of my poorhead yet. It's the journey which brings it on. It's the same thing everyyear. "

However, Berthaud and Gerard, who had just perceived the ladies, werehurrying up to them. That morning they had presented themselves at theHospital of Our Lady of Dolours, and Madame de Jonquiere had receivedthem in a little office near the linen-room. Thereupon, apologising withsmiling affability for making his request amidst such a hurly-burly, Berthaud had solicited the hand of Mademoiselle Raymonde for his cousin, Gerard. They at once felt themselves at ease, the mother, with some showof emotion, saying that Lourdes would bring the young couple good luck. And so the marriage was arranged in a few words, amidst generalsatisfaction. A meeting was even appointed for the fifteenth of Septemberat the Chateau of Berneville, near Caen, an estate belonging toRaymonde's uncle, the diplomatist, whom Berthaud knew, and to whom hepromised to introduce Gerard. Then Raymonde was summoned, and blushedwith pleasure as she placed her little hand in those of her betrothed. 

Binding her now upon the platform, the latter began paying her everyattention, and asking, "Would you like some pillows for the night? Don'tmake any ceremony about it; I can give you plenty, both for yourself andfor these ladies who are accompanying you. "

However, Raymonde gaily refused the offer, "No, no, " said she, "we arenot so delicate. Keep them for the poor sufferers. "

All the ladies were now talking together. Madame de Jonquiere declaredthat she was so tired, so tired that she no longer felt alive; and yetshe displayed great happiness, her eyes smiling as she glanced at herdaughter and the young man she was engaged to. But neither Berthaud norGerard could remain there; they had their duties to perform, andaccordingly took their leave, after reminding Madame de Jonquiere andRaymonde of the appointed meeting. It was understood, was it not, onSeptember 15th, at the Chateau of Berneville? Yes, yes, it wasunderstood! And then came fresh smiles and handshakes, whilst the eyes ofthe newly engaged couple--caressing, delighted eyes--added all that theydared not say aloud in the midst of such a throng. 

"What!" exclaimed little Madame Desagneaux, "you will go to Berneville onthe 15th? But if we stay at Trouville till the 10th, as my husband wishesto do, we will go to see you!" And then, turning towards Madame Volmar, who stood there silent, she added, "You ought to come as well, my dear. It would be so nice to meet there all together. "

But, with a slow wave of the hand and an air of weary indifference, Madame Volmar answered, "Oh! my holiday is all over; I am going home. "

Just then her eyes again met those of Pierre, who had remained standingnear the party, and he fancied that she became confused, whilst anexpression of indescribable suffering passed over her lifeless face. 

The Sisters of the Assumption were now arriving, and the ladies joinedthem in front of the cantine van. Ferrand, who had come with the Sistersfrom the hospital, got into the van, and then helped SisterSaint-Francois to mount upon the somewhat high footboard. Then heremained standing on the threshold of the van--transformed into a kitchenand containing all sorts of supplies for the journey, such as bread, broth, milk, and chocolate, --whilst Sister Hyacinthe and Sister Clairedes Anges, who were still on the platform, passed him his littlemedicine-chest and some small articles of luggage. 

"You are sure you have everything?" Sister Hyacinthe asked him. "Allright. Well, now you only have to go and lie down in your corner and getto sleep, since you complain that your services are not utilised. "

Ferrand began to laugh softly. "I shall help Sister Saint-Francois, " saidhe. "I shall light the oil-stove, wash the crockery, carry the cups ofbroth and milk to the patients whenever we stop, according to thetime-table hanging yonder; and if, all the same, you _should_ require adoctor, you will please come to fetch me. "

Sister Hyacinthe had also begun to laugh. "But we no longer require adoctor since all our patients are cured, " she replied; and, fixing hereyes on his, with her calm, sisterly air, she added, "Good-bye, MonsieurFerrand. "

He smiled again, whilst a feeling of deep emotion brought moisture to hiseyes. The tremulous accents of his voice expressed his conviction that hewould never be able to forget this journey, his joy at having seen heragain, and the souvenir of divine and eternal affection which he wastaking away with him. "Good-bye, Sister, " said he. 

Then Madame de Jonquiere talked of going to her carriage with SisterClaire des Anges and Sister Hyacinthe; but the latter assured her thatthere was no hurry, since the sick pilgrims were as yet scarcelyarriving. She left her, therefore, taking the other Sister with her, andpromising to see to everything. Moreover, she even insisted on riddingthe superintendent of her little bag, saying that she would find it onher seat when it was time for her to come. Thus the ladies continuedwalking and chatting gaily on the broad platform, where the atmospherewas so pleasant. 

Pierre, however, his eyes fixed upon the big clock, watched the minuteshasten by on the dial, and began to feel surprised at not seeing Mariearrive with her father. It was to be hoped that M. De Guersaint would notlose himself on the road!

The young priest was still watching, when, to his surprise, he caughtsight of M. Vigneron, in a state of perfect exasperation, pushing hiswife and little Gustave furiously before him. 

"Oh, Monsieur l'Abbe, " he exclaimed, "tell me where our carriage is! Helpme to put our luggage and this child in it. I am at my wit's end! Theyhave made me altogether lose my temper. "

Then, on reaching the second-class compartment, he caught hold ofPierre's hands, just as the young man was about to place little Gustaveinside, and quite an outburst followed. "Could you believe it? Theyinsist on my starting. They tell me that my return-ticket will not beavailable if I wait here till to-morrow. It was of no use my telling themabout the accident. As it is, it's by no means pleasant to have to staywith that corpse, watch over it, see it put in a coffin, and remove itto-morrow within the regulation time. But they pretend that it doesn'tconcern them, that they already make large enough reductions on thepilgrimage tickets, and that they can't enter into any questions ofpeople dying. "

Madame Vigneron stood all of a tremble listening to him, whilst Gustave, forgotten, staggering on his crutch with fatigue, raised his poor, inquisitive, suffering face. 

"But at all events, " continued the irate father, "as I told them, it's acase of compulsion. What do they expect me to do with that corpse? Ican't take it under my arm, and bring it them to-day, like an article ofluggage! I am therefore absolutely obliged to remain behind. But no! ah!how many stupid and wicked people there are!"

"Have you spoken to the station-master?" asked Pierre. 

"The station-master! Oh! he's somewhere about, in the midst of thescramble. They were never able to find him. How could you have anythingdone properly in such a bear-garden? Still, I mean to rout him out, andgive him a bit of my mind!"

Then, perceiving his wife standing beside him motionless, glued as itwere to the platform, he cried: "What are you doing there? Get in, sothat we may pass you the youngster and the parcels!"

With these words he pushed her in, and threw the parcels after her, whilst the young priest took Gustave in his arms. The poor little fellow, who was as light as a bird, seemingly thinner than before, consumed bysores, and so full of pain, raised a faint cry. "Oh, my dear child, haveI hurt you?" asked Pierre. 

"No, no, Monsieur l'Abbe, but I've been moved about so much to-day, andI'm very tired this afternoon. " As he spoke, he smiled with his usualintelligent and mournful expression, and then, sinking back into hiscorner, closed his eyes, exhausted, indeed done for, by this fearful tripto Lourdes. 

"As you can very well understand, " now resumed M. Vigneron, "it by nomeans amuses me to stay here, kicking my heels, while my wife and my songo back to Paris without me. They have to go, however, for life at thehotel is no longer bearable; and besides, if I kept them with me, and therailway people won't listen to reason, I should have to pay three extrafares. And to make matters worse, my wife hasn't got much brains. I'mafraid she won't be able to manage things properly. "

Then, almost breathless, he overwhelmed Madame Vigneron with the mostminute instructions--what she was to do during the journey, how she wasto get back home on arriving in Paris, and what steps she was to take ifGustave was to have another attack. Somewhat scared, she responded, inall docility, to each recommendation: "Yes, yes, dear--of course, dear, of course. "

But all at once her husband's rage came back to him. "After all, " heshouted, "what I want to know is whether my return ticket be good or not!I must know for certain! They must find that station-master for me!"

He was already on the point of rushing away through the crowd, when henoticed Gustave's crutch lying on the platform. This was disastrous, andhe raised his eyes to heaven as though to call Providence to witness thathe would never be able to extricate himself from such awfulcomplications. And, throwing the crutch to his wife, he hurried off, distracted and shouting, "There, take it! You forget everything!"

The sick pilgrims were now flocking into the station, and, as on theoccasion of their arrival, there was plenty of disorderly carting alongthe platform and across the lines. All the abominable ailments, all thesores, all the deformities, went past once more, neither their gravitynor their number seeming to have decreased; for the few cures which hadbeen effected were but a faint inappreciable gleam of light amidst thegeneral mourning. They were taken back as they had come. The littlecarts, laden with helpless old women with their bags at their feet, grated over the rails. The stretchers on which you saw inflated bodiesand pale faces with glittering eyes, swayed amidst the jostling of thethrong. There was wild and senseless haste, indescribable confusion, questions, calls, sudden running, all the whirling of a flock whichcannot find the entrance to the pen. And the bearers ended by losingtheir heads, no longer knowing which direction to take amidst the warningcries of the porters, who at each moment were frightening people, distracting them with anguish. "Take care, take care over there! Makehaste! No, no, don't cross! The Toulouse train, the Toulouse train!"

Retracing his steps, Pierre again perceived the ladies, Madame deJonquiere and the others, still gaily chatting together. Lingering nearthem, he listened to Berthaud, whom Father Fourcade had stopped, tocongratulate him on the good order which had been maintained throughoutthe pilgrimage. The ex-public prosecutor was now bowing his thanks, feeling quite flattered by this praise. "Is it not a lesson for theirRepublic, your reverence?" he asked. "People get killed in Paris whensuch crowds as these celebrate some bloody anniversary of their hatefulhistory. They ought to come and take a lesson here. "

He was delighted with the thought of being disagreeable to the Governmentwhich had compelled him to resign. He was never so happy as when womenwere just saved from being knocked over amidst the great concourse ofbelievers at Lourdes. However, he did not seem to be satisfied with theresults of the political propaganda which he came to further there, during three days, every year. Fits of impatience came over him, thingsdid not move fast enough. When did Our Lady of Lourdes mean to bring backthe monarchy?

"You see, your reverence, " said he, "the only means, the real triumph, would be to bring the working classes of the towns here _en masse_. Ishall cease dreaming, I shall devote myself to that entirely. Ah! if onecould only create a Catholic democracy!"

Father Fourcade had become very grave. His fine, intelligent eyes filledwith a dreamy expression, and wandered far away. How many times alreadyhad he himself made the creation of that new people the object of hisefforts! But was not the breath of a new Messiah needed for theaccomplishment of such a task? "Yes, yes, " he murmured, "a Catholicdemocracy; ah! the history of humanity would begin afresh!"

But Father Massias interrupted him in a passionate voice, saying that allthe nations of the earth would end by coming; whilst Doctor Bonamy, whoalready detected a slight subsidence of fervour among the pilgrims, wagged his head and expressed the opinion that the faithful ones of theGrotto ought to increase their zeal. To his mind, success especiallydepended on the greatest possible measure of publicity being given to themiracles. And he assumed a radiant air and laughed complacently whilstpointing to the tumultuous _defile_ of the sick. "Look at them!" said he. "Don't they go off looking better? There are a great many who, althoughthey don't appear to be cured, are nevertheless carrying the germs ofcure away with them; of that you may be certain! Ah! the good people;they do far more than we do all together for the glory of Our Lady ofLourdes!"

However, he had to check himself, for Madame Dieulafay was passing beforethem, in her box lined with quilted silk. She was deposited in front ofthe door of the first-class carriage, in which a maid was already placingthe luggage. Pity came to all who beheld the unhappy woman, for she didnot seem to have awakened from her prostration during her three days'sojourn at Lourdes. What she had been when they had removed her from thecarriage on the morning of her arrival, that she also was now when thebearers were about to place her inside it again--clad in lace, coveredwith jewels, still with the lifeless, imbecile face of a mummy slowlyliquefying; and, indeed, one might have thought that she had become yetmore wasted, that she was being taken back diminished, shrunken more andmore to the proportions of a child, by the march of that horrible diseasewhich, after destroying her bones, was now dissolving the softened fibresof her muscles. Inconsolable, bowed down by the loss of their last hope, her husband and sister, their eyes red, were following her with AbbeJudaine, even as one follows a corpse to the grave. 

"No, no! not yet!" said the old priest to the bearers, in order toprevent them from placing the box in the carriage. "She will have timeenough to roll along in there. Let her have the warmth of that lovely skyabove her till the last possible moment. "

Then, seeing Pierre near him, he drew him a few steps aside, and, in avoice broken by grief, resumed: "Ah! I am indeed distressed. Again thismorning I had a hope. I had her taken to the Grotto, I said my mass forher, and came back to pray till eleven o'clock. But nothing came of it;the Blessed Virgin did not listen to me. Although she cured me, a poor, useless old man like me, I could not obtain from her the cure of thisbeautiful, young, and wealthy woman, whose life ought to be a continual_fete_. Undoubtedly the Blessed Virgin knows what she ought to do betterthan ourselves, and I bow and bless her name. Nevertheless, my soul isfull of frightful sadness. "

He did not tell everything; he did not confess the thought which wasupsetting him, simple, childish, worthy man that he was, whose life hadnever been troubled by either passion or doubt. But his thought was thatthose poor weeping people, the husband and the sister, had too manymillions, that the presents they had brought were too costly, that theyhad given far too much money to the Basilica. A miracle is not to bebought. The wealth of the world is a hindrance rather than an advantagewhen you address yourself to God. Assuredly, if the Blessed Virgin hadturned a deaf ear to their entreaties, had shown them but a stern, coldcountenance, it was in order that she might the more attentively listento the weak voices of the lowly ones who had come to her with emptyhands, with no other wealth than their love, and these she had loadedwith grace, flooded with the glowing affection of her Divine Motherhood. And those poor wealthy ones, who had not been heard, that sister and thathusband, both so wretched beside the sorry body they were taking awaywith them, they themselves felt like pariahs among the throng of thehumble who had been consoled or healed; they seemed embarrassed by theirvery luxury, and recoiled, awkward and ill at ease, covered with shame atthe thought that Our Lady of Lourdes had relieved beggars whilst nevercasting a glance upon that beautiful and powerful lady agonising untodeath amidst all her lace!

All at once it occurred to Pierre that he might have missed seeing M. DeGuersaint and Marie arrive, and that they were perhaps already in thecarriage. He returned thither, but there was still only his valise on theseat. Sister Hyacinthe and Sister Claire des Anges, however, had begun toinstall themselves, pending the arrival of their charges, and as Gerardjust then brought up M. Sabathier in a little handcart, Pierre helped toplace him in the carriage, a laborious task which put both the youngpriest and Gerard into a perspiration. The ex-professor, who lookeddisconsolate though very calm, at once settled himself in his corner. 

"Thank you, gentlemen, " said he. "That's over, thank goodness. And nowthey'll only have to take me out at Paris. "

After wrapping a rug round his legs, Madame Sabathier, who was alsothere, got out of the carriage and remained standing near the open door. She was talking to Pierre when all at once she broke off to say: "Ah!here's Madame Maze coming to take her seat. She confided in me the otherday, you know. She's a very unhappy little woman. "

Then, in an obliging spirit, she called to her and offered to watch overher things. But Madame Maze shook her head, laughed, and gesticulated asthough she were out of her senses. 

"No, no, I am not going, " said she. 

"What! you are not going back?"

"No, no, I am not going--that is, I am, but not with you, not with you!"

She wore such an extraordinary air, she looked so bright, that Pierre andMadame Sabathier found it difficult to recognise her. Her fair, prematurely faded face was radiant, she seemed to be ten years younger, suddenly aroused from the infinite sadness into which desertion hadplunged her. And, at last, her joy overflowing, she raised a cry: "I amgoing off with him! Yes, he has come to fetch me, he is taking me withhim. Yes, yes, we are going to Luchon together, together!"

Then, with a rapturous glance, she pointed out a dark, sturdy-lookingyoung man, with gay eyes and bright red lips, who was purchasing somenewspapers. "There! that's my husband, " said she, "that handsome manwho's laughing over there with the newspaper-girl. He turned up hereearly this morning, and he's carrying me off. We shall take the Toulousetrain in a couple of minutes. Ah! dear madame, I told you of all myworries, and you can understand my happiness, can't you?"

However, she could not remain silent, but again spoke of the frightfulletter which she had received on Sunday, a letter in which he haddeclared to her that if she should take advantage of her sojourn atLourdes to come to Luchon after him, he would not open the door to her. And, think of it, theirs had been a love match! But for ten years he hadneglected her, profiting by his continual journeys as a commercialtraveller to take friends about with him from one to the other end ofFrance. Ah! that time she had thought it all over, she had asked theBlessed Virgin to let her die, for she knew that the faithless one was atthat very moment at Luchon with two friends. What was it then that hadhappened? A thunderbolt must certainly have fallen from heaven. Those twofriends must have received a warning from on high--perhaps they haddreamt that they were already condemned to everlasting punishment. At allevents they had fled one evening without a word of explanation, and he, unable to live alone, had suddenly been seized with a desire to fetch hiswife and keep her with him for a week. Grace must have certainly fallenon him, though he did not say it, for he was so kind and pleasant thatshe could not do otherwise than believe in a real beginning ofconversion. 

"Ah! how grateful I am to the Blessed Virgin, " she continued; "she alonecan have acted, and I well understood her last evening. It seemed to methat she made me a little sign just at the very moment when my husbandwas making up his mind to come here to fetch me. I asked him at what timeit was that the idea occurred to him, and the hours fit in exactly. Ah!there has been no greater miracle. The others make me smile with theirmended legs and their vanished sores. Blessed be Our Lady of Lourdes, whohas healed my heart!"

Just then the sturdy young man turned round, and she darted away to joinhim, so full of delight that she forgot to bid the others good-bye. Andit was at this moment, amidst the growing crowd of patients whom thebearers were bringing, that the Toulouse train at last came in. Thetumult increased, the confusion became extraordinary. Bells rang andsignals worked, whilst the station-master was seen rushing up, shoutingwith all the strength of his lungs: "Be careful there! Clear the line atonce!"

A railway _employe_ had to rush from the platform to push a littlevehicle, which had been forgotten on the line, with an old woman in it, out of harm's way; however, yet another scared band of pilgrims ranacross when the steaming, growling engine was only thirty yards distant. Others, losing their heads, would have been crushed by the wheels ifporters had not roughly caught them by the shoulders. Then, withouthaving pounded anybody, the train at last stopped alongside themattresses, pillows, and cushions lying hither and thither, and thebewildered, whirling groups of people. The carriage doors opened and atorrent of travellers alighted, whilst another torrent climbed in, thesetwo obstinately contending currents bringing the tumult to a climax. Faces, first wearing an inquisitive expression, and then overcome bystupefaction at the astonishing sight, showed themselves at the windowsof the doors which remained closed; and, among them, one especiallynoticed the faces of two remarkably pretty girls, whose large candid eyesended by expressing the most dolorous compassion. 

Followed by her husband, however, Madame Maze had climbed into one of thecarriages, feeling as happy and buoyant as if she were in her twentiethyear again, as on the already distant evening of her honeymoon journey. And the doors having been slammed, the engine gave a loud whistle andbegan to move, going off slowly and heavily between the throng, which, inthe rear of the train, flowed on to the lines again like an invadingtorrent whose flood-gates have been swept away. 

"Bar the platform!" shouted the station-master to his men. "Keep watchwhen the engine comes up!"

The belated patients and pilgrims had arrived during this alert. LaGrivotte passed by with her feverish eyes and excited, dancing gait, followed by Elise Rouquet and Sophie Couteau, who were very gay, andquite out of breath through running. All three hastened to theircarriage, where Sister Hyacinthe scolded them. They had almost been leftbehind at the Grotto, where, at times, the pilgrims lingered forgetfully, unable to tear themselves away, still imploring and entreating theBlessed Virgin, when the train was waiting for them at therailway-station. 

All at once Pierre, who likewise was anxious, no longer knowing what tothink, perceived M. De Guersaint and Marie quietly talking with AbbeJudaine on the covered platform. He hastened to join them, and told themof his impatience. "What have you been doing?" he asked. "I was losingall hope. "

"What have we been doing?" responded M. De Guersaint, with quietastonishment. "We were at the Grotto, as you know very well. There was apriest there, preaching in a most remarkable manner, and we should stillbe there if I hadn't remembered that we had to leave. And we took a flyhere, as we promised you we would do. "

He broke off to look at the clock. "But hang it all!" he added, "there'sno hurry. The train won't start for another quarter of an hour. "

This was true. Then Marie, smiling with divine joy, exclaimed: "Oh! ifyou only knew, Pierre, what happiness I have brought away from that lastvisit to the Blessed Virgin. I saw her smile at me, I felt her giving mestrength to live. Really, that farewell was delightful, and you must notscold us, Pierre. "

He himself had begun to smile, somewhat ill at ease, however, as hethought of his nervous fidgeting. Had he, then, experienced so keen adesire to get far away from Lourdes? Had he feared that the Grotto mightkeep Marie, that she might never come away from it again? Now that shewas there beside him, he was astonished at having indulged such thoughts, and felt himself to be very calm. 

However, whilst he was advising them to go and take their seats in thecarriage, he recognised Doctor Chassaigne hastily approaching. "Ah! mydear doctor, " he said, "I was waiting for you. I should have been sorryindeed to have gone away without embracing you. "

But the old doctor, who was trembling with emotion, interrupted him. "Yes, yes, I am late. But ten minutes ago, just as I arrived, I caughtsight of that eccentric fellow, the Commander, and had a talk with himover yonder. He was sneering at the sight of your people taking the trainagain to go and die at home, when, said he, they ought to have done sobefore coming to Lourdes. Well, all at once, while he was talking likethis, he fell on the ground before me. It was his third attack ofparalysis; the one he had long been expecting. "

"Oh! _mon Dieu_, " murmured Abbe Judaine, who heard the doctor, "he wasblaspheming. Heaven has punished him. "

M. De Guersaint and Marie were listening, greatly interested and deeplymoved. 

"I had him carried yonder, into that shed, " continued the doctor. "It isall over; I can do nothing. He will doubtless be dead before a quarter ofan hour has gone by. But I thought of a priest, and hastened up to you. "

Then, turning towards Abbe Judaine, M. Chassaigne added: "Come with me, Monsieur le Cure; you know him. We cannot let a Christian departunsuccoured. Perhaps he will be moved, recognise his error, and becomereconciled with God. "

Abbe Judaine quickly followed the doctor, and in the rear went M. DeGuersaint, leading Marie and Pierre, whom the thought of this tragedyimpassioned. All five entered the goods shed, at twenty paces from thecrowd which was still bustling and buzzing, without a soul in itexpecting that there was a man dying so near by. 

In a solitary corner of the shed, between two piles of sacks filled withoats, lay the Commander, on a mattress borrowed from the Hospitalityreserve supply. He wore his everlasting frock-coat, with its buttonholedecked with a broad red riband, and somebody who had taken the precautionto pick up his silver-knobbed walking-stick had carefully placed it onthe ground beside the mattress. 

Abbe Judaine at once leant over him. "You recognise us, you can hear us, my poor friend, can't you?" asked the priest. 

Only the Commander's eyes now appeared to be alive; but they _were_alive, still glittering brightly with a stubborn flame of energy. Theattack had this time fallen on his right side, almost entirely deprivinghim of the power of speech. He could only stammer a few words, by whichhe succeeded in making them understand that he wished to die there, without being moved or worried any further. He had no relative atLourdes, where nobody knew anything either of his former life or hisfamily. For three years he had lived there happily on the salary attachedto his little post at the station, and now he at last beheld his ardent, his only desire, approaching fulfilment--the desire that he might departand fall into the eternal sleep. His eyes expressed the great joy he feltat being so near his end. 

"Have you any wish to make known to us?" resumed Abbe Judaine. "Cannot webe useful to you in any way?"

No, no; his eyes replied that he was all right, well pleased. For threeyears past he had never got up in the morning without hoping that bynight time he would be sleeping in the cemetery. Whenever he saw the sunshine he was wont to say in an envious tone: "What a beautiful day fordeparture!" And now that death was at last at hand, ready to deliver himfrom his hateful existence, it was indeed welcome. 

"I can do nothing, science is powerless. He is condemned, " said DoctorChassaigne in a low, bitter tone to the old priest, who begged him toattempt some effort. 

However, at that same moment it chanced that an aged woman, a pilgrim offourscore years, who had lost her way and knew not whither she was going, entered the shed. Lame and humpbacked, reduced to the stature ofchildhood's days, afflicted with all the ailments of extreme old age, shewas dragging herself along with the assistance of a stick, and at herside was slung a can full of Lourdes water, which she was taking awaywith her, in the hope of yet prolonging her old age, in spite of all itsfrightful decay. For a moment her senile, imbecile mind was quite scared. She stood looking at that outstretched, stiffened man, who was dying. Then a gleam of grandmotherly kindliness appeared in the depths of herdim, vague eyes; and with the sisterly feelings of one who was very agedand suffered very grievously she drew nearer, and, taking hold of her canwith her hands, which never ceased shaking, she offered it to the man. 

To Abbe Judaine this seemed like a sudden flash of light, an inspirationfrom on high. He, who had prayed so fervently and so often for the cureof Madame Dieulafay without being heard by the Blessed Virgin, now glowedwith fresh faith in the conviction that if the Commander would only drinkthat water he would be cured. 

The old priest fell upon his knees beside the mattress. "O brother!" hesaid, "it is God who has sent you this woman. Reconcile yourself withGod, drink and pray, whilst we ourselves implore the divine mercy withour whole souls. God will prove His power to you; God will work the greatmiracle of setting you erect once more, so that you may yet spend manyyears upon this earth, loving Him and glorifying Him. "

No, no! the Commander's sparkling eyes cried no! He, indeed, show himselfas cowardly as those flocks of pilgrims who came from afar, through somany fatigues, in order to drag themselves on the ground and sob and begHeaven to let them live a month, a year, ten years longer! It was sopleasant, so simple to die quietly in your bed. You turned your face tothe wall and you died. 

"Drink, O my brother, I implore you!" continued the old priest. "It islife that you will drink, it is strength and health, the very joy ofliving. Drink that you may become young again, that you may begin a newand pious life; drink that you may sing the praises of the Divine Mother, who will have saved both your body and your soul. She is speaking to me, your resurrection is certain. "

But no! but no! The eyes refused, repelled the offer of life with growingobstinacy, and in their expression now appeared a covert fear of themiraculous. The Commander did not believe; for three years he had beenshrugging his shoulders at the pretended cases of cure. But could oneever tell in this strange world of ours? Such extraordinary things didsometimes happen. And if by chance their water should really have asupernatural power, and if by force they should make him drink some ofit, it would be terrible to have to live again--to endure once more thepunishment of a galley-slave existence, that abomination whichLazarus--the pitiable object of the great miracle--had suffered twice. No, no, he would not drink; he would not incur the fearful risk ofresurrection. 

"Drink, drink, my brother, " repeated Abbe Judaine, who was now in tears;"do not harden your heart to refuse the favours of Heaven. "

And then a terrible thing was seen; this man, already half dead, raisedhimself, shaking off the stifling bonds of paralysis, loosening for asecond his tied tongue, and stammering, growling in a hoarse voice: "No, no, NO!"

Pierre had to lead the stupefied old woman away and put her in the rightdirection again. She had failed to understand that refusal of the waterwhich she herself was taking home with her like an inestimable treasure, the very gift of God's eternity to the poor who did not wish to die. Lameof one leg, humpbacked, dragging the sorry remnants of her fourscoreyears along by the assistance of her stick, she disappeared among thetramping crowd, consumed by the passion of being, eager for space, air, sunshine, and noise. 

Marie and her father had shuddered in presence of that appetite fordeath, that greedy hungering for the end which the Commander showed. Ah!to sleep, to sleep without a dream, in the infinite darkness forever andever--nothing in the world could have seemed so sweet to him. He did nothope in a better life; he had no desire to become happy, at last, inParadise where equality and justice would reign. His sole longing was forblack night and endless sleep, the joy of being no more, of never, neverbeing again. And Doctor Chassaigne also had shuddered, for he alsonourished but one thought, the thought of the happy moment when he woulddepart. But, in his case, on the other side of this earthly existence hewould find his dear lost ones awaiting him, at the spot where eternallife began; and how icy cold all would have seemed had he but for asingle moment thought that he might not meet them there. 

Abbe Judaine painfully rose up. It had seemed to him that the Commanderwas now fixing his bright eyes upon Marie. Deeply grieved that hisentreaties should have been of no avail, the priest wished to show thedying man an example of that goodness of God which he repulsed. 

"You recognise her, do you not?" he asked. "Yes, it is the young lady whoarrived here on Saturday so ill, with both legs paralysed. And you seeher now, so full of health, so strong, so beautiful. Heaven has takenpity on her, and now she is reviving to youth, to the long life she wasborn to live. Do you feel no regret in seeing her? Would you also likeher to be dead? would you have advised her not to drink the water?"

The Commander could not answer; but his eyes no longer strayed fromMarie's young face, on which one read such great happiness at havingresuscitated, such vast hopes in countless morrows; and tears appeared inthose fixed eyes of his, gathered under their lids, and rolled down hischeeks, which were already cold. He was certainly weeping for her; hemust have been thinking of that other miracle which he had wishedher--that if she should be cured, she might be happy. It was thetenderness of an old man, who knows the miseries of this world, stirredto pity by the thought of all the sorrows which awaited this youngcreature. Ah! poor woman, how many times; perhaps, might she regret thatshe had not died in her twentieth year!

Then the Commander's eyes grew very dim, as though those last pitifultears had dissolved them. It was the end; coma was coming; the mind wasdeparting with the breath. He slightly turned, and died. 

Doctor Chassaigne at once drew Marie aside. "The train's starting, " hesaid; "make haste, make haste!"

Indeed, the loud ringing of a bell was clearly resounding above thegrowing tumult of the crowd. And the doctor, having requested two bearersto watch the body, which would be removed later on when the train hadgone, desired to accompany his friends to their carriage. 

They hastened their steps. Abbe Judaine, who was in despair, joined themafter saying a short prayer for the repose of that rebellious soul. However, while Marie, followed by Pierre and M. De Guersaint, was runningalong the platform, she was stopped once more, and this time by DoctorBonamy, who triumphantly presented her to Father Fourcade. "Here isMademoiselle de Guersaint, your reverence, the young lady who was healedso marvellously yesterday. "

The radiant smile of a general who is reminded of his most decisivevictory appeared on Father Fourcade's face. "I know, I know; I wasthere, " he replied. "God has blessed you among all women, my deardaughter; go, and cause His name to be worshipped. "

Then he congratulated M. De Guersaint, whose paternal pride savoureddivine enjoyment. It was the ovation beginning afresh--the concert ofloving words and enraptured glances which had followed the girl throughthe streets of Lourdes that morning, and which again surrounded her atthe moment of departure. The bell might go on ringing; a circle ofdelighted pilgrims still lingered around her; it seemed as if she werecarrying away in her person all the glory of the pilgrimage, the triumphof religion, which would echo and echo to the four corners of the earth. 

And Pierre was moved as he noticed the dolorous group which MadameJousseur and M. Dieulafay formed near by. Their eyes were fixed uponMarie; like the others, they were astonished by the resurrection of thisbeautiful girl, whom they had seen lying inert, emaciated, with ashenface. Why should that child have been healed? Why not the young woman, the dear woman, whom they were taking home in a dying state? Theirconfusion, their sense of shame, seemed to increase; they drew back, uneasy, like pariahs burdened with too much wealth; and it was a greatrelief for them when, three bearers having with difficulty placed MadameDieulafay in the first-class compartment, they themselves were able tovanish into it in company with Abbe Judaine. 

The _employes_ were already shouting, "Take your seats! take your seats, "and Father Massias, the spiritual director of the train, had returned tohis compartment, leaving Father Fourcade on the platform leaning onDoctor Bonamy's shoulder. In all haste Gerard and Berthaud again salutedthe ladies, while Raymonde got in to join Madame Desagneaux and MadameVolmar in their corner; and Madame de Jonquiere at last ran off to hercarriage, which she reached at the same time as the Guersaints. There washustling, and shouting, and wild running from one to the other end of thelong train, to which the engine, a copper engine, glittering like a star, had just been coupled. 

Pierre was helping Marie into the carriage, when M. Vigneron, coming backat a gallop, shouted to him: "It'll be good to-morrow, it'll be goodtomorrow!" Very red in the face, he showed and waved his ticket, and thengalloped off again to the compartment where his wife and son had theirseats, in order to announce the good news to them. 

When Marie and her father were installed in their places, Pierre lingeredfor another moment on the platform with Doctor Chassaigne, who embracedhim paternally. The young man wished to induce the doctor to return toParis and take some little interest in life again. But M. Chassaigneshook his head. "No, no, my dear child, " he replied. "I shall remainhere. They are here, they keep me here. " He was speaking of his dear lostones. Then, very gently and lovingly, he said, "Farewell. "

"Not farewell, my dear doctor; till we meet again. "

"Yes, yes, farewell. The Commander was right, you know; nothing can be sosweet as to die, but to die in order to live again. "

Baron Suire was now giving orders for the removal of the white flags onthe foremost and hindmost carriages of the train; the shouts of therailway _employes_ were ringing out in more and more imperious tones, "Take your seats! take your seats!" and now came the supreme scramble, the torrent of belated pilgrims rushing up distracted, breathless, andcovered with perspiration. Madame de Jonquiere and Sister Hyacinthe werecounting their party in the carriage. La Grivotte, Elise Rouquet, andSophie Couteau were all three there. Madame Sabathier, too, had taken herseat in front of her husband, who, with his eyes half closed, waspatiently awaiting the departure. However, a voice inquired, "And MadameVincent, isn't she going back with us?"

Thereupon Sister Hyacinthe, who was leaning out of the window exchanginga last smile with Ferrand, who stood at the door of the cantine van, exclaimed: "Here she comes!"

Madame Vincent crossed the lines, rushed up, the last of all, breathlessand haggard. And at once, by an involuntary impulse, Pierre glanced ather arms. They carried nothing now. 

All the doors were being closed, slammed one after the other; thecarriages were full, and only the signal for departure was awaited. Panting and smoking, the engine gave vent to a first loud whistle, shrilland joyous; and at that moment the sun, hitherto veiled from sight, dissipated the light cloudlets and made the whole train resplendent, gilding the engine, which seemed on the point of starting for thelegendary Paradise. No bitterness, but a divine, infantile gaietyattended the departure. All the sick appeared to be healed. Though mostof them were being taken away in the same condition as they had beenbrought, they went off relieved and happy, at all events, for an hour. And not the slightest jealousy tainted their brotherly and sisterlyfeelings; those who were not cured waxed quite gay, triumphant at thecure of the others. Their own turns would surely come; yesterday'smiracle was the formal promise of to-morrow's. Even after those threedays of burning entreaty their fever of desire remained within them; thefaith of the forgotten ones continued as keen as ever in the convictionthat the Blessed Virgin had simply deferred a cure for their souls'benefit. Inextinguishable love, invincible hope glowed within all thosewretched ones thirsting for life. And so a last outburst of joy, aturbulent display of happiness, laughter and shouts, overflowed from allthe crowded carriages. "Till next year! We'll come back, we'll comeback again!" was the cry; and then the gay little Sisters of theAssumption clapped their hands, and the hymn of gratitude, the"Magnificat, " began, sung by all the eight hundred pilgrims: "_Magnificatanima mea Dominum_. " "My soul doth magnify the Lord. "

Thereupon the station-master, his mind at last at ease, his arms hangingbeside him, caused the signal to be given. The engine whistled once againand then set out, rolling along in the dazzling sunlight as amidst aglory. Although his leg was causing him great suffering, Father Fourcadehad remained on the platform, leaning upon Doctor Bonamy's shoulder, and, in spite of everything, saluting the departure of his dear children witha smile. Berthaud, Gerard, and Baron Suire formed another group, and nearthem were Doctor Chassaigne and M. Vigneron waving their handkerchiefs. Heads were looking joyously out of the windows of the fleeing carriages, whence other handkerchiefs were streaming in the current of air producedby the motion of the train. Madame Vigneron compelled Gustave to show hispale little face, and for a long time Raymonde's small hand could be seenwaving good wishes; but Marie remained the last, looking back on Lourdesas it grew smaller and smaller amidst the trees. 

Across the bright countryside the train triumphantly disappeared, resplendent, growling, chanting at the full pitch of its eight hundredvoices: "_Et exsultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo_. " "And myspirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour!"

IV. MARIE'S VOW

ONCE more was the white train rolling, rolling towards Paris on its wayhome; and the third-class carriage, where the shrill voices singing the"Magnificat" at full pitch rose above the growling of the wheels, hadagain become a common room, a travelling hospital ward, full of disorder, littered like an improvised ambulance. Basins and brooms and sponges layabout under the seats, which half concealed them. Articles of luggage, all the wretched mass of poor worn-out things, were heaped together, alittle bit everywhere; and up above, the litter began again, what withthe parcels, the baskets, and the bags hanging from the brass pegs andswinging to and fro without a moment's rest. The same Sisters of theAssumption and the same lady-hospitallers were there with their patients, amidst the contingent of healthy pilgrims, who were already sufferingfrom the overpowering heat and unbearable odour. And at the far end therewas again the compartment full of women, the ten close-packed femalepilgrims, some young, some old, and all looking pitifully ugly as theyviolently chanted the canticle in cracked and woeful voices. 

"At what time shall we reach Paris?" M. De Guersaint inquired of Pierre. 

"To-morrow at about two in the afternoon, I think, " the priest replied. 

Since starting, Marie had been looking at the latter with an air ofanxious preoccupation, as though haunted by a sudden sorrow which shecould not reveal. However, she found her gay, healthful smile again tosay: "Twenty-two hours' journey! Ah! it won't be so long and trying as itwas coming. "

"Besides, " resumed her father, "we have left some of our people behind. We have plenty of room now. "

In fact Madame Maze's absence left a corner free at the end of the seatwhich Marie, now sitting up like any other passenger, no longerencumbered with her box. Moreover, little Sophie had this time beenplaced in the next compartment, where there was neither Brother Isidorenor his sister Marthe. The latter, it was said, had remained at Lourdesin service with a pious lady. On the other side, Madame de Jonquiere andSister Hyacinthe also had the benefit of a vacant seat, that of MadameVetu; and it had further occurred to them to get rid of Elise Rouquet byplacing her with Sophie, so that only La Grivotte and the Sabathiercouple were with them in their compartment. Thanks to these newarrangements, they were better able to breathe, and perhaps they mightmanage to sleep a little. 

The last verse of the "Magnificat" having been sung, the ladies finishedinstalling themselves as comfortably as possible by setting their littlehousehold in order. One of the most important matters was to put the zincwater-can, which interfered with their legs, out of the way. All theblinds of the left-hand windows had been pulled down, for the obliquesunrays were falling on the train, and had poured into it in sheets offire. The last storms, however, must have laid the dust, and the nightwould certainly be cool. Moreover, there was less suffering: death hadcarried off the most afflicted ones, and only stupefied ailments, numbedby fatigue and lapsing into a slow torpor, remained. The overpoweringreaction which always follows great moral shocks was about to declareitself. The souls had made the efforts required of them, the miracles hadbeen worked, and now the relaxing was beginning amidst a hebetude tingedwith profound relief. 

Until they got to Tarbes they were all very much occupied in settingthings in order and making themselves comfortable. But as they left thatstation Sister Hyacinthe rose up and clapped her hands. "My children, "said she, "we must not forget the Blessed Virgin who has been so kind tous. Let us begin the Rosary. "

Then the whole carriage repeated the first chaplet--the five joyfulmysteries, the Annunciation, the Visitation, the Nativity, thePurification, and the Finding of Jesus in the Temple. And afterwards theyintoned the canticle, "Let us contemplate the heavenly Archangel, " insuch loud voices that the peasants working in the fields raised theirheads to look at this singing train as it rushed past them at full speed. 

Marie was at the window, gazing with admiration at the vast landscape andthe immense stretch of sky, which had gradually freed itself of its mistand was now of a dazzling blue. It was the delicious close of a fine day. However, she at last looked back into the carriage, and her eyes werefixing themselves on Pierre with that mute sadness which had previouslydimmed them, when all at once a sound of furious sobbing burst forth infront of her. The canticle was finished, and it was Madame Vincent whowas crying, stammering confused words, half-choked by her tears: "Ah, mypoor little one!" she gasped. "Ah, my jewel, my treasure, my life!"

She had previously remained in her corner, shrinking back into it asthough anxious to disappear. With a fierce face, her lips tightly set, and her eyes closed, as though to isolate herself in the depths of hercruel grief, she had hitherto not said a word. But, chancing to open hereyes, she had espied the leathern window-strap hanging down beside thedoor, and the sight of that strap, which her daughter had touched, almostplayed with at one moment during the previous journey, had overwhelmedher with a frantic despair which swept away her resolution to remainsilent. 

"Ah! my poor little Rose, " she continued. "Her little hand touched thatstrap, she turned it, and looked at it--ah, it was her last plaything!And we were there both together then; she was still alive, I still hadher on my lap, in my arms. It was still so nice, so nice! But now I nolonger have her; I shall never, never have her again, my poor littleRose, my poor little Rose!"

Distracted, sobbing bitterly, she looked at her knees and her arms, onwhich nothing now rested, and which she was at a loss how to employ. Shehad so long rocked her daughter on her knees, so long carried her in herarms, that it now seemed to her as if some portion of her being had beenamputated, as if her body had been deprived of one of its functions, leaving her diminished, unoccupied, distracted at being unable to fulfilthat function any more. Those useless arms and knees of hers quiteembarrassed her. 

Pierre and Marie, who were deeply moved, had drawn near, uttering kindwords and striving to console the unhappy mother. And, little by little, from the disconnected sentences which mingled with her sobs, they learnedwhat a Calvary she had ascended since her daughter's death. On themorning of the previous day, when she had carried the body off in herarms amidst the storm, she must have long continued walking, blind anddeaf to everything, whilst the torrential rain beat down upon her. She nolonger remembered what squares she had crossed, what streets she hadtraversed, as she roamed through that infamous Lourdes, that Lourdeswhich killed little children, that Lourdes which she cursed. 

"Ah! I can't remember, I can't remember, " she faltered. "But some peopletook me in, had pity upon me, some people whom I don't know, but who livesomewhere. Ah! I can't remember where, but it was somewhere high up, faraway, at the other end of the town. And they were certainly very poorfolk, for I can still see myself in a poor-looking room with my dearlittle one who was quite cold, and whom they laid upon their bed. "

At this recollection a fresh attack of sobbing shook her, in fact almoststifled her. 

"No, no, " she at last resumed, "I would not part with her dear littlebody by leaving it in that abominable town. And I can't tell exactly howit happened, but it must have been those poor people who took me withthem. We did a great deal of walking, oh! a great deal of walking; we sawall those gentlemen of the pilgrimage and the railway. 'What can itmatter to you?' I repeated to them. 'Let me take her back to Paris in myarms. I brought her here like that when she was alive, I may surely takeher back dead? Nobody will notice anything, people will think that she isasleep. '"

"And all of them, all those officials, began shouting and driving me awayas though I were asking them to let me do something wicked. Then I endedby telling them my mind. When people make so much fuss, and bring so manyagonising sick to a place like that, they surely ought to send the deadones home again, ought they not? And do you know how much money theyended by asking of me at the station? Three hundred francs! Yes, itappears it is the price! Three hundred francs, good Lord! of me, who camehere with thirty sous in my pocket and have only five left. Why, I don'tearn that amount of money by six months' sewing. They ought to have askedme for my life; I would have given it so willingly. Three hundred francs!three hundred francs for that poor little bird-like body, which it wouldhave consoled me so much to have brought away on my knees!"

Then she began stammering and complaining in a confused, husky voice:"Ah, if you only knew how sensibly those poor people talked to me toinduce me to go back. A work-woman like myself, with work waiting, oughtto return to Paris, they said; and, besides, I couldn't afford tosacrifice my return ticket; I must take the three-forty train. And theytold me, too, that people are compelled to put up with things when theyare not rich. Only the rich can keep their dead, do what they like withthem, eh? And I can't remember--no, again I can't remember! I didn't evenknow the time; I should never have been able to find my way back to thestation. After the funeral over there, at a place where there were twotrees, it must have been those poor people who led me away, half out ofmy senses, and brought me to the station, and pushed me into the carriagejust at the moment when the train was starting. But what a rending itwas--as if my heart had remained there underground, and it is frightful, that it is, frightful, my God!"

"Poor woman!" murmured Marie. "Take courage, and pray to the BlessedVirgin for the succour which she never refuses to the afflicted. "

But at this Madame Vincent shook with rage. "It isn't true!" she cried. "The Blessed Virgin doesn't care a rap about me. She doesn't tell thetruth! Why did she deceive me? I should never have gone to Lourdes if Ihadn't heard that voice in a church. My little girl would still be alive, and perhaps the doctors would have saved her. I, who would never set myfoot among the priests formerly! Ah! I was right! I was right! There's noBlessed Virgin at all!"

And in this wise, without resignation, without illusion, without hope, she continued blaspheming with the coarse fury of a woman of the people, shrieking the sufferings of her heart aloud in such rough fashion thatSister Hyacinthe had to intervene: "Be quiet, you unhappy woman! It isGod who is making you suffer, to punish you. "

The scene had already lasted a long time, and as they passed Riscle atfull speed the Sister again clapped her hands and gave the signal for thechanting of the "Laudate Mariam. " "Come, come, my children, " sheexclaimed, "all together, and with all your hearts:

 "In heav'n, on earth, All voices raise, In concert sing My Mother's praise: _Laudate, laudate, laudate Mariam_!"

Madame Vincent, whose voice was drowned by this canticle of love, nowonly sobbed, with her hands pressed to her face. Her revolt was over, shewas again strengthless, weak like a suffering woman whom grief andweariness have stupefied. 

After the canticle, fatigue fell more or less heavily upon all theoccupants of the carriage. Only Sister Hyacinthe, so quick and active, and Sister Claire des Anges, so gentle, serious, and slight, retained, ason their departure from Paris and during their sojourn at Lourdes, theprofessional serenity of women accustomed to everything, amidst thebright gaiety of their white coifs and wimples. Madame de Jonquiere, whohad scarcely slept for five days past, had to make an effort to keep herpoor eyes open; and yet she was delighted with the journey, for her heartwas full of joy at having arranged her daughter's marriage, and atbringing back with her the greatest of all the miracles, a _miraculee_whom everybody was talking of. She decided in her own mind that she wouldget to sleep that night, however bad the jolting might be; though on theother hand she could not shake off a covert fear with regard to LaGrivotte, who looked very strange, excited, and haggard, with dull eyes, and cheeks glowing with patches of violet colour. Madame de Jonquiere hadtried a dozen times to keep her from fidgeting, but had not been able toinduce her to remain still, with joined hands and closed eyes. Fortunately, the other patients gave her no anxiety; most of them wereeither so relieved or so weary that they were already dozing off. EliseRouquet, however, had bought herself a pocket mirror, a large round one, in which she did not weary of contemplating herself, finding herselfquite pretty, and verifying from minute to minute the progress of hercure with a coquetry which, now that her monstrous face was becominghuman again, made her purse her lips and try a variety of smiles. As forSophie Couteau, she was playing very prettily; for finding that nobodynow asked to examine her foot, she had taken off her shoe and stocking ofher own accord, repeating that she must surely have a pebble in one orthe other of them; and as her companions still paid no attention to thatlittle foot which the Blessed Virgin had been pleased to visit, she keptit in her hands, caressing it, seemingly delighted to touch it and turnit into a plaything. 

M. De Guersaint had meantime risen from his seat, and, leaning on the lowpartition between the compartments, he was glancing at M. Sabathier, whenall of a sudden Marie called: "Oh! father, father, look at this notch inthe seat; it was the ironwork of my box that made it!"

The discovery of this trace rendered her so happy that for a moment sheforgot the secret sorrow which she seemed anxious to keep to herself. Andin the same way as Madame Vincent had burst out sobbing on perceiving theleather strap which her little girl had touched, so she burst into joy atthe sight of this scratch, which reminded her of her long martyrdom inthis same carriage, all the abomination which had now disappeared, vanished like a nightmare. "To think that four days have scarcely goneby, " she said; "I was lying there, I could not stir, and now, now I comeand go, and feel so comfortable!"

Pierre and M. De Guersaint were smiling at her; and M. Sabathier, who hadheard her, slowly said: "It is quite true. We leave a little of ourselvesin things, a little of our sufferings and our hopes, and when we findthem again they speak to us, and once more tell us the things whichsadden us or make us gay. "

He had remained in his corner silent, with an air of resignation, eversince their departure from Lourdes. Even his wife whilst wrapping up hislegs had only been able to obtain sundry shakes of the head from him inresponse to her inquiries whether he was suffering. In point of fact hewas not suffering, but extreme dejection was overcoming him. 

"Thus for my own part, " he continued, "during our long journey from ParisI tried to divert my thoughts by counting the bands in the roofing upthere. There were thirteen from the lamp to the door. Well, I have justbeen counting them again, and naturally enough there are still thirteen. It's like that brass knob beside me. You can't imagine what dreams I hadwhilst I watched it shining at night-time when Monsieur l'Abbe wasreading the story of Bernadette to us. Yes, I saw myself cured; I wasmaking that journey to Rome which I have been talking of for twenty yearspast; I walked and travelled the world--briefly, I had all manner of wildand delightful dreams. And now here we are on our way back to Paris, andthere are thirteen bands across the roofing there, and the knob is stillshining--all of which tells me that I am again on the same seat, with mylegs lifeless. Well, well, it's understood, I'm a poor, old, used-upanimal, and such I shall remain. "

Two big tears appeared in his eyes; he must have been passing through anhour of frightful bitterness. However, he raised his big square head, with its jaw typical of patient obstinacy, and added: "This is theseventh year that I have been to Lourdes, and the Blessed Virgin has notlistened to me. No matter! It won't prevent me from going back next year. Perhaps she will at last deign to hear me. "

For his part he did not revolt. And Pierre, whilst chatting with him, wasstupefied to find persistent, tenacious credulity springing up once more, in spite of everything, in the cultivated brain of this man of intellect. What ardent desire of cure and life was it that had led to this refusalto accept evidence, this determination to remain blind? He stubbornlyclung to the resolution to be saved when all human probabilities wereagainst him, when the experiment of the miracle itself had failed so manytimes already; and he had reached such a point that he wished to explainhis fresh rebuff, urging moments of inattention at the Grotto, a lack ofsufficient contrition, and all sorts of little transgressions which musthave displeased the Blessed Virgin. Moreover, he was already deciding inhis mind that he would perform a novena somewhere next year, before againrepairing to Lourdes. 

"Ah! by the way, " he resumed, "do you know of the good-luck which mysubstitute has had? Yes, you must remember my telling you about that poorfellow suffering from tuberculosis, for whom I paid fifty francs when Iobtained _hospitalisation_ for myself. Well, he has been thoroughlycured. "

"Really! And he was suffering from tuberculosis!" exclaimed M. DeGuersaint. 

"Certainly, monsieur, perfectly cured I had seen him looking so low, soyellow, so emaciated, when we started; but when he came to pay me a visitat the hospital he was quite a new man; and, dear me, I gave him fivefrancs. "

Pierre had to restrain a smile, for be had heard the story from DoctorChassaigne. This miraculously healed individual was a feigner, who hadeventually been recognised at the Medical Verification Office. It was, apparently, the third year that he had presented himself there, the firsttime alleging paralysis and the second time a tumour, both of which hadbeen as completely healed as his pretended tuberculosis. On each occasionhe obtained an outing, lodging and food, and returned home loaded withalms. It appeared that he had formerly been a hospital nurse, and that hetransformed himself, "made-up" a face suited to his pretended ailment, insuch an extremely artistic manner that it was only by chance that DoctorBonamy had detected the imposition. Moreover, the Fathers had immediatelyrequired that the incident should be kept secret. What was the use ofstirring up a scandal which would only have led to jocular remarks in thenewspapers? Whenever any fraudulent miracles of this kind werediscovered, the Fathers contented themselves with forcing the guiltyparties to go away. Moreover, these feigners were far from numerous, despite all that was related of them in the amusing stories concocted byVoltairean humourists. Apart from faith, human stupidity and ignorance, alas! were quite sufficient to account for the miracles. 

M. Sabathier, however, was greatly stirred by the idea that Heaven hadhealed this man who had gone to Lourdes at his expense, whereas hehimself was returning home still helpless, still in the same woefulstate. He sighed, and, despite all his resignation, could not helpsaying, with a touch of envy: "What would you, however? The BlessedVirgin must know very well what she's about. Neither you nor I can callher to account to us for her actions. Whenever it may please her to casther eyes on me she will find me at her feet. "

After the "Angelus" when they got to Mont-de-Marsan, Sister Hyacinthemade them repeat the second chaplet, the five sorrowful mysteries, Jesusin the Garden of Olives, Jesus scourged, Jesus crowned with thorns, Jesuscarrying the cross, and Jesus crucified. Then they took dinner in thecarriage, for there would be no stopping until they reached Bordeaux, where they would only arrive at eleven o'clock at night. All thepilgrims' baskets were crammed with provisions, to say nothing of themilk, broth, chocolate, and fruit which Sister Saint-Francois had sentfrom the cantine. Then, too, there was fraternal sharing: they sat withtheir food on their laps and drew close together, every compartmentbecoming, as it were, the scene of a picnic, to which each contributedhis share. And they had finished their meal and were packing up theremaining bread again when the train passed Morceux. 

"My children, " now said Sister Hyacinthe, rising up, "the eveningprayer!"

Thereupon came a confused murmuring made up of "Paters" and "Aves, "self-examinations, acts of contrition and vows of trustful reliance inGod, the Blessed Virgin, and the Saints, with thanksgivings for thathappy day, and, at last, a prayer for the living and for the faithfuldeparted. 

"I warn you, " then resumed the Sister, "that when we get to Lamothe, atten o'clock, I shall order silence. However, I think you will all be verygood and won't require any rocking to get to sleep. "

This made them laugh. It was now half-past eight o'clock, and the nighthad slowly covered the country-side. The hills alone retained a vaguetrace of the twilight's farewell, whilst a dense sheet of darknessblotted out all the low ground. Rushing on at full speed, the trainentered an immense plain, and then there was nothing but a sea ofdarkness, through which they ever and ever rolled under a blackish sky, studded with stars. 

For a moment or so Pierre had been astonished by the demeanour of LaGrivotte. While the other pilgrims and patients were already dozing off, sinking down amidst the luggage, which the constant jolting shook, shehad risen to her feet and was clinging to the partition in a sudden spasmof agony. And under the pale, yellow, dancing gleam of the lamp she oncemore looked emaciated, with a livid, tortured face. 

"Take care, madame, she will fall!" the priest called to Madame deJonquiere, who, with eyelids lowered, was at last giving way to sleep. 

She made all haste to intervene, but Sister Hyacinthe had turned morequickly and caught La Grivotte in her arms. A frightful fit of coughing, however, prostrated the unhappy creature upon the seat, and for fiveminutes she continued stifling, shaken by such an attack that her poorbody seemed to be actually cracking and rending. Then a red thread oozedfrom between her lips, and at last she spat up blood by the throatful. 

"Good heavens! good heavens! it's coming on her again!" repeated Madamede Jonquiere in despair. "I had a fear of it; I was not at ease, seeingher looking so strange. Wait a moment; I will sit down beside her. "

But the Sister would not consent: "No, no, madame, sleep a little. I'llwatch over her. You are not accustomed to it: you would end by makingyourself ill as well. "

Then she settled herself beside La Grivotte, made her rest her headagainst her shoulder, and wiped the blood from her lips. The attacksubsided, but weakness was coming back, so extreme that the wretchedwoman was scarcely able to stammer: "Oh, it is nothing, nothing at all; Iam cured, I am cured, completely cured!"

Pierre was thoroughly upset: This sudden, overwhelming relapse had sentan icy chill through the whole carriage. Many of the passengers raisedthemselves up and looked at La Grivotte with terror in their eyes. Thenthey dived down into their corners again, and nobody spoke, nobodystirred any further. Pierre, for his part, reflected on the curiousmedical aspect of this girl's case. Her strength had come back to herover yonder. She had displayed a ravenous appetite, she had walked longdistances with a dancing gait, her face quite radiant the while; and nowshe had spat blood, her cough had broken out afresh, she again had theheavy ashen face of one in the last agony. Her ailment had returned toher with brutal force, victorious over everything. Was this, then, somespecial case of phthisis complicated by neurosis? Or was it some othermalady, some unknown disease, quietly continuing its work in the midst ofcontradictory diagnosis? The sea of error and ignorance, the darknessamidst which human science is still struggling, again appeared to Pierre. And he once more saw Doctor Chassaigne shrugging his shoulders withdisdain, whilst Doctor Bonamy, full of serenity, quietly continued hisverification work, absolutely convinced that nobody would be able toprove to him the impossibility of his miracles any more than he himselfcould have proved their possibility. 

"Oh! I am not frightened, " La Grivotte continued, stammering. "I amcured, completely cured; they all told me so, over yonder. "

Meantime the carriage was rolling, rolling along, through the blacknight. Each of its occupants was making preparations, stretching himselfout in order to sleep more comfortably. They compelled Madame Vincent tolie down on the seat, and gave her a pillow on which to rest her poorpain-racked head; and then, as docile as a child, quite stupefied, shefell asleep in a nightmare-like torpor, with big, silent tears stillflowing from her closed eyes. Elise Rouquet, who had a whole seat toherself, was also getting ready to lie down, but first of all she madequite an elaborate toilet, tying the black wrap which had served to hideher sore about her head, and then again peering into her glass to see ifthis headgear became her, now that the swelling of her lip had subsided. And again did Pierre feel astonished at sight of that sore, which wascertainly healing, if not already healed--that face, so lately amonster's face, which one could now look at without feeling horrified. The sea of incertitude stretched before him once more. Was it even a reallupus? Might it not rather be some unknown form of ulcer of hystericalorigin? Or ought one to admit that certain forms of lupus, as yet butimperfectly studied and arising from faulty nutrition of the skin, mightbe benefited by a great moral shock? At all events there here seemed tobe a miracle, unless, indeed, the sore should reappear again in threeweeks', three months', or three years' time, like La Grivotte's phthisis. 

It was ten o'clock, and the people in the carriage were falling asleepwhen they left Lamothe. Sister Hyacinthe, upon whose knees La Grivottewas now drowsily resting her head, was unable to rise, and, for form'ssake, merely said, "Silence, silence, my children!" in a low voice, whichdied away amidst the growling rumble of the wheels. 

However, something continued stirring in an adjoining compartment; sheheard a noise which irritated her nerves, and the cause of which she atlast fancied she could understand. 

"Why do you keep on kicking the seat, Sophie?" she asked. "You must getto sleep, my child. "

"I'm not kicking, Sister. It's a key that was rolling about under myfoot. "

"A key!--how is that? Pass it to me. "

Then she examined it. A very old, poor-looking key it was--blackened, worn away, and polished by long use, its ring bearing the mark of whereit had been broken and resoldered. However, they all searched theirpockets, and none of them, it seemed, had lost a key. 

"I found it in the corner, " now resumed Sophie; "it must have belonged tothe man. "

"What man?" asked Sister Hyacinthe. 

"The man who died there. "

They had already forgotten him. But it had surely been his, for SisterHyacinthe recollected that she had heard something fall while she waswiping his forehead. And she turned the key over and continued looking atit, as it lay in her hand, poor, ugly, wretched key that it was, nolonger of any use, never again to open the lock it belonged to--someunknown lock, hidden far away in the depths of the world. For a momentshe was minded to put it in her pocket, as though by a kind of compassionfor this little bit of iron, so humble and so mysterious, since it wasall that remained of that unknown man. But then the pious thought came toher that it is wrong to show attachment to any earthly thing; and, thewindow being half-lowered, she threw out the key, which fell into theblack night. 

"You must not play any more, Sophie, " she resumed. "Come, come, mychildren, silence!"

It was only after the brief stay at Bordeaux, however, at about half-pasteleven o'clock, that sleep came back again and overpowered all in thecarriage. Madame de Jonquiere had been unable to contend against it anylonger, and her head was now resting against the partition, her facewearing an expression of happiness amidst all her fatigue. The Sabathierswere, in a like fashion, calmly sleeping; and not a sound now came fromthe compartment which Sophie Couteau and Elise Rouquet occupied, stretched in front of each other, on the seats. From time to time a lowplaint would rise, a strangled cry of grief or fright, escaping from thelips of Madame Vincent, who, amidst her prostration, was being torturedby evil dreams. Sister Hyacinthe was one of the very few who still hadtheir eyes open, anxious as she was respecting La Grivotte, who now layquite motionless, like a felled animal, breathing painfully, with acontinuous wheezing sound. From one to the other end of this travellingdormitory, shaken by the rumbling of the train rolling on at full speed, the pilgrims and the sick surrendered themselves to sleep, and limbsdangled and heads swayed under the pale, dancing gleams from the lamps. At the far end, in the compartment occupied by the ten female pilgrims, there was a woeful jumbling of poor, ugly faces, old and young, and allopen-mouthed, as though sleep had suddenly fallen upon them at the momentthey were finishing some hymn. Great pity came to the heart at the sightof all those mournful, weary beings, prostrated by five days of wild hopeand infinite ecstasy, and destined to awaken, on the very morrow, to thestern realities of life. 

And now Pierre once more felt himself to be alone with Marie. She had notconsented to stretch herself on the seat--she had been lying down toolong, she said, for seven years, alas! And in order that M. De Guersaint, who on leaving Bordeaux had again fallen into his childlike slumber, might be more at ease, Pierre came and sat down beside the girl. As thelight of the lamp annoyed her he drew the little screen, and they thusfound themselves in the shade, a soft and transparent shade. The trainmust now have been crossing a plain, for it glided through the night asin an endless flight, with a sound like the regular flapping of hugewings. Through the window, which they had opened, a delicious coolnesscame from the black fields, the fathomless fields, where not even anylonely little village lights could be seen gleaming. For a moment Pierrehad turned towards Marie and had noticed that her eyes were closed. Buthe could divine that she was not sleeping, that she was savouring thedeep peacefulness which prevailed around them amidst the thundering roarof their rush through the darkness, and, like her, he closed his eyelidsand began dreaming. 

Yet once again did the past arise before him: the little house atNeuilly, the embrace which they had exchanged near the flowering hedgeunder the trees flecked with sunlight. How far away all that already was, and with what perfume had it not filled his life! Then bitter thoughtsreturned to him at the memory of the day when he had become a priest. Since she would never be a woman, he had consented to be a man no more;and that was to prove their eternal misfortune, for ironical Nature wasto make her a wife and a mother after all. Had he only been able toretain his faith he might have found eternal consolation in it. But allhis attempts to regain it had been in vain. He had gone to Lourdes, hehad striven his utmost at the Grotto, he had hoped for a moment that hewould end by believing should Marie be miraculously healed; but total andirremediable ruin had come when the predicted cure had taken place evenas science had foretold. And their idyl, so pure and so painful, the longstory of their affection bathed in tears, likewise spread out before him. She, having penetrated his sad secret, had come to Lourdes to pray toHeaven for the miracle of his conversion. When they had remained aloneunder the trees amidst the perfume of the invisible roses, during thenight procession, they had prayed one for the other, mingling one in theother, with an ardent desire for their mutual happiness. Before theGrotto, too, she had entreated the Blessed Virgin to forget her and tosave him, if she could obtain but one favour from her Divine Son. Then, healed, beside herself, transported with love and gratitude, whirled withher little car up the inclined ways to the Basilica, she had thought herprayers granted, and had cried aloud the joy she felt that they shouldhave both been saved, together, together! Ah! that lie which he, promptedby affection and charity, had told, that error in which he had from thatmoment suffered her to remain, with what a weight did it oppress hisheart! It was the heavy slab which walled him in his voluntarily chosensepulchre. He remembered the frightful attack of grief which had almostkilled him in the gloom of the crypt, his sobs, his brutal revolt, hislonging to keep her for himself alone, to possess her since he knew herto be his own--all that rising passion of his awakened manhood, whichlittle by little had fallen asleep again, drowned by the rushing river ofhis tears; and in order that he might not destroy the divine illusionwhich possessed her, yielding to brotherly compassion, he had taken thatheroic vow to lie to her, that vow which now filled him with suchanguish. 

Pierre shuddered amidst his reverie. Would he have the strength to keepthat vow forever? Had he not detected a feeling of impatience in hisheart even whilst he was waiting for her at the railway station, ajealous longing to leave that Lourdes which she loved too well, in thevague hope that she might again become his own, somewhere far away? If hehad not been a priest he would have married her. And what rapture, whatfelicity would then have been his! He would have given himself whollyunto her, she would have been wholly his own, and he and she would havelived again in the dear child that would doubtless have been born tothem. Ah! surely that alone was divine, the life which is complete, thelife which creates life! And then his reverie strayed: he picturedhimself married, and the thought filled him with such delight that heasked why such a dream should be unrealisable? She knew no more than achild of ten; he would educate her, form her mind. She would thenunderstand that this cure for which she thought herself indebted to theBlessed Virgin, had in reality come to her from the Only Mother, sereneand impassive Nature. But even whilst he was thus settling things in hismind, a kind of terror, born of his religious education, arose withinhim. Could he tell if that human happiness with which he desired to endowher would ever be worth as much as the holy ignorance, the infantilecandour in which she now lived? How bitterly he would reproach himselfafterwards if she should not be happy. Then, too, what a drama it wouldall be; he to throw off the cassock, and marry this girl healed by analleged miracle--ravage her faith sufficiently to induce her to consentto such sacrilege? Yet therein lay the brave course; there lay reason, life, real manhood, real womanhood. Why, then, did he not dare? Horriblesadness was breaking upon his reverie, he became conscious of nothingbeyond the sufferings of his poor heart. 

The train was still rolling along with its great noise of flapping wings. Beside Pierre and Marie, only Sister Hyacinthe was still awake amidst theweary slumber of the carriage; and just then, Marie leant towards Pierre, and softly said to him: "It's strange, my friend; I am so sleepy, and yetI can't sleep. " Then, with alight laugh, she added: "I've got Paris in myhead!"

"How is that--Paris?"

"Yes, yes. I'm thinking that it's waiting for me, that I am about toreturn to it--that Paris which I know nothing of, and where I shall haveto live!"

These words brought fresh anguish to Pierre's heart. He had well foreseenit; she could no longer belong to him, she would belong to others. IfLourdes had restored her to him, Paris was about to take her from himagain. And he pictured this ignorant little being fatally acquiring allthe education of woman. That little spotless soul which had remained socandid in the frame of a big girl of three-and-twenty, that soul whichillness had kept apart from others, far from life, far even from novels, would soon ripen, now that it could fly freely once more. He beheld her, a gay, healthy young girl, running everywhere, looking and learning, and, some day, meeting the husband who would finish her education. 

"And so, " said he, "you propose to amuse yourself in Paris?"

"Oh! what are you saying, my friend? Are we rich enough to amuseourselves?" she replied. "No, I was thinking of my poor sister Blanche, and wondering what I should be able to do in Paris to help her a little. She is so good, she works so hard; I don't wish that she should have tocontinue earning all the money. "

And, after a fresh pause, as he, deeply moved, remained silent, sheadded: "Formerly, before I suffered so dreadfully, I painted miniaturesrather nicely. You remember, don't you, that I painted a portrait of papawhich was very like him, and which everybody praised. You will help me, won't you? You will find me customers?"

Then she began talking of the new life which she was about to live. Shewanted to arrange her room and hang it with cretonne, something pretty, with a pattern of little blue flowers. She would buy it out of the firstmoney she could save. Blanche had spoken to her of the big shops wherethings could be bought so cheaply. To go out with Blanche and run about alittle would be so amusing for her, who, confined to her bed sincechildhood, had never seen anything. Then Pierre, who for a moment hadbeen calmer, again began to suffer, for he could divine all her glowingdesire to live, her ardour to see everything, know everything, and tasteeverything. It was at last the awakening of the woman whom she wasdestined to be, whom he had divined in childhood's days--a dear creatureof gaiety and passion, with blooming lips, starry eyes, a milkycomplexion, golden hair, all resplendent with the joy of being. 

"Oh! I shall work, I shall work, " she resumed; "but you are right, Pierre, I shall also amuse myself, because it cannot be a sin to be gay, can it?"

"No, surely not, Marie. "

"On Sundays we will go into the country, oh very far away, into the woodswhere there are beautiful trees. And we will sometimes go to the theatre, too, if papa will take us. I have been told that there are many playsthat one may see. But, after all, it's not all that. Provided I can goout and walk in the streets and see things, I shall be so happy; I shallcome home so gay. It is so nice to live, is it not, Pierre?"

"Yes, yes, Marie, it is very nice. "

A chill like that of death was coming over him; his regret that he was nolonger a man was filling him with agony. But since she tempted him likethis with her irritating candour, why should he not confess to her thetruth which was ravaging his being? He would have won her, have conqueredher. Never had a more frightful struggle arisen between his heart and hiswill. For a moment he was on the point of uttering irrevocable words. 

But with the voice of a joyous child she was already resuming: "Oh! lookat poor papa; how pleased he must be to sleep so soundly!"

On the seat in front of them M. De Guersaint was indeed slumbering with acomfortable expression on his face, as though he were in his bed, and hadno consciousness of the continual jolting of the train. This monotonousrolling and heaving seemed, in fact, a lullaby rocking the whole carriageto sleep. All surrendered themselves to it, sinking powerless on to thepiles of bags and parcels, many of which had also fallen; and therhythmical growling of the wheels never ceased in the unknown darknessthrough which the train was still rolling. Now and again, as they passedthrough a station or under a bridge, there would be a loud rush of wind, a tempest would suddenly sweep by; and then the lulling, growling soundwould begin again, ever the same for hours together. 

Marie gently took hold of Pierre's hands; he and she were so lost, socompletely alone among all those prostrated beings, in the deep, rumblingpeacefulness of the train flying across the black night. And sadness, thesadness which she had hitherto hidden, had again come back to her, casting a shadow over her large blue eyes. 

"You will often come with us, my good Pierre, won't you?" she asked. 

He had started on feeling her little hand pressing his own. His heart wason his lips, he was making up his mind to speak. However, he once againrestrained himself and stammered: "I am not always at liberty, Marie; apriest cannot go everywhere. "

"A priest?" she repeated. "Yes, yes, a priest. I understand. "

Then it was she who spoke, who confessed the mortal secret which had beenoppressing her heart ever since they had started. She leant nearer, andin a lower voice resumed: "Listen, my good Pierre; I am fearfully sad. Imay look pleased, but there is death in my soul. You did not tell me thetruth yesterday. "

He became quite scared, but did not at first understand her. "I did nottell you the truth--About what?" he asked. 

A kind of shame restrained her, and she again hesitated at the moment ofdescending into the depths of another conscience than her own. Then, likea friend, a sister, she continued: "No, you let me believe that you hadbeen saved with me, and it was not true, Pierre, you have not found yourlost faith again. "

Good Lord! she knew. For him this was desolation, such a catastrophe thathe forgot his torments. And, at first, he obstinately clung to thefalsehood born of his fraternal charity. "But I assure you, Marie. Howcan you have formed such a wicked idea?"

"Oh! be quiet, my friend, for pity's sake. It would grieve me too deeplyif you were to speak to me falsely again. It was yonder, at the station, at the moment when we were starting, and that unhappy man had died. GoodAbbe Judaine had knelt down to pray for the repose of that rebellioussoul. And I divined everything, I understood everything when I saw thatyou did not kneel as well, that prayer did not rise to your lips as tohis. "

"But, really, I assure you, Marie--"

"No, no, you did not pray for the dead; you no longer believe. Andbesides, there is something else; something I can guess, something whichcomes to me from you, a despair which you can't hide from me, amelancholy look which comes into your poor eyes directly they meet mine. The Blessed Virgin did not grant my prayer, she did not restore yourfaith, and I am very, very wretched. "

She was weeping, a hot tear fell upon the priest's hand, which she wasstill holding. It quite upset him, and he ceased struggling, confessing, in his turn letting his tears flow, whilst, in a very low voice, hestammered: "Ah! Marie, I am very wretched also. Oh! so very wretched. "

For a moment they remained silent, in their cruel grief at feeling thatthe abyss which parts different beliefs was yawning between them. Theywould never belong to one another again, and they were in despair atbeing so utterly unable to bring themselves nearer to one another; butthe severance was henceforth definitive, since Heaven itself had beenunable to reconnect the bond. And thus, side by side, they wept overtheir separation. 

"I who prayed so fervently for your conversion, " she said in a dolorousvoice, "I who was so happy. It had seemed to me that your soul wasmingling with mine; and it was so delightful to have been saved together, together. I felt such strength for life; oh, strength enough to raise theworld!"

He did not answer; his tears were still flowing, flowing without end. 

"And to think, " she resumed, "that I was saved all alone; that this greathappiness fell upon me without you having any share in it. And to see youso forsaken, so desolate, when I am loaded with grace and joy, rends myheart. Ah! how severe the Blessed Virgin has been! Why did she not healyour soul at the same time that she healed my body?"

The last opportunity was presenting itself; he ought to have illuminedthis innocent creature's mind with the light of reason, have explainedthe miracle to her, in order that life, after accomplishing its healthfulwork in her body, might complete its triumph by throwing them into oneanother's arms. He also was healed, his mind was healthy now, and it wasnot for the loss of faith, but for the loss of herself, that he wasweeping. However, invincible compassion was taking possession of himamidst all his grief. No, no, he would not trouble that dear soul; hewould not rob her of her belief, which some day might prove her only stayamidst the sorrows of this world. One cannot yet require of children andwomen the bitter heroism of reason. He had not the strength to do it; heeven thought that he had not the right. It would have seemed to himviolation, abominable murder. And he did not speak out, but his tearsflowed, hotter and hotter, in this immolation of his love, thisdespairing sacrifice of his own happiness in order that she might remaincandid and ignorant and gay at heart. 

"Oh, Marie, how wretched I am! Nowhere on the roads, nowhere at thegalleys even, is there a man more wretched than myself! Oh, Marie, if youonly knew; if you only knew how wretched I am!"

She was distracted, and caught him in her trembling arms, wishing toconsole him with a sisterly embrace. And at that moment the woman awakingwithin her understood everything, and she herself sobbed with sorrow thatboth human and divine will should thus part them. She had never yetreflected on such things, but suddenly she caught a glimpse of life, withits passions, its struggles, and its sufferings; and then, seeking forwhat she might say to soothe in some degree that broken heart, shestammered very faintly, distressed that she could find nothing sweetenough, "I know, I know--"

Then the words it was needful she should speak came to her; and as thoughthat which she had to say ought only to be heard by the angels, shebecame anxious and looked around her. But the slumber which reigned inthe carriage seemed more heavy even than before. Her father was stillsleeping, with the innocent look of a big child. Not one of the pilgrims, not one of the ailing ones, had stirred amidst the rough rocking whichbore them onward. Even Sister Hyacinthe, giving way to her overpoweringweariness, had just closed her eyes, after drawing the lamp-screen in herown compartment. And now there were only vague shadows there, ill-definedbodies amidst nameless things, ghostly forms scarce visible, which atempest blast, a furious rush, was carrying on and on through thedarkness. And she likewise distrusted that black country-side whoseunknown depths went by on either side of the train without one even beingable to tell what forests, what rivers, what hills one was crossing. Ashort time back some bright sparks of light had appeared, possibly thelights of some distant forges, or the woeful lamps of workers orsufferers. Now, however, the night again streamed deeply all around, theobscure, infinite, nameless sea, farther and farther through which theyever went, not knowing where they were. 

Then, with a chaste confusion, blushing amidst her tears, Marie placedher lips near Pierre's ear. "Listen, my friend; there is a great secretbetween the Blessed Virgin and myself. I had sworn that I would nevertell it to anybody. But you are too unhappy, you are suffering toobitterly; she will forgive me; I will confide it to you. "

And in a faint breath she went on: "During that night of love, you know, that night of burning ecstasy which I spent before the Grotto, I engagedmyself by a vow: I promised the Blessed Virgin the gift of my chastity ifshe would but heal me.... She has healed me, and never--you hear me, Pierre, never will I marry anybody. "

Ah! what unhoped-for sweetness! He thought that a balmy dew was fallingon his poor wounded heart. It was a divine enchantment, a deliciousrelief. If she belonged to none other she would always be a little bithis own. And how well she had known his torment and what it was needfulshe should say in order that life might yet be possible for him. 

In his turn he wished to find happy words and promise that he also wouldever be hers, ever love her as he had loved her since childhood, like thedear creature she was, whose one kiss, long, long ago, had sufficed toperfume his entire life. But she made him stop, already anxious, fearingto spoil that pure moment. "No, no, my friend, " she murmured, "let us saynothing more; it would be wrong, perhaps. I am very weary; I shall sleepquietly now. "

And, with her head against his shoulder, she fell asleep at once, like asister who is all confidence. He for a moment kept himself awake in thatpainful happiness of renunciation which they had just tasted together. Itwas all over, quite over now; the sacrifice was consummated. He wouldlive a solitary life, apart from the life of other men. Never would heknow woman, never would any child be born to him. And there remained tohim only the consoling pride of that accepted and desired suicide, withthe desolate grandeur that attaches to lives which are beyond the pale ofnature. 

But fatigue overpowered him also; his eyes closed, and in his turn hefell asleep. And afterwards his head slipped down, and his cheek touchedthe cheek of his dear friend, who was sleeping very gently with her browagainst his shoulder. Then their hair mingled. She had her golden hair, her royal hair, half unbound, and it streamed over his face, and hedreamed amidst its perfume. Doubtless the same blissful dream fell uponthem both, for their loving faces assumed the same expression of rapture;they both seemed to be smiling to the angels. It was chaste andpassionate abandon, the innocence of chance slumber placing them in oneanother's arms, with warm, close lips so that their breath mingled, likethe breath of two babes lying in the same cradle. And such was theirbridal night, the consummation of the spiritual marriage in which theywere to live, a delicious annihilation born of extreme fatigue, withscarcely a fleeting dream of mystical possession, amidst that carriage ofwretchedness and suffering, which still and ever rolled along through thedense night. Hours and hours slipped by, the wheels growled, the bags andbaskets swung from the brass hooks, whilst from the piled-up, crushedbodies there only arose a sense of terrible fatigue, the great physicalexhaustion brought back from the land of miracles when the overworkedsouls returned home. 

At last, at five o'clock, whilst the sun was rising, there was a suddenawakening, a resounding entry into a large station, with porters calling, doors opening, and people scrambling together. They were at Poitiers, andat once the whole carriage was on foot, amidst a chorus of laughter andexclamations. Little Sophie Couteau alighted here, and was biddingeverybody farewell. She embraced all the ladies, even passing over thepartition to take leave of Sister Claire des Anges, whom nobody had seensince the previous evening, for, silent and slight of build, with eyesfull of mystery, she had vanished into her corner. Then the child cameback again, took her little parcel, and showed herself particularlyamiable towards Sister Hyacinthe and Madame de Jonquiere. 

"_Au revoir_, Sister! _Au revoir_, madame! I thank you for all yourkindness. "

"You must come back again next year, my child. "

"Oh, I sha'n't fail, Sister; it's my duty. "

"And be good, my dear child, and take care of your health, so that theBlessed Virgin may be proud of you. "

"To be sure, madame, she was so good to me, and it amuses me so much togo to see her. "

When she was on the platform, all the pilgrims in the carriage leanedout, and with happy faces watched her go off. 

"Till next year!" they called to her; "till next year!"

"Yes, yes, thank you kindly. Till next year. "

The morning prayer was only to be said at Chatelherault. After thestoppage at Poitiers, when the train was once more rolling on in thefresh breeze of morning, M. De Guersaint gaily declared that he had sleptdelightfully, in spite of the hardness of the seat. Madame de Jonquierealso congratulated herself on the good rest which she had had, and ofwhich she had been in so much need; though, at the same time, she wassomewhat annoyed at having left Sister Hyacinthe all alone to watch overLa Grivotte, who was now shivering with intense fever, again attacked byher horrible cough. Meanwhile the other female pilgrims were tidyingthemselves. The ten women at the far end were fastening their _fichus_and tying their cap strings, with a kind of modest nervousness displayedon their mournfully ugly faces. And Elise Rouquet, all attention, withher face close to her pocket glass, did not cease examining her nose, mouth, and cheeks, admiring herself with the thought that she was reallyand truly becoming nice-looking. 

And it was then that Pierre and Marie again experienced a feeling of deepcompassion on glancing at Madame Vincent, whom nothing had been able torouse from a state of torpor, neither the tumultuous stoppage atPoitiers, nor the noise of voices which had continued ever since they hadstarted off again. Prostrate on the seat, she had not opened her eyes, but still and ever slumbered, tortured by atrocious dreams. And, with bigtears still streaming from her closed eyes, she had caught hold of thepillow which had been forced upon her, and was closely pressing it to herbreast in some nightmare born of her suffering. Her poor arms, which hadso long carried her dying daughter, her arms now unoccupied, foreverempty, had found this cushion whilst she slept, and had coiled aroundthem, as around a phantom, with a blind and frantic embrace. 

On the other hand, M. Sabathier had woke up feeling quite joyous. Whilsthis wife was pulling up his rug, carefully wrapping it round his lifelesslegs; he began to chat with sparkling eyes, once more basking inillusion. He had dreamt of Lourdes, said he, and had seen the BlessedVirgin leaning towards him with a smile of kindly promise. And then, although he had before him both Madame Vincent, that mother whosedaughter the Virgin had allowed to die, and La Grivotte, the wretchedwoman whom she had healed and who had so cruelly relapsed into her mortaldisease, he nevertheless rejoiced and made merry, repeating to M. DeGuersaint, with an air of perfect conviction: "Oh! I shall return homequite easy in mind, monsieur--I shall be cured next year. Yes, yes, asthat dear little girl said just now: 'Till next year, till next year!'"

It was indestructible illusion, victorious even over certainty, eternalhope determined not to die, but shooting up with more life than ever, after each defeat, upon the ruins of everything. 

At Chatelherault, Sister Hyacinthe made them say the morning prayer, the"Pater, " the "Ave, " the "Credo, " and an appeal to God begging Him for thehappiness of a glorious day: "O God, grant me sufficient strength that Imay avoid all that is evil, do all that is good, and suffer withoutcomplaint every pain. "

V. THE DEATH OP BERNADETTE--THE NEW RELIGION

AND the journey continued; the train rolled, still rolled along. At Sainte-Maure the prayers of the mass were said, and atSainte-Pierre-des-Corps the "Credo" was chanted. However, the religiousexercises no longer proved so welcome; the pilgrims' zeal was flaggingsomewhat in the increasing fatigue of their return journey, after suchprolonged mental excitement. It occurred to Sister Hyacinthe that thehappiest way of entertaining these poor worn-out folks would be forsomeone to read aloud; and she promised that she would allow Monsieurl'Abbe to read them the finish of Bernadette's life, some of themarvellous episodes of which he had already on two occasions related tothem. However, they must wait until they arrived at Les Aubrais; therewould be nearly two hours between Les Aubrais and Etampes, ample time tofinish the story without being disturbed. 

Then the various religious exercises followed one after the other, in amonotonous repetition of the order which had been observed whilst theycrossed the same plains on their way to Lourdes. They again began theRosary at Amboise, where they said the first chaplet, the five joyfulmysteries; then, after singing the canticle, "O loving Mother, bless, " atBlois, they recited the second chaplet, the five sorrowful mysteries, atBeaugency. Some little fleecy clouds had veiled the sun since morning, and the landscapes, very sweet and somewhat sad, flew by with acontinuous fan-like motion. The trees and houses on either side of theline disappeared in the grey light with the fleetness of vague visions, whilst the distant hills, enveloped in mist, vanished more slowly, withthe gentle rise and fall of a swelling sea. Between Beaugency and LesAubrais the train seemed to slacken speed, though it still kept up itsrhythmical, persistent rumbling, which the deafened pilgrims no longereven heard. 

At length, when Les Aubrais had been left behind, they began to lunch inthe carriage. It was then a quarter to twelve, and when they had said the"Angelus, " and the three "Aves" had been thrice repeated, Pierre tookfrom Marie's bag the little book whose blue cover was ornamented with anartless picture of Our Lady of Lourdes. Sister Hyacinthe clapped herhands as a signal for silence, and amidst general wakefulness and ardentcuriosity like that of big children impassioned by the marvellous story, the priest was able to begin reading in his fine, penetrating voice. Nowcame the narrative of Bernadette's sojourn at Nevers, and then her deaththere. Pierre, however, as on the two previous occasions, soon ceasedfollowing the exact text of the little book, and added charming anecdotesof his own, both what he knew and what he could divine; and, for himselfalone, he again evolved the true story, the human, pitiful story, thatwhich none had ever told, but which he felt so deeply. 

It was on the 8th July, 1866, that Bernadette left Lourdes. She went totake the veil at Nevers, in the convent of Saint-Gildard, the chiefhabitation of the Sisters on duty at the Asylum where she had learnt toread and had been living for eight years. She was then twenty-two yearsof age, and it was eight years since the Blessed Virgin had appeared toher. And her farewells to the Grotto, to the Basilica, to the whole townwhich she loved, were watered with tears. But she could no longer remainthere, owing to the continuous persecution of public curiosity, thevisits, the homage, and the adoration paid to her, from which, on accountof her delicate health, she suffered cruelly. Her sincere humility, hertimid love of shade and silence, had at last produced in her an ardentdesire to disappear, to hide her resounding glory--the glory of one whomheaven had chosen and whom the world would not leave in peace--in thedepth of some unknown darkness; and she longed only forsimple-mindedness, for a quiet humdrum life devoted to prayer and pettydaily occupations. Her departure was therefore a relief both to her andto the Grotto, which she was beginning to embarrass with her excessiveinnocence and burdensome complaints. 

At Nevers, Saint-Gildard ought to have proved a paradise. She there foundfresh air, sunshine, spacious apartments, and an extensive garden plantedwith fine trees. Yet she did not enjoy peace, --that utter forgetfulnessof the world for which one flees to the far-away desert. Scarcely twentydays after her arrival, she donned the garb of the Order and assumed thename of Sister Marie-Bernard, for the time simply engaging herself bypartial vows. However, the world still flocked around her, thepersecution of the multitude began afresh. She was pursued even into thecloister through an irresistible desire to obtain favours from hersaintly person. Ah! to see her, touch her, become lucky by gazing on heror surreptitiously rubbing some medal against her dress. It was thecredulous passion of fetishism, a rush of believers pursuing this poorbeatified being in the desire which each felt to secure a share of hopeand divine illusion. She wept at it with very weariness, with impatientrevolt, and often repeated: "Why do they torment me like this? What moreis there in me than in others?" And at last she felt real grief at thusbecoming "the raree-show, " as she ended by calling herself with a sad, suffering smile. She defended herself as far as she could, refusing tosee anyone. Her companions defended her also, and sometimes very sternly, showing her only to such visitors as were authorised by the Bishop. Thedoors of the Convent remained closed, and ecclesiastics almost alonesucceeded in effecting an entrance. Still, even this was too much for herdesire for solitude, and she often had to be obstinate, to request thatthe priests who had called might be sent away, weary as she was of alwaystelling the same story, of ever answering the same questions. She wasincensed, wounded, on behalf of the Blessed Virgin herself. Still, shesometimes had to yield, for the Bishop in person would bring greatpersonages, dignitaries, and prelates; and she would then appear with hergrave air, answering politely and as briefly as possible; only feeling atease when she was allowed to return to her shadowy corner. Never, indeed, had distinction weighed more heavily on a mortal. One day, when she wasasked if she was not proud of the continual visits paid her by theBishop, she answered simply: "Monseigneur does not come to see me, hecomes to show me. " On another occasion some princes of the Church, greatmilitant Catholics, who wished to see her, were overcome with emotion andsobbed before her; but, in her horror of being shown, in the vexationthey caused her simple mind, she left them without comprehending, merelyfeeling very weary and very sad. 

At length, however, she grew accustomed to Saint-Gildard, and spent apeaceful existence there, engaged in avocations of which she became veryfond. She was so delicate, so frequently ill, that she was employed inthe infirmary. In addition to the little assistance she rendered there, she worked with her needle, with which she became rather skilful, embroidering albs and altar-cloths in a delicate manner. But at timesshe, would lose all strength, and be unable to do even this light work. When she was not confined to her bed she spent long days in aneasy-chair, her only diversion being to recite her rosary or to read somepious work. Now that she had learnt to read, books interested her, especially the beautiful stories of conversion, the delightful legends inwhich saints of both sexes appear, and the splendid and terrible dramasin which the devil is baffled and cast back into hell. But her greatfavourite, the book at which she continually marvelled, was the Bible, that wonderful New Testament of whose perpetual miracle she neverwearied. She remembered the Bible at Bartres, that old book which hadbeen in the family a hundred years, and whose pages had turned yellow;she could again see her foster-father slip a pin between the leaves toopen the book at random, and then read aloud from the top of theright-hand page; and even at that time she had already known thosebeautiful stories so well that she could have continued repeating thenarrative by heart, whatever might be the passage at which the perusalhad ceased. And now that she read the book herself, she found in it aconstant source of surprise, an ever-increasing delight. The story of thePassion particularly upset her, as though it were some extraordinarytragical event that had happened only the day before. She sobbed withpity; it made her poor suffering body quiver for hours. Mingled with hertears, perhaps, there was the unconscious dolour of her own passion, thedesolate Calvary which she also had been ascending ever since herchildhood. 

When Bernadette was well and able to perform her duties in the infirmary, she bustled about, filling the building with childish liveliness. Untilher death she remained an innocent, infantile being, fond of laughing, romping, and play. She was very little, the smallest Sister of thecommunity, so that her companions always treated her somewhat like achild. Her face grew long and hollow, and lost its bloom of youth; butshe retained the pure divine brightness of her eyes, the beautiful eyesof a visionary, in which, as in a limpid sky, you detected the flight ofher dreams. As she grew older and her sufferings increased, she becamesomewhat sour-tempered and violent, cross-grained, anxious, and at timesrough; little imperfections which after each attack filled her withremorse. She would humble herself, think herself damned, and beg pardonof everyone. But, more frequently, what a good little daughter ofProvidence she was! She became lively, alert, quick at repartee, full ofmirth-provoking remarks, with a grace quite her own, which made herbeloved. In spite of her great devotion, although she spent days inprayer, she was not at all bigoted or over-exacting with regard toothers, but tolerant and compassionate. In fact, no nun was ever so mucha woman, with distinct features, a decided personality, charming even inits puerility. And this gift of childishness which she had retained, thesimple innocence of the child she still was, also made children love her, as though they recognised in her one of themselves. They all ran to her, jumped upon her lap, and passed their tiny arms round her neck, and thegarden would then fill with the noise of joyous games, races, and cries;and it was not she who ran or cried the least, so happy was she at oncemore feeling herself a poor unknown little girl as in the far-away daysof Bartres! Later on it was related that a mother had one day brought herparalysed child to the convent for the saint to touch and cure it. Thewoman sobbed so much that the Superior ended by consenting to make theattempt. However, as Bernadette indignantly protested whenever she wasasked to perform a miracle, she was not forewarned, but simply called totake the sick child to the infirmary. And she did so, and when she stoodthe child on the ground it walked. It was cured. 

Ah! how many times must Bartres and her free childhood spent watching herlambs--the years passed among the hills, in the long grass, in the leafywoods--have returned to her during the hours she gave to her dreams whenweary of praying for sinners! No one then fathomed her soul, no one couldsay if involuntary regrets did not rend her wounded heart. One day shespoke some words, which her historians have preserved, with the view ofmaking her passion more touching. Cloistered far away from her mountains, confined to a bed of sickness, she exclaimed: "It seems to me that I wasmade to live, to act, to be ever on the move, and yet the Lord will haveme remain motionless. " What a revelation, full of terrible testimony andimmense sadness! Why should the Lord wish that dear being, all grace andgaiety, to remain motionless? Could she not have honoured Him equallywell by living the free, healthy life that she had been born to live? Andwould she not have done more to increase the world's happiness and herown if, instead of praying for sinners, her constant occupation, she hadgiven her love to the husband who might have been united to her and tothe children who might have been born to her? She, so gay and so active, would, on certain evenings, become extremely depressed. She turned gloomyand remained wrapped in herself, as though overcome by excess of pain. Nodoubt the cup was becoming too bitter. The thought of her life'sperpetual renunciation was killing her. 

Did Bernadette often think of Lourdes whilst she was at Saint-Gildard?What knew she of the triumph of the Grotto, of the prodigies which weredaily transforming the land of miracles? These questions were neverthoroughly elucidated. Her companions were forbidden to talk to her ofsuch matters, which remained enveloped in absolute, continual silence. She herself did not care to speak of them; she kept silent with regard tothe mysterious past, and evinced no desire to know the present, howevertriumphant it might be. But all the same did not her heart, inimagination, fly away to the enchanted country of her childhood, wherelived her kith and kin, where all her life-ties had been formed, whereshe had left the most extraordinary dream that ever human being dreamt?Surely she must have sometimes travelled the beautiful journey of memory, she must have known the main features of the great events that had takenplace at Lourdes. What she most dreaded was to go there herself, and, shealways refused to do so, knowing full well that she could not remainunrecognised, and fearful of meeting the crowds whose adoration awaitedher. What glory would have been hers had she been headstrong, ambitious, domineering! She would have returned to the holy spot of her visions, have worked miracles there, have become a priestess, a female pope, withthe infallibility and sovereignty of one of the elect, a friend of theBlessed Virgin. But the Fathers never really feared this, althoughexpress orders had been given to withdraw her from the world for hersalvation's sake. In reality they were easy, for they knew her, so gentleand so humble in her fear of becoming divine, in her ignorance of thecolossal machine which she had put in motion, and the working of whichwould have made her recoil with affright had she understood it. No, no!that was no longer her land, that place of crowds, of violence andtrafficking. She would have suffered too much there, she would have beenout of her element, bewildered, ashamed. And so, when pilgrims boundthither asked her with a smile, "Will you come with us?" she shiveredslightly, and then hastily replied, "No, no! but how I should like to, were I a little bird!"

Her reverie alone was that little travelling bird, with rapid flight andnoiseless wings, which continually went on pilgrimage to the Grotto. Inher dreams, indeed, she must have continually lived at Lourdes, though inthe flesh she had not even gone there for either her father's or hermother's funeral. Yet she loved her kin; she was anxious to procure workfor her relations who had remained poor, and she had insisted on seeingher eldest brother, who, coming to Nevers to complain, had been refusedadmission to the convent. However, he found her weary and resigned, andshe did not ask him a single question about New Lourdes, as though thatrising town were no longer her own. The year of the crowning of theVirgin, a priest whom she had deputed to pray for her before the Grottocame back and told her of the never-to-be forgotten wonders of theceremony, the hundred thousand pilgrims who had flocked to it, and thefive-and-thirty bishops in golden vestments who had assembled in theresplendent Basilica. Whilst listening, she trembled with her customarylittle quiver of desire and anxiety. And when the priest exclaimed, "Ah!if you had only seen that pomp!" she answered: "Me! I was much betterhere in my little corner in the infirmary. " They had robbed her of herglory; her work shone forth resplendently amidst a continuous hosanna, and she only tasted joy in forgetfulness, in the gloom of the cloister, where the opulent farmers of the Grotto forgot her. It was never there-echoing solemnities that prompted her mysterious journeys; the littlebird of her soul only winged its lonesome flight to Lourdes on days ofsolitude, in the peaceful hours when no one could there disturb itsdevotions. It was before the wild primitive Grotto that she returned tokneel, amongst the bushy eglantine, as in the days when the Gave was notwalled in by a monumental quay. And it was the old town that she visitedat twilight, when the cool, perfumed breezes came down from themountains, the old painted and gilded semi-Spanish church where she hadmade her first communion, the old Asylum so full of suffering whereduring eight years she had grown accustomed to solitude--all that poor, innocent old town, whose every paving-stone awoke old affections in hermemory's depths. 

And did Bernadette ever extend the pilgrimage of her dreams as far asBartres? Probably, at times when she sat in her invalid-chair and letsome pious book slip from her tired hands, and closed her eyes, Bartresdid appear to her, lighting up the darkness of her view. The littleantique Romanesque church with sky-blue nave and blood-red altar screensstood there amidst the tombs of the narrow cemetery. Then she would findherself once more in the house of the Lagues, in the large room on theleft, where the fire was burning, and where, in winter-time, suchwonderful stories were told whilst the big clock gravely ticked the hoursaway. At times the whole countryside spread out before her, meadowswithout end, giant chestnut-trees beneath which you lost yourself, deserted table-lands whence you descried the distant mountains, the Picdu Midi and the Pic de Viscos soaring aloft as airy and as rose-colouredas dreams, in a paradise such as the legends have depicted. Andafterwards, afterwards came her free childhood, when she scampered offwhither she listed in the open air, her lonely, dreamy thirteenth year, when with all the joy of living she wandered through the immensity ofnature. And now, too, perhaps, she again beheld herself roaming in thetall grass among the hawthorn bushes beside the streams on a warm sunnyday in June. Did she not picture herself grown, with a lover of her ownage, whom she would have loved with all the simplicity and affection ofher heart? Ah! to be a child again, to be free, unknown, happy once more, to love afresh, and to love differently! The vision must have passedconfusedly before her--a husband who worshipped her, children gailygrowing up around her, the life that everybody led, the joys and sorrowsthat her own parents had known, and which her children would have had toknow in their turn. But little by little all vanished, and she againfound herself in her chair of suffering, imprisoned between four coldwalls, with no other desire than a longing one for a speedy death, sinceshe had been denied a share of the poor common happiness of this world. 

Bernadette's ailments increased each year. It was, in fact, thecommencement of her passion, the passion of this new child-Messiah, whohad come to bring relief to the unhappy, to announce to mankind thereligion of divine justice and equality in the face of miracles whichflouted the laws of impassible nature. If she now rose it was only todrag herself from chair to chair for a few days at a time, and then shewould have a relapse and be again forced to take to her bed. Hersufferings became terrible. Her hereditary nervousness, her asthma, aggravated by cloister life, had probably turned into phthisis. Shecoughed frightfully, each fit rending her burning chest and leaving herhalf dead. To complete her misery, caries of the right knee-capsupervened, a gnawing disease, the shooting pains of which caused her tocry aloud. Her poor body, to which dressings were continually beingapplied, became one great sore, which was irritated by the warmth of herbed, by her prolonged sojourn between sheets whose friction ended bybreaking her skin. One and all pitied her; those who beheld her martyrdomsaid that it was impossible to suffer more, or with greater fortitude. She tried some of the Lourdes water, but it brought her no relief. Lord, Almighty King, why cure others and not cure her? To save her soul? Thendost Thou not save the souls of the others? What an inexplicableselection! How absurd that in the eternal evolution of worlds it shouldbe necessary for this poor being to be tortured! She sobbed, and againand again said in order to keep up her courage: "Heaven is at the end, but how long the end is in coming!" There was ever the idea thatsuffering is the test, that it is necessary to suffer upon earth if onewould triumph elsewhere, that suffering is indispensable, enviable, andblessed. But is this not blasphemous, O Lord? Hast Thou not created youthand joy? Is it Thy wish that Thy creatures should enjoy neither the sun, nor the smiling Nature which Thou hast created, nor the human affectionswith which Thou hast endowed their flesh? She dreaded the feeling ofrevolt which maddened her at times, and wished also to strengthen herselfagainst the disease which made her groan, and she crucified herself inthought, extending her arms so as to form a cross and unite herself toJesus, her limbs against His limbs, her mouth against His mouth, streaming the while with blood like Him, and steeped like Him inbitterness! Jesus died in three hours, but a longer agony fell to her, who again brought redemption by pain, who died to give others life. Whenher bones ached with agony she would sometimes utter complaints, but shereproached herself immediately. "Oh! how I suffer, oh! how I suffer! butwhat happiness it is to bear this pain!" There can be no more frightfulwords, words pregnant with a blacker pessimism. Happy to suffer, O Lord!but why, and to what unknown and senseless end? Where is the reason inthis useless cruelty, in this revolting glorification of suffering, whenfrom the whole of humanity there ascends but one desperate longing forhealth and happiness?

In the midst of her frightful sufferings, however, Sister Marie-Bernardtook the final vows on September 22, 1878. Twenty years had gone by sincethe Blessed Virgin had appeared to her, visiting her as the Angel hadvisited the Virgin, choosing her as the Virgin had been chosen, amongstthe most lowly and the most candid, that she might hide within her thesecret of King Jesus. Such was the mystical explanation of that electionof suffering, the _raison d'etre_ of that being who was so harshlyseparated from her fellows, weighed down by disease, transformed into thepitiable field of every human affliction. She was the "garden inclosed"*that brings such pleasure to the gaze of the Spouse. He had chosen her, then buried her in the death of her hidden life. And even when theunhappy creature staggered beneath the weight of her cross, hercompanions would say to her: "Do you forget that the Blessed Virginpromised you that you should be happy, not in this world, but in thenext?" And with renewed strength, and striking her forehead, she wouldanswer: "Forget? no, no! it is here!" She only recovered temporary energyby means of this illusion of a paradise of glory, into which she wouldenter escorted by seraphims, to be forever and ever happy. The threepersonal secrets which the Blessed Virgin had confided to her, to arm heragainst evil, must have been promises of beauty, felicity, andimmortality in heaven. What monstrous dupery if there were only thedarkness of the earth beyond the grave, if the Blessed Virgin of herdream were not there to meet her with the prodigious guerdons she hadpromised! But Bernadette had not a doubt; she willingly undertook all thelittle commissions with which her companions naively entrusted her forHeaven: "Sister Marie-Bernard, you'll say this, you'll say that, to theAlmighty. " "Sister Marie-Bernard, you'll kiss my brother if you meet himin Paradise. " "Sister Marie-Bernard, give me a little place beside youwhen I die. " And she obligingly answered each one: "Have no fear, I willdo it!" Ah! all-powerful illusion, delicious repose, power ever revivingand consolatory!

 * Song of Solomon iv. 12. 

And then came the last agony, then came death. 

On Friday, March 28, 1879, it was thought that she would not last thenight. She had a despairing longing for the tomb, in order that she mightsuffer no more, and live again in heaven. And thus she obstinatelyrefused to receive extreme unction, saying that twice already it hadcured her. She wished, in short, that God would let her die, for it wasmore than she could bear; it would have been unreasonable to require thatshe should suffer longer. Yet she ended by consenting to receive thesacraments, and her last agony was thereby prolonged for nearly threeweeks. The priest who attended her frequently said: "My daughter, youmust make the sacrifice of your life"; and one day, quite out ofpatience, she sharply answered him: "But, Father, it is no sacrifice. " Aterrible saying, that also, for it implied disgust at _being_, furiouscontempt for existence, and an immediate ending of her humanity, had shehad the power to suppress herself by a gesture. It is true that the poorgirl had nothing to regret, that she had been compelled to banisheverything from her life, health, joy, and love, so that she might leaveit as one casts off a soiled, worn, tattered garment. And she was right;she condemned her useless, cruel life when she said: "My passion willfinish only at my death; it will not cease until I enter into eternity. "And this idea of her passion pursued her, attaching her more closely tothe cross with her Divine Master. She had induced them to give her alarge crucifix; she pressed it vehemently against her poor maidenlybreast, exclaiming that she would like to thrust it into her bosom andleave it there. Towards the end, her strength completely forsook her, andshe could no longer grasp the crucifix with her trembling hands. "Let itbe tightly tied to me, " she prayed, "that I may feel it until my lastbreath!" The Redeemer upon that crucifix was the only spouse that she wasdestined to know; His bleeding kiss was to be the only one bestowed uponher womanhood, diverted from nature's course. The nuns took cords, passedthem under her aching back, and fastened the crucifix so roughly to herbosom that it did indeed penetrate it. 

At last death took pity upon her. On Easter Monday she was seized with agreat fit of shivering. Hallucinations perturbed her, she trembled withfright, she beheld the devil jeering and prowling around her. "Be off, beoff, Satan!" she gasped; "do not touch me, do not carry me away!" Andamidst her delirium she related that the fiend had sought to throwhimself upon her, that she had felt his mouth scorching her with all theflames of hell. The devil in a life so pure, in a soul without sin! whatfor, O Lord! and again I ask it, why this relentless suffering, intenseto the very last, why this nightmare-like ending, this death troubledwith such frightful fancies, after so beautiful a life of candour, purity, and innocence? Could she not fall asleep serenely in thepeacefulness of her chaste soul? But doubtless so long as breath remainedin her body it was necessary to leave her the hatred and dread of life, which is the devil. It was life which menaced her, and it was life whichshe cast out, in the same way that she denied life when she reserved tothe Celestial Bridegroom her tortured, crucified womanhood. That dogma ofthe Immaculate Conception, which her dream had come to strengthen, was ablow dealt by the Church to woman, both wife and mother. To decree thatwoman is only worthy of worship on condition that she be a virgin, toimagine that virgin to be herself born without sin, is not this an insultto Nature, the condemnation of life, the denial of womanhood, whose truegreatness consists in perpetuating life? "Be off, be off, Satan! let medie without fulfilling Nature's law. " And she drove the sunshine from theroom and the free air that entered by the window, the air that was sweetwith the scent of flowers, laden with all the floating germs whichtransmit love throughout the whole vast world. 

On the Wednesday after Easter (April 16th), the death agony commenced. Itis related that on the morning of that day one of Bernadette'scompanions, a nun attacked with a mortal illness and lying in theinfirmary in an adjoining bed, was suddenly healed upon drinking a glassof Lourdes water. But she, the privileged one, had drunk of it in vain. God at last granted her the signal favour which she desired by sendingher into the good sound sleep of the earth, in which there is no moresuffering. She asked pardon of everyone. Her passion was consummated;like the Saviour, she had the nails and the crown of thorns, the scourgedlimbs, the pierced side. Like Him she raised her eyes to heaven, extendedher arms in the form of a cross, and uttered a loud cry: "My God!" And, like Him, she said, towards three o'clock: "I thirst. " She moistened herlips in the glass, then bowed her head and expired. 

Thus, very glorious and very holy, died the Visionary of Lourdes, Bernadette Soubirous, Sister Marie-Bernard, one of the Sisters of Charityof Nevers. During three days her body remained exposed to view, and vastcrowds passed before it; a whole people hastened to the convent, aninterminable procession of devotees hungering after hope, who rubbedmedals, chaplets, pictures, and missals against the dead woman's dress, to obtain from her one more favour, a fetish bringing happiness. Even indeath her dream of solitude was denied her: a mob of the wretched ones ofthis world rushed to the spot, drinking in illusion around her coffin. And it was noticed that her left eye, the eye which at the time of theapparitions had been nearest to the Blessed Virgin, remained obstinatelyopen. Then a last miracle amazed the convent: the body underwent nochange, but was interred on the third day, still supple, warm, with redlips, and a very white skin, rejuvenated as it were, and smelling sweet. And to-day Bernadette Soubirous, exiled from Lourdes, obscurely sleepsher last sleep at Saint Gildard, beneath a stone slab in a little chapel, amidst the shade and silence of the old trees of the garden, whilstyonder the Grotto shines resplendently in all its triumph. 

Pierre ceased speaking; the beautiful, marvellous story was ended. Andyet the whole carriage was still listening, deeply impressed by thatdeath, at once so tragic and so touching. Compassionate tears fell fromMarie's eyes, while the others, Elise Rouquet, La Grivotte herself, nowcalmer, clasped their hands and prayed to her who was in heaven tointercede with the Divinity to complete their cure. M. Sabathier made abig sign of the cross, and then ate a cake which his wife had bought himat Poitiers. 

M. De Guersaint, whom sad things always upset, had fallen asleep again inthe middle of the story. And there was only Madame Vincent, with her faceburied in her pillow, who had not stirred, like a deaf and blindcreature, determined to see and hear nothing more. 

Meanwhile the train rolled, still rolled along. Madame de Jonquiere, after putting her head out of the window, informed them that they wereapproaching Etampes. And, when they had left that station behind them, Sister Hyacinthe gave the signal, and they recited the third chaplet ofthe Rosary, the five glorious mysteries--the Resurrection of Our Lord, the Ascension of Our Lord, the Mission of the Holy Ghost, the Assumptionof the Most Blessed Virgin, and the Crowning of the Most Blessed Virgin. And afterwards they sang the canticle:

 "O Virgin, in thy help I put my trust. "

Then Pierre fell into a deep reverie. His glance had turned towards thenow sunlit landscape, the continual flight of which seemed to lull histhoughts. The noise of the wheels was making him dizzy, and he ended byno longer recognising the familiar horizon of this vast suburban expansewith which he had once been acquainted. They still had to pass Bretignyand Juvisy, and then, in an hour and a half at the utmost, they would atlast be at Paris. So the great journey was finished! the inquiry, whichhe had so much desired to make, the experiment which he had attemptedwith so much passion, were over! He had wished to acquire certainty, tostudy Bernadette's case on the spot, and see if grace would not come backto him in a lightning flash, restoring him his faith. And now he hadsettled the point--Bernadette had dreamed through the continual tormentsof her flesh, and he himself would never believe again. And this forceditself upon his mind like a brutal fact: the simple faith of the childwho kneels and prays, the primitive faith of young people, bowed down byan awe born of their ignorance, was dead. Though thousands of pilgrimsmight each year go to Lourdes, the nations were no longer with them; thisattempt to bring about the resurrection of absolute faith, the faith ofdead-and-gone centuries, without revolt or examination, was fatallydoomed to fail. History never retraces its steps, humanity cannot returnto childhood, times have too much changed, too many new inspirations havesown new harvests for the men of to-day to become once more like the menof olden time. It was decisive; Lourdes was only an explainable accident, whose reactionary violence was even a proof of the extreme agony in whichbelief under the antique form of Catholicism was struggling. Never again, as in the cathedrals of the twelfth century, would the entire nationkneel like a docile flock in the hands of the Master. To blindly, obstinately cling to the attempt to bring that to pass would mean to dashoneself against the impossible, to rush, perhaps, towards great moralcatastrophes. 

And of his journey there already only remained to Pierre an immensefeeling of compassion. Ah! his heart was overflowing with pity; his poorheart was returning wrung by all that he had seen. He recalled the wordsof worthy Abbe Judaine; and he had seen those thousands of unhappy beingspraying, weeping, and imploring God to take pity on their suffering; andhe had wept with them, and felt within himself, like an open wound, asorrowful fraternal feeling for all their ailments. He could not think ofthose poor people without burning with a desire to relieve them. If itwere true that the faith of the simple-minded no longer sufficed; if oneran the risk of going astray in wishing to turn back, would it becomenecessary to close the Grotto, to preach other efforts, other sufferings?However, his compassion revolted at that thought. No, no! it would be acrime to snatch their dream of Heaven from those poor creatures whosuffered either in body or in mind, and who only found relief in kneelingyonder amidst the splendour of tapers and the soothing repetition ofhymns. He had not taken the murderous course of undeceiving Marie, buthad sacrificed himself in order to leave her the joy of her fancy, thedivine consolation of having been healed by the Virgin. Where was the manhard enough, cruel enough, to prevent the lowly from believing, to robthem of the consolation of the supernatural, the hope that God troubledHimself about them, that He held a better life in His paradise in reservefor them? All humanity was weeping, desperate with anguish, like somedespairing invalid, irrevocably condemned, and whom only a miracle couldsave. He felt mankind to be unhappy indeed, and he shuddered withfraternal affection in the presence of such pitiable humility, ignorance, poverty in its rags, disease with its sores and evil odour, all the lowlysufferers, in hospital, convent, and slums, amidst vermin and dirt, withugliness and imbecility written on their faces, an immense protestagainst health, life, and Nature, in the triumphal name of justice, equality, and benevolence. No, no! it would never do to drive thewretched to despair. Lourdes must be tolerated, in the same way that youtolerate a falsehood which makes life possible. And, as he had alreadysaid in Bernadette's chamber, she remained the martyr, she it was whorevealed to him the only religion which still filled his heart, thereligion of human suffering. Ah! to be good and kindly, to alleviate allills, to lull pain, to sleep in a dream, to lie even, so that no onemight suffer any more!

The train passed at full speed through a village, and Pierre vaguelycaught sight of a church nestling amidst some large apple trees. All thepilgrims in the carriage crossed themselves. But he was now becominguneasy, scruples were tingeing his reverie with anxiety. This religion ofhuman suffering, this redemption by pain, was not this yet another lure, a continual aggravation of pain and misery? It is cowardly and dangerousto allow superstition to live. To tolerate and accept it is to revive thedark evil ages afresh. It weakens and stupefies; the sanctimoniousnessbequeathed by heredity produces humiliated, timorous generations, decadent and docile nations, who are an easy prey to the powerful of theearth. Whole nations are imposed upon, robbed, devoured, when they havedevoted the whole effort of their will to the mere conquest of a futureexistence. Would it not, therefore, be better to cure humanity at once byboldly closing the miraculous Grottos whither it goes to weep, and thusrestore to it the courage to live the real life, even in the midst oftears? And it was the same prayer, that incessant flood of prayer whichascended from Lourdes, the endless supplication in which he had beenimmersed and softened: was it not after all but puerile lullaby, adebasement of all one's energies? It benumbed the will, one's very beingbecame dissolved in it and acquired disgust for life and action. Of whatuse could it be to will anything, do anything, when you totally resignedyourself to the caprices of an unknown almighty power? And, in anotherrespect, what a strange thing was this mad desire for prodigies, thisanxiety to drive the Divinity to transgress the laws of Natureestablished by Himself in His infinite wisdom! Therein evidently layperil and unreasonableness; at the risk even of losing illusion, thatdivine comforter, only the habit of personal effort and the courage oftruth should have been developed in man, and especially in the child. 

Then a great brightness arose in Pierre's mind and dazzled him. It wasReason, protesting against the glorification of the absurd and thedeposition of common-sense. Ah! reason, it was through her that he hadsuffered, through her alone that he was happy. As he had told DoctorChassaigne, his one consuming longing was to satisfy reason ever more andmore, although it might cost him happiness to do so. It was reason, henow well understood it, whose continual revolt at the Grotto, at theBasilica, throughout entire Lourdes, had prevented him from believing. Unlike his old friend--that stricken old man, who was afflicted with suchdolorous senility, who had fallen into second childhood since theshipwreck of his affections, --he had been unable to kill reason andhumiliate and annihilate himself. Reason remained his sovereign mistress, and she it was who buoyed him up even amidst the obscurities and failuresof science. Whenever he met with a thing which he could not understand, it was she who whispered to him, "There is certainly a naturalexplanation which escapes me. " He repeated that there could be no healthyideal outside the march towards the discovery of the unknown, the slowvictory of reason amidst all the wretchedness of body and mind. In theclashing of the twofold heredity which he had derived from his father, all brain, and his mother, all faith, he, a priest, found it possible toravage his life in order that he might keep his vows. He had acquiredstrength enough to master his flesh, but he felt that his paternalheredity had now definitely gained the upper hand, for henceforth thesacrifice of his reason had become an impossibility; this he would notrenounce and would not master. No, no, even human suffering, the hallowedsuffering of the poor, ought not to prove an obstacle, enjoining thenecessity of ignorance and folly. Reason before all; in her alone laysalvation. If at Lourdes, whilst bathed in tears, softened by the sightof so much affliction, he had said that it was sufficient to weep andlove, he had made a dangerous mistake. Pity was but a convenientexpedient. One must live, one must act; reason must combat suffering, unless it be desired that the latter should last forever. 

However, as the train rolled on and the landscape flew by, a church oncemore appeared, this time on the fringe of heaven, some votive chapelperched upon a hill and surmounted by a lofty statue of the Virgin. Andonce more all the pilgrims made the sign of the cross, and once morePierre's reverie strayed, a fresh stream of reflections bringing hisanguish back to him. What was this imperious need of the things beyond, which tortured suffering humanity? Whence came it? Why should equalityand justice be desired when they did not seem to exist in impassivenature? Man had set them in the unknown spheres of the Mysterious, in thesupernatural realms of religious paradises, and there contented hisardent thirst for them. That unquenchable thirst for happiness had everconsumed, and would consume him always. If the Fathers of the Grottodrove such a glorious trade, it was simply because they made motley outof what was divine. That thirst for the Divine, which nothing hadquenched through the long, long ages, seemed to have returned withincreased violence at the close of our century of science. Lourdes was aresounding and undeniable proof that man could never live without thedream of a Sovereign Divinity, re-establishing equality and re-creatinghappiness by dint of miracles. When man has reached the depths of life'smisfortunes, he returns to the divine illusion, and the origin of allreligions lies there. Man, weak and bare, lacks the strength to livethrough his terrestrial misery without the everlasting lie of a paradise. To-day, thought Pierre, the experiment had been made; it seemed thatscience alone could not suffice, and that one would be obliged to leave adoor open on the Mysterious. 

All at once in the depths of his deeply absorbed mind the words rang out, A new religion! The door which must be left open on the Mysterious wasindeed a new religion. To subject mankind to brutal amputation, lop offits dream, and forcibly deprive it of the Marvellous, which it needed tolive as much as it needed bread, would possibly kill it. Would it everhave the philosophical courage to take life as it is, and live it for itsown sake, without any idea of future rewards and penalties? It certainlyseemed that centuries must elapse before the advent of a society wiseenough to lead a life of rectitude without the moral control of somecultus and the consolation of superhuman equality and justice. Yes, a newreligion! The call burst forth, resounded within Pierre's brain like thecall of the nations, the eager, despairing desire of the modern soul. Theconsolation and hope which Catholicism had brought the world seemedexhausted after eighteen hundred years full of so many tears, so muchblood, so much vain and barbarous agitation. It was an illusiondeparting, and it was at least necessary that the illusion should bechanged. If mankind had long ago darted for refuge into the Christianparadise, it was because that paradise then opened before it like a freshhope. But now a new religion, a new hope, a new paradise, yes, that waswhat the world thirsted for, in the discomfort in which it wasstruggling. And Father Fourcade, for his part, fully felt such to be thecase; he had not meant to imply anything else when he had given rein tohis anxiety, entreating that the people of the great towns, the densemass of the humble which forms the nation, might be brought to Lourdes. One hundred thousand, two hundred thousand pilgrims at Lourdes each year, that was, after all, but a grain of sand. It was the people, the wholepeople, that was required. But the people has forever deserted thechurches, it no longer puts any soul in the Blessed Virgins which itmanufactures, and nothing nowadays could restore its lost faith. ACatholic democracy--yes, history would then begin afresh; only were itpossible to create a new Christian people, would not the advent of a newSaviour, the mighty breath of a new Messiah, have been needed for such atask?

However, the words still sounded, still rang out in Pierre's mind withthe growing clamour of pealing bells. A new religion; a new religion. Doubtless it must be a religion nearer to life, giving a larger place tothe things of the world, and taking the acquired truths into due account. And, above all, it must be a religion which was not an appetite fordeath--Bernadette living solely in order that she might die, DoctorChassaigne aspiring to the tomb as to the only happiness--for all thatspiritualistic abandonment was so much continuous disorganisation of thewill to live. At bottom of it was hatred to life, disgust with andcessation of action. Every religion, it is true, is but a promise ofimmortality, an embellishment of the spheres beyond, an enchanted gardento be entered on the morrow of death. Could a new religion ever placesuch a garden of eternal happiness on earth? Where was the formula, thedogma, that would satisfy the hopes of the mankind of to-day? What beliefshould be sown to blossom forth in a harvest of strength and peace? Howcould one fecundate the universal doubt so that it should give birth to anew faith? and what sort of illusion, what divine falsehood of any kindcould be made to germinate in the contemporary world, ravaged as it hadbeen upon all sides, broken up by a century of science?

At that moment, without any apparent transition, Pierre saw the face ofhis brother Guillaume arise in the troublous depths of his mind. Still, he was not surprised; some secret link must have brought that visionthere. Ah! how fond they had been of one another long ago, and what agood brother that elder brother, so upright and gentle, had been!Henceforth, also, the rupture was complete; Pierre no longer sawGuillaume, since the latter had cloistered himself in his chemicalstudies, living like a savage in a little suburban house, with a mistressand two big dogs. Then Pierre's reverie again diverged, and he thought ofthat trial in which Guillaume had been mentioned, like one suspected ofhaving compromising friendships amongst the most violent revolutionaries. It was related, too, that the young man had, after long researches, discovered the formula of a terrible explosive, one pound of which wouldsuffice to blow up a cathedral. And Pierre then thought of thoseAnarchists who wished to renew and save the world by destroying it. Theywere but dreamers, horrible dreamers; yet dreamers in the same way asthose innocent pilgrims whom he had seen kneeling at the Grotto in anenraptured flock. If the Anarchists, if the extreme Socialists, demandedwith violence the equality of wealth, the sharing of all the enjoymentsof the world, the pilgrims on their side demanded with tears equality ofhealth and an equitable sharing of moral and physical peace. The latterrelied on miracles, the former appealed to brute force. At bottom, however, it was but the same exasperated dream of fraternity and justice, the eternal desire for happiness--neither poor nor sick left, but blissfor one and all. And, in fact, had not the primitive Christians beenterrible revolutionaries for the pagan world, which they threatened, anddid, indeed, destroy? They who were persecuted, whom the others sought toexterminate, are to-day inoffensive, because they have become the Past. The frightful Future is ever the man who dreams of a future society; evenas to-day it is the madman so wildly bent on social renovation that heharbours the great black dream of purifying everything by the flame ofconflagrations. This seemed monstrous to Pierre. Yet, who could tell?Therein, perchance, lay the rejuvenated world of to-morrow. 

Astray, full of doubts, he nevertheless, in his horror of violence, madecommon cause with old society now reduced to defend itself, unable thoughhe was to say whence would come the new Messiah of Gentleness, in whosehands he would have liked to place poor ailing mankind. A new religion, yes, a new religion. But it is not easy to invent one, and he knew not towhat conclusion to come between the ancient faith, which was dead, andthe young faith of to-morrow, as yet unborn. For his part, in hisdesolation, he was only sure of keeping his vow, like an unbelievingpriest watching over the belief of others, chastely and honestlydischarging his duties, with the proud sadness that he had been unable torenounce his reason as he had renounced his flesh. And for the rest, hewould wait. 

However, the train rolled on between large parks, and the engine gave aprolonged whistle, a joyful flourish, which drew Pierre from hisreflections. The others were stirring, displaying emotion around him. Thetrain had just left Juvisy, and Paris was at last near at hand, within ashort half-hour's journey. One and all were getting their thingstogether: the Sabathiers were remaking their little parcels, EliseRouquet was giving a last glance at her mirror. For a moment Madame deJonquiere again became anxious concerning La Grivotte, and decided thatas the girl was in such a pitiful condition she would have her takenstraight to a hospital on arriving; whilst Marie endeavoured to rouseMadame Vincent from the torpor in which she seemed determined to remain. M. De Guersaint, who had been indulging in a little siesta, also had tobe awakened. And at last, when Sister Hyacinthe had clapped her hands, the whole carriage intonated the "Te Deum, " the hymn of praise andthanksgiving. "_Te Deum, laudamus, te Dominum confitemur_. " The voicesrose amidst a last burst of fervour. All those glowing souls returnedthanks to God for the beautiful journey, the marvellous favours that Hehad already bestowed on them, and would bestow on them yet again. 

At last came the fortifications. The two o'clock sun was slowlydescending the vast, pure heavens, so serenely warm. Distant smoke, aruddy smoke, was rising in light clouds above the immensity of Paris likethe scattered, flying breath of that toiling colossus. It was Paris inher forge, Paris with her passions, her battles, her ever-growlingthunder, her ardent life ever engendering the life of to-morrow. And thewhite train, the woeful train of every misery and every dolour, wasreturning into it all at full speed, sounding in higher and higherstrains the piercing flourishes of its whistle-calls. The five hundredpilgrims, the three hundred patients, were about to disappear in the vastcity, fall again upon the hard pavement of life after the prodigiousdream in which they had just indulged, until the day should come whentheir need of the consolation of a fresh dream would irresistibly impelthem to start once more on the everlasting pilgrimage to mystery andforgetfulness. 

Ah! unhappy mankind, poor ailing humanity, hungering for illusion, and inthe weariness of this waning century distracted and sore from having toogreedily acquired science; it fancies itself abandoned by the physiciansof both the mind and the body, and, in great danger of succumbing toincurable disease, retraces its steps and asks the miracle of its cure ofthe mystical Lourdes of a past forever dead! Yonder, however, Bernadette, the new Messiah of suffering, so touching in her human reality, constitutes the terrible lesson, the sacrifice cut off from the world, the victim condemned to abandonment, solitude, and death, smitten withthe penalty of being neither woman, nor wife, nor mother, because shebeheld the Blessed Virgin. 

THE END

 *****

ROME

FROM "THE THREE CITIES"

By Emile Zola

Translated By Ernest A. Vizetelly

PREFACE

IN submitting to the English-speaking public this second volume of M. Zola's trilogy "Lourdes, Rome, Paris, " I have no prefatory remarks tooffer on behalf of the author, whose views on Rome, its past, present, and future, will be found fully expounded in the following pages. That abook of this character will, like its forerunner "Lourdes, " provokeconsiderable controversy is certain, but comment or rejoinder may well bepostponed until that controversy has arisen. At present then I onlydesire to say, that in spite of the great labour which I have bestowed onthis translation, I am sensible of its shortcomings, and in a work ofsuch length, such intricacy, and such a wide range of subject, it willnot be surprising if some slips are discovered. Any errors which may bepointed out to me, however, shall be rectified in subsequent editions. Ihave given, I think, the whole essence of M. Zola's text; but he himselfhas admitted to me that he has now and again allowed his pen to run awaywith him, and thus whilst sacrificing nothing of his sense I have attimes abbreviated his phraseology so as slightly to condense the book. Imay add that there are no chapter headings in the original, and that thecircumstances under which the translation was made did not permit me tosupply any whilst it was passing through the press; however, as someindication of the contents of the book--which treats of many more thingsthan are usually found in novels--may be a convenience to the reader, Ihave prepared a table briefly epitomising the chief features of eachsuccessive chapter. 

 E. A. V. 

 MERTON, SURREY, ENGLAND, April, 1896. 

 CONTENTS TO PART I. I "NEW ROME"--Abbe Froment in the Eternal City--His First Impressions--His Book and the Rejuvenation of Christianity

 II "BLACK MOUTH, RED SOUL"--The Boccaneras, their Mansion, Ancestors, History, and Friends

 III ROMANS OF THE CHURCH--Cardinals Boccanera and Sanguinetti--Abbes Paparelli and Santobono--Don Vigilio--Monsignor Nani

 CONTENTS TO PART II. IV ROMANS OF NEW ITALY--The Pradas and the Saccos--The Corso and the Pincio

 V THE BLOOD OF AUGUSTUS--The Palaces of the Caesars--The Capitol--The Forum--The Appian Way--The Campagna--The Catacombs--St. Peter's. 

 VI VENUS AND HERCULES--The Vatican--The Sixtine Chapel--Michael Angelo and Raffaelle--Botticelli and Bernini--Gods and Goddesses--The Gardens--Leo XIII--The Revolt of Passion

 CONTENTS TO PART III. VII PRINCE AND PONTIFF--The International Pilgrimage--The Papal Revenue--A Function at St. Peter's--The Pope-King--The Temporal Power

 VIII THE POOR AND THE POPE--The Building Mania--The Financial Crash--The Horrors of the Castle Fields--The Roman Workman--May Christ's Vicar Gamble?--Hopes and Fears of the Papacy

 IX TITO's WARNING--Aspects of Rome--The Via Giulia--The Tiber by Day--The Gardens--The Villa Medici---The Squares--The Fountains--Poussin and the Campagna--The Campo Verano--The Trastevere--The "Palaces"--Aristocracy, Middle Class, Democracy--The Tiber by Night

 CONTENTS TO PART IV. X FROM PILLAR TO POST--The Propaganda--The Index--Dominicans, Jesuits, Franciscans--The Secular Clergy--Roman Worship--Freemasonry--Cardinal Vicar and Cardinal Secretary--The Inquisition. 

 XI POISON!--Frascati--A Cardinal and his Creature--Albano, Castel Gandolfo, Nemi--Across the Campagna--An Osteria--Destiny on the March

 XII THE AGONY OF PASSION--A Roman Gala--The Buongiovannis--The Grey World--The Triumph of Benedetta--King Humbert and Queen Margherita--The Fig-tree of Judas

 XIII DESTINY!--A Happy Morning--The Mid-day Meal--Dario and the Figs--Extreme Unction--Benedetta's Curse--The Lovers' Death

 CONTENTS TO PART V. XIV SUBMISSION--The Vatican by Night--The Papal Anterooms--Some Great Popes--His Holiness's Bed-room--Pierre's Reception--Papal Wrath--Pierre's Appeal--The Pope's Policy--Dogma and Lourdes--Pierre Reprobates his Book

 XV A HOUSE OF MOURNING--Lying in State--Mother and Son--Princess and Work-girl--Nani the Jesuit--Rival Cardinals--The Pontiff of Destruction

 XVI JUDGMENT--Pierre and Orlando--Italian Rome--Wanted, a Democracy--Italy and France--The Rome of the Anarchists--The Agony of Guilt--A Botticelli--The Papacy Condemned--The Coming Schism--The March of Science--The Destruction of Rome--The Victory of Reason--Justice not Charity--Departure--The March of Civilisation--One Fatherland for All Mankind

ROME

PART I. 

I. 

THE train had been greatly delayed during the night between Pisa andCivita Vecchia, and it was close upon nine o'clock in the morning when, after a fatiguing journey of twenty-five hours' duration, Abbe PierreFroment at last reached Rome. He had brought only a valise with him, and, springing hastily out of the railway carriage amidst the scramble of thearrival, he brushed the eager porters aside, intent on carrying histrifling luggage himself, so anxious was he to reach his destination, tobe alone, and look around him. And almost immediately, on the Piazza deiCinquecento, in front of the railway station, he climbed into one of thesmall open cabs ranged alongside the footwalk, and placed the valise nearhim after giving the driver this address:

"Via Giulia, Palazzo Boccanera. "*

 * Boccanera mansion, Julia Street. 

It was a Monday, the 3rd of September, a beautifully bright and mildmorning, with a clear sky overhead. The cabby, a plump little man withsparkling eyes and white teeth, smiled on realising by Pierre's accentthat he had to deal with a French priest. Then he whipped up his leanhorse, and the vehicle started off at the rapid pace customary to theclean and cheerful cabs of Rome. However, on reaching the Piazza delleTerme, after skirting the greenery of a little public garden, the manturned round, still smiling, and pointing to some ruins with his whip, "The baths of Diocletian, " said he in broken French, like an obligingdriver who is anxious to court favour with foreigners in order to securetheir custom. 

Then, at a fast trot, the vehicle descended the rapid slope of the ViaNazionale, which dips down from the summit of the Viminalis, * where therailway station is situated. And from that moment the driver scarcelyceased turning round and pointing at the monuments with his whip. In thisbroad new thoroughfare there were only buildings of recent erection. Still, the wave of the cabman's whip became more pronounced and his voicerose to a higher key, with a somewhat ironical inflection, when he gavethe name of a huge and still chalky pile on his left, a gigantic erectionof stone, overladen with sculptured work-pediments and statues. 

 * One of the seven hills on which Rome is built. The other six are the Capitoline, Aventine, Quirinal, Esquiline, Coelian, and Palatine. These names will perforce frequently occur in the present narrative. 

"The National Bank!" he said. 

Pierre, however, during the week which had followed his resolve to makethe journey, had spent wellnigh every day in studying Roman topography inmaps and books. Thus he could have directed his steps to any given spotwithout inquiring his way, and he anticipated most of the driver'sexplanations. At the same time he was disconcerted by the sudden slopes, the perpetually recurring hills, on which certain districts rose, houseabove house, in terrace fashion. On his right-hand clumps of greenerywere now climbing a height, and above them stretched a long bare yellowbuilding of barrack or convent-like aspect. 

"The Quirinal, the King's palace, " said the driver. 

Lower down, as the cab turned across a triangular square, Pierre, onraising his eyes, was delighted to perceive a sort of aerial garden highabove him--a garden which was upheld by a lofty smooth wall, and whencethe elegant and vigorous silhouette of a parasol pine, many centuriesold, rose aloft into the limpid heavens. At this sight he realised allthe pride and grace of Rome. 

"The Villa Aldobrandini, " the cabman called. 

Then, yet lower down, there came a fleeting vision which decisivelyimpassioned Pierre. The street again made a sudden bend, and in onecorner, beyond a short dim alley, there was a blazing gap of light. On alower level appeared a white square, a well of sunshine, filled with ablinding golden dust; and amidst all that morning glory there arose agigantic marble column, gilt from base to summit on the side which thesun in rising had laved with its beams for wellnigh eighteen hundredyears. And Pierre was surprised when the cabman told him the name of thecolumn, for in his mind he had never pictured it soaring aloft in such adazzling cavity with shadows all around. It was the column of Trajan. 

The Via Nazionale turned for the last time at the foot of the slope. Andthen other names fell hastily from the driver's lips as his horse went onat a fast trot. There was the Palazzo Colonna, with its garden edged bymeagre cypresses; the Palazzo Torlonia, almost ripped open by recent"improvements"; the Palazzo di Venezia, bare and fearsome, with itscrenelated walls, its stern and tragic appearance, that of some fortressof the middle ages, forgotten there amidst the commonplace life ofnowadays. Pierre's surprise increased at the unexpected aspect whichcertain buildings and streets presented; and the keenest blow of all wasdealt him when the cabman with his whip triumphantly called his attentionto the Corso, a long narrow thoroughfare, about as broad as FleetStreet, * white with sunshine on the left, and black with shadows on theright, whilst at the far end the Piazza del Popolo (the Square of thePeople) showed like a bright star. Was this, then, the heart of the city, the vaunted promenade, the street brimful of life, whither flowed all theblood of Rome?

 * M. Zola likens the Corso to the Rue St. Honore in Paris, but I have thought that an English comparison would be preferable in the present version. --Trans. 

However, the cab was already entering the Corso Vittorio Emanuele, whichfollows the Via Nazionale, these being the two piercings effected rightacross the olden city from the railway station to the bridge of St. Angelo. On the left-hand the rounded apsis of the Gesu church lookedquite golden in the morning brightness. Then, between the church and theheavy Altieri palace which the "improvers" had not dared to demolish, thestreet became narrower, and one entered into cold, damp shade. But amoment afterwards, before the facade of the Gesu, when the square wasreached, the sun again appeared, dazzling, throwing golden sheets oflight around; whilst afar off at the end of the Via di Ara Coeli, steepedin shadow, a glimpse could be caught of some sunlit palm-trees. 

"That's the Capitol yonder, " said the cabman. 

The priest hastily leant to the left, but only espied the patch ofgreenery at the end of the dim corridor-like street. The suddenalternations of warm light and cold shade made him shiver. In front ofthe Palazzo di Venezia, and in front of the Gesu, it had seemed to him asif all the night of ancient times were falling icily upon his shoulders;but at each fresh square, each broadening of the new thoroughfares, therecame a return to light, to the pleasant warmth and gaiety of life. Theyellow sunflashes, in falling from the house fronts, sharply outlined theviolescent shadows. Strips of sky, very blue and very benign, could beperceived between the roofs. And it seemed to Pierre that the air hebreathed had a particular savour, which he could not yet quite define, but it was like that of fruit, and increased the feverishness which hadpossessed him ever since his arrival. 

The Corso Vittorio Emanuele is, in spite of its irregularity, a very finemodern thoroughfare; and for a time Pierre might have fancied himself inany great city full of huge houses let out in flats. But when he passedbefore the Cancelleria, * Bramante's masterpiece, the typical monument ofthe Roman Renascence, his astonishment came back to him and his mindreturned to the mansions which he had previously espied, those bare, huge, heavy edifices, those vast cubes of stone-work resembling hospitalsor prisons. Never would he have imagined that the famous Roman "palaces"were like that, destitute of all grace and fancy and externalmagnificence. However, they were considered very fine and must be so; hewould doubtless end by understanding things, but for that he wouldrequire reflection. **

 * Formerly the residence of the Papal Vice-Chancellors. 

 ** It is as well to point out at once that a palazzo is not a palace as we understand the term, but rather a mansion. --Trans. 

All at once the cab turned out of the populous Corso Vittorio Emanueleinto a succession of winding alleys, through which it had difficulty inmaking its way. Quietude and solitude now came back again; the oldencity, cold and somniferous, followed the new city with its brightsunshine and its crowds. Pierre remembered the maps which he hadconsulted, and realised that he was drawing near to the Via Giulia, andthereupon his curiosity, which had been steadily increasing, augmented tosuch a point that he suffered from it, full of despair at not seeing moreand learning more at once. In the feverish state in which he had foundhimself ever since leaving the station, his astonishment at not findingthings such as he had expected, the many shocks that his imagination hadreceived, aggravated his passion beyond endurance, and brought him anacute desire to satisfy himself immediately. Nine o'clock had struck buta few minutes previously, he had the whole morning before him to repairto the Boccanera palace, so why should he not at once drive to theclassic spot, the summit whence one perceives the whole of Rome spreadout upon her seven hills? And when once this thought had entered into hismind it tortured him until he was at last compelled to yield to it. 

The driver no longer turned his head, so that Pierre rose up to give himthis new address: "To San Pietro in Montorio!"

On hearing him the man at first looked astonished, unable to understand. He indicated with his whip that San Pietro was yonder, far away. However, as the priest insisted, he again smiled complacently, with a friendly nodof his head. All right! For his own part he was quite willing. 

The horse then went on at a more rapid pace through the maze of narrowstreets. One of these was pent between high walls, and the daylightdescended into it as into a deep trench. But at the end came a suddenreturn to light, and the Tiber was crossed by the antique bridge ofSixtus IV, right and left of which stretched the new quays, amidst theravages and fresh plaster-work of recent erections. On the other side ofthe river the Trastevere district also was ripped open, and the vehicleascended the slope of the Janiculum by a broad thoroughfare where largeslabs bore the name of Garibaldi. For the last time the driver made agesture of good-natured pride as he named this triumphal route. 

"Via Garibaldi!"

The horse had been obliged to slacken its pace, and Pierre, mastered bychildish impatience, turned round to look at the city as by degrees itspread out and revealed itself behind him. The ascent was a long one;fresh districts were ever rising up, even to the most distant hills. Then, in the increasing emotion which made his heart beat, the youngpriest felt that he was spoiling the contentment of his desire by thusgradually satisfying it, slowly and but partially effecting his conquestof the horizon. He wished to receive the shock full in the face, tobehold all Rome at one glance, to gather the holy city together, andembrace the whole of it at one grasp. And thereupon he musteredsufficient strength of mind to refrain from turning round any more, inspite of the impulses of his whole being. 

There is a spacious terrace on the summit of the incline. The church ofSan Pietro in Montorio stands there, on the spot where, as some say, St. Peter was crucified. The square is bare and brown, baked by the hotsummer suns; but a little further away in the rear, the clear and noisywaters of the Acqua Paola fall bubbling from the three basins of amonumental fountain amidst sempiternal freshness. And alongside theterrace parapet, on the very crown of the Trastevere, there are alwaysrows of tourists, slim Englishmen and square-built Germans, agape withtraditional admiration, or consulting their guide-books in order toidentify the monuments. 

Pierre sprang lightly from the cab, leaving his valise on the seat, andmaking a sign to the driver, who went to join the row of waiting cabs, and remained philosophically seated on his box in the full sunlight, hishead drooping like that of his horse, both resigning themselves to thecustomary long stoppage. 

Meantime Pierre, erect against the parapet, in his tight black cassock, and with his bare feverish hands nervously clenched, was gazing beforehim with all his eyes, with all his soul. Rome! Rome! the city of theCaesars, the city of the Popes, the Eternal City which has twiceconquered the world, the predestined city of the glowing dream in whichhe had indulged for months! At last it was before him, at last his eyesbeheld it! During the previous days some rainstorms had abated theintense August heat, and on that lovely September morning the air hadfreshened under the pale blue of the spotless far-spreading heavens. Andthe Rome that Pierre beheld was a Rome steeped in mildness, a visionaryRome which seemed to evaporate in the clear sunshine. A fine bluey haze, scarcely perceptible, as delicate as gauze, hovered over the roofs of thelow-lying districts; whilst the vast Campagna, the distant hills, diedaway in a pale pink flush. At first Pierre distinguished nothing, soughtno particular edifice or spot, but gave sight and soul alike to the wholeof Rome, to the living colossus spread out below him, on a soilcompounded of the dust of generations. Each century had renewed thecity's glory as with the sap of immortal youth. And that which struckPierre, that which made his heart leap within him, was that he found Romesuch as he had desired to find her, fresh and youthful, with a volatile, almost incorporeal, gaiety of aspect, smiling as at the hope of a newlife in the pure dawn of a lovely day. 

And standing motionless before the sublime vista, with his hands stillclenched and burning, Pierre in a few minutes again lived the last threeyears of his life. Ah! what a terrible year had the first been, spent inhis little house at Neuilly, with doors and windows ever closed, burrowing there like some wounded animal suffering unto death. He hadcome back from Lourdes with his soul desolate, his heart bleeding, withnought but ashes within him. Silence and darkness fell upon the ruins ofhis love and his faith. Days and days went by, without a pulsation of hisveins, without the faintest gleam arising to brighten the gloom of hisabandonment. His life was a mechanical one; he awaited the necessarycourage to resume the tenor of existence in the name of sovereign reason, which had imposed upon him the sacrifice of everything. Why was he notstronger, more resistant, why did he not quietly adapt his life to hisnew opinions? As he was unwilling to cast off his cassock, throughfidelity to the love of one and disgust of backsliding, why did he notseek occupation in some science suited to a priest, such as astronomy orarchaeology? The truth was that something, doubtless his mother's spirit, wept within him, an infinite, distracted love which nothing had yetsatisfied and which ever despaired of attaining contentment. Therein laythe perpetual suffering of his solitude: beneath the lofty dignity ofreason regained, the wound still lingered, raw and bleeding. 

One autumn evening, however, under a dismal rainy sky, chance brought himinto relations with an old priest, Abbe Rose, who was curate at thechurch of Ste. Marguerite, in the Faubourg St. Antoine. He went to seeAbbe Rose in the Rue de Charonne, where in the depths of a damp groundfloor he had transformed three rooms into an asylum for abandonedchildren, whom he picked up in the neighbouring streets. And from thatmoment Pierre's life changed, a fresh and all-powerful source of interesthad entered into it, and by degrees he became the old priest's passionatehelper. It was a long way from Neuilly to the Rue de Charonne, and atfirst he only made the journey twice a week. But afterwards he bestirredhimself every day, leaving home in the morning and not returning untilnight. As the three rooms no longer sufficed for the asylum, he rentedthe first floor of the house, reserving for himself a chamber in whichultimately he often slept. And all his modest income was expended there, in the prompt succouring of poor children; and the old priest, delighted, touched to tears by the young devoted help which had come to him fromheaven, would often embrace Pierre, weeping, and call him a child of God. 

It was then that Pierre knew want and wretchedness--wicked, abominablewretchedness; then that he lived amidst it for two long years. Theacquaintance began with the poor little beings whom he picked up on thepavements, or whom kind-hearted neighbours brought to him now that theasylum was known in the district--little boys, little girls, tiny mitesstranded on the streets whilst their fathers and mothers were toiling, drinking, or dying. The father had often disappeared, the mother had gonewrong, drunkenness and debauchery had followed slack times into the home;and then the brood was swept into the gutter, and the younger ones halfperished of cold and hunger on the footways, whilst their elders betookthemselves to courses of vice and crime. One evening Pierre rescued fromthe wheels of a stone-dray two little nippers, brothers, who could noteven give him an address, tell him whence they had come. On anotherevening he returned to the asylum with a little girl in his arms, afair-haired little angel, barely three years old, whom he had found on abench, and who sobbed, saying that her mother had left her there. And bya logical chain of circumstances, after dealing with the fleshless, pitiful fledglings ousted from their nests, he came to deal with theparents, to enter their hovels, penetrating each day further and furtherinto a hellish sphere, and ultimately acquiring knowledge of all itsfrightful horror, his heart meantime bleeding, rent by terrified anguishand impotent charity. 

Oh! the grievous City of Misery, the bottomless abyss of human sufferingand degradation--how frightful were his journeys through it during thosetwo years which distracted his whole being! In that Ste. Margueritedistrict of Paris, in the very heart of that Faubourg St. Antoine, soactive and so brave for work, however hard, he discovered no end ofsordid dwellings, whole lanes and alleys of hovels without light or air, cellar-like in their dampness, and where a multitude of wretches wallowedand suffered as from poison. All the way up the shaky staircases one'sfeet slipped upon filth. On every story there was the same destitution, dirt, and promiscuity. Many windows were paneless, and in swept the windhowling, and the rain pouring torrentially. Many of the inmates slept onthe bare tiled floors, never unclothing themselves. There was neitherfurniture nor linen, the life led there was essentially an animal life, acommingling of either sex and of every age--humanity lapsing intoanimality through lack of even indispensable things, through indigence ofso complete a character that men, women, and children fought even withtooth and nail for the very crumbs swept from the tables of the rich. Andthe worst of it all was the degradation of the human being; this was nocase of the free naked savage, hunting and devouring his prey in theprimeval forests; here civilised man was found, sunk into brutishness, with all the stigmas of his fall, debased, disfigured, and enfeebled, amidst the luxury and refinement of that city of Paris which is one ofthe queens of the world. 

In every household Pierre heard the same story. There had been youth andgaiety at the outset, brave acceptance of the law that one must work. Then weariness had come; what was the use of always toiling if one werenever to get rich? And so, by way of snatching a share of happiness, thehusband turned to drink; the wife neglected her home, also drinking attimes, and letting the children grow up as they might. Sordidsurroundings, ignorance, and overcrowding did the rest. In the greatmajority of cases, prolonged lack of work was mostly to blame; for thisnot only empties the drawers of the savings hidden away in them, butexhausts human courage, and tends to confirmed habits of idleness. Duringlong weeks the workshops empty, and the arms of the toilers losestrength. In all Paris, so feverishly inclined to action, it isimpossible to find the slightest thing to do. And then the husband comeshome in the evening with tearful eyes, having vainly offered his armseverywhere, having failed even to get a job at street-sweeping, for thatemployment is much sought after, and to secure it one needs influence andprotectors. Is it not monstrous to see a man seeking work that he mayeat, and finding no work and therefore no food in this great cityresplendent and resonant with wealth? The wife does not eat, the childrendo not eat. And then comes black famine, brutishness, and finally revoltand the snapping of all social ties under the frightful injustice metedout to poor beings who by their weakness are condemned to death. And theold workman, he whose limbs have been worn out by half a century of hardtoil, without possibility of saving a copper, on what pallet of agony, inwhat dark hole must he not sink to die? Should he then be finished offwith a mallet, like a crippled beast of burden, on the day when ceasingto work he also ceases to eat? Almost all pass away in the hospitals, others disappear, unknown, swept off by the muddy flow of the streets. One morning, on some rotten straw in a loathsome hovel, Pierre found apoor devil who had died of hunger and had been forgotten there for aweek. The rats had devoured his face. 

But it was particularly on an evening of the last winter that Pierre'sheart had overflowed with pity. Awful in winter time are the sufferingsof the poor in their fireless hovels, where the snow penetrates by everychink. The Seine rolls blocks of ice, the soil is frost-bound, in allsorts of callings there is an enforced cessation of work. Bands ofurchins, barefooted, scarcely clad, hungry and racked by coughing, wanderabout the ragpickers' "rents" and are carried off by sudden hurricanes ofconsumption. Pierre found families, women with five and six children, whohad not eaten for three days, and who huddled together in heaps to try tokeep themselves warm. And on that terrible evening, before anybody else, he went down a dark passage and entered a room of terror, where he foundthat a mother had just committed suicide with her five littleones--driven to it by despair and hunger--a tragedy of misery which for afew hours would make all Paris shudder! There was not an article offurniture or linen left in the place; it had been necessary to selleverything bit by bit to a neighbouring dealer. There was nothing but thestove where the charcoal was still smoking and a half-emptied palliasseon which the mother had fallen, suckling her last-born, a babe but threemonths old. And a drop of blood had trickled from the nipple of herbreast, towards which the dead infant still protruded its eager lips. Twolittle girls, three and five years old, two pretty little blondes, werealso lying there, sleeping the eternal sleep side by side; whilst of thetwo boys, who were older, one had succumbed crouching against the wallwith his head between his hands, and the other had passed through thelast throes on the floor, struggling as though he had sought to crawl onhis knees to the window in order to open it. Some neighbours, hurryingin, told Pierre the fearful commonplace story; slow ruin, the fatherunable to find work, perchance taking to drink, the landlord weary ofwaiting, threatening the family with expulsion, and the mother losing herhead, thirsting for death, and prevailing on her little ones to die withher, while her husband, who had been out since the morning, was vainlyscouring the streets. Just as the Commissary of Police arrived to verifywhat had happened, the poor devil returned, and when he had seen andunderstood things, he fell to the ground like a stunned ox, and raised aprolonged, plaintive howl, such a poignant cry of death that the wholeterrified street wept at it. 

Both in his ears and in his heart Pierre carried away with him thathorrible cry, the plaint of a condemned race expiring amidst abandonmentand hunger; and that night he could neither eat nor sleep. Was itpossible that such abomination, such absolute destitution, such blackmisery leading straight to death should exist in the heart of that greatcity of Paris, brimful of wealth, intoxicated with enjoyment, flingingmillions out of the windows for mere pleasure? What! there should on oneside be such colossal fortunes, so many foolish fancies gratified, withlives endowed with every happiness, whilst on the other was foundinveterate poverty, lack even of bread, absence of every hope, andmothers killing themselves with their babes, to whom they had nought tooffer but the blood of their milkless breast! And a feeling of revoltstirred Pierre; he was for a moment conscious of the derisive futility ofcharity. What indeed was the use of doing that which he did--picking upthe little ones, succouring the parents, prolonging the sufferings of theaged? The very foundations of the social edifice were rotten; all wouldsoon collapse amid mire and blood. A great act of justice alone couldsweep the old world away in order that the new world might be built. Andat that moment he realised so keenly how irreparable was the breach, howirremediable the evil, how deathly the cancer of misery, that heunderstood the actions of the violent, and was himself ready to acceptthe devastating and purifying whirlwind, the regeneration of the world byflame and steel, even as when in the dim ages Jehovah in His wrath sentfire from heaven to cleanse the accursed cities of the plains. 

However, on hearing him sob that evening, Abbe Rose came up toremonstrate in fatherly fashion. The old priest was a saint, endowed withinfinite gentleness and infinite hope. Why despair indeed when one hadthe Gospel? Did not the divine commandment, "Love one another, " sufficefor the salvation of the world? He, Abbe Rose, held violence in horrorand was wont to say that, however great the evil, it would soon beovercome if humanity would but turn backward to the age of humility, simplicity, and purity, when Christians lived together in innocentbrotherhood. What a delightful picture he drew of evangelical society, ofwhose second coming he spoke with quiet gaiety as though it were to takeplace on the very morrow! And Pierre, anxious to escape from hisfrightful recollections, ended by smiling, by taking pleasure in AbbeRose's bright consoling tale. They chatted until a late hour, and on thefollowing days reverted to the same subject of conversation, one whichthe old priest was very fond of, ever supplying new particulars, andspeaking of the approaching reign of love and justice with the touchingconfidence of a good if simple man, who is convinced that he will not dietill he shall have seen the Deity descend upon earth. 

And now a fresh evolution took place in Pierre's mind. The practice ofbenevolence in that poor district had developed infinite compassion inhis breast, his heart failed him, distracted, rent by contemplation ofthe misery which he despaired of healing. And in this awakening of hisfeelings he often thought that his reason was giving way, he seemed to beretracing his steps towards childhood, to that need of universal lovewhich his mother had implanted in him, and dreamt of chimericalsolutions, awaiting help from the unknown powers. Then his fears, hishatred of the brutality of facts at last brought him an increasing desireto work salvation by love. No time should be lost in seeking to avert thefrightful catastrophe which seemed inevitable, the fratricidal war ofclasses which would sweep the old world away beneath the accumulation ofits crimes. Convinced that injustice had attained its apogee, that butlittle time remained before the vengeful hour when the poor would compelthe rich to part with their possessions, he took pleasure in dreaming ofa peaceful solution, a kiss of peace exchanged by all men, a return tothe pure morals of the Gospel as it had been preached by Jesus. 

Doubts tortured him at the outset. Could olden Catholicism berejuvenated, brought back to the youth and candour of primitiveChristianity? He set himself to study things, reading and questioning, and taking a more and more passionate interest in that great problem ofCatholic socialism which had made no little noise for some years past. And quivering with pity for the wretched, ready as he was for the miracleof fraternisation, he gradually lost such scruples as intelligence mighthave prompted, and persuaded himself that once again Christ would workthe redemption of suffering humanity. At last a precise idea tookpossession of him, a conviction that Catholicism purified, brought backto its original state, would prove the one pact, the supreme law thatmight save society by averting the sanguinary crisis which threatened it. 

When he had quitted Lourdes two years previously, revolted by all itsgross idolatry, his faith for ever dead, but his mind worried by theeverlasting need of the divine which tortures human creatures, a cry hadarisen within him from the deepest recesses of his being: "A newreligion! a new religion!" And it was this new religion, or rather thisrevived religion which he now fancied he had discovered in his desire towork social salvation--ensuring human happiness by means of the onlymoral authority that was erect, the distant outcome of the most admirableimplement ever devised for the government of nations. 

During the period of slow development through which Pierre passed, twomen, apart from Abbe Rose, exercised great influence on him. A benevolentaction brought him into intercourse with Monseigneur Bergerot, a bishopwhom the Pope had recently created a cardinal, in reward for a whole lifeof charity, and this in spite of the covert opposition of the papal_curia_ which suspected the French prelate to be a man of open mind, governing his diocese in paternal fashion. Pierre became more impassionedby his intercourse with this apostle, this shepherd of souls, in whom hedetected one of the good simple leaders that he desired for the futurecommunity. However, his apostolate was influenced even more decisively bymeeting Viscount Philibert de la Choue at the gatherings of certainworkingmen's Catholic associations. A handsome man, with militarymanners, and a long noble-looking face, spoilt by a small and broken nosewhich seemed to presage the ultimate defeat of a badly balanced mind, theViscount was one of the most active agitators of Catholic socialism inFrance. He was the possessor of vast estates, a vast fortune, though itwas said that some unsuccessful agricultural enterprises had alreadyreduced his wealth by nearly one-half. In the department where hisproperty was situated he had been at great pains to establish modelfarms, at which he had put his ideas on Christian socialism intopractice, but success did not seem to follow him. However, it had allhelped to secure his election as a deputy, and he spoke in the Chamber, unfolding the programme of his party in long and stirring speeches. 

Unwearying in his ardour, he also led pilgrimages to Rome, presided overmeetings, and delivered lectures, devoting himself particularly to thepeople, the conquest of whom, so he privately remarked, could aloneensure the triumph of the Church. And thus he exercised considerableinfluence over Pierre, who in him admired qualities which himself did notpossess--an organising spirit and a militant if somewhat blundering will, entirely applied to the revival of Christian society in France. However, though the young priest learnt a good deal by associating with him, henevertheless remained a sentimental dreamer, whose imagination, disdainful of political requirements, straightway winged its flight tothe future abode of universal happiness; whereas the Viscount aspired tocomplete the downfall of the liberal ideas of 1789 by utilising thedisillusion and anger of the democracy to work a return towards the past. 

Pierre spent some delightful months. Never before had neophyte lived soentirely for the happiness of others. He was all love, consumed by thepassion of his apostolate. The sight of the poor wretches whom hevisited, the men without work, the women, the children without bread, filled him with a keener and keener conviction that a new religion mustarise to put an end to all the injustice which otherwise would bring therebellious world to a violent death. And he was resolved to employ allhis strength in effecting and hastening the intervention of the divine, the resuscitation of primitive Christianity. His Catholic faith remaineddead; he still had no belief in dogmas, mysteries, and miracles; but ahope sufficed him, the hope that the Church might still work good, byconnecting itself with the irresistible modern democratic movement, so asto save the nations from the social catastrophe which impended. His soulhad grown calm since he had taken on himself the mission of replantingthe Gospel in the hearts of the hungry and growling people of theFaubourgs. He was now leading an active life, and suffered less from thefrightful void which he had brought back from Lourdes; and as he nolonger questioned himself, the anguish of uncertainty no longer torturedhim. It was with the serenity which attends the simple accomplishment ofduty that he continued to say his mass. He even finished by thinking thatthe mystery which he thus celebrated--indeed, that all the mysteries andall the dogmas were but symbols--rites requisite for humanity in itschildhood, which would be got rid of later on, when enlarged, purified, and instructed humanity should be able to support the brightness of nakedtruth. 

And in his zealous desire to be useful, his passion to proclaim hisbelief aloud, Pierre one morning found himself at his table writing abook. This had come about quite naturally; the book proceeded from himlike a heart-cry, without any literary idea having crossed his mind. Onenight, whilst he lay awake, its title suddenly flashed before his eyes inthe darkness: "NEW ROME. " That expressed everything, for must not the newredemption of the nations originate in eternal and holy Rome? The onlyexisting authority was found there; rejuvenescence could only spring fromthe sacred soil where the old Catholic oak had grown. He wrote his bookin a couple of months, having unconsciously prepared himself for the workby his studies in contemporary socialism during a year past. There was abubbling flow in his brain as in a poet's; it seemed to him sometimes asif he dreamt those pages, as if an internal distant voice dictated themto him. 

When he read passages written on the previous day to Viscount Philibertde la Choue, the latter often expressed keen approval of them from apractical point of view, saying that one must touch the people in orderto lead them, and that it would also be a good plan to compose pious andyet amusing songs for singing in the workshops. As for MonseigneurBergerot, without examining the book from the dogmatic standpoint, he wasdeeply touched by the glowing breath of charity which every page exhaled, and was even guilty of the imprudence of writing an approving letter tothe author, which letter he authorised him to insert in his work by wayof preface. And yet now the Congregation of the Index Expurgatorius wasabout to place this book, issued in the previous June, under interdict;and it was to defend it that the young priest had hastened to Rome, inflamed by the desire to make his ideas prevail, and resolved to pleadhis cause in person before the Holy Father, having, he was convinced ofit, simply given expression to the pontiff's views. 

Pierre had not stirred whilst thus living his three last years afresh: hestill stood erect before the parapet, before Rome, which he had so oftendreamt of and had so keenly desired to see. There was a constantsuccession of arriving and departing vehicles behind him; the slimEnglishmen and the heavy Germans passed away after bestowing on theclassic view the five minutes prescribed by their guidebooks; whilst thedriver and the horse of Pierre's cab remained waiting complacently, eachwith his head drooping under the bright sun, which was heating the valiseon the seat of the vehicle. And Pierre, in his black cassock, seemed tohave grown slimmer and elongated, very slight of build, as he stood theremotionless, absorbed in the sublime spectacle. He had lost flesh afterhis journey to Lourdes, his features too had become less pronounced. Since his mother's part in his nature had regained ascendency, the broad, straight forehead, the intellectual air which he owed to his fatherseemed to have grown less conspicuous, while his kind and somewhat largemouth, and his delicate chin, bespeaking infinite affection, dominated, revealing his soul, which also glowed in the kindly sparkle of his eyes. 

Ah! how tender and glowing were the eyes with which he gazed upon theRome of his book, the new Rome that he had dreamt of! If, first of all, the _ensemble_ had claimed his attention in the soft and somewhat veiledlight of that lovely morning, at present he could distinguish details, and let his glance rest upon particular edifices. And it was withchildish delight that he identified them, having long studied them inmaps and collections of photographs. Beneath his feet, at the bottom ofthe Janiculum, stretched the Trastevere district with its chaos of oldruddy houses, whose sunburnt tiles hid the course of the Tiber. He wassomewhat surprised by the flattish aspect of everything as seen from theterraced summit. It was as though a bird's-eye view levelled the city, the famous hills merely showing like bosses, swellings scarcelyperceptible amidst the spreading sea of house-fronts. Yonder, on theright, distinct against the distant blue of the Alban mountains, wascertainly the Aventine with its three churches half-hidden by foliage;there, too, was the discrowned Palatine, edged as with black fringe by aline of cypresses. In the rear, the Coelian hill faded away, showing onlythe trees of the Villa Mattei paling in the golden sunshine. The slenderspire and two little domes of Sta. Maria Maggiore alone indicated thesummit of the Esquiline, right in front and far away at the other end ofthe city; whilst on the heights of the neighbouring Viminal, Pierre onlyperceived a confused mass of whitish blocks, steeped in light andstreaked with fine brown lines--recent erections, no doubt, which at thatdistance suggested an abandoned stone quarry. He long sought the Capitolwithout being able to discover it; he had to take his bearings, and endedby convincing himself that the square tower, modestly lost amongsurrounding house-roofs, which he saw in front of Sta. Maria Maggiore wasits campanile. Next, on the left, came the Quirinal, recognisable by thelong facade of the royal palace, a barrack or hospital-like facade, flat, crudely yellow in hue, and pierced by an infinite number of regularlydisposed windows. However, as Pierre was completing the circuit, a suddenvision made him stop short. Without the city, above the trees of theBotanical Garden, the dome of St. Peter's appeared to him. It seemed tobe poised upon the greenery, and rose up into the pure blue sky, sky-blueitself and so ethereal that it mingled with the azure of the infinite. The stone lantern which surmounts it, white and dazzling, looked asthough it were suspended on high. 

Pierre did not weary, and his glances incessantly travelled from one endof the horizon to the other. They lingered on the noble outlines, theproud gracefulness of the town-sprinkled Sabine and Alban mountains, whose girdle limited the expanse. The Roman Campagna spread out in farstretches, bare and majestic, like a desert of death, with the glaucousgreen of a stagnant sea; and he ended by distinguishing "the stern roundtower" of the tomb of Cecilia Metella, behind which a thin pale lineindicated the ancient Appian Way. Remnants of aqueducts strewed the shortherbage amidst the dust of the fallen worlds. And, bringing his glancenearer in, the city again appeared with its jumble of edifices, on whichhis eyes lighted at random. Close at hand, by its loggia turned towardsthe river, he recognised the huge tawny cube of the Palazzo Farnese. Thelow cupola, farther away and scarcely visible, was probably that of thePantheon. Then by sudden leaps came the freshly whitened walls of SanPaolo-fuori-le-Mura, * similar to those of some huge barn, and the statuescrowning San Giovanni in Laterano, delicate, scarcely as big as insects. Next the swarming of domes, that of the Gesu, that of San Carlo, that ofSt'. Andrea della Valle, that of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini; then anumber of other sites and edifices, all quivering with memories, thecastle of St'. Angelo with its glittering statue of the Destroying Angel, the Villa Medici dominating the entire city, the terrace of the Pinciowith its marbles showing whitely among its scanty verdure; and thethick-foliaged trees of the Villa Borghese, whose green crests boundedthe horizon. Vainly however did Pierre seek the Colosseum. 

 * St. Paul-beyond-the-walls. 

The north wind, which was blowing very mildly, had now begun to dissipatethe morning haze. Whole districts vigorously disentangled themselves, andshowed against the vaporous distance like promontories in a sunlit sea. Here and there, in the indistinct swarming of houses, a strip of whitewall glittered, a row of window panes flared, or a garden supplied ablack splotch, of wondrous intensity of hue. And all the rest, the medleyof streets and squares, the endless blocks of buildings, scattered abouton either hand, mingled and grew indistinct in the living glory of thesun, whilst long coils of white smoke, which had ascended from the roofs, slowly traversed the pure sky. 

Guided by a secret influence, however, Pierre soon ceased to takeinterest in all but three points of the mighty panorama. That line ofslender cypresses which set a black fringe on the height of the Palatineyonder filled him with emotion: beyond it he saw only a void: the palacesof the Caesars had disappeared, had fallen, had been razed by time; andhe evoked their memory, he fancied he could see them rise like vague, trembling phantoms of gold amidst the purple of that splendid morning. Then his glances reverted to St. Peter's, and there the dome yet soaredaloft, screening the Vatican which he knew was beside the colossus, clinging to its flanks. And that dome, of the same colour as the heavens, appeared so triumphant, so full of strength, so vast, that it seemed tohim like a giant king, dominating the whole city and seen from every spotthroughout eternity. Then he fixed his eyes on the height in front ofhim, on the Quirinal, and there the King's palace no longer appearedaught but a flat low barracks bedaubed with yellow paint. 

And for him all the secular history of Rome, with its constantconvulsions and successive resurrections, found embodiment in thatsymbolical triangle, in those three summits gazing at one another acrossthe Tiber. Ancient Rome blossoming forth in a piling up of palaces andtemples, the monstrous florescence of imperial power and splendour; PapalRome, victorious in the middle ages, mistress of the world, bringing thatcolossal church, symbolical of beauty regained, to weigh upon allChristendom; and the Rome of to-day, which he knew nothing of, which hehad neglected, and whose royal palace, so bare and so cold, brought himdisparaging ideas--the idea of some out-of-place, bureaucratic effort, some sacrilegious attempt at modernity in an exceptional city whichshould have been left entirely to the dreams of the future. However, heshook off the almost painful feelings which the importunate presentbrought to him, and would not let his eyes rest on a pale new district, quite a little town, in course of erection, no doubt, which he coulddistinctly see near St. Peter's on the margin of the river. He had dreamtof his own new Rome, and still dreamt of it, even in front of thePalatine whose edifices had crumbled in the dust of centuries, of thedome of St. Peter's whose huge shadow lulled the Vatican to sleep, of thePalace of the Quirinal repaired and repainted, reigning in homely fashionover the new districts which swarmed on every side, while with its ruddyroofs the olden city, ripped up by improvements, coruscated beneath thebright morning sun. 

Again did the title of his book, "NEW ROME, " flare before Pierre's eyes, and another reverie carried him off; he lived his book afresh even as hehad just lived his life. He had written it amid a flow of enthusiasm, utilising the _data_ which he had accumulated at random; and its divisioninto three parts, past, present, and future, had at once forced itselfupon him. 

The PAST was the extraordinary story of primitive Christianity, of theslow evolution which had turned this Christianity into present-dayCatholicism. He showed that an economical question is invariably hiddenbeneath each religious evolution, and that, upon the whole, theeverlasting evil, the everlasting struggle, has never been aught but onebetween the rich and the poor. Among the Jews, when their nomadic lifewas over, and they had conquered the land of Canaan, and ownership andproperty came into being, a class warfare at once broke out. There wererich, and there were poor; thence arose the social question. Thetransition had been sudden, and the new state of things so rapidly wentfrom bad to worse that the poor suffered keenly, and protested with thegreater violence as they still remembered the golden age of the nomadiclife. Until the time of Jesus the prophets are but rebels who surge fromout the misery of the people, proclaim its sufferings, and vent theirwrath upon the rich, to whom they prophesy every evil in punishment fortheir injustice and their harshness. Jesus Himself appears as theclaimant of the rights of the poor. The prophets, whether socialists oranarchists, had preached social equality, and called for the destructionof the world if it were unjust. Jesus likewise brings to the wretchedhatred of the rich. All His teaching threatens wealth and property; andif by the Kingdom of Heaven which He promised one were to understandpeace and fraternity upon this earth, there would only be a question ofreturning to a life of pastoral simplicity, to the dream of the Christiancommunity, such as after Him it would seem to have been realised by Hisdisciples. During the first three centuries each Church was an experimentin communism, a real association whose members possessed all incommon--wives excepted. This is shown to us by the apologists and earlyfathers of the Church. Christianity was then but the religion of thehumble and the poor, a form of democracy, of socialism struggling againstRoman society. And when the latter toppled over, rotted by money, itsuccumbed far more beneath the results of frantic speculation, swindlingbanks, and financial disasters, than beneath the onslaught of barbarianhordes and the stealthy, termite-like working of the Christians. 

The money question will always be found at the bottom of everything. Anda new proof of this was supplied when Christianity, at last triumphing byvirtue of historical, social, and human causes, was proclaimed a Statereligion. To ensure itself complete victory it was forced to range itselfon the side of the rich and the powerful; and one should see by means ofwhat artfulness and sophistry the fathers of the Church succeeded indiscovering a defence of property and wealth in the Gospel of Jesus. Allthis, however, was a vital political necessity for Christianity; it wasonly at this price that it became Catholicism, the universal religion. From that time forth the powerful machine, the weapon of conquest andrule, was reared aloft: up above were the powerful and the wealthy, thosewhose duty it was to share with the poor, but who did not do so; whiledown below were the poor, the toilers, who were taught resignation andobedience, and promised the kingdom of futurity, the divine and eternalreward--an admirable monument which has lasted for ages, and which isentirely based on the promise of life beyond life, on theinextinguishable thirst for immortality and justice that consumesmankind. 

Pierre had completed this first part of his book, this history of thepast, by a broad sketch of Catholicism until the present time. Firstappeared St. Peter, ignorant and anxious, coming to Rome by aninspiration of genius, there to fulfil the ancient oracles which hadpredicted the eternity of the Capitol. Then came the first popes, mereheads of burial associations, the slow rise of the all-powerful papacyever struggling to conquer the world, unremittingly seeking to realiseits dream of universal domination. At the time of the great popes of themiddle ages it thought for a moment that it had attained its goal, thatit was the sovereign master of the nations. Would not absolute truth andright consist in the pope being both pontiff and ruler of the world, reigning over both the souls and the bodies of all men, even like theDeity whose vicar he is? This, the highest and mightiest of allambitions, one, too, that is perfectly logical, was attained by Augustus, emperor and pontiff, master of all the known world; and it is theglorious figure of Augustus, ever rising anew from among the ruins ofancient Rome, which has always haunted the popes; it is his blood whichhas pulsated in their veins. 

But power had become divided into two parts amidst the crumbling of theRoman empire; it was necessary to content oneself with a share, and leavetemporal government to the emperor, retaining over him, however, theright of coronation by divine grant. The people belonged to God, and inGod's name the pope gave the people to the emperor, and could take itfrom him; an unlimited power whose most terrible weapon wasexcommunication, a superior sovereignty, which carried the papacy towardsreal and final possession of the empire. Looking at things broadly, theeverlasting quarrel between the pope and the emperor was a quarrel forthe people, the inert mass of humble and suffering ones, the great silentmultitude whose irremediable wretchedness was only revealed by occasionalcovert growls. It was disposed of, for its good, as one might dispose ofa child. Yet the Church really contributed to civilisation, renderedconstant services to humanity, diffused abundant alms. In the convents, at any rate, the old dream of the Christian community was ever comingback: one-third of the wealth accumulated for the purposes of worship, the adornment and glorification of the shrine, one-third for the priests, and one-third for the poor. Was not this a simplification of life, ameans of rendering existence possible to the faithful who had no earthlydesires, pending the marvellous contentment of heavenly life? Give us, then, the whole earth, and we will divide terrestrial wealth into threesuch parts, and you shall see what a golden age will reign amidst theresignation and the obedience of all!

However, Pierre went on to show how the papacy was assailed by thegreatest dangers on emerging from its all-powerfulness of the middleages. It was almost swept away amidst the luxury and excesses of theRenascence, the bubbling of living sap which then gushed from eternalnature, downtrodden and regarded as dead for ages past. More threateningstill were the stealthy awakenings of the people, of the great silentmultitude whose tongue seemed to be loosening. The Reformation burstforth like the protest of reason and justice, like a recall to thedisregarded truths of the Gospel; and to escape total annihilation Romeneeded the stern defence of the Inquisition, the slow stubborn labour ofthe Council of Trent, which strengthened the dogmas and ensured thetemporal power. And then the papacy entered into two centuries of peaceand effacement, for the strong absolute monarchies which had dividedEurope among themselves could do without it, and had ceased to tremble atthe harmless thunderbolts of excommunication or to look on the pope asaught but a master of ceremonies, controlling certain rites. Thepossession of the people was no longer subject to the same rules. Allowing that the kings still held the people from God, it was the pope'sduty to register the donation once for all, without ever intervening, whatever the circumstances, in the government of states. Never was Romefarther away from the realisation of its ancient dream of universaldominion. And when the French Revolution burst forth, it may well havebeen imagined that the proclamation of the rights of man would kill thatpapacy to which the exercise of divine right over the nations had beencommitted. And so how great at first was the anxiety, the anger, thedesperate resistance with which the Vatican opposed the idea of freedom, the new _credo_ of liberated reason, of humanity regainingself-possession and control. It was the apparent _denouement_ of the longstruggle between the pope and the emperor for possession of the people:the emperor vanished, and the people, henceforward free to dispose ofitself, claimed to escape from the pope--an unforeseen solution, in whichit seemed as though all the ancient scaffolding of the Catholic worldmust fall to the very ground. 

At this point Pierre concluded the first part of his book by contrastingprimitive Christianity with present-day Catholicism, which is the triumphof the rich and the powerful. That Roman society which Jesus had come todestroy in the name of the poor and humble, had not Catholic Romesteadily continued rebuilding it through all the centuries, by its policyof cupidity and pride? And what bitter irony it was to find, aftereighteen hundred years of the Gospel, that the world was again collapsingthrough frantic speculation, rotten banks, financial disasters, and thefrightful injustice of a few men gorged with wealth whilst thousands oftheir brothers were dying of hunger! The whole redemption of the wretchedhad to be worked afresh. However, Pierre gave expression to all theseterrible things in words so softened by charity, so steeped in hope, thatthey lost their revolutionary danger. Moreover, he nowhere attacked thedogmas. His book, in its sentimental, somewhat poetic form, was but thecry of an apostle glowing with love for his fellow-men. 

Then came the second part of the work, the PRESENT, a study of Catholicsociety as it now exists. Here Pierre had painted a frightful picture ofthe misery of the poor, the misery of a great city, which he knew so welland bled for, through having laid his hands upon its poisonous wounds. The present-day injustice could no longer be tolerated, charity wasbecoming powerless, and so frightful was the suffering that all hope wasdying away from the hearts of the people. And was it not the monstrousspectacle presented by Christendom, whose abominations corrupted thepeople, and maddened it with hatred and vengeance, that had largelydestroyed its faith? However, after this picture of rotting and crumblingsociety, Pierre returned to history, to the period of the FrenchRevolution, to the mighty hope with which the idea of freedom had filledthe world. The middle classes, the great Liberal party, on attainingpower had undertaken to bring happiness to one and all. But after acentury's experience it really seemed that liberty had failed to bringany happiness whatever to the outcasts. In the political sphere illusionswere departing. At all events, if the reigning third estate declaresitself satisfied, the fourth estate, that of the toilers, * still suffersand continues to demand its share of fortune. The working classes havebeen proclaimed free; political equality has been granted them, but thegift has been valueless, for economically they are still bound toservitude, and only enjoy, as they did formerly, the liberty of dying ofhunger. All the socialist revendications have come from that; betweenlabour and capital rests the terrifying problem, the solution of whichthreatens to sweep away society. When slavery disappeared from the oldenworld to be succeeded by salaried employment the revolution was immense, and certainly the Christian principle was one of the great factors in thedestruction of slavery. Nowadays, therefore, when the question is toreplace salaried employment by something else, possibly by theparticipation of the workman in the profits of his work, why should notChristianity again seek a new principle of action? The fatal andproximate accession of the democracy means the beginning of another phasein human history, the creation of the society of to-morrow. And Romecannot keep away from the arena; the papacy must take part in the quarrelif it does not desire to disappear from the world like a piece ofmechanism that has become altogether useless. 

 * In England we call the press the fourth estate, but in France and elsewhere the term is applied to the working classes, and in that sense must be taken here. --Trans. 

Hence it followed that Catholic socialism was legitimate. On every sidethe socialist sects were battling with their various solutions for theprivilege of ensuring the happiness of the people, and the Church alsomust offer her solution of the problem. Here it was that New Romeappeared, that the evolution spread into a renewal of boundless hope. Most certainly there was nothing contrary to democracy in the principlesof the Roman Catholic Church. Indeed she had only to return to theevangelical traditions, to become once more the Church of the humble andthe poor, to re-establish the universal Christian community. She isundoubtedly of democratic essence, and if she sided with the rich andthe powerful when Christianity became Catholicism, she only did soperforce, that she might live by sacrificing some portion of heroriginal purity; so that if to-day she should abandon the condemnedgoverning classes in order to make common cause with the multitude ofthe wretched, she would simply be drawing nearer to Christ, therebysecuring a new lease of youth and purifying herself of all the politicalcompromises which she formerly was compelled to accept. Withoutrenouncing aught of her absolutism the Church has at all times known howto bow to circumstances; but she reserves her perfect sovereignty, simply tolerating that which she cannot prevent, and patiently waiting, even through long centuries, for the time when she shall again becomethe mistress of the world. 

Might not that time come in the crisis which was now at hand? Once more, all the powers are battling for possession of the people. Since thepeople, thanks to liberty and education, has become strong, since it hasdeveloped consciousness and will, and claimed its share of fortune, allrulers have been seeking to attach it to themselves, to reign by it, andeven with it, should that be necessary. Socialism, therein lies thefuture, the new instrument of government; and the kings tottering ontheir thrones, the middle-class presidents of anxious republics, theambitious plotters who dream of power, all dabble in socialism! They allagree that the capitalist organisation of the State is a return to pagantimes, to the olden slave-market; and they all talk of breaking for everthe iron law by which the labour of human beings has become so muchmerchandise, subject to supply and demand, with wages calculated on anestimate of what is strictly necessary to keep a workman from dying ofhunger. And, down in the sphere below, the evil increases, the workmenagonise with hunger and exasperation, while above them discussion stillgoes on, systems are bandied about, and well-meaning persons exhaustthemselves in attempting to apply ridiculously inadequate remedies. There is much stir without any progress, all the wild bewilderment whichprecedes great catastrophes. And among the many, Catholic socialism, quite as ardent as Revolutionary socialism, enters the lists and strivesto conquer. 

After these explanations Pierre gave an account of the long efforts madeby Catholic socialism throughout the Christian world. That whichparticularly struck one in this connection was that the warfare becamekeener and more victorious whenever it was waged in some land ofpropaganda, as yet not completely conquered by Roman Catholicism. Forinstance, in the countries where Protestantism confronted the latter, thepriests fought with wondrous passion, as for dear life itself, contendingwith the schismatical clergy for possession of the people by dint ofdaring, by unfolding the most audacious democratic theories. In Germany, the classic land of socialism, Mgr. Ketteler was one of the first tospeak of adequately taxing the rich; and later he fomented a wide-spreadagitation which the clergy now directs by means of numerous associationsand newspapers. In Switzerland Mgr. Mermillod pleaded the cause of thepoor so loudly that the bishops there now almost make common cause withthe democratic socialists, whom they doubtless hope to convert when theday for sharing arrives. In England, where socialism penetrates so veryslowly, Cardinal Manning achieved considerable success, stood by theworking classes on the occasion of a famous strike, and helped on apopular movement, which was signalised by numerous conversions. But itwas particularly in the United States of America that Catholic socialismproved triumphant, in a sphere of democracy where the bishops, like Mgr. Ireland, were forced to set themselves at the head of the working-classagitation. And there across the Atlantic a new Church seems to begerminating, still in confusion but overflowing with sap, and upheld byintense hope, as at the aurora of the rejuvenated Christianity ofto-morrow. 

Passing thence to Austria and Belgium, both Catholic countries, one foundCatholic socialism mingling in the first instance with anti-semitism, while in the second it had no precise sense. And all movement ceased anddisappeared when one came to Spain and Italy, those old lands of faith. The former with its intractable bishops who contented themselves withhurling excommunication at unbelievers as in the days of the Inquisition, seemed to be abandoned to the violent theories of revolutionaries, whilstItaly, immobilised in the traditional courses, remained withoutpossibility of initiative, reduced to silence and respect by the presenceof the Holy See. In France, however, the struggle remained keen, but itwas more particularly a struggle of ideas. On the whole, the war wasthere being waged against the revolution, and to some it seemed as thoughit would suffice to re-establish the old organisation of monarchicaltimes in order to revert to the golden age. It was thus that the questionof working-class corporations had become the one problem, the panacea forall the ills of the toilers. But people were far from agreeing; some, those Catholics who rejected State interference and favoured purely moralaction, desired that the corporations should be free; whilst others, theyoung and impatient ones, bent on action, demanded that they should beobligatory, each with capital of its own, and recognised and protected bythe State. 

Viscount Philibert de la Choue had by pen and speech carried on avigorous campaign in favour of the obligatory corporations; and his greatgrief was that he had so far failed to prevail on the Pope to say whetherin his opinion these corporations should be closed or open. According tothe Viscount, herein lay the fate of society, a peaceful solution of thesocial question or the frightful catastrophe which must sweep everythingaway. In reality, though he refused to own it, the Viscount had ended byadopting State socialism. And, despite the lack of agreement, theagitation remained very great; attempts, scarcely happy in their results, were made; co-operative associations, companies for erecting workmen'sdwellings, popular savings' banks were started; many more or lessdisguised efforts to revert to the old Christian community organisationwere tried; while day by day, amidst the prevailing confusion, in themental perturbation and political difficulties through which the countrypassed, the militant Catholic party felt its hopes increasing, even tothe blind conviction of soon resuming sway over the whole world. 

The second part of Pierre's book concluded by a picture of the moral andintellectual uneasiness amidst which the end of the century isstruggling. While the toiling multitude suffers from its hard lot anddemands that in any fresh division of wealth it shall be ensured at leastits daily bread, the _elite_ is no better satisfied, but complains of thevoid induced by the freeing of its reason and the enlargement of itsintelligence. It is the famous bankruptcy of rationalism, of positivism, of science itself which is in question. Minds consumed by need of theabsolute grow weary of groping, weary of the delays of science whichrecognises only proven truths; doubt tortures them, they need a completeand immediate synthesis in order to sleep in peace; and they fall ontheir knees, overcome by the roadside, distracted by the thought thatscience will never tell them all, and preferring the Deity, the mysteryrevealed and affirmed by faith. Even to-day, it must be admitted, sciencecalms neither our thirst for justice, our desire for safety, nor oureverlasting idea of happiness after life in an eternity of enjoyment. Toone and all it only brings the austere duty to live, to be a merecontributor in the universal toil; and how well one can understand thathearts should revolt and sigh for the Christian heaven, peopled withlovely angels, full of light and music and perfumes! Ah! to embrace one'sdead, to tell oneself that one will meet them again, that one will livewith them once more in glorious immortality! And to possess the certaintyof sovereign equity to enable one to support the abominations ofterrestrial life! And in this wise to trample on the frightful thought ofannihilation, to escape the horror of the disappearance of the _ego_, andto tranquillise oneself with that unshakable faith which postpones untilthe portal of death be crossed the solution of all the problems ofdestiny! This dream will be dreamt by the nations for ages yet. And thisit is which explains why, in these last days of the century, excessivemental labour and the deep unrest of humanity, pregnant with a new world, have awakened religious feeling, anxious, tormented by thoughts of theideal and the infinite, demanding a moral law and an assurance ofsuperior justice. Religions may disappear, but religious feelings willalways create new ones, even with the help of science. A new religion! anew religion! Was it not the ancient Catholicism, which in the soil ofthe present day, where all seemed conducive to a miracle, was about tospring up afresh, throw out green branches and blossom in a young yetmighty florescence?

At last, in the third part of his book and in the glowing language of anapostle, Pierre depicted the FUTURE: Catholicism rejuvenated, andbringing health and peace, the forgotten golden age of primitiveChristianity, back to expiring society. He began with an emotional andsparkling portrait of Leo XIII, the ideal Pope, the Man of Destinyentrusted with the salvation of the nations. He had conjured up apresentment of him and beheld him thus in his feverish longing for theadvent of a pastor who should put an end to human misery. It was perhapsnot a close likeness, but it was a portrait of the needed saviour, withopen heart and mind, and inexhaustible benevolence, such as he haddreamed. At the same time he had certainly searched documents, studiedencyclical letters, based his sketch upon facts: first Leo's religiouseducation at Rome, then his brief nunciature at Brussels, and afterwardshis long episcopate at Perugia. And as soon as Leo became pope in thedifficult situation bequeathed by Pius IX, the duality of his natureappeared: on one hand was the firm guardian of dogmas, on the other thesupple politician resolved to carry conciliation to its utmost limits. Wesee him flatly severing all connection with modern philosophy, steppingbackward beyond the Renascence to the middle ages and reviving Christianphilosophy, as expounded by "the angelic doctor, " St. Thomas Aquinas, inCatholic schools. Then the dogmas being in this wise sheltered, headroitly maintains himself in equilibrium by giving securities to everypower, striving to utilise every opportunity. He displays extraordinaryactivity, reconciles the Holy See with Germany, draws nearer to Russia, contents Switzerland, asks the friendship of Great Britain, and writes tothe Emperor of China begging him to protect the missionaries andChristians in his dominions. Later on, too, he intervenes in France andacknowledges the legitimacy of the Republic. 

From the very outset an idea becomes apparent in all his actions, an ideawhich will place him among the great papal politicians. It is moreoverthe ancient idea of the papacy--the conquest of every soul, Rome capitaland mistress of the world. Thus Leo XIII has but one desire, one object, that of unifying the Church, of drawing all the dissident communities toit in order that it may be invincible in the coming social struggle. Heseeks to obtain recognition of the moral authority of the Vatican inRussia; he dreams of disarming the Anglican Church and of drawing it intoa sort of fraternal truce; and he particularly seeks to come to anunderstanding with the Schismatical Churches of the East, which heregards as sisters, simply living apart, whose return his paternal heartentreats. Would not Rome indeed dispose of victorious strength if sheexercised uncontested sway over all the Christians of the earth?

And here the social ideas of Leo XIII come in. Whilst yet Bishop ofPerugia he wrote a pastoral letter in which a vague humanitariansocialism appeared. As soon, however, as he had assumed the triple crownhis opinions changed and he anathematised the revolutionaries whoseaudacity was terrifying Italy. But almost at once he corrected himself, warned by events and realising the great danger of leaving socialism inthe hands of the enemies of the Church. Then he listened to the bishopsof the lands of propaganda, ceased to intervene in the Irish quarrel, withdrew the excommunications which he had launched against the American"knights of labour, " and would not allow the bold works of Catholicsocialist writers to be placed in the Index. This evolution towardsdemocracy may be traced through his most famous encyclical letters:_Immortale Dei_, on the constitution of States; _Libertas_, on humanliberty; _Sapientoe_, on the duties of Christian citizens; _Rerumnovarum_, on the condition of the working classes; and it is particularlythis last which would seem to have rejuvenated the Church. The Popeherein chronicles the undeserved misery of the toilers, the undue lengthof the hours of labour, the insufficiency of salaries. All men have theright to live, and all contracts extorted by threats of starvation areunjust. Elsewhere he declares that the workman must not be leftdefenceless in presence of a system which converts the misery of themajority into the wealth of a few. Compelled to deal vaguely withquestions of organisation, he contents himself with encouraging thecorporative movement, placing it under State patronage; and after thuscontributing to restore the secular power, he reinstates the Deity on thethrone of sovereignty, and discerns the path to salvation moreparticularly in moral measures, in the ancient respect due to family tiesand ownership. Nevertheless, was not the helpful hand which the augustVicar of Christ thus publicly tendered to the poor and the humble, thecertain token of a new alliance, the announcement of a new reign of Jesusupon earth? Thenceforward the people knew that it was not abandoned. Andfrom that moment too how glorious became Leo XIII, whose sacerdotaljubilee and episcopal jubilee were celebrated by all Christendom amidstthe coming of a vast multitude, of endless offerings, and of flatteringletters from every sovereign!

Pierre next dealt with the question of the temporal power, and this hethought he might treat freely. Naturally, he was not ignorant of the factthat the Pope in his quarrel with Italy upheld the rights of the Churchover Rome as stubbornly as his predecessor; but he imagined that this wasmerely a necessary conventional attitude, imposed by politicalconsiderations, and destined to be abandoned when the times were ripe. For his own part he was convinced that if the Pope had never appearedgreater than he did now, it was to the loss of the temporal power that heowed it; for thence had come the great increase of his authority, thepure splendour of moral omnipotence which he diffused. 

What a long history of blunders and conflicts had been that of thepossession of the little kingdom of Rome during fifteen centuries!Constantine quits Rome in the fourth century, only a few forgottenfunctionaries remaining on the deserted Palatine, and the Pope naturallyrises to power, and the life of the city passes to the Lateran. However, it is only four centuries later that Charlemagne recognises accomplishedfacts and formally bestows the States of the Church upon the papacy. Fromthat time warfare between the spiritual power and the temporal powers hasnever ceased; though often latent it has at times become acute, breakingforth with blood and fire. And to-day, in the midst of Europe in arms, isit not unreasonable to dream of the papacy ruling a strip of territorywhere it would be exposed to every vexation, and where it could onlymaintain itself by the help of a foreign army? What would become of it inthe general massacre which is apprehended? Is it not far more sheltered, far more dignified, far more lofty when disentangled from all terrestrialcares, reigning over the world of souls?

In the early times of the Church the papacy from being merely local, merely Roman, gradually became catholicised, universalised, slowlyacquiring dominion over all Christendom. In the same way the SacredCollege, at first a continuation of the Roman Senate, acquired aninternational character, and in our time has ended by becoming the mostcosmopolitan of assemblies, in which representatives of all the nationshave seats. And is it not evident that the Pope, thus leaning on thecardinals, has become the one great international power which exercisesthe greater authority since it is free from all monarchical interests, and can speak not merely in the name of country but in that of humanityitself? The solution so often sought amidst such long wars surely lies inthis: Either give the Pope the temporal sovereignty of the world, orleave him only the spiritual sovereignty. Vicar of the Deity, absoluteand infallible sovereign by divine delegation, he can but remain in thesanctuary if, ruler already of the human soul, he is not recognised byevery nation as the one master of the body also--the king of kings. 

But what a strange affair was this new incursion of the papacy into thefield sown by the French Revolution, an incursion conducting it perhapstowards the domination, which it has striven for with a will that hasupheld it for centuries! For now it stands alone before the people. Thekings are down. And as the people is henceforth free to give itself towhomsoever it pleases, why should it not give itself to the Church? Thedepreciation which the idea of liberty has certainly undergone rendersevery hope permissible. The liberal party appears to be vanquished in thesphere of economics. The toilers, dissatisfied with 1789 complain of theaggravation of their misery, bestir themselves, seek happinessdespairingly. On the other hand the new _regimes_ have increased theinternational power of the Church; Catholic members are numerous in theparliaments of the republics and the constitutional monarchies. Allcircumstances seem therefore to favour this extraordinary return offortune, Catholicism reverting to the vigour of youth in its old age. Even science, remember, is accused of bankruptcy, a charge which savesthe _Syllabus_ from ridicule, troubles the minds of men, and throws thelimitless sphere of mystery and impossibility open once more. And then aprophecy is recalled, a prediction that the papacy shall be mistress ofthe world on the day when she marches at the head of the democracy afterreuniting the Schismatical Churches of the East to the Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman Church. And, in Pierre's opinion, assuredly thetimes had come since Pope Leo XIII, dismissing the great and the wealthyof the world, left the kings driven from their thrones in exile to placehimself like Jesus on the side of the foodless toilers and the beggars ofthe high roads. Yet a few more years, perhaps, of frightful misery, alarming confusion, fearful social danger, and the people, the greatsilent multitude which others have so far disposed of, will return to thecradle, to the unified Church of Rome, in order to escape the destructionwhich threatens human society. 

Pierre concluded his book with a passionate evocation of New Rome, thespiritual Rome which would soon reign over the nations, reconciled andfraternising as in another golden age. Herein he even saw the end ofsuperstitions. Without making a direct attack on dogma, he allowedhimself to dream of an enlargement of religious feeling, freed fromrites, and absorbed in the one satisfaction of human charity. And stillsmarting from his journey to Lourdes, he felt the need of contenting hisheart. Was not that gross superstition of Lourdes the hateful symptom ofthe excessive suffering of the times? On the day when the Gospel shouldbe universally diffused and practised, suffering ones would cease seekingan illusory relief so far away, assured as they would be of findingassistance, consolation, and cure in their homes amidst their brothers. At Lourdes there was an iniquitous displacement of wealth, a spectacle sofrightful as to make one doubt of God, a perpetual conflict which woulddisappear in the truly Christian society of to-morrow. Ah! that society, that Christian community, all Pierre's work ended in an ardent longingfor its speedy advent: Christianity becoming once more the religion oftruth and justice which it had been before it allowed itself to beconquered by the rich and the powerful! The little ones and the poor onesreigning, sharing the wealth of earth, and owing obedience to nought butthe levelling law of work! The Pope alone erect at the head of thefederation of nations, prince of peace, with the simple mission ofsupplying the moral rule, the link of charity and love which was to uniteall men! And would not this be the speedy realisation of the promises ofChrist? The times were near accomplishment, secular and religious societywould mingle so closely that they would form but one; and it would be theage of triumph and happiness predicted by all the prophets, no morestruggles possible, no more antagonism between the mind and the body, buta marvellous equilibrium which would kill evil and set the kingdom ofheaven upon earth. New Rome, the centre of the world, bestowing on theworld the new religion!

Pierre felt that tears were coming to his eyes, and with an unconsciousmovement, never noticing how much he astonished the slim Englishmen andthick-set Germans passing along the terrace, he opened his arms andextended them towards the _real_ Rome, steeped in such lovely sunshineand stretched out at his feet. Would she prove responsive to his dream?Would he, as he had written, find within her the remedy for ourimpatience and our alarms? Could Catholicism be renewed, could it returnto the spirit of primitive Christianity, become the religion of thedemocracy, the faith which the modern world, overturned and in danger ofperishing, awaits in order to be pacified and to live?

Pierre was full of generous passion, full of faith. He again beheld goodAbbe Rose weeping with emotion as he read his book. He heard ViscountPhilibert de la Choue telling him that such a book was worth an army. Andhe particularly felt strong in the approval of Cardinal Bergerot, thatapostle of inexhaustible charity. Why should the Congregation of theIndex threaten his work with interdiction? Since he had been officiouslyadvised to go to Rome if he desired to defend himself, he had beenturning this question over in his mind without being able to discoverwhich of his pages were attacked. To him indeed they all seemed to glowwith the purest Christianity. However, he had arrived quivering withenthusiasm and courage: he was all eagerness to kneel before the Pope, and place himself under his august protection, assuring him that he hadnot written a line without taking inspiration from his ideas, withoutdesiring the triumph of his policy. Was it possible that condemnationshould be passed on a book in which he imagined in all sincerity that hehad exalted Leo XIII by striving to help him in his work of Christianreunion and universal peace?

For a moment longer Pierre remained standing before the parapet. He hadbeen there for nearly an hour, unable to drink in enough of the grandeurof Rome, which, given all the unknown things she hid from him, he wouldhave liked to possess at once. Oh! to seize hold of her, know her, ascertain at once the true word which he had come to seek from her! Thisagain, like Lourdes, was an experiment, but a graver one, a decisive one, whence he would emerge either strengthened or overcome for evermore. Heno longer sought the simple, perfect faith of the little child, but thesuperior faith of the intellectual man, raising himself above rites andsymbols, working for the greatest happiness of humanity as based on itsneed of certainty. His temples throbbed responsive to his heart. Whatwould be the answer of Rome?

The sunlight had increased and the higher districts now stood out morevigorously against the fiery background. Far away the hills became gildedand empurpled, whilst the nearer house-fronts grew very distinct andbright with their thousands of windows sharply outlined. However, somemorning haze still hovered around; light veils seemed to rise from thelower streets, blurring the summits for a moment, and then evaporating inthe ardent heavens where all was blue. For a moment Pierre fancied thatthe Palatine had vanished, for he could scarcely see the dark fringe ofcypresses; it was as though the dust of its ruins concealed the hill. Butthe Quirinal was even more obscured; the royal palace seemed to havefaded away in a fog, so paltry did it look with its low flat front, sovague in the distance that he no longer distinguished it; whereas abovethe trees on his left the dome of St. Peter's had grown yet larger in thelimpid gold of the sunshine, and appeared to occupy the whole sky anddominate the whole city!

Ah! the Rome of that first meeting, the Rome of early morning, whose newdistricts he had not even noticed in the burning fever of hisarrival--with what boundless hopes did she not inspirit him, this Romewhich he believed he should find alive, such indeed as he had dreamed!And whilst he stood there in his thin black cassock, thus gazing on herthat lovely day, what a shout of coming redemption seemed to arise fromher house-roofs, what a promise of universal peace seemed to issue fromthat sacred soil, twice already Queen of the world! It was the thirdRome, it was New Rome whose maternal love was travelling across thefrontiers to all the nations to console them and reunite them in a commonembrace. In the passionate candour of his dream he beheld her, he heardher, rejuvenated, full of the gentleness of childhood, soaring, as itwere, amidst the morning freshness into the vast pure heavens. 

But at last Pierre tore himself away from the sublime spectacle. Thedriver and the horse, their heads drooping under the broad sunlight, hadnot stirred. On the seat the valise was almost burning, hot with rays ofthe sun which was already heavy. And once more Pierre got into thevehicle and gave this address:

"Via Giulia, Palazzo Boccanera. "

II. 

THE Via Giulia, which runs in a straight line over a distance of fivehundred yards from the Farnese palace to the church of St. John of theFlorentines, was at that hour steeped in bright sunlight, the glowstreaming from end to end and whitening the small square paving stones. The street had no footways, and the cab rolled along it almost to thefarther extremity, passing the old grey sleepy and deserted residenceswhose large windows were barred with iron, while their deep porchesrevealed sombre courts resembling wells. Laid out by Pope Julius II, whohad dreamt of lining it with magnificent palaces, the street, then themost regular and handsome in Rome, had served as Corso* in the sixteenthcentury. One could tell that one was in a former luxurious district, which had lapsed into silence, solitude, and abandonment, instinct with akind of religious gentleness and discretion. The old house-frontsfollowed one after another, their shutters closed and their gratingsoccasionally decked with climbing plants. At some doors cats were seated, and dim shops, appropriated to humble trades, were installed in certaindependencies. But little traffic was apparent. Pierre only noticed somebare-headed women dragging children behind them, a hay cart drawn by amule, a superb monk draped in drugget, and a bicyclist speeding alongnoiselessly, his machine sparkling in the sun. 

 * The Corso was so called on account of the horse races held in it at carnival time. --Trans. 

At last the driver turned and pointed to a large square building at thecorner of a lane running towards the Tiber. 

"Palazzo Boccanera. "

Pierre raised his head and was pained by the severe aspect of thestructure, so bare and massive and blackened by age. Like its neighboursthe Farnese and Sacchetti palaces, it had been built by Antonio daSangallo in the early part of the sixteenth century, and, as with theformer of those residences, the tradition ran that in raising the pilethe architect had made use of stones pilfered from the Colosseum and theTheatre of Marcellus. The vast, square-looking facade had three upperstories, each with seven windows, and the first one very lofty and noble. Down below, the only sign of decoration was that the high ground-floorwindows, barred with huge projecting gratings as though from fear ofsiege, rested upon large consoles, and were crowned by attics whichsmaller consoles supported. Above the monumental entrance, with foldingdoors of bronze, there was a balcony in front of the central first-floorwindow. And at the summit of the facade against the sky appeared asumptuous entablature, whose frieze displayed admirable grace and purityof ornamentation. The frieze, the consoles, the attics, and the door-casewere of white marble, but marble whose surface had so crumbled and sodarkened that it now had the rough yellowish grain of stone. Right andleft of the entrance were two antique seats upheld by griffons also ofmarble; and incrusted in the wall at one corner, a lovely Renascencefountain, its source dried up, still lingered; and on it a cupid riding adolphin could with difficulty be distinguished, to such a degree had thewear and tear of time eaten into the sculpture. 

Pierre's eyes, however, had been more particularly attracted by anescutcheon carved above one of the ground-floor windows, the escutcheonof the Boccaneras, a winged dragon venting flames, and underneath it hecould plainly read the motto which had remained intact: "_Bocca nera, Alma rossa_" (black mouth, red soul). Above another window, as a pendantto the escutcheon, there was one of those little shrines which are stillcommon in Rome, a satin-robed statuette of the Blessed Virgin, beforewhich a lantern burnt in the full daylight. 

The cabman was about to drive through the dim and gaping porch, accordingto custom, when the young priest, overcome by timidity, stopped him. "No, no, " he said; "don't go in, it's useless. "

Then he alighted from the vehicle, paid the man, and, valise in hand, found himself first under the vaulted roof, and then in the central courtwithout having met a living soul. 

It was a square and fairly spacious court, surrounded by a porticus likea cloister. Some remnants of statuary, marbles discovered in excavating, an armless Apollo, and the trunk of a Venus, were ranged against thewalls under the dismal arcades; and some fine grass had sprouted betweenthe pebbles which paved the soil as with a black and white mosaic. Itseemed as if the sun-rays could never reach that paving, mouldy withdamp. A dimness and a silence instinct with departed grandeur andinfinite mournfulness reigned there. 

Surprised by the emptiness of this silent mansion, Pierre continuedseeking somebody, a porter, a servant; and, fancying that he saw a shadowflit by, he decided to pass through another arch which led to a littlegarden fringing the Tiber. On this side the facade of the building wasquite plain, displaying nothing beyond its three rows of symmetricallydisposed windows. However, the abandonment reigning in the garden broughtPierre yet a keener pang. In the centre some large box-plants weregrowing in the basin of a fountain which had been filled up; while amongthe mass of weeds, some orange-trees with golden, ripening fruit aloneindicated the tracery of the paths which they had once bordered. Betweentwo huge laurel-bushes, against the right-hand wall, there was asarcophagus of the second century--with fauns offering violence tonymphs, one of those wild _baccanali_, those scenes of eager passionwhich Rome in its decline was wont to depict on the tombs of its dead;and this marble sarcophagus, crumbling with age and green with moisture, served as a tank into which a streamlet of water fell from a large tragicmask incrusted in the wall. Facing the Tiber there had formerly been asort of colonnaded loggia, a terrace whence a double flight of stepsdescended to the river. For the construction of the new quays, however, the river bank was being raised, and the terrace was already lower thanthe new ground level, and stood there crumbling and useless amidst pilesof rubbish and blocks of stone, all the wretched chalky confusion of theimprovements which were ripping up and overturning the district. 

Pierre, however, was suddenly convinced that he could see somebodycrossing the court. So he returned thither and found a woman somewhatshort of stature, who must have been nearly fifty, though as yet she hadnot a white hair, but looked very bright and active. At sight of thepriest, however, an expression of distrust passed over her round face andclear eyes. 

Employing the few words of broken Italian which he knew, Pierre at oncesought to explain matters: "I am Abbe Pierre Froment, madame--" he began. 

However, she did not let him continue, but exclaimed in fluent French, with the somewhat thick and lingering accent of the province of theIle-de-France: "Ah! yes, Monsieur l'Abbe, I know, I know--I was expectingyou, I received orders about you. " And then, as he gazed at her inamazement, she added: "Oh! I'm a Frenchwoman! I've been here for five andtwenty years, but I haven't yet been able to get used to their horriblelingo!"

Pierre thereupon remembered that Viscount Philibert de la Choue hadspoken to him of this servant, one Victorine Bosquet, a native of Auneauin La Beauce, who, when two and twenty, had gone to Rome with aconsumptive mistress. The latter's sudden death had left her in as muchterror and bewilderment as if she had been alone in some land of savages;and so she had gratefully devoted herself to the Countess ErnestaBrandini, a Boccanera by birth, who had, so to say, picked her up in thestreets. The Countess had at first employed her as a nurse to herdaughter Benedetta, hoping in this way to teach the child some French;and Victorine--remaining for some five and twenty years with the samefamily--had by degrees raised herself to the position of housekeeper, whilst still remaining virtually illiterate, so destitute indeed of anylinguistic gift that she could only jabber a little broken Italian, justsufficient for her needs in her intercourse with the other servants. 

"And is Monsieur le Vicomte quite well?" she resumed with frankfamiliarity. "He is so very pleasant, and we are always so pleased to seehim. He stays here, you know, each time he comes to Rome. I know that thePrincess and the Contessina received a letter from him yesterdayannouncing you. "

It was indeed Viscount Philibert de la Choue who had made all thearrangements for Pierre's sojourn in Rome. Of the ancient and oncevigorous race of the Boccaneras, there now only remained Cardinal PioBoccanera, the Princess his sister, an old maid who from respect wascalled "Donna" Serafina, their niece Benedetta--whose mother Ernesta hadfollowed her husband, Count Brandini, to the tomb--and finally theirnephew, Prince Dario Boccanera, whose father, Prince Onofrio, waslikewise dead, and whose mother, a Montefiori, had married again. It sochanced that the Viscount de la Choue was connected with the family, hisyounger brother having married a Brandini, sister to Benedetta's father;and thus, with the courtesy rank of uncle, he had, in Count Brandini'stime, frequently sojourned at the mansion in the Via Giulia. He had alsobecome attached to Benedetta, especially since the advent of a privatefamily drama, consequent upon an unhappy marriage which the young womanhad contracted, and which she had petitioned the Holy Father to annul. Since Benedetta had left her husband to live with her aunt Serafina andher uncle the Cardinal, M. De la Choue had often written to her and senther parcels of French books. Among others he had forwarded her a copy ofPierre's book, and the whole affair had originated in that wise. Severalletters on the subject had been exchanged when at last Benedetta sentword that the work had been denounced to the Congregation of the Index, and that it was advisable the author should at once repair to Rome, whereshe graciously offered him the hospitality of the Boccanera mansion. 

The Viscount was quite as much astonished as the young priest at thesetidings, and failed to understand why the book should be threatened atall; however, he prevailed on Pierre to make the journey as a matter ofgood policy, becoming himself impassioned for the achievement of avictory which he counted in anticipation as his own. And so it was easyto understand the bewildered condition of Pierre, on tumbling into thisunknown mansion, launched into an heroic adventure, the reasons andcircumstances of which were beyond him. 

Victorine, however, suddenly resumed: "But I am leaving you here, Monsieur l'Abbe. Let me conduct you to your rooms. Where is yourluggage?"

Then, when he had shown her his valise which he had placed on the groundbeside him, and explained that having no more than a fortnight's stay inview he had contented himself with bringing a second cassock and somelinen, she seemed very much surprised. 

"A fortnight! You only expect to remain here a fortnight? Well, well, you'll see. "

And then summoning a big devil of a lackey who had ended by making hisappearance, she said: "Take that up into the red room, Giacomo. Will youkindly follow me, Monsieur l'Abbe?"

Pierre felt quite comforted and inspirited by thus unexpectedly meetingsuch a lively, good-natured compatriot in this gloomy Roman "palace. "Whilst crossing the court he listened to her as she related that thePrincess had gone out, and that the Contessina--as Benedetta from motivesof affection was still called in the house, despite her marriage--had notyet shown herself that morning, being rather poorly. However, addedVictorine, she had her orders. 

The staircase was in one corner of the court, under the porticus. It wasa monumental staircase with broad, low steps, the incline being so gentlethat a horse might easily have climbed it. The stone walls, however, werequite bare, the landings empty and solemn, and a death-like mournfulnessfell from the lofty vault above. 

As they reached the first floor, noticing Pierre's emotion, Victorinesmiled. The mansion seemed to be uninhabited; not a sound came from itsclosed chambers. Simply pointing to a large oaken door on the right-hand, the housekeeper remarked: "The wing overlooking the court and the riveris occupied by his Eminence. But he doesn't use a quarter of the rooms. All the reception-rooms on the side of the street have been shut. Howcould one keep up such a big place, and what, too, would be the use ofit? We should need somebody to lodge. "

With her lithe step she continued ascending the stairs. She had remainedessentially a foreigner, a Frenchwoman, too different from those amongwhom she lived to be influenced by her environment. On reaching thesecond floor she resumed: "There, on the left, are Donna Serafina'srooms; those of the Contessina are on the right. This is the only part ofthe house where there's a little warmth and life. Besides, it's Mondayto-day, the Princess will be receiving visitors this evening. You'llsee. "

Then, opening a door, beyond which was a second and very narrowstaircase, she went on: "We others have our rooms on the third floor. Imust ask Monsieur l'Abbe to let me go up before him. "

The grand staircase ceased at the second floor, and Victorine explainedthat the third story was reached exclusively by this servants' staircase, which led from the lane running down to the Tiber on one side of themansion. There was a small private entrance in this lane, which was veryconvenient. 

At last, reaching the third story, she hurried along a passage, againcalling Pierre's attention to various doors. "These are the apartments ofDon Vigilio, his Eminence's secretary. These are mine. And these will beyours. Monsieur le Vicomte will never have any other rooms when he comesto spend a few days in Rome. He says that he enjoys more liberty up here, as he can come in and go out as he pleases. I gave him a key to the doorin the lane, and I'll give you one too. And, besides, you'll see what anice view there is from here!"

Whilst speaking she had gone in. The apartments comprised two rooms: asomewhat spacious _salon_, with wall-paper of a large scroll pattern on ared ground, and a bed-chamber, where the paper was of a flax grey, studded with faded blue flowers. The sitting-room was in one corner ofthe mansion overlooking the lane and the Tiber, and Victorine at oncewent to the windows, one of which afforded a view over the distant lowerpart of the river, while the other faced the Trastevere and the Janiculumacross the water. 

"Ah! yes, it's very pleasant!" said Pierre, who had followed and stoodbeside her. 

Giaccomo, who did not hurry, came in behind them with the valise. It wasnow past eleven o'clock; and seeing that the young priest looked tired, and realising that he must be hungry after such a journey, Victorineoffered to have some breakfast served at once in the sitting-room. Hewould then have the afternoon to rest or go out, and would only meet theladies in the evening at dinner. At the mere suggestion of resting, however, Pierre began to protest, declaring that he should certainly goout, not wishing to lose an entire afternoon. The breakfast he readilyaccepted, for he was indeed dying of hunger. 

However, he had to wait another full half hour. Giaccomo, who served himunder Victorine's orders, did everything in a most leisurely way. AndVictorine, lacking confidence in the man, remained with the young priestto make sure that everything he might require was provided. 

"Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe, " said she, "what people! What a country! You can'thave an idea of it. I should never get accustomed to it even if I were tolive here for a hundred years. Ah! if it were not for the Contessina, butshe's so good and beautiful. "

Then, whilst placing a dish of figs on the table, she astonished Pierreby adding that a city where nearly everybody was a priest could notpossibly be a good city. Thereupon the presence of this gay, active, unbelieving servant in the queer old palace again scared him. 

"What! you are not religious?" he exclaimed. 

"No, no, Monsieur l'Abbe, the priests don't suit me, " said Victorine; "Iknew one in France when I was very little, and since I've been here I'veseen too many of them. It's all over. Oh! I don't say that on account ofhis Eminence, who is a holy man worthy of all possible respect. Andbesides, everybody in the house knows that I've nothing to reproachmyself with. So why not leave me alone, since I'm fond of my employersand attend properly to my duties?"

She burst into a frank laugh. "Ah!" she resumed, "when I was told thatanother priest was coming, just as if we hadn't enough already, Icouldn't help growling to myself. But you look like a good young man, Monsieur l'Abbe, and I feel sure we shall get on well together.... Ireally don't know why I'm telling you all this--probably it's becauseyou've come from yonder, and because the Contessina takes an interest inyou. At all events, you'll excuse me, won't you, Monsieur l'Abbe? Andtake my advice, stay here and rest to-day; don't be so foolish as to gorunning about their tiring city. There's nothing very amusing to be seenin it, whatever they may say to the contrary. "

When Pierre found himself alone, he suddenly felt overwhelmed by all thefatigue of his journey coupled with the fever of enthusiasm that hadconsumed him during the morning. And as though dazed, intoxicated by thehasty meal which he had just made--a couple of eggs and a cutlet--heflung himself upon the bed with the idea of taking half an hour's rest. He did not fall asleep immediately, but for a time thought of thoseBoccaneras, with whose history he was partly acquainted, and of whoselife in that deserted and silent palace, instinct with such dilapidatedand melancholy grandeur, he began to dream. But at last his ideas grewconfused, and by degrees he sunk into sleep amidst a crowd of shadowyforms, some tragic and some sweet, with vague faces which gazed at himwith enigmatical eyes as they whirled before him in the depths ofdreamland. 

The Boccaneras had supplied two popes to Rome, one in the thirteenth, theother in the fifteenth century, and from those two favoured ones, thoseall-powerful masters, the family had formerly derived its vastfortune--large estates in the vicinity of Viterbo, several palaces inRome, enough works of art to fill numerous spacious galleries, and a pileof gold sufficient to cram a cellar. The family passed as being the mostpious of the Roman _patriziato_, a family of burning faith whose swordhad always been at the service of the Church; but if it were the mostbelieving family it was also the most violent, the most disputatious, constantly at war, and so fiercely savage that the anger of theBoccaneras had become proverbial. And thence came their arms, the wingeddragon spitting flames, and the fierce, glowing motto, with its play onthe name "_Bocca sera, Alma rossa_" (black mouth, red soul), the mouthdarkened by a roar, the soul flaming like a brazier of faith and love. 

Legends of endless passion, of terrible deeds of justice and vengeancestill circulated. There was the duel fought by Onfredo, the Boccanera bywhom the present palazzo had been built in the sixteenth century on thesite of the demolished antique residence of the family. Onfredo, learningthat his wife had allowed herself to be kissed on the lips by young CountCostamagna, had caused the Count to be kidnapped one evening and broughtto the palazzo bound with cords. And there in one of the large halls, before freeing him, he compelled him to confess himself to a monk. Thenhe severed the cords with a stiletto, threw the lamps over andextinguished them, calling to the Count to keep the stiletto and defendhimself. During more than an hour, in complete obscurity, in this hallfull of furniture, the two men sought one another, fled from one another, seized hold of one another, and pierced one another with their blades. And when the doors were broken down and the servants rushed in they foundamong the pools of blood, among the overturned tables and broken seats, Costamagna with his nose sliced off and his hips pierced with two andthirty wounds, whilst Onfredo had lost two fingers of his right hand, andhad both shoulders riddled with holes! The wonder was that neither diedof the encounter. 

A century later, on that same bank of the Tiber, a daughter of theBoccaneras, a girl barely sixteen years of age, the lovely and passionateCassia, filled all Rome with terror and admiration. She loved FlavioCorradini, the scion of a rival and hated house, whose alliance herfather, Prince Boccanera, roughly rejected, and whom her elder brother, Ercole, swore to slay should he ever surprise him with her. Neverthelessthe young man came to visit her in a boat, and she joined him by thelittle staircase descending to the river. But one evening Ercole, who wason the watch, sprang into the boat and planted his dagger full inFlavio's heart. Later on the subsequent incidents were unravelled; it wasunderstood that Cassia, wrathful and frantic with despair, unwilling tosurvive her love and bent on wreaking justice, had thrown herself uponher brother, had seized both murderer and victim with the same graspwhilst overturning the boat; for when the three bodies were recoveredCassia still retained her hold upon the two men, pressing their faces oneagainst the other with her bare arms, which had remained as white assnow. 

But those were vanished times. Nowadays, if faith remained, bloodviolence seemed to be departing from the Boccaneras. Their huge fortunealso had been lost in the slow decline which for a century past has beenruining the Roman _patriziato_. It had been necessary to sell theestates; the palace had emptied, gradually sinking to the mediocrity andbourgeois life of the new times. For their part the Boccanerasobstinately declined to contract any alien alliances, proud as they wereof the purity of their Roman blood. And poverty was as nothing to them;they found contentment in their immense pride, and without a plaintsequestered themselves amidst the silence and gloom in which their racewas dwindling away. 

Prince Ascanio, dead since 1848, had left four children by his wife, aCorvisieri; first Pio, the Cardinal; then Serafina, who, in order toremain with her brother, had not married; and finally Ernesta andOnofrio, both of whom were deceased. As Ernesta had merely left adaughter, Benedetta, behind her, it followed that the only male heir, theonly possible continuator of the family name was Onofrio's son, youngPrince Dario, now some thirty years of age. Should he die withoutposterity, the Boccaneras, once so full of life and whose deeds hadfilled Roman history in papal times, must fatally disappear. 

Dario and his cousin Benedetta had been drawn together by a deep, smiling, natural passion ever since childhood. They seemed born one forthe other; they could not imagine that they had been brought into theworld for any other purpose than that of becoming husband and wife assoon as they should be old enough to marry. When Prince Onofrio--anamiable man of forty, very popular in Rome, where he spent his modestfortune as his heart listed--espoused La Montefiori's daughter, thelittle Marchesa Flavia, whose superb beauty, suggestive of a youthfulJuno, had maddened him, he went to reside at the Villa Montefiori, theonly property, indeed the only belonging, that remained to the twoladies. It was in the direction of St'. Agnese-fuori-le-Mura, * and therewere vast grounds, a perfect park in fact, planted with centenariantrees, among which the villa, a somewhat sorry building of theseventeenth century, was falling into ruins. 

 * St. Agnes-without-the-walls, N. E. Of Rome. 

Unfavourable reports were circulated about the ladies, the mother havingalmost lost caste since she had become a widow, and the girl having toobold a beauty, too conquering an air. Thus the marriage had not met withthe approval of Serafina, who was very rigid, or of Onofrio's elderbrother Pio, at that time merely a _Cameriere segreto_ of the Holy Fatherand a Canon of the Vatican basilica. Only Ernesta kept up a regularintercourse with Onofrio, fond of him as she was by reason of his gaietyof disposition; and thus, later on, her favourite diversion was to goeach week to the Villa Montefiori with her daughter Benedetta, there tospend the day. And what a delightful day it always proved to Benedettaand Dario, she ten years old and he fifteen, what a fraternal loving dayin that vast and almost abandoned garden with its parasol pines, itsgiant box-plants, and its clumps of evergreen oaks, amidst which one lostoneself as in a virgin forest. 

The poor stifled soul of Ernesta was a soul of pain and passion. Bornwith a mighty longing for life, she thirsted for the sun--for a free, happy, active existence in the full daylight. She was noted for her largelimpid eyes and the charming oval of her gentle face. Extremely ignorant, like all the daughters of the Roman nobility, having learnt the littleshe knew in a convent of French nuns, she had grown up cloistered in theblack Boccanera palace, having no knowledge of the world than by thosedaily drives to the Corso and the Pincio on which she accompanied hermother. Eventually, when she was five and twenty, and was already wearyand desolate, she contracted the customary marriage of her caste, espousing Count Brandini, the last-born of a very noble, very numerousand poor family, who had to come and live in the Via Giulia mansion, where an entire wing of the second floor was got ready for the youngcouple. And nothing changed, Ernesta continued to live in the same coldgloom, in the midst of the same dead past, the weight of which, like thatof a tombstone, she felt pressing more and more heavily upon her. 

The marriage was, on either side, a very honourable one. Count Brandinisoon passed as being the most foolish and haughty man in Rome. A strict, intolerant formalist in religious matters, he became quite triumphantwhen, after innumerable intrigues, secret plottings which lasted ten longyears, he at last secured the appointment of grand equerry to the HolyFather. With this appointment it seemed as if all the dismal majesty ofthe Vatican entered his household. However, Ernesta found life stillbearable in the time of Pius IX--that is until the latter part of1870--for she might still venture to open the windows overlooking thestreet, receive a few lady friends otherwise than in secrecy, and acceptinvitations to festivities. But when the Italians had conquered Rome andthe Pope declared himself a prisoner, the mansion in the Via Giuliabecame a sepulchre. The great doors were closed and bolted, even nailedtogether in token of mourning; and during ten years the inmates only wentout and came in by the little staircase communicating with the lane. Itwas also forbidden to open the window shutters of the facade. This wasthe sulking, the protest of the black world, the mansion sinking intodeath-like immobility, complete seclusion; no more receptions, barely afew shadows, the intimates of Donna Serafina who on Monday eveningsslipped in by the little door in the lane which was scarcely set ajar. And during those ten lugubrious years, overcome by secret despair, theyoung woman wept every night, suffered untold agony at thus being buriedalive. 

Ernesta had given birth to her daughter Benedetta rather late in life, when three and thirty years of age. At first the little one helped todivert her mind. But afterwards her wonted existence, like a grindingmillstone, again seized hold of her, and she had to place the child inthe charge of the French nuns, by whom she herself had been educated, atthe convent of the Sacred Heart of La Trinita de' Monti. When Benedettaleft the convent, grown up, nineteen years of age, she was able to speakand write French, knew a little arithmetic and her catechism, andpossessed a few hazy notions of history. Then the life of the two womenwas resumed, the life of a _gynoeceum_, suggestive of the Orient; neveran excursion with husband or father, but day after day spent in closed, secluded rooms, with nought to cheer one but the sole, everlasting, obligatory promenade, the daily drive to the Corso and the Pincio. 

At home, absolute obedience was the rule; the tie of relationshippossessed an authority, a strength, which made both women bow to the willof the Count, without possible thought of rebellion; and to the Count'swill was added that of Donna Serafina and that of Cardinal Pio, both ofwhom were stern defenders of the old-time customs. Since the Pope hadceased to show himself in Rome, the post of grand equerry had left theCount considerable leisure, for the number of equipages in the pontificalstables had been very largely reduced; nevertheless, he was constant inhis attendance at the Vatican, where his duties were now a mere matter ofparade, and ever increased his devout zeal as a mark of protest againstthe usurping monarchy installed at the Quirinal. However, Benedetta hadjust attained her twentieth year, when one evening her father returnedcoughing and shivering from some ceremony at St. Peter's. A week later hedied, carried off by inflammation of the lungs. And despite theirmourning, the loss was secretly considered a deliverance by both women, who now felt that they were free. 

Thenceforward Ernesta had but one thought, that of saving her daughterfrom that awful life of immurement and entombment. She herself hadsorrowed too deeply: it was no longer possible for her to remount thecurrent of existence; but she was unwilling that Benedetta should in herturn lead a life contrary to nature, in a voluntary grave. Moreover, similar lassitude and rebellion were showing themselves among otherpatrician families, which, after the sulking of the first years, werebeginning to draw nearer to the Quirinal. Why indeed should the children, eager for action, liberty, and sunlight, perpetually keep up the quarrelof the fathers? And so, though no reconciliation could take place betweenthe black world and the white world, * intermediate tints were alreadyappearing, and some unexpected matrimonial alliances were contracted. 

 * The "blacks" are the supporters of the papacy, the "whites" those of the King of Italy. --Trans. 

Ernesta for her part was indifferent to the political question; she knewnext to nothing about it; but that which she passionately desired wasthat her race might at last emerge from that hateful sepulchre, thatblack, silent Boccanera mansion, where her woman's joys had been frozenby so long a death. She had suffered very grievously in her heart, asgirl, as lover, and as wife, and yielded to anger at the thought that herlife should have been so spoiled, so lost through idiotic resignation. Then, too, her mind was greatly influenced by the choice of a newconfessor at this period; for she had remained very religious, practisingall the rites of the Church, and ever docile to the advice of herspiritual director. To free herself the more, however, she now quittedthe Jesuit father whom her husband had chosen for her, and in his steadtook Abbe Pisoni, the rector of the little church of Sta. Brigida, on thePiazza Farnese, close by. He was a man of fifty, very gentle, and verygood-hearted, of a benevolence seldom found in the Roman world; andarchaeology, a passion for the old stones of the past, had made him anardent patriot. Humble though his position was, folks whispered that hehad on several occasions served as an intermediary in delicate mattersbetween the Vatican and the Quirinal. And, becoming confessor not only ofErnesta but of Benedetta also, he was fond of discoursing to them aboutthe grandeur of Italian unity, the triumphant sway that Italy wouldexercise when the Pope and the King should agree together. 

Meantime Benedetta and Dario loved as on the first day, patiently, withthe strong tranquil love of those who know that they belong to oneanother. But it happened that Ernesta threw herself between them andstubbornly opposed their marriage. No, no! her daughter must not espousethat Dario, that cousin, the last of the name, who in his turn wouldimmure his wife in the black sepulchre of the Boccanera palace! Theirunion would be a prolongation of entombment, an aggravation of ruin, arepetition of the haughty wretchedness of the past, of the everlastingpeevish sulking which depressed and benumbed one! She was well acquaintedwith the young man's character; she knew that he was egotistical andweak, incapable of thinking and acting, predestined to bury his race witha smile on his lips, to let the last remnant of the house crumble abouthis head without attempting the slightest effort to found a new family. And that which she desired was fortune in another guise, a new birth forher daughter with wealth and the florescence of life amid the victors andpowerful ones of to-morrow. 

From that moment the mother did not cease her stubborn efforts to ensureher daughter's happiness despite herself. She told her of her tears, entreated her not to renew her own deplorable career. Yet she would havefailed, such was the calm determination of the girl who had for evergiven her heart, if certain circumstances had not brought her intoconnection with such a son-in-law as she dreamt of. At that very VillaMontefiori where Benedetta and Dario had plighted their troth, she metCount Prada, son of Orlando, one of the heroes of the reunion of Italy. Arriving in Rome from Milan, with his father, when eighteen years of age, at the time of the occupation of the city by the Italian Government, Prada had first entered the Ministry of Finances as a mere clerk, whilstthe old warrior, his sire, created a senator, lived scantily on a pettyincome, the last remnant of a fortune spent in his country's service. Thefine war-like madness of the former comrade of Garibaldi had, however, inthe son turned into a fierce appetite for booty, so that the young manbecame one of the real conquerors of Rome, one of those birds of preythat dismembered and devoured the city. Engaged in vast speculations onland, already wealthy according to popular report, he had--at the time ofmeeting Ernesta--just become intimate with Prince Onofrio, whose head hehad turned by suggesting to him the idea of selling the far-spreadinggrounds of the Villa Montefiori for the erection of a new suburbandistrict on the site. Others averred that he was the lover of theprincess, the beautiful Flavia, who, although nine years his senior, wasstill superb. And, truth to tell, he was certainly a man of violentdesires, with an eagerness to rush on the spoils of conquest whichrendered him utterly unscrupulous with regard either to the wealth or tothe wives of others. 

From the first day that he beheld Benedetta he desired her. But she, atany rate, could only become his by marriage. And he did not for a momenthesitate, but broke off all connection with Flavia, eager as he was forthe pure virgin beauty, the patrician youth of the other. When herealised that Ernesta, the mother, favoured him, he asked her daughter'shand, feeling certain of success. And the surprise was great, for he wassome fifteen years older than the girl. However, he was a count, he borea name which was already historical, he was piling up millions, he wasregarded with favour at the Quirinal, and none could tell to what heightshe might not attain. All Rome became impassioned. 

Never afterwards was Benedetta able to explain to herself how it happenedthat she had eventually consented. Six months sooner, six months later, such a marriage would certainly have been impossible, given the fearfulscandal which it raised in the black world. A Boccanera, the last maidenof that antique papal race, given to a Prada, to one of the despoilers ofthe Church! Was it credible? In order that the wild project might provesuccessful it had been necessary that it should be formed at a particularbrief moment--a moment when a supreme effort was being made to conciliatethe Vatican and the Quirinal. A report circulated that an agreement wason the point of being arrived at, that the King consented to recognisethe Pope's absolute sovereignty over the Leonine City, * and a narrow bandof territory extending to the sea. And if such were the case would notthe marriage of Benedetta and Prada become, so to say, a symbol of union, of national reconciliation? That lovely girl, the pure lily of the blackworld, was she not the acquiescent sacrifice, the pledge granted to thewhites?

 * The Vatican suburb of Rome, called the _Civitas Leonina_, because Leo IV, to protect it from the Saracens and Arabs, enclosed it with walls in the ninth century. --Trans. 

For a fortnight nothing else was talked of; people discussed thequestion, allowed their emotion rein, indulged in all sorts of hopes. Thegirl, for her part, did not enter into the political reasons, but simplylistened to her heart, which she could not bestow since it was hers nomore. From morn till night, however, she had to encounter her mother'sprayers entreating her not to refuse the fortune, the life which offered. And she was particularly exercised by the counsels of her confessor, goodAbbe Pisoni, whose patriotic zeal now burst forth. He weighed upon herwith all his faith in the Christian destinies of Italy, and returnedheartfelt thanks to Providence for having chosen one of his penitents asthe instrument for hastening the reconciliation which would work God'striumph throughout the world. And her confessor's influence was certainlyone of the decisive factors in shaping Benedetta's decision, for she wasvery pious, very devout, especially with regard to a certain Madonnawhose image she went to adore every Sunday at the little church on thePiazza Farnese. One circumstance in particular struck her: Abbe Pisonirelated that the flame of the lamp before the image in question whitenedeach time that he himself knelt there to beg the Virgin to incline hispenitent to the all-redeeming marriage. And thus superior forcesintervened; and she yielded in obedience to her mother, whom the Cardinaland Donna Serafina had at first opposed, but whom they left free to actwhen the religious question arose. 

Benedetta had grown up in such absolute purity and ignorance, knowingnothing of herself, so shut off from existence, that marriage withanother than Dario was to her simply the rupture of a long-kept promiseof life in common. It was not the violent wrenching of heart and fleshthat it would have been in the case of a woman who knew the facts oflife. She wept a good deal, and then in a day of self-surrender shemarried Prada, lacking the strength to continue resisting everybody, andyielding to a union which all Rome had conspired to bring about. 

But the clap of thunder came on the very night of the nuptials. Was itthat Prada, the Piedmontese, the Italian of the North, the man ofconquest, displayed towards his bride the same brutality that he hadshown towards the city he had sacked? Or was it that the revelation ofmarried life filled Benedetta with repulsion since nothing in her ownheart responded to the passion of this man? On that point she neverclearly explained herself; but with violence she shut the door of herroom, locked it and bolted it, and refused to admit her husband. For amonth Prada was maddened by her scorn. He felt outraged; both his prideand his passion bled; and he swore to master her, even as one masters acolt, with the whip. But all his virile fury was impotent against theindomitable determination which had sprung up one evening behindBenedetta's small and lovely brow. The spirit of the Boccaneras had awokewithin her; nothing in the world, not even the fear of death, would haveinduced her to become her husband's wife. * And then, love being at lastrevealed to her, there came a return of her heart to Dario, a convictionthat she must reserve herself for him alone, since it was to him that shehad promised herself. 

 * Many readers will doubtless remember that the situation as here described is somewhat akin to that of the earlier part of M. George Ohnet's _Ironmaster_, which, in its form as a novel, I translated into English many years ago. However, all resemblance between _Rome_ and the _Ironmaster_ is confined to this one point. --Trans. 

Ever since that marriage, which he had borne like a bereavement, theyoung man had been travelling in France. She did not hide the truth fromhim, but wrote to him, again vowing that she would never be another's. And meantime her piety increased, her resolve to reserve herself for thelover she had chosen mingled in her mind with constancy of religiousfaith. The ardent heart of a great _amorosa_ had ignited within her, shewas ready for martyrdom for faith's sake. And when her despairing motherwith clasped hands entreated her to resign herself to her conjugalduties, she replied that she owed no duties, since she had known nothingwhen she married. Moreover, the times were changing; the attempts toreconcile the Quirinal and the Vatican had failed, so completely, indeed, that the newspapers of the rival parties had, with renewed violence, resumed their campaign of mutual insult and outrage; and thus thattriumphal marriage, to which every one had contributed as to a pledge ofpeace, crumbled amid the general smash-up, became but a ruin the moreadded to so many others. 

Ernesta died of it. She had made a mistake. Her spoilt life--the life ofa joyless wife--had culminated in this supreme maternal error. And theworst was that she alone had to bear all the responsibility of thedisaster, for both her brother, the Cardinal, and her sister, DonnaSerafina, overwhelmed her with reproaches. For consolation she had butthe despair of Abbe Pisoni, whose patriotic hopes had been destroyed, andwho was consumed with grief at having contributed to such a catastrophe. And one morning Ernesta was found, icy white and cold, in her bed. Folkstalked of the rupture of a blood-vessel, but grief had been sufficient, for she had suffered frightfully, secretly, without a plaint, as indeedshe had suffered all her life long. 

At this time Benedetta had been married about a twelvemonth: still strongin her resistance to her husband, but remaining under the conjugal roofin order to spare her mother the terrible blow of a public scandal. However, her aunt Serafina had brought influence to bear on her, byopening to her the hope of a possible nullification of her marriage, should she throw herself at the feet of the Holy Father and entreat hisintervention. And Serafina ended by persuading her of this, when, deferring to certain advice, she removed her from the spiritual controlof Abbe Pisoni, and gave her the same confessor as herself. This was aJesuit father named Lorenza, a man scarce five and thirty, with brighteyes, grave and amiable manners, and great persuasive powers. However, itwas only on the morrow of her mother's death that Benedetta made up hermind, and returned to the Palazzo Boccanera, to occupy the apartmentswhere she had been born, and where her mother had just passed away. 

Immediately afterwards proceedings for annulling the marriage wereinstituted, in the first instance, for inquiry, before the Cardinal Vicarcharged with the diocese of Rome. It was related that the Contessina hadonly taken this step after a secret audience with his Holiness, who hadshown her the most encouraging sympathy. Count Prada at first spoke ofapplying to the law courts to compel his wife to return to the conjugaldomicile; but, yielding to the entreaties of his old father Orlando, whomthe affair greatly grieved, he eventually consented to accept theecclesiastical jurisdiction. He was infuriated, however, to find that thenullification of the marriage was solicited on the ground of itsnon-consummation through _impotentia mariti_; this being one of the mostvalid and decisive pleas on which the Church of Rome consents to partthose whom she has joined. And far more unhappy marriages than might beimagined are severed on these grounds, though the world only givesattention to those cases in which people of title or renown areconcerned, as it did, for instance, with the famous Martinez Campos suit. 

In Benedetta's case, her counsel, Consistorial-Advocate Morano, one ofthe leading authorities of the Roman bar, simply neglected to mention, inhis memoir, that if she was still merely a wife in name, this wasentirely due to herself. In addition to the evidence of friends andservants, showing on what terms the husband and wife had lived sincetheir marriage, the advocate produced a certificate of a medicalcharacter, showing that the non-consummation of the union was certain. And the Cardinal Vicar, acting as Bishop of Rome, had thereupon remittedthe case to the Congregation of the Council. This was a first success forBenedetta, and matters remained in this position. She was waiting for theCongregation to deliver its final pronouncement, hoping that theecclesiastical dissolution of the marriage would prove an irresistibleargument in favour of the divorce which she meant to solicit of the civilcourts. And meantime, in the icy rooms where her mother Ernesta, submissive and desolate, had lately died, the Contessina resumed hergirlish life, showing herself calm, yet very firm in her passion, havingvowed that she would belong to none but Dario, and that she would notbelong to him until the day when a priest should have joined themtogether in God's holy name. 

As it happened, some six months previously, Dario also had taken up hisabode at the Boccanera palace in consequence of the death of his fatherand the catastrophe which had ruined him. Prince Onofrio, after adoptingPrada's advice and selling the Villa Montefiori to a financial companyfor ten million _lire_, * had, instead of prudently keeping his money inhis pockets, succumbed to the fever of speculation which was consumingRome. He began to gamble, buying back his own land, and ending by losingeverything in the formidable _krach_ which was swallowing up the wealthof the entire city. Totally ruined, somewhat deeply in debt even, thePrince nevertheless continued to promenade the Corso, like the handsome, smiling, popular man he was, when he accidentally met his death throughfalling from his horse; and four months later his widow, the everbeautiful Flavia--who had managed to save a modern villa and a personalincome of forty thousand _lire_* from the disaster--was remarried to aman of magnificent presence, her junior by some ten years. This was aSwiss named Jules Laporte, originally a sergeant in the Papal SwissGuard, then a traveller for a shady business in "relics, " and finallyMarchese Montefiore, having secured that title in securing his wife, thanks to a special brief of the Holy Father. Thus the Princess Boccanerahad again become the Marchioness Montefiori. 

 * 400, 000 pounds. ** 1, 800 pounds. 

It was then that Cardinal Boccanera, feeling greatly hurt, insisted onhis nephew Dario coming to live with him, in a small apartment on thefirst floor of the palazzo. In the heart of that holy man, who seemeddead to the world, there still lingered pride of name and lineage, with afeeling of affection for his young, slightly built nephew, the last ofthe race, the only one by whom the old stock might blossom anew. Moreover, he was not opposed to Dario's marriage with Benedetta, whom healso loved with a paternal affection; and so proud was he of the familyhonour, and so convinced of the young people's pious rectitude that, intaking them to live with him, he absolutely scorned the abominablerumours which Count Prada's friends in the white world had begun tocirculate ever since the two cousins had resided under the same roof. Donna Serafina guarded Benedetta, as he, the Cardinal, guarded Dario, andin the silence and the gloom of the vast deserted mansion, ensanguined ofolden time by so many tragic deeds of violence, there now only remainedthese four with their restrained, stilled passions, last survivors of acrumbling world upon the threshold of a new one. 

When Abbe Pierre Froment all at once awoke from sleep, his head heavywith painful dreams, he was worried to find that the daylight was alreadywaning. His watch, which he hastened to consult, pointed to six o'clock. Intending to rest for an hour at the utmost, he had slept on for nearlyseven hours, overcome beyond power of resistance. And even on awaking heremained on the bed, helpless, as though he were conquered before he hadfought. Why, he wondered, did he experience this prostration, thisunreasonable discouragement, this quiver of doubt which had come he knewnot whence during his sleep, and which was annihilating his youthfulenthusiasm of the morning? Had the Boccaneras any connection with thissudden weakening of his powers? He had espied dim disquieting figures inthe black night of his dreams; and the anguish which they had brought himcontinued, and he again evoked them, scared as he was at thus awaking ina strange room, full of uneasiness in presence of the unknown. Things nolonger seemed natural to him. He could not understand why Benedettashould have written to Viscount Philibert de la Choue to tell him thathis, Pierre's, book had been denounced to the Congregation of the Index. What interest too could she have had in his coming to Rome to defendhimself; and with what object had she carried her amiability so far as todesire that he should take up his quarters in the mansion? Pierre'sstupefaction indeed arose from his being there, on that bed in thatstrange room, in that palace whose deep, death-like silence encompassedhim. As he lay there, his limbs still overpowered and his brain seeminglyempty, a flash of light suddenly came to him, and he realised that theremust be certain circumstances that he knew nothing of that, simple thoughthings appeared, they must really hide some complicated intrigue. However, it was only a fugitive gleam of enlightenment; his suspicionsfaded; and he rose up shaking himself and accusing the gloomy twilight ofbeing the sole cause of the shivering and the despondency of which hefelt ashamed. 

In order to bestir himself, Pierre began to examine the two rooms. Theywere furnished simply, almost meagrely, in mahogany, there being scarcelyany two articles alike, though all dated from the beginning of thecentury. Neither the bed nor the windows nor the doors had any hangings. On the floor of bare tiles, coloured red and polished, there were merelysome little foot-mats in front of the various seats. And at sight of thismiddle-class bareness and coldness Pierre ended by remembering a roomwhere he had slept in childhood--a room at Versailles, at the abode ofhis grandmother, who had kept a little grocer's shop there in the days ofLouis Philippe. However, he became interested in an old painting whichhung in the bed-room, on the wall facing the bed, amidst some childishand valueless engravings. But partially discernible in the waning light, this painting represented a woman seated on some projecting stone-work, on the threshold of a great stern building, whence she seemed to havebeen driven forth. The folding doors of bronze had for ever closed behindher, yet she remained there in a mere drapery of white linen; whilstscattered articles of clothing, thrown forth chance-wise with a violenthand, lay upon the massive granite steps. Her feet were bare, her armswere bare, and her hands, distorted by bitter agony, were pressed to herface--a face which one saw not, veiled as it was by the tawny gold of herrippling, streaming hair. What nameless grief, what fearful shame, whathateful abandonment was thus being hidden by that rejected one, thatlingering victim of love, of whose unknown story one might for ever dreamwith tortured heart? It could be divined that she was adorably young andbeautiful in her wretchedness, in the shred of linen draped about hershoulders; but a mystery enveloped everything else--her passion, possiblyher misfortune, perhaps even her transgression--unless, indeed, she werethere merely as a symbol of all that shivers and that weeps visagelessbefore the ever closed portals of the unknown. For a long time Pierrelooked at her, and so intently that he at last imagined he coulddistinguish her profile, divine in its purity and expression ofsuffering. But this was only an illusion; the painting had greatlysuffered, blackened by time and neglect; and he asked himself whose workit might be that it should move him so intensely. On the adjoining wall apicture of a Madonna, a bad copy of an eighteenth-century painting, irritated him by the banality of its smile. 

Night was falling faster and faster, and, opening the sitting-roomwindow, Pierre leant out. On the other bank of the Tiber facing him arosethe Janiculum, the height whence he had gazed upon Rome that morning. Butat this dim hour Rome was no longer the city of youth and dreamlandsoaring into the early sunshine. The night was raining down, grey andashen; the horizon was becoming blurred, vague, and mournful. Yonder, tothe left, beyond the sea of roofs, Pierre could still divine the presenceof the Palatine; and yonder, to the right, there still arose the Dome ofSt. Peter's, now grey like slate against the leaden sky; whilst behindhim the Quirinal, which he could not see, must also be fading away intothe misty night. A few minutes went by, and everything became yet moreblurred; he realised that Rome was fading, departing in its immensity ofwhich he knew nothing. Then his causeless doubt and disquietude againcame on him so painfully that he could no longer remain at the window. Heclosed it and sat down, letting the darkness submerge him with its floodof infinite sadness. And his despairing reverie only ceased when the doorgently opened and the glow of a lamp enlivened the room. 

It was Victorine who came in quietly, bringing the light. "Ah! so you areup, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said she; "I came in at about four o'clock but Ilet you sleep on. You have done quite right to take all the rest yourequired. "

Then, as he complained of pains and shivering, she became anxious. "Don'tgo catching their nasty fevers, " she said. "It isn't at all healthy neartheir river, you know. Don Vigilio, his Eminence's secretary, is alwayshaving the fever, and I assure you that it isn't pleasant. "

She accordingly advised him to remain upstairs and lie down again. Shewould excuse his absence to the Princess and the Contessina. And he endedby letting her do as she desired, for he was in no state to have any willof his own. By her advice he dined, partaking of some soup, a wing of achicken, and some preserves, which Giaccomo, the big lackey, brought upto him. And the food did him a great deal of good; he felt so restoredthat he refused to go to bed, desiring, said he, to thank the ladies thatvery evening for their kindly hospitality. As Donna Serafina received onMondays he would present himself before her. 

"Very good, " said Victorine approvingly. "As you are all right again itcan do you no harm, it will even enliven you. The best thing will be forDon Vigilio to come for you at nine o'clock and accompany you. Wait forhim here. "

Pierre had just washed and put on the new cassock he had brought withhim, when, at nine o'clock precisely, he heard a discreet knock at hisdoor. A little priest came in, a man scarcely thirty years of age, butthin and debile of build, with a long, seared, saffron-coloured face. Fortwo years past attacks of fever, coming on every day at the same hour, had been consuming him. Nevertheless, whenever he forgot to control theblack eyes which lighted his yellow face, they shone out ardently withthe glow of his fiery soul. He bowed, and then in fluent Frenchintroduced himself in this simple fashion: "Don Vigilio, Monsieur l'Abbe, who is entirely at your service. If you are willing, we will go down. "

Pierre immediately followed him, expressing his thanks, and Don Vigilio, relapsing into silence, answered his remarks with a smile. Havingdescended the small staircase, they found themselves on the second floor, on the spacious landing of the grand staircase. And Pierre was surprisedand saddened by the scanty illumination, which, as in some dingylodging-house, was limited to a few gas-jets, placed far apart, theiryellow splotches but faintly relieving the deep gloom of the lofty, endless corridors. All was gigantic and funereal. Even on the landing, where was the entrance to Donna Serafina's apartments, facing thoseoccupied by her niece, nothing indicated that a reception was being heldthat evening. The door remained closed, not a sound came from the rooms, a death-like silence arose from the whole palace. And Don Vigilio did noteven ring, but, after a fresh bow, discreetly turned the door-handle. 

A single petroleum lamp, placed on a table, lighted the ante-room, alarge apartment with bare fresco-painted walls, simulating hangings ofred and gold, draped regularly all around in the antique fashion. A fewmen's overcoats and two ladies' mantles lay on the chairs, whilst a piertable was littered with hats, and a servant sat there dozing, with hisback to the wall. 

However, as Don Vigilio stepped aside to allow Pierre to enter a firstreception-room, hung with red _brocatelle_, a room but dimly lighted andwhich he imagined to be empty, the young priest found himself face toface with an apparition in black, a woman whose features he could not atfirst distinguish. Fortunately he heard his companion say, with a lowbow, "Contessina, I have the honour to present to you Monsieur l'AbbePierre Froment, who arrived from France this morning. "

Then, for a moment, Pierre remained alone with Benedetta in that deserted_salon_, in the sleepy glimmer of two lace-veiled lamps. At present, however, a sound of voices came from a room beyond, a larger apartmentwhose doorway, with folding doors thrown wide open, described aparallelogram of brighter light. 

The young woman at once showed herself very affable, with perfectsimplicity of manner: "Ah! I am happy to see you, Monsieur l'Abbe. I wasafraid that your indisposition might be serious. You are quite recoverednow, are you not?"

Pierre listened to her, fascinated by her slow and rather thick voice, inwhich restrained passion seemed to mingle with much prudent good sense. And at last he saw her, with her hair so heavy and so dark, her skin sowhite, the whiteness of ivory. She had a round face, with somewhat fulllips, a small refined nose, features as delicate as a child's. But it wasespecially her eyes that lived, immense eyes, whose infinite depths nonecould fathom. Was she slumbering? Was she dreaming? Did her motionlessface conceal the ardent tension of a great saint and a great _amorosa_?So white, so young, and so calm, her every movement was harmonious, herappearance at once very staid, very noble, and very rhythmical. In herears she wore two large pearls of matchless purity, pearls which had comefrom a famous necklace of her mother's, known throughout Rome. 

Pierre apologised and thanked her. "You see me in confusion, madame, "said he; "I should have liked to express to you this morning my gratitudefor your great kindness. "

He had hesitated to call her madame, remembering the plea brought forwardin the suit for the dissolution of her marriage. But plainly enougheverybody must call her madame. Moreover, her face had retained its calmand kindly expression. 

"Consider yourself at home here, Monsieur l'Abbe, " she responded, wishingto put him at his ease. "It is sufficient that our relative, Monsieur dela Choue, should be fond of you, and take interest in your work. I have, you know, much affection for him. " Then her voice faltered slightly, forshe realised that she ought to speak of the book, the one reason ofPierre's journey and her proffered hospitality. "Yes, " she added, "theViscount sent me your book. I read it and found it very beautiful. Itdisturbed me. But I am only an ignoramus, and certainly failed tounderstand everything in it. We must talk it over together; you willexplain your ideas to me, won't you, Monsieur l'Abbe?"

In her large clear eyes, which did not know how to lie, Pierre then readthe surprise and emotion of a child's soul when confronted by disquietingand undreamt-of problems. So it was not she who had become impassionedand had desired to have him near her that she might sustain him andassist his victory. Once again, and this time very keenly, he suspected asecret influence, a hidden hand which was directing everything towardssome unknown goal. However, he was charmed by so much simplicity andfrankness in so beautiful, young, and noble a creature; and he gavehimself to her after the exchange of those few words, and was about totell her that she might absolutely dispose of him, when he wasinterrupted by the advent of another woman, whose tall, slight figure, also clad in black, stood out strongly against the luminous background ofthe further reception-room as seen through the open doorway. 

"Well, Benedetta, have you sent Giaccomo up to see?" asked the newcomer. "Don Vigilio has just come down and he is quite alone. It is improper. "

"No, no, aunt. Monsieur l'Abbe is here, " was the reply of Benedetta, hastening to introduce the young priest. "Monsieur l'Abbe PierreFroment--The Princess Boccanera. "

Ceremonious salutations were exchanged. The Princess must have beennearly sixty, but she laced herself so tightly that from behind one mighthave taken her for a young woman. This tight lacing, however, was herlast coquetry. Her hair, though still plentiful, was quite white, hereyebrows alone remaining black in her long, wrinkled face, from whichprojected the large obstinate nose of the family. She had never beenbeautiful, and had remained a spinster, wounded to the heart by theselection of Count Brandini, who had preferred her younger sister, Ernesta. From that moment she had resolved to seek consolation andsatisfaction in family pride alone, the hereditary pride of the greatname which she bore. The Boccaneras had already supplied two Popes to theChurch, and she hoped that before she died her brother would become thethird. She had transformed herself into his housekeeper, as it were, remaining with him, watching over him, and advising him, managing all thehousehold affairs herself, and accomplishing miracles in order to concealthe slow ruin which was bringing the ceilings about their heads. If everyMonday for thirty years past she had continued receiving a few intimates, all of them folks of the Vatican, it was from high politicalconsiderations, so that her drawing-room might remain a meeting-place ofthe black world, a power and a threat. 

And Pierre divined by her greeting that she deemed him of little account, petty foreign priest that he was, not even a prelate. This too againsurprised him, again brought the puzzling question to the fore: Why hadhe been invited, what was expected of him in this society from which thehumble were usually excluded? Knowing the Princess to be austerelydevout, he at last fancied that she received him solely out of regard forher kinsman, the Viscount, for in her turn she only found these words ofwelcome: "We are so pleased to receive good news of Monsieur de la Choue!He brought us such a beautiful pilgrimage two years ago. "

Passing the first through the doorway, she at last ushered the youngpriest into the adjoining reception-room. It was a spacious squareapartment, hung with old yellow _brocatelle_ of a flowery Louis XIVpattern. The lofty ceiling was adorned with a very fine panelling, carvedand coloured, with gilded roses in each compartment. The furniture, however, was of all sorts. There were some high mirrors, a couple ofsuperb gilded pier tables, and a few handsome seventeenth-centuryarm-chairs; but all the rest was wretched. A heavy round table offirst-empire style, which had come nobody knew whence, caught the eyewith a medley of anomalous articles picked up at some bazaar, and aquantity of cheap photographs littered the costly marble tops of the piertables. No interesting article of _virtu_ was to be seen. The oldpaintings on the walls were with two exceptions feebly executed. Therewas a delightful example of an unknown primitive master, afourteenth-century Visitation, in which the Virgin had the stature andpure delicacy of a child of ten, whilst the Archangel, huge and superb, inundated her with a stream of dazzling, superhuman love; and in front ofthis hung an antique family portrait, depicting a very beautiful younggirl in a turban, who was thought to be Cassia Boccanera, the _amorosa_and avengeress who had flung herself into the Tiber with her brotherErcole and the corpse of her lover, Flavio Corradini. Four lamps threw abroad, peaceful glow over the faded room, and, like a melancholy sunset, tinged it with yellow. It looked grave and bare, with not even a flowerin a vase to brighten it. 

In a few words Donna Serafina at once introduced Pierre to the company;and in the silence, the pause which ensued in the conversation, he feltthat every eye was fixed upon him as upon a promised and expectedcuriosity. There were altogether some ten persons present, among thembeing Dario, who stood talking with little Princess Celia Buongiovanni, whilst the elderly relative who had brought the latter sat whispering toa prelate, Monsignor Nani, in a dim corner. Pierre, however, had beenparticularly struck by the name of Consistorial-Advocate Morano, of whoseposition in the house Viscount de la Choue had thought proper to informhim in order to avert any unpleasant blunder. For thirty years pastMorano had been Donna Serafina's _amico_. Their connection, formerly aguilty one, for the advocate had wife and children of his own, had incourse of time, since he had been left a widower, become one of those_liaisons_ which tolerant people excuse and except. Both parties wereextremely devout and had certainly assured themselves of all needful"indulgences. " And thus Morano was there in the seat which he had alwaystaken for a quarter of a century past, a seat beside the chimney-piece, though as yet the winter fire had not been lighted, and when DonnaSerafina had discharged her duties as mistress of the house, she returnedto her own place in front of him, on the other side of the chimney. 

When Pierre in his turn had seated himself near Don Vigilio, who, silentand discreet, had already taken a chair, Dario resumed in a louder voicethe story which he had been relating to Celia. Dario was a handsome man, of average height, slim and elegant. He wore a full beard, dark andcarefully tended, and had the long face and pronounced nose of theBoccaneras, but the impoverishment of the family blood over a course ofcenturies had attenuated, softened as it were, any sharpness or undueprominence of feature. 

"Oh! a beauty, an astounding beauty!" he repeated emphatically. 

"Whose beauty?" asked Benedetta, approaching him. 

Celia, who resembled the little Virgin of the primitive master hangingabove her head, began to laugh. "Oh! Dario's speaking of a poor girl, awork-girl whom he met to-day, " she explained. 

Thereupon Dario had to begin his narrative again. It appeared that whilepassing along a narrow street near the Piazza Navona, he had perceived atall, shapely girl of twenty, who was weeping and sobbing violently, prone upon a flight of steps. Touched particularly by her beauty, he hadapproached her and learnt that she had been working in the house outsidewhich she was, a manufactory of wax beads, but that, slack times havingcome, the workshops had closed and she did not dare to return home, sofearful was the misery there. Amidst the downpour of her tears she raisedsuch beautiful eyes to his that he ended by drawing some money from hispocket. But at this, crimson with confusion, she sprang to her feet, hiding her hands in the folds of her skirt, and refusing to takeanything. She added, however, that he might follow her if it so pleasedhim, and give the money to her mother. And then she hurried off towardsthe Ponte St'. Angelo. *

 * Bridge of St. Angelo. 

"Yes, she was a beauty, a perfect beauty, " repeated Dario with an air ofecstasy. "Taller than I, and slim though sturdy, with the bosom of agoddess. In fact, a real antique, a Venus of twenty, her chin ratherbold, her mouth and nose of perfect form, and her eyes wonderfully pureand large! And she was bare-headed too, with nothing but a crown of heavyblack hair, and a dazzling face, gilded, so to say, by the sun. "

They had all begun to listen to him, enraptured, full of that passionateadmiration for beauty which, in spite of every change, Rome still retainsin her heart. 

"Those beautiful girls of the people are becoming very rare, " remarkedMorano. "You might scour the Trastevere without finding any. However, this proves that there is at least one of them left. "

"And what was your goddess's name?" asked Benedetta, smiling, amused andenraptured like the others. 

"Pierina, " replied Dario, also with a laugh. 

"And what did you do with her?"

At this question the young man's excited face assumed an expression ofdiscomfort and fear, like the face of a child on suddenly encounteringsome ugly creature amidst its play. 

"Oh! don't talk of it, " said he. "I felt very sorry afterwards. I sawsuch misery--enough to make one ill. "

Yielding to his curiosity, it seemed, he had followed the girl across thePonte St'. Angelo into the new district which was being built over theformer castle meadows*; and there, on the first floor of an abandonedhouse which was already falling into ruins, though the plaster wasscarcely dry, he had come upon a frightful spectacle which still stirredhis heart: a whole family, father and mother, children, and an infirm olduncle, dying of hunger and rotting in filth! He selected the mostdignified words he could think of to describe the scene, waving his handthe while with a gesture of fright, as if to ward off some horriblevision. 

 * The meadows around the Castle of St. Angelo. The district, now covered with buildings, is quite flat and was formerly greatly subject to floods. It is known as the Quartiere dei Prati. --Trans. 

"At last, " he concluded, "I ran away, and you may be sure that I shan'tgo back again. "

A general wagging of heads ensued in the cold, irksome silence which fellupon the room. Then Morano summed up the matter in a few bitter words, inwhich he accused the despoilers, the men of the Quirinal, of being thesole cause of all the frightful misery of Rome. Were not people eventalking of the approaching nomination of Deputy Sacco as Minister ofFinances--Sacco, that intriguer who had engaged in all sorts of underhandpractices? His appointment would be the climax of impudence; bankruptcywould speedily and infallibly ensue. 

Meantime Benedetta, who had fixed her eyes on Pierre, with his book inher mind, alone murmured: "Poor people, how very sad! But why not go backto see them?"

Pierre, out of his element and absent-minded during the earlier moments, had been deeply stirred by the latter part of Dario's narrative. Histhoughts reverted to his apostolate amidst the misery of Paris, and hisheart was touched with compassion at being confronted by the story ofsuch fearful sufferings on the very day of his arrival in Rome. Unwittingly, impulsively, he raised his voice, and said aloud: "Oh! wewill go to see them together, madame; you will take me. These questionsimpassion me so much. "

The attention of everybody was then again turned upon the young priest. The others questioned him, and he realised that they were all anxiousabout his first impressions, his opinion of their city and of themselves. He must not judge Rome by mere outward appearances, they said. Whateffect had the city produced on him? How had he found it, and what did hethink of it? Thereupon he politely apologised for his inability to answerthem. He had not yet gone out, said he, and had seen nothing. But thisanswer was of no avail; they pressed him all the more keenly, and hefully understood that their object was to gain him over to admiration andlove. They advised him, adjured him not to yield to any fataldisillusion, but to persist and wait until Rome should have revealed tohim her soul. 

"How long do you expect to remain among us, Monsieur l'Abbe?" suddenlyinquired a courteous voice, with a clear but gentle ring. 

It was Monsignor Nani, who, seated in the gloom, thus raised his voicefor the first time. On several occasions it had seemed to Pierre that theprelate's keen blue eyes were steadily fixed upon him, though all thewhile he pretended to be attentively listening to the drawling chatter ofCelia's aunt. And before replying Pierre glanced at him. In hiscrimson-edged cassock, with a violet silk sash drawn tightly around hiswaist, Nani still looked young, although he was over fifty. His hair hadremained blond, he had a straight refined nose, a mouth very firm yetvery delicate of contour, and beautifully white teeth. 

"Why, a fortnight or perhaps three weeks, Monsignor, " replied Pierre. 

The whole _salon_ protested. What, three weeks! It was his pretension toknow Rome in three weeks! Why, six weeks, twelve months, ten years wererequired! The first impression was always a disastrous one, and a longsojourn was needed for a visitor to recover from it. 

"Three weeks!" repeated Donna Serafina with her disdainful air. "Is itpossible for people to study one another and get fond of one another inthree weeks? Those who come back to us are those who have learned to knowus. "

Instead of launching into exclamations like the others, Nani had at firstcontented himself with smiling, and gently waving his shapely hand, whichbespoke his aristocratic origin. Then, as Pierre modestly explainedhimself, saying that he had come to Rome to attend to certain matters andwould leave again as soon as those matters should have been concluded, the prelate, still smiling, summed up the argument with the remark: "Oh!Monsieur l'Abbe will stay with us for more than three weeks; we shallhave the happiness of his presence here for a long time, I hope. "

These words, though spoken with quiet cordiality, strangely disturbed theyoung priest. What was known, what was meant? He leant towards DonVigilio, who had remained near him, still and ever silent, and in awhisper inquired: "Who is Monsignor Nani?"

The secretary, however, did not at once reply. His feverish face becameyet more livid. Then his ardent eyes glanced round to make sure thatnobody was watching him, and in a breath he responded: "He is theAssessor of the Holy Office. "*

 * Otherwise the Inquisition. 

This information sufficed, for Pierre was not ignorant of the fact thatthe assessor, who was present in silence at the meetings of the HolyOffice, waited upon his Holiness every Wednesday evening after thesitting, to render him an account of the matters dealt with in theafternoon. This weekly audience, this hour spent with the Pope in aprivacy which allowed of every subject being broached, gave the assessoran exceptional position, one of considerable power. Moreover the officeled to the cardinalate; the only "rise" that could be given to theassessor was his promotion to the Sacred College. 

Monsignor Nani, who seemed so perfectly frank and amiable, continued tolook at the young priest with such an encouraging air that the latterfelt obliged to go and occupy the seat beside him, which Celia's old auntat last vacated. After all, was there not an omen of victory in meeting, on the very day of his arrival, a powerful prelate whose influence wouldperhaps open every door to him? He therefore felt very touched whenMonsignor Nani, immediately after the first words, inquired in a tone ofdeep interest, "And so, my dear child, you have published a book?"

After this, gradually mastered by his enthusiasm and forgetting where hewas, Pierre unbosomed himself, and recounted the birth and progress ofhis burning love amidst the sick and the humble, gave voice to his dreamof a return to the olden Christian community, and triumphed with therejuvenescence of Catholicism, developing into the one religion of theuniversal democracy. Little by little he again raised his voice, andsilence fell around him in the stern, antique reception-room, every onelending ear to his words with increasing surprise, with a growingcoldness of which he remained unconscious. 

At last Nani gently interrupted him, still wearing his perpetual smile, the faint irony of which, however, had departed. "No doubt, no doubt, mydear child, " he said, "it is very beautiful, oh! very beautiful, wellworthy of the pure and noble imagination of a Christian. But what do youcount on doing now?"

"I shall go straight to the Holy Father to defend myself, " answeredPierre. 

A light, restrained laugh went round, and Donna Serafina expressed thegeneral opinion by exclaiming: "The Holy Father isn't seen as easily asthat. "

Pierre, however, was quite impassioned. "Well, for my part, " he rejoined, "I hope I shall see him. Have I not expressed his views? Have I notdefended his policy? Can he let my book be condemned when I believe thatI have taken inspiration from all that is best in him?"

"No doubt, no doubt, " Nani again hastily replied, as if he feared thatthe others might be too brusque with the young enthusiast. "The HolyFather has such a lofty mind. And of course it would be necessary to seehim. Only, my dear child, you must not excite yourself so much; reflect alittle; take your time. " And, turning to Benedetta, he added, "Of coursehis Eminence has not seen Abbe Froment yet. It would be well, however, that he should receive him to-morrow morning to guide him with his wisecounsel. "

Cardinal Boccanera never attended his sister's Monday-evening receptions. Still, he was always there in the spirit, like some absent sovereignmaster. 

"To tell the truth, " replied the Contessina, hesitating, "I fear that myuncle does not share Monsieur l'Abbe's views. "

Nani again smiled. "Exactly; he will tell him things which it is good heshould hear. "

Thereupon it was at once settled with Don Vigilio that the latter wouldput down the young priest's name for an audience on the following morningat ten o'clock. 

However, at that moment a cardinal came in, clad in town costume--hissash and his stockings red, but his simar black, with a red edging andred buttons. It was Cardinal Sarno, a very old intimate of theBoccaneras; and whilst he apologised for arriving so late, through pressof work, the company became silent and deferentially clustered round him. This was the first cardinal Pierre had seen, and he felt greatlydisappointed, for the newcomer had none of the majesty, none of the fineport and presence to which he had looked forward. On the contrary, he wasshort and somewhat deformed, with the left shoulder higher than theright, and a worn, ashen face with lifeless eyes. To Pierre he lookedlike some old clerk of seventy, half stupefied by fifty years of officework, dulled and bent by incessantly leaning over his writing desk eversince his youth. And indeed that was Sarno's story. The puny child of apetty middle-class family, he had been educated at the Seminario Romano. Then later he had for ten years professed Canon Law at that sameseminary, afterwards becoming one of the secretaries of the Congregationfor the Propagation of the Faith. Finally, five and twenty years ago, hehad been created a cardinal, and the jubilee of his cardinalate hadrecently been celebrated. Born in Rome, he had always lived there; he wasthe perfect type of the prelate who, through growing up in the shade ofthe Vatican, has become one of the masters of the world. Although he hadnever occupied any diplomatic post, he had rendered such importantservices to the Propaganda, by his methodical habits of work, that he hadbecome president of one of the two commissions which furthered theinterests of the Church in those vast countries of the west which are notyet Catholic. And thus, in the depths of his dim eyes, behind his low, dull-looking brow, the huge map of Christendom was stored away. 

Nani himself had risen, full of covert respect for the unobtrusive butterrible man whose hand was everywhere, even in the most distant cornersof the earth, although he had never left his office. As Nani knew, despite his apparent nullity, Sarno, with his slow, methodical, ablyorganised work of conquest, possessed sufficient power to set empires inconfusion. 

"Has your Eminence recovered from that cold which distressed us so much?"asked Nani. 

"No, no, I still cough. There is a most malignant passage at the offices. I feel as cold as ice as soon as I leave my room. "

From that moment Pierre felt quite little, virtually lost. He was noteven introduced to the Cardinal. And yet he had to remain in the room fornearly another hour, looking around and observing. That antiquated worldthen seemed to him puerile, as though it had lapsed into a mournfulsecond childhood. Under all the apparent haughtiness and proud reserve hecould divine real timidity, unacknowledged distrust, born of greatignorance. If the conversation did not become general, it was becausenobody dared to speak out frankly; and what he heard in the corners wassimply so much childish chatter, the petty gossip of the week, thetrivial echoes of sacristies and drawing-rooms. People saw but little ofone another, and the slightest incidents assumed huge proportions. Atlast Pierre ended by feeling as though he were transported into some_salon_ of the time of Charles X, in one of the episcopal cities of theFrench provinces. No refreshments were served. Celia's old aunt securedpossession of Cardinal Sarno; but, instead of replying to her, he simplywagged his head from time to time. Don Vigilio had not opened his mouththe whole evening. However, a conversation in a very low tone was startedby Nani and Morano, to whom Donna Serafina listened, leaning forward andexpressing her approval by slowly nodding her head. They were doubtlessspeaking of the dissolution of Benedetta's marriage, for they glanced atthe young woman gravely from time to time. And in the centre of thespacious room, in the sleepy glow of the lamps, there was only the youngpeople, Benedetta, Dario, and Celia who seemed to be at all alive, chattering in undertones and occasionally repressing a burst of laughter. 

All at once Pierre was struck by the great resemblance between Benedettaand the portrait of Cassia hanging on the wall. Each displayed the samedelicate youth, the same passionate mouth, the same large, unfathomableeyes, set in the same round, sensible, healthy-looking face. In eachthere was certainly the same upright soul, the same heart of flame. Thena recollection came to Pierre, that of a painting by Guido Reni, theadorable, candid head of Beatrice Cenci, which, at that moment and to histhinking, the portrait of Cassia closely resembled. This resemblancestirred him and he glanced at Benedetta with anxious sympathy, as if allthe fierce fatality of race and country were about to fall on her. Butno, it could not be; she looked so calm, so resolute, and so patient!Besides, ever since he had entered that room he had noticed none otherthan signs of gay fraternal tenderness between her and Dario, especiallyon her side, for her face ever retained the bright serenity of a lovewhich may be openly confessed. At one moment, it is true, Dario in ajoking way had caught hold of her hands and pressed them; but while hebegan to laugh rather nervously, with a brighter gleam darting from hiseyes, she on her side, all composure, slowly freed her hands, as thoughtheirs was but the play of old and affectionate friends. She loved him, though, it was visible, with her whole being and for her whole life. 

At last when Dario, after stifling a slight yawn and glancing at hiswatch, had slipped off to join some friends who were playing cards at alady's house, Benedetta and Celia sat down together on a sofa nearPierre; and the latter, without wishing to listen, overheard a few wordsof their confidential chat. The little Princess was the eldest daughterof Prince Matteo Buongiovanni, who was already the father of fivechildren by an English wife, a Mortimer, to whom he was indebted for adowry of two hundred thousand pounds. Indeed, the Buongiovannis wereknown as one of the few patrician families of Rome that were still rich, still erect among the ruins of the past, now crumbling on every side. They also numbered two popes among their forerunners, yet this had notprevented Prince Matteo from lending support to the Quirinal withoutquarrelling with the Vatican. Son of an American woman, no longer havingthe pure Roman blood in his veins, he was a more supple politician thanother aristocrats, and was also, folks said, extremely grasping, struggling to be one of the last to retain the wealth and power of oldentimes, which he realised were condemned to death. Yet it was in hisfamily, renowned for its superb pride and its continued magnificence, that a love romance had lately taken birth, a romance which was thesubject of endless gossip: Celia had suddenly fallen in love with a younglieutenant to whom she had never spoken; her love was reciprocated, andthe passionate attachment of the officer and the girl only found vent inthe glances they exchanged on meeting each day during the usual drivethrough the Corso. Nevertheless Celia displayed a tenacious will, andafter declaring to her father that she would never take any otherhusband, she was waiting, firm and resolute, in the certainty that shewould ultimately secure the man of her choice. The worst of the affairwas that the lieutenant, Attilio Sacco, happened to be the son of DeputySacco, a parvenu whom the black world looked down upon, as upon one soldto the Quirinal and ready to undertake the very dirtiest job. 

"It was for me that Morano spoke just now, " Celia murmured in Benedetta'sear. "Yes, yes, when he spoke so harshly of Attilio's father and thatministerial appointment which people are talking about. He wanted to giveme a lesson. "

The two girls had sworn eternal affection in their school-days, andBenedetta, the elder by five years, showed herself maternal. "And so, "she said, "you've not become a whit more reasonable. You still think ofthat young man?"

"What! are you going to grieve me too, dear?" replied Celia. "I loveAttilio and mean to have him. Yes, him and not another! I want him andI'll have him, because I love him and he loves me. It's simple enough. "

Pierre glanced at her, thunderstruck. With her gentle virgin face she waslike a candid, budding lily. A brow and a nose of blossom-like purity; amouth all innocence with its lips closing over pearly teeth, and eyeslike spring water, clear and fathomless. And not a quiver passed over hercheeks of satiny freshness, no sign, however faint, of anxiety orinquisitiveness appeared in her candid glance. Did she think? Did sheknow? Who could have answered? She was virginity personified with all itsredoubtable mystery. 

"Ah! my dear, " resumed Benedetta, "don't begin my sad story over again. One doesn't succeed in marrying the Pope and the King. "

All tranquillity, Celia responded: "But you didn't love Prada, whereas Ilove Attilio. Life lies in that: one must love. "

These words, spoken so naturally by that ignorant child, disturbed Pierreto such a point that he felt tears rising to his eyes. Love! yes, thereinlay the solution of every quarrel, the alliance between the nations, thereign of peace and joy throughout the world! However, Donna Serafina hadnow risen, shrewdly suspecting the nature of the conversation which wasimpassioning the two girls. And she gave Don Vigilio a glance, which thelatter understood, for he came to tell Pierre in an undertone that it wastime to retire. Eleven o'clock was striking, and Celia went off with heraunt. Advocate Morano, however, doubtless desired to retain CardinalSarno and Nani for a few moments in order that they might privatelydiscuss some difficulty which had arisen in the divorce proceedings. Onreaching the outer reception-room, Benedetta, after kissing Celia on bothcheeks, took leave of Pierre with much good grace. 

"In answering the Viscount to-morrow morning, " said she, "I shall tellhim how happy we are to have you with us, and for longer than you think. Don't forget to come down at ten o'clock to see my uncle, the Cardinal. "

Having climbed to the third floor again, Pierre and Don Vigilio, eachcarrying a candlestick which the servant had handed to them, were aboutto part for the night, when the former could not refrain from asking thesecretary a question which had been worrying him for hours: "Is MonsignorNani a very influential personage?"

Don Vigilio again became quite scared, and simply replied by a gesture, opening his arms as if to embrace the world. Then his eyes flashed, andin his turn he seemed to yield to inquisitiveness. "You already knew him, didn't you?" he inquired. 

"I? not at all!"

"Really! Well, he knows you very well. Last Monday I heard him speak ofyou in such precise terms that he seemed to be acquainted with theslightest particulars of your career and your character. "

"Why, I never even heard his name before. "

"Then he must have procured information. "

Thereupon Don Vigilio bowed and entered his room; whilst Pierre, surprised to find his door open, saw Victorine come out with her calmactive air. 

"Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe, I wanted to make sure that you had everything youwere likely to want. There are candles, water, sugar, and matches. Andwhat do you take in the morning, please? Coffee? No, a cup of milk with aroll. Very good; at eight o'clock, eh? And now rest and sleep well. I wasawfully afraid of ghosts during the first nights I spent in this oldpalace! But I never saw a trace of one. The fact is, when people aredead, they are too well pleased, and don't want to break their rest!"

Then off she went, and Pierre at last found himself alone, glad to beable to shake off the strain imposed on him, to free himself from thediscomfort which he had felt in that reception-room, among those peoplewho in his mind still mingled and vanished like shadows in the sleepyglow of the lamps. Ghosts, thought he, are the old dead ones of long agowhose distressed spirits return to love and suffer in the breasts of theliving of to-day. And, despite his long afternoon rest, he had never feltso weary, so desirous of slumber, confused and foggy as was his mind, full of the fear that he had hitherto not understood things aright. Whenhe began to undress, his astonishment at being in that room returned tohim with such intensity that he almost fancied himself another person. What did all those people think of his book? Why had he been brought tothis cold dwelling whose hostility he could divine? Was it for thepurpose of helping him or conquering him? And again in the yellowglimmer, the dismal sunset of the drawing-room, he perceived DonnaSerafina and Advocate Morano on either side of the chimney-piece, whilstbehind the calm yet passionate visage of Benedetta appeared the smilingface of Monsignor Nani, with cunning eyes and lips bespeaking indomitableenergy. 

He went to bed, but soon got up again, stifling, feeling such a need offresh, free air that he opened the window wide in order to lean out. Butthe night was black as ink, the darkness had submerged the horizon. Amist must have hidden the stars in the firmament; the vault above seemedopaque and heavy like lead; and yonder in front the houses of theTrastevere had long since been asleep. Not one of all their windowsglittered; there was but a single gaslight shining, all alone and faraway, like a lost spark. In vain did Pierre seek the Janiculum. In thedepths of that ocean of nihility all sunk and vanished, Rome's four andtwenty centuries, the ancient Palatine and the modern Quirinal, even thegiant dome of St. Peter's, blotted out from the sky by the flood ofgloom. And below him he could not see, he could not even hear the Tiber, the dead river flowing past the dead city. 

III. 

AT a quarter to ten o'clock on the following morning Pierre came down tothe first floor of the mansion for his audience with Cardinal Boccanera. He had awoke free of all fatigue and again full of courage and candidenthusiasm; nothing remaining of his strange despondency of the previousnight, the doubts and suspicions which had then come over him. Themorning was so fine, the sky so pure and so bright, that his heart oncemore palpitated with hope. 

On the landing he found the folding doors of the first ante-room wideopen. While closing the gala saloons which overlooked the street, andwhich were rotting with old age and neglect, the Cardinal still used thereception-rooms of one of his grand-uncles, who in the eighteenth centuryhad risen to the same ecclesiastical dignity as himself. There was asuite of four immense rooms, each sixteen feet high, with windows facingthe lane which sloped down towards the Tiber; and the sun never enteredthem, shut off as it was by the black houses across the lane. Thus theinstallation, in point of space, was in keeping with the display and pompof the old-time princely dignitaries of the Church. But no repairs wereever made, no care was taken of anything, the hangings were frayed andragged, and dust preyed on the furniture, amidst an unconcern whichseemed to betoken some proud resolve to stay the course of time. 

Pierre experienced a slight shock as he entered the first room, theservants' ante-chamber. Formerly two pontifical _gente d'armi_ in fulluniform had always stood there amidst a stream of lackeys; and the singleservant now on duty seemed by his phantom-like appearance to increase themelancholiness of the vast and gloomy hall. One was particularly struckby an altar facing the windows, an altar with red drapery surmounted by a_baldacchino_ with red hangings, on which appeared the escutcheon of theBoccaneras, the winged dragon spitting flames with the device, _Boccanera, Alma rossa_. And the grand-uncle's red hat, the old huge ceremonialhat, was also there, with the two cushions of red silk, and the twoantique parasols which were taken in the coach each time his Eminencewent out. And in the deep silence it seemed as if one could almost hearthe faint noise of the moths preying for a century past upon all thisdead splendour, which would have fallen into dust at the slightest touchof a feather broom. 

The second ante-room, that was formerly occupied by the secretary, wasalso empty, and it was only in the third one, the _anticamera nobile_, that Pierre found Don Vigilio. With his retinue reduced to what wasstrictly necessary, the Cardinal had preferred to have his secretary nearhim--at the door, so to say, of the old throne-room, where he gaveaudience. And Don Vigilio, so thin and yellow, and quivering with fever, sat there like one lost, at a small, common, black table covered withpapers. Raising his head from among a batch of documents, he recognisedPierre, and in a low voice, a faint murmur amidst the silence, he said, "His Eminence is engaged. Please wait. "

Then he again turned to his reading, doubtless to escape all attempts atconversation. 

Not daring to sit down, Pierre examined the apartment. It looked perhapsyet more dilapidated than the others, with its hangings of green damaskworn by age and resembling the faded moss on ancient trees. The ceiling, however, had remained superb. Within a frieze of gilded and colouredornaments was a fresco representing the Triumph of Amphitrite, the workof one of Raffaelle's pupils. And, according to antique usage, it washere that the _berretta_, the red cap, was placed, on a credence, below alarge crucifix of ivory and ebony. 

As Pierre grew used to the half-light, however, his attention was moreparticularly attracted by a recently painted full-length portrait of theCardinal in ceremonial costume--cassock of red moire, rochet of lace, and_cappa_ thrown like a royal mantle over his shoulders. In these vestmentsof the Church the tall old man of seventy retained the proud bearing of aprince, clean shaven, but still boasting an abundance of white hair whichstreamed in curls over his shoulders. He had the commanding visage of theBoccaneras, a large nose and a large thin-lipped mouth in a long faceintersected by broad lines; and the eyes which lighted his palecountenance were indeed the eyes of his race, very dark, yet sparklingwith ardent life under bushy brows which had remained quite black. Withlaurels about his head he would have resembled a Roman emperor, veryhandsome and master of the world, as though indeed the blood of Augustuspulsated in his veins. 

Pierre knew his story which this portrait recalled. Educated at theCollege of the Nobles, Pio Boccanera had but once absented himself fromRome, and that when very young, hardly a deacon, but neverthelessappointed oblegate to convey a _berretta_ to Paris. On his return hisecclesiastical career had continued in sovereign fashion. Honours hadfallen on him naturally, as by right of birth. Ordained by Pius IXhimself, afterwards becoming a Canon of the Vatican Basilica, and_Cameriere segreto_, he had risen to the post of Majordomo about the timeof the Italian occupation, and in 1874 had been created a Cardinal. Forthe last four years, moreover, he had been Papal Chamberlain(_Camerlingo_), and folks whispered that Leo XIII had appointed him tothat post, even as he himself had been appointed to it by Pius IX, inorder to lessen his chance of succeeding to the pontifical throne; foralthough the conclave in choosing Leo had set aside the old traditionthat the Camerlingo was ineligible for the papacy, it was not probablethat it would again dare to infringe that rule. Moreover, people assertedthat, even as had been the case in the reign of Pius, there was a secretwarfare between the Pope and his Camerlingo, the latter remaining on oneside, condemning the policy of the Holy See, holding radically differentopinions on all things, and silently waiting for the death of Leo, whichwould place power in his hands with the duty of summoning the conclave, and provisionally watching over the affairs and interests of the Churchuntil a new Pope should be elected. Behind Cardinal Pio's broad, sternbrow, however, in the glow of his dark eyes, might there not also be theambition of actually rising to the papacy, of repeating the career ofGioachino Pecci, Camerlingo and then Pope, all tradition notwithstanding?With the pride of a Roman prince Pio knew but Rome; he almost gloried inbeing totally ignorant of the modern world; and verily he showed himselfvery pious, austerely religious, with a full firm faith into which thefaintest doubt could never enter. 

But a whisper drew Pierre from his reflections. Don Vigilio, in hisprudent way, invited him to sit down: "You may have to wait some time:take a stool. "

Then he began to cover a large sheet of yellowish paper with finewriting, while Pierre seated himself on one of the stools rangedalongside the wall in front of the portrait. And again the young man fellinto a reverie, picturing in his mind a renewal of all the princely pompof the old-time cardinals in that antique room. To begin with, as soon asnominated, a cardinal gave public festivities, which were sometimes verysplendid. During three days the reception-rooms remained wide open, allcould enter, and from room to room ushers repeated the names of those whocame--patricians, people of the middle class, poor folks, all Romeindeed, whom the new cardinal received with sovereign kindliness, as aking might receive his subjects. Then there was quite a princely retinue;some cardinals carried five hundred people about with them, had no fewerthan sixteen distinct offices in their households, lived, in fact, amidsta perfect court. Even when life subsequently became simplified, acardinal, if he were a prince, still had a right to a gala train of fourcoaches drawn by black horses. Four servants preceded him in liveries, emblazoned with his arms, and carried his hat, cushion, and parasols. Hewas also attended by a secretary in a mantle of violet silk, atrain-bearer in a gown of violet woollen stuff, and a gentleman inwaiting, wearing an Elizabethan style of costume, and bearing the_berretta_ with gloved hands. Although the household had then becomesmaller, it still comprised an _auditore_ specially charged with thecongregational work, a secretary employed exclusively for correspondence, a chief usher who introduced visitors, a gentleman in attendance for thecarrying of the _berretta_, a train-bearer, a chaplain, a majordomo and a_valet-de-chambre_, to say nothing of a flock of underlings, lackeys, cooks, coachmen, grooms, quite a population, which filled the vastmansions with bustle. And with these attendants Pierre mentally sought tofill the three spacious ante-rooms now so deserted; the stream of lackeysin blue liveries broidered with emblazonry, the world of abbes andprelates in silk mantles appeared before him, again setting magnificentand passionate life under the lofty ceilings, illumining all thesemi-gloom with resuscitated splendour. 

But nowadays--particularly since the Italian occupation of Rome--nearlyall the great fortunes of the Roman princes have been exhausted, and thepomp of the great dignitaries of the Church has disappeared. The ruinedpatricians have kept aloof from badly remunerated ecclesiastical officesto which little renown attaches, and have left them to the ambition ofthe petty _bourgeoisie_. Cardinal Boccanera, the last prince of ancientnobility invested with the purple, received scarcely more than 30, 000_lire_* a year to enable him to sustain his rank, that is 22, 000_lire_, ** the salary of his post as Camerlingo, and various small sumsderived from other functions. And he would never have made both ends meethad not Donna Serafina helped him with the remnants of the former familyfortune which he had long previously surrendered to his sisters and hisbrother. Donna Serafina and Benedetta lived apart, in their own rooms, having their own table, servants, and personal expenses. The Cardinalonly had his nephew Dario with him, and he never gave a dinner or held apublic reception. His greatest source of expense was his carriage, theheavy pair-horse coach, which ceremonial usage compelled him to retain, for a cardinal cannot go on foot through the streets of Rome. However, his coachman, an old family servant, spared him the necessity of keepinga groom by insisting on taking entire charge of the carriage and the twoblack horses, which, like himself, had grown old in the service of theBoccaneras. There were two footmen, father and son, the latter born inthe house. And the cook's wife assisted in the kitchen. However, yetgreater reductions had been made in the ante-rooms, where the staff, onceso brilliant and numerous, was now simply composed of two petty priests, Don Vigilio, who was at once secretary, auditore, and majordomo, and AbbePaparelli, who acted as train-bearer, chaplain, and chief usher. There, where a crowd of salaried people of all ranks had once moved to and fro, filling the vast halls with bustle and colour, one now only beheld twolittle black cassocks gliding noiselessly along, two unobtrusive shadowsflitting about amidst the deep gloom of the lifeless rooms. 

 * 1, 200 pounds. 

 ** 880 pounds. 

And Pierre now fully understood the haughty unconcern of the Cardinal, who suffered time to complete its work of destruction in that ancestralmansion, to which he was powerless to restore the glorious life of formertimes! Built for that shining life, for the sovereign display of asixteenth-century prince, it was now deserted and empty, crumbling aboutthe head of its last master, who had no servants left him to fill it, andwould not have known how to pay for the materials which repairs wouldhave necessitated. And so, since the modern world was hostile, sincereligion was no longer sovereign, since men had changed, and one wasdrifting into the unknown, amidst the hatred and indifference of newgenerations, why not allow the old world to collapse in the stubborn, motionless pride born of its ancient glory? Heroes alone died standing, without relinquishing aught of their past, preserving the same faithuntil their final gasp, beholding, with pain-fraught bravery and infinitesadness, the slow last agony of their divinity. And the Cardinal's tallfigure, his pale, proud face, so full of sovereign despair and courage, expressed that stubborn determination to perish beneath the ruins of theold social edifice rather than change a single one of its stones. 

Pierre was roused by a rustling of furtive steps, a little mouse-liketrot, which made him raise his head. A door in the wall had just opened, and to his surprise there stood before him an abbe of some forty years, fat and short, looking like an old maid in a black skirt, a very old maidin fact, so numerous were the wrinkles on his flabby face. It was AbbePaparelli, the train-bearer and usher, and on seeing Pierre he was aboutto question him, when Don Vigilio explained matters. 

"Ah! very good, very good, Monsieur l'Abbe Froment. His Eminence willcondescend to receive you, but you must wait, you must wait. "

Then, with his silent rolling walk, he returned to the second ante-room, where he usually stationed himself. 

Pierre did not like his face--the face of an old female devotee, whitenedby celibacy, and ravaged by stern observance of the rites; and so, as DonVigilio--his head weary and his hands burning with fever--had not resumedhis work, the young man ventured to question him. Oh! Abbe Paparelli, hewas a man of the liveliest faith, who from simple humility remained in amodest post in his Eminence's service. On the other hand, his Eminencewas pleased to reward him for his devotion by occasionally condescendingto listen to his advice. 

As Don Vigilio spoke, a faint gleam of irony, a kind of veiled angerappeared in his ardent eyes. However, he continued to examine Pierre, andgradually seemed reassured, appreciating the evident frankness of thisforeigner who could hardly belong to any clique. And so he ended bydeparting somewhat from his continual sickly distrust, and even engagedin a brief chat. 

"Yes, yes, " he said, "there is a deal of work sometimes, and rather hardwork too. His Eminence belongs to several Congregations, theConsistorial, the Holy Office, the Index, the Rites. And all thedocuments concerning the business which falls to him come into my hands. I have to study each affair, prepare a report on it, clear the way, so tosay. Besides which all the correspondence is carried on through me. Fortunately his Eminence is a holy man, and intrigues neither for himselfnor for others, and this enables us to taste a little peace. "

Pierre took a keen interest in these particulars of the life led by aprince of the Church. He learnt that the Cardinal rose at six o'clock, summer and winter alike. He said his mass in his chapel, a little roomwhich simply contained an altar of painted wood, and which nobody buthimself ever entered. His private apartments were limited to threerooms--a bed-room, dining-room, and study--all very modest and small, contrived indeed by partitioning off portions of one large hall. And heled a very retired life, exempt from all luxury, like one who is frugaland poor. At eight in the morning he drank a cup of cold milk for hisbreakfast. Then, when there were sittings of the Congregations to whichhe belonged, he attended them; otherwise he remained at home and gaveaudience. Dinner was served at one o'clock, and afterwards came thesiesta, lasting until five in summer and until four at other seasons--asacred moment when a servant would not have dared even to knock at thedoor. On awaking, if it were fine, his Eminence drove out towards theancient Appian Way, returning at sunset when the _Ave Maria_ began toring. And finally, after again giving audience between seven and nine, hesupped and retired into his room, where he worked all alone or went tobed. The cardinals wait upon the Pope on fixed days, two or three timeseach month, for purposes connected with their functions. For nearly ayear, however, the Camerlingo had not been received in private audienceby his Holiness, and this was a sign of disgrace, a proof of secretwarfare, of which the entire black world spoke in prudent whispers. 

"His Eminence is sometimes a little rough, " continued Don Vigilio in asoft voice. "But you should see him smile when his niece the Contessina, of whom he is very fond, comes down to kiss him. If you have a goodreception, you know, you will owe it to the Contessina. "

At this moment the secretary was interrupted. A sound of voices came fromthe second ante-room, and forthwith he rose to his feet, and bent verylow at sight of a stout man in a black cassock, red sash, and black hat, with twisted cord of red and gold, whom Abbe Paparelli was ushering inwith a great display of deferential genuflections. Pierre also had risenat a sign from Don Vigilio, who found time to whisper to him, "CardinalSanguinetti, Prefect of the Congregation of the Index. "

Meantime Abbe Paparelli was lavishing attentions on the prelate, repeating with an expression of blissful satisfaction: "Your mostreverend Eminence was expected. I have orders to admit your most reverendEminence at once. His Eminence the Grand Penitentiary is already here. "

Sanguinetti, loud of voice and sonorous of tread, spoke out with suddenfamiliarity, "Yes, yes, I know. A number of importunate people detainedme! One can never do as one desires. But I am here at last. "

He was a man of sixty, squat and fat, with a round and highly colouredface distinguished by a huge nose, thick lips, and bright eyes which werealways on the move. But he more particularly struck one by his active, almost turbulent, youthful vivacity, scarcely a white hair as yet showingamong his brown and carefully tended locks, which fell in curls about histemples. Born at Viterbo, he had studied at the seminary there beforecompleting his education at the Universita Gregoriana in Rome. Hisecclesiastical appointments showed how rapidly he had made his way, howsupple was his mind: first of all secretary to the nunciature at Lisbon;then created titular Bishop of Thebes, and entrusted with a delicatemission in Brazil; on his return appointed nuncio first at Brussels andnext at Vienna; and finally raised to the cardinalate, to say nothing ofthe fact that he had lately secured the suburban episcopal see ofFrascati. * Trained to business, having dealt with every nation in Europe, he had nothing against him but his ambition, of which he made too open adisplay, and his spirit of intrigue, which was ever restless. It was saidthat he was now one of the irreconcilables who demanded that Italy shouldsurrender Rome, though formerly he had made advances to the Quirinal. Inhis wild passion to become the next Pope he rushed from one opinion tothe other, giving himself no end of trouble to gain people from whom heafterwards parted. He had twice already fallen out with Leo XIII, but haddeemed it politic to make his submission. In point of fact, given that hewas an almost openly declared candidate to the papacy, he was wearinghimself out by his perpetual efforts, dabbling in too many things, andsetting too many people agog. 

 * Cardinals York and Howard were Bishops of Frascati. --Trans. 

Pierre, however, had only seen in him the Prefect of the Congregation ofthe Index; and the one idea which struck him was that this man woulddecide the fate of his book. And so, when the Cardinal had disappearedand Abbe Paparelli had returned to the second ante-room, he could notrefrain from asking Don Vigilio, "Are their Eminences CardinalSanguinetti and Cardinal Boccanera very intimate, then?"

An irrepressible smile contracted the secretary's lips, while his eyesgleamed with an irony which he could no longer subdue: "Veryintimate--oh! no, no--they see one another when they can't do otherwise. "

Then he explained that considerable deference was shown to CardinalBoccanera's high birth, and that his colleagues often met at hisresidence, when, as happened to be the case that morning, any graveaffair presented itself, requiring an interview apart from the usualofficial meetings. Cardinal Sanguinetti, he added, was the son of a pettymedical man of Viterbo. "No, no, " he concluded, "their Eminences are notat all intimate. It is difficult for men to agree when they have neitherthe same ideas nor the same character, especially too when they are ineach other's way. "

Don Vigilio spoke these last words in a lower tone, as if talking tohimself and still retaining his sharp smile. But Pierre scarcelylistened, absorbed as he was in his own worries. "Perhaps they have metto discuss some affair connected with the Index?" said he. 

Don Vigilio must have known the object of the meeting. However, he merelyreplied that, if the Index had been in question, the meeting would havetaken place at the residence of the Prefect of that Congregation. Thereupon Pierre, yielding to his impatience, was obliged to put astraight question. "You know of my affair--the affair of my book, " hesaid. "Well, as his Eminence is a member of the Congregation, and all thedocuments pass through your hands, you might be able to give me someuseful information. I know nothing as yet and am so anxious to know!"

At this Don Vigilio relapsed into scared disquietude. He stammered, saying that he had not seen any documents, which was true. "Nothing hasyet reached us, " he added; "I assure you I know nothing. "

Then, as the other persisted, he signed to him to keep quiet, and againturned to his writing, glancing furtively towards the second ante-room asif he believed that Abbe Paparelli was listening. He had certainly saidtoo much, he thought, and he made himself very small, crouching over thetable, and melting, fading away in his dim corner. 

Pierre again fell into a reverie, a prey to all the mystery whichenveloped him--the sleepy, antique sadness of his surroundings. Longminutes went by; it was nearly eleven when the sound of a door openingand a buzz of voices roused him. Then he bowed respectfully to CardinalSanguinetti, who went off accompanied by another cardinal, a very thinand tall man, with a grey, bony, ascetic face. Neither of them, however, seemed even to see the petty foreign priest who bent low as they went by. They were chatting aloud in familiar fashion. 

"Yes! the wind is falling; it is warmer than yesterday. "

"We shall certainly have the sirocco to-morrow. "

Then solemn silence again fell on the large, dim room. Don Vigilio wasstill writing, but his pen made no noise as it travelled over the stiffyellow paper. However, the faint tinkle of a cracked bell was suddenlyheard, and Abbe Paparelli, after hastening into the throne-room for amoment, returned to summon Pierre, whom he announced in a restrainedvoice: "Monsieur l'Abbe Pierre Froment. "

The spacious throne-room was like the other apartments, a virtual ruin. Under the fine ceiling of carved and gilded wood-work, the redwall-hangings of _brocatelle_, with a large palm pattern, were fallinginto tatters. A few holes had been patched, but long wear had streakedthe dark purple of the silk--once of dazzling magnificence--with palehues. The curiosity of the room was its old throne, an arm-chairupholstered in red silk, on which the Holy Father had sat when visitingCardinal Pio's grand-uncle. This chair was surmounted by a canopy, likewise of red silk, under which hung the portrait of the reigning Pope. And, according to custom, the chair was turned towards the wall, to showthat none might sit on it. The other furniture of the apartment was madeup of sofas, arm-chairs, and chairs, with a marvellous Louis Quatorzetable of gilded wood, having a top of mosaic-work representing the rapeof Europa. 

But at first Pierre only saw Cardinal Boccanera standing by the tablewhich he used for writing. In his simple black cassock, with red edgingand red buttons, the Cardinal seemed to him yet taller and prouder thanin the portrait which showed him in ceremonial costume. There was thesame curly white hair, the same long, strongly marked face, with largenose and thin lips, and the same ardent eyes, illumining the palecountenance from under bushy brows which had remained black. But theportrait did not express the lofty tranquil faith which shone in thishandsome face, a complete certainty of what truth was, and an absolutedetermination to abide by it for ever. 

Boccanera had not stirred, but with black, fixed glance remained watchinghis visitor's approach; and the young priest, acquainted with the usualceremonial, knelt and kissed the large ruby which the prelate wore on hishand. However, the Cardinal immediately raised him. 

"You are welcome here, my dear son. My niece spoke to me about you withso much sympathy that I am happy to receive you. " With these words Pioseated himself near the table, as yet not telling Pierre to take a chair, but still examining him whilst speaking slowly and with studiedpoliteness: "You arrived yesterday morning, did you not, and were verytired?"

"Your Eminence is too kind--yes, I was worn out, as much through emotionas fatigue. This journey is one of such gravity for me. "

The Cardinal seemed indisposed to speak of serious matters so soon. "Nodoubt; it is a long way from Paris to Rome, " he replied. "Nowadays thejourney may be accomplished with fair rapidity, but formerly howinterminable it was!" Then speaking yet more slowly: "I went to Parisonce--oh! a long time ago, nearly fifty years ago--and then for barely aweek. A large and handsome city; yes, yes, a great many people in thestreets, extremely well-bred people, a nation which has accomplishedgreat and admirable things. Even in these sad times one cannot forgetthat France was the eldest daughter of the Church. But since that onejourney I have not left Rome--"

Then he made a gesture of quiet disdain, expressive of all he leftunsaid. What was the use of journeying to a land of doubt and rebellion?Did not Rome suffice--Rome, which governed the world--the Eternal Citywhich, when the times should be accomplished, would become the capital ofthe world once more?

Silently glancing at the Cardinal's lofty stature, the stature of one ofthe violent war-like princes of long ago, now reduced to wearing thatsimple cassock, Pierre deemed him superb with his proud conviction thatRome sufficed unto herself. But that stubborn resolve to remain inignorance, that determination to take no account of other nationsexcepting to treat them as vassals, disquieted him when he reflected onthe motives that had brought him there. And as silence had again fallenhe thought it politic to approach the subject he had at heart by words ofhomage. 

"Before taking any other steps, " said he, "I desired to express myprofound respect for your Eminence; for in your Eminence I place my onlyhope; and I beg your Eminence to be good enough to advise and guide me. "

With a wave of the hand Boccanera thereupon invited Pierre to take achair in front of him. "I certainly do not refuse you my counsel, my dearson, " he replied. "I owe my counsel to every Christian who desires to dowell. But it would be wrong for you to rely on my influence. I have none. I live entirely apart from others; I cannot and will not ask foranything. However, this will not prevent us from chatting. " Then, approaching the question in all frankness, without the slightestartifice, like one of brave and absolute mind who fears no responsibilityhowever great, he continued: "You have written a book, have younot?--'New Rome, ' I believe--and you have come to defend this book whichhas been denounced to the Congregation of the Index. For my own part Ihave not yet read it. You will understand that I cannot read everything. I only see the works that are sent to me by the Congregation which I havebelonged to since last year; and, besides, I often content myself withthe reports which my secretary draws up for me. However, my nieceBenedetta has read your book, and has told me that it is not lacking ininterest. It first astonished her somewhat, and then greatly moved her. So I promise you that I will go through it and study the incriminatedpassages with the greatest care. "

Pierre profited by the opportunity to begin pleading his cause. And itoccurred to him that it would be best to give his references at once. "Your Eminence will realise how stupefied I was when I learnt thatproceedings were being taken against my book, " he said. "Monsieur leVicomte Philibert de la Choue, who is good enough to show me somefriendship, does not cease repeating that such a book is worth the bestof armies to the Holy See. "

"Oh! De la Choue, De la Choue!" repeated the Cardinal with a pout ofgood-natured disdain. "I know that De la Choue considers himself a goodCatholic. He is in a slight degree our relative, as you know. And when hecomes to Rome and stays here, I willingly see him, on condition howeverthat no mention is made of certain subjects on which it would beimpossible for us to agree. To tell the truth, the Catholicism preachedby De la Choue--worthy, clever man though he is--his Catholicism, I say, with his corporations, his working-class clubs, his cleansed democracyand his vague socialism, is after all merely so much literature!"

This pronouncement struck Pierre, for he realised all the disdainfulirony contained in it--an irony which touched himself. And so he hastenedto name his other reference, whose authority he imagined to be abovediscussion: "His Eminence Cardinal Bergerot has been kind enough tosignify his full approval of my book. "

At this Boccanera's face suddenly changed. It no longer wore anexpression of derisive blame, tinged with the pity that is prompted by achild's ill-considered action fated to certain failure. A flash of angernow lighted up the Cardinal's dark eyes, and a pugnacious impulsehardened his entire countenance. "In France, " he slowly resumed, "Cardinal Bergerot no doubt has a reputation for great piety. We knowlittle of him in Rome. Personally, I have only seen him once, when hecame to receive his hat. And I would not therefore allow myself to judgehim if his writings and actions had not recently saddened my believingsoul. Unhappily, I am not the only one; you will find nobody here, of theSacred College, who approves of his doings. " Boccanera paused, then in afirm voice concluded: "Cardinal Bergerot is a Revolutionary!"

This time Pierre's surprise for a moment forced him to silence. ARevolutionary--good heavens! a Revolutionary--that gentle pastor ofsouls, whose charity was inexhaustible, whose one dream was that Jesusmight return to earth to ensure at last the reign of peace and justice!So words did not have the same signification in all places; into whatreligion had he now tumbled that the faith of the poor and the humbleshould be looked upon as a mere insurrectional, condemnable passion? Asyet unable to understand things aright, Pierre nevertheless realised thatdiscussion would be both discourteous and futile, and his only remainingdesire was to give an account of his book, explain and vindicate it. Butat his first words the Cardinal interposed. 

"No, no, my dear son. It would take us too long and I wish to read thepassages. Besides, there is an absolute rule. All books which meddle withthe faith are condemnable and pernicious. Does your book show perfectrespect for dogma?"

"I believe so, and I assure your Eminence that I have had no intention ofwriting a work of negation. "

"Good: I may be on your side if that is true. Only, in the contrary case, I have but one course to advise you, which is to withdraw your work, condemn it, and destroy it without waiting until a decision of the Indexcompels you to do so. Whosoever has given birth to scandal must stifle itand expiate it, even if he have to cut into his own flesh. The onlyduties of a priest are humility and obedience, the complete annihilationof self before the sovereign will of the Church. And, besides, why writeat all? For there is already rebellion in expressing an opinion of one'sown. It is always the temptation of the devil which puts a pen in anauthor's hand. Why, then, incur the risk of being for ever damned byyielding to the pride of intelligence and domination? Your book again, mydear son--your book is literature, literature!"

This expression again repeated was instinct with so much contempt thatPierre realised all the wretchedness that would fall upon the poor pagesof his apostolate on meeting the eyes of this prince who had become asaintly man. With increasing fear and admiration he listened to him, andbeheld him growing greater and greater. 

"Ah! faith, my dear son, everything is in faith--perfect, disinterestedfaith--which believes for the sole happiness of believing! How restful itis to bow down before the mysteries without seeking to penetrate them, full of the tranquil conviction that, in accepting them, one possessesboth the certain and the final! Is not the highest intellectualsatisfaction that which is derived from the victory of the divine overthe mind, which it disciplines, and contents so completely that it knowsdesire no more? And apart from that perfect equilibrium, that explanationof the unknown by the divine, no durable peace is possible for man. Ifone desires that truth and justice should reign upon earth, it is in Godthat one must place them. He that does not believe is like a battlefield, the scene of every disaster. Faith alone can tranquillise and deliver. "

For an instant Pierre remained silent before the great figure rising upin front of him. At Lourdes he had only seen suffering humanity rushingthither for health of the body and consolation of the soul; but here wasthe intellectual believer, the mind that needs certainty, findingsatisfaction, tasting the supreme enjoyment of doubting no more. He hadnever previously heard such a cry of joy at living in obedience withoutanxiety as to the morrow of death. He knew that Boccanera's youth hadbeen somewhat stormy, traversed by acute attacks of sensuality, a flaringof the red blood of his ancestors; and he marvelled at the calm majestywhich faith had at last implanted in this descendant of so violent arace, who had no passion remaining in him but that of pride. 

"And yet, " Pierre at last ventured to say in a timid, gentle voice, "iffaith remains essential and immutable, forms change. From hour to hourevolution goes on in all things--the world changes. "

"That is not true!" exclaimed the Cardinal, "the world does not change. It continually tramps over the same ground, loses itself, strays into themost abominable courses, and it continually has to be brought back intothe right path. That is the truth. In order that the promises of Christmay be fulfilled, is it not necessary that the world should return to itsstarting point, its original innocence? Is not the end of time fixed forthe day when men shall be in possession of the full truth of the Gospel?Yes, truth is in the past, and it is always to the past that one mustcling if one would avoid the pitfalls which evil imaginations create. Allthose fine novelties, those mirages of that famous so-called progress, are simply traps and snares of the eternal tempter, causes of perditionand death. Why seek any further, why constantly incur the risk of error, when for eighteen hundred years the truth has been known? Truth! why itis in Apostolic and Roman Catholicism as created by a long succession ofgenerations! What madness to desire to change it when so many loftyminds, so many pious souls have made of it the most admirable ofmonuments, the one instrument of order in this world, and of salvation inthe next!"

Pierre, whose heart had contracted, refrained from further protest, forhe could no longer doubt that he had before him an implacable adversaryof his most cherished ideas. Chilled by a covert fear, as though he felta faint breath, as of a distant wind from a land of ruins, pass over hisface, bringing with it the mortal cold of a sepulchre, he bowedrespectfully whilst the Cardinal, rising to his full height, continued inhis obstinate voice, resonant with proud courage: "And if Catholicism, asits enemies pretend, be really stricken unto death, it must die standingand in all its glorious integrality. You hear me, Monsieur l'Abbe--notone concession, not one surrender, not a single act of cowardice!Catholicism is such as it is, and cannot be otherwise. No modification ofthe divine certainty, the entire truth, is possible. The removal of thesmallest stone from the edifice could only prove a cause of instability. Is this not evident? You cannot save old houses by attacking them withthe pickaxe under pretence of decorating them. You only enlarge thefissures. Even if it were true that Rome were on the eve of falling intodust, the only result of all the repairing and patching would be tohasten the catastrophe. And instead of a noble death, met unflinchingly, we should then behold the basest of agonies, the death throes of a cowardwho struggles and begs for mercy! For my part I wait. I am convinced thatall that people say is but so much horrible falsehood, that Catholicismhas never been firmer, that it imbibes eternity from the one and onlysource of life. But should the heavens indeed fall, on that day I shouldbe here, amidst these old and crumbling walls, under these old ceilingswhose beams are being devoured by the worms, and it is here, erect, amongthe ruins, that I should meet my end, repeating my _credo_ for the lasttime. "

His final words fell more slowly, full of haughty sadness, whilst with asweeping gesture he waved his arms towards the old, silent, desertedpalace around him, whence life was withdrawing day by day. Had aninvoluntary presentiment come to him, did the faint cold breath from theruins also fan his own cheeks? All the neglect into which the vast roomshad fallen was explained by his words; and a superb, despondent grandeurenveloped this prince and cardinal, this uncompromising Catholic who, withdrawing into the dim half-light of the past, braved with a soldier'sheart the inevitable downfall of the olden world. 

Deeply impressed, Pierre was about to take his leave when, to hissurprise, a little door opened in the hangings. "What is it? Can't I beleft in peace for a moment?" exclaimed Boccanera with sudden impatience. 

Nevertheless, Abbe Paparelli, fat and sleek, glided into the room withoutthe faintest sign of emotion. And he whispered a few words in the ear ofthe Cardinal, who, on seeing him, had become calm again. "What curate?"asked Boccanera. "Oh! yes, Santobono, the curate of Frascati. Iknow--tell him I cannot see him just now. "

Paparelli, however, again began whispering in his soft voice, though notin so low a key as previously, for some of his words could be overheard. The affair was urgent, the curate was compelled to return home, and hadonly a word or two to say. And then, without awaiting consent, thetrain-bearer ushered in the visitor, a _protege_ of his, whom he had leftjust outside the little door. And for his own part he withdrew with thetranquillity of a retainer who, whatever the modesty of his office, knowshimself to be all powerful. 

Pierre, who was momentarily forgotten, looked at the visitor--a bigfellow of a priest, the son of a peasant evidently, and still near to thesoil. He had an ungainly, bony figure, huge feet and knotted hands, witha seamy tanned face lighted by extremely keen black eyes. Five and fortyand still robust, his chin and cheeks bristling, and his cassock, overlarge, hanging loosely about his big projecting bones, he suggested abandit in disguise. Still there was nothing base about him; theexpression of his face was proud. And in one hand he carried a smallwicker basket carefully covered over with fig-leaves. 

Santobono at once bent his knees and kissed the Cardinal's ring, but withhasty unconcern, as though only some ordinary piece of civility were inquestion. Then, with that commingling of respect and familiarity whichthe little ones of the world often evince towards the great, he said, "Ibeg your most reverend Eminence's forgiveness for having insisted. Butthere were people waiting, and I should not have been received if my oldfriend Paparelli had not brought me by way of that door. Oh! I have avery great service to ask of your Eminence, a real service of the heart. But first of all may I be allowed to offer your Eminence a littlepresent?"

The Cardinal listened with a grave expression. He had been wellacquainted with Santobono in the years when he had spent the summer atFrascati, at a princely residence which the Boccaneras had possessedthere--a villa rebuilt in the seventeenth century, surrounded by awonderful park, whose famous terrace overlooked the Campagna, stretchingfar and bare like the sea. This villa, however, had since been sold, andon some vineyards, which had fallen to Benedetta's share, Count Prada, prior to the divorce proceedings, had begun to erect quite a district oflittle pleasure houses. In former times, when walking out, the Cardinalhad condescended to enter and rest in the dwelling of Santobono, whoofficiated at an antique chapel dedicated to St. Mary of the Fields, without the town. The priest had his home in a half-ruined buildingadjoining this chapel, and the charm of the place was a walled gardenwhich he cultivated himself with the passion of a true peasant. 

"As is my rule every year, " said he, placing his basket on the table, "Iwished that your Eminence might taste my figs. They are the first of theseason. I gathered them expressly this morning. You used to be so fond ofthem, your Eminence, when you condescended to gather them from the treeitself. You were good enough to tell me that there wasn't another tree inthe world that produced such fine figs. "

The Cardinal could not help smiling. He was indeed very fond of figs, andSantobono spoke truly: his fig-tree was renowned throughout the district. "Thank you, my dear Abbe, " said Boccanera, "you remember my littlefailings. Well, and what can I do for you?"

Again he became grave, for, in former times, there had been unpleasantdiscussions between him and the curate, a lack of agreement which hadangered him. Born at Nemi, in the core of a fierce district, Santobonobelonged to a violent family, and his eldest brother had died of a stab. He himself had always professed ardently patriotic opinions. It was saidthat he had all but taken up arms for Garibaldi; and, on the day when theItalians had entered Rome, force had been needed to prevent him fromraising the flag of Italian unity above his roof. His passionate dreamwas to behold Rome mistress of the world, when the Pope and the Kingshould have embraced and made cause together. Thus the Cardinal looked onhim as a dangerous revolutionary, a renegade who imperilled Catholicism. 

"Oh! what your Eminence can do for me, what your Eminence can do if onlycondescending and willing!" repeated Santobono in an ardent voice, clasping his big knotty hands. And then, breaking off, he inquired, "Didnot his Eminence Cardinal Sanguinetti explain my affair to your mostreverend Eminence?"

"No, the Cardinal simply advised me of your visit, saying that you hadsomething to ask of me. "

Whilst speaking Boccanera's face had clouded over, and it was withincreased sternness of manner that he again waited. He was aware that thepriest had become Sanguinetti's "client" since the latter had been in thehabit of spending weeks together at his suburban see of Frascati. Walkingin the shadow of every cardinal who is a candidate to the papacy, thereare familiars of low degree who stake the ambition of their life on thepossibility of that cardinal's election. If he becomes Pope some day, ifthey themselves help him to the throne, they enter the great pontificalfamily in his train. It was related that Sanguinetti had once alreadyextricated Santobono from a nasty difficulty: the priest having one daycaught a marauding urchin in the act of climbing his wall, had beaten thelittle fellow with such severity that he had ultimately died of it. However, to Santobono's credit it must be added that his fanaticaldevotion to the Cardinal was largely based upon the hope that he wouldprove the Pope whom men awaited, the Pope who would make Italy thesovereign nation of the world. 

"Well, this is my misfortune, " he said. "Your Eminence knows my brotherAgostino, who was gardener at the villa for two years in your Eminence'stime. He is certainly a very pleasant and gentle young fellow, of whomnobody has ever complained. And so it is hard to understand how such anaccident can have happened to him, but it seems that he has killed a manwith a knife at Genzano, while walking in the street in the evening. I amdreadfully distressed about it, and would willingly give two fingers ofmy right hand to extricate him from prison. However, it occurred to methat your Eminence would not refuse me a certificate stating thatAgostino was formerly in your Eminence's service, and that your Eminencewas always well pleased with his quiet disposition. "

But the Cardinal flatly protested: "I was not at all pleased withAgostino. He was wildly violent, and I had to dismiss him preciselybecause he was always quarrelling with the other servants. "

"Oh! how grieved I am to hear your Eminence say that! So it is true, then, my poor little Agostino's disposition has really changed! Stillthere is always a way out of a difficulty, is there not? You can stillgive me a certificate, first arranging the wording of it. A certificatefrom your Eminence would have such a favourable effect upon the lawofficers. "

"No doubt, " replied Boccanera; "I can understand that, but I will give nocertificate. "

"What! does your most reverend Eminence refuse my prayer?"

"Absolutely! I know that you are a priest of perfect morality, that youdischarge the duties of your ministry with strict punctuality, and thatyou would be deserving of high commendation were it not for yourpolitical fancies. Only your fraternal affection is now leading youastray. I cannot tell a lie to please you. "

Santobono gazed at him in real stupefaction, unable to understand that aprince, an all-powerful cardinal, should be influenced by such pettyscruples, when the entire question was a mere knife thrust, the mostcommonplace and frequent of incidents in the yet wild land of the oldRoman castles. 

"A lie! a lie!" he muttered; "but surely it isn't lying just to say whatis good of a man, leaving out all the rest, especially when a man hasgood points as Agostino certainly has. In a certificate, too, everythingdepends on the words one uses. "

He stubbornly clung to that idea; he could not conceive that a personshould refuse to soften the rigour of justice by an ingeniouspresentation of the facts. However, on acquiring a certainty that hewould obtain nothing, he made a gesture of despair, his livid faceassuming an expression of violent rancour, whilst his black eyes flamedwith restrained passion. 

"Well, well! each looks on truth in his own way, " he said. "I shall goback to tell his Eminence Cardinal Sanguinetti. And I beg your Eminencenot to be displeased with me for having disturbed your Eminence to nopurpose. By the way, perhaps the figs are not yet quite ripe; but I willtake the liberty to bring another basketful towards the end of theseason, when they will be quite nice and sweet. A thousand thanks and athousand felicities to your most reverend Eminence. "

Santobono went off backwards, his big bony figure bending double withrepeated genuflections. Pierre, whom the scene had greatly interested, inhim beheld a specimen of the petty clergy of Rome and its environs, ofwhom people had told him before his departure from Paris. This was notthe _scagnozzo_, the wretched famished priest whom some nasty affairbrings from the provinces, who seeks his daily bread on the pavements ofRome; one of the herd of begowned beggars searching for a livelihoodamong the crumbs of Church life, voraciously fighting for chance masses, and mingling with the lowest orders in taverns of the worst repute. Norwas this the country priest of distant parts, a man of crass ignoranceand superstition, a peasant among the peasants, treated as an equal byhis pious flock, which is careful not to mistake him for the Divinity, and which, whilst kneeling in all humility before the parish saint, doesnot bend before the man who from that saint derives his livelihood. AtFrascati the officiating minister of a little church may receive astipend of some nine hundred _lire_ a year, * and he has only bread andmeat to buy if his garden yields him wine and fruit and vegetables. Thisone, Santobono, was not without education; he knew a little theology anda little history, especially the history of the past grandeur of Rome, which had inflamed his patriotic heart with the mad dream that universaldomination would soon fall to the portion of renascent Rome, the capitalof united Italy. But what an insuperable distance still remained betweenthis petty Roman clergy, often very worthy and intelligent, and the highclergy, the high dignitaries of the Vatican! Nobody that was not at leasta prelate seemed to count. 

 * About 36 pounds. One is reminded of Goldsmith's line: "And passing rich with forty pounds a year. "--Trans. 

"A thousand thanks to your most reverend Eminence, and may success attendall your Eminence's desires. "

With these words Santobono finally disappeared, and the Cardinal returnedto Pierre, who also bowed preparatory to taking his leave. 

"To sum up the matter, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said Boccanera, "the affair ofyour book presents certain difficulties. As I have told you, I have noprecise information, I have seen no documents. But knowing that my niecetook an interest in you, I said a few words on the subject to CardinalSanguinetti, the Prefect of the Index, who was here just now. And heknows little more than I do, for nothing has yet left the Secretary'shands. Still he told me that the denunciation emanated from personages ofrank and influence, and applied to numerous pages of your work, in whichit was said there were passages of the most deplorable character asregards both discipline and dogma. "

Greatly moved by the idea that he had hidden foes, secret adversaries whopursued him in the dark, the young priest responded: "Oh! denounced, denounced! If your Eminence only knew how that word pains my heart! Anddenounced, too, for offences which were certainly involuntary, since myone ardent desire was the triumph of the Church! All I can do, then, isto fling myself at the feet of the Holy Father and entreat him to hear mydefence. "

Boccanera suddenly became very grave again. A stern look rested on hislofty brow as he drew his haughty figure to its full height. "HisHoliness, " said he, "can do everything, even receive you, if such be hisgood pleasure, and absolve you also. But listen to me. I again advise youto withdraw your book yourself, to destroy it, simply and courageously, before embarking in a struggle in which you will reap the shame of beingoverwhelmed. Reflect on that. "

Pierre, however, had no sooner spoken of the Pope than he had regrettedit, for he realised that an appeal to the sovereign authority wascalculated to wound the Cardinal's feelings. Moreover, there was nofurther room for doubt. Boccanera would be against his book, and theutmost that he could hope for was to gain his neutrality by bringingpressure to bear on him through those about him. At the same time he hadfound the Cardinal very plain spoken, very frank, far removed from allthe secret intriguing in which the affair of his book was involved, as henow began to realise; and so it was with deep respect and genuineadmiration for the prelate's strong and lofty character that he tookleave of him. 

"I am infinitely obliged to your Eminence, " he said, "and I promise thatI will carefully reflect upon all that your Eminence has been kind enoughto say to me. "

On returning to the ante-room, Pierre there found five or six persons whohad arrived during his audience, and were now waiting. There was abishop, a domestic prelate, and two old ladies, and as he drew near toDon Vigilio before retiring, he was surprised to find him conversing witha tall, fair young fellow, a Frenchman, who, also in astonishment, exclaimed, "What! are you here in Rome, Monsieur l'Abbe?"

For a moment Pierre had hesitated. "Ah! I must ask your pardon, MonsieurNarcisse Habert, " he replied, "I did not at first recognise you! It wasthe less excusable as I knew that you had been an _attache_ at ourembassy here ever since last year. "

Tall, slim, and elegant of appearance, Narcisse Habert had a clearcomplexion, with eyes of a bluish, almost mauvish, hue, a fair frizzybeard, and long curling fair hair cut short over the forehead in theFlorentine fashion. Of a wealthy family of militant Catholics, chieflymembers of the bar or bench, he had an uncle in the diplomaticprofession, and this had decided his own career. Moreover, a place atRome was marked out for him, for he there had powerful connections. Hewas a nephew by marriage of Cardinal Sarno, whose sister had marriedanother of his uncles, a Paris notary; and he was also cousin german ofMonsignor Gamba del Zoppo, a _Cameriere segreto_, and son of one of hisaunts, who had married an Italian colonel. And in some measure for thesereasons he had been attached to the embassy to the Holy See, hissuperiors tolerating his somewhat fantastic ways, his everlasting passionfor art which sent him wandering hither and thither through Rome. He wasmoreover very amiable and extremely well-bred; and it occasionallyhappened, as was the case that morning, that with his weary and somewhatmysterious air he came to speak to one or another of the cardinals onsome real matter of business in the ambassador's name. 

So as to converse with Pierre at his ease, he drew him into the deepembrasure of one of the windows. "Ah! my dear Abbe, how pleased I am tosee you!" said he. "You must remember what pleasant chats we had when wemet at Cardinal Bergerot's! I told you about some paintings which youwere to see for your book, some miniatures of the fourteenth andfifteenth centuries. And now, you know, I mean to take possession of you. I'll show you Rome as nobody else could show it to you. I've seen andexplored everything. Ah! there are treasures, such treasures! But intruth there is only one supreme work; one always comes back to one'sparticular passion. The Botticelli in the Sixtine Chapel--ah, theBotticelli!"

His voice died away, and he made a faint gesture as if overcome byadmiration. Then Pierre had to promise that he would place himself in hishands and accompany him to the Sixtine Chapel. "You know why I am here, "at last said the young priest. "Proceedings have been taken against mybook; it has been denounced to the Congregation of the Index. "

"Your book! is it possible?" exclaimed Narcisse: "a book like that withpages recalling the delightful St. Francis of Assisi!" And thereupon heobligingly placed himself at Pierre's disposal. "But our ambassador willbe very useful to you, " he said. "He is the best man in the world, ofcharming affability, and full of the old French spirit. I will presentyou to him this afternoon or to-morrow morning at the latest; and sinceyou desire an immediate audience with the Pope, he will endeavour toobtain one for you. His position naturally designates him as yourintermediary. Still, I must confess that things are not always easilymanaged. Although the Holy Father is very fond of him, there are timeswhen his Excellency fails, for the approaches are so extremelyintricate. "

Pierre had not thought of employing the ambassador's good offices, for hehad naively imagined that an accused priest who came to defend himselfwould find every door open. However, he was delighted with Narcisse'soffer, and thanked him as warmly as if the audience were alreadyobtained. 

"Besides, " the young man continued, "if we encounter any difficulties Ihave relatives at the Vatican, as you know. I don't mean my uncle theCardinal, who would be of no use to us, for he never stirs out of hisoffice at the Propaganda, and will never apply for anything. But mycousin, Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo, is very obliging, and he lives inintimacy with the Pope, his duties requiring his constant attendance onhim. So, if necessary, I will take you to see him, and he will no doubtfind a means of procuring you an interview, though his extreme prudencekeeps him perpetually afraid of compromising himself. However, it'sunderstood, you may rely on me in every respect. "

"Ah! my dear sir, " exclaimed Pierre, relieved and happy, "I heartilyaccept your offer. You don't know what balm your words have brought me;for ever since my arrival everybody has been discouraging me, and you arethe first to restore my strength by looking at things in the true Frenchway. "

Then, lowering his voice, he told the _attache_ of his interview withCardinal Boccanera, of his conviction that the latter would not help him, of the unfavourable information which had been given by CardinalSanguinetti, and of the rivalry which he had divined between the twoprelates. Narcisse listened, smiling, and in his turn began to gossipconfidentially. The rivalry which Pierre had mentioned, the prematurecontest for the tiara which Sanguinetti and Boccanera were waging, impelled to it by a furious desire to become the next Pope, had for along time been revolutionising the black world. There was incredibleintricacy in the depths of the affair; none could exactly tell who waspulling the strings, conducting the vast intrigue. As regardsgeneralities it was simply known that Boccanera representedabsolutism--the Church freed from all compromises with modern society, and waiting in immobility for the Deity to triumph over Satan, for Rometo be restored to the Holy Father, and for repentant Italy to performpenance for its sacrilege; whereas Sanguinetti, extremely politic andsupple, was reported to harbour bold and novel ideas: permission to voteto be granted to all true Catholics, * a majority to be gained by thismeans in the Legislature; then, as a fatal corollary, the downfall of theHouse of Savoy, and the proclamation of a kind of republican federationof all the former petty States of Italy under the august protectorate ofthe Pope. On the whole, the struggle was between these two antagonisticelements--the first bent on upholding the Church by a rigorousmaintenance of the old traditions, and the other predicting the fall ofthe Church if it did not follow the bent of the coming century. But allwas steeped in so much mystery that people ended by thinking that, if thepresent Pope should live a few years longer, his successor wouldcertainly be neither Boccanera nor Sanguinetti. 

 * Since the occupation of Rome by the Italian authorities, the supporters of the Church, obedient to the prohibition of the Vatican, have abstained from taking part in the political elections, this being their protest against the new order of things which they do not recognise. Various attempts have been made, however, to induce the Pope to give them permission to vote, many members of the Roman aristocracy considering the present course impolitic and even harmful to the interests of the Church. --Trans. 

All at once Pierre interrupted Narcisse: "And Monsignor Nani, do you knowhim? I spoke with him yesterday evening. And there he is coming in now!"

Nani was indeed just entering the ante-room with his usual smile on hisamiable pink face. His cassock of fine texture, and his sash of violetsilk shone with discreet soft luxury. And he showed himself very amiableto Abbe Paparelli, who, accompanying him in all humility, begged him tobe kind enough to wait until his Eminence should be able to receive him. 

"Oh! Monsignor Nani, " muttered Narcisse, becoming serious, "he is a manwhom it is advisable to have for a friend. "

Then, knowing Nani's history, he related it in an undertone. Born atVenice, of a noble but ruined family which had produced heroes, Nani, after first studying under the Jesuits, had come to Rome to perfecthimself in philosophy and theology at the Collegio Romano, which was thenalso under Jesuit management. Ordained when three and twenty, he had atonce followed a nuncio to Bavaria as private secretary; and then had goneas _auditore_ to the nunciatures of Brussels and Paris, in which lattercity he had lived for five years. Everything seemed to predestine him todiplomacy, his brilliant beginnings and his keen and encyclopaedicalintelligence; but all at once he had been recalled to Rome, where he wassoon afterwards appointed Assessor to the Holy Office. It was asserted atthe time that this was done by the Pope himself, who, being wellacquainted with Nani, and desirous of having a person he could dependupon at the Holy Office, had given instructions for his recall, sayingthat he could render far more services at Rome than abroad. Already adomestic prelate, Nani had also lately become a Canon of St. Peter's andan apostolic prothonotary, with the prospect of obtaining a cardinal'shat whenever the Pope should find some other favourite who would pleasehim better as assessor. 

"Oh, Monsignor Nani!" continued Narcisse. "He's a superior man, thoroughly well acquainted with modern Europe, and at the same time avery saintly priest, a sincere believer, absolutely devoted to theChurch, with the substantial faith of an intelligent politician--a beliefdifferent, it is true, from the narrow gloomy theological faith which weknow so well in France. And this is one of the reasons why you willhardly understand things here at first. The Roman prelates leave theDeity in the sanctuary and reign in His name, convinced that Catholicismis the human expression of the government of God, the only perfect andeternal government, beyond the pales of which nothing but falsehood andsocial danger can be found. While we in our country lag behind, furiouslyarguing whether there be a God or not, they do not admit that God'sexistence can be doubted, since they themselves are his delegatedministers; and they entirely devote themselves to playing their parts asministers whom none can dispossess, exercising their power for thegreatest good of humanity, and devoting all their intelligence, all theirenergy to maintaining themselves as the accepted masters of the nations. As for Monsignor Nani, after being mixed up in the politics of the wholeworld, he has for ten years been discharging the most delicate functionsin Rome, taking part in the most varied and most important affairs. Hesees all the foreigners who come to Rome, knows everything, has a hand ineverything. Add to this that he is extremely discreet and amiable, with amodesty which seems perfect, though none can tell whether, with his lightsilent footstep, he is not really marching towards the highest ambition, the purple of sovereignty. "

"Another candidate for the tiara, " thought Pierre, who had listenedpassionately; for this man Nani interested him, caused him an instinctivedisquietude, as though behind his pink and smiling face he could divinean infinity of obscure things. At the same time, however, the youngpriest but ill understood his friend, for he again felt bewildered by allthis strange Roman world, so different from what he had expected. 

Nani had perceived the two young men and came towards them with his handcordially outstretched "Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, I am happy to meetyou again. I won't ask you if you have slept well, for people alwayssleep well at Rome. Good-day, Monsieur Habert; your health has kept goodI hope, since I met you in front of Bernini's Santa Teresa, which youadmire so much. * I see that you know one another. That is very nice. Imust tell you, Monsieur l'Abbe, that Monsieur Habert is a passionatelover of our city; he will be able to show you all its finest sights. "

 * The allusion is to a statue representing St. Theresa in ecstasy, with the Angel of Death descending to transfix her with his dart. It stands in a transept of Sta. Maria della Vittoria. --Trans. 

Then, in his affectionate way, he at once asked for informationrespecting Pierre's interview with the Cardinal. He listened attentivelyto the young man's narrative, nodding his head at certain passages, andoccasionally restraining his sharp smile. The Cardinal's severity andPierre's conviction that he would accord him no support did not at allastonish Nani. It seemed as if he had expected that result. However, onhearing that Cardinal Sanguinetti had been there that morning, and hadpronounced the affair of the book to be very serious, he appeared to losehis self-control for a moment, for he spoke out with sudden vivacity:

"It can't be helped, my dear child, my intervention came too late. Directly I heard of the proceedings I went to his Eminence CardinalSanguinetti to tell him that the result would be an immense advertisementfor your book. Was it sensible? What was the use of it? We know that youare inclined to be carried away by your ideas, that you are anenthusiast, and are prompt to do battle. So what advantage should we gainby embarrassing ourselves with the revolt of a young priest who mightwage war against us with a book of which some thousands of copies havebeen sold already? For my part I desired that nothing should be done. AndI must say that the Cardinal, who is a man of sense, was of the samemind. He raised his arms to heaven, went into a passion, and exclaimedthat he was never consulted, that the blunder was already committedbeyond recall, and that it was impossible to prevent process from takingits course since the matter had already been brought before theCongregation, in consequence of denunciations from authoritative sources, based on the gravest motives. Briefly, as he said, the blunder wascommitted, and I had to think of something else. "

All at once Nani paused. He had just noticed that Pierre's ardent eyeswere fixed upon his own, striving to penetrate his meaning. A faint flushthen heightened the pinkiness of his complexion, whilst in an easy way hecontinued, unwilling to reveal how annoyed he was at having said toomuch: "Yes, I thought of helping you with all the little influence Ipossess, in order to extricate you from the worries in which this affairwill certainly land you. "

An impulse of revolt was stirring Pierre, who vaguely felt that he wasperhaps being made game of. Why should he not be free to declare hisfaith, which was so pure, so free from personal considerations, so fullof glowing Christian charity? "Never, " said he, "will I withdraw; neverwill I myself suppress my book, as I am advised to do. It would be an actof cowardice and falsehood, for I regret nothing, I disown nothing. If Ibelieve that my book brings a little truth to light I cannot destroy itwithout acting criminally both towards myself and towards others. No, never! You hear me--never!"

Silence fell. But almost immediately he resumed: "It is at the knees ofthe Holy Father that I desire to make that declaration. He willunderstand me, he will approve me. "

Nani no longer smiled; henceforth his face remained as it were closed. Heseemed to be studying the sudden violence of the young priest withcuriosity; then sought to calm him with his own tranquil kindliness. "Nodoubt, no doubt, " said he. "There is certainly great sweetness inobedience and humility. Still I can understand that, before anythingelse, you should desire to speak to his Holiness. And afterwards you willsee--is that not so?--you will see--"

Then he evinced a lively interest in the suggested application for anaudience. He expressed keen regret that Pierre had not forwarded thatapplication from Paris, before even coming to Rome: in that course wouldhave rested the best chance of a favourable reply. Bother of any kind wasnot liked at the Vatican, and if the news of the young priest's presencein Rome should only spread abroad, and the motives of his journey bediscussed, all would be lost. Then, on learning that Narcisse had offeredto present Pierre to the French ambassador, Nani seemed full of anxiety, and deprecated any such proceeding: "No, no! don't do that--it would bemost imprudent. In the first place you would run the risk of embarrassingthe ambassador, whose position is always delicate in affairs of thiskind. And then, too, if he failed--and my fear is that he mightfail--yes, if he failed it would be all over; you would no longer havethe slightest chance of obtaining an audience by any other means. For theVatican would not like to hurt the ambassador's feelings by yielding toother influence after resisting his. "

Pierre anxiously glanced at Narcisse, who wagged his head, embarrassedand hesitating. "The fact is, " the _attache_ at last murmured, "we latelysolicited an audience for a high French personage and it was refused, which was very unpleasant for us. Monsignor is right. We must keep ourambassador in reserve, and only utilise him when we have exhausted allother means. " Then, noticing Pierre's disappointment, he addedobligingly: "Our first visit therefore shall be for my cousin at theVatican. "

Nani, his attention again roused, looked at the young man inastonishment. "At the Vatican? You have a cousin there?"

"Why, yes--Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo. "

"Gamba! Gamba! Yes, yes, excuse me, I remember now. Ah! so you thought ofGamba to bring influence to bear on his Holiness? That's an idea, nodoubt; one must see--one must see. "

He repeated these words again and again as if to secure time to see intothe matter himself, to weigh the pros and cons of the suggestion. Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo was a worthy man who played no part at thePapal Court, whose nullity indeed had become a byword at the Vatican. Hischildish stories, however, amused the Pope, whom he greatly flattered, and who was fond of leaning on his arm while walking in the gardens. Itwas during these strolls that Gamba easily secured all sorts of littlefavours. However, he was a remarkable poltroon, and had such an intensefear of losing his influence that he never risked a request withouthaving convinced himself by long meditation that no possible harm couldcome to him through it. 

"Well, do you know, the idea is not a bad one, " Nani at last declared. "Yes, yes, Gamba can secure the audience for you, if he is willing. Iwill see him myself and explain the matter. "

At the same time Nani did not cease advising extreme caution. He evenventured to say that it was necessary to be on one's guard with the papal_entourage_, for, alas! it was a fact his Holiness was so good, and hadsuch a blind faith in the goodness of others, that he had not alwayschosen his familiars with the critical care which he ought to havedisplayed. Thus one never knew to what sort of man one might be applying, or in what trap one might be setting one's foot. Nani even allowed it tobe understood that on no account ought any direct application to be madeto his Eminence the Secretary of State, for even his Eminence was not afree agent, but found himself encompassed by intrigues of such intricacythat his best intentions were paralysed. And as Nani went on discoursingin this fashion, in a very gentle, extremely unctuous manner, the Vaticanappeared like some enchanted castle, guarded by jealous and treacherousdragons--a castle where one must not take a step, pass through a doorway, risk a limb, without having carefully assured oneself that one would notleave one's whole body there to be devoured. 

Pierre continued listening, feeling colder and colder at heart, and againsinking into uncertainty. "_Mon Dieu_!" he exclaimed, "I shall never knowhow to act. You discourage me, Monsignor. "

At this Nani's cordial smile reappeared. "I, my dear child? I should besorry to do so. I only want to repeat to you that you must wait and donothing. Avoid all feverishness especially. There is no hurry, I assureyou, for it was only yesterday that a _consultore_ was chosen to reportupon your book, so you have a good full month before you. Avoideverybody, live in such a way that people shall be virtually ignorant ofyour existence, visit Rome in peace and quietness--that is the bestcourse you can adopt to forward your interests. " Then, taking one of thepriest's hands between both his own, so aristocratic, soft, and plump, headded: "You will understand that I have my reasons for speaking to youlike this. I should have offered my own services; I should have made it apoint of honour to take you straight to his Holiness, had I thought itadvisable. But I do not wish to mix myself up in the matter at thisstage; I realise only too well that at the present moment we shouldsimply make sad work of it. Later on--you hear me--later on, in the eventof nobody else succeeding, I myself will obtain you an audience; Iformally promise it. But meanwhile, I entreat you, refrain from usingthose words 'a new religion, ' which, unfortunately, occur in your book, and which I heard you repeat again only last night. There can be no newreligion, my dear child; there is but one eternal religion, which isbeyond all surrender and compromise--the Catholic, Apostolic, and Romanreligion. And at the same time leave your Paris friends to themselves. Don't rely too much on Cardinal Bergerot, whose lofty piety is notsufficiently appreciated in Rome. I assure you that I am speaking to youas a friend. "

Then, seeing how disabled Pierre appeared to be, half overcome already, no longer knowing in what direction to begin his campaign, he againstrove to comfort him: "Come, come, things will right themselves;everything will end for the best, both for the welfare of the Church andyour own. And now you must excuse me, I must leave you; I shall not beable to see his Eminence to-day, for it is impossible for me to wait anylonger. "

Abbe Paparelli, whom Pierre had noticed prowling around with his earscocked, now hastened forward and declared to Monsignor Nani that therewere only two persons to be received before him. But the prelate verygraciously replied that he would come back again at another time, for theaffair which he wished to lay before his Eminence was in no wisepressing. Then he withdrew, courteously bowing to everybody. 

Narcisse Habert's turn came almost immediately afterwards. However, before entering the throne-room he pressed Pierre's hand, repeating, "Soit is understood. I will go to see my cousin at the Vatican to-morrow, and directly I get a reply I will let you know. We shall meet again soonI hope. "

It was now past twelve o'clock, and the only remaining visitor was one ofthe two old ladies who seemed to have fallen asleep. At his littlesecretarial table Don Vigilio still sat covering huge sheets of yellowpaper with fine handwriting, from which he only lifted his eyes atintervals to glance about him distrustfully, and make sure that nothingthreatened him. 

In the mournful silence which fell around, Pierre lingered for yetanother moment in the deep embrasure of the window. Ah! what anxietyconsumed his poor, tender, enthusiastic heart! On leaving Paris thingshad seemed so simple, so natural to him! He was unjustly accused, and hestarted off to defend himself, arrived and flung himself at the feet ofthe Holy Father, who listened to him indulgently. Did not the Popepersonify living religion, intelligence to understand, justice based upontruth? And was he not, before aught else, the Father, the delegate ofdivine forgiveness and mercy, with arms outstretched towards all thechildren of the Church, even the guilty ones? Was it not meet, then, thathe should leave his door wide open so that the humblest of his sons mightfreely enter to relate their troubles, confess their transgressions, explain their conduct, imbibe comfort from the source of eternal lovingkindness? And yet on the very first day of his, Pierre's, arrival, thedoors closed upon him with a bang; he felt himself sinking into a hostilesphere, full of traps and pitfalls. One and all cried out to him"Beware!" as if he were incurring the greatest dangers in setting onefoot before the other. His desire to see the Pope became an extraordinarypretension, so difficult of achievement that it set the interests andpassions and influences of the whole Vatican agog. And there was endlessconflicting advice, long-discussed manoeuvring, all the strategy ofgenerals leading an army to victory, and fresh complications ever arisingin the midst of a dim stealthy swarming of intrigues. Ah! good Lord! howdifferent all this was from the charitable reception that Pierre hadanticipated: the pastor's house standing open beside the high road forthe admission of all the sheep of the flock, both those that were docileand those that had gone astray. 

That which began to frighten Pierre, however, was the evil, thewickedness, which he could divine vaguely stirring in the gloom: CardinalBergerot suspected, dubbed a Revolutionary, deemed so compromising thathe, Pierre, was advised not to mention his name again! The young priestonce more saw Cardinal Boccanera's pout of disdain while speaking of hiscolleague. And then Monsignor Nani had warned him not to repeat thosewords "a new religion, " as if it were not clear to everybody that theysimply signified the return of Catholicism to the primitive purity ofChristianity! Was that one of the crimes denounced to the Congregation ofthe Index? He had begun to suspect who his accusers were, and feltalarmed, for he was now conscious of secret subterranean plotting, agreat stealthy effort to strike him down and suppress his work. All thatsurrounded him became suspicious. If he listened to advice andtemporised, it was solely to follow the same politic course as hisadversaries, to learn to know them before acting. He would spend a fewdays in meditation, in surveying and studying that black world of Romewhich to him had proved so unexpected. But, at the same time, in therevolt of his apostle-like faith, he swore, even as he had said to Nani, that he would never yield, never change either a page or a line of hisbook, but maintain it in its integrity in the broad daylight as theunshakable testimony of his belief. Even were the book condemned by theIndex, he would not tender submission, withdraw aught of it. And shouldit become necessary he would quit the Church, he would go even as far asschism, continuing to preach the new religion and writing a new book, _Real Rome_, such as he now vaguely began to espy. 

However, Don Vigilio had ceased writing, and gazed so fixedly at Pierrethat the latter at last stepped up to him politely in order to takeleave. And then the secretary, yielding, despite his fears, to a desireto confide in him, murmured, "He came simply on your account, you know;he wanted to ascertain the result of your interview with his Eminence. "

It was not necessary for Don Vigilio to mention Nani by name; Pierreunderstood. "Really, do you think so?" he asked. 

"Oh! there is no doubt of it. And if you take my advice you will do whathe desires with a good grace, for it is absolutely certain that you willdo it later on. "

These words brought Pierre's disquietude and exasperation to a climax. Hewent off with a gesture of defiance. They would see if he would everyield. 

The three ante-rooms which he again crossed appeared to him blacker, emptier, more lifeless than ever. In the second one Abbe Paparellisaluted him with a little silent bow; in the first the sleepy lackey didnot even seem to see him. A spider was weaving its web between thetassels of the great red hat under the _baldacchino_. Would not thebetter course have been to set the pick at work amongst all that rottingpast, now crumbling into dust, so that the sunlight might stream infreely and restore to the purified soil the fruitfulness of youth?

PART II. 

IV. 

ON the afternoon of that same day Pierre, having leisure before him, atonce thought of beginning his peregrinations through Rome by a visit onwhich he had set his heart. Almost immediately after the publication of"New Rome" he had been deeply moved and interested by a letter addressedto him from the Eternal City by old Count Orlando Prada, the hero ofItalian independence and reunion, who, although unacquainted with him, had written spontaneously after a first hasty perusal of his book. Andthe letter had been a flaming protest, a cry of the patriotic faith stillyoung in the heart of that aged man, who accused him of having forgottenItaly and claimed Rome, the new Rome, for the country which was at lastfree and united. Correspondence had ensued, and the priest, whileclinging to his dream of Neo-Catholicism saving the world, had from afargrown attached to the man who wrote to him with such glowing love ofcountry and freedom. He had eventually informed him of his journey, andpromised to call upon him. But the hospitality which he had accepted atthe Boccanera mansion now seemed to him somewhat of an impediment; forafter Benedetta's kindly, almost affectionate, greeting, he felt that hecould not, on the very first day and with out warning her, sally forth tovisit the father of the man from whom she had fled and from whom she nowasked the Church to part her for ever. Moreover, old Orlando was actuallyliving with his son in a little palazzo which the latter had erected atthe farther end of the Via Venti Settembre. 

Before venturing on any step Pierre resolved to confide in the Contessinaherself; and this seemed the easier as Viscount Philibert de la Choue hadtold him that the young woman still retained a filial feeling, mingledwith admiration, for the old hero. And indeed, at the very first wordswhich he uttered after lunch, Benedetta promptly retorted: "But go, Monsieur l'Abbe, go at once! Old Orlando, you know, is one of ournational glories--you must not be surprised to hear me call him by hisChristian name. All Italy does so, from pure affection and gratitude. Formy part I grew up among people who hated him, who likened him to Satan. It was only later that I learned to know him, and then I loved him, forhe is certainly the most just and gentle man in the world. "

She had begun to smile, but timid tears were moistening her eyes at therecollection, no doubt, of the year of suffering she had spent in herhusband's house, where her only peaceful hours had been those passed withthe old man. And in a lower and somewhat tremulous voice she added: "Asyou are going to see him, tell him from me that I still love him, and, whatever happens, shall never forget his goodness. "

So Pierre set out, and whilst he was driving in a cab towards the ViaVenti Settembre, he recalled to mind the heroic story of old Orlando'slife which had been told him in Paris. It was like an epic poem, full offaith, bravery, and the disinterestedness of another age. 

Born of a noble house of Milan, Count Orlando Prada had learnt to hatethe foreigner at such an early age that, when scarcely fifteen, healready formed part of a secret society, one of the ramifications of theantique Carbonarism. This hatred of Austrian domination had beentransmitted from father to son through long years, from the olden days ofrevolt against servitude, when the conspirators met by stealth inabandoned huts, deep in the recesses of the forests; and it was renderedthe keener by the eternal dream of Italy delivered, restored to herself, transformed once more into a great sovereign nation, the worthy daughterof those who had conquered and ruled the world. Ah! that land of whilomglory, that unhappy, dismembered, parcelled Italy, the prey of a crowd ofpetty tyrants, constantly invaded and appropriated by neighbouringnations--how superb and ardent was that dream to free her from such longopprobrium! To defeat the foreigner, drive out the despots, awaken thepeople from the base misery of slavery, to proclaim Italy free and Italyunited--such was the passion which then inflamed the young withinextinguishable ardour, which made the youthful Orlando's heart leapwith enthusiasm. He spent his early years consumed by holy indignation, proudly and impatiently longing for an opportunity to give his blood forhis country, and to die for her if he could not deliver her. 

Quivering under the yoke, wasting his time in sterile conspiracies, hewas living in retirement in the old family residence at Milan, when, shortly after his marriage and his twenty-fifth birthday, tidings came tohim of the flight of Pius IX and the Revolution of Rome. * And at once hequitted everything, wife and hearth, and hastened to Rome as if summonedthither by the call of destiny. This was the first time that he set outscouring the roads for the attainment of independence; and howfrequently, yet again and again, was he to start upon fresh campaigns, never wearying, never disheartened! And now it was that he becameacquainted with Mazzini, and for a moment was inflamed with enthusiasmfor that mystical unitarian Republican. He himself indulged in an ardentdream of a Universal Republic, adopted the Mazzinian device, "_Dio epopolo_" (God and the people), and followed the procession which wendedits way with great pomp through insurrectionary Rome. The time was one ofvast hopes, one when people already felt a need of renovated religion, and looked to the coming of a humanitarian Christ who would redeem theworld yet once again. But before long a man, a captain of the ancientdays, Giuseppe Garibaldi, whose epic glory was dawning, made Orlandoentirely his own, transformed him into a soldier whose sole cause wasfreedom and union. Orlando loved Garibaldi as though the latter were ademi-god, fought beside him in defence of Republican Rome, took part inthe victory of Rieti over the Neapolitans, and followed the stubbornpatriot in his retreat when he sought to succour Venice, compelled as hewas to relinquish the Eternal City to the French army of General Oudinot, who came thither to reinstate Pius IX. And what an extraordinary andmadly heroic adventure was that of Garibaldi and Venice! Venice, whichManin, another great patriot, a martyr, had again transformed into arepublican city, and which for long months had been resisting theAustrians! And Garibaldi starts with a handful of men to deliver thecity, charters thirteen fishing barks, loses eight in a naval engagement, is compelled to return to the Roman shores, and there in all wretchednessis bereft of his wife, Anita, whose eyes he closes before returning toAmerica, where, once before, he had awaited the hour of insurrection. Ah!that land of Italy, which in those days rumbled from end to end with theinternal fire of patriotism, where men of faith and courage arose inevery city, where riots and insurrections burst forth on all sides likeeruptions--it continued, in spite of every check, its invincible march tofreedom!

 * It was on November 24, 1848, that the Pope fled to Gaeta, consequent upon the insurrection which had broken out nine days previously. --Trans. 

Orlando returned to his young wife at Milan, and for two years livedthere, almost in concealment, devoured by impatience for the gloriousmorrow which was so long in coming. Amidst his fever a gleam of happinesssoftened his heart; a son, Luigi, was born to him, but the birth killedthe mother, and joy was turned into mourning. Then, unable to remain anylonger at Milan, where he was spied upon, tracked by the police, suffering also too grievously from the foreign occupation, Orlandodecided to realise the little fortune remaining to him, and to withdrawto Turin, where an aunt of his wife took charge of the child. Count diCavour, like a great statesman, was then already seeking to bring aboutindependence, preparing Piedmont for the decisive _role_ which it wasdestined to play. It was the time when King Victor Emmanuel evincedflattering cordiality towards all the refugees who came to him from everypart of Italy, even those whom he knew to be Republicans, compromised andflying the consequences of popular insurrection. The rough, shrewd Houseof Savoy had long been dreaming of bringing about Italian unity to theprofit of the Piedmontese monarchy, and Orlando well knew under whatmaster he was taking service; but in him the Republican already wentbehind the patriot, and indeed he had begun to question the possibilityof a united Republican Italy, placed under the protectorate of a liberalPope, as Mazzini had at one time dreamed. Was that not indeed a chimerabeyond realisation which would devour generation after generation if oneobstinately continued to pursue it? For his part, he did not wish to diewithout having slept in Rome as one of the conquerors. Even if libertywas to be lost, he desired to see his country united and erect, returningonce more to life in the full sunlight. And so it was with feverishhappiness that he enlisted at the outset of the war of 1859; and hisheart palpitated with such force as almost to rend his breast, when, after Magenta, he entered Milan with the French army--Milan which he hadquitted eight years previously, like an exile, in despair. The treaty ofVillafranca which followed Solferino proved a bitter deception: Venetiawas not secured, Venice remained enthralled. Nevertheless the Milanesewas conquered from the foe, and then Tuscany and the duchies of Parma andModena voted for annexation. So, at all events, the nucleus of theItalian star was formed; the country had begun to build itself up afresharound victorious Piedmont. 

Then, in the following year, Orlando plunged into epopoeia once more. Garibaldi had returned from his two sojourns in America, with the halo ofa legend round him--paladin-like feats in the pampas of Uruguay, anextraordinary passage from Canton to Lima--and he had returned to takepart in the war of 1859, forestalling the French army, overthrowing anAustrian marshal, and entering Como, Bergamo, and Brescia. And now, allat once, folks heard that he had landed at Marsala with only a thousandmen--the Thousand of Marsala, the ever illustrious handful of braves!Orlando fought in the first rank, and Palermo after three days'resistance was carried. Becoming the dictator's favourite lieutenant, hehelped him to organise a government, then crossed the straits with him, and was beside him on the triumphal entry into Naples, whose king hadfled. There was mad audacity and valour at that time, an explosion of theinevitable; and all sorts of supernatural stories were current--Garibaldiinvulnerable, protected better by his red shirt than by the strongestarmour, Garibaldi routing opposing armies like an archangel, by merelybrandishing his flaming sword! The Piedmontese on their side had defeatedGeneral Lamoriciere at Castelfidardo, and were invading the States of theChurch. And Orlando was there when the dictator, abdicating power, signedthe decree which annexed the Two Sicilies to the Crown of Italy; even assubsequently he took part in that forlorn attempt on Rome, when therageful cry was "Rome or Death!"--an attempt which came to a tragic issueat Aspromonte, when the little army was dispersed by the Italian troops, and Garibaldi, wounded, was taken prisoner, and sent back to the solitudeof his island of Caprera, where he became but a fisherman and a tiller ofthe rocky soil. *

 * M. Zola's brief but glowing account of Garibaldi's glorious achievements has stirred many memories in my mind. My uncle, Frank Vizetelly, the war artist of the _Illustrated London News_, whose bones lie bleaching somewhere in the Soudan, was one of Garibaldi's constant companions throughout the memorable campaign of the Two Sicilies, and afterwards he went with him to Caprera. Later, in 1870, my brother, Edward Vizetelly, acted as orderly-officer to the general when he offered the help of his sword to France. --Trans. 

Six years of waiting again went by, and Orlando still dwelt at Turin, even after Florence had been chosen as the new capital. The Senate hadacclaimed Victor Emmanuel, King of Italy; and Italy was indeed almostbuilt, it lacked only Rome and Venice. But the great battles seemed allover, the epic era was closed; Venice was to be won by defeat. Orlandotook part in the unlucky battle of Custozza, where he received twowounds, full of furious grief at the thought that Austria should betriumphant. But at that same moment the latter, defeated at Sadowa, relinquished Venetia, and five months later Orlando satisfied his desireto be in Venice participating in the joy of triumph, when Victor Emmanuelmade his entry amidst the frantic acclamations of the people. Rome aloneremained to be won, and wild impatience urged all Italy towards the city;but friendly France had sworn to maintain the Pope, and this acted as acheck. Then, for the third time, Garibaldi dreamt of renewing the featsof the old-world legends, and threw himself upon Rome like a soldier offortune illumined by patriotism and free from every tie. And for thethird time Orlando shared in that fine heroic madness destined to bevanquished at Mentana by the Pontifical Zouaves supported by a smallFrench corps. Again wounded, he came back to Turin in almost a dyingcondition. But, though his spirit quivered, he had to resign himself; thesituation seemed to have no outlet; only an upheaval of the nations couldgive Rome to Italy. 

All at once the thunderclap of Sedan, of the downfall of France, resounded through the world; and then the road to Rome lay open, andOrlando, having returned to service in the regular army, was with thetroops who took up position in the Campagna to ensure the safety of theHoly See, as was said in the letter which Victor Emmanuel wrote to PiusIX. There was, however, but the shadow of an engagement: GeneralKanzler's Pontifical Zouaves were compelled to fall back, and Orlando wasone of the first to enter the city by the breach of the Porta Pia. Ah!that twentieth of September--that day when he experienced the greatesthappiness of his life--a day of delirium, of complete triumph, whichrealised the dream of so many years of terrible contest, the dream forwhich he had sacrificed rest and fortune, and given both body and mind!

Then came more than ten happy years in conquered Rome--in Rome adored, flattered, treated with all tenderness, like a woman in whom one hasplaced one's entire hope. From her he awaited so much national vigour, such a marvellous resurrection of strength and glory for the endowment ofthe young nation. Old Republican, old insurrectional soldier that he was, he had been obliged to adhere to the monarchy, and accept a senatorship. But then did not Garibaldi himself--Garibaldi his divinity--likewise callupon the King and sit in parliament? Mazzini alone, rejecting allcompromises, was unwilling to rest content with a united and independentItaly that was not Republican. Moreover, another consideration influencedOrlando, the future of his son Luigi, who had attained his eighteenthbirthday shortly after the occupation of Rome. Though he, Orlando, couldmanage with the crumbs which remained of the fortune he had expended inhis country's service, he dreamt of a splendid destiny for the child ofhis heart. Realising that the heroic age was over, he desired to make agreat politician of him, a great administrator, a man who should beuseful to the mighty nation of the morrow; and it was on this accountthat he had not rejected royal favour, the reward of long devotion, desiring, as he did, to be in a position to help, watch, and guide Luigi. Besides, was he himself so old, so used-up, as to be unable to assist inorganisation, even as he had assisted in conquest? Struck by his son'squick intelligence in business matters, perhaps also instinctivelydivining that the battle would now continue on financial and economicgrounds, he obtained him employment at the Ministry of Finances. Andagain he himself lived on, dreaming, still enthusiastically believing ina splendid future, overflowing with boundless hope, seeing Rome doubleher population, grow and spread with a wild vegetation of new districts, and once more, in his loving enraptured eyes, become the queen of theworld. 

But all at once came a thunderbolt. One morning, as he was goingdownstairs, Orlando was stricken with paralysis. Both his legs suddenlybecame lifeless, as heavy as lead. It was necessary to carry him upagain, and never since had he set foot on the street pavement. At thattime he had just completed his fifty-sixth year, and for fourteen yearssince he had remained in his arm-chair, as motionless as stone, he whohad so impetuously trod every battlefield of Italy. It was a pitifulbusiness, the collapse of a hero. And worst of all, from that room wherehe was for ever imprisoned, the old soldier beheld the slow crumbling ofall his hopes, and fell into dismal melancholy, full of unacknowledgedfear for the future. Now that the intoxication of action no longer dimmedhis eyes, now that he spent his long and empty days in thought, hisvision became clear. Italy, which he had desired to see so powerful, sotriumphant in her unity, was acting madly, rushing to ruin, possibly tobankruptcy. Rome, which to him had ever been the one necessary capital, the city of unparalleled glory, requisite for the sovereign people ofto-morrow, seemed unwilling to take upon herself the part of a greatmodern metropolis; heavy as a corpse she weighed with all her centurieson the bosom of the young nation. Moreover, his son Luigi distressed him. Rebellious to all guidance, the young man had become one of the devouringoffsprings of conquest, eager to despoil that Italy, that Rome, which hisfather seemed to have desired solely in order that he might pillage themand batten on them. Orlando had vainly opposed Luigi's departure from theministry, his participation in the frantic speculations on land and houseproperty to which the mad building of the new districts had given rise. But at the same time he loved his son, and was reduced to silence, especially now when everything had succeeded with Luigi, even his mostrisky financial ventures, such as the transformation of the VillaMontefiori into a perfect town--a colossal enterprise in which many ofgreat wealth had been ruined, but whence he himself had emerged withmillions. And it was in part for this reason that Orlando, sad andsilent, had obstinately restricted himself to one small room on the thirdfloor of the little palazzo erected by Luigi in the Via VentiSettembre--a room where he lived cloistered with a single servant, subsisting on his own scanty income, and accepting nothing but thatmodest hospitality from his son. 

As Pierre reached that new Via Venti Settembre* which climbs the side andsummit of the Viminal hill, he was struck by the heavy sumptuousness ofthe new "palaces, " which betokened among the moderns the same taste forthe huge that marked the ancient Romans. In the warm afternoon glow, blent of purple and old gold, the broad, triumphant thoroughfare, withits endless rows of white house-fronts, bore witness to new Rome's proudhope of futurity and sovereign power. And Pierre fairly gasped when hebeheld the Palazzo delle Finanze, or Treasury, a gigantic erection, acyclopean cube with a profusion of columns, balconies, pediments, andsculptured work, to which the building mania had given birth in a day ofimmoderate pride. And on the other side of the street, a little higherup, before reaching the Villa Bonaparte, stood Count Prada's littlepalazzo. 

 * The name--Twentieth September Street--was given to the thoroughfare to commemorate the date of the occupation of Rome by Victor Emmanuel's army. --Trans. 

After discharging his driver, Pierre for a moment remained somewhatembarrassed. The door was open, and he entered the vestibule; but, as atthe mansion in the Via Giulia, no door porter or servant was to be seen. So he had to make up his mind to ascend the monumental stairs, which withtheir marble balustrades seemed to be copied, on a smaller scale, fromthose of the Palazzo Boccanera. And there was much the same coldbareness, tempered, however, by a carpet and red door-hangings, whichcontrasted vividly with the white stucco of the walls. Thereception-rooms, sixteen feet high, were on the first floor, and as adoor chanced to be ajar he caught a glimpse of two _salons_, onefollowing the other, and both displaying quite modern richness, with aprofusion of silk and velvet hangings, gilt furniture, and lofty mirrorsreflecting a pompous assemblage of stands and tables. And still there wasnobody, not a soul, in that seemingly forsaken abode, which exhalednought of woman's presence. Indeed Pierre was on the point of going downagain to ring, when a footman at last presented himself. 

"Count Prada, if you please. "

The servant silently surveyed the little priest, and seemed tounderstand. "The father or the son?" he asked. 

"The father, Count Orlando Prada. "

"Oh! that's on the third floor. " And he condescended to add: "The littledoor on the right-hand side of the landing. Knock loudly if you wish tobe admitted. "

Pierre indeed had to knock twice, and then a little withered old man ofmilitary appearance, a former soldier who had remained in the Count'sservice, opened the door and apologised for the delay by saying that hehad been attending to his master's legs. Immediately afterwards heannounced the visitor, and the latter, after passing through a dim andnarrow ante-room, was lost in amazement on finding himself in arelatively small chamber, extremely bare and bright, with wall-paper of alight hue studded with tiny blue flowers. Behind a screen was an ironbedstead, the soldier's pallet, and there was no other furniture than thearm-chair in which the cripple spent his days, with a table of black woodplaced near him, and covered with books and papers, and two oldstraw-seated chairs which served for the accommodation of the infrequentvisitors. A few planks, fixed to one of the walls, did duty asbook-shelves. However, the broad, clear, curtainless window overlookedthe most admirable panorama of Rome that could be desired. 

Then the room disappeared from before Pierre's eyes, and with a suddenshock of deep emotion he only beheld old Orlando, the old blanched lion, still superb, broad, and tall. A forest of white hair crowned hispowerful head, with its thick mouth, fleshy broken nose, and large, sparkling, black eyes. A long white beard streamed down with the vigourof youth, curling like that of an ancient god. By that leonine muzzle onedivined what great passions had growled within; but all, carnal andintellectual alike, had erupted in patriotism, in wild bravery, andriotous love of independence. And the old stricken hero, his torso stillerect, was fixed there on his straw-seated arm-chair, with lifeless legsburied beneath a black wrapper. Alone did his arms and hands live, andhis face beam with strength and intelligence. 

Orlando turned towards his servant, and gently said to him: "You can goaway, Batista. Come back in a couple of hours. " Then, looking Pierre fullin the face, he exclaimed in a voice which was still sonorous despite hisseventy years: "So it's you at last, my dear Monsieur Froment, and weshall be able to chat at our ease. There, take that chair, and sit downin front of me. "

He had noticed the glance of surprise which the young priest had castupon the bareness of the room, and he gaily added: "You will excuse mefor receiving you in my cell. Yes, I live here like a monk, like an oldinvalided soldier, henceforth withdrawn from active life. My son longbegged me to take one of the fine rooms downstairs. But what would havebeen the use of it? I have no needs, and I scarcely care for featherbeds, for my old bones are accustomed to the hard ground. And then too Ihave such a fine view up here, all Rome presenting herself to me, nowthat I can no longer go to her. "

With a wave of the hand towards the window he sought to hide theembarrassment, the slight flush which came to him each time that he thusexcused his son; unwilling as he was to tell the true reason, the scrupleof probity which had made him obstinately cling to his bare pauper'slodging. 

"But it is very nice, the view is superb!" declared Pierre, in order toplease him. "I am for my own part very glad to see you, very glad to beable to grasp your valiant hands, which accomplished so many greatthings. "

Orlando made a fresh gesture, as though to sweep the past away. "Pooh!pooh! all that is dead and buried. Let us talk about you, my dearMonsieur Froment, you who are young and represent the present; andespecially about your book, which represents the future! Ah! if you onlyknew how angry your book, your 'New Rome, ' made me first of all. "

He began to laugh, and took the book from off the table near him; then, tapping on its cover with his big, broad hand, he continued: "No, youcannot imagine with what starts of protest I read your book. The Pope, and again the Pope, and always the Pope! New Rome to be created by thePope and for the Pope, to triumph thanks to the Pope, to be given to thePope, and to fuse its glory in the glory of the Pope! But what about us?What about Italy? What about all the millions which we have spent inorder to make Rome a great capital? Ah! only a Frenchman, and a Frenchmanof Paris, could have written such a book! But let me tell you, my dearsir, if you are ignorant of it, that Rome has become the capital of thekingdom of Italy, that we here have King Humbert, and the Italian people, a whole nation which must be taken into account, and which means to keepRome--glorious, resuscitated Rome--for itself!"

This juvenile ardour made Pierre laugh in turn. "Yes, yes, " said he, "youwrote me that. Only what does it matter from my point of view? Italy isbut one nation, a part of humanity, and I desire concord and fraternityamong all the nations, mankind reconciled, believing, and happy. Of whatconsequence, then, is any particular form of government, monarchy orrepublic, of what consequence is any question of a united and independentcountry, if all mankind forms but one free people subsisting on truth andjustice?"

To only one word of this enthusiastic outburst did Orlando pay attention. In a lower tone, and with a dreamy air, he resumed: "Ah! a republic. Inmy youth I ardently desired one. I fought for one; I conspired withMazzini, a saintly man, a believer, who was shattered by collision withthe absolute. And then, too, one had to bow to practical necessities; themost obstinate ended by submitting. And nowadays would a republic saveus? In any case it would differ but little from our parliamentarymonarchy. Just think of what goes on in France! And so why risk arevolution which would place power in the hands of the extremerevolutionists, the anarchists? We fear all that, and this explains ourresignation. I know very well that a few think they can detect salvationin a republican federation, a reconstitution of all the former littlestates in so many republics, over which Rome would preside. The Vaticanwould gain largely by any such transformation; still one cannot say thatit endeavours to bring it about; it simply regards the eventualitywithout disfavour. But it is a dream, a dream!"

At this Orlando's gaiety came back to him, with even a little gentleirony: "You don't know, I suppose, what it was that took my fancy in yourbook--for, in spite of all my protests, I have read it twice. Well, whatpleased me was that Mazzini himself might almost have written it at onetime. Yes! I found all my youth again in your pages, all the wild hope ofmy twenty-fifth year, the new religion of a humanitarian Christ, thepacification of the world effected by the Gospel! Are you aware that, long before your time, Mazzini desired the renovation of Christianity? Heset dogma and discipline on one side and only retained morals. And it wasnew Rome, the Rome of the people, which he would have given as see to theuniversal Church, in which all the churches of the past were to befused--Rome, the eternal and predestined city, the mother and queen, whose domination was to arise anew to ensure the definitive happiness ofmankind! Is it not curious that all the present-day Neo-Catholicism, thevague, spiritualistic awakening, the evolution towards communion andChristian charity, with which some are making so much stir, should besimply a return of the mystical and humanitarian ideas of 1848? Alas! Isaw all that, I believed and burned, and I know in what a fine mess thoseflights into the azure of mystery landed us! So it cannot be helped, Ilack confidence. "

Then, as Pierre on his side was growing impassioned and sought to reply, he stopped him: "No, let me finish. I only want to convince you howabsolutely necessary it was that we should take Rome and make her thecapital of Italy. Without Rome new Italy could not have existed; Romerepresented the glory of ancient time; in her dust lay the sovereignpower which we wished to re-establish; she brought strength, beauty, eternity to those who possessed her. Standing in the middle of ourcountry, she was its heart, and must assuredly become its life as soon asshe should be awakened from the long sleep of ruin. Ah! how we desiredher, amidst victory and amidst defeat, through years and years offrightful impatience! For my part I loved her, and longed for her, farmore than for any woman, with my blood burning, and in despair that Ishould be growing old. And when we possessed her, our folly was a desireto behold her huge, magnificent, and commanding all at once, the equal ofthe other great capitals of Europe--Berlin, Paris, and London. Look ather! she is still my only love, my only consolation now that I amvirtually dead, with nothing alive in me but my eyes. "

With the same gesture as before, he directed Pierre's attention to thewindow. Under the glowing sky Rome stretched out in its immensity, empurpled and gilded by the slanting sunrays. Across the horizon, far, far away, the trees of the Janiculum stretched a green girdle, of alimpid emerald hue, whilst the dome of St. Peter's, more to the left, showed palely blue, like a sapphire bedimmed by too bright a light. Thencame the low town, the old ruddy city, baked as it were by centuries ofburning summers, soft to the eye and beautiful with the deep life of thepast, an unbounded chaos of roofs, gables, towers, _campanili_, andcupolas. But, in the foreground under the window, there was the newcity--that which had been building for the last five and twentyyears--huge blocks of masonry piled up side by side, still white withplaster, neither the sun nor history having as yet robed them in purple. And in particular the roofs of the colossal Palazzo delle Finanze had adisastrous effect, spreading out like far, bare steppes of cruelhideousness. And it was upon the desolation and abomination of all thenewly erected piles that the eyes of the old soldier of conquest at lastrested. 

Silence ensued. Pierre felt the faint chill of hidden, unacknowledgedsadness pass by, and courteously waited. 

"I must beg your pardon for having interrupted you just now, " resumedOrlando; "but it seems to me that we cannot talk about your book to anygood purpose until you have seen and studied Rome closely. You onlyarrived yesterday, did you not? Well, stroll about the city, look atthings, question people, and I think that many of your ideas will change. I shall particularly like to know your impression of the Vatican sinceyou have cone here solely to see the Pope and defend your book againstthe Index. Why should we discuss things to-day, if facts themselves arecalculated to bring you to other views, far more readily than the finestspeeches which I might make? It is understood, you will come to see meagain, and we shall then know what we are talking about, and, maybe, agree together. "

"Why certainly, you are too kind, " replied Pierre. "I only came to-day toexpress my gratitude to you for having read my book so attentively, andto pay homage to one of the glories of Italy. "

Orlando was not listening, but remained for a moment absorbed in thought, with his eyes still resting upon Rome. And overcome, despite himself, bysecret disquietude, he resumed in a low voice as though making aninvoluntary confession: "We have gone too fast, no doubt. There wereexpenses of undeniable utility--the roads, ports, and railways. And itwas necessary to arm the country also; I did not at first disapprove ofthe heavy military burden. But since then how crushing has been the warbudget--a war which has never come, and the long wait for which hasruined us. Ah! I have always been the friend of France. I only reproachher with one thing, that she has failed to understand the position inwhich we were placed, the vital reasons which compelled us to allyourselves with Germany. And then there are the thousand millions of_lire_* swallowed up in Rome! That was the real madness; pride andenthusiasm led us astray. Old and solitary as I've been for many yearsnow, given to deep reflection, I was one of the first to divine thepitfall, the frightful financial crisis, the deficit which would bringabout the collapse of the nation. I shouted it from the housetops, to myson, to all who came near me; but what was the use? They didn't listen;they were mad, still buying and selling and building, with no thought butfor gambling booms and bubbles. But you'll see, you'll see. And the worstis that we are not situated as you are; we haven't a reserve of men andmoney in a dense peasant population, whose thrifty savings are always athand to fill up the gaps caused by big catastrophes. There is no socialrise among our people as yet; fresh men don't spring up out of the lowerclasses to reinvigorate the national blood, as they constantly do in yourcountry. And, besides, the people are poor; they have no stockings toempty. The misery is frightful, I must admit it. Those who have any moneyprefer to spend it in the towns in a petty way rather than to risk it inagricultural or manufacturing enterprise. Factories are but slowly built, and the land is almost everywhere tilled in the same primitive manner asit was two thousand years ago. And then, too, take Rome--Rome, whichdidn't make Italy, but which Italy made its capital to satisfy an ardent, overpowering desire--Rome, which is still but a splendid bit of scenery, picturing the glory of the centuries, and which, apart from itshistorical splendour, has only given us its degenerate papal population, swollen with ignorance and pride! Ah! I loved Rome too well, and I stilllove it too well to regret being now within its walls. But, good heavens!what insanity its acquisition brought us, what piles of money it has costus, and how heavily and triumphantly it weighs us down! Look! look!"

 * 40, 000, 000 pounds. 

He waved his hand as he spoke towards the livid roofs of the Palazzodelle Finanze, that vast and desolate steppe, as though he could see theharvest of glory all stripped off and bankruptcy appear with its fearful, threatening bareness. Restrained tears were dimming his eyes, and helooked superbly pitiful with his expression of baffled hope and grievousdisquietude, with his huge white head, the muzzle of an old blanched lionhenceforth powerless and caged in that bare, bright room, whosepoverty-stricken aspect was instinct with so much pride that it seemed, as it were, a protest against the monumental splendour of the wholesurrounding district! So those were the purposes to which the conquesthad been put! And to think that he was impotent, henceforth unable togive his blood and his soul as he had done in the days gone by. 

"Yes, yes, " he exclaimed in a final outburst; "one gave everything, heartand brain, one's whole life indeed, so long as it was a question ofmaking the country one and independent. But, now that the country isours, just try to stir up enthusiasm for the reorganisation of itsfinances! There's no ideality in that! And this explains why, whilst theold ones are dying off, not a new man comes to the front among the youngones--"

All at once he stopped, looking somewhat embarrassed, yet smiling at hisfeverishness. "Excuse me, " he said, "I'm off again, I'm incorrigible. Butit's understood, we'll leave that subject alone, and you'll come backhere, and we'll chat together when you've seen everything. "

From that moment he showed himself extremely pleasant, and it wasapparent to Pierre that he regretted having said so much, by theseductive affability and growing affection which he now displayed. Hebegged the young priest to prolong his sojourn, to abstain from all hastyjudgments on Rome, and to rest convinced that, at bottom, Italy stillloved France. And he was also very desirous that France should loveItaly, and displayed genuine anxiety at the thought that perhaps sheloved her no more. As at the Boccanera mansion, on the previous evening, Pierre realised that an attempt was being made to persuade him toadmiration and affection. Like a susceptible woman with secret misgivingsrespecting the attractive power of her beauty, Italy was all anxiety withregard to the opinion of her visitors, and strove to win and retain theirlove. 

However, Orlando again became impassioned when he learnt that Pierre wasstaying at the Boccanera mansion, and he made a gesture of extremeannoyance on hearing, at that very moment, a knock at the outer door. "Come in!" he called; but at the same time he detained Pierre, saying, "No, no, don't go yet; I wish to know--"

But a lady came in--a woman of over forty, short and extremely plump, andstill attractive with her small features and pretty smile swamped in fat. She was a blonde, with green, limpid eyes; and, fairly well dressed in asober, nicely fitting mignonette gown, she looked at once pleasant, modest, and shrewd. 

"Ah! it's you, Stefana, " said the old man, letting her kiss him. 

"Yes, uncle, I was passing by and came up to see how you were gettingon. "

The visitor was the Signora Sacco, niece of Prada and a Neapolitan bybirth, her mother having quitted Milan to marry a certain Pagani, aNeapolitan banker, who had afterwards failed. Subsequent to that disasterStefana had married Sacco, then merely a petty post-office clerk. He, later on, wishing to revive his father-in-law's business, had launchedinto all sorts of terrible, complicated, suspicious affairs, which byunforeseen luck had ended in his election as a deputy. Since he hadarrived in Rome, to conquer the city in his turn, his wife had beencompelled to assist his devouring ambition by dressing well and opening a_salon_; and, although she was still a little awkward, she rendered himmany real services, being very economical and prudent, a thorough goodhousewife, with all the sterling, substantial qualities of Northern Italywhich she had inherited from her mother, and which showed conspicuouslybeside the turbulence and carelessness of her husband, in whom flaredSouthern Italy with its perpetual, rageful appetite. 

Despite his contempt for Sacco, old Orlando had retained some affectionfor his niece, in whose veins flowed blood similar to his own. He thankedher for her kind inquiries, and then at once spoke of an announcementwhich he had read in the morning papers, for he suspected that the deputyhad sent his wife to ascertain his opinion. 

"Well, and that ministry?" he asked. 

The Signora had seated herself and made no haste to reply, but glanced atthe newspapers strewn over the table. "Oh! nothing is settled yet, " sheat last responded; "the newspapers spoke out too soon. The Prime Ministersent for Sacco, and they had a talk together. But Sacco hesitates a gooddeal; he fears that he has no aptitude for the Department of Agriculture. Ah! if it were only the Finances--However, in any case, he would not havecome to a decision without consulting you. What do you think of it, uncle?"

He interrupted her with a violent wave of the hand: "No, no, I won't mixmyself up in such matters!"

To him the rapid success of that adventurer Sacco, that schemer andgambler who had always fished in troubled waters, was an abomination, thebeginning of the end. His son Luigi certainly distressed him; but it waseven worse to think that--whilst Luigi, with his great intelligence andmany remaining fine qualities, was nothing at all--Sacco, on the otherhand, Sacco, blunderhead and ever-famished battener that he was, had notmerely slipped into parliament, but was now, it seemed, on the point ofsecuring office! A little, swarthy, dry man he was, with big, round eyes, projecting cheekbones, and prominent chin. Ever dancing and chattering, he was gifted with a showy eloquence, all the force of which lay in hisvoice--a voice which at will became admirably powerful or gentle! Andwithal an insinuating man, profiting by every opportunity, wheedling andcommanding by turn. 

"You hear, Stefana, " said Orlando; "tell your husband that the onlyadvice I have to give him is to return to his clerkship at thepost-office, where perhaps he may be of use. "

What particularly filled the old soldier with indignation and despair wasthat such a man, a Sacco, should have fallen like a bandit on Rome--onthat Rome whose conquest had cost so many noble efforts. And in his turnSacco was conquering the city, was carrying it off from those who had wonit by such hard toil, and was simply using it to satisfy his wild passionfor power and its attendant enjoyments. Beneath his wheedling air therewas the determination to devour everything. After the victory, while thespoil lay there, still warm, the wolves had come. It was the North thathad made Italy, whereas the South, eager for the quarry, simply rushedupon the country, preyed upon it. And beneath the anger of the oldstricken hero of Italian unity there was indeed all the growingantagonism of the North towards the South--the North industrious, economical, shrewd in politics, enlightened, full of all the great modernideas, and the South ignorant and idle, bent on enjoying lifeimmediately, amidst childish disorder in action, and an empty show offine sonorous words. 

Stefana had begun to smile in a placid way while glancing at Pierre, whohad approached the window. "Oh, you say that, uncle, " she responded; "butyou love us well all the same, and more than once you have given memyself some good advice, for which I'm very thankful to you. Forinstance, there's that affair of Attilio's--"

She was alluding to her son, the lieutenant, and his love affair withCelia, the little Princess Buongiovanni, of which all the drawing-rooms, white and black alike, were talking. 

"Attilio--that's another matter!" exclaimed Orlando. "He and you are bothof the same blood as myself, and it's wonderful how I see myself again inthat fine fellow. Yes, he is just the same as I was at his age, good-looking and brave and enthusiastic! I'm paying myself compliments, you see. But, really now, Attilio warms my heart, for he is the future, and brings me back some hope. Well, and what about his affair?"

"Oh! it gives us a lot of worry, uncle. I spoke to you about it before, but you shrugged your shoulders, saying that in matters of that kind allthat the parents had to do was to let the lovers settle their affairsbetween them. Still, we don't want everybody to repeat that we are urgingour son to get the little princess to elope with him, so that he mayafterwards marry her money and title. "

At this Orlando indulged in a frank outburst of gaiety: "That's a finescruple! Was it your husband who instructed you to tell me of it? I know, however, that he affects some delicacy in this matter. For my own part, Ibelieve myself to be as honest as he is, and I can only repeat that, if Ihad a son like yours, so straightforward and good, and candidly loving, Ishould let him marry whomsoever he pleased in his own way. TheBuongiovannis--good heavens! the Buongiovannis--why, despite all theirrank and lineage and the money they still possess, it will be a greathonour for them to have a handsome young man with a noble heart as theirson-in-law!"

Again did Stefana assume an expression of placid satisfaction. She hadcertainly only come there for approval. "Very well, uncle, " she replied, "I'll repeat that to my husband, and he will pay great attention to it;for if you are severe towards him he holds you in perfect veneration. Andas for that ministry--well, perhaps nothing will be done, Sacco willdecide according to circumstances. "

She rose and took her leave, kissing the old soldier very affectionatelyas on her arrival. And she complimented him on his good looks, declaringthat she found him as handsome as ever, and making him smile by speakingof a lady who was still madly in love with him. Then, after acknowledgingthe young priest's silent salutation by a slight bow, she went off, oncemore wearing her modest and sensible air. 

For a moment Orlando, with his eyes turned towards the door, remainedsilent, again sad, reflecting no doubt on all the difficult, equivocalpresent, so different from the glorious past. But all at once he turnedto Pierre, who was still waiting. "And so, my friend, " said he, "you arestaying at the Palazzo Boccanera? Ah! what a grievous misfortune therehas been on that side too!"

However, when the priest had told him of his conversation with Benedetta, and of her message that she still loved him and would never forget hisgoodness to her, no matter whatever happened, he appeared moved and hisvoice trembled: "Yes, she has a good heart, she has no spite. But whatwould you have? She did not love Luigi, and he was possibly violent. There is no mystery about the matter now, and I can speak to you freely, since to my great grief everybody knows what has happened. "

Then Orlando abandoned himself to his recollections, and related how keenhad been his delight on the eve of the marriage at the thought that solovely a creature would become his daughter, and set some youth and charmaround his invalid's arm-chair. He had always worshipped beauty, andwould have had no other love than woman, if his country had not seizedupon the best part of him. And Benedetta on her side loved him, reveredhim, constantly coming up to spend long hours with him, sharing his poorlittle room, which at those times became resplendent with all the divinegrace that she brought with her. With her fresh breath near him, the purescent she diffused, the caressing womanly tenderness with which shesurrounded him, he lived anew. But, immediately afterwards, what afrightful drama and how his heart had bled at his inability to reconcilethe husband and the wife! He could not possibly say that his son was inthe wrong in desiring to be the loved and accepted spouse. At firstindeed he had hoped to soften Benedetta, and throw her into Luigi's arms. But when she had confessed herself to him in tears, owning her old lovefor Dario, and her horror of belonging to another, he realised that shewould never yield. And a whole year had then gone by; he had lived for awhole year imprisoned in his arm-chair, with that poignant dramaprogressing beneath him in those luxurious rooms whence no sound evenreached his ears. How many times had he not listened, striving to hear, fearing atrocious quarrels, in despair at his inability to prove stilluseful by creating happiness. He knew nothing by his son, who kept hisown counsel; he only learnt a few particulars from Benedetta at intervalswhen emotion left her defenceless; and that marriage in which he had fora moment espied the much-needed alliance between old and new Rome, thatunconsummated marriage filled him with despair, as if it were indeed thedefeat of every hope, the final collapse of the dream which had filledhis life. And he himself had ended by desiring the divorce, so unbearablehad become the suffering caused by such a situation. 

"Ah! my friend!" he said to Pierre; "never before did I so wellunderstand the fatality of certain antagonism, the possibility of workingone's own misfortune and that of others, even when one has the mostloving heart and upright mind!"

But at that moment the door again opened, and this time, withoutknocking, Count Luigi Prada came in. And after rapidly bowing to thevisitor, who had risen, he gently took hold of his father's hands andfelt them, as if fearing that they might be too warm or too cold. 

"I've just arrived from Frascati, where I had to sleep, " said he; "forthe interruption of all that building gives me a lot of worry. And I'mtold that you spent a bad night!"

"No, I assure you. "

"Oh! I knew you wouldn't own it. But why will you persist in living uphere without any comfort? All this isn't suited to your age. I should beso pleased if you would accept a more comfortable room where you mightsleep better. "

"No, no--I know that you love me well, my dear Luigi. But let me do as myold head tells me. That's the only way to make me happy. "

Pierre was much struck by the ardent affection which sparkled in the eyesof the two men as they gazed at one another, face to face. This seemed tohim very touching and beautiful, knowing as he did how many contraryideas and actions, how many moral divergencies separated them. And henext took an interest in comparing them physically. Count Luigi Prada, shorter, more thick-set than his father, had, however, much the samestrong energetic head, crowned with coarse black hair, and the same frankbut somewhat stern eyes set in a face of clear complexion, barred bythick moustaches. But his mouth differed--a sensual, voracious mouth itwas, with wolfish teeth--a mouth of prey made for nights of rapine, whenthe only question is to bite, and tear, and devour others. And for thisreason, when some praised the frankness in his eyes, another wouldretort: "Yes, but I don't like his mouth. " His feet were large, his handsplump and over-broad, but admirably cared for. 

And Pierre marvelled at finding him such as he had anticipated. He knewenough of his story to picture in him a hero's son spoilt by conquest, eagerly devouring the harvest garnered by his father's glorious sword. And he particularly studied how the father's virtues had deflected andbecome transformed into vices in the son--the most noble qualities beingperverted, heroic and disinterested energy lapsing into a ferociousappetite for possession, the man of battle leading to the man of booty, since the great gusts of enthusiasm no longer swept by, since men nolonger fought, since they remained there resting, pillaging, anddevouring amidst the heaped-up spoils. And the pity of it was that theold hero, the paralytic, motionless father beheld it all--beheld thedegeneration of his son, the speculator and company promoter gorged withmillions!

However, Orlando introduced Pierre. "This is Monsieur l'Abbe PierreFroment, whom I spoke to you about, " he said, "the author of the bookwhich I gave you to read. "

Luigi Prada showed himself very amiable, at once talking of home with anintelligent passion like one who wished to make the city a great moderncapital. He had seen Paris transformed by the Second Empire; he had seenBerlin enlarged and embellished after the German victories; and, according to him, if Rome did not follow the movement, if it did notbecome the inhabitable capital of a great people, it was threatened withprompt death: either a crumbling museum or a renovated, resuscitatedcity--those were the alternatives. *

 * Personally I should have thought the example of Berlin a great deterrent. The enlargement and embellishment of the Prussian capital, after the war of 1870, was attended by far greater roguery and wholesale swindling than even the previous transformation of Paris. Thousands of people too were ruined, and instead of an increase of prosperity the result was the very reverse. --Trans. 

Greatly struck, almost gained over already, Pierre listened to thisclever man, charmed with his firm, clear mind. He knew how skilfullyPrada had manoeuvred in the affair of the Villa Montefiori, enrichinghimself when every one else was ruined, having doubtless foreseen thefatal catastrophe even while the gambling passion was maddening theentire nation. However, the young priest could already detect marks ofweariness, precocious wrinkles and a fall of the lips, on thatdetermined, energetic face, as though its possessor were growing tired ofthe continual struggle that he had to carry on amidst surroundingdownfalls, the shock of which threatened to bring the most firmlyestablished fortunes to the ground. It was said that Prada had recentlyhad grave cause for anxiety; and indeed there was no longer any solidityto be found; everything might be swept away by the financial crisis whichday by day was becoming more and more serious. In the case of Luigi, sturdy son though he was of Northern Italy, a sort of degeneration hadset in, a slow rot, caused by the softening, perversive influence ofRome. He had there rushed upon the satisfaction of every appetite, andprolonged enjoyment was exhausting him. This, indeed, was one of thecauses of the deep silent sadness of Orlando, who was compelled towitness the swift deterioration of his conquering race, whilst Sacco, theItalian of the South--served as it were by the climate, accustomed to thevoluptuous atmosphere, the life of those sun-baked cities compounded ofthe dust of antiquity--bloomed there like the natural vegetation of asoil saturated with the crimes of history, and gradually graspedeverything, both wealth and power. 

As Orlando spoke of Stefana's visit to his son, Sacco's name wasmentioned. Then, without another word, the two men exchanged a smile. Arumour was current that the Minister of Agriculture, lately deceased, would perhaps not be replaced immediately, and that another ministerwould take charge of the department pending the next session of theChamber. 

Next the Palazzo Boccanera was mentioned, and Pierre, his interestawakened, became more attentive. "Ah!" exclaimed Count Luigi, turning tohim, "so you are staying in the Via Giulia? All the Rome of olden timesleeps there in the silence of forgetfulness. "

With perfect ease he went on to speak of the Cardinal and even ofBenedetta--"the Countess, " as he called her. But, although he was carefulto let no sign of anger escape him, the young priest could divine that hewas secretly quivering, full of suffering and spite. In him theenthusiastic energy of his father appeared in a baser, degenerate form. Quitting the yet handsome Princess Flavia in his passion for Benedetta, her divinely beautiful niece, he had resolved to make the latter his ownat any cost, determined to marry her, to struggle with her and overcomeher, although he knew that she loved him not, and that he would almostcertainly wreck his entire life. Rather than relinquish her, however, hewould have set Rome on fire. And thus his hopeless suffering was nowgreat indeed: this woman was but his wife in name, and so torturing wasthe thought of her disdain, that at times, however calm his outwarddemeanour, he was consumed by a jealous vindictive sensual madness thatdid not even recoil from the idea of crime. 

"Monsieur l'Abbe is acquainted with the situation, " sadly murmured oldOrlando. 

His son responded by a wave of the hand, as though to say that everybodywas acquainted with it. "Ah! father, " he added, "but for you I shouldnever have consented to take part in those proceedings for annulling themarriage! The Countess would have found herself compelled to return here, and would not nowadays be deriding us with her lover, that cousin ofhers, Dario!"

At this Orlando also waved his hand, as if in protest. 

"Oh! it's a fact, father, " continued Luigi. "Why did she flee from hereif it wasn't to go and live with her lover? And indeed, in my opinion, it's scandalous that a Cardinal's palace should shelter such goings-on!"

This was the report which he spread abroad, the accusation which heeverywhere levelled against his wife, of publicly carrying on a shameless_liaison_. In reality, however, he did not believe a word of it, beingtoo well acquainted with Benedetta's firm rectitude, and herdetermination to belong to none but the man she loved, and to him only inmarriage. However, in Prada's eyes such accusations were not only fairplay but also very efficacious. 

And now, although he turned pale with covert exasperation, and laughed ahard, vindictive, cruel laugh, he went on to speak in a bantering tone ofthe proceedings for annulling the marriage, and in particular of the pleaput forward by Benedetta's advocate Morano. And at last his languagebecame so free that Orlando, with a glance towards the priest, gentlyinterposed: "Luigi! Luigi!"

"Yes, you are right, father, I'll say no more, " thereupon added the youngCount. "But it's really abominable and ridiculous. Lisbeth, you know, ishighly amused at it. "

Orlando again looked displeased, for when visitors were present he didnot like his son to refer to the person whom he had just named. LisbethKauffmann, very blonde and pink and merry, was barely thirty years ofage, and belonged to the Roman foreign colony. For two years past she hadbeen a widow, her husband having died at Rome whither he had come tonurse a complaint of the lungs. Thenceforward free, and sufficiently welloff, she had remained in the city by taste, having a marked predilectionfor art, and painting a little, herself. In the Via Principe Amadeo, inthe new Viminal district, she had purchased a little palazzo, andtransformed a large apartment on its second floor into a studio hung withold stuffs, and balmy in every season with the scent of flowers. Theplace was well known to tolerant and intellectual society. Lisbeth wasthere found in perpetual jubilation, clad in a long blouse, somewhat of a_gamine_ in her ways, trenchant too and often bold of speech, butnevertheless capital company, and as yet compromised with nobody butPrada. Their _liaison_ had begun some four months after his wife had lefthim, and now Lisbeth was near the time of becoming a mother. This she inno wise concealed, but displayed such candid tranquillity and happinessthat her numerous acquaintances continued to visit her as if there werenothing in question, so facile and free indeed is the life of the greatcosmopolitan continental cities. Under the circumstances which his wife'ssuit had created, Prada himself was not displeased at the turn whichevents had taken with regard to Lisbeth, but none the less his incurablewound still bled. 

There could be no compensation for the bitterness of Benedetta's disdain, it was she for whom his heart burned, and he dreamt of one day wreakingon her a tragic punishment. 

Pierre, knowing nothing of Lisbeth, failed to understand the allusions ofOrlando and his son. But realising that there was some embarrassmentbetween them, he sought to take countenance by picking from off thelittered table a thick book which, to his surprise, he found to be aFrench educational work, one of those manuals for the _baccalaureat_, *containing a digest of the knowledge which the official programmesrequire. It was but a humble, practical, elementary work, yet itnecessarily dealt with all the mathematical, physical, chemical, andnatural sciences, thus broadly outlining the intellectual conquests ofthe century, the present phase of human knowledge. 

 * The examination for the degree of bachelor, which degree is the necessary passport to all the liberal professions in France. M. Zola, by the way, failed to secure it, being ploughed for "insufficiency in literature"!--Trans. 

"Ah!" exclaimed Orlando, well pleased with the diversion, "you arelooking at the book of my old friend Theophile Morin. He was one of thethousand of Marsala, you know, and helped us to conquer Sicily andNaples. A hero! But for more than thirty years now he has been living inFrance again, absorbed in the duties of his petty professorship, whichhasn't made him at all rich. And so he lately published that book, whichsells very well in France it seems; and it occurred to him that he mightincrease his modest profits on it by issuing translations, an Italian oneamong others. He and I have remained brothers, and thinking that myinfluence would prove decisive, he wishes to utilise it. But he ismistaken; I fear, alas! that I shall be unable to get anybody to take uphis book. "

At this Luigi Prada, who had again become very composed and amiable, shrugged his shoulders slightly, full as he was of the scepticism of hisgeneration which desired to maintain things in their actual state so asto derive the greatest profit from them. "What would be the good of it?"he murmured; "there are too many books already!"

"No, no!" the old man passionately retorted, "there can never be too manybooks! We still and ever require fresh ones! It's by literature, not bythe sword, that mankind will overcome falsehood and injustice and attainto the final peace of fraternity among the nations--Oh! you may smile; Iknow that you call these ideas my fancies of '48, the fancies of agreybeard, as people say in France. But it is none the less true thatItaly is doomed, if the problem be not attacked from down below, if thepeople be not properly fashioned. And there is only one way to make anation, to create men, and that is to educate them, to develop byeducational means the immense lost force which now stagnates in ignoranceand idleness. Yes, yes, Italy is made, but let us make an Italian nation. And give us more and more books, and let us ever go more and more forwardinto science and into light, if we wish to live and to be healthy, good, and strong!"

With his torso erect, with his powerful leonine muzzle flaming with thewhite brightness of his beard and hair, old Orlando looked superb. And inthat simple, candid chamber, so touching with its intentional poverty, heraised his cry of hope with such intensity of feverish faith, that beforethe young priest's eyes there arose another figure--that of CardinalBoccanera, erect and black save for his snow-white hair, and likewiseglowing with heroic beauty in his crumbling palace whose gilded ceilingsthreatened to fall about his head! Ah! the magnificent stubborn men ofthe past, the believers, the old men who still show themselves morevirile, more ardent than the young! Those two represented the oppositepoles of belief; they had not an idea, an affection in common, and inthat ancient city of Rome, where all was being blown away in dust, theyalone seemed to protest, indestructible, face to face like two partedbrothers, standing motionless on either horizon. And to have seen themthus, one after the other, so great and grand, so lonely, so detachedfrom ordinary life, was to fill one's day with a dream of eternity. 

Luigi, however, had taken hold of the old man's hands to calm him by anaffectionate filial clasp. "Yes, yes, you are right, father, alwaysright, and I'm a fool to contradict you. Now, pray don't move about likethat, for you are uncovering yourself, and your legs will get coldagain. "

So saying, he knelt down and very carefully arranged the wrapper; andthen remaining on the floor like a child, albeit he was two and forty, heraised his moist eyes, full of mute, entreating worship towards the oldman who, calmed and deeply moved, caressed his hair with a tremblingtouch. 

Pierre had been there for nearly two hours, when he at last took leave, greatly struck and affected by all that he had seen and heard. And againhe had to promise that he would return and have a long chat with Orlando. Once out of doors he walked along at random. It was barely four o'clock, and it was his idea to ramble in this wise, without any predeterminedprogramme, through Rome at that delightful hour when the sun sinks in therefreshed and far blue atmosphere. Almost immediately, however, he foundhimself in the Via Nazionale, along which he had driven on arriving theprevious day. And he recognised the huge livid Banca d'Italia, the greengardens climbing to the Quirinal, and the heaven-soaring pines of theVilla Aldobrandini. Then, at the turn of the street, as he stopped shortin order that he might again contemplate the column of Trajan which nowrose up darkly from its low piazza, already full of twilight, he wassurprised to see a victoria suddenly pull up, and a young man courteouslybeckon to him. 

"Monsieur l'Abbe Froment! Monsieur l'Abbe Froment!"

It was young Prince Dario Boccanera, on his way to his daily drive alongthe Corso. He now virtually subsisted on the liberality of his uncle theCardinal, and was almost always short of money. But, like all the Romans, he would, if necessary, have rather lived on bread and water than haveforgone his carriage, horse, and coachman. An equipage, indeed, is theone indispensable luxury of Rome. 

"If you will come with me, Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, " said the youngPrince, "I will show you the most interesting part of our city. "

He doubtless desired to please Benedetta, by behaving amiably towards herprotege. Idle as he was, too, it seemed to him a pleasant occupation toinitiate that young priest, who was said to be so intelligent, into whathe deemed the inimitable side, the true florescence of Roman life. 

Pierre was compelled to accept, although he would have preferred asolitary stroll. Yet he was interested in this young man, the last bornof an exhausted race, who, while seemingly incapable of either thought oraction, was none the less very seductive with his high-born pride andindolence. Far more a Roman than a patriot, Dario had never had thefaintest inclination to rally to the new order of things, being wellcontent to live apart and do nothing; and passionate though he was, heindulged in no follies, being very practical and sensible at heart, asare all his fellow-citizens, despite their apparent impetuosity. As soonas his carriage, after crossing the Piazza di Venezia, entered the Corso, he gave rein to his childish vanity, his desire to shine, his passion forgay, happy life in the open under the lovely sky. All this, indeed, wasclearly expressed in the simple gesture which he made whilst exclaiming:"The Corso!"

As on the previous day, Pierre was filled with astonishment. The longnarrow street again stretched before him as far as the white dazzlingPiazza del Popolo, the only difference being that the right-hand houseswere now steeped in sunshine, whilst those on the left were black withshadow. What! was that the Corso then, that semi-obscure trench, closepressed by high and heavy house-fronts, that mean roadway where threevehicles could scarcely pass abreast, and which serried shops lined withgaudy displays? There was neither space, nor far horizon, nor refreshinggreenery such as the fashionable drives of Paris could boast! Nothing butjostling, crowding, and stifling on the little footways under the narrowstrip of sky. And although Dario named the pompous and historicalpalaces, Bonaparte, Doria, Odescalchi, Sciarra, and Chigi; although hepointed out the column of Marcus Aurelius on the Piazza Colonna, the mostlively square of the whole city with its everlasting throng of lounging, gazing, chattering people; although, all the way to the Piazza delPopolo, he never ceased calling attention to churches, houses, andside-streets, notably the Via dei Condotti, at the far end of which theTrinity de' Monti, all golden in the glory of the sinking sun, appearedabove that famous flight of steps, the triumphal Scala di Spagna--Pierrestill and ever retained the impression of disillusion which the narrow, airless thoroughfare had conveyed to him: the "palaces" looked to himlike mournful hospitals or barracks, the Piazza Colonna suffered terriblyfrom a lack of trees, and the Trinity de' Monti alone took his fancy byits distant radiance of fairyland. 

But it was necessary to come back from the Piazza del Popolo to thePiazza di Venezia, then return to the former square, and come back yetagain, following the entire Corso three and four times without wearying. The delighted Dario showed himself and looked about him, exchangingsalutations. On either footway was a compact crowd of promenaders whoseeyes roamed over the equipages and whose hands could have shaken those ofthe carriage folks. So great at last became the number of vehicles thatboth lines were absolutely unbroken, crowded to such a point that thecoachmen could do no more than walk their horses. Perpetually going upand coming down the Corso, people scrutinised and jostled one another. Itwas open-air promiscuity, all Rome gathered together in the smallestpossible space, the folks who knew one another and who met here as in afriendly drawing-room, and the folks belonging to adverse parties who didnot speak together but who elbowed each other, and whose glancespenetrated to each other's soul. Then a revelation came to Pierre, and hesuddenly understood the Corso, the ancient custom, the passion and gloryof the city. Its pleasure lay precisely in the very narrowness of thestreet, in that forced elbowing which facilitated not only desiredmeetings but the satisfaction of curiosity, the display of vanity, andthe garnering of endless tittle-tattle. All Roman society met here eachday, displayed itself, spied on itself, offering itself in spectacle toits own eyes, with such an indispensable need of thus beholding itselfthat the man of birth who missed the Corso was like one out of hiselement, destitute of newspapers, living like a savage. And withal theatmosphere was delightfully balmy, and the narrow strip of sky betweenthe heavy, rusty mansions displayed an infinite azure purity. 

Dario never ceased smiling, and slightly inclining his head while herepeated to Pierre the names of princes and princesses, dukes andduchesses--high-sounding names whose flourish had filled history, whosesonorous syllables conjured up the shock of armour on the battlefield andthe splendour of papal pomp with robes of purple, tiaras of gold, andsacred vestments sparkling with precious stones. And as Pierre listenedand looked he was pained to see merely some corpulent ladies orundersized gentlemen, bloated or shrunken beings, whose ill-looks seemedto be increased by their modern attire. However, a few pretty women wentby, particularly some young, silent girls with large, clear eyes. Andjust as Dario had pointed out the Palazzo Buongiovanni, a hugeseventeenth-century facade, with windows encompassed by foliagedornamentation deplorably heavy in style, he added gaily:

"Ah! look--that's Attilio there on the footway. Young LieutenantSacco--you know, don't you?"

Pierre signed that he understood. Standing there in uniform, Attilio, soyoung, so energetic and brave of appearance, with a frank countenancesoftly illumined by blue eyes like his mother's, at once pleased thepriest. He seemed indeed the very personification of youth and love, withall their enthusiastic, disinterested hope in the future. 

"You'll see by and by, when we pass the palace again, " said Dario. "He'llstill be there and I'll show you something. "

Then he began to talk gaily of the girls of Rome, the little princesses, the little duchesses, so discreetly educated at the convent of the SacredHeart, quitting it for the most part so ignorant and then completingtheir education beside their mothers, never going out but to accompanythe latter on the obligatory drive to the Corso, and living throughendless days, cloistered, imprisoned in the depths of sombre mansions. Nevertheless what tempests raged in those mute souls to which none hadever penetrated! what stealthy growth of will suddenly appeared fromunder passive obedience, apparent unconsciousness of surroundings! Howmany there were who stubbornly set their minds on carving out their livesfor themselves, on choosing the man who might please them, and securinghim despite the opposition of the entire world! And the lover was chosenthere from among the stream of young men promenading the Corso, the loverhooked with a glance during the daily drive, those candid eyes speakingaloud and sufficing for confession and the gift of all, whilst not abreath was wafted from the lips so chastely closed. And afterwards therecame love letters, furtively exchanged in church, and the winning-over ofmaids to facilitate stolen meetings, at first so innocent. In the end, amarriage often resulted. 

Celia, for her part, had determined to win Attilio on the very first daywhen their eyes had met. And it was from a window of the PalazzoBuongiovanni that she had perceived him one afternoon of mortalweariness. He had just raised his head, and she had taken him for everand given herself to him with those large, pure eyes of hers as theyrested on his own. She was but an _amorosa_--nothing more; he pleasedher; she had set her heart on him--him and none other. She would havewaited twenty years for him, but she relied on winning him at once byquiet stubbornness of will. People declared that the terrible fury of thePrince, her father, had proved impotent against her respectful, obstinatesilence. He, man of mixed blood as he was, son of an American woman, andhusband of an English woman, laboured but to retain his own name andfortune intact amidst the downfall of others; and it was rumoured that asthe result of a quarrel which he had picked with his wife, whom heaccused of not sufficiently watching over their daughter, the Princesshad revolted, full not only of the pride of a foreigner who had brought ahuge dowry in marriage, but also of such plain, frank egotism that shehad declared she no longer found time enough to attend to herself, letalone another. Had she not already done enough in bearing him fivechildren? She thought so; and now she spent her time in worshippingherself, letting Celia do as she listed, and taking no further interestin the household through which swept stormy gusts. 

However, the carriage was again about to pass the Buongiovanni mansion, and Dario forewarned Pierre. "You see, " said he, "Attilio has come back. And now look up at the third window on the first floor. "

It was at once rapid and charming. Pierre saw the curtain slightly drawnaside and Celia's gentle face appear. Closed, candid lily, she did notsmile, she did not move. Nothing could be read on those pure lips, or inthose clear but fathomless eyes of hers. Yet she was taking Attilio toherself, and giving herself to him without reserve. And soon the curtainfell once more. 

"Ah, the little mask!" muttered Dario. "Can one ever tell what there isbehind so much innocence?"

As Pierre turned round he perceived Attilio, whose head was still raised, and whose face was also motionless and pale, with closed mouth, andwidely opened eyes. And the young priest was deeply touched, for this waslove, absolute love in its sudden omnipotence, true love, eternal andjuvenescent, in which ambition and calculation played no part. 

Then Dario ordered the coachman to drive up to the Pincio; for, before orafter the Corso, the round of the Pincio is obligatory on fine, clearafternoons. First came the Piazza del Popolo, the most airy and regularsquare of Rome, with its conjunction of thoroughfares, its churches andfountains, its central obelisk, and its two clumps of trees facing oneanother at either end of the small white paving-stones, betwixt thesevere and sun-gilt buildings. Then, turning to the right, the carriagebegan to climb the inclined way to the Pincio--a magnificent windingascent, decorated with bas-reliefs, statues, and fountains--a kind ofapotheosis of marble, a commemoration of ancient Rome, rising amidstgreenery. Up above, however, Pierre found the garden small, little betterthan a large square, with just the four necessary roadways to enable thecarriages to drive round and round as long as they pleased. Anuninterrupted line of busts of the great men of ancient and modern Italyfringed these roadways. But what Pierre most admired was the trees--treesof the most rare and varied kinds, chosen and tended with infinite care, and nearly always evergreens, so that in winter and summer alike the spotwas adorned with lovely foliage of every imaginable shade of verdure. Andbeside these trees, along the fine, breezy roadways, Dario's victoriabegan to turn, following the continuous, unwearying stream of the othercarriages. 

Pierre remarked one young woman of modest demeanour and attractivesimplicity who sat alone in a dark-blue victoria, drawn by awell-groomed, elegantly harnessed horse. She was very pretty, short, withchestnut hair, a creamy complexion, and large gentle eyes. Quietly robedin dead-leaf silk, she wore a large hat, which alone looked somewhatextravagant. And seeing that Dario was staring at her, the priestinquired her name, whereat the young Prince smiled. Oh! she was nobody, La Tonietta was the name that people gave her; she was one of the few_demi-mondaines_ that Roman society talked of. Then, with the freenessand frankness which his race displays in such matters, Dario added someparticulars. La Tonietta's origin was obscure; some said that she was thedaughter of an innkeeper of Tivoli, and others that of a Neapolitanbanker. At all events, she was very intelligent, had educated herself, and knew thoroughly well how to receive and entertain people at thelittle palazzo in the Via dei Mille, which had been given to her by oldMarquis Manfredi now deceased. She made no scandalous show, had but oneprotector at a time, and the princesses and duchesses who paid attentionto her at the Corso every afternoon, considered her nice-looking. Onepeculiarity had made her somewhat notorious. There was some one whom sheloved and from whom she never accepted aught but a bouquet of whiteroses; and folks would smile indulgently when at times for weeks togethershe was seen driving round the Pincio with those pure, white bridalflowers on the carriage seat. 

Dario, however, suddenly paused in his explanations to address aceremonious bow to a lady who, accompanied by a gentleman, drove by in alarge landau. Then he simply said to the priest: "My mother. "

Pierre already knew of her. Viscount de la Choue had told him her story, how, after Prince Onofrio Boccanera's death, she had married again, although she was already fifty; how at the Corso, just like some younggirl, she had hooked with her eyes a handsome man to her liking--one, too, who was fifteen years her junior. And Pierre also knew who that manwas, a certain Jules Laporte, an ex-sergeant of the papal Swiss Guard, anex-traveller in relics, compromised in an extraordinary "false relic"fraud; and he was further aware that Laporte's wife had made afine-looking Marquis Montefiori of him, the last of the fortunateadventurers of romance, triumphing as in the legendary lands whereshepherds are wedded to queens. 

At the next turn, as the large landau again went by, Pierre looked at thecouple. The Marchioness was really wonderful, blooming with all theclassical Roman beauty, tall, opulent, and very dark, with the head of agoddess and regular if somewhat massive features, nothing as yetbetraying her age except the down upon her upper lip. And the Marquis, the Romanised Swiss of Geneva, really had a proud bearing, with his solidsoldierly figure and long wavy moustaches. People said that he was in nowise a fool but, on the contrary, very gay and very supple, just the manto please women. His wife so gloried in him that she dragged him aboutand displayed him everywhere, having begun life afresh with him as if shewere still but twenty, spending on him the little fortune which she hadsaved from the Villa Montefiori disaster, and so completely forgettingher son that she only saw the latter now and again at the promenade andacknowledged his bow like that of some chance acquaintance. 

"Let us go to see the sun set behind St. Peter's, " all at once saidDario, conscientiously playing his part as a showman of curiosities. 

The victoria thereupon returned to the terrace, where a military band wasnow playing with a terrific blare of brass instruments. In order thattheir occupants might hear the music, a large number of carriages hadalready drawn up, and a growing crowd of loungers on foot had assembledthere. And from that beautiful terrace, so broad and lofty, one of themost wonderful views of Rome was offered to the gaze. Beyond the Tiber, beyond the pale chaos of the new district of the castle meadows, * andbetween the greenery of Monte Mario and the Janiculum arose St. Peter's. Then on the left came all the olden city, an endless stretch of roofs, arolling sea of edifices as far as the eye could reach. But one's glancesalways came back to St. Peter's, towering into the azure with pure andsovereign grandeur. And, seen from the terrace, the slow sunsets in thedepths of the vast sky behind the colossus were sublime. 

 * See _ante_ note on castle meadows. 

Sometimes there are topplings of sanguineous clouds, battles of giantshurling mountains at one another and succumbing beneath the monstrousruins of flaming cities. Sometimes only red streaks or fissures appear onthe surface of a sombre lake, as if a net of light has been flung to fishthe submerged orb from amidst the seaweed. Sometimes, too, there is arosy mist, a kind of delicate dust which falls, streaked with pearls by adistant shower, whose curtain is drawn across the mystery of the horizon. And sometimes there is a triumph, a _cortege_ of gold and purple chariotsof cloud rolling along a highway of fire, galleys floating upon an azuresea, fantastic and extravagant pomps slowly sinking into the less andless fathomable abyss of the twilight. 

But that night the sublime spectacle presented itself to Pierre with acalm, blinding, desperate grandeur. At first, just above the dome of St. Peter's, the sun, descending in a spotless, deeply limpid sky, proved yetso resplendent that one's eyes could not face its brightness. And in thisresplendency the dome seemed to be incandescent, you would have said adome of liquid silver; whilst the surrounding districts, the house-roofsof the Borgo, were as though changed into a lake of live embers. Then, asthe sun was by degrees inclined, it lost some of its blaze, and one couldlook; and soon afterwards sinking with majestic slowness it disappearedbehind the dome, which showed forth darkly blue, while the orb, nowentirely hidden, set an aureola around it, a glory like a crown offlaming rays. And then began the dream, the dazzling symbol, the singularillumination of the row of windows beneath the cupola which weretranspierced by the light and looked like the ruddy mouths of furnaces, in such wise that one might have imagined the dome to be poised upon abrazier, isolated, in the air, as though raised and upheld by theviolence of the fire. It all lasted barely three minutes. Down below thejumbled roofs of the Borgo became steeped in violet vapour, sank intoincreasing gloom, whilst from the Janiculum to Monte Mario the horizonshowed its firm black line. And it was the sky then which became allpurple and gold, displaying the infinite placidity of a supernaturalradiance above the earth which faded into nihility. Finally the lastwindow reflections were extinguished, the glow of the heavens departed, and nothing remained but the vague, fading roundness of the dome of St. Peter's amidst the all-invading night. 

And, by some subtle connection of ideas, Pierre at that moment once againsaw rising before him the lofty, sad, declining figures of CardinalBoccanera and old Orlando. On the evening of that day when he had learntto know them, one after the other, both so great in the obstinacy oftheir hope, they seemed to be there, erect on the horizon above theirannihilated city, on the fringe of the heavens which death apparently wasabout to seize. Was everything then to crumble with them? was everythingto fade away and disappear in the falling night following uponaccomplished Time?

V. 

ON the following day Narcisse Habert came in great worry to tell Pierrethat Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo complained of being unwell, and asked fora delay of two or three days before receiving the young priest andconsidering the matter of his audience. Pierre was thus reduced toinaction, for he dared not make any attempt elsewhere in view of seeingthe Pope. He had been so frightened by Nani and others that he feared hemight jeopardise everything by inconsiderate endeavours. And so he beganto visit Rome in order to occupy his leisure. 

His first visit was for the ruins of the Palatine. Going out alone oneclear morning at eight o'clock, he presented himself at the entrance inthe Via San Teodoro, an iron gateway flanked by the lodges of thekeepers. One of the latter at once offered his services, and thoughPierre would have preferred to roam at will, following the bent of hisdream, he somehow did not like to refuse the offer of this man, who spokeFrench very distinctly, and smiled in a very good-natured way. He was asquatly built little man, a former soldier, some sixty years of age, andhis square-cut, ruddy face was barred by thick white moustaches. 

"Then will you please follow me, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said he. "I can seethat you are French, Monsieur l'Abbe. I'm a Piedmontese myself, but Iknow the French well enough; I was with them at Solferino. Yes, yes, whatever people may say, one can't forget old friendships. Here, thisway, please, to the right. "

Raising his eyes, Pierre had just perceived the line of cypresses edgingthe plateau of the Palatine on the side of the Tiber; and in the delicateblue atmosphere the intense greenery of these trees showed like a blackfringe. They alone attracted the eye; the slope, of a dusty, dirty grey, stretched out bare and devastated, dotted by a few bushes, among whichpeeped fragments of ancient walls. All was instinct with the ravaged, leprous sadness of a spot handed over to excavation, and where only menof learning could wax enthusiastic. 

"The palaces of Tiberius, Caligula, and the Flavians are up above, "resumed the guide. "We must keep then for the end and go round. "Nevertheless he took a few steps to the left, and pausing before anexcavation, a sort of grotto in the hillside, exclaimed: "This is theLupercal den where the wolf suckled Romulus and Remus. Just here at theentry used to stand the Ruminal fig-tree which sheltered the twins. "

Pierre could not restrain a smile, so convinced was the tone in which theold soldier gave these explanations, proud as he was of all the ancientglory, and wont to regard the wildest legends as indisputable facts. However, when the worthy man pointed out some vestiges of RomaQuadrata--remnants of walls which really seemed to date from thefoundation of the city--Pierre began to feel interested, and a firsttouch of emotion made his heart beat. This emotion was certainly not dueto any beauty of scene, for he merely beheld a few courses of tufablocks, placed one upon the other and uncemented. But a past which hadbeen dead for seven and twenty centuries seemed to rise up before him, and those crumbling, blackened blocks, the foundation of such a mightyeclipse of power and splendour, acquired extraordinary majesty. 

Continuing their inspection, they went on, skirting the hillside. Theoutbuildings of the palaces must have descended to this point; fragmentsof porticoes, fallen beams, columns and friezes set up afresh, edged therugged path which wound through wild weeds, suggesting a neglectedcemetery; and the guide repeated the words which he had used day by dayfor ten years past, continuing to enunciate suppositions as facts, andgiving a name, a destination, a history, to every one of the fragments. 

"The house of Augustus, " he said at last, pointing towards some masses ofearth and rubbish. 

Thereupon Pierre, unable to distinguish anything, ventured to inquire:"Where do you mean?"

"Oh!" said the man, "it seems that the walls were still to be seen at theend of the last century. But it was entered from the other side, from theSacred Way. On this side there was a huge balcony which overlooked theCircus Maximus so that one could view the sports. However, as you cansee, the greater part of the palace is still buried under that big gardenup above, the garden of the Villa Mills. When there's money for freshexcavations it will be found again, together with the temple of Apolloand the shrine of Vesta which accompanied it. "

Turning to the left, he next entered the Stadium, the arena erected forfoot-racing, which stretched beside the palace of Augustus; and thepriest's interest was now once more awakened. It was not that he foundhimself in presence of well-preserved and monumental remains, for not acolumn had remained erect, and only the right-hand walls were stillstanding. But the entire plan of the building had been traced, with thegoals at either end, the porticus round the course, and the colossalimperial tribune which, after being on the left, annexed to the house ofAugustus, had afterwards opened on the right, fitting into the palace ofSeptimius Severus. And while Pierre looked on all the scattered remnants, his guide went on chattering, furnishing the most copious and preciseinformation, and declaring that the gentlemen who directed theexcavations had mentally reconstructed the Stadium in each and everyparticular, and were even preparing a most exact plan of it, showing allthe columns in their proper order and the statues in their niches, andeven specifying the divers sorts of marble which had covered the walls. 

"Oh! the directors are quite at ease, " the old soldier eventually addedwith an air of infinite satisfaction. "There will be nothing for theGermans to pounce on here. They won't be allowed to set thingstopsy-turvy as they did at the Forum, where everybody's at sea since theycame along with their wonderful science!"

Pierre--a Frenchman--smiled, and his interest increased when, by brokensteps and wooden bridges thrown over gaps, he followed the guide into thegreat ruins of the palace of Severus. Rising on the southern point of thePalatine, this palace had overlooked the Appian Way and the Campagna asfar as the eye could reach. Nowadays, almost the only remains are thesubstructures, the subterranean halls contrived under the arches of theterraces, by which the plateau of the hill was enlarged; and yet thesedismantled substructures suffice to give some idea of the triumphantpalace which they once upheld, so huge and powerful have they remained intheir indestructible massiveness. Near by arose the famous Septizonium, the tower with the seven tiers of arcades, which only finally disappearedin the sixteenth century. One of the palace terraces yet juts out uponcyclopean arches and from it the view is splendid. But all the rest is acommingling of massive yet crumbling walls, gaping depths whose ceilingshave fallen, endless corridors and vast halls of doubtful destination. Well cared for by the new administration, swept and cleansed of weeds, the ruins have lost their romantic wildness and assumed an aspect of bareand mournful grandeur. However, flashes of living sunlight often gild theancient walls, penetrate by their breaches into the black halls, andanimate with their dazzlement the mute melancholy of all this deadsplendour now exhumed from the earth in which it slumbered for centuries. Over the old ruddy masonry, stripped of its pompous marble covering, isthe purple mantle of the sunlight, draping the whole with imperial gloryonce more. 

For more than two hours already Pierre had been walking on, and yet hestill had to visit all the earlier palaces on the north and east of theplateau. "We must go back, " said the guide, "the gardens of the VillaMills and the convent of San Bonaventura stop the way. We shall only beable to pass on this side when the excavations have made a clearance. Ah!Monsieur l'Abbe, if you had walked over the Palatine merely some fiftyyears ago! I've seen some plans of that time. There were only somevineyards and little gardens with hedges then, a real campagna, where nota soul was to be met. And to think that all these palaces were sleepingunderneath!"

Pierre followed him, and after again passing the house of Augustus, theyascended the slope and reached the vast Flavian palace, * still halfburied by the neighbouring villa, and composed of a great number of hallslarge and small, on the nature of which scholars are still arguing. Theaula regia, or throne-room, the basilica, or hall of justice, thetriclinium, or dining-room, and the peristylium seem certainties; but forall the rest, and especially the small chambers of the private part ofthe structure, only more or less fanciful conjectures can be offered. Moreover, not a wall is entire; merely foundations peep out of theground, mutilated bases describing the plan of the edifice. The only ruinpreserved, as if by miracle, is the house on a lower level which someassert to have been that of Livia, * a house which seems very small besideall the huge palaces, and where are three halls comparatively intact, with mural paintings of mythological scenes, flowers, and fruits, stillwonderfully fresh. As for the palace of Tiberius, not one of its stonescan be seen; its remains lie buried beneath a lovely public garden;whilst of the neighbouring palace of Caligula, overhanging the Forum, there are only some huge substructures, akin to those of the house ofSeverus--buttresses, lofty arcades, which upheld the palace, vastbasements, so to say, where the praetorians were posted and gorgedthemselves with continual junketings. And thus this lofty plateaudominating the city merely offered some scarcely recognisable vestiges tothe view, stretches of grey, bare soil turned up by the pick, and dottedwith fragments of old walls; and it needed a real effort of scholarlyimagination to conjure up the ancient imperial splendour which once hadtriumphed there. 

 * Begun by Vespasian and finished by Domitian. --Trans. 

 ** Others assert it to have been the house of Germanicus, father of Caligula. --Trans. 

Nevertheless Pierre's guide, with quiet conviction, persisted in hisexplanations, pointing to empty space as though the edifices still rosebefore him. "Here, " said he, "we are in the Area Palatina. Yonder, yousee, is the facade of Domitian's palace, and there you have that ofCaligula's palace, while on turning round the temple of Jupiter Stator isin front of you. The Sacred Way came up as far as here, and passed underthe Porta Mugonia, one of the three gates of primitive Rome. "

He paused and pointed to the northwest portion of the height. "You willhave noticed, " he resumed, "that the Caesars didn't build yonder. Andthat was evidently because they had to respect some very ancientmonuments dating from before the foundation of the city and greatlyvenerated by the people. There stood the temple of Victory built byEvander and his Arcadians, the Lupercal grotto which I showed you, andthe humble hut of Romulus constructed of reeds and clay. Oh! everythinghas been found again, Monsieur l'Abbe; and, in spite of all that theGermans say there isn't the slightest doubt of it. "

Then, quite abruptly, like a man suddenly remembering the mostinteresting thing of all, he exclaimed: "Ah! to wind up we'll just go tosee the subterranean gallery where Caligula was murdered. "

Thereupon they descended into a long crypto-porticus, through thebreaches of which the sun now casts bright rays. Some ornaments of stuccoand fragments of mosaic-work are yet to be seen. Still the spot remainsmournful and desolate, well fitted for tragic horror. The old soldier'svoice had become graver as he related how Caligula, on returning from thePalatine games, had been minded to descend all alone into this gallery towitness certain sacred dances which some youths from Asia were practisingthere. And then it was that the gloom gave Cassius Chaereas, the chief ofthe conspirators, an opportunity to deal him the first thrust in theabdomen. Howling with pain, the emperor sought to flee; but theassassins, his creatures, his dearest friends, rushed upon him, threw himdown, and dealt him blow after blow, whilst he, mad with rage and fright, filled the dim, deaf gallery with the howling of a slaughtered beast. When he had expired, silence fell once more, and the frightened murderersfled. 

The classical visit to the Palatine was now over, and when Pierre came upinto the light again, he wished to rid himself of his guide and remainalone in the pleasant, dreamy garden on the summit of the height. Forthree hours he had been tramping about with the guide's voice buzzing inhis ears. The worthy man was now talking of his friendship for France andrelating the battle of Magenta in great detail. He smiled as he took thepiece of silver which Pierre offered him, and then started on the battleof Solferino. Indeed, it seemed impossible to stop him, when fortunatelya lady came up to ask for some information. And, thereupon, he went offwith her. "Good-evening, Monsieur l'Abbe, " he said; "you can go down byway of Caligula's palace. "

Delightful was Pierre's relief when he was at last able to rest for amoment on one of the marble seats in the garden. There were but fewclumps of trees, cypresses, box-trees, palms, and some fine evergreenoaks; but the latter, sheltering the seat, cast a dark shade of exquisitefreshness around. The charm of the spot was also largely due to itsdreamy solitude, to the low rustle which seemed to come from that ancientsoil saturated with resounding history. Here formerly had been thepleasure grounds of the Villa Farnese which still exists though greatlydamaged, and the grace of the Renascence seems to linger here, its breathpassing caressingly through the shiny foliage of the old evergreen oaks. You are, as it were, enveloped by the soul of the past, an etherealconglomeration of visions, and overhead is wafted the straying breath ofinnumerable generations buried beneath the sod. 

After a time, however, Pierre could no longer remain seated, so powerfulwas the attraction of Rome, scattered all around that august summit. Sohe rose and approached the balustrade of a terrace; and beneath himappeared the Forum, and beyond it the Capitoline hill. To the eye thelatter now only presented a commingling of grey buildings, lacking bothgrandeur and beauty. On the summit one saw the rear of the Palace of theSenator, flat, with little windows, and surmounted by a high, squarecampanile. The large, bare, rusty-looking walls hid the church of SantaMaria in Ara Coeli and the spot where the temple of Capitoline Jove hadformerly stood, radiant in all its royalty. On the left, some ugly housesrose terrace-wise upon the slope of Monte Caprino, where goats werepastured in the middle ages; while the few fine trees in the grounds ofthe Caffarelli palace, the present German embassy, set some greeneryabove the ancient Tarpeian rock now scarcely to be found, lost, hidden asit is, by buttress walls. Yet this was the Mount of the Capitol, the mostglorious of the seven hills, with its citadel and its temple, the templeto which universal dominion was promised, the St. Peter's of pagan Rome;this indeed was the hill--steep on the side of the Forum, and a precipiceon that of the Campus Martius--where the thunder of Jupiter fell, wherein the dimmest of the far-off ages the Asylum of Romulus rose with itssacred oaks, a spot of infinite savage mystery. Here, later, werepreserved the public documents of Roman grandeur inscribed on tablets ofbrass; hither climbed the heroes of the triumphs; and here the emperorsbecame gods, erect in statues of marble. And nowadays the eye inquireswonderingly how so much history and so much glory can have had for theirscene so small a space, such a rugged, jumbled pile of paltry buildings, a mole-hill, looking no bigger, no loftier than a hamlet perched betweentwo valleys. 

Then another surprise for Pierre was the Forum, starting from the Capitoland stretching out below the Palatine: a narrow square, close pressed bythe neighbouring hills, a hollow where Rome in growing had been compelledto rear edifice close to edifice till all stifled for lack of breathingspace. It was necessary to dig very deep--some fifty feet--to find thevenerable republican soil, and now all you see is a long, clean, lividtrench, cleared of ivy and bramble, where the fragments of paving, thebases of columns, and the piles of foundations appear like bits of bone. Level with the ground the Basilica Julia, entirely mapped out, looks likean architect's ground plan. On that side the arch of Septimius Severusalone rears itself aloft, virtually intact, whilst of the temple ofVespasian only a few isolated columns remain still standing, as if bymiracle, amidst the general downfall, soaring with a proud elegance, withsovereign audacity of equilibrium, so slender and so gilded, into theblue heavens. The column of Phocas is also erect; and you see someportions of the Rostra fitted together out of fragments discovered nearby. But if the eye seeks a sensation of extraordinary vastness, it musttravel beyond the three columns of the temple of Castor and Pollux, beyond the vestiges of the house of the Vestals, beyond the temple ofFaustina, in which the Christian Church of San Lorenzo has so composedlyinstalled itself, and even beyond the round temple of Romulus, to lightupon the Basilica of Constantine with its three colossal, gapingarchways. From the Palatine they look like porches built for a nation ofgiants, so massive that a fallen fragment resembles some huge rock hurledby a whirlwind from a mountain summit. And there, in that illustrious, narrow, overflowing Forum the history of the greatest of nations held forcenturies, from the legendary time of the Sabine women, reconciling theirrelatives and their ravishers, to that of the proclamation of publicliberty, so slowly wrung from the patricians by the plebeians. Was notthe Forum at once the market, the exchange, the tribunal, the open-airhall of public meeting? The Gracchi there defended the cause of thehumble; Sylla there set up the lists of those whom he proscribed; Cicerothere spoke, and there, against the rostra, his bleeding head was hung. Then, under the emperors, the old renown was dimmed, the centuries buriedthe monuments and temples with such piles of dust that all that themiddle ages could do was to turn the spot into a cattle market! Respecthas come back once more, a respect which violates tombs, which is full offeverish curiosity and science, which is dissatisfied with merehypotheses, which loses itself amidst this historical soil wheregenerations rise one above the other, and hesitates between the fifteenor twenty restorations of the Forum that have been planned on paper, eachof them as plausible as the other. But to the mere passer-by, who is nota professional scholar and has not recently re-perused the history ofRome, the details have no significance. All he sees on this searched andscoured spot is a city's cemetery where old exhumed stones are whitening, and whence rises the intense sadness that envelops dead nations. Pierre, however, noting here and there fragments of the Sacred Way, now turning, now running down, and now ascending with their pavement of silex indentedby the chariot-wheels, thought of the triumphs, of the ascent of thetriumpher, so sorely shaken as his chariot jolted over that roughpavement of glory. 

But the horizon expanded towards the southeast, and beyond the arches ofTitus and Constantine he perceived the Colosseum. Ah! that colossus, onlyone-half or so of which has been destroyed by time as with the stroke ofa mighty scythe, it rises in its enormity and majesty like a stonelace-work with hundreds of empty bays agape against the blue of heaven!There is a world of halls, stairs, landings, and passages, a world whereone loses oneself amidst death-like silence and solitude. The furrowedtiers of seats, eaten into by the atmosphere, are like shapeless stepsleading down into some old extinct crater, some natural circus excavatedby the force of the elements in indestructible rock. The hot suns ofeighteen hundred years have baked and scorched this ruin, which hasreverted to a state of nature, bare and golden-brown like amountain-side, since it has been stripped of its vegetation, the florawhich once made it like a virgin forest. And what an evocation when themind sets flesh and blood and life again on all that dead osseousframework, fills the circus with the 90, 000 spectators which it couldhold, marshals the games and the combats of the arena, gathers a wholecivilisation together, from the emperor and the dignitaries to thesurging plebeian sea, all aglow with the agitation and brilliancy of animpassioned people, assembled under the ruddy reflection of the giantpurple velum. And then, yet further, on the horizon, were other cyclopeanruins, the baths of Caracalla, standing there like relics of a race ofgiants long since vanished from the world: halls extravagantly andinexplicably spacious and lofty; vestibules large enough for an entirepopulation; a _frigidarium_ where five hundred people could swimtogether; a _tepidarium_ and a _calidarium_* on the same proportions, born of a wild craving for the huge; and then the terrific massiveness ofthe structures, the thickness of the piles of brick-work, such as nofeudal castle ever knew; and, in addition, the general immensity whichmakes passing visitors look like lost ants; such an extraordinary riot ofthe great and the mighty that one wonders for what men, for whatmultitudes, this monstrous edifice was reared. To-day, you would say amass of rocks in the rough, thrown from some height for building theabode of Titans. 

 * Tepidarium, warm bath; calidarium, vapour bath. --Trans. 

And as Pierre gazed, he became more and more immersed in the limitlesspast which encompassed him. On all sides history rose up like a surgingsea. Those bluey plains on the north and west were ancient Etruria; thosejagged crests on the east were the Sabine Mountains; while southward, theAlban Mountains and Latium spread out in the streaming gold of thesunshine. Alba Longa was there, and so was Monte Cavo, with its crown ofold trees, and the convent which has taken the place of the ancienttemple of Jupiter. Then beyond the Forum, beyond the Capitol, the greaterpart of Rome stretched out, whilst behind Pierre, on the margin of theTiber, was the Janiculum. And a voice seemed to come from the whole city, a voice which told him of Rome's eternal life, resplendent with pastgreatness. He remembered just enough of what he had been taught at schoolto realise where he was; he knew just what every one knows of Rome withno pretension to scholarship, and it was more particularly his artistictemperament which awoke within him and gathered warmth from the flame ofmemory. The present had disappeared, and the ocean of the past was stillrising, buoying him up, carrying him away. 

And then his mind involuntarily pictured a resurrection instinct withlife. The grey, dismal Palatine, razed like some accursed city, suddenlybecame animated, peopled, crowned with palaces and temples. There hadbeen the cradle of the Eternal City, founded by Romulus on that summitoverlooking the Tiber. There assuredly the seven kings of its two and ahalf centuries of monarchical rule had dwelt, enclosed within high, strong walls, which had but three gateways. Then the five centuries ofrepublican sway spread out, the greatest, the most glorious of all thecenturies, those which brought the Italic peninsula and finally the knownworld under Roman dominion. During those victorious years of social andwar-like struggle, Rome grew and peopled the seven hills, and thePalatine became but a venerable cradle with legendary temples, and waseven gradually invaded by private residences. But at last Caesar, theincarnation of the power of his race, after Gaul and after Pharsaliatriumphed in the name of the whole Roman people, having completed thecolossal task by which the five following centuries of imperialism wereto profit, with a pompous splendour and a rush of every appetite. Andthen Augustus could ascend to power; glory had reached its climax;millions of gold were waiting to be filched from the depths of theprovinces; and the imperial gala was to begin in the world's capital, before the eyes of the dazzled and subjected nations. Augustus had beenborn on the Palatine, and after Actium had given him the empire, he sethis pride in reigning from the summit of that sacred mount, venerated bythe people. He bought up private houses and there built his palace withluxurious splendour: an atrium upheld by four pilasters and eightcolumns; a peristylium encompassed by fifty-six Ionic columns; privateapartments all around, and all in marble; a profusion of marble, broughtat great cost from foreign lands, and of the brightest hues, resplendentlike gems. And he lodged himself with the gods, building near his ownabode a large temple of Apollo and a shrine of Vesta in order to ensurehimself divine and eternal sovereignty. And then the seed of the imperialpalaces was sown; they were to spring up, grow and swarm, and cover theentire mount. 

Ah! the all-powerfulness of Augustus, his four and forty years of total, absolute, superhuman power, such as no despot has known even in hisdreams! He had taken to himself every title, united every magistracy inhis person. Imperator and consul, he commanded the armies and exercisedexecutive power; pro-consul, he was supreme in the provinces; perpetualcensor and princeps, he reigned over the senate; tribune, he was themaster of the people. And, formerly called Octavius, he had causedhimself to be declared Augustus, sacred, god among men, having histemples and his priests, worshipped in his lifetime like a divinitydeigning to visit the earth. And finally he had resolved to be supremepontiff, annexing religious to civil power, and thus by a stroke ofgenius attaining to the most complete dominion to which man can climb. Asthe supreme pontiff could not reside in a private house, he declared hisabode to be State property. As the supreme pontiff could not leave thevicinity of the temple of Vesta, he built a temple to that goddess nearhis own dwelling, leaving the guardianship of the ancient altar below thePalatine to the Vestal virgins. He spared no effort, for he well realisedthat human omnipotence, the mastery of mankind and the world, lay in thatreunion of sovereignty, in being both king and priest, emperor and pope. All the sap of a mighty race, all the victories achieved, and all thefavours of fortune yet to be garnered, blossomed forth in Augustus, in aunique splendour which was never again to shed such brilliant radiance. He was really the master of the world, amidst the conquered and pacifiednations, encompassed by immortal glory in literature and in art. In himwould seem to have been satisfied the old intense ambition of his people, the ambition which it had pursued through centuries of patient conquest, to become the people-king. The blood of Rome, the blood of Augustus, atlast coruscated in the sunlight, in the purple of empire. And the bloodof Augustus, of the divine, triumphant, absolute sovereign of bodies andsouls, of the man in whom seven centuries of national pride hadculminated, was to descend through the ages, through an innumerableposterity with a heritage of boundless pride and ambition. For it wasfatal: the blood of Augustus was bound to spring into life once more andpulsate in the veins of all the successive masters of Rome, ever hauntingthem with the dream of ruling the whole world. And later on, after thedecline and fall, when power had once more become divided between theking and the priest, the popes--their hearts burning with the red, devouring blood of their great forerunner--had no other passion, no otherpolicy, through the centuries, than that of attaining to civil dominion, to the totality of human power. 

But Augustus being dead, his palace having been closed and consecrated, Pierre saw that of Tiberius spring up from the soil. It had stood wherehis feet now rested, where the beautiful evergreen oaks sheltered him. Hepictured it with courts, porticoes, and halls, both substantial andgrand, despite the gloomy bent of the emperor who betook himself far fromRome to live amongst informers and debauchees, with his heart and brainpoisoned by power to the point of crime and most extraordinary insanity. Then the palace of Caligula followed, an enlargement of that of Tiberius, with arcades set up to increase its extent, and a bridge thrown over theForum to the Capitol, in order that the prince might go thither at hisease to converse with Jove, whose son he claimed to be. And sovereigntyalso rendered this one ferocious--a madman with omnipotence to do as helisted! Then, after Claudius, Nero, not finding the Palatine largeenough, seized upon the delightful gardens climbing the Esquiline inorder to set up his Golden House, a dream of sumptuous immensity which hecould not complete and the ruins of which disappeared in the troublesfollowing the death of this monster whom pride demented. Next, ineighteen months, Galba, Otho, and Vitellius fell one upon the other, inmire and in blood, the purple converting them also into imbeciles andmonsters, gorged like unclean beasts at the trough of imperial enjoyment. And afterwards came the Flavians, at first a respite, with commonsenseand human kindness: Vespasian; next Titus, who built but little on thePalatine; but then Domitian, in whom the sombre madness of omnipotenceburst forth anew amidst a _regime_ of fear and spying, idiotic atrocitiesand crimes, debauchery contrary to nature, and building enterprises bornof insane vanity instinct with a desire to outvie the temples of thegods. The palace of Domitian, parted by a lane from that of Tiberius, arose colossal-like--a palace of fairyland. There was the hall ofaudience, with its throne of gold, its sixteen columns of Phrygian andNumidian marble and its eight niches containing colossal statues; therewere the hall of justice, the vast dining-room, the peristylium, thesleeping apartments, where granite, porphyry, and alabaster overflowed, carved and decorated by the most famous artists, and lavished on allsides in order to dazzle the world. And finally, many years later, a lastpalace was added to all the others--that of Septimius Severus: again abuilding of pride, with arches supporting lofty halls, terraced storeys, towers o'er-topping the roofs, a perfect Babylonian pile, rising up atthe extreme point of the mount in view of the Appian Way, so that theemperor's compatriots--those from the province of Africa, where he wasborn--might, on reaching the horizon, marvel at his fortune and worshiphim in his glory. 

And now Pierre beheld all those palaces which he had conjured up aroundhim, resuscitated, resplendent in the full sunlight. They were as iflinked together, parted merely by the narrowest of passages. In orderthat not an inch of that precious summit might be lost, they had sproutedthickly like the monstrous florescence of strength, power, and unbridledpride which satisfied itself at the cost of millions, bleeding the wholeworld for the enjoyment of one man. And in truth there was but one palacealtogether, a palace enlarged as soon as one emperor died and was placedamong the deities, and another, shunning the consecrated pile wherepossibly the shadow of death frightened him, experienced an imperiousneed to build a house of his own and perpetuate in everlasting stone thememory of his reign. All the emperors were seized with this buildingcraze; it was like a disease which the very throne seemed to carry fromone occupant to another with growing intensity, a consuming desire toexcel all predecessors by thicker and higher walls, by a more and morewonderful profusion of marbles, columns, and statues. And among all theseprinces there was the idea of a glorious survival, of leaving a testimonyof their greatness to dazzled and stupefied generations, of perpetuatingthemselves by marvels which would not perish but for ever weigh heavilyupon the earth, when their own light ashes should long since have beenswept away by the winds. And thus the Palatine became but the venerablebase of a monstrous edifice, a thick vegetation of adjoining buildings, each new pile being like a fresh eruption of feverish pride; while thewhole, now showing the snowy brightness of white marble and now theglowing hues of coloured marble, ended by crowning Rome and theworld with the most extraordinary and most insolent abode ofsovereignty--whether palace, temple, basilica, or cathedral--thatomnipotence and dominion have ever reared under the heavens. 

But death lurked beneath this excess of strength and glory. Seven hundredand thirty years of monarchy and republic had sufficed to make Romegreat; and in five centuries of imperial sway the people-king was to bedevoured down to its last muscles. There was the immensity of theterritory, the more distant provinces gradually pillaged and exhausted;there was the fisc consuming everything, digging the pit of fatalbankruptcy; and there was the degeneration of the people, poisoned by thescenes of the circus and the arena, fallen to the sloth and debauchery oftheir masters, the Caesars, while mercenaries fought the foe and tilledthe soil. Already at the time of Constantine, Rome had a rival, Byzantium; disruption followed with Honorius; and then some ten emperorssufficed for decomposition to be complete, for the bones of the dyingprey to be picked clean, the end coming with Romulus Augustulus, thesorry creature whose name is, so to say, a mockery of the whole glorioushistory, a buffet for both the founder of Rome and the founder of theempire. 

The palaces, the colossal assemblage of walls, storeys, terraces, andgaping roofs, still remained on the deserted Palatine; many ornaments andstatues, however, had already been removed to Byzantium. And the empire, having become Christian, had afterwards closed the temples andextinguished the fire of Vesta, whilst yet respecting the ancientPalladium. But in the fifth century the barbarians rush upon Rome, sackand burn it, and carry the spoils spared by the flames away in theirchariots. As long as the city was dependent on Byzantium a custodian ofthe imperial palaces remained there watching over the Palatine. Then allfades and crumbles in the night of the middle ages. It would really seemthat the popes then slowly took the place of the Caesars, succeeding themboth in their abandoned marble halls and their ever-subsisting passionfor domination. Some of them assuredly dwelt in the palace of SeptimiusSeverus; a council of the Church was held in the Septizonium; and, lateron, Gelasius II was elected in a neighbouring monastery on the sacredmount. It was as if Augustus were again rising from the tomb, once moremaster of the world, with a Sacred College of Cardinals resuscitating theRoman Senate. In the twelfth century the Septizonium belonged to someBenedictine monks, and was sold by them to the powerful Frangipanifamily, who fortified it as they had already fortified the Colosseum andthe arches of Constantine and Titus, thus forming a vast fortress roundabout the venerable cradle of the city. And the violent deeds of civilwar and the ravages of invasion swept by like whirlwinds, throwing downthe walls, razing the palaces and towers. And afterwards successivegenerations invaded the ruins, installed themselves in them by right oftrover and conquest, turned them into cellars, store-places for forage, and stables for mules. Kitchen gardens were formed, vines were planted onthe spots where fallen soil had covered the mosaics of the imperialhalls. All around nettles and brambles grew up, and ivy preyed on theoverturned porticoes, till there came a day when the colossal assemblageof palaces and temples, which marble was to have rendered eternal, seemedto dive beneath the dust, to disappear under the surging soil andvegetation which impassive Nature threw over it. And then, in the hotsunlight, among the wild flowerets, only big, buzzing flies remained, whilst herds of goats strayed in freedom through the throne-room ofDomitian and the fallen sanctuary of Apollo. 

A great shudder passed through Pierre. To think of so much strength, pride, and grandeur, and such rapid ruin--a world for ever swept away! Hewondered how entire palaces, yet peopled by admirable statuary, couldthus have been gradually buried without any one thinking of protectingthem. It was no sudden catastrophe which had swallowed up thosemasterpieces, subsequently to be disinterred with exclamations ofadmiring wonder; they had been drowned, as it were--caught progressivelyby the legs, the waist, and the neck, till at last the head had sunkbeneath the rising tide. And how could one explain that generations hadheedlessly witnessed such things without thought of putting forth ahelping hand? It would seem as if, at a given moment, a black curtainwere suddenly drawn across the world, as if mankind began afresh, with anew and empty brain which needed moulding and furnishing. Rome had becomedepopulated; men ceased to repair the ruins left by fire and sword; theedifices which by their very immensity had become useless were utterlyneglected, allowed to crumble and fall. And then, too, the new religioneverywhere hunted down the old one, stole its temples, overturned itsgods. Earthly deposits probably completed the disaster--there were, it issaid, both earthquakes and inundations--and the soil was ever rising, thealluvia of the young Christian world buried the ancient pagan society. And after the pillaging of the temples, the theft of the bronze roofs andmarble columns, the climax came with the filching of the stones torn fromthe Colosseum and the Theatre of Marcellus, with the pounding of thestatuary and sculpture-work, thrown into kilns to procure the lime neededfor the new monuments of Catholic Rome. 

It was nearly one o'clock, and Pierre awoke as from a dream. The sun-rayswere streaming in a golden rain between the shiny leaves of theever-green oaks above him, and down below Rome lay dozing, overcome bythe great heat. Then he made up his mind to leave the garden, and wentstumbling over the rough pavement of the Clivus Victoriae, his mind stillhaunted by blinding visions. To complete his day, he had resolved tovisit the old Appian Way during the afternoon, and, unwilling to returnto the Via Giulia, he lunched at a suburban tavern, in a large, dim room, where, alone with the buzzing flies, he lingered for more than two hours, awaiting the sinking of the sun. 

Ah! that Appian Way, that ancient queen of the high roads, crossing theCampagna in a long straight line with rows of proud tombs on eitherhand--to Pierre it seemed like a triumphant prolongation of the Palatine. He there found the same passion for splendour and domination, the samecraving to eternise the memory of Roman greatness in marble and daylight. Oblivion was vanquished; the dead refused to rest, and remained for evererect among the living, on either side of that road which was traversedby multitudes from the entire world. The deified images of those who werenow but dust still gazed on the passers-by with empty eyes; theinscriptions still spoke, proclaiming names and titles. In former timesthe rows of sepulchres must have extended without interruption along allthe straight, level miles between the tomb of Caecilia Metella and thatof Casale Rotondo, forming an elongated cemetery where the powerful andwealthy competed as to who should leave the most colossal and lavishlydecorated mausoleum: such, indeed, was the craving for survival, thepassion for pompous immortality, the desire to deify death by lodging itin temples; whereof the present-day monumental splendour of the GenoeseCampo Santo and the Roman Campo Verano is, so to say, a remoteinheritance. And what a vision it was to picture all the tremendous tombson the right and left of the glorious pavement which the legions trod ontheir return from the conquest of the world! That tomb of CaeciliaMetella, with its bond-stones so huge, its walls so thick that the middleages transformed it into the battlemented keep of a fortress! And thenall the tombs which follow, the modern structures erected in order thatthe marble fragments discovered might be set in place, the old blocks ofbrick and concrete, despoiled of their sculptured-work and rising up likeseared rocks, yet still suggesting their original shapes as shrines, _cippi_, and _sarcophagi_. There is a wondrous succession of high reliefsfiguring the dead in groups of three and five; statues in which the deadlive deified, erect; seats contrived in niches in order that wayfarersmay rest and bless the hospitality of the dead; laudatory epitaphscelebrating the dead, both the known and the unknown, the children ofSextius Pompeius Justus, the departed Marcus Servilius Quartus, HilariusFuscus, Rabirius Hermodorus; without counting the sepulchres venturouslyascribed to Seneca and the Horatii and Curiatii. And finally there is themost extraordinary and gigantic of all the tombs, that known as CasaleRotondo, which is so large that it has been possible to establish afarmhouse and an olive garden on its substructures, which formerly uphelda double rotunda, adorned with Corinthian pilasters, large candelabra, and scenic masks. *

 * Some believe this tomb to have been that of Messalla Corvinus, the historian and poet, a friend of Augustus and Horace; others ascribe it to his son, Aurelius Messallinus Cotta. --Trans. 

Pierre, having driven in a cab as far as the tomb of Caecilia Metella, continued his excursion on foot, going slowly towards Casale Rotondo. Inmany places the old pavement appears--large blocks of basaltic lava, worninto deep ruts that jolt the best-hung vehicles. Among the ruined tombson either hand run bands of grass, the neglected grass of cemeteries, scorched by the summer suns and sprinkled with big violet thistles andtall sulphur-wort. Parapets of dry stones, breast high, enclose therusset roadsides, which resound with the crepitation of grasshoppers;and, beyond, the Campagna stretches, vast and bare, as far as the eye cansee. A parasol pine, a eucalyptus, some olive or fig trees, white withdust, alone rise up near the road at infrequent intervals. On the leftthe ruddy arches of the Acqua Claudia show vigorously in the meadows, andstretches of poorly cultivated land, vineyards, and little farms, extendto the blue and lilac Sabine and Alban hills, where Frascati, Rocca diPapa, and Albano set bright spots, which grow and whiten as one getsnearer to them. Then, on the right, towards the sea, the houseless, treeless plain grows and spreads with vast, broad ripples, extraordinaryocean-like simplicity and grandeur, a long, straight line alone partingit from the sky. At the height of summer all burns and flares on thislimitless prairie, then of a ruddy gold; but in September a green tingebegins to suffuse the ocean of herbage, which dies away in the pink andmauve and vivid blue of the fine sunsets. 

As Pierre, quite alone and in a dreary mood, slowly paced the endless, flat highway, that resurrection of the past which he had beheld on thePalatine again confronted his mind's eye. On either hand the tombs oncemore rose up intact, with marble of dazzling whiteness. Had not the headof a colossal statue been found, mingled with fragments of huge sphinxes, at the foot of yonder vase-shaped mass of bricks? He seemed to see theentire colossal statue standing again between the huge, crouching beasts. Farther on a beautiful headless statue of a woman had been discovered inthe cella of a sepulchre, and he beheld it, again whole, with featuresexpressive of grace and strength smiling upon life. The inscriptions alsobecame perfect; he could read and understand them at a glance, as ifliving among those dead ones of two thousand years ago. And the road, too, became peopled: the chariots thundered, the armies tramped along, the people of Rome jostled him with the feverish agitation of greatcommunities. It was a return of the times of the Flavians or theAntonines, the palmy years of the empire, when the pomp of the AppianWay, with its grand sepulchres, carved and adorned like temples, attainedits apogee. What a monumental Street of Death, what an approach to Rome, that highway, straight as an arrow, where with the extraordinary pomp oftheir pride, which had survived their dust, the great dead greeted thetraveller, ushered him into the presence of the living! He may well havewondered among what sovereign people, what masters of the world, he wasabout to find himself--a nation which had committed to its dead the dutyof telling strangers that it allowed nothing whatever to perish--that itsdead, like its city, remained eternal and glorious in monuments ofextraordinary vastness! To think of it--the foundations of a fortress, and a tower sixty feet in diameter, that one woman might be laid to rest!And then, far away, at the end of the superb, dazzling highway, borderedwith the marble of its funereal palaces, Pierre, turning round, distinctly beheld the Palatine, with the marble of its imperialpalaces--the huge assemblage of palaces whose omnipotence had dominatedthe world!

But suddenly he started: two carabiniers had just appeared among theruins. The spot was not safe; the authorities watched over tourists evenin broad daylight. And later on came another meeting which caused himsome emotion. He perceived an ecclesiastic, a tall old man, in a blackcassock, edged and girt with red; and was surprised to recognise CardinalBoccanera, who had quitted the roadway, and was slowly strolling alongthe band of grass, among the tall thistles and sulphur-wort. With hishead lowered and his feet brushing against the fragments of the tombs, the Cardinal did not even see Pierre. The young priest courteously turnedaside, surprised to find him so far from home and alone. Then, onperceiving a heavy coach, drawn by two black horses, behind a building, he understood matters. A footman in black livery was waiting motionlessbeside the carriage, and the coachman had not quitted his box. And Pierreremembered that the Cardinals were not expected to walk in Rome, so thatthey were compelled to drive into the country when they desired to takeexercise. But what haughty sadness, what solitary and, so to say, ostracised grandeur there was about that tall, thoughtful old man, thusforced to seek the desert, and wander among the tombs, in order tobreathe a little of the evening air!

Pierre had lingered there for long hours; the twilight was coming on, andonce again he witnessed a lovely sunset. On his left the Campagna becameblurred, and assumed a slaty hue, against which the yellowish arcades ofthe aqueduct showed very plainly, while the Alban hills, far away, fadedinto pink. Then, on the right, towards the sea, the planet sank among anumber of cloudlets, figuring an archipelago of gold in an ocean of dyingembers. And excepting the sapphire sky, studded with rubies, above theendless line of the Campagna, which was likewise changed into a sparklinglake, the dull green of the herbage turning to a liquid emerald tint, there was nothing to be seen, neither a hillock nor a flock--nothing, indeed, but Cardinal Boccanera's black figure, erect among the tombs, andlooking, as it were, enlarged as it stood out against the last purpleflush of the sunset. 

Early on the following morning Pierre, eager to see everything, returnedto the Appian Way in order to visit the catacomb of St. Calixtus, themost extensive and remarkable of the old Christian cemeteries, and one, too, where several of the early popes were buried. You ascend through ascorched garden, past olives and cypresses, reach a shanty of boards andplaster in which a little trade in "articles of piety" is carried on, andthere a modern and fairly easy flight of steps enables you to descend. Pierre fortunately found there some French Trappists, who guard thesecatacombs and show them to strangers. One brother was on the point ofgoing down with two French ladies, the mother and daughter, the formerstill comely and the other radiant with youth. They stood there smiling, though already slightly frightened, while the monk lighted some long, slim candles. He was a man with a bossy brow, the large, massive jaw ofan obstinate believer and pale eyes bespeaking an ingenuous soul. 

"Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe, " he said to Pierre, "you've come just in time. Ifthe ladies are willing, you had better come with us; for three Brothersare already below with people, and you would have a long time to wait. This is the great season for visitors. "

The ladies politely nodded, and the Trappist handed a candle to thepriest. In all probability neither mother nor daughter was devout, forboth glanced askance at their new companion's cassock, and suddenlybecame serious. Then they all went down and found themselves in a narrowsubterranean corridor. "Take care, mesdames, " repeated the Trappist, lighting the ground with his candle. "Walk slowly, for there areprojections and slopes. "

Then, in a shrill voice full of extraordinary conviction, he began hisexplanations. Pierre had descended in silence, his heart beating withemotion. Ah! how many times, indeed, in his innocent seminary days, hadhe not dreamt of those catacombs of the early Christians, those asylumsof the primitive faith! Even recently, while writing his book, he hadoften thought of them as of the most ancient and venerable remains ofthat community of the lowly and simple, for the return of which hecalled. But his brain was full of pages written by poets and great prosewriters. He had beheld the catacombs through the magnifying glass ofthose imaginative authors, and had believed them to be vast, similar tosubterranean cities, with broad highways and spacious halls, fit for theaccommodation of vast crowds. And now how poor and humble the reality!

"Well, yes, " said the Trappist in reply to the ladies' questions, "thecorridor is scarcely more than a yard in width; two persons could notpass along side by side. How they dug it? Oh! it was simple enough. Afamily or a burial association needed a place of sepulchre. Well, a firstgallery was excavated with pickaxes in soil of this description--granulartufa, as it is called--a reddish substance, as you can see, both soft andyet resistant, easy to work and at the same time waterproof. In a word, just the substance that was needed, and one, too, that has preserved theremains of the buried in a wonderful way. " He paused and brought theflamelet of his candle near to the compartments excavated on either handof the passage. "Look, " he continued, "these are the _loculi_. Well, asubterranean gallery was dug, and on both sides these compartments werehollowed out, one above the other. The bodies of the dead were laid inthem, for the most part simply wrapped in shrouds. Then the aperture wasclosed with tiles or marble slabs, carefully cemented. So, as you cansee, everything explains itself. If other families joined the first one, or the burial association became more numerous, fresh galleries wereadded to those already filled. Passages were excavated on either hand, inevery sense; and, indeed, a second and lower storey, at times even athird, was dug out. And here, you see, we are in a gallery which iscertainly thirteen feet high. Now, you may wonder how they raised thebodies to place them in the compartments of the top tier. Well, they didnot raise them to any such height; in all their work they kept on goinglower and lower, removing more and more of the soil as the compartmentsbecame filled. And in this wise, in these catacombs of St. Calixtus, inless than four centuries, the Christians excavated more than ten miles ofgalleries, in which more than a million of their dead must have been laidto rest. Now, there are dozens of catacombs; the environs of Rome arehoneycombed with them. Think of that, and perhaps you will be able toform some idea of the vast number of people who were buried in thismanner. "

Pierre listened, feeling greatly impressed. He had once visited a coalpit in Belgium, and he here found the same narrow passages, the sameheavy, stifling atmosphere, the same nihility of darkness and silence. The flamelets of the candles showed merely like stars in the deep gloom;they shed no radiance around. And he at last understood the character ofthis funereal, termite-like labour--these chance burrowings continuedaccording to requirements, without art, method, or symmetry. The ruggedsoil was ever ascending and descending, the sides of the gallery snaked:neither plumb-line nor square had been used. All this, indeed, had simplybeen a work of charity and necessity, wrought by simple, willinggrave-diggers, illiterate craftsmen, with the clumsy handiwork of thedecline and fall. Proof thereof was furnished by the inscriptions andemblems on the marble slabs. They reminded one of the childish drawingswhich street urchins scrawl upon blank walls. 

"You see, " the Trappist continued, "most frequently there is merely aname; and sometimes there is no name, but simply the words _In Pace_. Atother times there is an emblem, the dove of purity, the palm ofmartyrdom, or else the fish whose name in Greek is composed of fiveletters which, as initials, signify: 'Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour. '"

He again brought his candle near to the marble slabs, and the palm couldbe distinguished: a central stroke, whence started a few oblique lines;and then came the dove or the fish, roughly outlined, a zigzag indicatinga tail, two bars representing the bird's feet, while a round pointsimulated an eye. And the letters of the short inscriptions were allaskew, of various sizes, often quite misshapen, as in the coarsehandwriting of the ignorant and simple. 

However, they reached a crypt, a sort of little hall, where the graves ofseveral popes had been found; among others that of Sixtus II, a holymartyr, in whose honour there was a superbly engraved metricalinscription set up by Pope Damasus. Then, in another hall, a family vaultof much the same size, decorated at a later stage, with naive muralpaintings, the spot where St. Cecilia's body had been discovered wasshown. And the explanations continued. The Trappist dilated on thepaintings, drawing from them a confirmation of every dogma and belief, baptism, the Eucharist, the resurrection, Lazarus arising from the tomb, Jonas cast up by the whale, Daniel in the lions' den, Moses drawing waterfrom the rock, and Christ--shown beardless, as was the practice in theearly ages--accomplishing His various miracles. 

"You see, " repeated the Trappist, "all those things are shown there; andremember that none of the paintings was specially prepared: they areabsolutely authentic. "

At a question from Pierre, whose astonishment was increasing, he admittedthat the catacombs had been mere cemeteries at the outset, when noreligious ceremonies had been celebrated in them. It was only later, inthe fourth century, when the martyrs were honoured, that the crypts wereutilised for worship. And in the same way they only became places ofrefuge during the persecutions, when the Christians had to conceal theentrances to them. Previously they had remained freely and legally open. This was indeed their true history: cemeteries four centuries oldbecoming places of asylum, ravaged at times during the persecutions;afterwards held in veneration till the eighth century; then despoiled oftheir holy relics, and subsequently blocked up and forgotten, so thatthey remained buried during more than seven hundred years, peoplethinking of them so little that at the time of the first searches in thefifteenth century they were considered an extraordinary discovery--anintricate historical problem--one, moreover, which only our own age hassolved. 

"Please stoop, mesdames, " resumed the Trappist. "In this compartment hereis a skeleton which has not been touched. It has been lying here forsixteen or seventeen hundred years, and will show you how the bodies werelaid out. Savants say that it is the skeleton of a female, probably ayoung girl. It was still quite perfect last spring; but the skull, as youcan see, is now split open. An American broke it with his walking stickto make sure that it was genuine. "

The ladies leaned forward, and the flickering light illumined their palefaces, expressive of mingled fright and compassion. Especially noticeablewas the pitiful, pain-fraught look which appeared on the countenance ofthe daughter, so full of life with her red lips and large black eyes. Then all relapsed into gloom, and the little candles were borne aloft andwent their way through the heavy darkness of the galleries. The visitlasted another hour, for the Trappist did not spare a detail, fond as hewas of certain nooks and corners, and as zealous as if he desired to workthe redemption of his visitors. 

While Pierre followed the others, a complete evolution took place withinhim. As he looked about him, and formed a more and more complete idea ofhis surroundings, his first stupefaction at finding the reality sodifferent from the embellished accounts of story-tellers and poets, hisdisillusion at being plunged into such rudely excavated mole-burrows, gave way to fraternal emotion. It was not that he thought of the fifteenhundred martyrs whose sacred bones had rested there. But how humble, resigned, yet full of hope had been those who had chosen such a place ofsepulchre! Those low, darksome galleries were but temporarysleeping-places for the Christians. If they did not burn the bodies oftheir dead, as the Pagans did, it was because, like the Jews, theybelieved in the resurrection of the body; and it was that lovely idea ofsleep, of tranquil rest after a just life, whilst awaiting the celestialreward, which imparted such intense peacefulness, such infinite charm, tothe black, subterranean city. Everything there spoke of calm and silentnight; everything there slumbered in rapturous quiescence, patient untilthe far-off awakening. What could be more touching than those terra-cottatiles, those marble slabs, which bore not even a name--nothing but thewords _In Pace_--at peace. Ah! to be at peace--life's work at lastaccomplished; to sleep in peace, to hope in peace for the advent ofheaven! And the peacefulness seemed the more delightful as it was enjoyedin such deep humility. Doubtless the diggers worked chance-wise andclumsily; the craftsmen no longer knew how to engrave a name or carve apalm or a dove. Art had vanished; but all the feebleness and ignorancewere instinct with the youth of a new humanity. Poor and lowly and meekones swarmed there, reposing beneath the soil, whilst up above the suncontinued its everlasting task. You found there charity and fraternityand death; husband and wife often lying together with their offspring attheir feet; the great mass of the unknown submerging the personage, thebishop, or the martyr; the most touching equality--that springing frommodesty--prevailing amidst all that dust, with compartments ever similarand slabs destitute of ornament, so that rows and rows of the sleepersmingled without distinctive sign. The inscriptions seldom ventured on aword of praise, and then how prudent, how delicate it was: the men werevery worthy, very pious: the women very gentle, very beautiful, verychaste. A perfume of infancy arose, unlimited human affection spread:this was death as understood by the primitive Christians--death which hiditself to await the resurrection, and dreamt no more of the empire of theworld!

And all at once before Pierre's eyes arose a vision of the sumptuoustombs of the Appian Way, displaying the domineering pride of a wholecivilisation in the sunlight--tombs of vast dimensions, with a profusionof marbles, grandiloquent inscriptions, and masterpieces ofsculptured-work. Ah! what an extraordinary contrast between that pompousavenue of death, conducting, like a highway of triumph, to the regalEternal City, when compared with the subterranean necropolis of theChristians, that city of hidden death, so gentle, so beautiful, and sochaste! Here only quiet slumber, desired and accepted night, resignationand patience were to be found. Millions of human beings had here laidthemselves to rest in all humility, had slept for centuries, and wouldstill be sleeping here, lulled by the silence and the gloom, if theliving had not intruded on their desire to remain in oblivion so long asthe trumpets of the Judgment Day did not awaken them. Death had thenspoken of Life: nowhere had there been more intimate and touching lifethan in these buried cities of the unknown, lowly dead. And a mightybreath had formerly come from them--the breath of a new humanity destinedto renew the world. With the advent of meekness, contempt for the flesh, terror and hatred of nature, relinquishment of terrestrial joys, and apassion for death, which delivers and opens the portals of Paradise, another world had begun. And the blood of Augustus, so proud of purplingin the sunlight, so fired by the passion for sovereign dominion, seemedfor a moment to disappear, as if, indeed, the new world had sucked it upin the depths of its gloomy sepulchres. 

However, the Trappist insisted on showing the ladies the steps ofDiocletian, and began to tell them the legend. "Yes, " said he, "it was amiracle. One day, under that emperor, some soldiers were pursuing severalChristians, who took refuge in these catacombs; and when the soldiersfollowed them inside the steps suddenly gave way, and all the persecutorswere hurled to the bottom. The steps remain broken to this day. Come andsee them; they are close by. "

But the ladies were quite overcome, so affected by their prolongedsojourn in the gloom and by the tales of death which the Trappist hadpoured into their ears that they insisted on going up again. Moreover, the candles were coming to an end. They were all dazzled when they foundthemselves once more in the sunlight, outside the little hut wherearticles of piety and souvenirs were sold. The girl bought a paperweight, a piece of marble on which was engraved the fish symbolical of"Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour of Mankind. "

On the afternoon of that same day Pierre decided to visit St. Peter's. Hehad as yet only driven across the superb piazza with its obelisk and twinfountains, encircled by Bernini's colonnades, those four rows of columnsand pilasters which form a girdle of monumental majesty. At the far endrises the basilica, its facade making it look smaller and heavier than itreally is, but its sovereign dome nevertheless filling the heavens. 

Pebbled, deserted inclines stretched out, and steps followed steps, wornand white, under the burning sun; but at last Pierre reached the door andwent in. It was three o'clock. Broad sheets of light streamed in throughthe high square windows, and some ceremony--the vesper service, nodoubt--was beginning in the Capella Clementina on the left. Pierre, however, heard nothing; he was simply struck by the immensity of theedifice, as with raised eyes he slowly walked along. At the entrance camethe giant basins for holy water with their boy-angels as chubby asCupids; then the nave, vaulted and decorated with sunken coffers; thenthe four cyclopean buttress-piers upholding the dome, and then again thetransepts and apsis, each as large as one of our churches. And the proudpomp, the dazzling, crushing splendour of everything, also astonishedhim: he marvelled at the cupola, looking like a planet, resplendent withthe gold and bright colours of its mosaic-work, at the sumptuous_baldacchino_ of bronze, crowning the high altar raised above the verytomb of St. Peter, and whence descend the double steps of the Confession, illumined by seven and eighty lamps, which are always kept burning. Andfinally he was lost in astonishment at the extraordinary profusion ofmarble, both white and coloured. Oh! those polychromatic marbles, Bernini's luxurious passion! The splendid pavement reflecting the entireedifice, the facings of the pilasters with their medallions of popes, thetiara and the keys borne aloft by chubby angels, the walls covered withemblems, particularly the dove of Innocent X, the niches with theircolossal statues uncouth in taste, the _loggie_ and their balconies, thebalustrade and double steps of the Confession, the rich altars and yetricher tombs--all, nave, aisles, transepts, and apsis, were in marble, resplendent with the wealth of marble; not a nook small as the palm ofone's hand appearing but it showed the insolent opulence of marble. Andthe basilica triumphed, beyond discussion, recognised and admired byevery one as the largest and most splendid church in the whole world--thepersonification of hugeness and magnificence combined. 

Pierre still wandered on, gazing, overcome, as yet not distinguishingdetails. He paused for a moment before the bronze statue of St. Peter, seated in a stiff, hierarchical attitude on a marble pedestal. A few ofthe faithful were there kissing the large toe of the Saint's right foot. Some of them carefully wiped it before applying their lips; others, withno thought of cleanliness, kissed it, pressed their foreheads to it, andthen kissed it again. Next, Pierre turned into the transept on the left, where stand the confessionals. Priests are ever stationed there, ready toconfess penitents in every language. Others wait, holding long staves, with which they lightly tap the heads of kneeling sinners, who therebyobtain thirty days' indulgence. However, there were few people present, and inside the small wooden boxes the priests occupied their leisure timein reading and writing, as if they were at home. Then Pierre again foundhimself before the Confession, and gazed with interest at the eightylamps, scintillating like stars. The high altar, at which the Pope alonecan officiate, seemed wrapped in the haughty melancholy of solitude underits gigantic, flowery _baldacchino_, the casting and gilding of whichcost two and twenty thousand pounds. But suddenly Pierre remembered theceremony in the Capella Clementina, and felt astonished, for he couldhear nothing of it. As he drew near a faint breath, like the far-awaypiping of a flute, was wafted to him. Then the volume of sound slowlyincreased, but it was only on reaching the chapel that he recognised anorgan peal. The sunlight here filtered through red curtains drawn beforethe windows, and thus the chapel glowed like a furnace whilst resoundingwith the grave music. But in that huge pile all became so slight, soweak, that at sixty paces neither voice nor organ could be distinguished. 

On entering the basilica Pierre had fancied that it was quite empty andlifeless. There were, however, some people there, but so few and farbetween that their presence was not noticed. A few tourists wanderedabout wearily, guide-book in hand. In the grand nave a painter with hiseasel was taking a view, as in a public gallery. Then a French seminarywent by, conducted by a prelate who named and explained the tombs. But inall that space these fifty or a hundred people looked merely like a fewblack ants who had lost themselves and were vainly seeking their way. AndPierre pictured himself in some gigantic gala hall or tremendousvestibule in an immeasurable palace of reception. The broad sheets ofsunlight streaming through the lofty square windows of plain white glassillumined the church with blending radiance. There was not a single stoolor chair: nothing but the superb, bare pavement, such as you might findin a museum, shining mirror-like under the dancing shower of sunrays. Norwas there a single corner for solitary reflection, a nook of gloom andmystery, where one might kneel and pray. In lieu thereof the sumptuous, sovereign dazzlement of broad daylight prevailed upon every side. And, onthus suddenly finding himself in this deserted opera-house, all aglowwith flaring gold and purple, Pierre could but remember the quiveringgloom of the Gothic cathedrals of France, where dim crowds sob andsupplicate amidst a forest of pillars. In presence of all this ceremonialmajesty--this huge, empty pomp, which was all Body--he recalled with apang the emaciate architecture and statuary of the middle ages, whichwere all Soul. He vainly sought for some poor, kneeling woman, somecreature swayed by faith or suffering, yielding in a modest half-light tothoughts of the unknown, and with closed lips holding communion with theinvisible. These he found not: there was but the weary wandering of thetourists, and the bustle of the prelates conducting the young priests tothe obligatory stations; while the vesper service continued in theleft-hand chapel, nought of it reaching the ears of the visitors save, perhaps, a confused vibration, as of the peal of a bell penetrating fromoutside through the vaults above. 

And Pierre then understood that this was the splendid skeleton of acolossus whence life was departing. To fill it, to animate it with asoul, all the gorgeous display of great religious ceremonies was needed;the eighty thousand worshippers which it could hold, the great pontificalpomps, the festivals of Christmas and Easter, the processions and_corteges_ displaying all the luxury of the Church amidst operaticscenery and appointments. And he tried to conjure up a picture of thepast magnificence--the basilica overflowing with an idolatrous multitude, and the superhuman _cortege_ passing along whilst every head was lowered;the cross and the sword opening the march, the cardinals going two bytwo, like twin divinities, in their rochets of lace and their mantles androbes of red moire, which train-bearers held up behind them; and at last, with Jove-like pomp, the Pope, carried on a stage draped with red velvet, seated in an arm-chair of red velvet and gold, and dressed in whitevelvet, with cope of gold, stole of gold, and tiara of gold. The bearersof the _Sedia gestatoria_* shone bravely in red tunics broidered withgold. Above the one and only Sovereign Pontiff of the world the_flabelli_ waved those huge fans of feathers which formerly were wavedbefore the idols of pagan Rome. And around the seat of triumph what adazzling, glorious court there was! The whole pontifical family, thestream of assistant prelates, the patriarchs, the archbishops, and thebishops, with vestments and mitres of gold, the _Camerieri segretipartecipanti_ in violet silk, the _Camerieri partecipanti_ of the capeand the sword in black velvet Renascence costumes, with ruffs and goldenchains, the whole innumerable ecclesiastical and laical suite, which noteven a hundred pages of the "Gerarchia" can completely enumerate, theprothonotaries, the chaplains, the prelates of every class and degree, without mentioning the military household, the gendarmes with theirbusbies, the Palatine Guards in blue trousers and black tunics, the SwissGuards costumed in red, yellow, and black, with breastplates of silver, suggesting the men at arms of some drama of the Romantic school, and theNoble Guards, superb in their high boots, white pigskins, red tunics, gold lace, epaulets, and helmets! However, since Rome had become thecapital of Italy the doors were no longer thrown wide open; on the rareoccasions when the Pope yet came down to officiate, to show himself asthe supreme representative of the Divinity on earth, the basilica wasfilled with chosen ones. To enter it you needed a card of invitation. Youno longer saw the people--a throng of fifty, even eighty, thousandChristians--flocking to the Church and swarming within it promiscuously;there was but a select gathering, a congregation of friends convened asfor a private function. Even when, by dint of effort, thousands werecollected together there, they formed but a picked audience invited tothe performance of a monster concert. 

 * The chair and stage are known by that name. --Trans. 

And as Pierre strolled among the bright, crude marbles in that cold ifgorgeous museum, the feeling grew upon him that he was in some pagantemple raised to the deity of Light and Pomp. The larger temples ofancient Rome were certainly similar piles, upheld by the same preciouscolumns, with walls covered with the same polychromatic marbles andvaulted ceilings having the same gilded panels. And his feeling wasdestined to become yet more acute after his visits to the otherbasilicas, which could but reveal the truth to him. First one found theChristian Church quietly, audaciously quartering itself in a paganchurch, as, for instance, San Lorenzo in Miranda installed in the templeof Antoninus and Faustina, and retaining the latter's rare porticus in_cipollino_ marble and its handsome white marble entablature. Then therewas the Christian Church springing from the ruins of the destroyed paganedifice, as, for example, San Clemente, beneath which centuries ofcontrary beliefs are stratified: a very ancient edifice of the time ofthe kings or the republic, then another of the days of the empireidentified as a temple of Mithras, and next a basilica of the primitivefaith. Then, too, there was the Christian Church, typified by that ofSaint Agnes-beyond-the-walls which had been built on exactly the samepattern as the Roman secular basilica--that Tribunal and Exchange whichaccompanied every Forum. And, in particular, there was the ChristianChurch erected with material stolen from the demolished pagan temples. Tothis testified the sixteen superb columns of that same Saint Agnes, columns of various marbles filched from various gods; the one and twentycolumns of Santa Maria in Trastevere, columns of all sorts of orders tornfrom a temple of Isis and Serapis, who even now are represented on theircapitals; also the six and thirty white marble Ionic columns of SantaMaria Maggiore derived from the temple of Juno Lucina; and the two andtwenty columns of Santa Maria in Ara Coeli, these varying in substance, size, and workmanship, and certain of them said to have been stolen fromJove himself, from the famous temple of Jupiter Capitolinus which roseupon the sacred summit. In addition, the temples of the opulent Imperialperiod seemed to resuscitate in our times at San Giovanni in Laterano andSan Paolo-fuori-le-mura. Was not that Basilica of San Giovanni--"theMother and Head of all the churches of the city and the earth"--like theabode of honour of some pagan divinity whose splendid kingdom was of thisworld? It boasted five naves, parted by four rows of columns; it was aprofusion of bas-reliefs, friezes, and entablatures, and its twelvecolossal statues of the Apostles looked like subordinate deities liningthe approach to the master of the gods! And did not San Paolo, latelycompleted, its new marbles shimmering like mirrors, recall the abode ofthe Olympian immortals, typical temple as it was with its majesticcolonnade, its flat, gilt-panelled ceiling, its marble pavementincomparably beautiful both in substance and workmanship, its violetcolumns with white bases and capitals, and its white entablature withviolet frieze: everywhere, indeed, you found, the mingling of those twocolours so divinely carnal in their harmony. And there, as at St. Peter's, not one patch of gloom, not one nook of mystery where one mightpeer into the invisible, could be found! And, withal, St. Peter'sremained the monster, the colossus, larger than the largest of allothers, an extravagant testimony of what the mad passion for the huge canachieve when human pride, by dint of spending millions, dreams of lodgingthe divinity in an over-vast, over-opulent palace of stone, where intruth that pride itself, and not the divinity, triumphs!

And to think that after long centuries that gala colossus had been theoutcome of the fervour of primitive faith! You found there a blossomingof that ancient sap, peculiar to the soil of Rome, which in all ages hasthrown up preposterous edifices, of exaggerated hugeness and dazzling andruinous luxury. It would seem as if the absolute masters successivelyruling the city brought that passion for cyclopean building with them, derived it from the soil in which they grew, for they transmitted it oneto the other, without a pause, from civilisation to civilisation, howeverdiverse and contrary their minds. It has all been, so to say, acontinuous blossoming of human vanity, a passionate desire to set one'sname on an imperishable wall, and, after being master of the world, toleave behind one an indestructible trace, a tangible proof of one'spassing glory, an eternal edifice of bronze and marble fit to attest thatglory until the end of time. At the bottom the spirit of conquest, theproud ambition to dominate the world, subsists; and when all hascrumbled, and a new society has sprung up from the ruins of itspredecessor, men have erred in imagining it to be cured of the sin ofpride, steeped in humility once more, for it has had the old blood in itsveins, and has yielded to the same insolent madness as its ancestors, aprey to all the violence of its heredity directly it has become great andstrong. Among the illustrious popes there has not been one that did notseek to build, did not revert to the traditions of the Caesars, eternising their reigns in stone and raising temples for resting-places, so as to rank among the gods. Ever the same passion for terrestrialimmortality has burst forth: it has been a battle as to who should leavethe highest, most substantial, most gorgeous monument; and so acute hasbeen the disease that those who, for lack of means and opportunity, havebeen unable to build, and have been forced to content themselves withrepairing, have, nevertheless, desired to bequeath the memory of theirmodest achievements to subsequent generations by commemorative marbleslabs engraved with pompous inscriptions! These slabs are to be seen onevery side: not a wall has ever been strengthened but some pope hasstamped it with his arms, not a ruin has been restored, not a palacerepaired, not a fountain cleaned, but the reigning pope has signed thework with his Roman and pagan title of "Pontifex Maximus. " It is ahaunting passion, a form of involuntary debauchery, the fated florescenceof that compost of ruins, that dust of edifices whence new edifices areever arising. And given the perversion with which the old Roman soilalmost immediately tarnished the doctrines of Jesus, that resolutepassion for domination and that desire for terrestrial glory whichwrought the triumph of Catholicism in scorn of the humble and pure, thefraternal and simple ones of the primitive Church, one may well askwhether Rome has ever been Christian at all!

And whilst Pierre was for the second time walking round the hugebasilica, admiring the tombs of the popes, truth, like a suddenillumination, burst upon him and filled him with its glow. Ah! thosetombs! Yonder in the full sunlight, in the rosy Campagna, on either sideof the Appian Way--that triumphal approach to Rome, conducting thestranger to the august Palatine with its crown of circling palaces--therearose the gigantic tombs of the powerful and wealthy, tombs ofunparalleled artistic splendour, perpetuating in marble the pride andpomp of a strong race that had mastered the world. Then, near at hand, beneath the sod, in the shrouding night of wretched mole-holes, othertombs were hidden--the tombs of the lowly, the poor, and thesuffering--tombs destitute of art or display, but whose very humilityproclaimed that a breath of affection and resignation had passed by, thatOne had come preaching love and fraternity, the relinquishment of thewealth of the earth for the everlasting joys of a future life, andcommitting to the soil the good seed of His Gospel, sowing the newhumanity which was to transform the olden world. And, behold, from thatseed, buried in the soil for centuries, behold, from those humble, unobtrusive tombs, where martyrs slept their last and gentle sleep whilstwaiting for the glorious call, yet other tombs had sprung, tombs asgigantic and as pompous as the ancient, destroyed sepulchres of theidolaters, tombs uprearing their marbles among a pagan-temple-likesplendour, proclaiming the same superhuman pride, the same mad passionfor universal sovereignty. At the time of the Renascence Rome becamepagan once more; the old imperial blood frothed up and swept Christianityaway with the greatest onslaught ever directed against it. Ah! thosetombs of the popes at St. Peter's, with their impudent, insolentglorification of the departed, their sumptuous, carnal hugeness, defyingdeath and setting immortality upon this earth. There are giant popes ofbronze, allegorical figures and angels of equivocal character wearing thebeauty of lovely girls, of passion-compelling women with the thighs andthe breasts of pagan goddesses! Paul III is seated on a high pedestal, Justice and Prudence are almost prostrate at his feet. Urban VIII isbetween Prudence and Religion, Innocent XI between Religion and Justice, Innocent XII between Justice and Charity, Gregory XIII between Religionand Strength. Attended by Prudence and Justice, Alexander VII appearskneeling, with Charity and Truth before him, and a skeleton rises updisplaying an empty hour-glass. Clement XIII, also on his knees, triumphsabove a monumental sarcophagus, against which leans Religion bearing theCross; while the Genius of Death, his elbow resting on the right-handcorner, has two huge, superb lions, emblems of omnipotence, beneath him. Bronze bespeaks the eternity of the figures, white marble describesopulent flesh, and coloured marble winds around in rich draperies, deifying the monuments under the bright, golden glow of nave and aisles. 

And Pierre passed from one tomb to the other on his way through themagnificent, deserted, sunlit basilica. Yes, these tombs, so imperial intheir ostentation, were meet companions for those of the Appian Way. Assuredly it was Rome, the soil of Rome, that soil where pride anddomination sprouted like the herbage of the fields that had transformedthe humble Christianity of primitive times, the religion of fraternity, justice, and hope into what it now was: victorious Catholicism, allied tothe rich and powerful, a huge implement of government, prepared for theconquest of every nation. The popes had awoke as Caesars. Remote heredityhad acted, the blood of Augustus had bubbled forth afresh, flowingthrough their veins and firing their minds with immeasurable ambition. Asyet none but Augustus had held the empire of the world, had been bothemperor and pontiff, master of the body and the soul. And thence had comethe eternal dream of the popes in despair at only holding the spiritualpower, and obstinately refusing to yield in temporal matters, clingingfor ever to the ancient hope that their dream might at last be realised, and the Vatican become another Palatine, whence they might reign withabsolute despotism over all the conquered nations. 

VI. 

PIERRE had been in Rome for a fortnight, and yet the affair of his bookwas no nearer solution. He was still possessed by an ardent desire to seethe Pope, but could in no wise tell how to satisfy it, so frequent werethe delays and so greatly had he been frightened by Monsignor Nani'spredictions of the dire consequences which might attend any imprudentaction. And so, foreseeing a prolonged sojourn, he at last betook himselfto the Vicariate in order that his "celebret" might be stamped, andafterwards said his mass each morning at the Church of Santa Brigida, where he received a kindly greeting from Abbe Pisoni, Benedetta's formerconfessor. 

One Monday evening he resolved to repair early to Donna Serafina'scustomary reception in the hope of learning some news and expediting hisaffairs. Perhaps Monsignor Nani would look in; perhaps he might be luckyenough to come across some cardinal or domestic prelate willing to helphim. It was in vain that he had tried to extract any positive informationfrom Don Vigilio, for, after a short spell of affability and willingness, Cardinal Pio's secretary had relapsed into distrust and fear, and avoidedPierre as if he were resolved not to meddle in a business which, allconsidered, was decidedly suspicious and dangerous. Moreover, for acouple of days past a violent attack of fever had compelled him to keephis room. 

Thus the only person to whom Pierre could turn for comfort was VictorineBosquet, the old Beauceronne servant who had been promoted to the rank ofhousekeeper, and who still retained a French heart after thirty years'residence in Rome. She often spoke to the young priest of Auneau, hernative place, as if she had left it only the previous day; but on thatparticular Monday even she had lost her wonted gay vivacity, and when sheheard that he meant to go down in the evening to see the ladies shewagged her head significantly. "Ah! you won't find them very cheerful, "said she. "My poor Benedetta is greatly worried. Her divorce suit is notprogressing at all well. "

All Rome, indeed, was again talking of this affair. An extraordinaryrevival of tittle-tattle had set both white and black worlds agog. And sothere was no need for reticence on Victorine's part, especially inconversing with a compatriot. It appeared, then, that, in reply toAdvocate Morano's memoir setting forth that the marriage had not beenconsummated, there had come another memoir, a terrible one, emanatingfrom Monsignor Palma, a doctor in theology, whom the Congregation of theCouncil had selected to defend the marriage. As a first point, MonsignorPalma flatly disputed the alleged non-consummation, questioned thecertificate put forward on Benedetta's behalf, and quoted instancesrecorded in scientific text-books which showed how deceptive appearancesoften were. He strongly insisted, moreover, on the narrative which CountPrada supplied in another memoir, a narrative well calculated to inspiredoubt; and, further, he so turned and twisted the evidence of Benedetta'sown maid as to make that evidence also serve against her. Finally heargued in a decisive way that, even supposing the marriage had not beenconsummated, this could only be ascribed to the resistance of theCountess, who had thus set at defiance one of the elementary laws ofmarried life, which was that a wife owed obedience to her husband. 

Next had come a fourth memoir, drawn up by the reporter of theCongregation, who analysed and discussed the three others, andsubsequently the Congregation itself had dealt with the matter, opiningin favour of the dissolution of the marriage by a majority of onevote--such a bare majority, indeed, that Monsignor Palma, exercising hisrights, had hastened to demand further inquiry, a course which broughtthe whole _procedure_ again into question, and rendered a fresh votenecessary. 

"Ah! the poor Contessina!" exclaimed Victorine, "she'll surely die ofgrief, for, calm as she may seem, there's an inward fire consuming her. It seems that Monsignor Palma is the master of the situation, and canmake the affair drag on as long as he likes. And then a deal of money hadalready been spent, and one will have to spend a lot more. Abbe Pisoni, whom you know, was very badly inspired when he helped on that marriage;and though I certainly don't want to soil the memory of my good mistress, Countess Ernesta, who was a real saint, it's none the less true that shewrecked her daughter's life when she gave her to Count Prada. "

The housekeeper paused. Then, impelled by an instinctive sense ofjustice, she resumed. "It's only natural that Count Prada should beannoyed, for he's really being made a fool of. And, for my part, as thereis no end to all the fuss, and this divorce is so hard to obtain, Ireally don't see why the Contessina shouldn't live with her Dario withouttroubling any further. Haven't they loved one another ever since theywere children? Aren't they both young and handsome, and wouldn't they behappy together, whatever the world might say? Happiness, _mon Dieu_! onefinds it so seldom that one can't afford to let it pass. "

Then, seeing how greatly surprised Pierre was at hearing such language, she began to laugh with the quiet composure of one belonging to thehumble classes of France, whose only desire is a quiet and happy life, irrespective of matrimonial ties. Next, in more discreet language, sheproceeded to lament another worry which had fallen on the household, another result of the divorce affair. A rupture had come about betweenDonna Serafina and Advocate Morano, who was very displeased with the illsuccess of his memoir to the congregation, and accused FatherLorenza--the confessor of the Boccanera ladies--of having urged them intoa deplorable lawsuit, whose only fruit could be a wretched scandalaffecting everybody. And so great had been Morano's annoyance that he hadnot returned to the Boccanera mansion, but had severed a connection ofthirty years' standing, to the stupefaction of all the Romandrawing-rooms, which altogether disapproved of his conduct. DonnaSerafina was, for her part, the more grieved as she suspected theadvocate of having purposely picked the quarrel in order to secure anexcuse for leaving her; his real motive, in her estimation, being asudden, disgraceful passion for a young and intriguing woman of themiddle classes. 

That Monday evening, when Pierre entered the drawing-room, hung withyellow brocatelle of a flowery Louis XIV pattern, he at once realisedthat melancholy reigned in the dim light radiating from the lace-veiledlamps. Benedetta and Celia, seated on a sofa, were chatting with Dario, whilst Cardinal Sarno, ensconced in an arm-chair, listened to theceaseless chatter of the old relative who conducted the little Princessto each Monday gathering. And the only other person present was DonnaSerafina, seated all alone in her wonted place on the right-hand side ofthe chimney-piece, and consumed with secret rage at seeing the chair onthe left-hand side unoccupied--that chair which Morano had always takenduring the thirty years that he had been faithful to her. Pierre noticedwith what anxious and then despairing eyes she observed his entrance, herglance ever straying towards the door, as though she even yet hoped forthe fickle one's return. Withal her bearing was erect and proud; sheseemed to be more tightly laced than ever; and there was all the wontedhaughtiness on her hard-featured face, with its jet-black eyebrows andsnowy hair. 

Pierre had no sooner paid his respects to her than he allowed his ownworry to appear by inquiring whether they would not have the pleasure ofseeing Monsignor Nani that evening. Thereupon Donna Serafina could notrefrain from answering: "Oh! Monsignor Nani is forsaking us like theothers. People always take themselves off when they can be of service. "

She harboured a spite against the prelate for having done so little tofurther the divorce in spite of his many promises. Beneath his outwardshow of extreme willingness and caressing affability he doubtlessconcealed some scheme of his own which he was tenaciously pursuing. However, Donna Serafina promptly regretted the confession which anger hadwrung from her, and resumed: "After all, he will perhaps come. He is sogood-natured, and so fond of us. "

In spite of the vivacity of her temperament she really wished to actdiplomatically, so as to overcome the bad luck which had recently set in. Her brother the Cardinal had told her how irritated he was by theattitude of the Congregation of the Council; he had little doubt that thefrigid reception accorded to his niece's suit had been due in part to thedesire of some of his brother cardinals to be disagreeable to him. Personally, he desired the divorce, as it seemed to him the only means ofensuring the perpetuation of the family; for Dario obstinately refused tomarry any other woman than his cousin. And thus there was an accumulationof disasters; the Cardinal was wounded in his pride, his sister sharedhis sufferings and on her own side was stricken in the heart, whilst bothlovers were plunged in despair at finding their hopes yet again deferred. 

As Pierre approached the sofa where the young folks were chatting hefound that they were speaking of the catastrophe. "Why should you be sodespondent?" asked Celia in an undertone. "After all, there was amajority of a vote in favour of annulling the marriage. Your suit hasn'tbeen rejected; there is only a delay. "

But Benedetta shook her head. "No, no! If Monsignor Palma provesobstinate his Holiness will never consent. It's all over. "

"Ah! if one were only rich, very rich!" murmured Dario, with such an airof conviction that no one smiled. And, turning to his cousin, he added ina whisper: "I must really have a talk with you. We cannot go on livinglike this. "

In a breath she responded: "Yes, you are right. Come down to-morrowevening at five. I will be here alone. "

Then dreariness set in; the evening seemed to have no end. Pierre wasgreatly touched by the evident despair of Benedetta, who as a rule was socalm and sensible. The deep eyes which illumined her pure, delicate, infantile face were now blurred as by restrained tears. He had alreadyformed a sincere affection for her, pleased as he was with her equable ifsomewhat indolent disposition, the semblance of discreet good sense withwhich she veiled her soul of fire. That Monday even she certainly triedto smile while listening to the pretty secrets confided to her by Celia, whose love affairs were prospering far more than her own. There was onlyone brief interval of general conversation, and that was brought about bythe little Princess's aunt, who, suddenly raising her voice, began tospeak of the infamous manner in which the Italian newspapers referred tothe Holy Father. Never, indeed, had there been so much bad feelingbetween the Vatican and the Quirinal. Cardinal Sarno felt so strongly onthe subject that he departed from his wonted silence to announce that onthe occasion of the sacrilegious festivities of the Twentieth ofSeptember, celebrating the capture of Rome, the Pope intended to cast afresh letter of protest in the face of all the Christian powers, whoseindifference proved their complicity in the odious spoliation of theChurch. 

"Yes, indeed! what folly to try and marry the Pope and the King, "bitterly exclaimed Donna Serafina, alluding to her niece's deplorablemarriage. 

The old maid now seemed quite beside herself; it was already so late thatneither Monsignor Nani nor anybody else was expected. However, at theunhoped-for sound of footsteps her eyes again brightened and turnedfeverishly towards the door. But it was only to encounter a finaldisappointment. The visitor proved to be Narcisse Habert, who stepped upto her, apologising for making so late a call. It was Cardinal Sarno, hisuncle by marriage, who had introduced him into this exclusive _salon_, where he had received a cordial reception on account of his religiousviews, which were said to be most uncompromising. If, however, despitethe lateness of the hour, he had ventured to call there that evening, itwas solely on account of Pierre, whom he at once drew on one side. 

"I felt sure I should find you here, " he said. "Just now I managed to seemy cousin, Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo, and I have some good news for you. He will see us to-morrow at about eleven in his rooms at the Vatican. "Then, lowering his voice: "I think he will endeavour to conduct you tothe Holy Father. Briefly, the audience seems to me assured. "

Pierre was greatly delighted by this promised certainty, which came tohim so suddenly in that dreary drawing-room, where for a couple of hourshe had been gradually sinking into despair! So at last a solution was athand!

Meantime Narcisse, after shaking hands with Dario and bowing to Benedettaand Celia, approached his uncle the Cardinal, who, having rid himself ofthe old relation, made up his mind to talk. But his conversation wasconfined to the state of his health, and the weather, and sundryinsignificant anecdotes which he had lately heard. Not a word escaped himrespecting the thousand complicated matters with which he dealt at thePropaganda. It was as though, once outside his office, he plunged intothe commonplace and the unimportant by way of resting from the anxioustask of governing the world. And after he had spoken for a time every onegot up, and the visitors took leave. 

"Don't forget, " Narcisse repeated to Pierre, "you will find me at theSixtine Chapel to-morrow at ten. And I will show you the Botticellisbefore we go to our appointment. "

At half-past nine on the following morning Pierre, who had come on foot, was already on the spacious Piazza of St. Peter's; and before turning tothe right, towards the bronze gate near one corner of Bernini'scolonnade, he raised his eyes and lingered, gazing at the Vatican. Nothing to his mind could be less monumental than the jumble of buildingswhich, without semblance of architectural order or regularity of anykind, had grown up in the shadow cast by the dome of the basilica. Roofsrose one above the other and broad, flat walls stretched out chance-wise, just as wings and storeys had been added. The only symmetry observableabove the colonnade was that of the three sides of the court of SanDamaso, where the lofty glass-work which now encloses the old _loggie_sparkled in the sun between the ruddy columns and pilasters, suggesting, as it were, three huge conservatories. 

And this was the most beautiful palace in the world, the largest of allpalaces, comprising no fewer than eleven thousand apartments andcontaining the most admirable masterpieces of human genius! But Pierre, disillusioned as he was, had eyes only for the lofty facade on the right, overlooking the piazza, for he knew that the second-floor windows therewere those of the Pope's private apartments. And he contemplated thosewindows for a long time, and remembered having been told that the fifthone on the right was that of the Pope's bed-room, and that a lamp couldalways be seen burning there far into the night. 

What was there, too, behind that gate of bronze which he saw beforehim--that sacred portal by which all the kingdoms of the worldcommunicated with the kingdom of heaven, whose august vicar had secludedhimself behind those lofty, silent walls? From where he stood Pierregazed on that gate with its metal panels studded with large square-headednails, and wondered what it defended, what it concealed, what it shut offfrom the view, with its stern, forbidding air, recalling that of the gateof some ancient fortress. What kind of world would he find behind it, what treasures of human charity jealously preserved in yonder gloom, whatrevivifying hope for the new nations hungering for fraternity andjustice? He took pleasure in fancying, in picturing the one holy pastorof humanity, ever watching in the depths of that closed palace, and, while the nations strayed into hatred, preparing all for the final reignof Jesus, and at last proclaiming the advent of that reign bytransforming our democracies into the one great Christian communitypromised by the Saviour. Assuredly the world's future was being preparedbehind that bronze portal; assuredly it was that future which would issueforth. 

But all at once Pierre was amazed to find himself face to face withMonsignor Nani, who had just left the Vatican on his way to theneighbouring Palace of the Inquisition, where, as Assessor, he had hisresidence. 

"Ah! Monsignor, " said Pierre, "I am very pleased. My friend MonsieurHabert is going to present me to his cousin, Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo, and I think I shall obtain the audience I so greatly desire. "

Monsignor Nani smiled with his usual amiable yet keen expression. "Yes, yes, I know. " But, correcting himself as it were, he added: "I share yoursatisfaction, my dear son. Only, you must be prudent. " And then, as iffearing that the young priest might have understood by his first wordsthat he had just seen Monsignor Gamba, the most easily terrified prelateof the whole prudent pontifical family, he related that he had beenrunning about since an early hour on behalf of two French ladies, wholikewise were dying of a desire to see the Pope. However, he greatlyfeared that the help he was giving them would not prove successful. 

"I will confess to you, Monsignor, " replied Pierre, "that I myself wasgetting very discouraged. Yes, it is high time I should find a littlecomfort, for my sojourn here is hardly calculated to brace my soul. "

He went on in this strain, allowing it to be seen that the sights of Romewere finally destroying his faith. Such days as those which he had spenton the Palatine and along the Appian Way, in the Catacombs and at St. Peter's, grievously disturbed him, spoilt his dream of Christianityrejuvenated and triumphant. He emerged from them full of doubt andgrowing lassitude, having already lost much of his usually rebelliousenthusiasm. 

Still smiling, Monsignor Nani listened and nodded approvingly. Yes, nodoubt that was the fatal result. He seemed to have foreseen it, and to bewell satisfied thereat. "At all events, my dear son, " said he, "everything is going on well, since you are now certain that you will seehis Holiness. "

"That is true, Monsignor; I have placed my only hope in the very just andperspicacious Leo XIII. He alone can judge me, since he alone canrecognise in my book his own ideas, which I think I have very faithfullyset forth. Ah! if he be willing he will, in Jesus' name and by democracyand science, save this old world of ours!"

Pierre's enthusiasm was returning again, and Nani, smiling more and moreaffably with his piercing eyes and thin lips, again expressed approval:"Certainly; quite so, my dear son. You will speak to him, you will see. "

Then as they both raised their heads and looked towards the Vatican, Nanicarried his amiability so far as to undeceive Pierre with respect to thePope's bed-room. No, the window where a light was seen every evening wassimply that of a landing where the gas was kept burning almost all night. The window of his Holiness's bed-chamber was the second one farther on. Then both relapsed into silence, equally grave as they continued to gazeat the facade. 

"Well, till we meet again, my dear son, " said Nani at last. "You willtell me of your interview, I hope. "

As soon as Pierre was alone he went in by the bronze portal, his heartbeating violently, as if he were entering some redoubtable sanctuarywhere the future happiness of mankind was elaborated. A sentry was onduty there, a Swiss guard, who walked slowly up and down in a grey-bluecloak, below which one only caught a glimpse of his baggy red, black, andyellow breeches; and it seemed as if this cloak of sober hue werepurposely cast over a disguise in order to conceal its strangeness, whichhad become irksome. Then, on the right-hand, came the covered stairwayconducting to the Court of San Damaso; but to reach the Sixtine Chapel itwas necessary to follow a long gallery, with columns on either hand, andascend the royal staircase, the Scala Regia. And in this realm of thegigantic, where every dimension is exaggerated and replete withoverpowering majesty, Pierre's breath came short as he ascended the broadsteps. 

He was much surprised on entering the Sixtine Chapel, for it at firstseemed to him small, a sort of rectangular and lofty hall, with adelicate screen of white marble separating the part where guestscongregate on the occasion of great ceremonies from the choir where thecardinals sit on simple oaken benches, while the inferior prelates remainstanding behind them. On a low platform to the right of the soberlyadorned altar is the pontifical throne; while in the wall on the leftopens the narrow singing gallery with its balcony of marble. And foreverything suddenly to spread out and soar into the infinite one mustraise one's head, allow one's eyes to ascend from the huge fresco of theLast Judgment, occupying the whole of the end wall, to the paintingswhich cover the vaulted ceiling down to the cornice extending between thetwelve windows of white glass, six on either hand. 

Fortunately there were only three or four quiet tourists there; andPierre at once perceived Narcisse Habert occupying one of the cardinals'seats above the steps where the train-bearers crouch. Motionless, andwith his head somewhat thrown back, the young man seemed to be inecstasy. But it was not the work of Michael Angelo that he thuscontemplated. His eyes never strayed from one of the earlier frescoesbelow the cornice; and on recognising the priest he contented himselfwith murmuring: "Ah! my friend, just look at the Botticelli. " Then, withdreamy eyes, he relapsed into a state of rapture. 

Pierre, for his part, had received a great shock both in heart and inmind, overpowered as he was by the superhuman genius of Michael Angelo. The rest vanished; there only remained, up yonder, as in a limitlessheaven, the extraordinary creations of the master's art. That which atfirst surprised one was that the painter should have been the soleartisan of the mighty work. No marble cutters, no bronze workers, nogilders, no one of another calling had intervened. The painter with hisbrush had sufficed for all--for the pilasters, columns, and cornices ofmarble, for the statues and the ornaments of bronze, for the _fleurons_and roses of gold, for the whole of the wondrously rich decorative workwhich surrounded the frescoes. And Pierre imagined Michael Angelo on theday when the bare vault was handed over to him, covered with plaster, offering only a flat white surface, hundreds of square yards to beadorned. And he pictured him face to face with that huge white page, refusing all help, driving all inquisitive folks away, jealously, violently shutting himself up alone with his gigantic task, spending fourand a half years in fierce solitude, and day by day adding to hiscolossal work of creation. Ah! that mighty work, a task to fill a wholelifetime, a task which he must have begun with quiet confidence in hisown will and power, drawing, as it were, an entire world from his brainand flinging it there with the ceaseless flow of creative virility in thefull heyday of its omnipotence. 

And Pierre was yet more overcome when he began to examine thesepresentments of humanity, magnified as by the eyes of a visionary, overflowing in mighty sympathetic pages of cyclopean symbolisation. Royalgrace and nobility, sovereign peacefulness and power--every beauty shoneout like natural florescence. And there was perfect science, the mostaudacious foreshortening risked with the certainty of success--aneverlasting triumph of technique over the difficulty which an archedsurface presented. And, in particular, there was wonderful simplicity ofmedium; matter was reduced almost to nothingness; a few colours were usedbroadly without any studied search for effect or brilliancy. Yet thatsufficed, the blood seethed freely, the muscles projected, the figuresbecame animated and stood out of their frames with such energy and dashthat it seemed as if a flame were flashing by aloft, endowing all thosebeings with superhuman and immortal life. Life, aye, it was life, whichburst forth and triumphed--mighty, swarming life, miraculous life, thecreation of one sole hand possessed of the supreme gift--simplicityblended with power. 

That a philosophical system, a record of the whole of human destiny, should have been found therein, with the creation of the world, of man, and of woman, the fall, the chastisement, then the redemption, andfinally God's judgment on the last day--this was a matter on which Pierrewas unable to dwell, at this first visit, in the wondering stupor intowhich the paintings threw him. But he could not help noticing how thehuman body, its beauty, its power, and its grace were exalted! Ah! thatregal Jehovah, at once terrible and paternal, carried off amid thewhirlwind of his creation, his arms outstretched and giving birth toworlds! And that superb and nobly outlined Adam, with extended hand, whomJehovah, though he touch him not, animates with his finger--a wondrousand admirable gesture, leaving a sacred space between the finger of theCreator and that of the created--a tiny space, in which, nevertheless, abides all the infinite of the invisible and the mysterious. And thenthat powerful yet adorable Eve, that Eve with the sturdy flanks fit forthe bearing of humanity, that Eve with the proud, tender grace of a womanbent on being loved even to perdition, that Eve embodying the whole ofwoman with her fecundity, her seductiveness, her empire! Moreover, eventhe decorative figures of the pilasters at the corners of the frescoescelebrate the triumph of the flesh: there are the twenty young menradiant in their nakedness, with incomparable splendour of torso and oflimb, and such intensity of life that a craze for motion seems to carrythem off, bend them, throw them over in superb attitudes. And between thewindows are the giants, the prophets and the sibyls--man and womandeified, with inordinate wealth of muscle and grandeur of intellectualexpression. There is Jeremiah with his elbow resting on his knee and hischin on his hand, plunged as he is in reflection--in the very depths ofhis visions and his dreams; there is the Sibylla Erithraea, so pure ofprofile, so young despite the opulence of her form, and with one fingerresting on the open book of destiny; there is Isaiah with the thick lipsof truth, virile and haughty, his head half turned and his hand raisedwith a gesture of command; there is the Sibylla Cumaea, terrifying withher science and her old age, her wrinkled countenance, her vulture'snose, her square protruding chin; there is Jonah cast forth by the whale, and wondrously foreshortened, his torso twisted, his arms bent, his headthrown back, and his mouth agape and shouting: and there are the others, all of the same full-blown, majestic family, reigning with thesovereignty of eternal health and intelligence, and typifying the dreamof a broader, loftier, and indestructible humanity. Moreover, in thelunettes and the arches over the windows other figures of grace, power, and beauty appear and throng, the ancestors of the Christ, thoughtfulmothers with lovely nude infants, men with wondering eyes peering intothe future, representatives of the punished weary race longing for thepromised Redeemer; while in the pendentives of the four corners variousbiblical episodes, the victories of Israel over the Spirit of Evil, spring into life. And finally there is the gigantic fresco at the farend, the Last Judgment with its swarming multitude, so numerous that daysand days are needed to see each figure aright, a distracted crowd, fullof the hot breath of life, from the dead rising in response to thefurious trumpeting of the angels, from the fearsome groups of the damnedwhom the demons fling into hell, even to Jesus the justiciar, surroundedby the saints and apostles, and to the radiant concourse of the blessedwho ascend upheld by angels, whilst higher and still higher other angels, bearing the instruments of the Passion, triumph as in full glory. Andyet, above this gigantic composition, painted thirty years subsequently, in the full ripeness of age, the ceiling retains its ethereality, itsunquestionable superiority, for on it the artist bestowed all his virginpower, his whole youth, the first great flare of his genius. 

And Pierre found but one word to express his feelings: Michael Angelo wasthe monster dominating and crushing all others. Beneath his immenseachievement you had only to glance at the works of Perugino, Pinturicchio, Roselli, Signorelli, and Botticelli, those earlierfrescoes, admirable in their way, which below the cornice spread outaround the chapel. 

Narcisse for his part had not raised his eyes to the overpoweringsplendour of the ceiling. Wrapt in ecstasy, he did not allow his gaze tostray from one of the three frescoes of Botticelli. "Ah! Botticelli, " heat last murmured; "in him you have the elegance and the grace of themysterious; a profound feeling of sadness even in the midst ofvoluptuousness, a divination of the whole modern soul, with the mosttroublous charm that ever attended artist's work. "

Pierre glanced at him in amazement, and then ventured to inquire: "Youcome here to see the Botticellis?"

"Yes, certainly, " the young man quietly replied; "I only come here forhim, and five hours every week I only look at his work. There, just studythat fresco, Moses and the daughters of Jethro. Isn't it the mostpenetrating work that human tenderness and melancholy have produced?"

Then, with a faint, devout quiver in his voice and the air of a priestinitiating another into the delightful but perturbing atmosphere of asanctuary, he went on repeating the praises of Botticelli's art; hiswomen with long, sensual, yet candid faces, supple bearing, and roundedforms showing from under light drapery; his young men, his angels ofdoubtful sex, blending stateliness of muscle with infinite delicacy ofoutline; next the mouths he painted, fleshy, fruit-like mouths, at timessuggesting irony, at others pain, and often so enigmatical with theirsinuous curves that one knew not whether the words they left unutteredwere words of purity or filth; then, too, the eyes which he bestowed onhis figures, eyes of languor and passion, of carnal or mystical rapture, their joy at times so instinct with grief as they peer into the nihilityof human things that no eyes in the world could be more impenetrable. Andfinally there were Botticelli's hands, so carefully and delicatelypainted, so full of life, wantoning so to say in a free atmosphere, nowjoining, caressing, and even, as it were, speaking, the whole evincingsuch intense solicitude for gracefulness that at times there seems to beundue mannerism, though every hand has its particular expression, eachvarying expression of the enjoyment or pain which the sense of touch canbring. And yet there was nothing effeminate or false about the painter'swork: on all sides a sort of virile pride was apparent, an atmosphere ofsuperb passionate motion, absolute concern for truth, direct study fromlife, conscientiousness, veritable realism, corrected and elevated by agenial strangeness of feeling and character that imparted anever-to-be-forgotten charm even to ugliness itself. 

Pierre's stupefaction, however, increased as he listened to Narcisse, whose somewhat studied elegance, whose curly hair cut in the Florentinefashion, and whose blue, mauvish eyes paling with enthusiasm he now forthe first time remarked. "Botticelli, " he at last said, "was no doubt amarvellous artist, only it seems to me that here, at any rate, MichaelAngelo--"

But Narcisse interrupted him almost with violence. "No! no! Don't talk ofhim! He spoilt everything, ruined everything! A man who harnessed himselfto his work like an ox, who laboured at his task like a navvy, at therate of so many square yards a day! And a man, too, with no sense of themysterious and the unknown, who saw everything so huge as to disgust onewith beauty, painting girls like the trunks of oak-trees, women likegiant butchers, with heaps and heaps of stupid flesh, and never a gleamof a divine or infernal soul! He was a mason--a colossal mason, if youlike--but he was nothing more. "

Weary "modern" that Narcisse was, spoilt by the pursuit of the originaland the rare, he thus unconsciously gave rein to his fated hate of healthand power. That Michael Angelo who brought forth without an effort, whohad left behind him the most prodigious of all artistic creations, wasthe enemy. And his crime precisely was that he had created life, producedlife in such excess that all the petty creations of others, even the mostdelightful among them, vanished in presence of the overflowing torrent ofhuman beings flung there all alive in the sunlight. 

"Well, for my part, " Pierre courageously declared, "I'm not of youropinion. I now realise that life is everything in art; that realimmortality belongs only to those who create. The case of Michael Angeloseems to me decisive, for he is the superhuman master, the monster whooverwhelms all others, precisely because he brought forth thatmagnificent living flesh which offends your sense of delicacy. Those whoare inclined to the curious, those who have minds of a pretty turn, whoseintellects are ever seeking to penetrate things, may try to improve onthe equivocal and invisible, and set all the charm of art in someelaborate stroke or symbolisation; but, none the less, Michael Angeloremains the all-powerful, the maker of men, the master of clearness, simplicity, and health. "

At this Narcisse smiled with indulgent and courteous disdain. And heanticipated further argument by remarking: "It's already eleven. Mycousin was to have sent a servant here as soon as he could receive us. Iam surprised to have seen nobody as yet. Shall we go up to see the_stanze_ of Raffaelle while we wait?"

Once in the rooms above, he showed himself perfect, both lucid in hisremarks and just in his appreciations, having recovered all his easyintelligence as soon as he was no longer upset by his hatred of colossallabour and cheerful decoration. 

It was unfortunate that Pierre should have first visited the SixtineChapel; for it was necessary he should forget what he had just seen andaccustom himself to what he now beheld in order to enjoy its pure beauty. It was as if some potent wine had confused him, and prevented anyimmediate relish of a lighter vintage of delicate fragrance. Admirationdid not here fall upon one with lightning speed; it was slowly, irresistibly that one grew charmed. And the contrast was like that ofRacine beside Corneille, Lamartine beside Hugo, the eternal pair, themasculine and feminine genius coupled through centuries of glory. WithRaffaelle it is nobility, grace, exquisiteness, and correctness of line, and divineness of harmony that triumph. You do not find in him merely thematerialist symbolism so superbly thrown off by Michael Angelo; heintroduces psychological analysis of deep penetration into the painter'sart. Man is shown more purified, idealised; one sees more of that whichis within him. And though one may be in presence of an artist ofsentimental bent, a feminine genius whose quiver of tenderness one canfeel, it is also certain that admirable firmness of workmanship confrontsone, that the whole is very strong and very great. Pierre graduallyyielded to such sovereign masterliness, such virile elegance, such avision of supreme beauty set in supreme perfection. But if the "Disputeon the Sacrament" and the so-called "School of Athens, " both prior to thepaintings of the Sixtine Chapel, seemed to him to be Raffaelle'smasterpieces, he felt that in the "Burning of the Borgo, " andparticularly in the "Expulsion of Heliodorus from the Temple, " and "PopeSt. Leo staying Attila at the Gates of Rome, " the artist had lost theflower of his divine grace, through the deep impression which theoverwhelming grandeur of Michael Angelo had wrought upon him. Howcrushing indeed had been the blow when the Sixtine Chapel was thrown openand the rivals entered! The creations of the monster then appeared, andthe greatest of the humanisers lost some of his soul at sight of them, thenceforward unable to rid himself of their influence. 

From the _stanze_ Narcisse took Pierre to the _loggie_, those glazedgalleries which are so high and so delicately decorated. But here youonly find work which pupils executed after designs left by Raffaelle athis death. The fall was sudden and complete, and never had Pierre betterunderstood that genius is everything--that when it disappears the schoolcollapses. The man of genius sums up his period; at a given hour hethrows forth all the sap of the social soil, which afterwards remainsexhausted often for centuries. So Pierre became more particularlyinterested in the fine view that the _loggie_ afford, and all at once henoticed that the papal apartments were in front of him, just across theCourt of San Damaso. This court, with its porticus, fountain, and whitepavement, had an aspect of empty, airy, sunlit solemnity which surprisedhim. There was none of the gloom or pent-up religious mystery that he haddreamt of with his mind full of the surroundings of the old northerncathedrals. Right and left of the steps conducting to the rooms of thePope and the Cardinal Secretary of State four or five carriages wereranged, the coachmen stiffly erect and the horses motionless in thebrilliant light; and nothing else peopled that vast square desert of acourt which, with its bareness gilded by the coruscations of itsglass-work and the ruddiness of its stones, suggested a pagan templededicated to the sun. But what more particularly struck Pierre was thesplendid panorama of Rome, for he had not hitherto imagined that the Popefrom his windows could thus behold the entire city spread out before himas if he merely had to stretch forth his hand to make it his own oncemore. 

While Pierre contemplated the scene a sound of voices caused him to turn;and he perceived a servant in black livery who, after repeating a messageto Narcisse, was retiring with a deep bow. Looking much annoyed, the_attache_ approached the young priest. "Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo, " saidhe, "has sent word that he can't see us this morning. Some unexpectedduties require his presence. " However, Narcisse's embarrassment showedthat he did not believe in the excuse, but rather suspected some one ofhaving so terrified his cousin that the latter was afraid of compromisinghimself. Obliging and courageous as Habert himself was, this made himindignant. Still he smiled and resumed: "Listen, perhaps there's a meansof forcing an entry. If your time is your own we can lunch together andthen return to visit the Museum of Antiquities. I shall certainly end bycoming across my cousin and we may, perhaps, be lucky enough to meet thePope should he go down to the gardens. "

At the news that his audience was yet again postponed Pierre had feltkeenly disappointed. However, as the whole day was at his disposal, hewillingly accepted the _attache's_ offer. They lunched in front of St. Peter's, in a little restaurant of the Borgo, most of whose customerswere pilgrims, and the fare, as it happened, was far from good. Then atabout two o'clock they set off for the museum, skirting the basilica byway of the Piazza della Sagrestia. It was a bright, deserted, burningdistrict; and again, but in a far greater degree, did the young priestexperience that sensation of bare, tawny, sun-baked majesty which hadcome upon him while gazing into the Court of San Damaso. Then, as hepassed the apse of St. Peter's, the enormity of the colossus was broughthome to him more strongly than ever: it rose like a giant bouquet ofarchitecture edged by empty expanses of pavement sprinkled with fineweeds. And in all the silent immensity there were only two childrenplaying in the shadow of a wall. The old papal mint, the Zecca, now anItalian possession, and guarded by soldiers of the royal army, is on theleft of the passage leading to the museums, while on the right, just infront, is one of the entrances of honour to the Vatican where the papalSwiss Guard keeps watch and ward; and this is the entrance by which, according to etiquette, the pair-horse carriages convey the Pope'svisitors into the Court of San Damaso. 

Following the long lane which ascends between a wing of the palace andits garden wall, Narcisse and Pierre at last reached the Museum ofAntiquities. Ah! what a museum it is, with galleries innumerable, amuseum compounded of three museums, the Pio-Clementino, Chiaramonti, andthe Braccio-Nuovo, and containing a whole world found beneath the soil, then exhumed, and now glorified in full sunlight. For more than two hoursPierre went from one hall to another, dazzled by the masterpieces, bewildered by the accumulation of genius and beauty. It was not only thecelebrated examples of statuary, the Laocoon and the Apollo of thecabinets of the Belvedere, the Meleager, or even the torso ofHercules--that astonished him. He was yet more impressed by the_ensemble_, by the innumerable quantities of Venuses, Bacchuses, anddeified emperors and empresses, by the whole superb growth of beautifulor August flesh celebrating the immortality of life. Three dayspreviously he had visited the Museum of the Capitol, where he had admiredthe Venus, the Dying Gaul, * the marvellous Centaurs of black marble, andthe extraordinary collection of busts, but here his admiration becameintensified into stupor by the inexhaustible wealth of the galleries. And, with more curiosity for life than for art, perhaps, he againlingered before the busts which so powerfully resuscitate the Rome ofhistory--the Rome which, whilst incapable of realising the ideal beautyof Greece, was certainly well able to create life. The emperors, thephilosophers, the learned men, the poets are all there, and live such asthey really were, studied and portrayed in all scrupulousness with theirdeformities, their blemishes, the slightest peculiarities of theirfeatures. And from this extreme solicitude for truth springs a wonderfulwealth of character and an incomparable vision of the past. Nothing, indeed, could be loftier: the very men live once more, and retrace thehistory of their city, that history which has been so falsified that theteaching of it has caused generations of school-boys to hold antiquity inhorror. But on seeing the men, how well one understands, how fully onecan sympathise! And indeed the smallest bits of marble, the maimedstatues, the bas-reliefs in fragments, even the isolated limbs--whetherthe divine arm of a nymph or the sinewy, shaggy thigh of a satyr--evokethe splendour of a civilisation full of light, grandeur, and strength. 

 * Best known in England, through Byron's lines, as the Dying Gladiator, though that appellation is certainly erroneous. --Trans. 

At last Narcisse brought Pierre back into the Gallery of the Candelabra, three hundred feet in length and full of fine examples of sculpture. "Listen, my dear Abbe, " said he. "It is scarcely more than four o'clock, and we will sit down here for a while, as I am told that the Holy Fathersometimes passes this way to go down to the gardens. It would be reallylucky if you could see him, perhaps even speak to him--who can tell? Atall events, it will rest you, for you must be tired out. "

Narcisse was known to all the attendants, and his relationship toMonsignor Gamba gave him the run of almost the entire Vatican, where hewas fond of spending his leisure time. Finding two chairs, they sat down, and the _attache_ again began to talk of art. 

How astonishing had been the destiny of Rome, what a singular, borrowedroyalty had been hers! She seemed like a centre whither the whole worldconverged, but where nothing grew from the soil itself, which from theoutset appeared to be stricken with sterility. The arts required to beacclimatised there; it was necessary to transplant the genius ofneighbouring nations, which, once there, however, flourishedmagnificently. Under the emperors, when Rome was the queen of the earth, the beauty of her monuments and sculpture came to her from Greece. Later, when Christianity arose in Rome, it there remained impregnated withpaganism; it was on another soil that it produced Gothic art, theChristian Art _par excellence_. Later still, at the Renascence, it wascertainly at Rome that the age of Julius II and Leo X shone forth; butthe artists of Tuscany and Umbria prepared the evolution, brought it toRome that it might thence expand and soar. For the second time, indeed, art came to Rome from without, and gave her the royalty of the world byblossoming so triumphantly within her walls. Then occurred theextraordinary awakening of antiquity, Apollo and Venus resuscitatedworshipped by the popes themselves, who from the time of Nicholas Vdreamt of making papal Rome the equal of the imperial city. After theprecursors, so sincere, tender, and strong in their art--Fra Angelico, Perugino, Botticelli, and so many others--came the two sovereigns, Michael Angelo and Raffaelle, the superhuman and the divine. Then thefall was sudden, years elapsed before the advent of Caravaggio with powerof colour and modelling, all that the science of painting could achievewhen bereft of genius. And afterwards the decline continued until Berniniwas reached--Bernini, the real creator of the Rome of the present popes, the prodigal child who at twenty could already show a galaxy of colossalmarble wenches, the universal architect who with fearful activityfinished the facade, built the colonnade, decorated the interior of St. Peter's, and raised fountains, churches, and palaces innumerable. Andthat was the end of all, for since then Rome has little by littlewithdrawn from life, from the modern world, as though she, who alwayslived on what she derived from others, were dying of her inability totake anything more from them in order to convert it to her own glory. 

"Ah! Bernini, that delightful Bernini!" continued Narcisse with hisrapturous air. "He is both powerful and exquisite, his verve alwaysready, his ingenuity invariably awake, his fecundity full of grace andmagnificence. As for their Bramante with his masterpiece, that cold, correct Cancelleria, we'll dub him the Michael Angelo and Raffaelle ofarchitecture and say no more about it. But Bernini, that exquisiteBernini, why, there is more delicacy and refinement in his pretended badtaste than in all the hugeness and perfection of the others! Our own ageought to recognise itself in his art, at once so varied and so deep, sotriumphant in its mannerisms, so full of a perturbing solicitude for theartificial and so free from the baseness of reality. Just go to the VillaBorghese to see the group of Apollo and Daphne which Bernini executedwhen he was eighteen, * and in particular see his statue of Santa Teresain ecstasy at Santa Maria della Vittoria! Ah! that Santa Teresa! It islike heaven opening, with the quiver that only a purely divine enjoymentcan set in woman's flesh, the rapture of faith carried to the point ofspasm, the creature losing breath and dying of pleasure in the arms ofthe Divinity! I have spent hours and hours before that work withoutexhausting the infinite scope of its precious, burning symbolisation. "

 * There is also at the Villa Borghese Bernini's _Anchises carried by Aeneas_, which he sculptured when only sixteen. No doubt his faults were many; but it was his misfortune to belong to a decadent period. --Trans. 

Narcisse's voice died away, and Pierre, no longer astonished at hiscovert, unconscious hatred of health, simplicity, and strength, scarcelylistened to him. The young priest himself was again becoming absorbed inthe idea he had formed of pagan Rome resuscitating in Christian Rome andturning it into Catholic Rome, the new political, sacerdotal, domineeringcentre of earthly government. Apart from the primitive age of theCatacombs, had Rome ever been Christian? The thoughts that had come tohim on the Palatine, in the Appian Way, and in St. Peter's were gatheringconfirmation. Genius that morning had brought him fresh proof. No doubtthe paganism which reappeared in the art of Michael Angelo and Raffaellewas tempered, transformed by the Christian spirit. But did it not stillremain the basis? Had not the former master peered across Olympus whensnatching his great nudities from the terrible heavens of Jehovah? Didnot the ideal figures of Raffaelle reveal the superb, fascinating fleshof Venus beneath the chaste veil of the Virgin? It seemed so to Pierre, and some embarrassment mingled with his despondency, for all thosebeautiful forms glorifying the ardent passions of life, were inopposition to his dream of rejuvenated Christianity giving peace to theworld and reviving the simplicity and purity of the early ages. 

All at once he was surprised to hear Narcisse, by what transition hecould not tell, speaking to him of the daily life of Leo XIII. "Yes, mydear Abbe, at eighty-four* the Holy Father shows the activity of a youngman and leads a life of determination and hard work such as neither younor I would care for! At six o'clock he is already up, says his mass inhis private chapel, and drinks a little milk for breakfast. Then, fromeight o'clock till noon, there is a ceaseless procession of cardinals andprelates, all the affairs of the congregations passing under his eyes, and none could be more numerous or intricate. At noon the public andcollective audiences usually begin. At two he dines. Then comes thesiesta which he has well earned, or else a promenade in the gardens untilsix o'clock. The private audiences then sometimes keep him for an hour ortwo. He sups at nine and scarcely eats, lives on nothing, in fact, and isalways alone at his little table. What do you think, eh, of the etiquettewhich compels him to such loneliness? There you have a man who foreighteen years has never had a guest at his table, who day by day sitsall alone in his grandeur! And as soon as ten o'clock strikes, aftersaying the Rosary with his familiars, he shuts himself up in his room. But, although he may go to bed, he sleeps very little; he is frequentlytroubled by insomnia, and gets up and sends for a secretary to dictatememoranda or letters to him. When any interesting matter requires hisattention he gives himself up to it heart and soul, never letting itescape his thoughts. And his life, his health, lies in all this. His mindis always busy; his will and strength must always be exerting themselves. You may know that he long cultivated Latin verse with affection; and Ibelieve that in his days of struggle he had a passion for journalism, inspired the articles of the newspapers he subsidised, and even dictatedsome of them when his most cherished ideas were in question. "

 * The reader should remember that the period selected for this narrative is the year 1894. Leo XIII was born in 1810. --Trans. 

Silence fell. At every moment Narcisse craned his neck to see if thelittle papal _cortege_ were not emerging from the Gallery of theTapestries to pass them on its way to the gardens. "You are perhapsaware, " he resumed, "that his Holiness is brought down on a low chairwhich is small enough to pass through every doorway. It's quite ajourney, more than a mile, through the _loggie_, the _stanze_ ofRaffaelle, the painting and sculpture galleries, not to mention thenumerous staircases, before he reaches the gardens, where a pair-horsecarriage awaits him. It's quite fine this evening, so he will surelycome. We must have a little patience. "

Whilst Narcisse was giving these particulars Pierre again sank into areverie and saw the whole extraordinary history pass before him. Firstcame the worldly, ostentatious popes of the Renascence, those whoresuscitated antiquity with so much passion and dreamt of draping theHoly See with the purple of empire once more. There was Paul II, themagnificent Venetian who built the Palazzo di Venezia; Sixtus IV, to whomone owes the Sixtine Chapel; and Julius II and Leo X, who made Rome acity of theatrical pomp, prodigious festivities, tournaments, ballets, hunts, masquerades, and banquets. At that time the papacy had justrediscovered Olympus amidst the dust of buried ruins, and as thoughintoxicated by the torrent of life which arose from the ancient soil, itfounded the museums, thus reviving the superb temples of the pagan age, and restoring them to the cult of universal admiration. Never had theChurch been in such peril of death, for if the Christ was still honouredat St. Peter's, Jupiter and all the other gods and goddesses, with theirbeauteous, triumphant flesh, were enthroned in the halls of the Vatican. Then, however, another vision passed before Pierre, one of the modernpopes prior to the Italian occupation--notably Pius IX, who, whilst yetfree, often went into his good city of Rome. His huge red and gold coachwas drawn by six horses, surrounded by Swiss Guards and followed by NobleGuards; but now and again he would alight in the Corso, and continue hispromenade on foot, and then the mounted men of the escort gallopedforward to give warning and stop the traffic. The carriages drew up, thegentlemen had to alight and kneel on the pavement, whilst the ladiessimply rose and devoutly inclined their heads, as the Holy Father, attended by his Court, slowly wended his way to the Piazza del Popolo, smiling and blessing at every step. And now had come Leo XIII, thevoluntary prisoner, shut up in the Vatican for eighteen years, and he, behind the high, silent walls, in the unknown sphere where each of hisdays flowed by so quietly, had acquired a more exalted majesty, instinctwith sacred and redoubtable mysteriousness. 

Ah! that Pope whom you no longer meet or see, that Pope hidden from thecommon of mankind like some terrible divinity whom the priests alone dareto approach! It is in that sumptuous Vatican which his forerunners of theRenascence built and adorned for giant festivities that he has secludedhimself; it is there he lives, far from the crowd, in prison with thehandsome men and the lovely women of Michael Angelo and Raffaelle, withthe gods and goddesses of marble, with the whole of resplendent Olympuscelebrating around him the religion of life and light. With him theentire Papacy is there steeped in paganism. What a spectacle when theslender, weak old man, all soul, so purely white, passes along thegalleries of the Museum of Antiquities on his way to the gardens. Rightand left the statues behold him pass with all their bare flesh. There isJupiter, there is Apollo, there is Venus the _dominatrix_, there is Pan, the universal god in whose laugh the joys of earth ring out. Nereidsbathe in transparent water. Bacchantes roll, unveiled, in the warm grass. Centaurs gallop by carrying lovely girls, faint with rapture, on theirsteaming haunches. Ariadne is surprised by Bacchus, Ganymede fondles theeagle, Adonis fires youth and maiden with his flame. And on and on passesthe weak, white old man, swaying on his low chair, amidst that splendidtriumph, that display and glorification of the flesh, which shouts aloudthe omnipotence of Nature, of everlasting matter! Since they have foundit again, exhumed it, and honoured it, that it is which once more reignsthere imperishable; and in vain have they set vine leaves on the statues, even as they have swathed the huge figures of Michael Angelo; sex stillflares on all sides, life overflows, its germs course in torrents throughthe veins of the world. Near by, in that Vatican library of incomparablewealth, where all human science lies slumbering, there lurks a yet moreterrible danger--the danger of an explosion which would sweep awayeverything, Vatican and St. Peter's also, if one day the books in theirturn were to awake and speak aloud as speak the beauty of Venus and themanliness of Apollo. But the white, diaphanous old man seems neither tosee nor to hear, and the huge heads of Jupiter, the trunks of Hercules, the equivocal statues of Antinous continue to watch him as he passes on!

However, Narcisse had become impatient, and, going in search of anattendant, he learnt from him that his Holiness had already gone down. Toshorten the distance, indeed, the _cortege_ often passes along a kind ofopen gallery leading towards the Mint. "Well, let us go down as well, "said Narcisse to Pierre; "I will try to show you the gardens. "

Down below, in the vestibule, a door of which opened on to a broad path, he spoke to another attendant, a former pontifical soldier whom hepersonally knew. The man at once let him pass with Pierre, but was unableto tell him whether Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo had accompanied hisHoliness that day. 

"No matter, " resumed Narcisse when he and his companion were alone in thepath; "I don't despair of meeting him--and these, you see, are the famousgardens of the Vatican. "

They are very extensive grounds, and the Pope can go quite two and a halfmiles by passing along the paths of the wood, the vineyard, and thekitchen garden. Occupying the plateau of the Vatican hill, which themedieval wall of Leo IV still girdles, the gardens are separated from theneighbouring valleys as by a fortified rampart. The wall formerlystretched to the castle of Sant' Angelo, thereby forming what was knownas the Leonine City. No inquisitive eyes can peer into the groundsexcepting from the dome of St. Peter's, which casts its huge shadow overthem during the hot summer weather. They are, too, quite a little world, which each pope has taken pleasure in embellishing. There is a largeparterre with lawns of geometrical patterns, planted with handsome palmsand adorned with lemon and orange trees in pots; there is a less formal, a shadier garden, where, amidst deep plantations of yoke-elms, you findGiovanni Vesanzio's fountain, the Aquilone, and Pius IV's old Casino;then, too, there are the woods with their superb evergreen oaks, theirthickets of plane-trees, acacias, and pines, intersected by broadavenues, which are delightfully pleasant for leisurely strolls; andfinally, on turning to the left, beyond other clumps of trees, come thekitchen garden and the vineyard, the last well tended. 

Whilst walking through the wood Narcisse told Pierre of the life led bythe Holy Father in these gardens. He strolls in them every second daywhen the weather allows. Formerly the popes left the Vatican for theQuirinal, which is cooler and healthier, as soon as May arrived; andspent the dog days at Castle Gandolfo on the margins of the Lake ofAlbano. But nowadays the only summer residence possessed by his Holinessis a virtually intact tower of the old rampart of Leo IV. He here spendsthe hottest days, and has even erected a sort of pavilion beside it forthe accommodation of his suite. Narcisse, like one at home, went in andsecured permission for Pierre to glance at the one room occupied by thePope, a spacious round chamber with semispherical ceiling, on which arepainted the heavens with symbolical figures of the constellations; one ofthe latter, the lion, having two stars for eyes--stars which a system oflighting causes to sparkle during the night. The walls of the tower areso thick that after blocking up a window, a kind of room, for theaccommodation of a couch, has been contrived in the embrasure. Besidethis couch the only furniture is a large work-table, a dining-table withflaps, and a large regal arm-chair, a mass of gilding, one of the giftsof the Pope's episcopal jubilee. And you dream of the days of solitudeand perfect silence, spent in that low donjon hall, where the coolness ofa tomb prevails whilst the heavy suns of August are scorching overpoweredRome. 

An astronomical observatory has been installed in another tower, surmounted by a little white cupola, which you espy amidst the greenery;and under the trees there is also a Swiss chalet, where Leo XIII is fondof resting. He sometimes goes on foot to the kitchen garden, and takesmuch interest in the vineyard, visiting it to see if the grapes areripening and if the vintage will be a good one. What most astonishedPierre, however, was to learn that the Holy Father had been very fond of"sport" before age had weakened him. He was indeed passionately addictedto bird snaring. Broad-meshed nets were hung on either side of a path onthe fringe of a plantation, and in the middle of the path were placedcages containing the decoys, whose songs soon attracted all the birds ofthe neighbourhood--red-breasts, white-throats, black-caps, nightingales, fig-peckers of all sorts. And when a numerous company of them wasgathered together Leo XIII, seated out of sight and watching, wouldsuddenly clap his hands and startle the birds, which flew up and werecaught by the wings in the meshes of the nets. All that then remained tobe done was to take them out of the nets and stifle them by a touch ofthe thumb. Roast fig-peckers are delicious. *

 * Perhaps so; but what a delightful pastime for the Vicar of the Divinity!--Trans. 

As Pierre came back through the wood he had another surprise. He suddenlylighted on a "Grotto of Lourdes, " a miniature imitation of the original, built of rocks and blocks of cement. And such was his emotion at thesight that he could not conceal it. "It's true, then!" said he. "I wastold of it, but I thought that the Holy Father was of loftier mind--freefrom all such base superstitions!"

"Oh!" replied Narcisse, "I fancy that the grotto dates from Pius IX, whoevinced especial gratitude to our Lady of Lourdes. At all events, it mustbe a gift, and Leo XIII simply keeps it in repair. "

For a few moments Pierre remained motionless and silent before thatimitation grotto, that childish plaything. Some zealously devout visitorshad left their visiting cards in the cracks of the cement-work! For hispart, he felt very sad, and followed his companion with bowed head, lamenting the wretched idiocy of the world. Then, on emerging from thewood, on again reaching the parterre, he raised his eyes. 

Ah! how exquisite in spite of everything was that decline of a lovelyday, and what a victorious charm ascended from the soil in that part ofthe gardens. There, in front of that bare, noble, burning parterre, farmore than under the languishing foliage of the wood or among the fruitfulvines, Pierre realised the strength of Nature. Above the grass growingmeagrely over the compartments of geometrical pattern which the pathwaystraced there were barely a few low shrubs, dwarf roses, aloes, rare tuftsof withering flowers. Some green bushes still described the escutcheon ofPius IX in accordance with the strange taste of former times. And amidstthe warm silence one only heard the faint crystalline murmur of the watertrickling from the basin of the central fountain. But all Rome, itsardent heavens, sovereign grace, and conquering voluptuousness, seemedwith their own soul to animate this vast rectangular patch of decorativegardening, this mosaic of verdure, which in its semi-abandonment andscorched decay assumed an aspect of melancholy pride, instinct with theever returning quiver of a passion of fire that could not die. Someantique vases and statues, whitely nude under the setting sun, skirtedthe parterres. And above the aroma of eucalyptus and of pine, strongereven than that of the ripening oranges, there rose the odour of thelarge, bitter box-shrubs, so laden with pungent life that it disturbedone as one passed as if indeed it were the very scent of the fecundity ofthat ancient soil saturated with the dust of generations. 

"It's very strange that we have not met his Holiness, " exclaimedNarcisse. "Perhaps his carriage took the other path through the woodwhile we were in the tower. "

Then, reverting to Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo, the _attache_ explainedthat the functions of _Copiere_, or papal cup-bearer, which his cousinshould have discharged as one of the four _Camerieri segretipartecipanti_ had become purely honorary since the dinners offered todiplomatists or in honour of newly consecrated bishops had been given bythe Cardinal Secretary of State. Monsignor Gamba, whose cowardice andnullity were legendary, seemed therefore to have no other _role_ thanthat of enlivening Leo XIII, whose favour he had won by his incessantflattery and the anecdotes which he was ever relating about both theblack and the white worlds. Indeed this fat, amiable man, who could evenbe obliging when his interests were not in question, was a perfectnewspaper, brimful of tittle-tattle, disdaining no item of gossipwhatever, even if it came from the kitchens. And thus he was quietlymarching towards the cardinalate, certain of obtaining the hat withoutother exertion than that of bringing a budget of gossip to beguile thepleasant hours of the promenade. And Heaven knew that he was always ableto garner an abundant harvest of news in that closed Vatican swarmingwith prelates of every kind, in that womanless pontifical family of oldbegowned bachelors, all secretly exercised by vast ambitions, covert andrevolting rivalries, and ferocious hatreds, which, it is said, are stillsometimes carried as far as the good old poison of ancient days. 

All at once Narcisse stopped. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "I was certain of it. There's the Holy Father! But we are not in luck. He won't even see us; heis about to get into his carriage again. "

As he spoke a carriage drew up at the verge of the wood, and a little_cortege_ emerging from a narrow path, went towards it. 

Pierre felt as if he had received a great blow in the heart. Motionlessbeside his companion, and half hidden by a lofty vase containing alemon-tree, it was only from a distance that he was able to see the whiteold man, looking so frail and slender in the wavy folds of his whitecassock, and walking so very slowly with short, gliding steps. The youngpriest could scarcely distinguish the emaciated face of old diaphanousivory, emphasised by a large nose which jutted out above thin lips. However, the Pontiff's black eyes were glittering with an inquisitivesmile, while his right ear was inclined towards Monsignor Gamba delZoppo, who was doubtless finishing some story at once rich and short, flowery and dignified. And on the left walked a Noble Guard; and twoother prelates followed. 

It was but a familiar apparition; Leo XIII was already climbing into theclosed carriage. And Pierre, in the midst of that large, odoriferous, burning garden, again experienced the singular emotion which had comeupon him in the Gallery of the Candelabra while he was picturing the Popeon his way between the Apollos and Venuses radiant in their triumphantnudity. There, however, it was only pagan art which had celebrated theeternity of life, the superb, almighty powers of Nature. But here he hadbeheld the Pontiff steeped in Nature itself, in Nature clad in the mostlovely, most voluptuous, most passionate guise. Ah! that Pope, that oldman strolling with his Divinity of grief, humility, and renunciationalong the paths of those gardens of love, in the languid evenings of thehot summer days, beneath the caressing scents of pine and eucalyptus, ripe oranges, and tall, acrid box-shrubs! The whole atmosphere around himproclaimed the powers of the great god Pan. How pleasant was the thoughtof living there, amidst that magnificence of heaven and of earth, ofloving the beauty of woman and of rejoicing in the fruitfulness of all!And suddenly the decisive truth burst forth that from a land of such joyand light it was only possible for a temporal religion of conquest andpolitical domination to rise; not the mystical, pain-fraught religion ofthe North--the religion of the soul!

However, Narcisse led the young priest away, telling him other anecdotesas they went--anecdotes of the occasional _bonhomie_ of Leo XIII, whowould stop to chat with the gardeners, and question them about the healthof the trees and the sale of the oranges. And he also mentioned thePope's former passion for a pair of gazelles, sent him from Africa, twograceful creatures which he had been fond of caressing, and at whosedeath he had shed tears. But Pierre no longer listened. When they foundthemselves on the Piazza of St. Peter's, he turned round and gazed at theVatican once more. 

His eyes had fallen on the gate of bronze, and he remembered havingwondered that morning what there might be behind these metal panelsornamented with big nails. And he did not yet dare to answer thequestion, and decide if the new nations thirsting for fraternity andjustice would really find there the religion necessary for thedemocracies of to-morrow; for he had not been able to probe things, andonly carried a first impression away with him. But how keen it was, andhow ill it boded for his dreams! A gate of bronze! Yes, a hard, impregnable gate, so completely shutting the Vatican off from the rest ofthe world that nothing new had entered the palace for three hundredyears. Behind that portal the old centuries, as far as the sixteenth, remained immutable. Time seemed to have stayed its course there for ever;nothing more stirred; the very costumes of the Swiss Guards, the NobleGuards, and the prelates themselves were unchanged; and you foundyourself in the world of three hundred years ago, with its etiquette, itscostumes, and its ideas. That the popes in a spirit of haughty protestshould for five and twenty years have voluntarily shut themselves up intheir palace was already regrettable; but this imprisonment of centurieswithin the past, within the grooves of tradition, was far more seriousand dangerous. It was all Catholicism which was thus imprisoned, whosedogmas and sacerdotal organisation were obstinately immobilised. Perhaps, in spite of its apparent flexibility, Catholicism was really unable toyield in anything, under peril of being swept away, and therein lay bothits weakness and its strength. And then what a terrible world was there, how great the pride and ambition, how numerous the hatreds and rivalries!And how strange the prison, how singular the company assembled behind thebars--the Crucified by the side of Jupiter Capitolinus, all paganantiquity fraternising with the Apostles, all the splendours of theRenascence surrounding the pastor of the Gospel who reigns in the name ofthe humble and the poor!

The sun was sinking, the gentle, luscious sweetness of the Roman eveningswas falling from the limpid heavens, and after that splendid day spentwith Michael Angelo, Raffaelle, the ancients, and the Pope, in the finestpalace of the world, the young priest lingered, distracted, on the Piazzaof St. Peter's. 

"Well, you must excuse me, my dear Abbe, " concluded Narcisse. "But I willnow confess to you that I suspect my worthy cousin of a fear that hemight compromise himself by meddling in your affair. I shall certainlysee him again, but you will do well not to put too much reliance on him. "

It was nearly six o'clock when Pierre got back to the Boccanera mansion. As a rule, he passed in all modesty down the lane, and entered by thelittle side door, a key of which had been given him. But he had thatmorning received a letter from M. De la Choue, and desired to communicateit to Benedetta. So he ascended the grand staircase, and on reaching theanteroom was surprised to find nobody there. As a rule, whenever theman-servant went out Victorine installed herself in his place and busiedherself with some needlework. Her chair was there, and Pierre evennoticed some linen which she had left on a little table when probablysummoned elsewhere. Then, as the door of the first reception-room wasajar, he at last ventured in. It was almost night there already, thetwilight was softly dying away, and all at once the young priest stoppedshort, fearing to take another step, for, from the room beyond, the largeyellow _salon_, there came a murmur of feverish, distracted words, ardententreaties, fierce panting, a rustling and a shuffling of footsteps. Andsuddenly Pierre no longer hesitated, urged on despite himself by theconviction that the sounds he heard were those of a struggle, and thatsome one was hard pressed. 

And when he darted into the further room he was stupefied, for Dario wasthere, no longer showing the degenerate elegance of the last scion of anexhausted race, but maddened by the hot, frantic blood of the Boccaneraswhich had bubbled up within him. He had clasped Benedetta by theshoulders in a frenzy of passion and was scorching her face with his hot, entreating words: "But since you say, my darling, that it is all over, that your marriage will never be dissolved--oh! why should we be wretchedfor ever! Love me as you do love me, and let me love you--let me loveyou!"

But the Contessina, with an indescribable expression of tenderness andsuffering on her tearful face, repulsed him with her outstretched arms, she likewise evincing a fierce energy as she repeated: "No, no; I loveyou, but it must not, it must not be. "

At that moment, amidst the roar of his despair, Dario became consciousthat some one was entering the room. He turned and gazed at Pierre withan expression of stupefied insanity, scarce able even to recognise him. Then he carried his two hands to his face, to his bloodshot eyes and hischeeks wet with scalding tears, and fled, heaving a terrible, pain-fraught sigh in which baffled passion mingled with grief andrepentance. 

Benedetta seated herself, breathing hard, her strength and couragewellnigh exhausted. But as Pierre, too much embarrassed to speak, turnedtowards the door, she addressed him in a calmer voice: "No, no, Monsieurl'Abbe, do not go away--sit down, I pray you; I should like to speak toyou for a moment. "

He thereupon thought it his duty to account for his sudden entrance, andexplained that he had found the door of the first _salon_ ajar, and thatVictorine was not in the ante-room, though he had seen her work lying onthe table there. 

"Yes, " exclaimed the Contessina, "Victorine ought to have been there; Isaw her there but a short time ago. And when my poor Dario lost his headI called her. Why did she not come?" Then, with sudden expansion, leaningtowards Pierre, she continued: "Listen, Monsieur l'Abbe, I will tell youwhat happened, for I don't want you to form too bad an opinion of my poorDario. It was all in some measure my fault. Last night he asked me for anappointment here in order that we might have a quiet chat, and as I knewthat my aunt would be absent at this time to-day I told him to come. Itwas only natural--wasn't it?--that we should want to see one another andcome to an agreement after the grievous news that my marriage willprobably never be annulled. We suffer too much, and must form a decision. And so when he came this evening we began to weep and embrace, minglingour tears together. I kissed him again and again, telling him how Iadored him, how bitterly grieved I was at being the cause of hissufferings, and how surely I should die of grief at seeing him sounhappy. Ah! no doubt I did wrong; I ought not to have caught him to myheart and embraced him as I did, for it maddened him, Monsieur l'Abbe; helost his head, and would have made me break my vow to the BlessedVirgin. "

She spoke these words in all tranquillity and simplicity, without sign ofembarrassment, like a young and beautiful woman who is at once sensibleand practical. Then she resumed: "Oh! I know my poor Dario well, but itdoes not prevent me from loving him; perhaps, indeed, it only makes melove him the more. He looks delicate, perhaps rather sickly, but in truthhe is a man of passion. Yes, the old blood of my people bubbles up inhim. I know something of it myself, for when I was a child I sometimeshad fits of angry passion which left me exhausted on the floor, and evennow, when the gusts arise within me, I have to fight against myself andtorture myself in order that I may not act madly. But my poor Dario doesnot know how to suffer. He is like a child whose fancies must begratified. And yet at bottom he has a good deal of common sense; he waitsfor me because he knows that the only real happiness lies with the womanwho adores him. "

As Pierre listened he was able to form a more precise idea of the youngprince, of whose character he had hitherto had but a vague perception. Whilst dying of love for his cousin, Dario had ever been a man ofpleasure. Though he was no doubt very amiable, the basis of histemperament was none the less egotism. And, in particular, he was unableto endure suffering; he loathed suffering, ugliness, and poverty, whetherthey affected himself or others. Both his flesh and his soul requiredgaiety, brilliancy, show, life in the full sunlight. And withal he wasexhausted, with no strength left him but for the idle life he led, soincapable of thought and will that the idea of joining the new _regime_had not even occurred to him. Yet he had all the unbounded pride of aRoman; sagacity--a keen, practical perception of the real--was mingledwith his indolence; while his inveterate love of woman, more frequentlydisplayed in charm of manner, burst forth at times in attacks of franticsensuality. 

"After all he is a man, " concluded Benedetta in a low voice, "and I mustnot ask impossibilities of him. " Then, as Pierre gazed at her, hisnotions of Italian jealousy quite upset, she exclaimed, aglow withpassionate adoration: "No, no. Situated as we are, I am not jealous. Iknow very well that he will always return to me, and that he will be minealone whenever I please, whenever it may be possible. "

Silence followed; shadows were filling the room, the gilding of the largepier tables faded away, and infinite melancholy fell from the lofty, dimceiling and the old hangings, yellow like autumn leaves. But soon, bysome chance play of the waning light, a painting stood out above the sofaon which the Contessina was seated. It was the portrait of the beautifulyoung girl with the turban--Cassia Boccanera the forerunner, the_amorosa_ and avengeress. Again was Pierre struck by the portrait'sresemblance to Benedetta, and, thinking aloud, he resumed: "Passionalways proves the stronger; there invariably comes a moment when onesuccumbs--"

But Benedetta violently interrupted him: "I! I! Ah! you do not know me; Iwould rather die!" And with extraordinary exaltation, all aglow withlove, as if her superstitious faith had fired her passion to ecstasy, shecontinued: "I have vowed to the Madonna that I will belong to none butthe man I love, and to him only when he is my husband. And hitherto Ihave kept that vow, at the cost of my happiness, and I will keep itstill, even if it cost me my life! Yes, we will die, my poor Dario and I, if it be necessary; but the holy Virgin has my vow, and the angels shallnot weep in heaven!"

She was all in those words, her nature all simplicity, intricate, inexplicable though it might seem. She was doubtless swayed by that ideaof human nobility which Christianity has set in renunciation and purity;a protest, as it were, against eternal matter, against the forces ofNature, the everlasting fruitfulness of life. But there was more thanthis; she reserved herself, like a divine and priceless gift, to bebestowed on the one being whom her heart had chosen, he who would be herlord and master when God should have united them in marriage. For hereverything lay in the blessing of the priest, in the religioussolemnisation of matrimony. And thus one understood her long resistanceto Prada, whom she did not love, and her despairing, grievous resistanceto Dario, whom she did love, but who was not her husband. And howtorturing it was for that soul of fire to have to resist her love; howcontinual was the combat waged by duty in the Virgin's name against thewild, passionate blood of her race! Ignorant, indolent though she mightbe, she was capable of great fidelity of heart, and, moreover, she wasnot given to dreaming: love might have its immaterial charms, but shedesired it complete. 

As Pierre looked at her in the dying twilight he seemed to see andunderstand her for the first time. The duality of her nature appeared inher somewhat full, fleshy lips, in her big black eyes, which suggested adark, tempestuous night illumined by flashes of lightning, and in thecalm, sensible expression of the rest of her gentle, infantile face. And, withal, behind those eyes of flame, beneath that pure, candid skin, onedivined the internal tension of a superstitious, proud, and self-willedwoman, who was obstinately intent on reserving herself for her one love. And Pierre could well understand that she should be adored, that sheshould fill the life of the man she chose with passion, and that to hisown eyes she should appear like the younger sister of that lovely, tragicCassia who, unwilling to survive the blow that had rendered self-bestowalimpossible, had flung herself into the Tiber, dragging her brother Ercoleand the corpse of her lover Flavio with her. 

However, with a gesture of kindly affection Benedetta caught hold ofPierre's hands. "You have been here a fortnight, Monsieur l'Abbe, " saidshe, "and I have come to like you very much, for I feel you to be afriend. If at first you do not understand us, at least pray do not judgeus too severely. Ignorant as I may be, I always strive to act for thebest, I assure you. "

Pierre was greatly touched by her affectionate graciousness, and thankedher whilst for a moment retaining her beautiful hands in his own, for healso was becoming much attached to her. A fresh dream was carrying himoff, that of educating her, should he have the time, or, at all events, of not returning home before winning her soul over to his own ideas offuture charity and fraternity. Did not that adorable, unoccupied, indolent, ignorant creature, who only knew how to defend her love, personify the Italy of yesterday? The Italy of yesterday, so lovely andso sleepy, instinct with a dying grace, charming one even in herdrowsiness, and retaining so much mystery in the fathomless depths of herblack, passionate eyes! And what a _role_ would be that of awakening her, instructing her, winning her over to truth, making her the rejuvenatedItaly of to-morrow such as he had dreamt of! Even in that disastrousmarriage with Count Prada he tried to see merely a first attempt atrevival which had failed, the modern Italy of the North being over-hasty, too brutal in its eagerness to love and transform that gentle, belatedRome which was yet so superb and indolent. But might he not take up thetask? Had he not noticed that his book, after the astonishment of thefirst perusal, had remained a source of interest and reflection withBenedetta amidst the emptiness of her days given over to grief? What! wasit really possible that she might find some appeasement for her ownwretchedness by interesting herself in the humble, in the happiness ofthe poor? Emotion already thrilled her at the idea, and he, quivering atthe thought of all the boundless love that was within her and that shemight bestow, vowed to himself that he would draw tears of pity from hereyes. 

But the night had now almost completely fallen, and Benedetta rose to askfor a lamp. Then, as Pierre was about to take leave, she detained him foranother moment in the gloom. He could no longer see her; he only heardher grave voice: "You will not go away with too bad an opinion of us, will you, Monsieur l'Abbe? We love one another, Dario and I, and that isno sin when one behaves as one ought. Ah! yes, I love him, and have lovedhim for years. I was barely thirteen, he was eighteen, and we alreadyloved one another wildly in those big gardens of the Villa Montefioriwhich are now all broken up. Ah! what days we spent there, wholeafternoons among the trees, hours in secret hiding-places, where wekissed like little angels. When the oranges ripened their perfumeintoxicated us. And the large box-plants, ah, _Dio!_ how they envelopedus, how their strong, acrid scent made our hearts beat! I can never smellthen nowadays without feeling faint!"

A man-servant brought in the lamp, and Pierre ascended to his room. Butwhen half-way up the little staircase he perceived Victorine, who startedslightly, as if she had posted herself there to watch his departure fromthe _salon_. And now, as she followed him up, talking and seeking forinformation, he suddenly realised what had happened. "Why did you not goto your mistress instead of running off, " he asked, "when she called you, while you were sewing in the ante-room?"

At first she tried to feign astonishment and reply that she had heardnothing. But her good-natured, frank face did not know how to lie, andshe ended by confessing, with a gay, courageous air. "Well, " she said, "it surely wasn't for me to interfere between lovers! Besides, my poorlittle Benedetta is simply torturing herself to death with those ideas ofhers. Why shouldn't they be happy, since they love one another? Lifeisn't so amusing as some may think. And how bitterly one regrets nothaving seized hold of happiness when the time for it has gone!"

Once alone in his room, Pierre suddenly staggered, quite overcome. Thegreat box-plants, the great box-plants with their acrid, perturbingperfume! She, Benedetta, like himself, had quivered as she smelt them;and he saw them once more in a vision of the pontifical gardens, thevoluptuous gardens of Rome, deserted, glowing under the August sun. Andnow his whole day crystallised, assumed clear and full significance. Itspoke to him of the fruitful awakening, of the eternal protest of Natureand life, Venus and Hercules, whom one may bury for centuries beneath thesoil, but who, nevertheless, one day arise from it, and though one mayseek to wall them up within the domineering, stubborn, immutable Vatican, reign yet even there, and rule the whole, wide world with sovereignpower!

PART III. 

VII. 

On the following day as Pierre, after a long ramble, once more foundhimself in front of the Vatican, whither a harassing attraction ever ledhim, he again encountered Monsignor Nani. It was a Wednesday evening, andthe Assessor of the Holy Office had just come from his weekly audiencewith the Pope, whom he had acquainted with the proceedings of theCongregation at its meeting that morning. "What a fortunate chance, mydear sir, " said he; "I was thinking of you. Would you like to see hisHoliness in public while you are waiting for a private audience?"

Nani had put on his pleasant expression of smiling civility, beneathwhich one would barely detect the faint irony of a superior man who kneweverything, prepared everything, and could do everything. 

"Why, yes, Monsignor, " Pierre replied, somewhat astonished by theabruptness of the offer. "Anything of a nature to divert one's mind iswelcome when one loses one's time in waiting. "

"No, no, you are not losing your time, " replied the prelate. "You arelooking round you, reflecting, and enlightening yourself. Well, this isthe point. You are doubtless aware that the great internationalpilgrimage of the Peter's Pence Fund will arrive in Rome on Friday, andbe received on Saturday by his Holiness. On Sunday, moreover, the HolyFather will celebrate mass at the Basilica. Well, I have a few cardsleft, and here are some very good places for both ceremonies. " So sayinghe produced an elegant little pocketbook bearing a gilt monogram andhanded Pierre two cards, one green and the other pink. "If you only knewhow people fight for them, " he resumed. "You remember that I told you oftwo French ladies who are consumed by a desire to see his Holiness. Well, I did not like to support their request for an audience in too pressing away, and they have had to content themselves with cards like these. Thefact is, the Holy Father is somewhat fatigued at the present time. Ifound him looking yellow and feverish just now. But he has so muchcourage; he nowadays only lives by force of soul. " Then Nani's smile cameback with its almost imperceptible touch of derision as he resumed:"Impatient ones ought to find a great example in him, my dear son. Iheard that Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo had been unable to help you. But youmust not be too much distressed on that account. This long delay isassuredly a grace of Providence in order that you may instruct yourselfand come to understand certain things which you French priests do not, unfortunately, realise when you arrive in Rome. And perhaps it willprevent you from making certain mistakes. Come, calm yourself, andremember that the course of events is in the hands of God, who, in Hissovereign wisdom, fixes the hour for all things. "

Thereupon Nani offered Pierre his plump, supple, shapely hand, a handsoft like a woman's but with the grasp of a vice. And afterwards heclimbed into his carriage, which was waiting for him. 

It so happened that the letter which Pierre had received from ViscountPhilibert de la Choue was a long cry of spite and despair in connectionwith the great international pilgrimage of the Peter's Pence Fund. TheViscount wrote from his bed, to which he was confined by a very severeattack of gout, and his grief at being unable to come to Rome was thegreater as the President of the Committee, who would naturally presentthe pilgrims to the Pope, happened to be Baron de Fouras, one of his mostbitter adversaries of the old conservative, Catholic party. M. De laChoue felt certain that the Baron would profit by his opportunity to winthe Pope over to the theory of free corporations; whereas he, theViscount, believed that the salvation of Catholicism and the world couldonly be worked by a system in which the corporations should be closed andobligatory. And so he urged Pierre to exert himself with such cardinalsas were favourable, to secure an audience with the Holy Father whateverthe obstacles, and to remain in Rome until he should have secured thePontiff's approbation, which alone could decide the victory. The letterfurther mentioned that the pilgrimage would be made up of a number ofgroups headed by bishops and other ecclesiastical dignitaries, and wouldcomprise three thousand people from France, Belgium, Spain, Austria, andeven Germany. Two thousand of these would come from France alone. Aninternational committee had assembled in Paris to organise everything andselect the pilgrims, which last had proved a delicate task, as arepresentative gathering had been desired, a commingling of members ofthe aristocracy, sisterhood of middle-class ladies, and associations ofthe working classes, among whom all social differences would be forgottenin the union of a common faith. And the Viscount added that thepilgrimage would bring the Pope a large sum of money, and had settled thedate of its arrival in the Eternal City in such wise that it would figureas a solemn protest of the Catholic world against the festivities ofSeptember 20, by which the Quirinal had just celebrated the anniversaryof the occupation of Rome. 

The reception of the pilgrimage being fixed for noon, Pierre in allsimplicity thought that he would be sufficiently early if he reached St. Peter's at eleven. The function was to take place in the Hall ofBeatifications, which is a large and handsome apartment over the portico, and has been arranged as a chapel since 1890. One of its windows opens onto the central balcony, whence the popes formerly blessed the people, thecity, and the world. To reach the apartment you pass through two otherhalls of audience, the Sala Regia and Sala Ducale, and when Pierre wishedto gain the place to which his green card entitled him he found boththose rooms so extremely crowded that he could only elbow his way forwardwith the greatest difficulty. For an hour already the three or fourthousand people assembled there had been stifling, full of growingemotion and feverishness. At last the young priest managed to reach thethreshold of the third hall, but was so discouraged at sight of theextraordinary multitude of heads before him that he did not attempt to goany further. 

The apartment, which he could survey at a glance by rising on tip-toe, appeared to him to be very rich of aspect, with walls gilded and paintedunder a severe and lofty ceiling. On a low platform, where the altarusually stood, facing the entry, the pontifical throne had now been set:a large arm-chair upholstered in red velvet with glittering golden backand arms; whilst the hangings of the _baldacchino_, also of red velvet, fell behind and spread out on either side like a pair of huge purplewings. However, what more particularly interested Pierre was the wildlypassionate concourse of people whose hearts he could almost hear beatingand whose eyes sought to beguile their feverish impatience bycontemplating and adoring the empty throne. As if it had been some goldenmonstrance which the Divinity in person would soon deign to occupy, thatthrone dazzled them, disturbed them, filled them all with devout rapture. Among the throng were workmen rigged out in their Sunday best, with clearchildish eyes and rough ecstatic faces; ladies of the upper classeswearing black, as the regulations required, and looking intensely palefrom the sacred awe which mingled with their excessive desire; andgentlemen in evening dress, who appeared quite glorious, inflated withthe conviction that they were saving both the Church and the nations. Onecluster of dress-coats assembled near the throne, was particularlynoticeable; it comprised the members of the International Committee, headed by Baron de Fouras, a very tall, stout, fair man of fifty, whobestirred and exerted himself and issued orders like some commander onthe morning of a decisive victory. Then, amidst the general mass of grey, neutral hue, there gleamed the violet silk of some bishop's cassock, foreach pastor had desired to remain with his flock; whilst members ofvarious religious orders, superiors in brown, black, and white habits, rose up above all others with lofty bearded or shaven heads. Right andleft drooped banners which associations and congregations had brought topresent to the Pope. And the sea of pilgrims ever waved and surged with agrowing clamour: so much impatient love being exhaled by those perspiringfaces, burning eyes, and hungry mouths that the atmosphere, reeking withthe odour of the throng, seemed thickened and darkened. 

All at once, however, Pierre perceived Monsignor Nani standing near thethrone and beckoning him to approach; and although the young priestreplied by a modest gesture, implying that he preferred to remain wherehe was, the prelate insisted and even sent an usher to make way for him. Directly the usher had led him forward, Nani inquired: "Why did you notcome to take your place? Your card entitled you to be here, on the leftof the throne. "

"The truth is, " answered the priest, "I did not like to disturb so manypeople. Besides, this is an undue honour for me. "

"No, no; I gave you that place in order that you should occupy it. I wantyou to be in the first rank, so that you may see everything of theceremony. "

Pierre could not do otherwise than thank him. Then, on looking round, hesaw that several cardinals and many other prelates were likewise waitingon either side of the throne. But it was in vain that he sought CardinalBoccanera, who only came to St. Peter's and the Vatican on the days whenhis functions required his presence there. However, he recognisedCardinal Sanguinetti, who, broad and sturdy and red of face, was talkingin a loud voice to Baron de Fouras. And Nani, with his obliging air, stepped up again to point out two other Eminences who were high andmighty personages--the Cardinal Vicar, a short, fat man, with a feverishcountenance scorched by ambition, and the Cardinal Secretary, who wasrobust and bony, fashioned as with a hatchet, suggesting a romantic typeof Sicilian bandit, who, to other courses, had preferred the discreet, smiling diplomacy of the Church. A few steps further on, and quite alone, the Grand Penitentiary, silent and seemingly suffering, showed his grey, lean, ascetic profile. 

Noon had struck. There was a false alert, a burst of emotion, which sweptin like a wave from the other halls. But it was merely the ushers openinga passage for the _cortege_. Then, all at once, acclamations arose in thefirst hall, gathered volume, and drew nearer. This time it was the_cortege_ itself. First came a detachment of the Swiss Guard in undress, headed by a sergeant; then a party of chair-bearers in red; and next thedomestic prelates, including the four _Camerieri segreti partecipanti_. And finally, between two rows of Noble Guards, in semi-gala uniforms, walked the Holy Father, alone, smiling a pale smile, and slowly blessingthe pilgrims on either hand. In his wake the clamour which had risen inthe other apartments swept into the Hall of Beatifications with theviolence of delirious love; and, under his slender, white, benedictivehand, all those distracted creatures fell upon both knees, noughtremaining but the prostration of a devout multitude, overwhelmed, as itwere, by the apparition of its god. 

Quivering, carried away, Pierre had knelt like the others. Ah! thatomnipotence, that irresistible contagion of faith, of the redoubtablecurrent from the spheres beyond, increased tenfold by a _scenario_ and apomp of sovereign grandeur! Profound silence fell when Leo XIII wasseated on the throne surrounded by the cardinals and his court; and thenthe ceremony proceeded according to rite and usage. First a bishop spoke, kneeling and laying the homage of the faithful of all Christendom at hisHoliness's feet. The President of the Committee, Baron de Fouras, followed, remaining erect whilst he read a long address in which heintroduced the pilgrimage and explained its motive, investing it with allthe gravity of a political and religious protest. This stout man had ashrill and piercing voice, and his words jarred like the grating of agimlet as he proclaimed the grief of the Catholic world at the spoliationwhich the Holy See had endured for a quarter of a century, and the desireof all the nations there represented by the pilgrims to console thesupreme and venerated Head of the Church by bringing him the offerings ofrich and poor, even to the mites of the humblest, in order that thePapacy might retain the pride of independence and be able to treat itsenemies with contempt. And he also spoke of France, deplored her errors, predicted her return to healthy traditions, and gave it to be understoodthat she remained in spite of everything the most opulent and generous ofthe Christian nations, the donor whose gold and presents flowed into Romein a never ending stream. At last Leo XIII arose to reply to the bishopand the baron. His voice was full, with a strong nasal twang, andsurprised one coming from a man so slight of build. In a few sentences heexpressed his gratitude, saying how touched he was by the devotion of thenations to the Holy See. Although the times might be bad, the finaltriumph could not be delayed much longer. There were evident signs thatmankind was returning to faith, and that iniquity would soon cease underthe universal dominion of the Christ. As for France, was she not theeldest daughter of the Church, and had she not given too many proofs ofher affection for the Holy See for the latter ever to cease loving her?Then, raising his arm, he bestowed on all the pilgrims present, on thesocieties and enterprises they represented, on their families andfriends, on France, on all the nations of the Catholic world, hisapostolic benediction, in gratitude for the precious help which they senthim. And whilst he was again seating himself applause burst forth, frantic salvoes of applause lasting for ten minutes and mingling withvivats and inarticulate cries--a passionate, tempestuous outburst, whichmade the very building shake. 

Amidst this blast of frantic adoration Pierre gazed at Leo XIII, nowagain motionless on his throne. With the papal cap on his head and thered cape edged with ermine about his shoulders, he retained in his longwhite cassock the rigid, sacerdotal attitude of an idol venerated by twohundred and fifty millions of Christians. Against the purple backgroundof the hangings of the _baldacchino_, between the wing-like drapery oneither side, enclosing, as it were, a brasier of glory, he assumed realmajesty of aspect. He was no longer the feeble old man with the slow, jerky walk and the slender, scraggy neck of a poor ailing bird. Thesimious ugliness of his face, the largeness of his nose, the long slit ofhis mouth, the hugeness of his ears, the conflicting jumble of hiswithered features disappeared. In that waxen countenance you onlydistinguished the admirable, dark, deep eyes, beaming with eternal youth, with extraordinary intelligence and penetration. And then there was aresolute bracing of his entire person, a consciousness of the eternitywhich he represented, a regal nobility, born of the very circumstancethat he was now but a mere breath, a soul set in so pellucid a body ofivory that it became visible as though it were already freed from thebonds of earth. And Pierre realised what such a man--the SovereignPontiff, the king obeyed by two hundred and fifty millions ofsubjects--must be for the devout and dolent creatures who came to adorehim from so far, and who fell at his feet awestruck by the splendour ofthe powers incarnate in him. Behind him, amidst the purple of thehangings, what a gleam was suddenly afforded of the spheres beyond, whatan Infinite of ideality and blinding glory! So many centuries of historyfrom the Apostle Peter downward, so much strength and genius, so manystruggles and triumphs to be summed up in one being, the Elect, theUnique, the Superhuman! And what a miracle, incessantly renewed, was thatof Heaven deigning to descend into human flesh, of the Deity fixing Hisabode in His chosen servant, whom He consecrated above and beyond allothers, endowing him with all power and all science! What sacredperturbation, what emotion fraught with distracted love might one notfeel at the thought of the Deity being ever there in the depths of thatman's eyes, speaking with his voice and emanating from his hand each timethat he raised it to bless! Could one imagine the exorbitant absolutenessof that sovereign who was infallible, who disposed of the totality ofauthority in this world and of salvation in the next! At all events, howwell one understood that souls consumed by a craving for faith should flytowards him, that those who at last found the certainty they had soardently sought should seek annihilation in him, the consolation ofself-bestowal and disappearance within the Deity Himself. 

Meantime, the ceremony was drawing to an end; Baron de Fouras was nowpresenting the members of the committee and a few other persons ofimportance. There was a slow procession with trembling genuflections andmuch greedy kissing of the papal ring and slipper. Then the banners wereoffered, and Pierre felt a pang on seeing that the finest and richest ofthem was one of Lourdes, an offering no doubt from the Fathers of theImmaculate Conception. On one side of the white, gold-bordered silk OurLady of Lourdes was painted, while on the other appeared a portrait ofLeo XIII. Pierre saw the Pope smile at the presentment of himself, andwas greatly grieved thereat, as though, indeed, his whole dream of anintellectual, evangelical Pope, disentangled from all low superstition, were crumbling away. And just then his eyes met those of Nani, who fromthe outset had been watching him with the inquisitive air of a man who ismaking an experiment. 

"That banner is superb, isn't it?" said Nani, drawing near. "How it mustplease his Holiness to be so nicely painted in company with so pretty avirgin. " And as the young priest, turning pale, did not reply, theprelate added, with an air of devout enjoyment: "We are very fond ofLourdes in Rome; that story of Bernadette is so delightful. "

However, the scene which followed was so extraordinary that for a longtime Pierre remained overcome by it. He had beheld never-to-be-forgottenidolatry at Lourdes, incidents of naive faith and frantic religiouspassion which yet made him quiver with alarm and grief. But the crowdsrushing on the grotto, the sick dying of divine love before the Virgin'sstatue, the multitudes delirious with the contagion of themiraculous--nothing of all that gave an idea of the blast of madnesswhich suddenly inflamed the pilgrims at the feet of the Pope. Somebishops, superiors of religious orders, and other delegates of variouskinds had stepped forward to deposit near the throne the offerings whichthey brought from the whole Catholic world, the universal "collection" ofSt. Peter's Pence. It was the voluntary tribute of the nations to theirsovereign: silver, gold, and bank notes in purses, bags, and cases. Ladies came and fell on their knees to offer silk and velvet alms-bagswhich they themselves had embroidered. Others had caused the note caseswhich they tendered to be adorned with the monogram of Leo XIII indiamonds. And at one moment the enthusiasm became so intense that severalwomen stripped themselves of their adornments, flung their own purses onto the platform, and emptied their pockets even to the very coppers theyhad about them. One lady, tall and slender, very beautiful and very dark, wrenched her watch from about her neck, pulled off her rings, and threweverything upon the carpet. Had it been possible, they would have tornaway their flesh to pluck out their love-burnt hearts and fling themlikewise to the demi-god. They would even have flung themselves, havegiven themselves without reserve. It was a rain of presents, an explosionof the passion which impels one to strip oneself for the object of one'scult, happy at having nothing of one's own that shall not belong to him. And meantime the clamour grew, vivats and shrill cries of adoration aroseamidst pushing and jostling of increased violence, one and all yieldingto the irresistible desire to kiss the idol!

But a signal was given, and Leo XIII made haste to quit the throne andtake his place in the _cortege_ in order to return to his apartments. TheSwiss Guards energetically thrust back the throng, seeking to open a waythrough the three halls. But at sight of his Holiness's departure alamentation of despair arose and spread, as if heaven had suddenly closedagain and shut out those who had not yet been able to approach. What afrightful disappointment--to have beheld the living manifestation of theDeity and to see it disappear before gaining salvation by just touchingit! So terrible became the scramble, so extraordinary the confusion, thatthe Swiss Guards were swept away. And ladies were seen to dart after thePope, to drag themselves on all fours over the marble slabs and kiss hisfootprints and lap up the dust of his steps! The tall dark lady suddenlyfell at the edge of the platform, raised a loud shriek, and fainted; andtwo gentlemen of the committee had to hold her so that she might not doherself an injury in the convulsions of the hysterical fit which had comeupon her. Another, a plump blonde, was wildly, desperately kissing one ofthe golden arms of the throne-chair, on which the old man's poor, bonyelbow had just rested. And others, on seeing her, came to disputepossession, seized both arms, gilding and velvet, and pressed theirmouths to wood-work or upholstery, their bodies meanwhile shaking withtheir sobs. Force had to be employed in order to drag them away. 

When it was all over Pierre went off, emerging as it were from a painfuldream, sick at heart, and with his mind revolting. And again heencountered Nani's glance, which never left him. "It was a superbceremony, was it not?" said the prelate. "It consoles one for manyiniquities. "

"Yes, no doubt; but what idolatry!" the young priest murmured despitehimself. 

Nani, however, merely smiled, as if he had not heard the last word. Atthat same moment the two French ladies whom he had provided with ticketscame up to thank him, and. Pierre was surprised to recognise the motherand daughter whom he had met at the Catacombs. Charming, bright, andhealthy as they were, their enthusiasm was only for the spectacle: theydeclared that they were well pleased at having seen it--that it wasreally astonishing, unique. 

As the crowd slowly withdrew Pierre all at once felt a tap on hisshoulder, and, on turning his head, perceived Narcisse Habert, who alsowas very enthusiastic. "I made signs to you, my dear Abbe, " said he, "butyou didn't see me. Ah! how superb was the expression of that dark womanwho fell rigid beside the platform with her arms outstretched. Shereminded me of a masterpiece of one of the primitives, Cimabue, Giotto, or Fra Angelico. And the others, those who devoured the chair arms withtheir kisses, what suavity, beauty, and love! I never miss theseceremonies: there are always some fine scenes, perfect pictures, in whichsouls reveal themselves. "

The long stream of pilgrims slowly descended the stairs, and Pierre, followed by Nani and Narcisse, who had begun to chat, tried to bring theideas which were tumultuously throbbing in his brain into something likeorder. There was certainly grandeur and beauty in that Pope who had shuthimself up in his Vatican, and who, the more he became a purely moral, spiritual authority, freed from all terrestrial cares, had grown in theadoration and awe of mankind. Such a flight into the ideal deeply stirredPierre, whose dream of rejuvenated Christianity rested on the idea of thesupreme Head of the Church exercising only a purified, spiritualauthority. He had just seen what an increase of majesty and power was inthat way gained by the Supreme Pontiff of the spheres beyond, at whosefeet the women fainted, and behind whom they beheld a vision of theDeity. But at the same moment the pecuniary side of the question hadrisen before him and spoilt his joy. If the enforced relinquishment ofthe temporal power had exalted the Pope by freeing him from the worriesof a petty sovereignty which was ever threatened, the need of money stillremained like a chain about his feet tying him to earth. As he could notaccept the proffered subvention of the Italian Government, * there wascertainly in the Peter's Pence a means of placing the Holy See above allmaterial cares, provided, however, that this Peter's Pence were reallythe Catholic _sou_, the mite of each believer, levied on his daily incomeand sent direct to Rome. Such a voluntary tribute paid by the flock toits pastor would, moreover, suffice for the wants of the Church if eachof the 250, 000, 000 of Catholics gave his or her _sou_ every week. In thiswise the Pope, indebted to each and all of his children, would beindebted to none in particular. A _sou_ was so little and so easy togive, and there was also something so touching about the idea. But, unhappily, things were not worked in that way; the great majority ofCatholics gave nothing whatever, while the rich ones sent large sums frommotives of political passion; and a particular objection was that thegifts were centralised in the hands of certain bishops and religiousorders, so that these became ostensibly the benefactors of the papacy, the indispensable cashiers from whom it drew the sinews of life. Thelowly and humble whose mites filled the collection boxes were, so to say, suppressed, and the Pope became dependent on the intermediaries, and wascompelled to act cautiously with them, listen to their remonstrances, andeven at times obey their passions, lest the stream of gifts shouldsuddenly dry up. And so, although he was disburdened of the dead weightof the temporal power, he was not free; but remained the tributary of hisclergy, with interests and appetites around him which he must needssatisfy. And Pierre remembered the "Grotto of Lourdes" in the Vaticangardens, and the banner which he had just seen, and he knew that theLourdes fathers levied 200, 000 francs a year on their receipts to sendthem as a present to the Holy Father. Was not that the chief reason oftheir great power? He quivered, and suddenly became conscious that, dowhat he might, he would be defeated, and his book would be condemned. 

 * 110, 000 pounds per annum. It has never been accepted, and the accumulations lapse to the Government every five years, and cannot afterwards be recovered. --Trans. 

At last, as he was coming out on to the Piazza of St. Peter's, he heardNarcisse asking Monsignor Nani: "Indeed! Do you really think thatto-day's gifts exceeded that figure?"

"Yes, more than three millions, * I'm convinced of it, " the prelatereplied. 

 * All the amounts given on this and the following pages are calculated in francs. The reader will bear in mind that a million francs is equivalent to 40, 000 pounds. --Trans. 

For a moment the three men halted under the right-hand colonnade andgazed at the vast, sunlit piazza where the pilgrims were spreading outlike little black specks hurrying hither and thither--an ant-hill, as itwere, in revolution. 

Three millions! The words had rung in Pierre's ears. And, raising hishead, he gazed at the Vatican, all golden in the sunlight against theexpanse of blue sky, as if he wished to penetrate its walls and followthe steps of Leo XIII returning to his apartments. He pictured him ladenwith those millions, with his weak, slender arms pressed to his breast, carrying the silver, the gold, the bank notes, and even the jewels whichthe women had flung him. And almost unconsciously the young priest spokealoud: "What will he do with those millions? Where is he taking them?"

Narcisse and even Nani could not help being amused by this strangelyexpressed curiosity. It was the young _attache_ who replied. "Why, hisHoliness is taking them to his room; or, at least, is having them carriedthere before him. Didn't you see two persons of his suite picking upeverything and filling their pockets? And now his Holiness has shuthimself up quite alone; and if you could see him you would find himcounting and recounting his treasure with cheerful care, ranging therolls of gold in good order, slipping the bank notes into envelopes inequal quantities, and then putting everything away in hiding-places whichare only known to himself. "

While his companion was speaking Pierre again raised his eyes to thewindows of the Pope's apartments, as if to follow the scene. Moreover, Narcisse gave further explanations, asserting that the money was put awayin a certain article of furniture, standing against the right-hand wallin the Holy Father's bedroom. Some people, he added, also spoke of awriting table or secretaire with deep drawers; and others declared thatthe money slumbered in some big padlocked trunks stored away in thedepths of the alcove, which was very roomy. Of course, on the left sideof the passage leading to the Archives there was a large room occupied bya general cashier and a monumental safe; but the funds kept there weresimply those of the Patrimony of St. Peter, the administrative receiptsof Rome; whereas the Peter's Pence money, the voluntary donations ofChristendom, remained in the hands of Leo XIII: he alone knew the exactamount of that fund, and lived alone with its millions, which he disposedof like an absolute master, rendering account to none. And such was hisprudence that he never left his room when the servants cleaned and set itin order. At the utmost he would consent to remain on the threshold ofthe adjoining apartment in order to escape the dust. And whenever hemeant to absent himself for a few hours, to go down into the gardens, forinstance, he double-locked the doors and carried the keys away with him, never confiding them to another. 

At this point Narcisse paused and, turning to Nani, inquired: "Is notthat so, Monsignor? These are things known to all Rome. "

The prelate, ever smiling and wagging his head without expressing eitherapproval or disapproval, had begun to study on Pierre's face the effectof these curious stories. "No doubt, no doubt, " he responded; "so manythings are said! I know nothing myself, but you seem to be certain of itall, Monsieur Habert. "

"Oh!" resumed the other, "I don't accuse his Holiness of sordid avarice, such as is rumoured. Some fabulous stories are current, stories ofcoffers full of gold in which the Holy Father is said to plunge his handsfor hours at a time; treasures which he has heaped up in corners for thesole pleasure of counting them over and over again. Nevertheless, one maywell admit that his Holiness is somewhat fond of money for its own sake, for the pleasure of handling it and setting it in order when he happensto be alone--and after all that is a very excusable mania in an old manwho has no other pastime. But I must add that he is yet fonder of moneyfor the social power which it brings, the decisive help which it willgive to the Holy See in the future, if the latter desires to triumph. "

These words evoked the lofty figure of a wise and prudent Pope, consciousof modern requirements, inclined to utilise the powers of the century inorder to conquer it, and for this reason venturing on business andspeculation. As it happened, the treasure bequeathed by Pius IX hadnearly been lost in a financial disaster, but ever since that time LeoXIII had sought to repair the breach and make the treasure whole again, in order that he might leave it to his successor intact and evenenlarged. Economical he certainly was, but he saved for the needs of theChurch, which, as he knew, increased day by day; and money was absolutelynecessary if Atheism was to be met and fought in the sphere of theschools, institutions, and associations of all sorts. Without money, indeed, the Church would become a vassal at the mercy of the civilpowers, the Kingdom of Italy and other Catholic states; and so, althoughhe liberally helped every enterprise which might contribute to thetriumph of the Faith, Leo XIII had a contempt for all expenditure withoutan object, and treated himself and others with stern closeness. Personally, he had no needs. At the outset of his pontificate he had sethis small private patrimony apart from the rich patrimony of St. Peter, refusing to take aught from the latter for the purpose of assisting hisrelatives. Never had pontiff displayed less nepotism: his three nephewsand his two nieces had remained poor--in fact, in great pecuniaryembarrassment. Still he listened neither to complaints nor accusations, but remained inflexible, proudly resolved to bequeath the sinews of life, the invincible weapon money, to the popes of future times, and thereforevigorously defending the millions of the Holy See against the desperatecovetousness of one and all. 

"But, after all, what are the receipts and expenses of the Holy See?"inquired Pierre. 

In all haste Nani again made his amiable, evasive gesture. "Oh! I amaltogether ignorant in such matters, " he replied. "Ask Monsieur Habert, who is so well informed. "

"For my part, " responded the _attache_, "I simply know what is known toall the embassies here, the matters which are the subject of commonreport. With respect to the receipts there is, first of all, the treasureleft by Pius IX, some twenty millions, invested in various ways andformerly yielding about a million a year in interest. But, as I saidbefore, a disaster happened, and there must then have been a falling offin the income. Still, nowadays it is reported that nearly alldeficiencies have been made good. Well, besides the regular income fromthe invested money, a few hundred thousand francs are derived every yearfrom chancellery dues, patents of nobility, and all sorts of little feespaid to the Congregations. However, as the annual expenses exceed sevenmillions, it has been necessary to find quite six millions every year;and certainly it is the Peter's Pence Fund that has supplied, not the sixmillions, perhaps, but three or four of them, and with these the Holy Seehas speculated in the hope of doubling them and making both ends meet. Itwould take me too long just now to relate the whole story of thesespeculations, the first huge gains, then the catastrophe which almostswept everything away, and finally the stubborn perseverance which isgradually supplying all deficiencies. However, if you are anxious on thesubject, I will one day tell you all about it. "

Pierre had listened with deep interest. "Six millions--even four!" heexclaimed, "what does the Peter's Pence Fund bring in, then?"

"Oh! I can only repeat that nobody has ever known the exact figures. Informer times the Catholic Press published lists giving the amounts ofdifferent offerings, and in this way one could frame an approximateestimate. But the practice must have been considered unadvisable, for nodocuments nowadays appear, and it is absolutely impossible for people toform any real idea of what the Pope receives. He alone knows the correctamount, keeps the money, and disposes of it with absolute authority. Still I believe that in good years the offerings have amounted to betweenfour and five millions. Originally France contributed one-half of thesum; but nowadays it certainly gives much less. Then come Belgium andAustria, England and Germany. As for Spain and Italy--oh! Italy--"

Narcisse paused and smiled at Monsignor Nani, who was wagging his headwith the air of a man delighted at learning some extremely curious thingsof which he had previously had no idea. 

"Oh, you may proceed, you may proceed, my dear son, " said he. 

"Well, then, Italy scarcely distinguishes itself. If the Pope had toprovide for his living out of the gifts of the Italian Catholics therewould soon be a famine at the Vatican. Far from helping him, indeed, theRoman nobility has cost him dear; for one of the chief causes of hispecuniary losses was his folly in lending money to the princes whospeculated. It is really only from France and England that rich people, noblemen and so forth, have sent royal gifts to the imprisoned andmartyred Pontiff. Among others there was an English nobleman who came toRome every year with a large offering, the outcome of a vow which he hadmade in the hope that Heaven would cure his unhappy idiot son. And, ofcourse, I don't refer to the extraordinary harvest garnered during thesacerdotal and the episcopal jubilees--the forty millions which then fellat his Holiness's feet. "

"And the expenses?" asked Pierre. 

"Well, as I told you, they amount to about seven millions. We may reckontwo of them for the pensions paid to former officials of the pontificalgovernment who were unwilling to take service under Italy; but I must addthat this source of expense is diminishing every year as people die offand their pensions become extinguished. Then, broadly speaking, we mayput down one million for the Italian sees, another for the Secretariateand the Nunciatures, and another for the Vatican. In this last sum Iinclude the expenses of the pontifical Court, the military establishment, the museums, and the repair of the palace and the Basilica. Well, we havereached five millions, and the two others may be set down for the varioussubsidised enterprises, the Propaganda, and particularly the schools, which Leo XIII, with great practical good sense, subsidises veryhandsomely, for he is well aware that the battle and the triumph be inthat direction--among the children who will be men to-morrow, and whowill then defend their mother the Church, provided that they have beeninspired with horror for the abominable doctrines of the age. "

A spell of silence ensued, and the three men slowly paced the majesticcolonnade. The swarming crowd had gradually disappeared, leaving thepiazza empty, so that only the obelisk and the twin fountains now arosefrom the burning desert of symmetrical paving; whilst on the entablatureof the porticus across the square a noble line of motionless statuesstood out in the bright sunlight. And Pierre, with his eyes still raisedto the Pope's windows, again fancied that he could see Leo XIII amidstall the streaming gold that had been spoken of, his whole, white, purefigure, his poor, waxen, transparent form steeped amidst those millionswhich he hid and counted and expended for the glory of God alone. "Andso, " murmured the young priest, "he has no anxiety, he is not in anypecuniary embarrassment. "

"Pecuniary embarrassment!" exclaimed Monsignor Nani, his patience sosorely tried by the remark that he could no longer retain his diplomaticreserve. "Oh! my dear son! Why, when Cardinal Mocenni, the treasurer, goes to his Holiness every month, his Holiness always gives him the sumhe asks for; he would give it, and be able to give it, however large itmight be! His Holiness has certainly had the wisdom to effect greateconomies; the Treasure of St. Peter is larger than ever. Pecuniaryembarrassment, indeed! Why, if a misfortune should occur, and theSovereign Pontiff were to make a direct appeal to all his children, theCatholics of the entire world, do you know that in that case a thousandmillions would fall at his feet just like the gold and the jewels whichyou saw raining on the steps of his throne just now?" Then suddenlycalming himself and recovering his pleasant smile, Nani added: "At least, that is what I sometimes hear said; for, personally, I know nothing, absolutely nothing; and it is fortunate that Monsieur Habert should havebeen here to give you information. Ah! Monsieur Habert, Monsieur Habert!Why, I fancied that you were always in the skies absorbed in your passionfor art, and far removed from all base mundane interests! But you reallyunderstand these things like a banker or a notary. Nothing escapes you, nothing. It is wonderful. "

Narcisse must have felt the sting of the prelate's delicate sarcasm. Atbottom, beneath this make-believe Florentine all-angelicalness, with longcurly hair and mauve eyes which grew dim with rapture at sight of aBotticelli, there was a thoroughly practical, business-like young man, who took admirable care of his fortune and was even somewhat miserly. However, he contented himself with lowering his eyelids and assuming alanguorous air. "Oh!" said he, "I'm all reverie; my soul is elsewhere. "

"At all events, " resumed Nani, turning towards Pierre, "I am very gladthat you were able to see such a beautiful spectacle. A few more suchopportunities and you will understand things far better than you wouldfrom all the explanations in the world. Don't miss the grand ceremony atSt. Peter's to-morrow. It will be magnificent, and will give you food foruseful reflection; I'm sure of it. And now allow me to leave you, delighted at seeing you in such a fit frame of mind. "

Darting a last glance at Pierre, Nani seemed to have observed withpleasure the weariness and uncertainty which were paling his face. Andwhen the prelate had gone off, and Narcisse also had taken leave with agentle hand-shake, the young priest felt the ire of protest rising withinhim. What fit frame of mind did Nani mean? Did that man hope to weary himand drive him to despair by throwing him into collision with obstacles, so that he might afterwards overcome him with perfect ease? For thesecond time Pierre became suddenly and briefly conscious of the stealthyefforts which were being made to invest and crush him. But, believing ashe did in his own strength of resistance, pride filled him with disdain. Again he swore that he would never yield, never withdraw his book, nomatter what might happen. And then, before crossing the piazza, he oncemore raised his eyes to the windows of the Vatican, all his impressionscrystallising in the thought of that much-needed money which like a lastbond still attached the Pope to earth. Its chief evil doubtless lay inthe manner in which it was provided; and if indeed the only question wereto devise an improved method of collection, his dream of a pope whoshould be all soul, the bond of love, the spiritual leader of the world, would not be seriously affected. At this thought, Pierre felt comfortedand was unwilling to look on things otherwise than hopefully, moved as hewas by the extraordinary scene which he had just beheld, that feeble oldman shining forth like the symbol of human deliverance, obeyed andvenerated by the multitudes, and alone among all men endowed with themoral omnipotence that might at last set the reign of charity and peaceon earth. 

For the ceremony on the following day, it was fortunate that Pierre helda private ticket which admitted him to a reserved gallery, for thescramble at the entrances to the Basilica proved terrible. The mass, which the Pope was to celebrate in person, was fixed for ten o'clock, butpeople began to pour into St. Peter's four hours earlier, as soon, indeed, as the gates had been thrown open. The three thousand members ofthe International Pilgrimage were increased tenfold by the arrival of allthe tourists in Italy, who had hastened to Rome eager to witness one ofthose great pontifical functions which nowadays are so rare. Moreover, the devotees and partisans whom the Holy See numbered in Rome itself andin other great cities of the kingdom, helped to swell the throng, allalacrity at the prospect of a demonstration. Judging by the ticketsdistributed, there would be a concourse of 40, 000 people. And, indeed, atnine o'clock, when Pierre crossed the piazza on his way to the Canons'Entrance in the Via Santa Marta, where the holders of pink tickets wereadmitted, he saw the portico of the facade still thronged with people whowere but slowly gaining admittance, while several gentlemen in eveningdress, members of some Catholic association, bestirred themselves tomaintain order with the help of a detachment of Pontifical Guards. Nevertheless, violent quarrels broke out in the crowd, and blows wereexchanged amidst the involuntary scramble. Some people were almoststifled, and two women were carried off half crushed to death. 

A disagreeable surprise met Pierre on his entry into the Basilica. Thehuge edifice was draped; coverings of old red damask with bands of goldswathed the columns and pilasters, seventy-five feet high; even theaisles were hung with the same old and faded silk; and the shrouding ofthose pompous marbles, of all the superb dazzling ornamentation of thechurch bespoke a very singular taste, a tawdry affectation of pomposity, extremely wretched in its effect. However, he was yet more amazed onseeing that even the statue of St. Peter was clad, costumed like a livingpope in sumptuous pontifical vestments, with a tiara on its metal head. He had never imagined that people could garment statues either for theirglory or for the pleasure of the eyes, and the result seemed to himdisastrous. 

The Pope was to say mass at the papal altar of the Confession, the highaltar which stands under the dome. On a platform at the entrance of theleft-hand transept was the throne on which he would afterwards take hisplace. Then, on either side of the nave, tribunes had been erected forthe choristers of the Sixtine Chapel, the Corps Diplomatique, the Knightsof Malta, the Roman nobility, and other guests of various kinds. And, finally, in the centre, before the altar, there were three rows ofbenches covered with red rugs, the first for the cardinals and the othertwo for the bishops and the prelates of the pontifical court. All therest of the congregation was to remain standing. 

Ah! that huge concert-audience, those thirty, forty thousand believersfrom here, there, and everywhere, inflamed with curiosity, passion, orfaith, bestirring themselves, jostling one another, rising on tip-toe tosee the better! The clamour of a human sea arose, the crowd was as gayand familiar as if it had found itself in some heavenly theatre where itwas allowable for one to chat aloud and recreate oneself with thespectacle of religious pomp! At first Pierre was thunderstruck, he whoonly knew of nervous, silent kneeling in the depths of dim cathedrals, who was not accustomed to that religion of light, whose brilliancytransformed a religious celebration into a morning festivity. Around him, in the same tribune as himself, were gentlemen in dress-coats and ladiesgowned in black, carrying glasses as in an opera-house. There were Germanand English women, and numerous Americans, all more or less charming, displaying the grace of thoughtless, chirruping birds. In the tribune ofthe Roman nobility on the left he recognised Benedetta and DonnaSerafina, and there the simplicity of the regulation attire for ladieswas relieved by large lace veils rivalling one another in richness andelegance. Then on the right was the tribune of the Knights of Malta, where the Grand Master stood amidst a group of commanders: while acrossthe nave rose the diplomatic tribune where Pierre perceived theambassadors of all the Catholic nations, resplendent in gala uniformscovered with gold lace. However, the young priest's eyes were everreturning to the crowd, the great surging throng in which the threethousand pilgrims were lost amidst the multitude of other spectators. Andyet as the Basilica was so vast that it could easily contain eightythousand people, it did not seem to be more than half full. People cameand went along the aisles and took up favourable positions withoutimpediment. Some could be seen gesticulating, and calls rang out abovethe ceaseless rumble of voices. From the lofty windows of plain whiteglass fell broad sheets of sunlight, which set a gory glow upon the fadeddamask hangings, and these cast a reflection as of fire upon all thetumultuous, feverish, impatient faces. The multitude of candles, and theseven-and-eighty lamps of the Confession paled to such a degree that theyseemed but glimmering night-lights in the blinding radiance; andeverything proclaimed the worldly gala of the imperial Deity of Romanpomp. 

All at once there came a premature shock of delight, a false alert. Criesburst forth and circulated through the crowd: "Eccolo! eccolo! Here hecomes!" And then there was pushing and jostling, eddying which made thehuman sea whirl and surge, all craning their necks, raising themselves totheir full height, darting forward in a frenzied desire to see the HolyFather and the _cortege_. But only a detachment of Noble Guards marchedby and took up position right and left of the altar. A flattering murmuraccompanied them, their fine impassive bearing with its exaggeratedmilitary stiffness, provoking the admiration of the throng. An Americanwoman declared that they were superb-looking fellows; and a Roman ladygave an English friend some particulars about the select corps to whichthey belonged. Formerly, said she, young men of the aristocracy hadgreatly sought the honour of forming part of it, for the sake of wearingits rich uniform and caracoling in front of the ladies. But recruitingwas now such a difficult matter that one had to content oneself withgood-looking young men of doubtful or ruined nobility, whose only carewas for the meagre "pay" which just enabled them to live. 

When another quarter of an hour of chatting and scrutinising had elapsed, the papal _cortege_ at last made its appearance, and no sooner was itseen than applause burst forth as in a theatre--furious applause it waswhich rose and rolled along under the vaulted ceilings, suggesting theacclamations which ring out when some popular, idolised actor makes hisentry on the stage. As in a theatre, too, everything had been veryskilfully contrived so as to produce all possible effect amidst themagnificent scenery of the Basilica. The _cortege_ was formed in thewings, that is in the Cappella della Pieta, the first chapel of the rightaisle, and in order to reach it, the Holy Father, coming from hisapartments by the way of the Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament, had beenstealthily carried behind the hangings of the aisle which served thepurpose of a drop-scene. Awaiting him in all readiness in the Cappelladella Pieta were the cardinals, archbishops, and bishops, the wholepontifical prelacy, hierarchically classified and grouped. And then, asat a signal from a ballet master, the _cortege_ made its entry, reachingthe nave and ascending it in triumph from the closed Porta Santa to thealtar of the Confession. On either hand were the rows of spectators whoseapplause at the sight of so much magnificence grew louder and louder astheir delirious enthusiasm increased. 

It was the _cortege_ of the olden solemnities, the cross and sword, theSwiss Guard in full uniform, the valets in scarlet simars, the Knights ofthe Cape and the Sword in Renascence costumes, the Canons in rochets oflace, the superiors of the religious communities, the apostolicprothonotaries, the archbishops, and bishops, all the pontifical prelatesin violet silk, the cardinals, each wearing the _cappa magna_ and drapedin purple, walking solemnly two by two with long intervals between eachpair. Finally, around his Holiness were grouped the officers of themilitary household, the chamber prelates, Monsignor the Majordomo, Monsignor the Grand Chamberlain, and all the other high dignitaries ofthe Vatican, with the Roman prince assistant of the throne, thetraditional, symbolical defender of the Church. And on the _sediagestatoria_, screened by the _flabelli_ with their lofty triumphal fansof feathers and carried on high by the bearers in red tunics broideredwith silk, sat the Pope, clad in the sacred vestments which he hadassumed in the Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament, the amict, the alb, thestole, and the white chasuble and white mitre enriched with gold, twogifts of extraordinary sumptuousness that had come from France. And, ashis Holiness drew near, all hands were raised and clapped yet more loudlyamidst the waves of living sunlight which streamed from the loftywindows. 

Then a new and different impression of Leo XIII came to Pierre. The Pope, as he now beheld him, was no longer the familiar, tired, inquisitive oldman, leaning on the arm of a talkative prelate as he strolled through theloveliest gardens in the world. He no longer recalled the Holy Father, inred cape and papal cap, giving a paternal welcome to a pilgrimage whichbrought him a fortune. He was here the Sovereign Pontiff, theall-powerful Master whom Christendom adored. His slim waxen form seemedto have stiffened within his white vestments, heavy with golden broidery, as in a reliquary of precious metal; and he retained a rigid, haughty, hieratic attitude, like that of some idol, gilded, withered for centuriespast by the smoke of sacrifices. Amidst the mournful stiffness of hisface only his eyes lived--eyes like black sparkling diamonds gazing afar, beyond earth, into the infinite. He gave not a glance to the crowd, helowered his eyes neither to right nor to left, but remained soaring inthe heavens, ignoring all that took place at his feet. 

And as that seemingly embalmed idol, deaf and blind, in spite of thebrilliancy of his eyes, was carried through the frantic multitude whichit appeared neither to hear nor to see, it assumed fearsome majesty, disquieting grandeur, all the rigidity of dogma, all the immobility oftradition exhumed with its _fascioe_ which alone kept it erect. StillPierre fancied he could detect that the Pope was ill and weary, sufferingfrom the attack of fever which Nani had spoken of when glorifying thecourage of that old man of eighty-four, whom strength of soul alone nowkept alive. 

The service began. Alighting from the _sedia gestatoria_ before the altarof the Confession, his Holiness slowly celebrated a low mass, assisted byfour prelates and the pro-prefect of the ceremonies. When the time camefor washing his fingers, Monsignor the Majordomo and Monsignor the GrandChamberlain, accompanied by two cardinals, poured the water on his augusthands; and shortly before the elevation of the host all the prelates ofthe pontifical court, each holding a lighted taper, came and knelt aroundthe altar. There was a solemn moment, the forty thousand believers thereassembled shuddered as if they could feel the terrible yet deliciousblast of the invisible sweeping over them when during the elevation thesilver clarions sounded the famous chorus of angels which invariablymakes some women swoon. Almost immediately an aerial chant descended fromthe cupola, from a lofty gallery where one hundred and twenty choristerswere concealed, and the enraptured multitude marvelled as though theangels had indeed responded to the clarion call. The voices descended, taking their flight under the vaulted ceilings with the airy sweetness ofcelestial harps; then in suave harmony they died away, reascended to theheavens as with a faint flapping of wings. And, after the mass, hisHoliness, still standing at the altar, in person started the _Te Deum_, which the singers of the Sixtine Chapel and the other choristers took up, each party chanting a verse alternately. But soon the whole congregationjoined them, forty thousand voices were raised, and a hymn of joy andglory spread through the vast nave with incomparable splendour of effect. And then the scene became one of extraordinary magnificence: there wasBernini's triumphal, flowery, gilded _baldacchino_, surrounded by thewhole pontifical court with the lighted tapers showing like starryconstellations, there was the Sovereign Pontiff in the centre, radiantlike a planet in his gold-broidered chasuble, there were the benchescrowded with cardinals in purple and archbishops and bishops in violetsilk, there were the tribunes glittering with official finery, the goldlace of the diplomatists, the variegated uniforms of foreign officers, and then there was the throng flowing and eddying on all sides, rollingbillows after billows of heads from the most distant depths of theBasilica. And the hugeness of the temple increased one's amazement; andeven the glorious hymn which the multitude repeated became colossal, ascended like a tempest blast amidst the great marble tombs, thesuperhuman statues and gigantic pillars, till it reached the vast vaultedheavens of stone, and penetrated into the firmament of the cupola wherethe Infinite seemed to open resplendent with the gold-work of themosaics. 

A long murmur of voices followed the _Te Deum_, whilst Leo XIII, afterdonning the tiara in lieu of the mitre, and exchanging the chasuble forthe pontifical cope, went to occupy his throne on the platform at theentry of the left transept. He thence dominated the whole assembly, through which a quiver sped when after the prayers of the ritual, he oncemore rose erect. Beneath the symbolic, triple crown, in the goldensheathing of his cope, he seemed to have grown taller. Amidst sudden andprofound silence, which only feverish heart-beats interrupted, he raisedhis arm with a very noble gesture and pronounced the papal benediction ina slow, loud, full voice, which seemed, as it were, the very voice of theDeity, so greatly did its power astonish one, coming from such waxenlips, from such a bloodless, lifeless frame. And the effect wasprodigious: as soon as the _cortege_ reformed to return whence it hadcome, applause again burst forth, a frenzy of enthusiasm which theclapping of hands could no longer content. Acclamations resounded andgradually gained upon the whole multitude. They began among a group ofardent partisans stationed near the statue of St. Peter: _"Evviva ilPapa-Re! evviva il Papa-Re_! Long live the Pope-King!" as the _cortege_went by the shout rushed along like leaping fire, inflaming heart afterheart, and at last springing from every mouth in a thunderous protestagainst the theft of the states of the Church. All the faith, all thelove of those believers, overexcited by the regal spectacle they had justbeheld, returned once more to the dream, to the rageful desire that thePope should be both King and Pontiff, master of men's bodies as he was oftheir souls--in one word, the absolute sovereign of the earth. Thereinlay the only truth, the only happiness, the only salvation! Let all begiven to him, both mankind and the world! "_Evviva il Papa-Re! evviva ilPapa-Re_! Long live the Pope-King!"

Ah! that cry, that cry of war which had caused so many errors and so muchbloodshed, that cry of self-abandonment and blindness which, realised, would have brought back the old ages of suffering, it shocked Pierre, andimpelled him in all haste to quit the tribune where he was in order thathe might escape the contagion of idolatry. And while the _cortege_ stillwent its way and the deafening clamour of the crowd continued, he for amoment followed the left aisle amidst the general scramble. This, however, made him despair of reaching the street, and anxious to escapethe crush of the general departure, it occurred to him to profit by adoor which he saw open and which led him into a vestibule, whenceascended the steps conducting to the dome. A sacristan standing in thedoorway, both bewildered and delighted at the demonstration, looked athim for a moment, hesitating whether he should stop him or not. However, the sight of the young priest's cassock combined with his own emotionrendered the man tolerant. Pierre was allowed to pass, and at once beganto climb the staircase as rapidly as he could, in order that he mightflee farther and farther away, ascend higher and yet higher into peaceand silence. 

And the silence suddenly became profound, the walls stifled the cry ofthe multitude. The staircase was easy and light, with broad paved stepsturning within a sort of tower. When Pierre came out upon the roofs ofnave and aisles, he was delighted to find himself in the bright sunlightand the pure keen air which blew there as in the open country. And it waswith astonishment that he gazed upon the huge expanse of lead, zinc, andstone-work, a perfect aerial city living a life of its own under the bluesky. He saw cupolas, spires, terraces, even houses and gardens, housesbright with flowers, the residences of the workmen who live atop of theBasilica, which is ever and ever requiring repair. A little populationhere bestirs itself, labours, loves, eats, and sleeps. However, Pierredesired to approach the balustrade so as to get a near view of thecolossal statues of the Saviour and the Apostles which surmount thefacade on the side of the piazza. These giants, some nineteen feet inheight, are constantly being mended; their arms, legs, and heads, intowhich the atmosphere is ever eating, nowadays only hold together by thehelp of cement, bars, and hooks. And having examined them, Pierre wasleaning forward to glance at the Vatican's jumble of ruddy roofs, when itseemed to him that the shout from which he had fled was rising from thepiazza, and thereupon, in all haste, he resumed his ascent within thepillar conducting to the dome. There was first a staircase, and then camesome narrow, oblique passages, inclines intersected by a few steps, between the inner and outer walls of the cupola. Yielding to curiosity, Pierre pushed a door open, and suddenly found himself inside the Basilicaagain, at nearly 200 feet from the ground. A narrow gallery there ranround the dome just above the frieze, on which, in letters five feethigh, appeared the famous inscription: _Tu es Petrus et super hanc petramoedificabo ecclesiam meam et tibi dabo claves regni coelorum. _* And then, as Pierre leant over to gaze into the fearful cavity beneath him and thewide openings of nave, and aisles, and transepts, the cry, the deliriouscry of the multitude, yet clamorously swarming below, struck him full inthe face. He fled once more; but, higher up, yet a second time he pushedanother door open and found another gallery, one perched above thewindows, just where the splendid mosaics begin, and whence the crowdseemed to him lost in the depths of a dizzy abyss, altar and_baldacchino_ alike looking no larger than toys. And yet the cry ofidolatry and warfare arose again, and smote him like the buffet of atempest which gathers increase of strength the farther it rushes. So toescape it he had to climb higher still, even to the outer gallery whichencircles the lantern, hovering in the very heavens. 

 * Thou art Peter (Petrus) and on that rock (Petram) will I build my church, and to thee will I give the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven. 

How delightful was the relief which that bath of air and sunlight atfirst brought him! Above him now there only remained the ball of giltcopper into which emperors and queens have ascended, as is testified bythe pompous inscriptions in the passages; a hollow ball it is, where thevoice crashes like thunder, where all the sounds of space reverberate. Ashe emerged on the side of the apse, his eyes at first plunged into thepapal gardens, whose clumps of trees seemed mere bushes almost level withthe soil; and he could retrace his recent stroll among them, the broad_parterre_ looking like a faded Smyrna rug, the large wood showing thedeep glaucous greenery of a stagnant pool. Then there were the kitchengarden and the vineyard easily identified and tended with care. Thefountains, the observatory, the casino, where the Pope spent the hot daysof summer, showed merely like little white spots in those undulatinggrounds, walled in like any other estate, but with the fearsome rampartof the fourth Leo, which yet retained its fortress-like aspect. However, Pierre took his way round the narrow gallery and abruptly found himselfin front of Rome, a sudden and immense expanse, with the distant sea onthe west, the uninterrupted mountain chains on the east and the south, the Roman Campagna stretching to the horizon like a bare and greenishdesert, while the city, the Eternal City, was spread out at his feet. Never before had space impressed him so majestically. Rome was there, asa bird might see it, within the glance, as distinct as some geographicalplan executed in relief. To think of it, such a past, such a history, somuch grandeur, and Rome so dwarfed and contracted by distance! Houses aslilliputian and as pretty as toys; and the whole a mere mouldy speck uponthe earth's face! What impassioned Pierre was that he could at a glanceunderstand the divisions of Rome: the antique city yonder with theCapitol, the Forum, and the Palatine; the papal city in that Borgo whichhe overlooked, with St. Peter's and the Vatican gazing across the city ofthe middle ages--which was huddled together in the right angle describedby the yellow Tiber--towards the modern city, the Quirinal of the Italianmonarchy. And particularly did he remark the chalky girdle with which thenew districts encompassed the ancient, central, sun-tanned quarters, thussymbolising an effort at rejuvenescence, the old heart but slowly mended, whereas the outlying limbs were renewed as if by miracle. 

In that ardent noontide glow, however, Pierre no longer beheld the pureethereal Rome which had met his eyes on the morning of his arrival in thedelightfully soft radiance of the rising sun. That smiling, unobtrusivecity, half veiled by golden mist, immersed as it were in some dream ofchildhood, now appeared to him flooded with a crude light, motionless, hard of outline and silent like death. The distance was as if devoured bytoo keen a flame, steeped in a luminous dust in which it crumbled. Andagainst that blurred background the whole city showed with violentdistinctness in great patches of light and shade, their tracery harshlyconspicuous. One might have fancied oneself above some very ancient, abandoned stone quarry, which a few clumps of trees spotted with darkgreen. Of the ancient city one could see the sunburnt tower of theCapitol, the black cypresses of the Palatine, and the ruins of the palaceof Septimius Severus, suggesting the white osseous carcase of some fossilmonster, left there by a flood. In front, was enthroned the modern citywith the long, renovated buildings of the Quirinal, whose yellow wallsstood forth with wondrous crudity amidst the vigorous crests of thegarden trees. And to right and left on the Viminal, beyond the palace, the new districts appeared like a city of chalk and plaster mottled byinnumerable windows as with a thousand touches of black ink. Then hereand there were the Pincio showing like a stagnant mere, the Villa Mediciuprearing its campanili, the castle of Sant' Angelo brown like rust, thespire of Santa Maria Maggiore aglow like a burning taper, the threechurches of the Aventine drowsy amidst verdure, the Palazzo Farnese withits summer-baked tiles showing like old gold, the domes of the Gesu, ofSant' Andrea della Valle, of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, and yet otherdomes and other domes, all in fusion, incandescent in the brazier of theheavens. And Pierre again felt a heart-pang in presence of that harsh, stern Rome, so different from the Rome of his dream, the Rome ofrejuvenescence and hope, which he had fancied he had found on his firstmorning, but which had now faded away to give place to the immutable cityof pride and domination, stubborn under the sun even unto death. 

And there on high, all alone with his thoughts, Pierre suddenlyunderstood. It was as if a dart of flaming light fell on him in thatfree, unbounded expanse where he hovered. Had it come from the ceremonywhich he had just beheld, from the frantic cry of servitude still ringingin his ears? Had it come from the spectacle of that city beneath him, that city which suggested an embalmed queen still reigning amidst thedust of her tomb? He knew not; but doubtless both had acted as factors, and at all events the light which fell upon his mind was complete: hefelt that Catholicism could not exist without the temporal power, that itmust fatally disappear whenever it should no longer be king over thisearth. A first reason of this lay in heredity, in the forces of history, the long line of the heirs of the Caesars, the popes, the great pontiffs, in whose veins the blood of Augustus, demanding the empire of the world, had never ceased to flow. Though they might reside in the Vatican theyhad come from the imperial abodes on the Palatine, from the palace ofSeptimius Severus, and throughout the centuries their policy had everpursued the dream of Roman mastery, of all the nations vanquished, submissive, and obedient to Rome. If its sovereignty were not universal, extending alike over bodies and over souls, Catholicism would lose its_raison d'etre_; for the Church cannot recognise any empire or kingdomotherwise than politically--the emperors and the kings being purely andsimply so many temporary delegates placed in charge of the nationspending the time when they shall be called upon to relinquish theirtrust. All the nations, all humanity, and the whole world belong to theChurch to whom they have been given by God. And if real and effectivepossession is not hers to-day, this is only because she yields to force, compelled to face accomplished facts, but with the formal reserve thatshe is in presence of guilty usurpation, that her possessions areunjustly withheld from her, and that she awaits the realisation of thepromises of the Christ, who, when the time shall be accomplished, willfor ever restore to her both the earth and mankind. Such is the realfuture city which time is to bring: Catholic Rome, sovereign of the worldonce more. And Rome the city forms a substantial part of the dream, Romewhose eternity has been predicted, Rome whose soil has imparted toCatholicism the inextinguishable thirst of absolute power. And thus thedestiny of the papacy is linked to that of Rome, to such a point indeedthat a pope elsewhere than at Rome would no longer be a Catholic pope. The thought of all this frightened Pierre; a great shudder passed throughhim as he leant on the light iron balustrade, gazing down into the abysswhere the stern mournful city was even now crumbling away under thefierce sun. 

There was, however, evidence of the facts which had dawned on him. IfPius IX and Leo XIII had resolved to imprison themselves in the Vatican, it was because necessity bound them to Rome. A pope is not free to leavethe city, to be the head of the Church elsewhere; and in the same way apope, however well he may understand the modern world, has not the rightto relinquish the temporal power. This is an inalienable inheritancewhich he must defend, and it is moreover a question of life, peremptory, above discussion. And thus Leo XIII has retained the title of Master ofthe temporal dominions of the Church, and this he has done the morereadily since as a cardinal--like all the members of the Sacred Collegewhen elected--he swore that he would maintain those dominions intact. Italy may hold Rome as her capital for another century or more, but thecoming popes will never cease to protest and claim their kingdom. If everan understanding should be arrived at, it must be based on the gift of astrip of territory. Formerly, when rumours of reconciliation werecurrent, was it not said that the papacy exacted, as a formal condition, the possession of at least the Leonine City with the neutralisation of aroad leading to the sea? Nothing is not enough, one cannot start fromnothing to attain to everything, whereas that Civitas Leonina, that bitof a city, would already be a little royal ground, and it would then onlybe necessary to conquer the rest, first Rome, next Italy, then theneighbouring states, and at last the whole world. Never has the Churchdespaired, even when, beaten and despoiled, she seemed to be at the lastgasp. Never will she abdicate, never will she renounce the promises ofthe Christ, for she believes in a boundless future and declares herselfto be both indestructible and eternal. Grant her but a pebble on which torest her head, and she will hope to possess, first the field in whichthat pebble lies, and then the empire in which the field is situated. Ifone pope cannot achieve the recovery of the inheritance, another pope, ten, twenty other popes will continue the work. The centuries do notcount. And this explains why an old man of eighty-four has undertakencolossal enterprises whose achievement requires several lives, certain ashe is that his successors will take his place, and that the work willever and ever be carried forward and completed. 

As these thoughts coursed through his mind, Pierre, overlooking thatancient city of glory and domination, so stubbornly clinging to itspurple, realised that he was an imbecile with his dream of a purelyspiritual pope. The notion seemed to him so different from the reality, so out of place, that he experienced a sort of shame-fraught despair. Thenew pope, consonant to the teachings of the Gospel, such as a purelyspiritual pope reigning over souls alone, would be, was virtually beyondthe ken of a Roman prelate. At thought of that papal court congealed inritual, pride, and authority, Pierre suddenly understood what horror andrepugnance such a pastor would inspire. How great must be theastonishment and contempt of the papal prelates for that singular notionof the northern mind, a pope without dominions or subjects, militaryhousehold or royal honours, a pope who would be, as it were, a spirit, exercising purely moral authority, dwelling in the depths of God'stemple, and governing the world solely with gestures of benediction anddeeds of kindliness and love! All that was but a misty Gothic inventionfor this Latin clergy, these priests of light and magnificence, who werecertainly pious and even superstitious, but who left the Deity wellsheltered within the tabernacle in order to govern in His name, accordingto what they considered the interests of Heaven. Thence it arose thatthey employed craft and artifice like mere politicians, and lived by dintof expedients amidst the great battle of human appetites, marching withthe prudent, stealthy steps of diplomatists towards the final terrestrialvictory of the Christ, who, in the person of the Pope, was one day toreign over all the nations. And how stupefied must a French prelate havebeen--a prelate like Monseigneur Bergerot, that apostle of renunciationand charity--when he lighted amidst that world of the Vatican! Howdifficult must it have been for him to understand and focus things, andafterwards how great his grief at finding himself unable to come to anyagreement with those men without country, without fatherland, those"internationals, " who were ever poring over the maps of both hemispheres, ever absorbed in schemes which were to bring them empire. Days and dayswere necessary, one needed to live in Rome, and he, Pierre himself, hadonly seen things clearly after a month's sojourn, whilst labouring underthe violent shock of the royal pomp of St. Peter's, and standing face toface with the ancient city as it slumbered heavily in the sunlight anddreamt its dream of eternity. 

But on lowering his eyes to the piazza in front of the Basilica heperceived the multitude, the 40, 000 believers streaming over the pavementlike insects. And then he thought that he could hear the cry againrising: "_Evviva il Papa-Re! evviva il Papa-Re_! Long live thePope-King!" Whilst ascending those endless staircases a moment previouslyit had seemed to him as if the colossus of stone were quivering with thefrantic shout raised beneath its ceilings. And now that he had climbedeven into cloudland that shout apparently was traversing space. If thecolossal pile beneath him still vibrated with it, was it not as with alast rise of sap within its ancient walls, a reinvigoration of thatCatholic blood which formerly had demanded that the pile should be astupendous one, the veritable king of temples, and which now was strivingto reanimate it with the powerful breath of life, and this at the veryhour when death was beginning to fall upon its over-vast, deserted naveand aisles? The crowd was still streaming forth, filling the piazza, andPierre's heart was wrung by frightful anguish, for that throng with itsshout had just swept his last hope away. On the previous afternoon, afterthe reception of the pilgrimage, he had yet been able to deceive himselfby overlooking the necessity for money which bound the Pope to earth inorder that he might see nought but the feeble old man, all spirituality, resplendent like the symbol of moral authority. But his faith in such apastor of the Gospel, free from all considerations of earthly wealth, andking of none other than a heavenly kingdom, had fled. Not only did thePeter's Pence impose hard servitude upon Leo XIII but he was also theprisoner of papal tradition--the eternal King of Rome, riveted to thesoil of Rome, unable either to quit the city or to renounce the temporalpower. The fatal end would be collapse on the spot, the dome of St. Peter's falling even as the temple of Olympian Jupiter had fallen, Catholicism strewing the grass with its ruins whilst elsewhere schismburst forth: a new faith for the new nations. Of this Pierre had agrandiose and tragical vision: he beheld his dream destroyed, his bookswept away amidst that cry which spread around him as if flying to thefour corners of the Catholic world "_Evviva il Papa-Re! evviva ilPapa-Re!_ Long live the Pope-King!" But even in that hour of the papacy'spassing triumph he already felt that the giant of gold and marble onwhich he stood was oscillating, even as totter all old and rottensocieties. 

At last he took his way down again, and a fresh shock of emotion came tohim as he reached the roofs, that sunlit expanse of lead and zinc, largeenough for the site of a town. Monsignor Nani was there, in company withthe two French ladies, the mother and the daughter, both looking veryhappy and highly amused. No doubt the prelate had good-naturedly offeredto conduct them to the dome. However, as soon as he recognised the youngpriest he went towards him: "Well, my dear son, " he inquired, "are youpleased? Have you been impressed, edified?" As he spoke, his searchingeyes dived into Pierre's soul, as if to ascertain the present result ofhis experiments. Then, satisfied with what he detected, he began to laughsoftly: "Yes, yes, I see--come, you are a sensible fellow after all. Ibegin to think that the unfortunate affair which brought you here willhave a happy ending. "

VIII. 

WHEN Pierre remained in the morning at the Boccanera mansion he oftenspent some hours in the little neglected garden which had formerly endedwith a sort of colonnaded _loggia_, whence two flights of steps descendedto the Tiber. This garden was a delightful, solitary nook, perfumed bythe ripe fruit of the centenarian orange-trees, whose symmetrical lineswere the only indication of the former pathways, now hidden beneath rankweeds. And Pierre also found there the acrid scent of the largebox-shrubs growing in the old central fountain basin, which had beenfilled up with loose earth and rubbish. 

On those luminous October mornings, full of such tender and penetratingcharm, the spot was one where all the joy of living might well besavoured, but Pierre brought thither his northern dreaminess, his concernfor suffering, his steadfast feeling of compassion, which rendered yetsweeter the caress of the sunlight pervading that atmosphere of love. Heseated himself against the right-hand wall on a fragment of a fallencolumn over which a huge laurel cast a deep-black shadow, fresh andaromatic. In the antique greenish sarcophagus beside him, on which faunsoffered violence to nymphs, the streamlet of water trickling from themask incrusted in the wall, set the unchanging music of its crystal note, whilst he read the newspapers and the letters which he received, all thecommunications of good Abbe Rose, who kept him informed of his missionamong the wretched ones of gloomy Paris, now already steeped in fog andmud. 

One morning however, Pierre unexpectedly found Benedetta seated on thefallen column which he usually made his chair. She raised a light cry ofsurprise on seeing him, and for a moment remained embarrassed, for shehad with her his book "New Rome, " which she had read once already, buthad then imperfectly understood. And overcoming her embarrassment she nowhastened to detain him, making him sit down beside her, and franklyowning that she had come to the garden in order to be alone and applyherself to an attentive study of the book, in the same way as someignorant school-girl. Then they began to chat like a pair of friends, andthe young priest spent a delightful hour. Although Benedetta did notspeak of herself, he realised that it was her grief alone which broughther nearer to him, as if indeed her own sufferings enlarged her heart andmade her think of all who suffered in the world. Patrician as she was, regarding social hierarchy as a divine law, she had never previouslythought of such things, and some pages of Pierre's book greatlyastonished her. What! one ought to take interest in the lowly, realisethat they had the same souls and the same griefs as oneself, and seek inbrotherly or sisterly fashion to make them happy? She certainly sought toacquire such an interest, but with no great success, for she secretlyfeared that it might lead her into sin, as it could not be right to alteraught of the social system which had been established by God andconsecrated by the Church. Charitable she undoubtedly was, wont to bestowsmall sums in alms, but she did not give her heart, she felt no truesympathy for the humble, belonging as she did to such a different race, which looked to a throne in heaven high above the seats of all theplebeian elect. 

She and Pierre, however, found themselves on other mornings side by sidein the shade of the laurels near the trickling, singing water; and he, lacking occupation, weary of waiting for a solution which seemed torecede day by day, fervently strove to animate this young and beautifulwoman with some of his own fraternal feelings. He was impassioned by theidea that he was catechising Italy herself, the queen of beauty, who wasstill slumbering in ignorance, but who would recover all her past gloryif she were to awake to the new times with soul enlarged, swelling withpity for men and things. Reading good Abbe Rose's letters to Benedetta, he made her shudder at the frightful wail of wretchedness which ascendsfrom all great cities. With such deep tenderness in her eyes, with thehappiness of love reciprocated emanating from her whole being, why shouldshe not recognise, even as he did, that the law of love was the solemeans of saving suffering humanity, which, through hatred, incurred thedanger of death? And to please him she did try to believe in democracy, in the fraternal remodelling of society, but among other nationsonly--not at Rome, for an involuntary, gentle laugh came to her lipswhenever his words evoked the idea of the poor still remaining in theTrastevere district fraternising with those who yet dwelt in the oldprincely palaces. No, no, things had been as they were so long; theycould not, must not, be altered! And so, after all, Pierre's pupil madelittle progress: she was, in reality, simply touched by the wealth ofardent love which the young priest had chastely transferred from onealone to the whole of human kind. And between him and her, as thosesunlit October mornings went by, a tie of exquisite sweetness was formed;they came to love one another with deep, pure, fraternal affection, amidst the great glowing passion which consumed them both. 

Then, one day, Benedetta, her elbow resting on the sarcophagus, spoke ofDario, whose name she had hitherto refrained from mentioning. Ah! poor_amico_, how circumspect and repentant he had shown himself since thatfit of brutal insanity! At first, to conceal his embarrassment, he hadgone to spend three days at Naples, and it was said that La Tonietta, thesentimental _demi-mondaine_, had hastened to join him there, wildly inlove with him. Since his return to the mansion he had avoided all privatemeetings with his cousin, and scarcely saw her except at the Mondayreceptions, when he wore a submissive air, and with his eyes silentlyentreated forgiveness. 

"Yesterday, however, " continued Benedetta, "I met him on the staircaseand gave him my hand. He understood that I was no longer angry with himand was very happy. What else could I have done? One must not be severefor ever. Besides, I do not want things to go too far between him andthat woman. I want him to remember that I still love him, and am stillwaiting for him. Oh! he is mine, mine alone. But alas! I cannot say theword: our affairs are in such sorry plight. "

She paused, and two big tears welled into her eyes. The divorceproceedings to which she alluded had now come to a standstill, freshobstacles ever arising to stay their course. 

Pierre was much moved by her tears, for she seldom wept. She herselfsometimes confessed, with her calm smile, that she did not know how toweep. But now her heart was melting, and for a moment she remainedovercome, leaning on the mossy, crumbling sarcophagus, whilst the clearwater falling from the gaping mouth of the tragic mask still sounded itsflutelike note. And a sudden thought of death came to the priest as hesaw her, so young and so radiant with beauty, half fainting beside thatmarble resting-place where fauns were rushing upon nymphs in a franticbacchanal which proclaimed the omnipotence of love--that omnipotencewhich the ancients were fond of symbolising on their tombs as a token oflife's eternity. And meantime a faint, warm breeze passed through thesunlit, silent garden, wafting hither and thither the penetrating scentof box and orange. 

"One has so much strength when one loves, " Pierre at last murmured. 

"Yes, yes, you are right, " she replied, already smiling again. "I amchildish. But it is the fault of your book. It is only when I suffer thatI properly understand it. But all the same I am making progress, am Inot? Since you desire it, let all the poor, all those who suffer, as Ido, be my brothers and sisters. "

Then for a while they resumed their chat. 

On these occasions Benedetta was usually the first to return to thehouse, and Pierre would linger alone under the laurels, vaguely dreamingof sweet, sad things. Often did he think how hard life proved for poorcreatures whose only thirst was for happiness!

One Monday evening, at a quarter-past ten, only the young folks remainedin Donna Serafina's reception-room. Monsignor Nani had merely put in anappearance that night, and Cardinal Sarno had just gone off. 

Even Donna Serafina, in her usual seat by the fireplace, seemed to havewithdrawn from the others, absorbed as she was in contemplation of thechair which the absent Morano still stubbornly left unoccupied. Chattingand laughing in front of the sofa on which sat Benedetta and Celia wereDario, Pierre, and Narcisse Habert, the last of whom had begun to twitthe young Prince, having met him, so he asserted, a few days previously, in the company of a very pretty girl. 

"Oh! don't deny it, my dear fellow, " continued Narcisse, "for she wasreally superb. She was walking beside you, and you turned into a lanetogether--the Borgo Angelico, I think. "

Dario listened smiling, quite at his ease and incapable of denying hispassionate predilection for beauty. "No doubt, no doubt; it was I, Idon't deny it, " he responded. "Only the inferences you draw are notcorrect. " And turning towards Benedetta, who, without a thought ofjealous anxiety, wore as gay a look as himself, as though delighted thathe should have enjoyed that passing pleasure of the eyes, he went on: "Itwas the girl, you know, whom I found in tears six weeks ago. Yes, thatbead-worker who was sobbing because the workshop was shut up, and whorushed along, all blushing, to conduct me to her parents when I offeredher a bit of silver. Pierina her name is, as you, perhaps, remember. "

"Oh! yes, Pierina. "

"Well, since then I've met her in the street on four or five occasions. And, to tell the truth, she is so very beautiful that I've stopped andspoken to her. The other day, for instance, I walked with her as far as amanufacturer's. But she hasn't yet found any work, and she began to cry, and so, to console her a little, I kissed her. She was quite taken abackat it, but she seemed very well pleased. "

At this all the others began to laugh. But suddenly Celia desisted andsaid very gravely, "You know, Dario, she loves you; you must not be hardon her. "

Dario, no doubt, was of Celia's opinion, for he again looked atBenedetta, but with a gay toss of the head, as if to say that, althoughthe girl might love him, he did not love her. A bead-worker indeed, agirl of the lowest classes, pooh! She might be a Venus, but she could benothing to him. And he himself made merry over his romantic adventure, which Narcisse sought to arrange in a kind of antique sonnet: A beautifulbead-worker falling madly in love with a young prince, as fair assunlight, who, touched by her misfortune, hands her a silver crown; thenthe beautiful bead-worker, quite overcome at finding him as charitable ashandsome, dreaming of him incessantly, and following him everywhere, chained to his steps by a link of flame; and finally the beautifulbead-worker, who has refused the silver crown, so entreating the handsomeprince with her soft, submissive eyes, that he at last deigns to granther the alms of his heart. This pastime greatly amused Benedetta; butCelia, with her angelic face and the air of a little girl who ought tohave been ignorant of everything, remained very grave and repeated sadly, "Dario, Dario, she loves you; you must not make her suffer. "

Then the Contessina, in her turn, was moved to pity. "And those poorfolks are not happy!" said she. 

"Oh!" exclaimed the Prince, "it's misery beyond belief. On the day shetook me to the Quartiere dei Prati* I was quite overcome; it was awful, astonishingly awful!"

 * The district of the castle meadows--see _ante_ note. --Trans. 

"But I remember that we promised to go to see the poor people, " resumedBenedetta, "and we have done wrong in delaying our visit so long. Foryour studies, Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, you greatly desired to accompanyus and see the poor of Rome--was that not so?"

As she spoke she raised her eyes to Pierre, who for a moment had beensilent. He was much moved by her charitable thought, for he realised, bythe faint quiver of her voice, that she desired to appear a docile pupil, progressing in affection for the lowly and the wretched. Moreover, hispassion for his apostolate had at once returned to him. "Oh!" said he, "Ishall not quit Rome without having seen those who suffer, those who lackwork and bread. Therein lies the malady which affects every nation;salvation can only be attained by the healing of misery. When the rootsof the tree cannot find sustenance the tree dies. "

"Well, " resumed the Contessina, "we will fix an appointment at once; youshall come with us to the Quartiere dei Prati--Dario will take us there. "

At this the Prince, who had listened to the priest with an air ofstupefaction, unable to understand the simile of the tree and its roots, began to protest distressfully, "No, no, cousin, take Monsieur l'Abbe fora stroll there if it amuses you. But I've been, and don't want to goback. Why, when I got home the last time I was so upset that I almosttook to my bed. No, no; such abominations are too awful--it isn'tpossible. "

At this moment a voice, bitter with displeasure, arose from the chimneycorner. Donna Serafina was emerging from her long silence. "Dario isquite right! Send your alms, my dear, and I will gladly add mine. Thereare other places where you might take Monsieur l'Abbe, and which it wouldbe far more useful for him to see. With that idea of yours you would sendhim away with a nice recollection of our city. "

Roman pride rang out amidst the old lady's bad temper. Why, indeed, showone's sores to foreigners, whose visit is possibly prompted by hostilecuriosity? One always ought to look beautiful; Rome should not be shownotherwise than in the garb of glory. 

Narcisse, however, had taken possession of Pierre. "It's true, my dearAbbe, " said he; "I forgot to recommend that stroll to you. You reallymust visit the new district built over the castle meadows. It's typical, and sums up all the others. And you won't lose your time there, I'llwarrant you, for nowhere can you learn more about the Rome of the presentday. It's extraordinary, extraordinary!" Then, addressing Benedetta, headded, "Is it decided? Shall we say to-morrow morning? You'll find theAbbe and me over there, for I want to explain matters to him beforehand, in order that he may understand them. What do you say to ten o'clock?"

Before answering him the Contessina turned towards her aunt andrespectfully opposed her views. "But Monsieur l'Abbe, aunt, has metenough beggars in our streets already, so he may well see everything. Besides, judging by his book, he won't see worse things than he has seenin Paris. As he says in one passage, hunger is the same all the worldover. " Then, with her sensible air, she gently laid siege to Dario. "Youknow, Dario, " said she, "you would please me very much by taking methere. We can go in the carriage and join these gentlemen. It will be avery pleasant outing for us. It is such a long time since we went outtogether. "

It was certainly that idea of going out with Dario, of having a pretextfor a complete reconciliation with him, that enchanted her; he himselfrealised it, and, unable to escape, he tried to treat the matter as ajoke. "Ah! cousin, " he said, "it will be your fault; I shall have thenightmare for a week. An excursion like that spoils all the enjoyment oflife for days and days. "

The mere thought made him quiver with revolt. However, laughter againrang out around him, and, in spite of Donna Serafina's mute disapproval, the appointment was finally fixed for the following morning at teno'clock. Celia as she went off expressed deep regret that she could notform one of the party; but, with the closed candour of a budding lily, she really took interest in Pierina alone. As she reached the ante-roomshe whispered in her friend's ear: "Take a good look at that beauty, mydear, so as to tell me whether she is so very beautiful--beautiful beyondcompare. "

When Pierre met Narcisse near the Castle of Sant' Angelo on the morrow, at nine o'clock, he was surprised to find him again languid andenraptured, plunged anew in artistic enthusiasm. At first not a word wassaid of the excursion. Narcisse related that he had risen at sunrise inorder that he might spend an hour before Bernini's "Santa Teresa. " Itseemed that when he did not see that statue for a week he suffered asacutely as if he were parted from some cherished mistress. And hisadoration varied with the time of day, according to the light in which hebeheld the figure: in the morning, when the pale glow of dawn steeped itin whiteness, he worshipped it with quite a mystical transport of thesoul, whilst in the afternoon, when the glow of the declining sun'soblique rays seemed to permeate the marble, his passion became as fieryred as the blood of martyrs. "Ah! my friend, " said he with a weary airwhilst his dreamy eyes faded to mauve, "you have no idea how delightfuland perturbing her awakening was this morning--how languorously sheopened her eyes, like a pure, candid virgin, emerging from the embrace ofthe Divinity. One could die of rapture at the sight!"

Then, growing calm again when he had taken a few steps, he resumed in thevoice of a practical man who does not lose his balance in the affairs oflife: "We'll walk slowly towards the castle-fields district--thebuildings yonder; and on our way I'll tell you what I know of the thingswe shall see there. It was the maddest affair imaginable, one of thosedelirious frenzies of speculation which have a splendour of their own, just like the superb, monstrous masterpiece of a man of genius whose mindis unhinged. I was told of it all by some relatives of mine, who tookpart in the gambling, and, in point of fact, made a good deal of money byit. "

Thereupon, with the clearness and precision of a financier, employingtechnical terms with perfect ease, he recounted the extraordinaryadventure. That all Italy, on the morrow of the occupation of Rome, should have been delirious with enthusiasm at the thought of at lastpossessing the ancient and glorious city, the eternal capital to whichthe empire of the world had been promised, was but natural. It was, so tosay, a legitimate explosion of the delight and the hopes of a youngnation anxious to show its power. The question was to make Rome a moderncapital worthy of a great kingdom, and before aught else there weresanitary requirements to be dealt with: the city needed to be cleansed ofall the filth which disgraced it. One cannot nowadays imagine in whatabominable putrescence the city of the popes, the _Roma sporca_ whichartists regret, was then steeped: the vast majority of the houses lackedeven the most primitive arrangements, the public thoroughfares were usedfor all purposes, noble ruins served as store-places for sewage, theprincely palaces were surrounded by filth, and the streets were perfectmanure beds which fostered frequent epidemics. Thus vast municipal workswere absolutely necessary, the question was one of health and lifeitself. And in much the same way it was only right to think of buildinghouses for the newcomers, who would assuredly flock into the city. Therehad been a precedent at Berlin, whose population, after the establishmentof the German empire, had suddenly increased by some hundreds ofthousands. In the same way the population of Rome would certainly bedoubled, tripled, quadrupled, for as the new centre of national life thecity would necessarily attract all the _vis viva_ of the provinces. Andat this thought pride stepped in: the fallen government of the Vaticanmust be shown what Italy was capable of achieving, what splendour shewould bestow on the new and third Rome, which, by the magnificence of itsthoroughfares and the multitude of its people, would far excel either theimperial or the papal city. 

True, during the early years some prudence was observed; wisely enough, houses were only built in proportion as they were required. Thepopulation had doubled at one bound, rising from two to four hundredthousand souls, thanks to the arrival of the little world of employeesand officials of the public services--all those who live on the State orhope to live on it, without mentioning the idlers and enjoyers of lifewhom a Court always carries in its train. However, this influx ofnewcomers was a first cause of intoxication, for every one imagined thatthe increase would continue, and, in fact, become more and more rapid. And so the city of the day before no longer seemed large enough; it wasnecessary to make immediate preparations for the morrow's need byenlarging Rome on all sides. Folks talked, too, of the Paris of thesecond empire, which had been so extended and transformed into a city oflight and health. But unfortunately on the banks of the Tiber there wasneither any preconcerted general plan nor any clear-seeing man, master ofthe situation, supported by powerful financial organisations. And thework, begun by pride, prompted by the ambition of surpassing the Rome ofthe Caesars and the Popes, the determination to make the eternal, predestined city the queen and centre of the world once more, wascompleted by speculation, one of those extraordinary gambling frenzies, those tempests which arise, rage, destroy, and carry everything awaywithout premonitory warning or possibility of arresting their course. Allat once it was rumoured that land bought at five francs the metre hadbeen sold again for a hundred francs the metre; and thereupon the feverarose--the fever of a nation which is passionately fond of gambling. Aflight of speculators descending from North Italy swooped down upon Rome, the noblest and easiest of preys. Those needy, famished mountaineersfound spoils for every appetite in that voluptuous South where life is sobenign, and the very delights of the climate helped to corrupt and hastenmoral gangrene. At first, too; it was merely necessary to stoop; moneywas to be found by the shovelful among the rubbish of the first districtswhich were opened up. People who were clever enough to scent the coursewhich the new thoroughfares would take and purchase buildings threatenedwith demolition increased their capital tenfold in a couple of years. Andafter that the contagion spread, infecting all classes--the princes, burgesses, petty proprietors, even the shop-keepers, bakers, grocers, andboot-makers; the delirium rising to such a pitch that a mere bakersubsequently failed for forty-five millions. * Nothing, indeed, was leftbut rageful gambling, in which the stakes were millions, whilst the landsand the houses became mere fictions, mere pretexts for stock-exchangeoperations. And thus the old hereditary pride, which had dreamt oftransforming Rome into the capital of the world, was heated to madness bythe high fever of speculation--folks buying, and building, and sellingwithout limit, without a pause, even as one might throw shares upon themarket as fast and as long as presses can be found to print them. 

 * 1, 800, 000 pounds. See _ante_ note. --Trans. 

No other city in course of evolution has ever furnished such a spectacle. Nowadays, when one strives to penetrate things one is confounded. Thepopulation had increased to five hundred thousand, and then seeminglyremained stationary; nevertheless, new districts continued to sprout upmore thickly than ever. Yet what folly it was not to wait for a furtherinflux of inhabitants! Why continue piling up accommodation for thousandsof families whose advent was uncertain? The only excuse lay in havingbeforehand propounded the proposition that the third Rome, the triumphantcapital of Italy, could not count less than a million souls, and inregarding that proposition as indisputable fact. The people had not come, but they surely would come: no patriot could doubt it without beingguilty of treason. And so houses were built and built without a pause, for the half-million citizens who were coming. There was no anxiety as tothe date of their arrival; it was sufficient that they should beexpected. Inside Rome the companies which had been formed in connectionwith the new thoroughfares passing through the old, demolished, pestiferous districts, certainly sold or let their house property, andthereby realised large profits. But, as the craze increased, othercompanies were established for the purpose of erecting yet more and moredistricts outside Rome--veritable little towns, of which there was noneed whatever. Beyond the Porta San Giovanni and the Porta San Lorenzo, suburbs sprang up as by miracle. A town was sketched out over the vastestate of the Villa Ludovisi, from the Porta Pia to the Porta Salaria andeven as far as Sant' Agnese. And then came an attempt to make quite alittle city, with church, school, and market, arise all at once on thefields of the Castle of Sant' Angelo. And it was no question of smalldwellings for labourers, modest flats for employees, and others oflimited means; no, it was a question of colossal mansions three and fourstoreys high, displaying uniform and endless facades which made these newexcentral quarters quite Babylonian, such districts, indeed, as onlycapitals endowed with intense life, like Paris and London, could contriveto populate. However, such were the monstrous products of pride andgambling; and what a page of history, what a bitter lesson now that Rome, financially ruined, is further disgraced by that hideous girdle of empty, and, for the most part, uncompleted carcases, whose ruins already strewthe grassy streets!

The fatal collapse, the disaster proved a frightful one. Narcisseexplained its causes and recounted its phases so clearly that Pierrefully understood. Naturally enough, numerous financial companies hadsprouted up: the Immobiliere, the Society d'Edilizia e Construzione, theFondaria, the Tiberiana, and the Esquilino. Nearly all of them built, erected huge houses, entire streets of them, for purposes of sale; butthey also gambled in land, selling plots at large profit to pettyspeculators, who also dreamt of making large profits amidst thecontinuous, fictitious rise brought about by the growing fever ofagiotage. And the worst was that the petty speculators, the middle-classpeople, the inexperienced shop-keepers without capital, were crazy enoughto build in their turn by borrowing of the banks or applying to thecompanies which had sold them the land for sufficient cash to enable themto complete their structures. As a general rule, to avoid the loss ofeverything, the companies were one day compelled to take back both landand buildings, incomplete though the latter might be, and from thecongestion which resulted they were bound to perish. If the expectedmillion of people had arrived to occupy the dwellings prepared for themthe gains would have been fabulous, and in ten years Rome might havebecome one of the most flourishing capitals of the world. But the peopledid not come, and the dwellings remained empty. Moreover, the buildingserected by the companies were too large and costly for the averageinvestor inclined to put his money into house property. Heredity hadacted, the builders had planned things on too huge a scale, raising aseries of magnificent piles whose purpose was to dwarf those of all otherages; but, as it happened, they were fated to remain lifeless anddeserted, testifying with wondrous eloquence to the impotence of pride. 

So there was no private capital that dared or could take the place ofthat of the companies. Elsewhere, in Paris for instance, new districtshave been erected and embellishments have been carried out with thecapital of the country--the money saved by dint of thrift. But in Romeall was built on the credit system, either by means of bills of exchangeat ninety days, or--and this was chiefly the case--by borrowing moneyabroad. The huge sum sunk in these enterprises is estimated at amilliard, four-fifths of which was French money. The bankers dideverything; the French ones lent to the Italian bankers at 3 1-2 or 4 percent. ; and the Italian bankers accommodated the speculators, the Romanbuilders, at 6, 7, and even 8 per cent. And thus the disaster was greatindeed when France, learning of Italy's alliance with Germany, withdrewher 800, 000, 000 francs in less than two years. The Italian banks weredrained of their specie, and the land and building companies, beinglikewise compelled to reimburse their loans, were compelled to apply tothe banks of issue, those privileged to issue notes. At the same timethey intimidated the Government, threatening to stop all work and throw40, 000 artisans and labourers starving on the pavement of Rome if it didnot compel the banks of issue to lend them the five or six millions ofpaper which they needed. And this the Government at last did, appalled bythe possibility of universal bankruptcy. Naturally, however, the five orsix millions could not be paid back at maturity, as the newly builthouses found neither purchasers nor tenants; and so the great fall began, and continued with a rush, heaping ruin upon ruin. The petty speculatorsfell on the builders, the builders on the land companies, the landcompanies on the banks of issue, and the latter on the public credit, ruining the nation. And that was how a mere municipal crisis became afrightful disaster: a whole milliard sunk to no purpose, Rome disfigured, littered with the ruins of the gaping and empty dwellings which had beenprepared for the five or six hundred thousand inhabitants for whom thecity yet waits in vain!

Moreover, in the breeze of glory which swept by, the state itself took acolossal view of things. It was a question of at once making Italytriumphant and perfect, of accomplishing in five and twenty years whatother nations have required centuries to effect. So there was feverishactivity and a prodigious outlay on canals, ports, roads, railway lines, and improvements in all the great cities. Directly after the alliancewith Germany, moreover, the military and naval estimates began to devourmillions to no purpose. And the ever growing financial requirements weresimply met by the issue of paper, by a fresh loan each succeeding year. In Rome alone, too, the building of the Ministry of War cost tenmillions, that of the Ministry of Finances fifteen, whilst a hundred wasspent on the yet unfinished quays, and two hundred and fifty were sunk onworks of defence around the city. And all this was a flare of the oldhereditary pride, springing from that soil whose sap can only blossom inextravagant projects; the determination to dazzle and conquer the worldwhich comes as soon as one has climbed to the Capitol, even though one'sfeet rest amidst the accumulated dust of all the forms of human powerwhich have there crumbled one above the other. 

"And, my dear friend, " continued Narcisse, "if I could go into all thestories that are current, that are whispered here and there, you would bestupefied at the insanity which overcame the whole city amidst theterrible fever to which the gambling passion gave rise. Folks of smallaccount, and fools and ignorant people were not the only ones to beruined; nearly all the Roman nobles lost their ancient fortunes, theirgold and their palaces and their galleries of masterpieces, which theyowed to the munificence of the popes. The colossal wealth which it hadtaken centuries of nepotism to pile up in the hands of a few melted awaylike wax, in less than ten years, in the levelling fire of modernspeculation. " Then, forgetting that he was speaking to a priest, he wenton to relate one of the whispered stories to which he had alluded:"There's our good friend Dario, Prince Boccanera, the last of the name, reduced to live on the crumbs which fall to him from his uncle theCardinal, who has little beyond his stipend left him. Well, Dario wouldbe a rich man had it not been for that extraordinary affair of the VillaMontefiori. You have heard of it, no doubt; how Prince Onofrio, Dario'sfather, speculated, sold the villa grounds for ten millions, then boughtthem back and built on them, and how, at last, not only the ten millionswere lost, but also all that remained of the once colossal fortune of theBoccaneras. What you haven't been told, however, is the secret part whichCount Prada--our Contessina's husband--played in the affair. He was thelover of Princess Boccanera, the beautiful Flavia Montefiori, who hadbrought the villa as dowry to the old Prince. She was a very fine woman, much younger than her husband, and it is positively said that it wasthrough her that Prada mastered the Prince--for she held her old dotinghusband at arm's length whenever he hesitated to give a signature or gofarther into the affair of which he scented the danger. And in all thisPrada gained the millions which he now spends, while as for the beautifulFlavia, you are aware, no doubt, that she saved a little fortune from thewreck and bought herself a second and much younger husband, whom sheturned into a Marquis Montefiori. In the whole affair the only victim isour good friend Dario, who is absolutely ruined, and wishes to marry hiscousin, who is as poor as himself. It's true that she's determined tohave him, and that it's impossible for him not to reciprocate her love. But for that he would have already married some American girl with adowry of millions, like so many of the ruined princes, on the verge ofstarvation, have done; that is, unless the Cardinal and Donna Serafinahad opposed such a match, which would not have been surprising, proud andstubborn as they are, anxious to preserve the purity of their old Romanblood. However, let us hope that Dario and the exquisite Benedetta willsome day be happy together. "

Narcisse paused; but, after taking a few steps in silence, he added in alower tone: "I've a relative who picked up nearly three millions in thatVilla Montefiori affair. Ah! I regret that I wasn't here in those heroicdays of speculation. It must have been very amusing; and what strokesthere were for a man of self-possession to make!"

However, all at once, as he raised his head, he saw before him theQuartiere dei Prati--the new district of the castle fields; and his facethereupon changed: he again became an artist, indignant with the modernabominations with which old Rome had been disfigured. His eyes paled, anda curl of his lips expressed the bitter disdain of a dreamer whosepassion for the vanished centuries was sorely hurt: "Look, look at itall!" he exclaimed. "To think of it, in the city of Augustus, the city ofLeo X, the city of eternal power and eternal beauty!"

Pierre himself was thunderstruck. The meadows of the Castle of Sant'Angelo, dotted with a few poplar trees, had here formerly stretchedalongside the Tiber as far as the first slopes of Monte Mario, thussupplying, to the satisfaction of artists, a foreground or greenery tothe Borgo and the dome of St. Peter's. But now, amidst the white, leprous, overturned plain, there stood a town of huge, massive houses, cubes of stone-work, invariably the same, with broad streets intersectingone another at right angles. From end to end similar facades appeared, suggesting series of convents, barracks, or hospitals. Extraordinary andpainful was the impression produced by this town so suddenly immobilisedwhilst in course of erection. It was as if on some accursed morning awicked magician had with one touch of his wand stopped the works andemptied the noisy stone-yards, leaving the buildings in mournfulabandonment. Here on one side the soil had been banked up; there deeppits dug for foundations had remained gaping, overrun with weeds. Therewere houses whose halls scarcely rose above the level of the soil; otherswhich had been raised to a second or third floor; others, again, whichhad been carried as high as was intended, and even roofed in, suggestingskeletons or empty cages. Then there were houses finished excepting thattheir walls had not been plastered, others which had been left withoutwindow frames, shutters, or doors; others, again, which had their doorsand shutters, but were nailed up like coffins with not a soul insidethem; and yet others which were partly, and in a few cases fully, inhabited--animated by the most unexpected of populations. And no wordscould describe the fearful mournfulness of that City of the SleepingBeauty, hushed into mortal slumber before it had even lived, lyingannihilated beneath the heavy sun pending an awakening which, likelyenough, would never come. 

Following his companion, Pierre walked along the broad, deserted streets, where all was still as in a cemetery. Not a vehicle nor a pedestrianpassed by. Some streets had no foot ways; weeds were covering the unpavedroads, turning them once more into fields; and yet there were temporarygas lamps, mere leaden pipes bound to poles, which had been there foryears. To avoid payment of the door and window tax, the house owners hadgenerally closed all apertures with planks; while some houses, of whichlittle had been built, were surrounded by high palings for fear lesttheir cellars should become the dens of all the bandits of the district. But the most painful sight of all was that of the young ruins, the proud, lofty structures, which, although unfinished, were already cracking onall sides, and required the support of an intricate arrangement oftimbers to prevent them from falling in dust upon the ground. A pang cameto one's heart as though one was in a city which some scourge haddepopulated--pestilence, war, or bombardment, of which these gapingcarcases seem to retain the mark. Then at the thought that this wasabortment, not death--that destruction would complete its work before thedreamt-of, vainly awaited denizens would bring life to the still-bornhouses, one's melancholy deepened to hopeless discouragement. And at eachcorner, moreover, there was the frightful irony of the magnificent marbleslabs which bore the names of the streets, illustrious historical names, Gracchus, Scipio, Pliny, Pompey, Julius Caesar, blazing forth on thoseunfinished, crumbling walls like a buffet dealt by the Past to modernincompetency. 

Then Pierre was once more struck by this truth--that whosoever possessesRome is consumed by the building frenzy, the passion for marble, theboastful desire to build and leave his monument of glory to futuregenerations. After the Caesars and the Popes had come the ItalianGovernment, which was no sooner master of the city than it wished toreconstruct it, make it more splendid, more huge than it had ever beenbefore. It was the fatal suggestion of the soil itself--the blood ofAugustus rushing to the brain of these last-comers and urging them to amad desire to make the third Rome the queen of the earth. Thence had comeall the vast schemes such as the cyclopean quays and the mere ministriesstruggling to outvie the Colosseum; and thence had come all the newdistricts of gigantic houses which had sprouted like towns around theancient city. It was not only on the castle fields, but at the Porta SanGiovanni, the Porta San Lorenzo, the Villa Ludovisi, and on the heightsof the Viminal and the Esquiline that unfinished, empty districts werealready crumbling amidst the weeds of their deserted streets. After twothousand years of prodigious fertility the soil really seemed to beexhausted. Even as in very old fruit gardens newly planted plum andcherry trees wither and die, so the new walls, no doubt, found no life inthat old dust of Rome, impoverished by the immemorial growth of so manytemples, circuses, arches, basilicas, and churches. And thus the modernhouses, which men had sought to render fruitful, the useless, over-hugehouses, swollen with hereditary ambition, had been unable to attainmaturity, and remained there sterile like dry bushes on a plot of landexhausted by over-cultivation. And the frightful sadness that one feltarose from the fact that so creative and great a past had culminated insuch present-day impotency--Rome, who had covered the world withindestructible monuments, now so reduced that she could only generateruins. 

"Oh, they'll be finished some day!" said Pierre. 

Narcisse gazed at him in astonishment: "For whom?"

That was the cruel question! Only by dint of patriotic enthusiasm on themorrow of the conquest had one been able to indulge in the hope of amighty influx of population, and now singular blindness was needed forthe belief that such an influx would ever take place. The pastexperiments seemed decisive; moreover, there was no reason why thepopulation should double: Rome offered neither the attraction of pleasurenor that of gain to be amassed in commerce and industry for those she hadnot, nor of intensity of social and intellectual life, since of this sheseemed no longer capable. In any case, years and years would berequisite. And, meantime, how could one people those houses which werefinished; and for whom was one to finish those which had remained mereskeletons, falling to pieces under sun and rain? Must they all remainthere indefinitely, some gaunt and open to every blast and others closedand silent like tombs, in the wretched hideousness of their inutility andabandonment? What a terrible proof of error they offered under theradiant sky! The new masters of Rome had made a bad start, and even ifthey now knew what they ought to have done would they have the courage toundo what they had done? Since the milliard sunk there seemed to bedefinitely lost and wasted, one actually hoped for the advent of a Nero, endowed with mighty, sovereign will, who would take torch and pick andburn and raze everything in the avenging name of reason and beauty. 

"Ah!" resumed Narcisse, "here are the Contessina and the Prince. "

Benedetta had told the coachman to pull up in one of the open spacesintersecting the deserted streets, and now along the broad, quiet, grassyroad--well fitted for a lovers' stroll--she was approaching on Dario'sarm, both of them delighted with their outing, and no longer thinking ofthe sad things which they had come to see. "What a nice day it is!" theContessina gaily exclaimed as she reached Pierre and Narcisse. "Howpleasant the sunshine is! It's quite a treat to be able to walk about alittle as if one were in the country!"

Dario was the first to cease smiling at the blue sky, all the delight ofhis stroll with his cousin on his arm suddenly departing. "My dear, " saidhe, "we must go to see those people, since you are bent on it, though itwill certainly spoil our day. But first I must take my bearings. I'm notparticularly clever, you know, in finding my way in places where I don'tcare to go. Besides, this district is idiotic with all its dead streetsand dead houses, and never a face or a shop to serve as a reminder. StillI think the place is over yonder. Follow me; at all events, we shallsee. "

The four friends then wended their way towards the central part of thedistrict, the part facing the Tiber, where a small nucleus of apopulation had collected. The landlords turned the few completed housesto the best advantage they could, letting the rooms at very low rentals, and waiting patiently enough for payment. Some needy employees, somepoverty-stricken families--had thus installed themselves there, and inthe long run contrived to pay a trifle for their accommodation. Inconsequence, however, of the demolition of the ancient Ghetto and theopening of the new streets by which air had been let into the Trasteveredistrict, perfect hordes of tatterdemalions, famished and homeless, andalmost without garments, had swooped upon the unfinished houses, fillingthem with wretchedness and vermin; and it had been necessary to toleratethis lawless occupation lest all the frightful misery should remaindisplayed in the public thoroughfares. And so it was to those frightfultenants that had fallen the huge four and five storeyed palaces, enteredby monumental doorways flanked by lofty statues and having carvedbalconies upheld by caryatides all along their fronts. Each family hadmade its choice, often closing the frameless windows with boards and thegaping doorways with rags, and occupying now an entire princely flat andnow a few small rooms, according to its taste. Horrid-looking linen hungdrying from the carved balconies, foul stains already degraded the whitewalls, and from the magnificent porches, intended for sumptuousequipages, there poured a stream of filth which rotted in stagnant poolsin the roads, where there was neither pavement nor footpath. 

On two occasions already Dario had caused his companions to retrace theirsteps. He was losing his way and becoming more and more gloomy. "I oughtto have taken to the left, " said he, "but how is one to know amidst sucha set as that!"

Parties of verminous children were now to be seen rolling in the dust;they were wondrously dirty, almost naked, with black skins and tangledlocks as coarse as horsehair. There were also women in sordid skirts andwith their loose jackets unhooked. Many stood talking together in yelpingvoices, whilst others, seated on old chairs with their hands on theirknees, remained like that idle for hours. Not many men were met; but afew lay on the scorched grass, sleeping heavily in the sunlight. However, the stench was becoming unbearable--a stench of misery as when the humananimal eschews all cleanliness to wallow in filth. And matters were madeworse by the smell from a small, improvised market--the emanations of therotting fruit, cooked and sour vegetables, and stale fried fish which afew poor women had set out on the ground amidst a throng of famished, covetous children. 

"Ah! well, my dear, I really don't know where it is, " all at onceexclaimed the Prince, addressing his cousin. "Be reasonable; we've surelyseen enough; let's go back to the carriage. "

He was really suffering, and, as Benedetta had said, he did not know howto suffer. It seemed to him monstrous that one should sadden one's lifeby such an excursion as this. Life ought to be buoyant and benign underthe clear sky, brightened by pleasant sights, by dance and song. And he, with his naive egotism, had a positive horror of ugliness, poverty, andsuffering, the sight of which caused him both mental and physical pain. 

Benedetta shuddered even as he did, but in presence of Pierre she desiredto be brave. Glancing at him, and seeing how deeply interested andcompassionate he looked, she desired to persevere in her effort tosympathise with the humble and the wretched. "No, no, Dario, we muststay. These gentlemen wish to see everything--is it not so?"

"Oh, the Rome of to-day is here, " exclaimed Pierre; "this tells one moreabout it than all the promenades among the ruins and the monuments. "

"You exaggerate, my dear Abbe, " declared Narcisse. "Still, I will admitthat it is very interesting. Some of the old women are particularlyexpressive. "

At this moment Benedetta, seeing a superbly beautiful girl in front ofher, could not restrain a cry of enraptured admiration: "_O chebellezza!_"

And then Dario, having recognised the girl, exclaimed with the samedelight: "Why, it's La Pierina; she'll show us the way. "

The girl had been following the party for a moment already without daringto approach. Her eyes, glittering with the joy of a loving slave, had atfirst darted towards the Prince, and then had hastily scrutinised theContessina--not, however, with any show of jealous anger, but with anexpression of affectionate submission and resigned happiness at seeingthat she also was very beautiful. And the girl fully answered to thePrince's description of her--tall, sturdy, with the bust of a goddess, areal antique, a Juno of twenty, her chin somewhat prominent, her mouthand nose perfect in contour, her eyes large and full like a heifer's, andher whole face quite dazzling--gilded, so to say, by a sunflash--beneathher casque of heavy jet-black hair. 

"So you will show us the way?" said Benedetta, familiar and smiling, already consoled for all the surrounding ugliness by the thought thatthere should be such beautiful creatures in the world. 

"Oh yes, signora, yes, at once!" And thereupon Pierina ran off beforethem, her feet in shoes which at any rate had no holes, whilst the oldbrown woollen dress which she wore appeared to have been recently washedand mended. One seemed to divine in her a certain coquettish care, adesire for cleanliness, which none of the others displayed; unless, indeed, it were simply that her great beauty lent radiance to her humblegarments and made her appear a goddess. 

"_Che bellezza! the bellezza!_" the Contessina repeated without wearying. "That girl, Dario _mio_, is a real feast for the eyes!"

"I knew she would please you, " he quietly replied, flattered at havingdiscovered such a beauty, and no longer talking of departure, since hecould at last rest his eyes on something pleasant. 

Behind them came Pierre, likewise full of admiration, whilst Narcissespoke to him of the scrupulosity of his own tastes, which were for therare and the subtle. "She's beautiful, no doubt, " said he; "but at bottomnothing can be more gross than the Roman style of beauty; there's nosoul, none of the infinite in it. These girls simply have blood undertheir skins without ever a glimpse of heaven. "

Meantime Pierina had stopped, and with a wave of the hand directedattention to her mother, who sat on a broken box beside the lofty doorwayof an unfinished mansion. She also must have once been very beautiful, but at forty she was already a wreck, with dim eyes, drawn mouth, blackteeth, broadly wrinkled countenance, and huge fallen bosom. And she wasalso fearfully dirty, her grey wavy hair dishevelled and her skirt andjacket soiled and slit, revealing glimpses of grimy flesh. On her kneesshe held a sleeping infant, her last-born, at whom she gazed like oneoverwhelmed and courageless, like a beast of burden resigned to her fate. 

"_Bene, bene, _" said she, raising her head, "it's the gentleman who cameto give me a crown because he saw you crying. And he's come back to seeus with some friends. Well, well, there are some good hearts in the worldafter all. "

Then she related their story, but in a spiritless way, without seeking tomove her visitors. She was called Giacinta, it appeared, and had marrieda mason, one Tomaso Gozzo, by whom she had had seven children, Pierina, then Tito, a big fellow of eighteen, then four more girls, each at aninterval of two years, and finally the infant, a boy, whom she now had onher lap. They had long lived in the Trastevere district, in an old housewhich had lately been pulled down; and their existence seemed to havethen been shattered, for since they had taken refuge in the Quartiere deiPrati the crisis in the building trade had reduced Tomaso and Tito toabsolute idleness, and the bead factory where Pierina had earned as muchas tenpence a day--just enough to prevent them from dying of hunger--hadclosed its doors. At present not one of them had any work; they livedpurely by chance. 

"If you like to go up, " the woman added, "you'll find Tomaso there withhis brother Ambrogio, whom we've taken to live with us. They'll knowbetter than I what to say to you. Tomaso is resting; but what else can hedo? It's like Tito--he's dozing over there. "

So saying she pointed towards the dry grass amidst which lay a tall youngfellow with a pronounced nose, hard mouth, and eyes as admirable asPierina's. He had raised his head to glance suspiciously at the visitors, a fierce frown gathering on his forehead when he remarked how rapturouslyhis sister contemplated the Prince. Then he let his head fall again, butkept his eyes open, watching the pair stealthily. 

"Take the lady and gentlemen upstairs, Pierina, since they would like tosee the place, " said the mother. 

Other women had now drawn near, shuffling along with bare feet in oldshoes; bands of children, too, were swarming around; little girls buthalf clad, amongst whom, no doubt, were Giacinta's four. However, withtheir black eyes under their tangled mops they were all so much alikethat only their mothers could identify them. And the whole resembled ateeming camp of misery pitched on that spot of majestic disaster, thatstreet of palaces, unfinished yet already in ruins. 

With a soft, loving smile, Benedetta turned to her cousin. "Don't youcome up, " she gently said; "I don't desire your death, Dario _mio_. Itwas very good of you to come so far. Wait for me here in the pleasantsunshine: Monsieur l'Abbe and Monsieur Habert will go up with me. "

Dario began to laugh, and willingly acquiesced. Then lighting acigarette, he walked slowly up and down, well pleased with the mildnessof the atmosphere. 

La Pierina had already darted into the spacious porch whose lofty, vaulted ceiling was adorned with coffers displaying a rosaceous pattern. However, a veritable manure heap covered such marble slabs as had alreadybeen laid in the vestibule, whilst the steps of the monumental stonestaircase with sculptured balustrade were already cracked and so grimythat they seemed almost black. On all sides appeared the greasy stains ofhands; the walls, whilst awaiting the painter and gilder, had beensmeared with repulsive filth. 

On reaching the spacious first-floor landing Pierina paused, andcontented herself with calling through a gaping portal which lacked bothdoor and framework: "Father, here's a lady and two gentlemen to see you. "Then to the Contessina she added: "It's the third room at the end. " Andforthwith she herself rapidly descended the stairs, hastening back to herpassion. 

Benedetta and her companions passed through two large rooms, bossy withplaster under foot and having frameless windows wide open upon space; andat last they reached a third room, where the whole Gozzo family hadinstalled itself with the remnants it used as furniture. On the floor, where the bare iron girders showed, no boards having been laid down, werefive or six leprous-looking palliasses. A long table, which was stillstrong, occupied the centre of the room, and here and there were a fewold, damaged, straw-seated chairs mended with bits of rope. The greatbusiness had been to close two of the three windows with boards, whilstthe third one and the door were screened with some old mattress tickingstudded with stains and holes. 

Tomaso's face expressed the surprise of a man who is unaccustomed tovisits of charity. Seated at the table, with his elbows resting on it andhis chin supported by his hands, he was taking repose, as his wifeGiacinta had said. He was a sturdy fellow of five and forty, bearded andlong-haired; and, in spite of all his misery and idleness, his large facehad remained as serene as that of a Roman senator. However, the sight ofthe two foreigners--for such he at once judged Pierre and Narcisse to be, made him rise to his feet with sudden distrust. But he smiled onrecognising Benedetta, and as she began to speak of Dario, and to explainthe charitable purpose of their visit, he interrupted her: "Yes, yes, Iknow, Contessina. Oh! I well know who you are, for in my father's time Ionce walled up a window at the Palazzo Boccanera. "

Then he complaisantly allowed himself to be questioned, telling Pierre, who was surprised, that although they were certainly not happy they wouldhave found life tolerable had they been able to work two days a week. Andone could divine that he was, at heart, fairly well content to go onshort commons, provided that he could live as he listed without fatigue. His narrative and his manner suggested the familiar locksmith who, onbeing summoned by a traveller to open his trunk, the key of which waslost, sent word that he could not possibly disturb himself during thehour of the siesta. In short, there was no rent to pay, as there wereplenty of empty mansions open to the poor, and a few coppers would havesufficed for food, easily contented and sober as one was. 

"But oh, sir, " Tomaso continued, "things were ever so much better underthe Pope. My father, a mason like myself, worked at the Vatican all hislife, and even now, when I myself get a job or two, it's always there. Wewere spoilt, you see, by those ten years of busy work, when we never leftour ladders and earned as much as we pleased. Of course, we fed ourselvesbetter, and bought ourselves clothes, and took such pleasure as we caredfor; so that it's all the harder nowadays to have to stint ourselves. Butif you'd only come to see us in the Pope's time! No taxes, everything tobe had for nothing, so to say--why, one merely had to let oneself live. "

At this moment a growl arose from one of the palliasses lying in theshade of the boarded windows, and the mason, in his slow, quiet way, resumed: "It's my brother Ambrogio, who isn't of my opinion. 

"He was with the Republicans in '49, when he was fourteen. But it doesn'tmatter; we took him with us when we heard that he was dying of hunger andsickness in a cellar. "

The visitors could not help quivering with pity. Ambrogio was the elderby some fifteen years; and now, though scarcely sixty, he was already aruin, consumed by fever, his legs so wasted that he spent his days on hispalliasse without ever going out. Shorter and slighter, but moreturbulent than his brother, he had been a carpenter by trade. And, despite his physical decay, he retained an extraordinary head--the headof an apostle and martyr, at once noble and tragic in its expression, andencompassed by bristling snowy hair and beard. 

"The Pope, " he growled; "I've never spoken badly of the Pope. Yet it'shis fault if tyranny continues. He alone in '49 could have given us theRepublic, and then we shouldn't have been as we are now. "

Ambrogio had known Mazzini, whose vague religiosity remained in him--thedream of a Republican pope at last establishing the reign of liberty andfraternity. But later on his passion for Garibaldi had disturbed theseviews, and led him to regard the papacy as worthless, incapable ofachieving human freedom. And so, between the dream of his youth and thestern experience of his life, he now hardly knew in which direction thetruth lay. Moreover, he had never acted save under the impulse of violentemotion, but contented himself with fine words--vague, indeterminatewishes. 

"Brother Ambrogio, " replied Tomaso, all tranquillity, "the Pope is thePope, and wisdom lies in putting oneself on his side, because he willalways be the Pope--that is to say, the stronger. For my part, if we hadto vote to-morrow I'd vote for him. "

Calmed by the shrewd prudence characteristic of his race, the oldcarpenter made no haste to reply. At last he said, "Well, as for me, brother Tomaso, I should vote against him--always against him. And youknow very well that we should have the majority. The Pope-king indeed!That's all over. The very Borgo would revolt. Still, I won't say that weoughtn't to come to an understanding with him, so that everybody'sreligion may be respected. "

Pierre listened, deeply interested, and at last ventured to ask: "Arethere many socialists among the Roman working classes?"

This time the answer came after a yet longer pause. "Socialists? Yes, there are some, no doubt, but much fewer than in other places. All thosethings are novelties which impatient fellows go in for withoutunderstanding much about them. We old men, we were for liberty; we don'tbelieve in fire and massacre. "

Then, fearing to say too much in presence of that lady and thosegentlemen, Ambrogio began to moan on his pallet, whilst the Contessina, somewhat upset by the smell of the place, took her departure, aftertelling the young priest that it would be best for them to leave theiralms with the wife downstairs. Meantime Tomaso resumed his seat at thetable, again letting his chin rest on his hands as he nodded to hisvisitors, no more impressed by their departure than he had been by theirarrival: "To the pleasure of seeing you again, and am happy to have beenable to oblige you. "

On the threshold, however, Narcisse's enthusiasm burst forth; he turnedto cast a final admiring glance at old Ambrogio's head, "a perfectmasterpiece, " which he continued praising whilst he descended the stairs. 

Down below Giacinta was still sitting on the broken box with her infantacross her lap, and a few steps away Pierina stood in front of Dario, watching him with an enchanted air whilst he finished his cigarette. Tito, lying low in the grass like an animal on the watch for prey, didnot for a moment cease to gaze at them. 

"Ah, signora!" resumed the woman, in her resigned, doleful voice, "theplace is hardly inhabitable, as you must have seen. The only good thingis that one gets plenty of room. But there are draughts enough to killme, and I'm always so afraid of the children falling down some of theholes. "

Thereupon she related a story of a woman who had lost her life throughmistaking a window for a door one evening and falling headlong into thestreet. Then, too, a little girl had broken both arms by tumbling from astaircase which had no banisters. And you could die there without anybodyknowing how bad you were and coming to help you. Only the previous daythe corpse of an old man had been found lying on the plaster in a lonelyroom. Starvation must have killed him quite a week previously, yet hewould still have been stretched there if the odour of his remains had notattracted the attention of neighbours. 

"If one only had something to eat things wouldn't be so bad!" continuedGiacinta. "But it's dreadful when there's a baby to suckle and one getsno food, for after a while one has no milk. This little fellow wants histitty and gets angry with me because I can't give him any. But it isn'tmy fault. He has sucked me till the blood came, and all I can do is tocry. "

As she spoke tears welled into her poor dim eyes. But all at once sheflew into a tantrum with Tito, who was still wallowing in the grass likean animal instead of rising by way of civility towards those fine people, who would surely leave her some alms. "Eh! Tito, you lazy fellow, can'tyou get up when people come to see you?" she called. 

After some pretence of not hearing, the young fellow at last rose with anair of great ill-humour; and Pierre, feeling interested in him, tried todraw him out as he had done with the father and uncle upstairs. But Titoonly returned curt answers, as if both bored and suspicious. Since therewas no work to be had, said he, the only thing was to sleep. It was of nouse to get angry; that wouldn't alter matters. So the best was to live asone could without increasing one's worry. As for socialists--well, yes, perhaps there were a few, but he didn't know any. And his weary, indifferent manner made it quite clear that, if his father was for thePope and his uncle for the Republic, he himself was for nothing at all. In this Pierre divined the end of a nation, or rather the slumber of anation in which democracy has not yet awakened. However, as the priestcontinued, asking Tito his age, what school he had attended, and in whatdistrict he had been born, the young man suddenly cut the questions shortby pointing with one finger to his breast and saying gravely, "_Io son'Romano di Roma_. "

And, indeed, did not that answer everything? "I am a Roman of Rome. "Pierre smiled sadly and spoke no further. Never had he more fullyrealised the pride of that race, the long-descending inheritance of glorywhich was so heavy to bear. The sovereign vanity of the Caesars livedanew in that degenerate young fellow who was scarcely able to read andwrite. Starveling though he was, he knew his city, and couldinstinctively have recounted the grand pages of its history. The names ofthe great emperors and great popes were familiar to him. And why shouldmen toil and moil when they had been the masters of the world? Why notlive nobly and idly in the most beautiful of cities, under the mostbeautiful of skies? "_Io son' Romano di Roma_!"

Benedetta had slipped her alms into the mother's hand, and Pierre andNarcisse were following her example when Dario, who had already done so, thought of Pierina. He did not like to offer her money, but a pretty, fanciful idea occurred to him. Lightly touching his lips with hisfinger-tips, he said, with a faint laugh, "For beauty!"

There was something really pretty and pleasing in the kiss thus waftedwith a slightly mocking laugh by that familiar, good-natured young Princewho, as in some love story of the olden time, was touched by thebeautiful bead-worker's mute adoration. Pierina flushed with pleasure, and, losing her head, darted upon Dario's hand and pressed her warm lipsto it with unthinking impulsiveness, in which there was as much divinegratitude as tender passion. But Tito's eyes flashed with anger at thesight, and, brutally seizing his sister by the skirt, he threw her back, growling between his teeth, "None of that, you know, or I'll kill you, and him too!"

It was high time for the visitors to depart, for other women, scentingthe presence of money, were now coming forward with outstretched hands, or despatching tearful children in their stead. The whole wretched, abandoned district was in a flutter, a distressful wail ascended fromthose lifeless streets with high resounding names. But what was to bedone? One could not give to all. So the only course lay in flight--amidstdeep sadness as one realised how powerless was charity in presence ofsuch appalling want. 

When Benedetta and Dario had reached their carriage they hastened to taketheir seats and nestle side by side, glad to escape from all suchhorrors. Still the Contessina was well pleased with her bravery in thepresence of Pierre, whose hand she pressed with the emotion of a pupiltouched by the master's lesson, after Narcisse had told her that he meantto take the young priest to lunch at the little restaurant on the Piazzaof St. Peter's whence one obtained such an interesting view of theVatican. 

"Try some of the light white wine of Genzano, " said Dario, who had becomequite gay again. "There's nothing better to drive away the blues. "

However, Pierre's curiosity was insatiable, and on the way he againquestioned Narcisse about the people of modern Rome, their life, habits, and manners. There was little or no education, he learnt; no largemanufactures and no export trade existed. The men carried on the fewtrades that were current, all consumption being virtually limited to thecity itself. Among the women there were bead-workers and embroiderers;and the manufacture of religious articles, such as medals and chaplets, and of certain popular jewellery had always occupied a fair number ofhands. But after marriage the women, invariably burdened with numerousoffspring, attempted little beyond household work. Briefly, thepopulation took life as it came, working just sufficiently to securefood, contenting itself with vegetables, pastes, and scraggy mutton, without thought of rebellion or ambition. The only vices were gamblingand a partiality for the red and white wines of the Roman province--wineswhich excited to quarrel and murder, and on the evenings of feast days, when the taverns emptied, strewed the streets with groaning men, slashedand stabbed with knives. The girls, however, but seldom went wrong; onecould count those who allowed themselves to be seduced; and this arosefrom the great union prevailing in each family, every member of whichbowed submissively to the father's absolute authority. Moreover, thebrothers watched over their sisters even as Tito did over Pierina, guarding them fiercely for the sake of the family honour. And amidst allthis there was no real religion, but simply a childish idolatry, allhearts going forth to Madonna and the Saints, who alone were entreatedand regarded as having being: for it never occurred to anybody to thinkof God. 

Thus the stagnation of the lower orders could easily be understood. Behind them were the many centuries during which idleness had beenencouraged, vanity flattered, and nerveless life willingly accepted. Whenthey were neither masons, nor carpenters, nor bakers, they were servantsserving the priests, and more or less directly in the pay of the Vatican. Thence sprang the two antagonistic parties, on the one hand the morenumerous party composed of the old Carbonari, Mazzinians, andGaribaldians, the _elite_ of the Trastevere; and on the other the"clients" of the Vatican, all who lived on or by the Church and regrettedthe Pope-King. But, after all, the antagonism was confined to opinions;there was no thought of making an effort or incurring a risk. For that, some sudden flare of passion, strong enough to overcome the sturdycalmness of the race, would have been needed. But what would have beenthe use of it? The wretchedness had lasted for so many centuries, the skywas so blue, the siesta preferable to aught else during the hot hours!And only one thing seemed positive--that the majority was certainly infavour of Rome remaining the capital of Italy. Indeed, rebellion hadalmost broken out in the Leonine City when the cession of the latter tothe Holy See was rumoured. As for the increase of want and poverty, thiswas largely due to the circumstance that the Roman workman had reallygained nothing by the many works carried on in his city during fifteenyears. First of all, over 40, 000 provincials, mostly from the North, morespirited and resistant than himself, and working at cheaper rates, hadinvaded Rome; and when he, the Roman, had secured his share of thelabour, he had lived in better style, without thought of economy; so thatafter the crisis, when the 40, 000 men from the provinces were sent homeagain, he had found himself once more in a dead city where trade wasalways slack. And thus he had relapsed into his antique indolence, atheart well pleased at no longer being hustled by press of work, and againaccommodating himself as best he could to his old mistress, Want, emptyin pocket yet always a _grand seigneur_. 

However, Pierre was struck by the great difference between the want andwretchedness of Rome and Paris. In Rome the destitution was certainlymore complete, the food more loathsome, the dirt more repulsive. Yet atthe same time the Roman poor retained more ease of manner and more realgaiety. The young priest thought of the fireless, breadless poor ofParis, shivering in their hovels at winter time; and suddenly heunderstood. The destitution of Rome did not know cold. What a sweet andeternal consolation; a sun for ever bright, a sky for ever blue andbenign out of charity to the wretched! And what mattered the vileness ofthe dwelling if one could sleep under the sky, fanned by the warm breeze!What mattered even hunger if the family could await the windfall ofchance in sunlit streets or on the scorched grass! The climate inducedsobriety; there was no need of alcohol or red meat to enable one to facetreacherous fogs. Blissful idleness smiled on the golden evenings, poverty became like the enjoyment of liberty in that delightfulatmosphere where the happiness of living seemed to be all sufficient. Narcisse told Pierre that at Naples, in the narrow odoriferous streets ofthe port and Santa Lucia districts, the people spent virtually theirwhole lives out-of-doors, gay, childish, and ignorant, seeking nothingbeyond the few pence that were needed to buy food. And it was certainlythe climate which fostered the prolonged infancy of the nation, whichexplained why such a democracy did not awaken to social ambition andconsciousness of itself. No doubt the poor of Naples and Rome sufferedfrom want; but they did not know the rancour which cruel winter implantsin men's hearts, the dark rancour which one feels on shivering with coldwhile rich people are warming themselves before blazing fires. They didnot know the infuriated reveries in snow-swept hovels, when the gutteringdip burns low, the passionate need which then comes upon one to wreakjustice, to revolt, as from a sense of duty, in order that one may savewife and children from consumption, in order that they also may have awarm nest where life shall be a possibility! Ah! the want that shiverswith the bitter cold--therein lies the excess of social injustice, themost terrible of schools, where the poor learn to realise theirsufferings, where they are roused to indignation, and swear to make thosesufferings cease, even if in doing so they annihilate all olden society!

And in that same clemency of the southern heavens Pierre also found anexplanation of the life of St. Francis, * that divine mendicant of lovewho roamed the high roads extolling the charms of poverty. Doubtless hewas an unconscious revolutionary, protesting against the overflowingluxury of the Roman court by his return to the love of the humble, thesimplicity of the primitive Church. But such a revival of innocence andsobriety would never have been possible in a northern land. Theenchantment of Nature, the frugality of a people whom the sunlightnourished, the benignity of mendicancy on roads for ever warm, wereneeded to effect it. And yet how was it possible that a St. Francis, glowing with brotherly love, could have appeared in a land which nowadaysso seldom practises charity, which treats the lowly so harshly andcontemptuously, and cannot even bestow alms on its own Pope? Is itbecause ancient pride ends by hardening all hearts, or because theexperience of very old races leads finally to egotism, that one nowbeholds Italy seemingly benumbed amidst dogmatic and pompous Catholicism, whilst the return to the ideals of the Gospel, the passionate interest inthe poor and the suffering comes from the woeful plains of the North, from the nations whose sunlight is so limited? Yes, doubtless all thathas much to do with the change, and the success of St. Francis was inparticular due to the circumstance that, after so gaily espousing hislady, Poverty, he was able to lead her, bare-footed and scarcely clad, during endless and delightful spring-tides, among communities whom anardent need of love and compassion then consumed. 

 * St. Francis of Assisi, the founder of the famous order of mendicant friars. --Trans. 

While conversing, Pierre and Narcisse had reached the Piazza of St. Peter's, and they sat down at one of the little tables skirting thepavement outside the restaurant where they had lunched once before. Thelinen was none too clean, but the view was splendid. The Basilica rose upin front of them, and the Vatican on the right, above the majestic curveof the colonnade. Just as the waiter was bringing the _hors-d'oeuvre_, some _finocchio_* and anchovies, the young priest, who had fixed his eyeson the Vatican, raised an exclamation to attract Narcisse's attention:"Look, my friend, at that window, which I am told is the Holy Father's. Can't you distinguish a pale figure standing there, quite motionless?"

 * Fennel-root, eaten raw, a favourite "appetiser" in Rome during the spring and autumn. --Trans. 

The young man began to laugh. "Oh! well, " said he, "it must be the HolyFather in person. You are so anxious to see him that your very anxietyconjures him into your presence. "

"But I assure you, " repeated Pierre, "that he is over there behind thewindow-pane. There is a white figure looking this way. "

Narcisse, who was very hungry, began to eat whilst still indulging inbanter. All at once, however, he exclaimed: "Well, my dear Abbe, as thePope is looking at us, this is the moment to speak of him. I promised totell you how he sunk several millions of St. Peter's Patrimony in thefrightful financial crisis of which you have just seen the ruins; and, indeed, your visit to the new district of the castle fields would not becomplete without this story by way of appendix. "

Thereupon, without losing a mouthful, Narcisse spoke at considerablelength. At the death of Pius IX the Patrimony of St. Peter, it seemed, had exceeded twenty millions of francs. Cardinal Antonelli, whospeculated, and whose ventures were usually successful, had for a longtime left a part of this money with the Rothschilds and a part in thehands of different nuncios, who turned it to profit abroad. AfterAntonelli's death, however, his successor, Cardinal Simeoni, withdrew themoney from the nuncios to invest it at Rome; and Leo XIII on hisaccession entrusted the administration of the Patrimony to a commissionof cardinals, of which Monsignor Folchi was appointed secretary. Thisprelate, who for twelve years played such an important _role_, was theson of an employee of the Dataria, who, thanks to skilful financialoperations, had left a fortune of a million francs. Monsignor Folchiinherited his father's cleverness, and revealed himself to be a financierof the first rank in such wise that the commission gradually relinquishedits powers to him, letting him act exactly as he pleased and contentingitself with approving the reports which he laid before it at eachmeeting. The Patrimony, however, yielded scarcely more than a millionfrancs per annum, and, as the expenditure amounted to seven millions, sixhad to be found. Accordingly, from that other source of income, thePeter's Pence, the Pope annually gave three million francs to MonsignorFolchi, who, by skilful speculations and investments, was able to doublethem every year, and thus provide for all disbursements without everbreaking into the capital of the Patrimony. In the earlier times herealised considerable profit by gambling in land in and about Rome. Hetook shares also in many new enterprises, speculated in mills, omnibuses, and water-services, without mentioning all the gambling in which heparticipated with the Banca di Roma, a Catholic institution. Wonderstruckby his skill, the Pope, who, on his own side, had hitherto speculatedthrough the medium of a confidential employee named Sterbini, dismissedthe latter, and entrusted Monsignor Folchi with the duty of turning hismoney to profit in the same way as he turned that of the Holy See. Thiswas the climax of the prelate's favour, the apogee of his power. Bad dayswere dawning, things were tottering already, and the great collapse wassoon to come, sudden and swift like lightning. One of Leo XIII'spractices was to lend large sums to the Roman princes who, seized withthe gambling frenzy, and mixed up in land and building speculations, wereat a loss for money. To guarantee the Pope's advances they depositedshares with him, and thus, when the downfall came, he was left with heapsof worthless paper on his hands. Then another disastrous affair was anattempt to found a house of credit in Paris in view of working off theshares which could not be disposed of in Italy among the Frencharistocracy and religious people. To egg these on it was said that thePope was interested in the venture; and the worst was that he droppedthree millions of francs in it. * The situation then became the morecritical as he had gradually risked all the money he disposed of in theterrible agiotage going on in Rome, tempted thereto by the prospect ofhuge profits and perhaps indulging in the hope that he might win back bymoney the city which had been torn from him by force. His ownresponsibility remained complete, for Monsignor Folchi never made animportant venture without consulting him; and he must have been thereforethe real artisan of the disaster, mastered by his passion for gain, hisdesire to endow the Church with a huge capital, that great source ofpower in modern times. As always happens, however, the prelate was theonly victim. He had become imperious and difficult to deal with; and wasno longer liked by the cardinals of the commission, who were merelycalled together to approve such transactions as he chose to entrust tothem. So, when the crisis came, a plot was laid; the cardinals terrifiedthe Pope by telling him of all the evil rumours which were current, andthen forced Monsignor Folchi to render a full account of hisspeculations. The situation proved to be very bad; it was no longerpossible to avoid heavy losses. And so Monsignor Folchi was disgraced, and since then has vainly solicited an audience of Leo XIII, who hasalways refused to receive him, as if determined to punish him for theircommon fault--that passion for lucre which blinded them both. Very piousand submissive, however, Monsignor Folchi has never complained, but haskept his secrets and bowed to fate. Nobody can say exactly how manymillions the Patrimony of St. Peter lost when Rome was changed into agambling-hell, but if some prelates only admit ten, others go as far asthirty. The probability is that the loss was about fifteen millions. **

 * The allusion is evidently to the famous Union Generale, on which the Pope bestowed his apostolic benediction, and with which M. Zola deals at length in his novel _Money_. Certainly a very brilliant idea was embodied in the Union Generale, that of establishing a great international Catholic bank which would destroy the Jewish financial autocracy throughout Europe, and provide both the papacy and the Legitimist cause in several countries with the sinews of war. But in the battle which ensued the great Jew financial houses proved the stronger, and the disaster which overtook the Catholic speculators was a terrible one. --Trans. 

 ** That is 600, 000 pounds. 

Whilst Narcisse was giving this account he and Pierre had despatchedtheir cutlets and tomatoes, and the waiter was now serving them somefried chicken. "At the present time, " said Narcisse by way of conclusion, "the gap has been filled up; I told you of the large sums yielded by thePeter's Pence Fund, the amount of which is only known by the Pope, whoalone fixes its employment. And, by the way, he isn't cured ofspeculating: I know from a good source that he still gambles, though withmore prudence. Moreover, his confidential assistant is still a prelate. And, when all is said, my dear Abbe, he's in the right: a man must belongto his times--dash it all!"

Pierre had listened with growing surprise, in which terror and sadnessmingled. Doubtless such things were natural, even legitimate; yet he, inhis dream of a pastor of souls free from all terrestrial cares, had neverimagined that they existed. What! the Pope--the spiritual father of thelowly and the suffering--had speculated in land and in stocks and shares!He had gambled, placed funds in the hands of Jew bankers, practisedusury, extracted hard interest from money--he, the successor of theApostle, the Pontiff of Christ, the representative of Jesus, of theGospel, that divine friend of the poor! And, besides, what a painfulcontrast: so many millions stored away in those rooms of the Vatican, andso many millions working and fructifying, constantly being diverted fromone speculation to another in order that they might yield the more gain;and then down below, near at hand, so much want and misery in thoseabominable unfinished buildings of the new districts, so many poor folksdying of hunger amidst filth, mothers without milk for their babes, menreduced to idleness by lack of work, old ones at the last gasp likebeasts of burden who are pole-axed when they are of no more use! Ah! Godof Charity, God of Love, was it possible! The Church doubtless hadmaterial wants; she could not live without money; prudence and policy haddictated the thought of gaining for her such a treasure as would enableher to fight her adversaries victoriously. But how grievously thiswounded one's feelings, how it soiled the Church, how she descended fromher divine throne to become nothing but a party, a vast internationalassociation organised for the purpose of conquering and possessing theworld!

And the more Pierre thought of the extraordinary adventure the greaterwas his astonishment. Could a more unexpected, startling drama beimagined? That Pope shutting himself up in his palace--a prison, nodoubt, but one whose hundred windows overlooked immensity; that Pope who, at all hours of the day and night, in every season, could from his windowsee his capital, the city which had been stolen from him, and therestitution of which he never ceased to demand; that Pope who, day byday, beheld the changes effected in the city--the opening of new streets, the demolition of ancient districts, the sale of land, and the gradualerection of new buildings which ended by forming a white girdle aroundthe old ruddy roofs; that Pope who, in presence of this daily spectacle, this building frenzy, which he could follow from morn till eve, washimself finally overcome by the gambling passion, and, secluded in hisclosed chamber, began to speculate on the embellishments of his oldcapital, seeking wealth in the spurt of work and trade brought about bythat very Italian Government which he reproached with spoliation; andfinally that Pope losing millions in a catastrophe which he ought to havedesired, but had been unable to foresee! No, never had dethroned monarchyielded to a stranger idea, compromised himself in a more tragicalventure, the result of which fell upon him like divine punishment. And itwas no mere king who had done this, but the delegate of God, the man who, in the eyes of idolatrous Christendom, was the living manifestation ofthe Deity!

Dessert had now been served--a goat's cheese and some fruit--and Narcissewas just finishing some grapes when, on raising his eyes, he in turnexclaimed: "Well, you are quite right, my dear Abbe, I myself can see apale figure at the window of the Holy Father's room. "

Pierre, who scarcely took his eyes from the window, answered slowly:"Yes, yes, it went away, but has just come back, and stands there whiteand motionless. "

"Well, after all, what would you have the Pope do?" resumed Narcisse withhis languid air. "He's like everybody else; he looks out of the windowwhen he wants a little distraction, and certainly there's plenty for himto look at. "

The same idea had occurred to Pierre, and was filling him with emotion. People talked of the Vatican being closed, and pictured a dark, gloomypalace, encompassed by high walls, whereas this palace overlooked allRome, and the Pope from his window could see the world. Pierre himselfhad viewed the panorama from the summit of the Janiculum, the _loggie_ ofRaffaelle, and the dome of St. Peter's, and so he well knew what it wasthat Leo XIII was able to behold. In the centre of the vast desert of theCampagna, bounded by the Sabine and Alban mountains, the sevenillustrious hills appeared to him with their trees and edifices. His eyesranged also over all the basilicas, Santa Maria Maggiore, San Giovanni inLaterano, the cradle of the papacy, San Paolo-fuori-le-Mura, Santa Crocein Gerusalemme, Sant' Agnese, and the others; they beheld, too, the domesof the Gesu of Sant' Andrea della Valle, San Carlo and San Giovanni deiFiorentini, and indeed all those four hundred churches of Rome which makethe city like a _campo santo_ studded with crosses. And Leo XIII couldmoreover see the famous monuments testifying to the pride of successivecenturies--the Castle of Sant' Angelo, that imperial mausoleum which wastransformed into a papal fortress, the distant white line of the tombs ofthe Appian Way, the scattered ruins of the baths of Caracalla and theabode of Septimius Severus; and then, after the innumerable columns, porticoes, and triumphal arches, there were the palaces and villas of thesumptuous cardinals of the Renascence, the Palazzo Farnese, the PalazzoBorghese, the Villa Medici, and others, amidst a swarming of facades androofs. But, in particular, just under his window, on the left, the Popewas able to see the abominations of the unfinished district of the castlefields. In the afternoon, when he strolled through his gardens, bastionedby the wall of the fourth Leo like the plateau of a citadel, his viewstretched over the ravaged valley at the foot of Monte Mario, where somany brick-works were established during the building frenzy. The greenslopes are still ripped up, yellow trenches intersect them in alldirections, and the closed works and factories have become wretched ruinswith lofty, black, and smokeless chimneys. And at any other hour of theday Leo XIII could not approach his window without beholding theabandoned houses for which all those brick-fields had worked, thosehouses which had died before they even lived, and where there was nownought but the swarming misery of Rome, rotting there like somedecomposition of olden society. 

However, Pierre more particularly thought of Leo XIII, forgetting therest of the city to let his thoughts dwell on the Palatine, now bereft ofits crown of palaces and rearing only its black cypresses towards theblue heavens. Doubtless in his mind he rebuilt the palaces of theCaesars, whilst before him rose great shadowy forms arrayed in purple, visions of his real ancestors, those emperors and Supreme Pontiffs whoalone could tell him how one might reign over every nation and be theabsolute master of the world. Then, however, his glances strayed to theQuirinal, and there he could contemplate the new and neighbouringroyalty. How strange the meeting of those two palaces, the Quirinal andthe Vatican, which rise up and gaze at one another across the Rome of themiddle ages and the Renascence, whose roofs, baked and gilded by theburning sun, are jumbled in confusion alongside the Tiber. When the Popeand the King go to their windows they can with a mere opera-glass seeeach other quite distinctly. True, they are but specks in the boundlessimmensity, and what a gulf there is between them--how many centuries ofhistory, how many generations that battled and suffered, how muchdeparted greatness, and how much new seed for the mysterious future!Still, they can see one another, and they are yet waging the eternalfight, the fight as to which of them--the pontiff and shepherd of thesoul or the monarch and master of the body--shall possess the peoplewhose stream rolls beneath them, and in the result remain the absolutesovereign. And Pierre wondered also what might be the thoughts and dreamsof Leo XIII behind those window-panes where he still fancied he coulddistinguish his pale, ghostly figure. On surveying new Rome, the ravagedolden districts and the new ones laid waste by the blast of disaster, thePope must certainly rejoice at the colossal failure of the ItalianGovernment. His city had been stolen from him; the newcomers hadvirtually declared that they would show him how a great capital wascreated, and their boast had ended in that catastrophe--a multitude ofhideous and useless buildings which they did not even know how to finish!He, the Pope, could moreover only be delighted with the terrible worriesinto which the usurping _regime_ had fallen, the political crisis, andthe financial crisis, the whole growing national unrest amidst which that_regime_ seemed likely to sink some day; and yet did not he himselfpossess a patriotic soul? was he not a loving son of that Italy whosegenius and ancient ambition coursed in the blood of his veins? Ah! no, nothing against Italy; rather everything that would enable her to becomeonce more the mistress of the world. And so, even amidst the joy of hope, he must have been grieved to see her thus ruined, threatened withbankruptcy, displaying like a sore that overturned, unfinished Rome whichwas a confession of her impotency. But, on the other hand, if the Houseof Savoy were to be swept away, would he not be there to take its place, and at last resume possession of his capital, which, from his window, forfifteen years past, he had beheld in the grip of masons and demolishers?And then he would again be the master and reign over the world, enthronedin the predestined city to which prophecy has ensured eternity anduniversal dominion. 

But the horizon spread out, and Pierre wondered what Leo XIII beheldbeyond Rome, beyond the Campagna and the Sabine and Alban mountains. Whathad he seen for eighteen years past from that window whence he obtainedhis only view of the world? What echoes of modern society, its truths andcertainties, had reached his ears? From the heights of the Viminal, wherethe railway terminus stands, the prolonged whistling of engines must haveoccasionally been carried towards him, suggesting our scientificcivilisation, the nations brought nearer together, free humanity marchingon towards the future. Did he himself ever dream of liberty when, onturning to the right, he pictured the sea over yonder, past the tombs ofthe Appian Way? Had he ever desired to go off, quit Rome and hertraditions, and found the Papacy of the new democracies elsewhere? As hewas said to possess so clear and penetrating a mind he ought to haveunderstood and trembled at the far-away stir and noise that came fromcertain lands of battle, from those United States of America, forinstance, where revolutionary bishops were conquering, winning over thepeople. Were they working for him or for themselves? If he could notfollow them, if he remained stubborn within his Vatican, bound on everyside by dogma and tradition, might not rupture some day becomeunavoidable? And, indeed, the fear of a blast of schism, coming fromafar, must have filled him with growing anguish. It was assuredly on thataccount that he had practised the diplomacy of conciliation, seeking tounite in his hands all the scattered forces of the Church, overlookingthe audacious proceedings of certain bishops as far as possible, andhimself striving to gain the support of the people by putting himself onits side against the fallen monarchies. But would he ever go any farther?Shut up in that Vatican, behind that bronze portal, was he not bound tothe strict formulas of Catholicism, chained to them by the force ofcenturies? There obstinacy was fated; it was impossible for him to resignhimself to that which was his real and surpassing power, the purelyspiritual power, the moral authority which brought mankind to his feet, made thousands of pilgrims kneel and women swoon. Departure from Rome andthe renunciation of the temporal power would not displace the centre ofthe Catholic world, but would transform him, the head of the CatholicChurch, into the head of something else. And how anxious must have beenhis thoughts if the evening breeze ever brought him a vague presentimentof that something else, a fear of the new religion which was yet dimly, confusedly dawning amidst the tramp of the nations on the march, and thesound of which must have reached him at one and the same time from everypoint of the compass. 

At this precise moment, however, Pierre felt that the white andmotionless shadow behind those windowpanes was held erect by pride, bythe ever present conviction of victory. If man could not achieve it, amiracle would intervene. He, the Pope, was absolutely convinced that heor some successor would recover possession of Rome. Had not the Churchall eternity before it? And, moreover, why should not the victor behimself? Could not God accomplish the impossible? Why, if it so pleasedGod, on the very morrow his city would be restored to him, in spite ofall the objections of human reason, all the apparent logic of facts. Ah!how he would welcome the return of that prodigal daughter whose equivocaladventures he had ever watched with tears bedewing his paternal eyes! Hewould soon forget the excesses which he had beheld during eighteen yearsat all hours and in all seasons. Perhaps he dreamt of what he would dowith those new districts with which the city had been soiled. Should theybe razed, or left as evidence of the insanity of the usurpers? At allevents, Rome would again become the august and lifeless city, disdainfulof such vain matters as material cleanliness and comfort, and shiningforth upon the world like a pure soul encompassed by the traditionalglory of the centuries. And his dream continued, picturing the coursewhich events would take on the very morrow, no doubt. Anything, even arepublic was preferable to that House of Savoy. Why not a federalrepublic, reviving the old political divisions of Italy, restoring Rometo the Church, and choosing him, the Pope, as the natural protector ofthe country thus reorganised? But his eyes travelled beyond Rome andItaly, and his dream expanded, embracing republican France, Spain whichmight become republican again, Austria which would some day be won, andindeed all the Catholic nations welded into the United States of Europe, and fraternising in peace under his high presidency as Sovereign Pontiff. And then would follow the supreme triumph, all the other churches at lastvanishing, and all the dissident communities coming to him as to the oneand only pastor, who would reign in the name of Jesus over the universaldemocracy. 

However, whilst Pierre was immersed in this dream which he attributed toLeo XIII, he was all at once interrupted by Narcisse, who exclaimed: "Oh!my dear Abbe, just look at those statues on the colonnade. " The youngfellow had ordered a cup of coffee and was languidly smoking a cigar, deep once more in the subtle aesthetics which were his onlypreoccupation. "They are rosy, are they not?" he continued; "rosy, with atouch of mauve, as if the blue blood of angels circulated in their stoneveins. It is the sun of Rome which gives them that supra-terrestriallife; for they live, my friend; I have seen them smile and hold out theirarms to me during certain fine sunsets. Ah! Rome, marvellous, deliciousRome! One could live here as poor as Job, content with the veryatmosphere, and in everlasting delight at breathing it!"

This time Pierre could not help feeling surprised at Narcisse's language, for he remembered his incisive voice and clear, precise, financial acumenwhen speaking of money matters. And, at this recollection, the youngpriest's mind reverted to the castle fields, and intense sadness filledhis heart as for the last time all the want and suffering rose beforehim. Again he beheld the horrible filth which was tainting so many humanbeings, that shocking proof of the abominable social injustice whichcondemns the greater number to lead the joyless, breadless lives ofaccursed beasts. And as his glance returned yet once more to the windowof the Vatican, and he fancied he could see a pale hand uplifted behindthe glass panes, he thought of that papal benediction which Leo XIII gavefrom that height, over Rome, and over the plain and the hills, to thefaithful of all Christendom. And that papal benediction suddenly seemedto him a mockery, destitute of all power, since throughout such amultitude of centuries it had not once been able to stay a single one ofthe sufferings of mankind, and could not even bring a little justice forthose poor wretches who were agonising yonder beneath the very window. 

IX. 

THAT evening at dusk, as Benedetta had sent Pierre word that she desiredto see him, he went down to her little _salon_, and there found herchatting with Celia. 

"I've seen your Pierina, you know, " exclaimed the latter, just as theyoung priest came in. "And with Dario, too. Or rather, she must have beenwatching for him; he found her waiting in a path on the Pincio and smiledat her. I understood at once. What a beauty she is!"

Benedetta smiled at her friend's enthusiasm; but her lips twitchedsomewhat painfully, for, however sensible she might be, this passion, which she realised to be so naive and so strong, was beginning to makeher suffer. She certainly made allowances for Dario, but the girl was toomuch in love with him, and she feared the consequences. Even in turningthe conversation she allowed the secret of her heart to escape her. "Praysit down, Monsieur l'Abbe, " she said, "we are talking scandal, you see. My poor Dario is accused of making love to every pretty woman in Rome. People say that it's he who gives La Tonietta those white roses which shehas been exhibiting at the Corso every afternoon for a fortnight past. "

"That's certain, my dear, " retorted Celia impetuously. "At first peoplewere in doubt, and talked of little Pontecorvo and Lieutenant Moretta. But every one now knows that La Tonietta's caprice is Dario. Besides, hejoined her in her box at the Costanzi the other evening. "

Pierre remembered that the young Prince had pointed out La Tonietta atthe Pincio one afternoon. She was one of the few _demi-mondaines_ thatthe higher-class society of Rome took an interest in. For a month or sothe rich Englishman to whom she owed her means had been absent, travelling. 

"Ah!" resumed Benedetta, whose budding jealousy was entirely confined toLa Pierina, "so my poor Dario is ruining himself in white roses! Well, Ishall have to twit him about it. But one or another of these beautieswill end by robbing me of him if our affairs are not soon settled. Fortunately, I have had some better news. Yes, my suit is to be taken inhand again, and my aunt has gone out to-day on that very account. "

Then, as Victorine came in with a lamp, and Celia rose to depart, Benedetta turned towards Pierre, who also was rising from his chair:"Please stay, " said she; "I wish to speak to you. "

However, Celia still lingered, interested by the mention of the divorcesuit, and eager to know if the cousins would soon be able to marry. Andat last throwing her arms round Benedetta, she kissed her passionately. "So you are hopeful, my dear, " she exclaimed. "You think that the HolyFather will give you back your liberty? Oh! I am so pleased; it will beso nice for you to marry Dario! And I'm well pleased on my own account, for my father and mother are beginning to yield. Only yesterday I said tothem with that quiet little air of mine, 'I want Attilio, and you mustgive him me. ' And then my father flew into a furious passion andupbraided me, and shook his fist at me, saying that if he'd made my headas hard as his own he would know how to break it. My mother was therequite silent and vexed, and all at once he turned to her and said: 'Here, give her that Attilio she wants, and then perhaps we shall have somepeace!' Oh yes! I'm well pleased, very well pleased indeed!"

As she spoke her pure virginal face beamed with so much innocent, celestial joy that Pierre and Benedetta could not help laughing. And atlast she went off attended by a maid who had waited for her in the first_salon_. 

When they were alone Benedetta made the priest sit down again: "I havebeen asked to give you some important advice, my friend, " she said. "Itseems that the news of your presence in Rome is spreading, and that badreports of you are circulated. Your book is said to be a fierce appeal toschism, and you are spoken of as a mere ambitious, turbulent schismatic. After publishing your book in Paris you have come to Rome, it is said, toraise a fearful scandal over it in order to make it sell. Now, if youstill desire to see his Holiness, so as to plead your cause before him, you are advised to make people forget you, to disappear altogether for afortnight or three weeks. "

Pierre was stupefied. Why, they would end by maddening him with all theobstacles they raised to exhaust his patience; they would actuallyimplant in him an idea of schism, of an avenging, liberating scandal! Hewished to protest and refuse the advice, but all at once he made agesture of weariness. What would be the good of it, especially with thatyoung woman, who was certainly sincere and affectionate. "Who asked youto give me this advice?" he inquired. She did not answer, but smiled, andwith sudden intuition he resumed: "It was Monsignor Nani, was it not?"

Thereupon, still unwilling to give a direct reply, she began to praisethe prelate. He had at last consented to guide her in her divorce affair;and Donna Serafina had gone to the Palace of the Inquisition that veryafternoon in order to acquaint him with the result of certain steps shehad taken. Father Lorenza, the confessor of both the Boccanera ladies, was to be present at the interview, for the idea of the divorce was inreality his own. He had urged the two women to it in his eagerness tosever the bond which the patriotic priest Pisoni had tied full of suchfine illusions. Benedetta became quite animated as she explained thereasons of her hopefulness. "Monsignor Nani can do everything, " she said, "and I am very happy that my affair should be in his hands. You must bereasonable also, my friend; do as you are requested. I'm sure you willsome day be well pleased at having taken this advice. "

Pierre had bowed his head and remained thoughtful. There was nothingunpleasant in the idea of remaining for a few more weeks in Rome, whereday by day his curiosity found so much fresh food. Of course, all thesedelays were calculated to discourage him and bend his will. Yet what didhe fear, since he was still determined to relinquish nothing of his book, and to see the Holy Father for the sole purpose of proclaiming his newfaith? Once more, in silence, he took that oath, then yielded toBenedetta's entreaties. And as he apologised for being a source ofembarrassment in the house she exclaimed: "No, no, I am delighted to haveyou here. I fancy that your presence will bring us good fortune now thatluck seems to be changing in our favour. "

It was then agreed that he would no longer prowl around St. Peter's andthe Vatican, where his constant presence must have attracted attention. He even promised that he would virtually spend a week indoors, desirousas he was of reperusing certain books, certain pages of Rome's history. Then he went on chatting for a moment, lulled by the peacefulness whichreigned around him, since the lamp had illumined the _salon_ with itssleepy radiance. Six o'clock had just struck, and outside all was dark. 

"Wasn't his Eminence indisposed to-day?" the young man asked. 

"Yes, " replied the Contessina. "But we are not anxious: it is only alittle fatigue. He sent Don Vigilio to tell me that he intended to shuthimself up in his room and dictate some letters. So there can be nothingmuch the matter, you see. "

Silence fell again. For a while not a sound came from the deserted streetor the old empty mansion, mute and dreamy like a tomb. But all at oncethe soft somnolence, instinct with all the sweetness of a dream of hope, was disturbed by a tempestuous entry, a whirl of skirts, a gasp ofterror. It was Victorine, who had gone off after bringing the lamp, butnow returned, scared and breathless: "Contessina! Contessina!"

Benedetta had risen, suddenly quite white and cold, as at the advent of ablast of misfortune. "What, what is it? Why do you run and tremble?" sheasked. 

"Dario, Monsieur Dario--down below. I went down to see if the lantern inthe porch were alight, as it is so often forgotten. And in the dark, inthe porch, I stumbled against Monsieur Dario. He is on the ground; he hasa knife-thrust somewhere. "

A cry leapt from the _amorosa's_ heart: "Dead!"

"No, no, wounded. "

But Benedetta did not hear; in a louder and louder voice she cried:"Dead! dead!"

"No, no, I tell you, he spoke to me. And for Heaven's sake, be quiet. Hesilenced me because he did not want any one to know; he told me to comeand fetch you--only you. However, as Monsieur l'Abbe is here, he hadbetter help us. We shall be none too many. "

Pierre listened, also quite aghast. And when Victorine wished to take thelamp her trembling hand, with which she had no doubt felt the prostratebody, was seen to be quite bloody. The sight filled Benedetta with somuch horror that she again began to moan wildly. 

"Be quiet, be quiet!" repeated Victorine. "We ought not to make any noisein going down. I shall take the lamp, because we must at all events beable to see. Now, quick, quick!"

Across the porch, just at the entrance of the vestibule, Dario lay proneupon the slabs, as if, after being stabbed in the street, he had only hadsufficient strength to take a few steps before falling. And he had justfainted, and lay there with his face very pale, his lips compressed, andhis eyes closed. Benedetta, recovering the energy of her race amidst herexcessive grief, no longer lamented or cried out, but gazed at him withwild, tearless, dilated eyes, as though unable to understand. The horrorof it all was the suddenness and mysteriousness of the catastrophe, thewhy and wherefore of this murderous attempt amidst the silence of the olddeserted palace, black with the shades of night. The wound had as yetbled but little, for only the Prince's clothes were stained. 

"Quick, quick!" repeated Victorine in an undertone after lowering thelamp and moving it around. "The porter isn't there--he's always at thecarpenter's next door--and you see that he hasn't yet lighted thelantern. Still he may come back at any moment. So the Abbe and I willcarry the Prince into his room at once. " She alone retained her head, like a woman of well-balanced mind and quiet activity. The two others, whose stupor continued, listened to her and obeyed her with the docilityof children. "Contessina, " she continued, "you must light us. Here, takethe lamp and lower it a little so that we may see the steps. You, Abbe, take the feet; I'll take hold of him under the armpits. And don't bealarmed, the poor dear fellow isn't heavy. "

Ah! that ascent of the monumental staircase with its low steps and itslandings as spacious as guardrooms. They facilitated the cruel journey, but how lugubrious looked the little _cortege_ under the flickeringglimmer of the lamp which Benedetta held with arm outstretched, stiffenedby determination! And still not a sound came from the old lifelessdwelling, nothing but the silent crumbling of the walls, the slow decaywhich was making the ceilings crack. Victorine continued to whisper wordsof advice whilst Pierre, afraid of slipping on the shiny slabs, put forthan excess of strength which made his breath come short. Huge, wildshadows danced over the big expanse of bare wall up to the very vaultsdecorated with sunken panels. So endless seemed the ascent that at last ahalt became necessary; but the slow march was soon resumed. FortunatelyDario's apartments--bed-chamber, dressing-room, and sitting-room--were onthe first floor adjoining those of the Cardinal in the wing facing theTiber; so, on reaching the landing, they only had to walk softly alongthe corridor, and at last, to their great relief, laid the wounded manupon his bed. 

Victorine vented her satisfaction in a light laugh. "That's done, " saidshe; "put the lamp on that table, Contessina. I'm sure nobody heard us. It's lucky that Donna Serafina should have gone out, and that hisEminence should have shut himself up with Don Vigilio. I wrapped my skirtround Monsieur Dario's shoulders, you know, so I don't think any bloodfell on the stairs. By and by, too, I'll go down with a sponge and wipethe slabs in the porch--" She stopped short, looked at Dario, and thenquickly added: "He's breathing--now I'll leave you both to watch over himwhile I go for good Doctor Giordano, who saw you come into the world, Contessina. He's a man to be trusted. "

Alone with the unconscious sufferer in that dim chamber, which seemed toquiver with the frightful horror that filled their hearts, Benedetta andPierre remained on either side of the bed, as yet unable to exchange aword. The young woman first opened her arms and wrung her hands whilstgiving vent to a hollow moan, as if to relieve and exhale her grief; andthen, leaning forward, she watched for some sign of life on that paleface whose eyes were closed. Dario was certainly breathing, but hisrespiration was slow and very faint, and some time went by before a touchof colour returned to his cheeks. At last, however, he opened his eyes, and then she at once took hold of his hand and pressed it, instillinginto the pressure all the anguish of her heart. Great was her happinesson feeling that he feebly returned the clasp. 

"Tell me, " she said, "you can see me and hear me, can't you? What hashappened, good God?"

He did not at first answer, being worried by the presence of Pierre. Onrecognising the young priest, however, he seemed content that he shouldbe there, and then glanced apprehensively round the room to see if therewere anybody else. And at last he murmured: "No one saw me, no oneknows?"

"No, no; be easy. We carried you up with Victorine without meeting asoul. Aunt has just gone out, uncle is shut up in his rooms. "

At this Dario seemed relieved, and he even smiled. "I don't want anybodyto know, it is so stupid, " he murmured. 

"But in God's name what has happened?" she again asked him. 

"Ah! I don't know, I don't know, " was his response, as he lowered hiseyelids with a weary air as if to escape the question. But he must haverealised that it was best for him to confess some portion of the truth atonce, for he resumed: "A man was hidden in the shadow of the porch--hemust have been waiting for me. And so, when I came in, he dug his knifeinto my shoulder, there. "

Forthwith she again leant over him, quivering, and gazing into the depthsof his eyes: "But who was the man, who was he?" she asked. Then, as he, in a yet more weary way, began to stammer that he didn't know, that theman had fled into the darkness before he could recognise him, she raiseda terrible cry: "It was Prada! it was Prada, confess it, I know italready!" And, quite delirious, she went on: "I tell you that I know it!Ah! I would not be his, and he is determined that we shall never belongto one another. Rather than have that he will kill you on the day when Iam free to be your wife! Oh! I know him well; I shall never, never behappy. Yes, I know it well, it was Prada, Prada!"

But sudden energy upbuoyed the wounded man, and he loyally protested:"No, no, it was not Prada, nor was it any one working for him. That Iswear to you. I did not recognise the man, but it wasn't Prada--no, no!"

There was such a ring of truth in Dario's words that Benedetta must havebeen convinced by them. But terror once more overpowered her, for thehand she held was suddenly growing soft, moist, and powerless. Exhaustedby his effort, Dario had fallen back, again fainting, his face quitewhite and his eyes closed. And it seemed to her that he was dying. Distracted by her anguish, she felt him with trembling, groping hands:"Look, look, Monsieur l'Abbe!" she exclaimed. "But he is dying, he isdying; he is already quite cold. Ah! God of heaven, he is dying!"

Pierre, terribly upset by her cries, sought to reassure her, saying: "Hespoke too much; he has lost consciousness, as he did before. But I assureyou that I can feel his heart beating. Here, put your hand here, Contessina. For mercy's sake don't distress yourself like that; thedoctor will soon be here, and everything will be all right. "

But she did not listen to him, and all at once he was lost in amazement, for she flung herself upon the body of the man she adored, caught it in afrantic embrace, bathed it with tears and covered it with kisses whilststammering words of fire: "Ah! if I were to lose you, if I were to loseyou! And to think that I repulsed you, that I would not accept happinesswhen it was yet possible! Yes, that idea of mine, that vow I made to theMadonna! Yet how could she be offended by our happiness? And then, andthen, if she has deceived me, if she takes you from me, ah! then I canhave but one regret--that I did not damn myself with you--yes, yes, damnation rather than that we should never, never be each other's!"

Was this the woman who had shown herself so calm, so sensible, so patientthe better to ensure her happiness? Pierre was terrified, and no longerrecognised her. He had hitherto seen her so reserved, so modest, with achildish charm that seemed to come from her very nature! But under thethreatening blow she feared, the terrible blood of the Boccaneras hadawoke within her with a long heredity of violence, pride, frantic andexasperated longings. She wished for her share of life, her share oflove! And she moaned and she clamoured, as if death, in taking her loverfrom her, were tearing away some of her own flesh. 

"Calm yourself, I entreat you, madame, " repeated the priest. "He isalive, his heart beats. You are doing yourself great harm. "

But she wished to die with her lover: "O my darling! if you must go, takeme, take me with you. I will lay myself on your heart, I will clasp youso tightly with my arms that they shall be joined to yours, and then wemust needs be buried together. Yes, yes, we shall be dead, and we shallbe wedded all the same--wedded in death! I promised that I would belongto none but you, and I will be yours in spite of everything, even in thegrave. O my darling, open your eyes, open your mouth, kiss me if youdon't want me to die as soon as you are dead!"

A blaze of wild passion, full of blood and fire, had passed through thatmournful chamber with old, sleepy walls. But tears were now overcomingBenedetta, and big gasping sobs at last threw her, blinded andstrengthless, on the edge of the bed. And fortunately an end was put tothe terrible scene by the arrival of the doctor whom Victorine hadfetched. 

Doctor Giordano was a little old man of over sixty, with white curlyhair, and fresh-looking, clean-shaven countenance. By long practice amongChurchmen he had acquired the paternal appearance and manner of anamiable prelate. And he was said to be a very worthy man, tending thepoor for nothing, and displaying ecclesiastical reserve and discretion inall delicate cases. For thirty years past the whole Boccanera family, children, women, and even the most eminent Cardinal himself, had in allcases of sickness been placed in the hands of this prudent practitioner. Lighted by Victorine and helped by Pierre, he undressed Dario, who wasroused from his swoon by pain; and after examining the wound he declaredwith a smile that it was not at all dangerous. The young Prince would atthe utmost have to spend three weeks in bed, and no complications were tobe feared. Then, like all the doctors of Rome, enamoured of the finethrusts and cuts which day by day they have to dress among chancepatients of the lower classes, he complacently lingered over the wound, doubtless regarding it as a clever piece of work, for he ended by sayingto the Prince in an undertone: "That's what we call a warning. The mandidn't want to kill, the blow was dealt downwards so that the knife mightslip through the flesh without touching the bone. Ah! a man really needsto be skilful to deal such a stab; it was very neatly done. "

"Yes, yes, " murmured Dario, "he spared me; had he chosen he could havepierced me through. "

Benedetta did not hear. Since the doctor had declared the case to be freefrom danger, and had explained that the fainting fits were due to nervousshock, she had fallen in a chair, quite prostrated. Gradually, however, some gentle tears coursed from her eyes, bringing relief after herfrightful despair, and then, rising to her feet, she came and kissedDario with mute and passionate delight. 

"I say, my dear doctor, " resumed the Prince, "it's useless for people toknow of this. It's so ridiculous. Nobody has seen anything, it seems, excepting Monsieur l'Abbe, whom I ask to keep the matter secret. And inparticular I don't want anybody to alarm the Cardinal or my aunt, orindeed any of our friends. "

Doctor Giordano indulged in one of his placid smiles. "_Bene, bene_, "said he, "that's natural; don't worry yourself. We will say that you havehad a fall on the stairs and have dislocated your shoulder. And now thatthe wound is dressed you must try to sleep, and don't get feverish. Iwill come back to-morrow morning. "

That evening of excitement was followed by some very tranquil days, and anew life began for Pierre, who at first remained indoors, reading andwriting, with no other recreation than that of spending his afternoons inDario's room, where he was certain to find Benedetta. After a somewhatintense fever lasting for eight and forty hours, cure took its usualcourse, and the story of the dislocated shoulder was so generallybelieved, that the Cardinal insisted on Donna Serafina departing from herhabits of strict economy, to have a second lantern lighted on the landingin order that no such accident might occur again. And then the monotonouspeacefulness was only disturbed by a final incident, a threat of trouble, as it were, with which Pierre found himself mixed up one evening when hewas lingering beside the convalescent patient. 

Benedetta had absented herself for a few minutes, and as Victorine, whohad brought up some broth, was leaning towards the Prince to take theempty cup from him, she said in a low voice: "There's a girl, Monsieur, La Pierina, who comes here every day, crying and asking for news of you. I can't get rid of her, she's always prowling about the place, so Ithought it best to tell you of it. "

Unintentionally, Pierre heard her and understood everything. Dario, whowas looking at him, at once guessed his thoughts, and without answeringVictorine exclaimed: "Yes, Abbe, it was that brute Tito! How idiotic, eh?" At the same time, although the young man protested that he had donenothing whatever for the girl's brother to give him such a "warning, " hesmiled in an embarrassed way, as if vexed and even somewhat ashamed ofbeing mixed up in an affair of the kind. And he was evidently relievedwhen the priest promised that he would see the girl, should she comeback, and make her understand that she ought to remain at home. 

"It was such a stupid affair!" the Prince repeated, with an exaggeratedshow of anger. "Such things are not of our times. "

But all at once he ceased speaking, for Benedetta entered the room. Shesat down again beside her dear patient, and the sweet, peaceful eveningthen took its course in the old sleepy chamber, the old, lifeless palace, whence never a sound arose. 

When Pierre began to go out again he at first merely took a brief airingin the district. The Via Giulia interested him, for he knew how splendidit had been in the time of Julius II, who had dreamt of lining it withsumptuous palaces. Horse and foot races then took place there during thecarnival, the Palazzo Farnese being the starting-point, and the Piazza ofSt. Peter's the goal. Pierre had also lately read that a Frenchambassador, D'Estree, Marquis de Coure, had resided at the PalazzoSacchetti, and in 1638 had given some magnificent entertainments inhonour of the birth of the Dauphin, * when on three successive days therehad been racing from the Ponte Sisto to San Giovanni dei Fiorentiniamidst an extraordinary display of sumptuosity: the street being strewnwith flowers, and rich hangings adorning every window. On the secondevening there had been fireworks on the Tiber, with a machinerepresenting the ship Argo carrying Jason and his companions to therecovery of the Golden Fleece; and, on another occasion, the Farnesefountain, the Mascherone, had flowed with wine. Nowadays, however, allwas changed. The street, bright with sunshine or steeped in shadowaccording to the hour, was ever silent and deserted. The heavy, ancientpalatial houses, their old doors studded with plates and nails, theirwindows barred with huge iron gratings, always seemed to be asleep, wholestoreys showing nothing but closed shutters as if to keep out thedaylight for evermore. Now and again, when a door was open, you espieddeep vaults, damp, cold courts, green with mildew, and encompassed bycolonnades like cloisters. Then, in the outbuildings of the mansions, thelow structures which had collected more particularly on the side of theTiber, various small silent shops had installed themselves. There was abaker's, a tailor's, and a bookbinder's, some fruiterers' shops with afew tomatoes and salad plants set out on boards, and some wine-shopswhich claimed to sell the vintages of Frascati and Genzano, but whosecustomers seemed to be dead. Midway along the street was a modern prison, whose horrid yellow wall in no wise enlivened the scene, whilst, overhead, a flight of telegraph wires stretched from the arcades of theFarnese palace to the distant vista of trees beyond the river. With itsinfrequent traffic the street, even in the daytime, was like somesepulchral corridor where the past was crumbling into dust, and whennight fell its desolation quite appalled Pierre. You did not meet a soul, you did not see a light in any window, and the glimmering gas lamps, fewand far between, seemed powerless to pierce the gloom. On either hand thedoors were barred and bolted, and not a sound, not a breath came fromwithin. Even when, after a long interval, you passed a lighted wine-shop, behind whose panes of frosted glass a lamp gleamed dim and motionless, not an exclamation, not a suspicion of a laugh ever reached your ear. There was nothing alive save the two sentries placed outside the prison, one before the entrance and the other at the corner of the right-handlane, and they remained erect and still, coagulated, as it were, in thatdead street. 

 * Afterwards Louis XIV. --Trans. 

Pierre's interest, however, was not merely confined to the Via Giulia; itextended to the whole district, once so fine and fashionable, but nowfallen into sad decay, far removed from modern life, and exhaling a faintmusty odour of monasticism. Towards San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, wherethe new Corso Vittorio Emanuele has ripped up every olden district, thelofty five-storeyed houses with their dazzling sculptured frontscontrasted violently with the black sunken dwellings of the neighbouringlanes. In the evening the globes of the electric lamps on the Corso shoneout with such dazzling whiteness that the gas lamps of the Via Giulia andother streets looked like smoky lanterns. There were several old andfamous thoroughfares, the Via Banchi Vecchi, the Via del Pellegrino, theVia di Monserrato, and an infinity of cross-streets which intersected andconnected the others, all going towards the Tiber, and for the most partso narrow that vehicles scarcely had room to pass. And each street hadits church, a multitude of churches all more or less alike, highlydecorated, gilded, and painted, and open only at service time when theywere full of sunlight and incense. In the Via Giulia, in addition to SanGiovanni dei Fiorentini, San Biagio della Pagnotta, San Eligio degliOrefici, and three or four others, there was the so-called Church of theDead, Santa Maria dell' Orazione; and this church, which is at the lowerend behind the Farnese palace, was often visited by Pierre, who liked todream there of the wild life of Rome, and of the pious brothers of theConfraternita della Morte, who officiate there, and whose mission is tosearch for and bury such poor outcasts as die in the Campagna. Oneevening he was present at the funeral of two unknown men, whose bodies, after remaining unburied for quite a fortnight, had been discovered in afield near the Appian Way. 

However, Pierre's favourite promenade soon became the new quay of theTiber beyond the Palazzo Boccanera. He had merely to take the narrow laneskirting the mansion to reach a spot where he found much food forreflection. Although the quay was not yet finished, the work seemed to bequite abandoned. There were heaps of rubbish, blocks of stone, brokenfences, and dilapidated tool-sheds all around. To such a height had itbeen necessary to carry the quay walls--designed to protect the city fromfloods, for the river bed has been rising for centuries past--that theold terrace of the Boccanera gardens, with its double flight of steps towhich pleasure boats had once been moored, now lay in a hollow, threatened with annihilation whenever the works should be finished. Butnothing had yet been levelled; the soil, brought thither for making upthe bank, lay as it had fallen from the carts, and on all sides were pitsand mounds interspersed with the abandoned building materials. Wretchedurchins came to play there, workmen without work slept in the sunshine, and women after washing ragged linen spread it out to dry upon thestones. Nevertheless the spot proved a happy, peaceful refuge for Pierre, one fruitful in inexhaustible reveries when for hours at a time helingered gazing at the river, the quays, and the city, stretching infront of him and on either hand. 

At eight in the morning the sun already gilded the vast opening. Onturning to the left he perceived the roofs of the Trastevere, of a misty, bluish grey against the dazzling sky. Then, just beyond the apse of SanGiovanni, on the right, the river curved, and on its other bank thepoplars of the Ospedale di Santo Spirito formed a green curtain, whilethe castle of Sant' Angelo showed brightly in the distance. But Pierre'seyes dwelt more particularly on the bank just in front of him, for therehe found some lingering vestiges of old Rome. On that side indeed betweenthe Ponte Sisto and the Ponte Sant' Angelo, the quays, which were toimprison the river within high, white, fortress-like walls, had not yetbeen raised, and the bank with its remnants of the old papal cityconjured up an extraordinary vision of the middle ages. The houses, descending to the river brink, were cracked, scorched, rusted byinnumerable burning summers, like so many antique bronzes. Down belowthere were black vaults into which the water flowed, piles upholdingwalls, and fragments of Roman stone-work plunging into the river bed;then, rising from the shore, came steep, broken stairways, green withmoisture, tiers of terraces, storeys with tiny windows pierced here andtheir in hap-hazard fashion, houses perched atop of other houses, and thewhole jumbled together with a fantastic commingling of balconies andwooden galleries, footbridges spanning courtyards, clumps of treesgrowing apparently on the very roofs, and attics rising from amidst pinkytiles. The contents of a drain fell noisily into the river from a wornand soiled gorge of stone; and wherever the houses stood back and thebank appeared, it was covered with wild vegetation, weeds, shrubs, andmantling ivy, which trailed like a kingly robe of state. And in the gloryof the sun the wretchedness and dirt vanished, the crooked, jumbledhouses seemed to be of gold, draped with the purple of the red petticoatsand the dazzling white of the shifts which hung drying from theirwindows; while higher still, above the district, the Janiculum rose intoall the luminary's dazzlement, uprearing the slender profile of Sant'Onofrio amidst cypresses and pines. 

Leaning on the parapet of the quay wall, Pierre sadly gazed at the Tiberfor hours at a time. Nothing could convey an idea of the weariness ofthose old waters, the mournful slowness of their flow along thatBabylonian trench where they were confined within huge, bare, lividprison-like walls. In the sunlight their yellowness was gilded, and thefaint quiver of the current brought ripples of green and blue; but assoon as the shade spread over it the stream became opaque like mud, soturbid in its venerable old age that it no longer even gave back areflection of the houses lining it. And how desolate was its abandonment, what a stream of silence and solitude it was! After the winter rains itmight roll furiously and threateningly, but during the long months ofbright weather it traversed Rome without a sound, and Pierre could remainthere all day long without seeing either a skiff or a sail. The two orthree little steam-boats which arrived from the coast, the few tartaneswhich brought wine from Sicily, never came higher than the Aventine, beyond which there was only a watery desert in which here and there, atlong intervals, a motionless angler let his line dangle. All that Pierreever saw in the way of shipping was a sort of ancient, covered pinnace, arotting Noah's ark, moored on the right beside the old bank, and hefancied that it might be used as a washhouse, though on no occasion didhe see any one in it. And on a neck of mud there also lay a stranded boatwith one side broken in, a lamentable symbol of the impossibility and therelinquishment of navigation. Ah! that decay of the river, that decay offather Tiber, as dead as the famous ruins whose dust he is weary oflaving! And what an evocation! all the centuries of history, so manythings, so many men, that those yellow waters have reflected till, fullof lassitude and disgust, they have grown heavy, silent and deserted, longing only for annihilation. 

One morning on the river bank Pierre found La Pierina standing behind anabandoned tool-shed. With her neck extended, she was looking fixedly atthe window of Dario's room, at the corner of the quay and the lane. Doubtless she had been frightened by Victorine's severe reception, andhad not dared to return to the mansion; but some servant, possibly, hadtold her which was the young Prince's window, and so she now came to thisspot, where without wearying she waited for a glimpse of the man sheloved, for some sign of life and salvation, the mere hope of which madeher heart leap. Deeply touched by the way in which she hid herself, allhumility and quivering with adoration, the priest approached her, andinstead of scolding her and driving her away as he had been asked to do, spoke to her in a gentle, cheerful manner, asking her for news of herpeople as though nothing had happened, and at last contriving to mentionDario's name in order that she might understand that he would be up andabout again within a fortnight. On perceiving Pierre, La Pierina hadstarted with timidity and distrust as if anxious to flee; but when sheunderstood him, tears of happiness gushed from her eyes, and with abright smile she kissed her hand to him, calling: "_Grazie, grazie_, thanks, thanks!" And thereupon she darted away, and he never saw heragain. 

On another morning at an early hour, as Pierre was going to say mass atSanta Brigida on the Piazza Farnese, he was surprised to meet Benedettacoming out of the church and carrying a small phial of oil. She evincedno embarrassment, but frankly told him that every two or three days shewent thither to obtain from the beadle a few drops of the oil used forthe lamp that burnt before an antique wooden statue of the Madonna, inwhich she had perfect confidence. She even confessed that she had neverhad confidence in any other Madonna, having never obtained anything fromany other, though she had prayed to several of high repute, Madonnas ofmarble and even of silver. And so her heart was full of ardent devotionfor the holy image which refused her nothing. And she declared in allsimplicity, as though the matter were quite natural and above discussion, that the few drops of oil which she applied, morning and evening, toDario's wound, were alone working his cure, so speedy a cure as to bequite miraculous. Pierre, fairly aghast, distressed indeed to find suchchildish, superstitious notions in one so full of sense and grace andpassion, did not even venture to smile. 

In the evenings, when he came back from his strolls and spent an hour orso in Dario's room, he would for a time divert the patient by relatingwhat he had done and seen and thought of during the day. And when heagain ventured to stray beyond the district, and became enamoured of thelovely gardens of Rome, which he visited as soon as they opened in themorning in order that he might be virtually alone, he delighted the youngprince and Benedetta with his enthusiasm, his rapturous passion for thesplendid trees, the plashing water, and the spreading terraces whence theviews were so sublime. It was not the most extensive of these gardenswhich the more deeply impressed his heart. In the grounds of the VillaBorghese, the little Roman Bois de Boulogne, there were certainly somemajestic clumps of greenery, some regal avenues where carriages took aturn in the afternoon before the obligatory drive to the Pincio; butPierre was more touched by the reserved garden of the villa--that villadazzling with marble and now containing one of the finest museums in theworld. There was a simple lawn of fine grass with a vast central basinsurmounted by a figure of Venus, nude and white; and antique fragments, vases, statues, columns, and _sarcophagi_ were ranged symmetrically allaround the deserted, sunlit yet melancholy, sward. On returning on oneoccasion to the Pincio Pierre spent a delightful morning there, penetrated by the charm of this little nook with its scanty evergreens, and its admirable vista of all Rome and St. Peter's rising up afar off inthe soft limpid radiance. At the Villa Albani and the Villa Pamphili heagain came upon superb parasol pines, tall, stately, and graceful, andpowerful elm-trees with twisted limbs and dusky foliage. In the Pamphiligrounds, the elm-trees steeped the paths in a delicious half-light, thelake with its weeping willows and tufts of reeds had a dreamy aspect, while down below the _parterre_ displayed a fantastic floral mosaicbright with the various hues of flowers and foliage. That which mostparticularly struck Pierre, however, in this, the noblest, most spacious, and most carefully tended garden of Rome, was the novel and unexpectedview that he suddenly obtained of St. Peter's, whilst skirting a lowwall: a view whose symbolism for ever clung to him. Rome had completelyvanished, and between the slopes of Monte Mario and another wooded heightwhich hid the city, there only appeared the colossal dome which seemed tobe poised on an infinity of scattered blocks, now white, now red. Thesewere the houses of the Borgo, the jumbled piles of the Vatican and theBasilica which the huge dome surmounted and annihilated, showing greylyblue in the light blue of the heavens, whilst far away stretched adelicate, boundless vista of the Campagna, likewise of a bluish tint. 

It was, however, more particularly in the less sumptuous gardens, thoseof a more homely grace, that Pierre realised that even things have souls. Ah! that Villa Mattei on one side of the Coelius with its terracedgrounds, its sloping alleys edged with laurel, aloe, and spindle tree, its box-plants forming arbours, its oranges, its roses, and itsfountains! Pierre spent some delicious hours there, and only found asimilar charm on visiting the Aventine, where three churches areembowered in verdure. The little garden of Santa Sabina, the birthplaceof the Dominican order, is closed on all sides and affords no view: itslumbers in quiescence, warm and perfumed by its orange-trees, amongstwhich that planted by St. Dominic stands huge and gnarled but still ladenwith ripe fruit. At the adjoining Priorato, however, the garden, perchedhigh above the Tiber, overlooks a vast expanse, with the river and thebuildings on either bank as far as the summit of the Janiculum. And inthese gardens of Rome Pierre ever found the same clipped box-shrubs, thesame eucalypti with white trunks and pale leaves long like hair, the sameilex-trees squat and dusky, the same giant pines, the same blackcypresses, the same marbles whitening amidst tufts of roses, and the samefountains gurgling under mantling ivy. Never did he enjoy more gentle, sorrow-tinged delight than at the Villa of Pope Julius, where all thelife of a gay and sensual period is suggested by the semi-circularporticus opening on the gardens, a porticus decorated with paintings, golden trellis-work laden with flowers, amidst which flutter flights ofsmiling Cupids. Then, on the evening when he returned from the Farnesina, he declared that he had brought all the dead soul of ancient Rome awaywith him, and it was not the paintings executed after Raffaelle's designsthat had touched him, it was rather the pretty hall on the river sidedecorated in soft blue and pink and lilac, with an art devoid of geniusyet so charming and so Roman; and in particular it was the abandonedgarden once stretching down to the Tiber, and now shut off from it by thenew quay, and presenting an aspect of woeful desolation, ravaged, bossyand weedy like a cemetery, albeit the golden fruit of orange and citrontree still ripened there. 

And for the last time a shock came to Pierre's heart on the lovelyevening 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 antiquereverie was that wood of ilex-trees, so old and so sombre, where the sunin declining cast fiery gleams of red gold amidst the sheeny bronze ofthe foliage. You ascend by endless steps, and from the crowning belvedereon high you embrace all Rome at a glance as though by opening your armsyou could seize it in its entirety. From the villa's dining-room, decorated with portraits of all the artists who have successfullysojourned there, and from the spacious peaceful library one beholds thesame splendid, broad, all-conquering panorama, a panorama of unlimitedambition, whose infinite ought to set in the hearts of the young mendwelling there a determination to subjugate the world. Pierre, who camethither opposed to the principle of the "Prix de Rome, " that traditional, uniform education so dangerous for originality, was for a moment charmedby the warm peacefulness, the limpid solitude of the garden, and thesublime horizon where the wings of genius seemed to flutter. Ah! howdelightful, to be only twenty and to live for three years amidst suchinfinite sweetness, encompassed by the finest works of man; to say tooneself that one is as yet too young to produce, and to reflect, andseek, and learn how to enjoy, suffer, and love! But Pierre afterwardsreflected that this was not a fit task for youth, and that to appreciatethe divine enjoyment of such a retreat, all art and blue sky, ripe agewas needed, age with victories already gained and weariness followingupon the accomplishment of work. He chatted with some of the youngpensioners, and remarked that if those who were inclined to dreaminessand 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 pinedwith impatience, their eyes ever turned towards Paris, their souls eagerto 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 somuch rapture, awoke within them the memory of the garden of the VillaMontefiori, now a waste, but once so green, planted with the finestorange-trees of Rome, a grove of centenarian orange-trees where they hadlearnt to love one another. And the memory of their early love broughtthoughts of their present situation and their future prospects. To thesethe conversation always reverted, and evening after evening Pierrewitnessed their delight, and heard them talk of coming happiness likelovers transported to the seventh heaven. The suit for the dissolution ofBenedetta's marriage was now assuming a more and more favourable aspect. Guided by a powerful hand, Donna Serafina was apparently acting veryvigorously, for almost every day she had some further good news toreport. She was indeed anxious to finish the affair both for thecontinuity and for the honour of the name, for on the one hand Dariorefused to marry any one but his cousin, and on the other this marriagewould explain everything and put an end to an intolerable situation. Thescandalous rumours which circulated both in the white and the black worldquite incensed her, and a victory was the more necessary as Leo XIII, already so aged, might be snatched away at any moment, and in theConclave which would follow she desired that her brother's name shouldshine forth with untarnished, sovereign radiance. Never had the secretambition of her life, the hope that her race might give a third pope tothe Church, filled her with so much passion. It was as if she thereinsought a consolation for the harsh abandonment of Advocate Morano. Invariably clad in sombre garb, ever active and slim, so tightly lacedthat from behind one might have taken her for a young girl, she was so tosay the black soul of that old palace; and Pierre, who met hereverywhere, prowling and inspecting like a careful house-keeper, andjealously watching over her brother the Cardinal, bowed to her insilence, chilled to the heart by the stern look of her withered wrinkledface in which was set the large, opiniative nose of her family. Howevershe barely returned his bows, for she still disdained that paltry foreignpriest, and only tolerated him in order to please Monsignor Nani andViscount Philibert de la Choue. 

A witness every evening of the anxious delight and impatience ofBenedetta and Dario, Pierre by degrees became almost as impassioned asthemselves, as desirous for an early solution. Benedetta's suit was aboutto come before the Congregation of the Council once more. MonsignorPalma, the defender of the marriage, had demanded a supplementary inquiryafter the favourable decision arrived at in the first instance by a baremajority of one vote--a majority which the Pope would certainly not havethought sufficient had he been asked for his ratification. So thequestion now was to gain votes among the ten cardinals who formed theCongregation, to persuade and convince them, and if possible ensure analmost unanimous pronouncement. The task was arduous, for, instead offacilitating matters, Benedetta's relationship to Cardinal Boccaneraraised many difficulties, owing to the intriguing spirit rife at theVatican, the spite of rivals who, by perpetuating the scandal, hoped todestroy Boccanera's chance of ever attaining to the papacy. Everyafternoon, however, Donna Serafina devoted herself to the task of winningvotes under the direction of her confessor, Father Lorenza, whom she sawdaily at the Collegio Germanico, now the last refuge of the Jesuits inRome, for they have ceased to be masters of the Gesu. The chief hope ofsuccess lay in Prada's formal declaration that he would not put in anappearance. The whole affair wearied and irritated him; the imputationslevelled against him as a man, seemed to him supremely odious andridiculous; and he no longer even took the trouble to reply to theassignations which were sent to him. He acted indeed as if he had neverbeen married, though deep in his heart the wound dealt to his passion andhis pride still lingered, bleeding afresh whenever one or another of thescandalous rumours in circulation reached his ears. However, as theiradversary desisted from all action, one can understand that the hopes ofBenedetta and Dario increased, the more so as hardly an evening passedwithout Donna Serafina telling them that she believed she had gained thesupport of another cardinal. 

But the man who terrified them all was Monsignor Palma, whom theCongregation had appointed to defend the sacred ties of matrimony. Hisrights 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 proveyet more pitiless, establishing as a fundamental principle of the Churchthat it could not annul a marriage whose nonconsummation was purely andsimply due to the action of the wife in refusing obedience to herhusband. In presence of such energy and logic, it was unlikely that thecardinals, even if sympathetic, would dare to advise the Holy Father todissolve the marriage. And so discouragement was once more overcomingBenedetta when Donna Serafina, on returning from a visit to MonsignorNani, calmed her somewhat by telling her that a mutual friend hadundertaken to deal with Monsignor Palma. However, said she, even if theysucceeded, it would doubtless cost them a large sum. 

Monsignor Palma, a theologist expert in all canonical affairs, and aperfectly honest man in pecuniary matters, had met with a greatmisfortune in his life. He had a niece, a poor and lovely girl, for whom, unhappily, in his declining years he conceived an insensate passion, withthe result that to avoid a scandal he was compelled to marry her to arascal who now preyed upon her and even beat her. And the prelate was nowpassing through a fearful crisis, weary of reducing himself to beggary, and indeed no longer having the money necessary to extricate his nephewby marriage from a very nasty predicament, the result of cheating atcards. So the idea was to save the young man by a considerable pecuniarypayment, and then to procure him employment without asking aught of hisuncle, who, as if offering complicity, came in tears one evening, whennight 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!" shesaid, "he has just left aunt, and vowed eternal gratitude to her. He willnow 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, " repliedBenedetta. "But people say that he is a very honest man. " Nevertheless, in spite of these words, she herself became uneasy. What if MonsignorPalma should remain incorruptible in spite of the great service which hadbeen rendered him? Thenceforth this idea haunted them, and their suspensebegan once more. 

Dario, eager to divert his mind, was imprudent enough to get up before hewas perfectly cured, and, his wound reopening, he was obliged to take tohis bed again for a few days. Every evening, as previously, Pierre stroveto enliven him with an account of his strolls. The young priest was nowgetting bolder, rambling in turn through all the districts of Rome, anddiscovering the many "classical" curiosities catalogued in theguide-books. One evening he spoke with a kind of affection of theprincipal squares of the city which he had first thought commonplace, butwhich now seemed to him very varied, each with original features of itsown. There was the noble Piazza del Popolo of such monumental symmetryand so full of sunlight; there was the Piazza di Spagna, the livelymeeting-place of foreigners, with its double flight of a hundred andthirty steps gilded by the sun; there was the vast Piazza Colonna, alwaysswarming with people, and the most Italian of all the Roman squares fromthe presence of the idle, careless crowd which ever lounged round thecolumn of Marcus Aurelius as if waiting for fortune to fall from heaven;there was also the long and regular Piazza Navona, deserted since themarket was no longer held there, and retaining a melancholy recollectionof its former bustling life; and there was the Campo dei Fiori, which wasinvaded each morning by the tumultuous fruit and vegetable markets, quitea plantation of huge umbrellas sheltering heaps of tomatoes, pimentoes, and grapes amidst a noisy stream of dealers and housewives. Pierre'sgreat surprise, however, was the Piazza del Campidoglio--the "Square ofthe Capitol"--which to him suggested a summit, an open spot overlookingthe city and the world, but which he found to be small and square, and onthree sides enclosed by palaces, whilst on the fourth side the view wasof little extent. * There are no passers-by there; visitors usually comeup by a flight of steps bordered by a few palm-trees, only foreignersmaking use of the winding carriage-ascent. The vehicles wait, and thetourists loiter for a while with their eyes raised to the admirableequestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius, in antique bronze, which occupiesthe centre of the piazza. Towards four o'clock, when the sun gilds theleft-hand palace, and the slender statues of its entablature show vividlyagainst the blue sky, you might think yourself in some warm cosy squareof a little provincial town, what with the women of the neighbourhood whosit knitting under the arcade, and the bands of ragged urchins whodisport 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 hisadmiration for the Roman fountains, for in no other city of the worlddoes water flow so abundantly and magnificently in fountains of bronzeand marble, from the boat-shaped Fontana della Barcaccia on the Piazza diSpagna, the Triton on the Piazza Barberini, and the Tortoises which givetheir name to the Piazza delle Tartarughe, to the three fountains of thePiazza Navona where Bernini's vast central composition of rock andriver-gods rises so triumphantly, and to the colossal and pompousfountain of Trevi, where King Neptune stands on high attended by loftyfigures of Health and Fruitfulness. And on yet another evening Pierrecame home quite pleased, relating that he had at last discovered why itwas that the old streets around the Capitol and along the Tiber seemed tohim so strange: it was because they had no footways, and pedestrians, instead of skirting the walls, invariably took the middle of the road, leisurely wending their way among the vehicles. Pierre was very fond ofthose old districts with their winding lanes, their tiny squares soirregular in shape, and their huge square mansions swamped by amultitudinous jumble of little houses. He found a charm, too, in thedistrict of the Esquiline, where, besides innumerable flights ofascending steps, each of grey pebbles edged with white stone, there weresudden sinuous slopes, tiers of terraces, seminaries and convents, lifeless, with their windows ever closed, and lofty, blank walls abovewhich a superb palm-tree would now and again soar into the spotless blueof the sky. And on yet another evening, having strolled into the Campagnabeside the Tiber and above the Ponte Molle, he came back full ofenthusiasm for a form of classical art which hitherto he had scarcelyappreciated. Along the river bank, however, he had found the very scenerythat Poussin so faithfully depicted: the sluggish, yellow stream fringedwith reeds; low riven cliffs, whose chalky whiteness showed against theruddy background of a far-stretching, undulating plain, bounded by bluehills; a few spare trees with a ruined porticus opening on to space atopof the bank, and a line of pale-hued sheep descending to drink, whilstthe shepherd, with an elbow resting on the trunk of an ilex-tree, stoodlooking on. It was a special kind of beauty, broad and ruddy, made up ofnothing, sometimes simplified into a series of low, horizontal lines, butever ennobled by the great memories it evoked: the Roman legions marchingalong the paved highways across the bare Campagna; the long slumber ofthe middle ages; and then the awakening of antique nature in the midst ofCatholicism, whereby, for the second time, Rome became ruler of theworld. 

One day when Pierre came back from seeing the great modern cemetery, theCampo Verano, he found Celia, as well as Benedetta, by the side ofDario's bed. "What, Monsieur l'Abbe!" exclaimed the little Princess whenshe learnt where he had been; "it amuses you to visit the dead?"

"Oh those Frenchmen, " remarked Dario, to whom the mere idea of a cemeterywas repulsive; "those Frenchmen seem to take a pleasure in making theirlives wretched with their partiality for gloomy scenes. "

"But there is no escaping the reality of death, " gently replied Pierre;"the best course is to look it in the face. "

This made the Prince quite angry. "Reality, reality, " said he, "whenreality isn't pleasant I don't look at it; I try never to think of iteven. "

In spite of this rejoinder, Pierre, with his smiling, placid air, went onenumerating the things which had struck him: first, the admirable mannerin which the cemetery was kept, then the festive appearance which itderived from the bright autumn sun, and the wonderful profusion in whichmarble was lavished in slabs, statues, and chapels. The ancient atavismhad surely been at work, the sumptuous mausoleums of the Appian Way hadhere sprung up afresh, making death a pretext for the display of pomp andpride. In the upper part of the cemetery the Roman nobility had adistrict of its own, crowded with veritable temples, colossal statues, groups of several figures; and if at times the taste shown in thesemonuments was deplorable, it was none the less certain that millions hadbeen expended on them. One charming feature of the place, said Pierre, was that the marbles, standing among yews and cypresses were remarkablywell preserved, white and spotless; for, if the summer sun slowly gildedthem, there were none of those stains of moss and rain which impart anaspect of melancholy decay to the statues of northern climes. 

Touched by the discomfort of Dario, Benedetta, hitherto silent, ended byinterrupting Pierre. "And was the hunt interesting?" she asked, turningto Celia. 

The little Princess had been taken by her mother to see a fox-hunt, andhad been speaking of it when the priest entered the room. 

"Yes, it was very interesting, my dear, " she replied; "the meet was atnoon near the tomb of Caecilia Metella, where a buffet had been arrangedunder a tent. And there was such a number of people--the foreign colony, the young men of the embassies, and some officers, not to mentionourselves--all the men in scarlet and a great many ladies in habits. The'throw-off' was at one o'clock, and the gallop lasted more than two hoursand a half, so that the fox had a very long run. I wasn't able to follow, but all the same I saw some extraordinary things--a great wall which thewhole hunt had to leap, and then ditches and hedges--a mad race indeed inthe rear of the hounds. There were two accidents, but nothing serious;one gentleman, who was unseated, sprained his wrist badly, and anotherbroke his leg. "*

 * The Roman Hunt, which counts about one hundred subscribers, has flourished since 1840. There is a kennel of English hounds, an English huntsman and whip, and a stable of English hunters. --Trans. 

Dario had listened to Celia with passionate interest, for fox-hunting isone of the great pleasures of Rome, and the Campagna, flat and yetbristling with obstacles, is certainly well adapted to the sport. "Ah!"said the young Prince in a despairing tone, "how idiotic it is to beriveted to this room! I shall end by dying of _ennui_!"

Benedetta contented herself with smiling; neither reproach nor expressionof sadness came from her at this candid display of egotism. Her ownhappiness at having him all to herself in the room where she nursed himwas great indeed; still her love, at once full of youth and good sense, included a maternal element, and she well understood that he hardlyamused himself, deprived as he was of his customary pleasures and severedfrom his friends, few of whom he was willing to receive, for he fearedthat they might think the story of the dislocated shoulder suspicious. Ofcourse there were no more _fetes_, no more evenings at the theatre, nomore flirtations. But above everything else Dario missed the Corso, andsuffered despairingly at no longer seeing or learning anything bywatching the procession of Roman society from four to five eachafternoon. Accordingly, as soon as an intimate called, there were endlessquestions: Had the visitor seen so and so? Had such a one reappeared? Howhad a certain friend's love affair ended? Was any new adventure settingthe city agog? And so forth; all the petty frivolities, nine days'wonders, and puerile intrigues in which the young Prince had hithertoexpended his manly energy. 

After a pause Celia, who was fond of coming to him with innocent gossip, fixed her candid eyes on him--the fathomless eyes of an enigmaticalvirgin, and resumed: "How long it takes to set a shoulder right!"

Had she, child as she was, with love her only business, divined thetruth? Dario in his embarrassment glanced at Benedetta, who still smiled. However, the little Princess was already darting to another subject: "Ah!you know, Dario, at the Corso yesterday I saw a lady--" Then she stoppedshort, surprised and embarrassed that these words should have escapedher. However, in all bravery she resumed like one who had been a friendsince childhood, sharing many a little love secret: "Yes, a very prettyperson whom you know. Well, she had a bouquet of white roses with her allthe same. "

At this Benedetta indulged in a burst of frank merriment, and Dario, still looking at her, also laughed. She had twitted him during the earlydays because no young woman ever sent to make inquiries about him. Forhis part, he was not displeased with the rupture, for the continuance ofthe connection might have proved embarrassing; and so, although hisvanity may have been slightly hurt, the news that he was already replacedin La Tonietta's affections was welcome rather than otherwise. "Ah!" hecontented himself with saying, "the absent are always in the wrong. "

"The man one loves is never absent, " declared Celia with her grave, candid air. 

However, Benedetta had stepped up to the bed to raise the young man'spillows: "Never mind, Dario _mio_, " said she, "all those things are over;I mean to keep you, and you will only have me to love. "

He gave her a passionate glance and kissed her hair. She spoke the truth:he had never loved any one but her, and she was not mistaken in heranticipation of keeping him always to herself alone, as soon as theyshould be wedded. To her great delight, since she had been nursing him hehad become quite childish again, such as he had been when she had learntto love him under the orange-trees of the Villa Montefiori. He retained asort of puerility, doubtless the outcome of impoverished blood, thatreturn to childhood which one remarks amongst very ancient races; and hetoyed on his bed with pictures, gazed for hours at photographs, whichmade him laugh. Moreover, his inability to endure suffering had yetincreased; he wished Benedetta to be gay and sing, and amused her withhis petty egotism which led him to dream of a life of continual joy withher. Ah! how pleasant it would be to live together and for ever in thesunlight, to do nothing and care for nothing, and even if the worldshould crumble somewhere to heed it not!

"One thing which greatly pleases me, " suddenly said the young Prince, "isthat Monsieur l'Abbe has ended by falling in love with Rome. "

Pierre admitted it with a good grace. 

"We told you so, " remarked Benedetta. "A great deal of time is needed forone to understand and love Rome. If you had only stayed here for afortnight you would have gone off with a deplorable idea of us, but nowthat you have been here for two full months we are quite at ease, for youwill never think of us without affection. "

She looked exceedingly charming as she spoke these words, and Pierreagain bowed. However, he had already given thought to the phenomenon, andfancied he could explain it. When a stranger comes to Rome he brings withhim a Rome of his own, a Rome such as he dreams of, so ennobled byimagination that the real Rome proves a terrible disenchantment. And soit is necessary to wait for habituation, for the mediocrity of thereality to soften, and for the imagination to have time to kindle again, and only behold things such as they are athwart the prodigious splendourof the past. 

However, Celia had risen and was taking leave. "Good-bye, dear, " shesaid; "I hope the wedding will soon take place. You know, Dario, that Imean to be betrothed before the end of the month. Oh yes, I intend tomake my father give a grand entertainment. And how nice it would be ifthe two weddings could take place at the same time!"

Two days later, after a long ramble through the Trastevere district, followed by a visit to the Palazzo Farnese, Pierre felt that he could atlast understand the terrible, melancholy truth about Rome. He had severaltimes already strolled through the Trastevere, attracted towards itswretched denizens by his compassion for all who suffered. Ah! thatquagmire of wretchedness and ignorance! He knew of abominable nooks inthe faubourgs of Paris, frightful "rents" and "courts" where peoplerotted in heaps, but there was nothing in France to equal the listless, filthy stagnation of the Trastevere. On the brightest days a dank gloomchilled the sinuous, cellar-like lanes, and the smell of rottingvegetables, rank oil, and human animality brought on fits of nausea. Jumbled together in a confusion which artists of romantic turn wouldadmire, the antique, irregular houses had black, gaping entrances divingbelow ground, outdoor stairways conducting to upper floors, and woodenbalconies which only a miracle upheld. There were crumbling fronts, shored up with beams; sordid lodgings whose filth and bareness could beseen through shattered windows; and numerous petty shops, all theopen-air cook-stalls of a lazy race which never lighted a fire at home:you saw frying-shops with heaps of polenta, and fish swimming in stinkingoil, and dealers in cooked vegetables displaying huge turnips, celery, cauliflowers, and spinach, all cold and sticky. The butcher's meat wasblack and clumsily cut up; the necks of the animals bristled with bloodyclots, as though the heads had simply been torn away. The baker's loaves, piled on planks, looked like little round paving stones; at the beggarlygreengrocers' merely a few pimentoes and fir-apples were shown under thestrings of dry tomatoes which festooned the doorways; and the only shopswhich were at all attractive were those of the pork butchers with theirsalted provisions and their cheese, whose pungent smell slightlyattenuated the pestilential reek of the gutters. Lottery offices, displaying lists of winning numbers, alternated with wine-shops, of whichlatter there was a fresh one every thirty yards with large inscriptionssetting forth that the best wines of Genzano, Marino, and Frascati wereto be found within. And the whole district teemed with ragged, grimydenizens, children half naked and devoured by vermin, bare-headed, gesticulating and shouting women, whose skirts were stiff with grease, old men who remained motionless on benches amidst swarms of hungry flies;idleness and agitation appearing on all sides, whilst cobblers sat on thesidewalks quietly plying their trade, and little donkeys pulled cartshither and thither, and men drove turkeys along, whip in hand, and handsof beggars rushed upon the few anxious tourists who had timorouslyventured into the district. At the door of a little tailor's shop an oldhouse-pail dangled full of earth, in which a succulent plant wasflowering. And from every window and balcony, as from the many cordswhich stretched across the street from house to house, all the householdwashing hung like bunting, nameless drooping rags, the symbolical bannersof abominable misery. 

Pierre's fraternal, soul filled with pity at the sight. Ah! yes, it wasnecessary to demolish all those pestilential districts where the populacehad wallowed for centuries as in a poisonous gaol! He was for demolitionand sanitary improvement, even if old Rome were killed and artistsscandalised. Doubtless the Trastevere was already greatly changed, pierced with several new thoroughfares which let the sun stream in. Andamidst the _abattis_ of rubbish and the spacious clearings, where nothingnew had yet been erected, the remaining portions of the old districtseemed even blacker and more loathsome. Some day, no doubt, it would allbe rebuilt, but how interesting was this phase of the city's evolution:old Rome expiring and new Rome just dawning amidst countlessdifficulties! To appreciate the change it was necessary to have known thefilthy Rome of the past, swamped by sewage in every form. The recentlylevelled Ghetto had, over a course of centuries, so rotted the soil onwhich it stood that an awful pestilential odour yet arose from its baresite. It was only fitting that it should long remain waste, so that itmight dry and become purified in the sun. In all the districts on eitherside of the Tiber where extensive improvements have been undertaken youfind the same scenes. You follow some narrow, damp, evil-smelling streetwith black house-fronts and overhanging roofs, and suddenly come upon aclearing as in a forest of ancient leprous hovels. There are squares, broad footways; lofty white carved buildings yet in the rough, litteredwith rubbish and fenced off. On every side you find as it were a hugebuilding yard, which the financial crisis perpetuates; the city ofto-morrow arrested in its growth, stranded there in its monstrous, precocious, surprising infancy. Nevertheless, therein lies good andhealthful work, such as was and is absolutely necessary if Rome is tobecome a great modern city, instead of being left to rot, to dwindle intoa mere ancient curiosity, a museum show-piece. 

That day, as Pierre went from the Trastevere to the Palazzo Farnese, where he was expected, he chose a roundabout route, following the Via diPettinari and the Via dei Giubbonari, the former so dark and narrow witha great hospital wall on one side and a row of wretched houses on theother, and the latter animated by a constant stream of people andenlivened by the jewellers' windows, full of big gold chains, and thedisplays of the drapers' shops, where stuffs hung in bright red, blue, green, and yellow lengths. And the popular district through which he hadroamed and the trading district which he was now crossing reminded him ofthe castle fields with their mass of workpeople reduced to mendicity bylack of employment and forced to camp in the superb, unfinished, abandoned mansions. Ah! the poor, sad people, who were yet so childish, kept in the ignorance and credulity of a savage race by centuries oftheocracy, so habituated to mental night and bodily suffering that evento-day they remained apart from the social awakening, simply desirous ofenjoying their pride, indolence, and sunlight in peace! They seemed bothblind and deaf in their decadence, and whilst Rome was being overturnedthey continued to lead the stagnant life of former times, realisingnought but the worries of the improvements, the demolition of the oldfavourite districts, the consequent change in habits, and the rise in thecost of food, as if indeed they would rather have gone without light, cleanliness, and health, since these could only be secured by a greatfinancial and labour crisis. And yet, at bottom, it was solely for thepeople, the populace, that Rome was being cleansed and rebuilt with theidea of making it a great modern capital, for democracy lies at the endof these present day transformations; it is the people who will inheritthe cities whence dirt and disease are being expelled, and where the lawof labour will end by prevailing and killing want. And so, though one maycurse the dusting and repairing of the ruins and the stripping of all thewild flora from the Colosseum, though one may wax indignant at sight ofthe hideous fortress like ramparts which imprison the Tiber, and bewailthe old romantic banks with their greenery and their antique dwellingsdipping into the stream, one must at the same time acknowledge that lifesprings from death, and that to-morrow must perforce blossom in the dustof the past. 

While thinking of all these things Pierre had reached the deserted, stern-looking Piazza Farnese, and for a moment he looked up at the baremonumental facade of the heavy square Palazzo, its lofty entrance wherehung the tricolour, its rows of windows and its famous cornice sculpturedwith such marvellous art. Then he went in. A friend of Narcisse Habert, one of the _attaches_ of the embassy to the King of Italy, was waitingfor him, having offered to show him over the huge pile, the finest palacein Rome, which France had leased as a lodging for her ambassador. * Ah!that colossal, sumptuous, deadly dwelling, with its vast court whoseporticus is so dark and damp, its giant staircase with low steps, itsendless corridors, its immense galleries and halls. All was sovereignpomp blended with death. An icy, penetrating chill fell from the walls. With a discreet smile the _attache_ owned that the embassy was frozen inwinter and baked in summer. The only part of the building which was atall lively and pleasant was the first storey, overlooking the Tiber, which the ambassador himself occupied. From the gallery there, containingthe famous frescoes of Annibale Caracci, one can see the Janiculum, theCorsini gardens, and the Acqua Paola above San Pietro in Montorio. Then, after a vast drawing-room comes the study, peaceful and pleasant, andenlivened by sunshine. But the dining-room, the bed-chambers, and otherapartments occupied by the _personnel_ look out on to the mournful gloomof a side street. All these vast rooms, twenty and four-and-twenty feethigh, have admirable carved or painted ceilings, bare walls, a few ofthem decorated with frescoes, and incongruous furniture, superb piertables mingling with modern _bric-a-brac_. And things become abominablewhen you enter the gala reception-rooms overlooking the piazza, for thereyou no longer find an article of furniture, no longer a hanging, nothingbut disaster, a series of magnificent deserted halls given over to ratsand spiders. The embassy occupies but one of them, where it heaps up itsdusty archives. Near by is a huge hall occupying the height of twofloors, and thus sixty feet in elevation. Reserved by the owner of thepalace, the ex-King of Naples, it has become a mere lumber-room where_maquettes_, unfinished statues, and a very fine sarcophagus are stowedaway amidst all kinds of remnants. And this is but a part of the palace. The ground floor is altogether uninhabited; the French "Ecole de Rome"occupies a corner of the second floor; while the embassy huddles inchilly fashion in the most habitable corner of the first floor, compelledto abandon everything else and lock the doors to spare itself the uselesstrouble of sweeping. No doubt it is grand to live in the Palazzo Farnese, built by Pope Paul III and for more than a century inhabited bycardinals; but how cruel the discomfort and how frightful the melancholyof this huge ruin, three-fourths of whose rooms are dead, useless, impossible, cut off from life. And the evenings, oh! the evenings, whenporch, court, stairs, and corridors are invaded by dense gloom, againstwhich a few smoky gas lamps struggle in vain, when a long, long journeylies before one through the lugubrious desert of stone, before onereaches the ambassador's warm and cheerful drawing-room!

 * The French have two embassies at Rome: one at the Palazzo Farnese, to the Italian Court, and the other at the Palazzo Rospigliosi, to the Vatican. --Trans. 

Pierre came away quite aghast. And, as he walked along, the many othergrand palaces which he had seen during his strolls rose before him, oneand all of them stripped of their splendour, shorn of their princelyestablishments, let out in uncomfortable flats! What could be done withthose grandiose galleries and halls now that no fortune could defray thecost of the pompous life for which they had been built, or even feed theretinue needed to keep them up? Few indeed were the nobles who, likePrince Aldobrandini, with his numerous progeny, still occupied theirentire mansions. Almost all of them let the antique dwellings of theirforefathers to companies or individual tenants, reserving only a storey, and at times a mere lodging in some dark corner, for themselves. ThePalazzo Chigi was let: the ground floor to bankers and the first floor tothe Austrian ambassador, while the Prince and his family divided thesecond floor with a cardinal. The Palazzo Sciarra was let: the firstfloor to the Minister of Foreign Affairs and the second to a senator, while the Prince and his mother merely occupied the ground floor. ThePalazzo Barberini was let: its ground floor, first floor, and secondfloor to various families, whilst the Prince found a refuge on the thirdfloor in the rooms which had been occupied by his ancestors' lackeys. ThePalazzo Borghese was let: the ground floor to a dealer in antiquities, the first floor to a Lodge of Freemasons, and the rest to varioushouseholds, whilst the Prince only retained the use of a small suite ofapartments. And the Palazzo Odescalchi, the Palazzo Colonna, the PalazzoDoria were let: their Princes reduced to the position of needy landlordseager to derive as much profit as possible from their property in orderto make both ends meet. A blast of ruin was sweeping over the Romanpatriziato, the greatest fortunes had crumbled in the financial crisis, very few remained wealthy, and what a wealth it was, stagnant and dead, which neither commerce nor industry could renew. The numerous princes whohad tried speculation were stripped of their fortunes. The others, terrified, called upon to pay enormous taxes, amounting to nearlyone-third of their incomes, could henceforth only wait and behold theirlast stagnant millions dwindle away till they were exhausted ordistributed according to the succession laws. Such wealth as remained tothese nobles must perish, for, like everything else, wealth perishes whenit lacks a soil in which it may fructify. In all this there was solely aquestion of time: eventual ruin was a foregone and irremediableconclusion, of absolute, historical certainty. Those who resignedthemselves to the course of letting their deserted mansions stillstruggled for life, seeking to accommodate themselves to present-dayexigencies; whilst death already dwelt among the others, those stubborn, proud ones who immured themselves in the tombs of their race, like thatappalling Palazzo Boccanera, which was falling into dust amidst suchchilly gloom and silence, the latter only broken at long intervals whenthe Cardinal's old coach rumbled over the grassy court. 

The point which most struck Pierre, however, was that his visits to theTrastevere and the Palazzo Farnese shed light one on the other, and ledhim to a conclusion which had never previously seemed so manifest. As yetno "people, " and soon no aristocracy. He had found the people sowretched, ignorant, and resigned in its long infancy induced by historicand climatic causes that many years of instruction and culture werenecessary for it to become a strong, healthy, and laborious democracy, conscious of both its rights and its duties. As for the aristocracy, itwas dwindling to death in its crumbling palaces, no longer aught than afinished, degenerate race, with such an admixture also of American, Austrian, Polish, and Spanish blood that pure Roman blood became a rareexception; and, moreover, it had ceased to belong either to sword orgown, unwilling to serve constitutional Italy and forsaking the SacredCollege, where only _parvenus_ now donned the purple. And between thelowly and the aristocracy there was as yet no firmly seated middle class, with the vigour of fresh sap and sufficient knowledge, and good sense toact as the transitional educator of the nation. The middle class was madeup in part of the old servants and clients of the princes, the farmerswho rented their lands, the stewards, notaries, and solicitors whomanaged their fortunes; in part, too, of all the employees, thefunctionaries of every rank and class, the deputies and senators, whomthe new Government had brought from the provinces; and, in particular, ofthe voracious hawks who had swooped down upon Rome, the Pradas, the menof prey from all parts of the kingdom, who with beak and talon devouredboth people and aristocracy. For whom, then, had one laboured? For whomhad those gigantic works of new Rome been undertaken? A shudder of fearsped by, a crack as of doom was heard, arousing pitiful disquietude inevery fraternal heart. Yes, a threat of doom and annihilation: as yet nopeople, soon no aristocracy, and only a ravenous middle class, quarrying, vulture-like, among the ruins. 

On the evening of that day, when all was dark, Pierre went to spend anhour on the river quay beyond the Boccanera mansion. He was very fond ofmeditating on that deserted spot in spite of the warnings of Victorine, who asserted that it was not safe. And, indeed, on such inky nights asthat one, no cutthroat place ever presented a more tragic aspect. Not asoul, not a passer-by; a dense gloom, a void in front and on either hand. At a corner of the mansion, now steeped in darkness, there was a gas lampwhich stood in a hollow since the river margin had been banked up, andthis lamp cast an uncertain glimmer upon the quay, level with thelatter's bossy soil. Thus long vague shadows stretched from the variousmaterials, piles of bricks and piles of stone, which were strewn around. On the right a few lights shone upon the bridge near San Giovanni and inthe windows of the hospital of the Santo Spirito. On the left, amidst thedim recession of the river, the distant districts were blotted out. Thenyonder, across the stream, was the Trastevere, the houses on the banklooking like vague, pale phantoms, with infrequent window-panes showing ablurred yellow glimmer, whilst on high only a dark band shadowed theJaniculum, near whose summit the lamps of some promenade scintillatedlike a triangle of stars. But it was the Tiber which impassioned Pierre;such was its melancholy majesty during those nocturnal hours. Leaningover the parapet, he watched it gliding between the new walls, whichlooked like those of some black and monstrous prison built for a giant. So long as lights gleamed in the windows of the houses opposite he sawthe sluggish water flow by, showing slow, moire-like ripples there wherethe quivering reflections endowed it with a mysterious life. And he oftenmused on the river's famous past and evoked the legends which assert thatfabulous wealth lies buried in its muddy bed. At each fresh invasion ofthe barbarians, and particularly when Rome was sacked, the treasures ofpalaces and temples are said to have been cast into the water to preventthem from falling into the hands of the conquerors. Might not thosegolden bars trembling yonder in the glaucous stream be the branches ofthe famous candelabrum which Titus brought from Jerusalem? Might notthose pale patches whose shape remained uncertain amidst the frequenteddies indicate the white marble of statues and columns? And those deepmoires glittering with little flamelets, were they not promiscuous heapsof precious metal, cups, vases, ornaments enriched with gems? What adream was that of the swarming riches espied athwart the old river'sbosom, of the hidden life of the treasures which were said to haveslumbered there for centuries; and what a hope for the nation's pride andenrichment centred in the miraculous finds which might be made in theTiber if one could some day dry it up and search its bed, as had alreadybeen suggested! Therein, perchance, lay Rome's new fortune. 

However, on that black night, whilst Pierre leant over the parapet, itwas stern reality alone which occupied his mind. He was still pursuingthe train of thought suggested by his visits to the Trastevere and theFarnese palace, and in presence of that lifeless water was coming to theconclusion that the selection of Rome for transformation into a moderncapital was the great misfortune to which the sufferings of young Italywere due. He knew right well that the selection had been inevitable: Romebeing the queen of glory, the antique ruler of the world to whom eternityhad been promised, and without whom the national unity had always seemedan impossibility. And so the problem was a terrible one, since withoutRome Italy could not exist, and with Rome it seemed difficult for it toexist. Ah! that dead river, how it symbolised disaster! Not a boat uponits surface, not a quiver of the commercial and industrial activity ofthose waters which bear life to the very hearts of great modern cities!There had been fine schemes, no doubt--Rome a seaport, gigantic works, canalisation to enable vessels of heavy tonnage to come up to theAventine; but these were mere delusions; the authorities would scarcelybe able to clear the river mouth, which deposits were continuallychoking. And there was that other cause of mortal languishment, theCampagna--the desert of death which the dead river crossed and whichgirdled Rome with sterility. There was talk of draining and planting it;much futile discussion on the question whether it had been fertile in thedays of the old Romans; and even a few experiments were made; but, allthe same, Rome remained in the midst of a vast cemetery like a city ofother times, for ever separated from the modern world by that _lande_ ormoor where the dust of centuries had accumulated. The geographicalconsiderations which once gave the city the empire of the world no longerexist. The centre of civilisation has been displaced. The basin of theMediterranean has been divided among powerful nations. In Italy all roadsnow lead to Milan, the city of industry and commerce, and Rome is but atown of passage. And so the most valiant efforts have failed to rouse itfrom its invincible slumber. The capital which the newcomers sought toimprovise with such extreme haste has remained unfinished, and has almostruined the nation. The Government, legislators, and functionaries onlycamp there, fleeing directly the warm weather sets in so as to escape thepernicious climate. The hotels and shops even put up their shutters, andthe streets and promenades become deserts, the city having failed toacquire any life of its own, and relapsing into death as soon as theartificial life instilled into it is withdrawn. So all remains insuspense in this purely decorative capital, where only a fresh growth ofmen and money can finish and people the huge useless piles of the newdistricts. If it be true that to-morrow always blooms in the dust of thepast, one ought to force oneself to hope; but Pierre asked himself if thesoil were not exhausted, and since mere buildings could no longer grow onit, if it were not for ever drained of the sap which makes a racehealthy, a nation powerful. 

As the night advanced the lights in the houses of the Trastevere went outone by one: yet Pierre for a long time lingered on the quay, leaning overthe blackened river and yielding to hopelessness. There was now nodistance to the gloom; all had become dense; no longer did anyreflections set a moire-like, golden quiver in the water, or revealbeneath its mystery-concealing current a fantastic, dancing vision offabulous wealth. Gone was the legend, gone the seven-branched goldencandelabrum, gone the golden vases, gone the golden jewellery, the wholedream of antique treasure that had vanished into night, even like theantique glory of Rome. Not a glimmer, nothing but slumber, disturbedsolely by the heavy fall of sewage from the drain on the right-hand, which could not be seen. The very water had disappeared, and Pierre nolonger espied its leaden flow through the darkness, no longer had anyperception of the sluggish senility, the long-dating weariness, theintense sadness of that ancient and glorious Tiber, whose waters nowrolled nought but death. Only the vast, opulent sky, the eternal, pompoussky displayed the dazzling life of its milliards of planets above thatriver of darkness, bearing away the ruins of wellnigh three thousandyears. 

Before returning to his own chamber that evening Pierre entered Dario'sroom, and found Victorine there preparing things for the night. And assoon as she heard where he had been she raised her voice in protest:"What! you have again been to the quay at this time of night, Monsieurl'Abbe? You want to get a good knife thrust yourself, it seems. Well, formy part, I certainly wouldn't take the air at such a late hour in thisdangerous city. " Then, with her wonted familiarity, she turned and spoketo the Prince, who was lying back in an arm-chair and smiling: "Thatgirl, La Pierina, " she said, "hasn't been back here, but all the sameI've lately seen her prowling about among the building materials. "

Dario raised his hand to silence her, and, addressing Pierre, exclaimed:"But you spoke to her, didn't you? It's becoming idiotic! Just fancy thatbrute Tito coming back to dig his knife into my other shoulder--"

All at once he paused, for he had just perceived Benedetta standing thereand listening to him; she had slipped into the room a moment previouslyin order to wish him good-night. At sight of her his embarrassment wasgreat indeed; he wished to speak, explain his words, and swear that hewas wholly innocent in the affair. But she, with a smiling face, contented herself with saying, "I knew all about it, Dario _mio_. I amnot so foolish as not to have thought it all over and understood thetruth. If I ceased questioning you it was because I knew, and loved youall the same. "

The young woman looked very happy as she spoke, and for this she had goodcause, for that very evening she had learnt that Monsignor Palma hadshown himself grateful for the service rendered to his nephew by laying afresh and favourable memoir on the marriage affair before theCongregation of the Council. He had been unwilling to recall his previousopinions so far as to range himself completely on the Contessina's side, but the certificates of two doctors whom she had recently seen hadenabled him to conclude that her own declarations were accurate. Andgliding over the question of wifely obedience, on which he had previouslylaid stress, he had skilfully set forth the reasons which made adissolution of the marriage desirable. No hope of reconciliation could beentertained, so it was certain that both parties were constantly exposedto temptation and sin. He discreetly alluded to the fact that the husbandhad already succumbed to this danger, and praised the wife's loftymorality and piety, all the virtues which she displayed, and whichguaranteed her veracity. Then, without formulating any conclusion of hisown, he left the decision to the wisdom of the Congregation. And as hevirtually repeated Advocate Morano's arguments, and Prada stubbornlyrefused to enter an appearance, it now seemed certain that theCongregation would by a great majority pronounce itself in favour ofdissolution, a result which would enable the Holy Father to actbenevolently. 

"Ah! Dario _mio_!" said Benedetta, "we are at the end of our worries. Butwhat a lot of money, what a lot of money it all costs! Aunt says thatthey will scarcely leave us water to drink. "

So speaking she laughed with the happy heedlessness of an impassioned_amorosa_. It was not that the jurisdiction of the Congregations was initself ruinous; indeed, in principle, it was gratuitous. Still there werea multitude of petty expenses, payments to subaltern employees, paymentsfor medical consultations and certificates, copies of documents, and thememoirs and addresses of counsel. And although the votes of the cardinalswere certainly not bought direct, some of them ended by costingconsiderable sums, for it often became necessary to win over dependants, to induce quite a little world to bring influence to bear upon theirEminences; without mentioning that large pecuniary gifts, when made withtact, have a decisive effect in clearing away the greatest difficultiesin that sphere of the Vatican. And, briefly, Monsignor Palma's nephew bymarriage had cost the Boccaneras a large sum. 

"But it doesn't matter, does it, Dario _mio_?" continued Benedetta. "Since you are now cured, they must make haste to give us permission tomarry. That's all we ask of them. And if they want more, well, I'll givethem my pearls, which will be all I shall have left me. "

He also laughed, for money had never held any place in his life. He hadnever had it at his pleasure, and simply hoped that he would always livewith his uncle the cardinal, who would certainly not leave him and hisyoung wife in the streets. Ruined as the family was, one or two hundredthousand francs represented nothing to his mind, and he had heard thatcertain dissolutions of marriage had cost as much as half a million. So, by way of response, he could only find a jest: "Give them my ring aswell, " said he; "give them everything, my dear, and we shall still behappy in this old palace even if we have to sell the furniture!"

His words filled her with enthusiasm; she took his head between bothhands and kissed him madly on the eyes in an extraordinary transport ofpassion. Then, suddenly turning to Pierre, she said: "Oh! excuse me, Monsieur l'Abbe. I was forgetting that I have a commission for you. Yes, Monsignor Nani, who brought us that good news, bade me tell you that youare making people forget you too much, and that you ought to set to workto defend your book. "

The priest listened in astonishment; then replied: "But it was he whoadvised me to disappear. "

"No doubt--only it seems that the time has now come for you to see peopleand plead your cause. And Monsignor Nani has been able to learn that thereporter appointed to examine your book is Monsignor Fornaro, who liveson the Piazza Navona. "

Pierre's stupefaction was increasing, for a reporter's name is neverdivulged, but kept quite secret, in order to ensure a free exercise ofjudgment. Was a new phase of his sojourn in Rome about to begin then? Hismind was all wonderment. However, he simply answered: "Very good, I willset to work and see everybody. "

PART IV. 

X. 

IN his anxiety to bring things to a finish, Pierre wished to begin hiscampaign on the very next day. But on whom should he first call if hewere to steer clear of blunders in that intricate and conceitedecclesiastical world? The question greatly perplexed him; however, onopening his door that morning he luckily perceived Don Vigilio in thepassage, and with a sudden inspiration asked him to step inside. Herealised that this thin little man with the saffron face, who alwaystrembled with fever and displayed such exaggerated, timorous discretion, was in reality well informed, mixed up in everything. At one period ithad seemed to Pierre that the secretary purposely avoided him, doubtlessfor fear of compromising himself; but recently Don Vigilio had provedless unsociable, as though he were not far from sharing the impatiencewhich must be consuming the young Frenchman amidst his long enforcedinactivity. And so, on this occasion, he did not seek to avoid the chaton which Pierre was bent. 

"I must apologise, " said the latter, "for asking you in here when thingsare in such disorder. But I have just received some more linen and somewinter clothing from Paris. I came, you know, with just a little valise, meaning to stay for a fortnight, and yet I've now been here for nearlythree months, and am no more advanced than I was on the morning of myarrival. "

Don Vigilio nodded. "Yes, yes, I know, " said he. 

Thereupon Pierre explained to him that Monsignor Nani had informed him, through the Contessina, that he now ought to act and see everybody forthe defence of his book. But he was much embarrassed, as he did not knowin what order to make his visits so that they might benefit him. Forinstance, ought he to call in the first place on Monsignor Fornaro, the_consultore_ selected to report on his book, and whose name had beengiven him?

"Ah!" exclaimed Don Vigilio, quivering; "has Monsignor Nani gone as faras that--given you the reporter's name? That's even more than Iexpected. " Then, forgetting his prudence, yielding to his secret interestin the affair, he resumed: "No, no; don't begin with Monsignor Fornaro. Your first visit should be a very humble one to the Prefect of theCongregation of the Index--his Eminence Cardinal Sanguinetti; for hewould never forgive you for having offered your first homage to anothershould he some day hear of it. " And, after a pause, Don Vigilio added, ina low voice, amidst a faint, feverish shiver: "And he _would_ hear of it;everything becomes known. "

Again he hesitated, and then, as if yielding to sudden, sympatheticcourage, he took hold of the young Frenchman's hands. "I swear to you, mydear Monsieur Froment, " he said, "that I should be very happy to helpyou, for you are a man of simple soul, and I really begin to feel worriedfor you. But you must not ask me for impossibilities. Ah! if you onlyknew--if I could only tell you of all the perils which surround us!However, I think I can repeat to you that you must in no wise rely on mypatron, his Eminence Cardinal Boccanera. He has expressed absolutedisapproval of your book in my presence on several occasions. Only he isa saint, a most worthy, honourable man; and, though he won't defend you, he won't attack you--he will remain neutral out of regard for his niece, whom he loves so dearly, and who protects you. So, when you see him, don't plead your cause; it would be of no avail, and might even irritatehim. "

Pierre was not particularly distressed by this news, for at his firstinterview with the Cardinal, and on the few subsequent occasions when hehad respectfully visited him, he had fully understood that his Eminencewould never be other than an adversary. "Well, " said he, "I will wait onhim to thank him for his neutrality. "

But at this all Don Vigilio's terrors returned. "No, no, don't do that;he would perhaps realise that I have spoken to you, and then what adisaster--my position would be compromised. I've said nothing, nothing!See the cardinals to begin with, see all the cardinals. Let it beunderstood between us that I've said nothing more. " And, on that occasionat any rate, Don Vigilio would speak no further, but left the roomshuddering and darting fiery, suspicious glances on either side of thecorridor. 

Pierre at once went out to call on Cardinal Sanguinetti. It was teno'clock, and there was a chance that he might find him at home. Thiscardinal resided on the first floor of a little palazzo in a dark, narrowstreet near San Luigi dei Francesi. * There was here none of the giantruin full of princely and melancholy grandeur amidst which CardinalBoccanera so stubbornly remained. The old regulation gala suite of roomshad been cut down just like the number of servants. There was nothrone-room, no red hat hanging under a _baldacchino_, no arm-chairturned to the wall pending a visit from the Pope. A couple of apartmentsserved as ante-rooms, and then came a _salon_ where the Cardinalreceived; and there was no luxury, indeed scarcely any comfort; thefurniture was of mahogany, dating from the empire period, and thehangings and carpets were dusty and faded by long use. Moreover, Pierrehad to wait a long time for admittance, and when a servant, leisurelyputting on his jacket, at last set the door ajar, it was only to say thathis Eminence had been away at Frascati since the previous day. 

 * This is the French church of Rome, and is under the protection of the French Government. --Trans. 

Pierre then remembered that Cardinal Sanguinetti was one of the suburbanbishops. At his see of Frascati he had a villa where he occasionallyspent a few days whenever a desire for rest or some political motiveimpelled him to do so. 

"And will his Eminence soon return?" Pierre inquired. 

"Ah! we don't know. His Eminence is poorly, and expressly desired us tosend nobody to worry him. "

When Pierre reached the street again he felt quite bewildered by thisdisappointment. At first he wondered whether he had not better call onMonsignor Fornaro without more ado, but he recollected Don Vigilio'sadvice to see the cardinals first of all, and, an inspiration coming tohim, he resolved that his next visit should be for Cardinal Sarno, whoseacquaintance he had eventually made at Donna Serafina's Mondays. In spiteof Cardinal Sarno's voluntary self-effacement, people looked upon him asone of the most powerful and redoubtable members of the Sacred College, albeit his nephew Narcisse Habert declared that he knew no man who showedmore obtuseness in matters which did not pertain to his habitualoccupations. At all events, Pierre thought that the Cardinal, althoughnot a member of the Congregation of the Index, might well give him somegood advice, and possibly bring his great influence to bear on hiscolleagues. 

The young man straightway betook himself to the Palace of the Propaganda, where he knew he would find the Cardinal. This palace, which is seen fromthe Piazza di Spagna, is a bare, massive corner pile between two streets. And Pierre, hampered by his faulty Italian, quite lost himself in it, climbing to floors whence he had to descend again, and finding himself ina perfect labyrinth of stairs, passages, and halls. At last he luckilycame across the Cardinal's secretary, an amiable young priest, whom hehad already seen at the Boccanera mansion. "Why, yes, " said thesecretary, "I think that his Eminence will receive you. You did well tocome at this hour, for he is always here of a morning. Kindly follow me, if you please. "

Then came a fresh journey. Cardinal Sarno, long a Secretary of thePropaganda, now presided over the commission which controlled theorganisation of worship in those countries of Europe, Africa, America, and Oceanica where Catholicism had lately gained a footing; and he thushad a private room of his own with special officers and assistants, reigning there with the ultra-methodical habits of a functionary who hadgrown old in his arm-chair, closely surrounded by nests of drawers, andknowing nothing of the world save the usual sights of the street belowhis window. 

The secretary left Pierre on a bench at the end of a dark passage, whichwas lighted by gas even in full daylight. And quite a quarter of an hourwent by before he returned with his eager, affable air. "His Eminence isconferring with some missionaries who are about to leave Rome, " he said;"but it will soon be over, and he told me to take you to his room, whereyou can wait for him. "

As soon as Pierre was alone in the Cardinal's sanctum he examined it withcuriosity. Fairly spacious, but in no wise luxurious, it had green paperon its walls, and its furniture was of black wood and green damask. Fromtwo windows overlooking a narrow side street a mournful light reached thedark wall-paper and faded carpets. There were a couple of pier tables anda plain black writing-table, which stood near one window, its wornmole-skin covering littered with all sorts of papers. Pierre drew near toit for a moment, and glanced at the arm-chair with damaged, sunken seat, the screen which sheltered it from draughts, and the old inkstandsplotched with ink. And then, in the lifeless and oppressive atmosphere, the disquieting silence, which only the low rumbles from the streetdisturbed, he began to grow impatient. 

However, whilst he was softly walking up and down he suddenly espied amap affixed to one wall, and the sight of it filled him with suchabsorbing thoughts that he soon forgot everything else. It was a colouredmap of the world, the different tints indicating whether the territoriesbelonged to victorious Catholicism or whether Catholicism was stillwarring there against unbelief; these last countries being classified asvicariates or prefectures, according to the general principles oforganisation. And the whole was a graphic presentment of the long effortsof Catholicism in striving for the universal dominion which it has soughtso unremittingly since its earliest hour. God has given the world to HisChurch, but it is needful that she should secure possession of it sinceerror so stubbornly abides. From this has sprung the eternal battle, thefight which is carried on, even in our days, to win nations over fromother religions, as it was in the days when the Apostles quitted Judaeato spread abroad the tidings of the Gospel. During the middle ages thegreat task was to organise conquered Europe, and this was too absorbingan enterprise to allow of any attempt at reconciliation with thedissident churches of the East. Then the Reformation burst forth, schismwas added to schism, and the Protestant half of Europe had to bereconquered as well as all the orthodox East. 

War-like ardour, however, awoke at the discovery of the New World. Romewas ambitious of securing that other side of the earth, and missions wereorganised for the subjection of races of which nobody had known anythingthe day before, but which God had, nevertheless, given to His Church, like all the others. And by degrees the two great divisions ofChristianity were formed, on one hand the Catholic nations, those wherethe faith simply had to be kept up, and which the Secretariate of Stateinstalled at the Vatican guided with sovereign authority, and on theother the schismatical or pagan nations which were to be brought back tothe fold or converted, and over which the Congregation of the Propagandasought to reign. Then this Congregation had been obliged to divide itselfinto two branches in order to facilitate its work--the Oriental branch, which dealt with the dissident sects of the East, and the Latin branch, whose authority extended over all the other lands of mission: the twoforming a vast organisation--a huge, strong, closely meshed net cast overthe whole world in order that not a single soul might escape. 

It was in presence of that map that Pierre for the first time becameclearly conscious of the mechanism which for centuries had been workingto bring about the absorption of humanity. The Propaganda, richly doweredby the popes, and disposing of a considerable revenue, appeared to himlike a separate force, a papacy within the papacy, and he well understoodthat the Prefect of the Congregation should be called the "Red Pope, " forhow limitless were the powers of that man of conquest and domination, whose hands stretched from one to the other end of the earth. Allowingthat the Cardinal Secretary held Europe, that diminutive portion of theglobe, did not he, the Prefect, hold all the rest--the infinity of space, the distant countries as yet almost unknown? Besides, statistics showedthat Rome's uncontested dominion was limited to 200 millions of Apostolicand Roman Catholics; whereas the schismatics of the East and theReformation, if added together, already exceeded that number, and howsmall became the minority of the true believers when, besides theschismatics, one brought into line the 1000 millions of infidels who yetremained to be converted. The figures struck Pierre with a force whichmade him shudder. What! there were 5 million Jews, nearly 200 millionMahommedans, more than 700 million Brahmanists and Buddhists, withoutcounting another 100 million pagans of divers creeds, the whole making1000 millions, and against these the Christians could marshal barely morethan 400 millions, who were divided among themselves, ever in conflict, one half with Rome and the other half against her?* Was it possible thatin 1800 years Christianity had not proved victorious over even one-thirdof mankind, and that Rome, the eternal and all-powerful, only counted asixth part of the nations among her subjects? Only one soul saved out ofevery six--how fearful was the disproportion! However, the map spoke withbrutal eloquence: the red-tinted empire of Rome was but a speck whencompared with the yellow-hued empire of the other gods--the endlesscountries which the Propaganda still had to conquer. And the questionarose: How many centuries must elapse before the promises of the Christwere realised, before the whole world were gained to Christianity, beforereligious society spread over secular society, and there remained but onekingdom and one belief? And in presence of this question, in presence ofthe prodigious labour yet to be accomplished, how great was one'sastonishment when one thought of Rome's tranquil serenity, her patientstubbornness, which has never known doubt or weariness, her bishops andministers toiling without cessation in the conviction that she alone willsome 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 thedoings of the Propaganda, for the missions were often the instruments ofone or another nation, and exercised decisive influence in far-awaylands. And so there was a continual struggle, in which the Congregationdid all it could to favour the missionaries of Italy and her allies. Ithad always been jealous of its French rival, "L'Oeuvre de la Propagationde la Foi, " installed at Lyons, which is as wealthy in money as itself, and richer in men of energy and courage. However, not content withlevelling tribute on this French association, the Propaganda thwarted it, sacrificed it on every occasion when it had reason to think it mightachieve a victory. Not once or twice, but over and over again had theFrench missionaries, the French orders, been driven from the scenes oftheir labours to make way for Italians or Germans. And Pierre, standingin that mournful, dusty room, which the sunlight never brightened, pictured the secret hot-bed of political intrigue masked by thecivilising ardour of faith. Again he shuddered as one shudders whenmonstrous, terrifying things are brought home to one. And might not themost sensible be overcome? Might not the bravest be dismayed by thethought of that universal engine of conquest and domination, which workedwith the stubbornness of eternity, not merely content with the gain ofsouls, but ever seeking to ensure its future sovereignty over the wholeof corporeal humanity, and--pending the time when it might rule thenations itself--disposing of them, handing them over to the charge ofthis or that temporary master, in accordance with its good pleasure. Andthen, too, what a prodigious dream! Rome smiling and tranquilly awaitingthe day when she will have united Christians, Mahommedans, Brahmanists, and Buddhists into one sole nation, of whom she will be both thespiritual and the temporal queen!

However, a sound of coughing made Pierre turn, and he started onperceiving Cardinal Sarno, whom he had not heard enter. Standing in frontof 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, afterlooking at him fixedly with his dim eyes, went to his writing-table, andlet himself drop into the arm-chair without saying a word. With a gesturehe dispensed Pierre of the duty of kissing his ring. 

"I desired to offer my homage to your Eminence, " said the young man. "Isyour Eminence unwell?"

"No, no, it's nothing but a dreadful cold which I can't get rid of. Andthen, too, I have so many things to attend to just now. "

Pierre looked at the Cardinal as he appeared in the livid light from thewindow, puny, lopsided, with the left shoulder higher than the right, andnot a sign of life on his worn and ashen countenance. The young priestwas reminded of one of his uncles, who, after thirty years spent in theoffices of a French public department, displayed the same lifelessglance, parchment-like skin, and weary hebetation. Was it possible thatthis withered old man, so lost in his black cassock with red edging, wasreally one of the masters of the world, with the map of Christendom sodeeply stamped on his mind, albeit he had never left Rome, that thePrefect of the Propaganda did not take a decision without asking hisopinion?

"Sit down, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said the Cardinal. "So you have come to seeme--you have something to ask of me!" And, whilst disposing himself tolisten, he stretched out his thin bony hands to finger the documentsheaped up before him, glancing at each of them like some general, somestrategist, profoundly versed in the science of his profession, who, although his army is far away, nevertheless directs it to victory fromhis private room, never for a moment allowing it to escape his mind. 

Pierre was somewhat embarrassed by such a plain enunciation of theinterested 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 andappeal to your Eminence's wisdom for advice. Your Eminence is aware thatI am in Rome for the purpose of defending a book of mine, and I should begrateful if your Eminence would help and guide me. " Then he gave a briefaccount of the present position of the affair, and began to plead hiscause; but as he continued speaking he noticed that the Cardinal gave himvery little attention, as though indeed he were thinking of somethingelse, 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 apriest ought not to write; it is a mistake for him to do so. What is thegood of it? And the Congregation of the Index must certainly be in theright if it is prosecuting your book. At all events, what can I do? Idon't belong to the Congregation, and I know nothing, nothing about thematter. "

Pierre, pained at finding him so listless and indifferent, went on tryingto enlighten and move him. But he realised that this man's mind, sofar-reaching and penetrating in the field in which it had worked forforty years, closed up as soon as one sought to divert it from itsspecialty. It was neither an inquisitive nor a supple mind. All trace oflife faded from the Cardinal's eyes, and his entire countenance assumedan expression of mournful imbecility. "I know nothing, nothing, " herepeated, "and I never recommend anybody. " However, at last he made aneffort: "But Nani is mixed up in this, " said he. "What does Nani adviseyou to do?"

"Monsignor Nani has been kind enough to reveal to me that the reporter isMonsignor Fornaro, and advises me to see him. "

At this Cardinal Sarno seemed surprised and somewhat roused. A littlelight returned to his eyes. "Ah! really, " he rejoined, "ah!really--Well, if Nani has done that he must have some idea. Go and seeMonsignor Fornaro. " Then, after rising and dismissing his visitor, whowas compelled to thank him, bowing deeply, he resumed his seat, and amoment later the only sound in the lifeless room was that of his bonyfingers turning over the documents before him. 

Pierre, in all docility, followed the advice given him, and immediatelybetook himself to the Piazza Navona, where, however, he learnt from oneof Monsignor Fornaro's servants that the prelate had just gone out, andthat to find him at home it was necessary to call in the morning at teno'clock. Accordingly it was only on the following day that Pierre wasable to obtain an interview. He had previously made inquiries and knewwhat was necessary concerning Monsignor Fornaro. Born at Naples, he hadthere begun his studies under the Barnabites, had finished them at theSeminario Romano, and had subsequently, for many years, been a professorat the University Gregoriana. Nowadays Consultor to several Congregationsand a Canon of Santa Maria Maggiore, he placed his immediate ambition ina Canonry at St. Peter's, and harboured the dream of some day becomingSecretary of the Consistorial Congregation, a post conducting to thecardinalate. A theologian of remarkable ability, Monsignor Fornaroincurred no other reproach than that of occasionally sacrificing toliterature by contributing articles, which he carefully abstained fromsigning, to certain religious reviews. He was also said to be veryworldly. 

Pierre was received as soon as he had sent in his card, and perhaps hewould have fancied that his visit was expected had not an appearance ofsincere 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 toforbid my door, for I have some urgent work to attend to. But no matter, sit down. "

Pierre, however, remained standing, quite charmed by the bloomingappearance of this tall, strong, handsome man who, although five andforty years of age, was quite fresh and rosy, with moist lips, caressingeyes, and scarcely a grey hair among his curly locks. Nobody morefascinating and decorative could be found among the whole Roman prelacy. Careful of his person undoubtedly, and aiming at a simple elegance, helooked really superb in his black cassock with violet collar. And aroundhim the spacious room where he received his visitors, gaily lighted as itwas by two large windows facing the Piazza Navona, and furnished with ataste nowadays seldom met with among the Roman clergy, diffused apleasant odour and formed a setting instinct with kindly cheerfulness. 

"Pray sit down, Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, " he resumed, "and tell me towhat I am indebted for the honour of your visit. "

He had already recovered his self-possession and assumed a _naif_, purelyobliging air; and Pierre, though the question was only natural, and heought to have foreseen it, suddenly felt greatly embarrassed, moreembarrassed indeed than in Cardinal Sarno's presence. Should he go to thepoint at once, confess the delicate motive of his visit? A moment'sreflection showed him that this would be the best and worthier course. "Dear me, Monseigneur, " he replied, "I know very well that the step Ihave taken in calling on you is not usually taken, but it has beenadvised me, and it has seemed to me that among honest folks there cannever 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 ofperfect candour, and still continuing to smile. 

"Well, simply this. I have learnt that the Congregation of the Index hashanded you my book 'New Rome, ' and appointed you to examine it; and Ihave ventured to present myself before you in case you should have anyexplanations to ask of me. "

But Monsignor Fornaro seemed unwilling to hear any more. He had carriedboth 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 medreadfully. Let us say, if you like, that you have been deceived, fornothing ought to be known, in fact nothing is known, either by others ormyself. I pray you, do not let us talk of such matters. "

Pierre, however, had fortunately remarked what a decisive effect wasproduced when he had occasion to mention the name of the Assessor of theHoly Office. So it occurred to him to reply: "I most certainly do notdesire to give you the slightest cause for embarrassment, Monseigneur, and I repeat to you that I would never have ventured to importune you ifMonsignor Nani himself had not acquainted me with your name and address. "

This time the effect was immediate, though Monsignor Fornaro, with thateasy grace which he introduced into all things, made some ceremony aboutsurrendering. He began by a demurrer, speaking archly with subtle shadesof expression. "What! is Monsignor Nani the tattler! But I shall scoldhim, I shall get angry with him! And what does he know? He doesn't belongto the Congregation; he may have been led into error. You must tell himthat he has made a mistake, and that I have nothing at all to do withyour affair. That will teach him not to reveal needful secrets whicheverybody respects!" Then, in a pleasant way, with winning glance andflowery lips, he went on: "Come, since Monsignor Nani desires it, I amwilling to chat with you for a moment, my dear Monsieur Froment, but oncondition that you shall know nothing of my report or of what may havebeen said or done at the Congregation. "

Pierre in his turn smiled, admiring how easy things became when formswere respected and appearances saved. And once again he began to explainhis case, the profound astonishment into which the prosecution of hisbook had thrown him, and his ignorance of the objections which were takento it, and for which he had vainly sought a cause. 

"Really, really, " repeated the prelate, quite amazed at so muchinnocence. "The Congregation is a tribunal, and can only act when a caseis brought before it. Proceedings have been taken against your booksimply because it has been denounced. "

"Yes, I know, denounced. "

"Of course. Complaint was laid by three French bishops, whose names youwill allow me to keep secret, and it consequently became necessary forthe Congregation to examine the incriminated work. "

Pierre looked at him quite scared. Denounced by three bishops? Why? Withwhat object? Then he thought of his protector. "But Cardinal Bergerot, "said he, "wrote me a letter of approval, which I placed at the beginningof my work as a preface. Ought not a guarantee like that to have beensufficient for the French episcopacy?"

Monsignor Fornaro wagged his head in a knowing way before making up hismind to reply: "Ah! yes, no doubt, his Eminence's letter, a verybeautiful letter. I think, however, that it would have been much betterif he had not written it, both for himself and for you especially. " Thenas the priest, whose surprise was increasing, opened his mouth to urgehim to explain himself, he went on: "No, no, I know nothing, I saynothing. His Eminence Cardinal Bergerot is a saintly man whom everybodyvenerates, and if it were possible for him to sin it would only bethrough pure goodness of heart. "

Silence fell. Pierre could divine that an abyss was opening, and darednot insist. However, he at last resumed with some violence: "But, afterall, why should my book be prosecuted, and the books of others be leftuntouched? I have no intention of acting as a denouncer myself, but howmany books there are to which Rome closes her eyes, and which are farmore dangerous than mine can be!"

This time Monsignor Fornaro seemed glad to be able to support Pierre'sviews. "You are right, " said he, "we cannot deal with every bad book, andit greatly distresses us. But you must remember what an incalculablenumber of works we should be compelled to read. And so we have to contentourselves with condemning the worst _en bloc_. "

Then he complacently entered into explanations. In principle, no printerought to send any work to press without having previously submitted themanuscript to the approval of the bishop of the diocese. Nowadays, however, with the enormous output of the printing trade, one couldunderstand how terribly embarrassed the bishops would be if the printerswere suddenly to conform to the Church's regulation. There was neitherthe time nor the money, nor were there the men necessary for suchcolossal labour. And so the Congregation of the Index condemned _enmasse_, without examination, all works of certain categories: first, books which were dangerous for morals, all erotic writings, and allnovels; next the various bibles in the vulgar tongue, for the perusal ofHoly Writ without discretion was not allowable; then the books on magicand sorcery, and all works on science, history, or philosophy that werein any way contrary to dogma, as well as the writings of heresiarchs ormere ecclesiastics discussing religion, which should never be discussed. All these were wise laws made by different popes, and were set forth inthe preface to the catalogue of forbidden books which the Congregationpublished, and without them this catalogue, to have been complete, wouldin itself have formed a large library. On turning it over one found thatthe works singled out for interdiction were chiefly those of priests, thetask being so vast and difficult that Rome's concern extended but littlebeyond the observance of good order within the Church. And Pierre and hisbook came within the limit. 

"You will understand, " continued Monsignor Fornaro, "that we have nodesire to advertise a heap of unwholesome writings by honouring them withspecial condemnation. Their name is legion in every country, and weshould have neither enough paper nor enough ink to deal with them all. Sowe content ourselves with condemning one from time to time, when it bearsa famous name and makes too much noise, or contains disquieting attackson the faith. This suffices to remind the world that we exist and defendourselves without abandoning aught of our rights or duties. "

"But my book, my book, " exclaimed Pierre, "why these proceedings againstmy book?"

"I am explaining that to you as far as it is allowable for me to do, mydear Monsieur Froment. You are a priest, your book is a success, you havepublished a cheap edition of it which sells very readily; and I don'tspeak of its literary merit, which is remarkable, for it contains abreath of real poetry which transported me, and on which I must reallycompliment you. However, under the circumstances which I have enumerated, how could we close our eyes to such a work as yours, in which theconclusion arrived at is the annihilation of our holy religion and thedestruction of Rome?"

Pierre remained open-mouthed, suffocating with surprise. "The destructionof Rome!" he at last exclaimed; "but I desire to see Rome rejuvenated, eternal, again the queen of the world. " And, once more mastered by hisglowing enthusiasm, he defended himself and confessed his faith:Catholicism reverting to the principles and practices of the primitiveChurch, drawing the blood of regeneration from the fraternal Christianityof Jesus; the Pope, freed from all terrestrial royalty, governing thewhole of humanity with charity and love, and saving the world from thefrightful social cataclysm that threatens it by leading it to the realKingdom of God: the Christian communion of all nations united in onenation only. "And can the Holy Father disavow me?" he continued. "Are notthese his secret ideas, which people are beginning to divine, and doesnot my only offence lie in having expressed them perhaps too soon and toofreely? And if I were allowed to see him should I not at once obtain fromhim an order to stop these proceedings?"

Monsignor Fornaro no longer spoke, but wagged his head without appearingoffended by the priest's juvenile ardour. On the contrary, he smiled withincreasing amiability, as though highly amused by so much innocence andimagination. At last he gaily responded, "Oh! speak on, speak on; itisn't I who will stop you. I'm forbidden to say anything. But thetemporal power, the temporal power. "

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

The prelate had again become silent, raising his amiable face to heavenand waving his white hands with a pretty gesture. And when he once moreopened his mouth it was to say: "Then there's your new religion--for theexpression occurs twice: the new religion, the new religion--ah, _Dio_!"

Again he became restless, going off into an ecstasy of wonderment, atsight of which Pierre impatiently exclaimed: "I do not know what yourreport will be, Monseigneur, but I declare to you that I have had nodesire to attack dogma. And, candidly now, my whole book shows that Ionly sought to write a work of pity and salvation. It is only justicethat 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. "Youmay be sure, my dear Monsieur Froment, that I feel much honoured by yourvisit. Naturally I cannot tell you what my report will be; as it is, wehave talked too much about it, and, in fact, I ought to have refused tolisten to your defence. At the same time, you will always find me readyto be of service to you in anything that does not go against my duty. ButI greatly fear that your book will be condemned. " And then, as Pierreagain started, he added: "Well, yes. It is facts that are judged, youknow, not intentions. So all defence is useless; the book is there, andwe take it such as it is. However much you may try to explain it, youcannot alter it. And this is why the Congregation never calls the accusedparties before it, and never accepts from them aught but retraction pureand simple. And, indeed, the wisest course would be for you to withdrawyour 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 pridewhich had just escaped his young friend, as he called him. Then, onreaching the door, he again threw off some of his reserve, and said in alow voice, "Come, my dear Abbe, there is something I will do for you. Iwill give you some good advice. At bottom, I myself am nothing. I delivermy report, and it is printed, and the members of the Congregation readit, but are quite free to pay no attention to it. However, the Secretaryof the Congregation, Father Dangelis, can accomplish everything, evenimpossibilities. Go to see him; you will find him at the Dominicanconvent behind the Piazza di Spagna. Don't name me. And for the presentgood-bye, my dear fellow, good-bye. "

Pierre once more found himself on the Piazza Navona, quite dazed, nolonger knowing what to believe or hope. A cowardly idea was coming overhim; why should he continue this struggle, in which his adversariesremained unknown and indiscernible? Why carry obstinacy any further, whylinger any longer in that impassionating but deceptive Rome? He wouldflee that very evening, return to Paris, disappear there, and forget hisbitter disillusion in the practice of humble charity. He was traversingone of those hours of weakness when the long-dreamt-of task suddenlyseems to be an impossibility. However, amidst his great confusion he wasnevertheless walking on, going towards his destination. And when he foundhimself in the Corso, then in the Via dei Condotti, and finally in thePiazza di Spagna, he resolved that he would at any rate see FatherDangelis. The Dominican convent is there, just below the Trinity de'Monti. 

Ah! those Dominicans! Pierre had never thought of them without a feelingof respect with which mingled a little fear. What vigorous pillars of theprinciple of authority and theocracy they had for centuries provedthemselves to be! To them the Church had been indebted for its greatestmeasure 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 theintelligent and powerful. And this he did with passion, amidst a blaze offaith and determination, making use of all possible means, preachings, writings, and police and judicial pressure. Though he did not found theInquisition, its principles were his, and it was with fire and sword thathis fraternal, loving heart waged war on schism. Living like his monks, in poverty, chastity, and obedience--the great virtues of those times ofpride and licentiousness--he went from city to city, exhorting theimpious, striving to bring them back to the Church and arraigning thembefore the ecclesiastical courts when his preachings did not suffice. Healso laid siege to science, sought to make it his own, dreamt ofdefending God with the weapons of reason and human knowledge like a trueforerunner of the angelic St. Thomas, that light of the middle ages, whojoined the Dominican order and set everything in his "Summa Theologiae, "psychology, logic, policy, and morals. And thus it was that theDominicans filled the world, upholding the doctrines of Rome in the mostfamous pulpits of every nation, and contending almost everywhere againstthe free sprit of the Universities, like the vigilant guardians of dogmathat they were, the unwearying artisans of the fortunes of the popes, themost powerful amongst all the artistic, scientific, and literary workerswho 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 lastthrough all eternity, asked himself what could be the present use of theDominicans, those toilers of another age, whose police system and whosetribunals had perished beneath universal execration, whose voices were nolonger listened to, whose books were but seldom read, and whose _role_ as_savants_ and civilisers had come to an end in presence of latter-dayscience, the truths of which were rending dogma on all sides. Certainlythe Dominicans still form an influential and prosperous order; but howfar one is from the times when their general reigned in Rome, Master ofthe Holy Palace, with convents and schools, and subjects throughoutEurope! Of all their vast inheritance, so far as the Roman curia isconcerned, only a few posts now remain to them, and among others theSecretaryship of the Congregation of the Index, a former dependency ofthe Holy Office where they once despotically ruled. 

Pierre was immediately ushered into the presence of Father Dangelis. Theconvent parlour was vast, bare, and white, flooded with bright sunshine. The only furniture was a table and some stools; and a large brasscrucifix hung from the wall. Near the table stood the Father, a very thinman of about fifty, severely draped in his ample white habit and blackmantle. From his long ascetic face, with thin lips, thin nose, andpointed, obstinate chin, his grey eyes shone out with a fixity thatembarrassed one. And, moreover, he showed himself very plain and simpleof speech, and frigidly polite in manner. 

"Monsieur l'Abbe Froment--the author of 'New Rome, ' I suppose?" Thenseating himself on one stool and pointing to another, he added: "Prayacquaint me with the object of your visit, Monsieur l'Abbe. "

Thereupon Pierre had to begin his explanation, his defence, all overagain; and the task soon became the more painful as his words fell fromhis lips amidst death-like silence and frigidity. Father Dangelis did notstir; with his hands crossed upon his knees he kept his sharp, penetrating eyes fixed upon those of the priest. And when the latter hadat last ceased speaking, he slowly said: "I did not like to interruptyou, Monsieur l'Abbe, but it was not for me to hear all this. Processagainst your book has begun, and no power in the world can stay or impedeits course. I do not therefore realise what it is that you apparentlyexpect of me. "

In a quivering voice Pierre was bold enough to answer: "I look for somekindness and justice. "

A pale smile, instinct with proud humility, arose to the Dominican'slips. "Be without fear, " he replied, "God has ever deigned to enlightenme in the discharge of my modest duties. Personally, be it said, I haveno justice to render; I am but an employee whose duty is to classifymatters and draw up documents concerning them. Their Eminences, themembers of the Congregation, will alone pronounce judgment on your book. And assuredly they will do so with the help of the Holy Spirit. You willonly have to bow to their sentence when it shall have been ratified byhis Holiness. "

Then he broke off the interview by rising, and Pierre was obliged to dothe same. The Dominican's words were virtually identical with those thathad fallen from Monsignor Fornaro, but they were spoken with cuttingfrankness, a sort of tranquil bravery. On all sides Pierre came intocollision with the same anonymous force, the same powerful engine whosecomponent parts sought to ignore one another. For a long time yet, nodoubt, he would be sent from one to the other, without ever finding thevolitional element which reasoned and acted. And the only thing that hecould do was to bow to it all. 

However, before going off, it occurred to him once more to mention thename of Monsignor Nani, the powerful effect of which he had begun torealise. "I ask your pardon, " he said, "for having disturbed you to nopurpose, but I simply deferred to the kind advice of Monsignor Nani, whohas condescended to show me some interest. "

The effect of these words was unexpected. Again did Father Dangelis'sthin face brighten into a smile, but with a twist of the lips, sharp withironical contempt. He had become yet paler, and his keen intelligent eyeswere flaming. "Ah! it was Monsignor Nani who sent you!" he said. "Well, if you think you need a protector, it is useless for you to apply to anyother than himself. He is all-powerful. Go to see him; go to see him!"

And that was the only encouragement Pierre derived from his visit: theadvice to go back to the man who had sent him. At this he felt that hewas losing ground, and he resolved to return home in order to reflect onthings and try to understand them before taking any further steps. Theidea of questioning Don Vigilio at once occurred to him, and that sameevening after supper he luckily met the secretary in the corridor, justas, candle in hand, he was on his way to bed. 

"I have so many things that I should like to say to you, " Pierre said tohim. "Can you kindly come to my rooms for a moment?"

But the other promptly silenced him with a gesture, and then whispered:"Didn't you see Abbe Paparelli on the first floor? He was following us, I'm sure. "

Pierre often saw the train-bearer roaming about the house, and greatlydisliked his stealthy, prying ways. However, he had hitherto attached noimportance to him, and was therefore much surprised by Don Vigilio'squestion. The other, without awaiting his reply, had returned to the endof the corridor, where for a long while he remained listening. Then hecame back on tip-toe, blew out his candle, and darted into Pierre'ssitting-room. "There--that's done, " he murmured directly the door wasshut. "But if it is all the same to you, we won't stop in thissitting-room. Let us go into your bed-room. Two walls are better thanone. "

When the lamp had been placed on the table and they found themselvesseated face to face in that bare, faded bed-chamber, Pierre noticed thatthe secretary was suffering from a more violent attack of fever thanusual. His thin puny figure was shivering from head to foot, and hisardent eyes had never before blazed so blackly in his ravaged, yellowface. "Are you poorly?" asked Pierre. "I don't want to tire you. "

"Poorly, yes, I am on fire--but I want to talk. I can't bear it anylonger. One always has to relieve oneself some day or other. "

Was it his complaint that he desired to relieve; or was he anxious tobreak his long silence in order that it might not stifle him? This atfirst remained uncertain. He immediately asked for an account of thesteps that Pierre had lately taken, and became yet more restless when heheard how the other had been received by Cardinal Sarno, MonsignorFornaro, and Father Dangelis. "Yes, that's quite it, " he repeated, "nothing astonishes me nowadays, and yet I feel indignant on youraccount. Yes, it doesn't concern me, but all the same it makes me ill, for it reminds me of all my own troubles. You must not rely on CardinalSarno, remember, for he is always elsewhere, with his mind far away, andhas never helped anybody. But that Fornaro, that Fornaro!"

"He seemed to me very amiable, even kindly disposed, " replied Pierre;"and I really think that after our interview, he will considerably softenhis report. "

"He! Why, the gentler he was with you the more grievously he will saddleyou! He will devour you, fatten himself with such easy prey. Ah! youdon't know him, _dilizioso_ that he is, ever on the watch to rear his ownfortune on the troubles of poor devils whose defeat is bound to pleasethe powerful. I prefer the other one, Father Dangelis, a terrible man, nodoubt, but frank and brave and of superior mind. I must admit, however, that he would burn you like a handful of straw if he were the master. Andah! if I could tell you everything, if I could show you the frightfulunder-side of this world of ours, the monstrous, ravenous ambition, theabominable network of intrigues, venality, cowardice, treachery, and evencrime!"

On seeing Don Vigilio so excited, in such a blaze of spite, Pierrethought of extracting from him some of the many items of informationwhich he had hitherto sought in vain. "Well, tell me merely what is theposition of my affair, " he responded. "When I questioned you on myarrival here you said that nothing had yet reached Cardinal Boccanera. But all information must now have been collected, and you must know ofit. And, by the way, Monsignor Fornaro told me that three French bishopshad asked that my book should be prosecuted. Three bishops, is itpossible?"

Don Vigilio shrugged his shoulders. "Ah!" said he, "yours is an innocentsoul! I'm surprised that there were _only_ three! Yes, several documentsrelating to your affair are in our hands; and, moreover, things haveturned out much as I suspected. The three bishops are first the Bishop ofTarbes, who evidently carries out the vengeance of the Fathers ofLourdes; and then the Bishops of Poitiers and Evreux, who are both knownas uncompromising Ultramontanists and passionate adversaries of CardinalBergerot. The Cardinal, you know, is regarded with disfavour at theVatican, where his Gallican ideas and broad liberal mind provoke perfectanger. And don't seek for anything else. The whole affair lies in that:an execution which the powerful Fathers of Lourdes demand of hisHoliness, and a desire to reach and strike Cardinal Bergerot through yourbook, by means of the letter of approval which he imprudently wrote toyou and which you published by way of preface. For a long time past thecondemnations of the Index have largely been secret knock-down blowslevelled at Churchmen. Denunciation reigns supreme, and the law appliedis that of good pleasure. I could tell you some almost incredible things, how perfectly innocent books have been selected among a hundred for thesole object of killing an idea or a man; for the blow is almost alwayslevelled at some one behind the author, some one higher than he is. Andthere is such a hot-bed of intrigue, such a source of abuses in thisinstitution of the Index, that it is tottering, and even among those whosurround the Pope it is felt that it must soon be freshly regulated if itis not to fall into complete discredit. I well understand that the Churchshould endeavour to retain universal power, and govern by every fitweapon, but the weapons must be such as one can use without theirinjustice leading to revolt, or their antique childishness provokingmerriment!"

Pierre listened with dolorous astonishment in his heart. Since he hadbeen at Rome and had seen the Fathers of the Grotto saluted and fearedthere, holding an authoritative position, thanks to the large alms whichthey contributed to the Peter's Pence, he had felt that they were behindthe proceedings instituted against him, and realised that he would haveto pay for a certain page of his book in which he had called attention toan iniquitous displacement of fortune at Lourdes, a frightful spectaclewhich made one doubt the very existence of the Divinity, a continualcause of battle and conflict which would disappear in the truly Christiansociety of to-morrow. And he could also now understand that his delightat the loss of the temporal power must have caused a scandal, andespecially that the unfortunate expression "a new religion" had alonebeen sufficient to arm _delatores_ against him. But that which amazed andgrieved him was to learn that Cardinal Bergerot's letter was looked uponas a crime, and that his (Pierre's) book was denounced and condemned inorder that adversaries who dared not attack the venerable pastor face toface might, deal him a cowardly blow from behind. The thought ofafflicting that saintly man, of serving as the implement to strike him inhis ardent charity, cruelly grieved Pierre. And how bitter anddisheartening it was to find the most hideous questions of pride andmoney, ambition and appetite, running riot with the most ferociousegotism, beneath the quarrels of those leaders of the Church who oughtonly to have contended together in love for the poor!

And then Pierre's mind revolted against that supremely odious and idioticIndex. He now understood how it worked, from the arrival of thedenunciations to the public posting of the titles of the condemned works. He had just seen the Secretary of the Congregation, Father Dangelis, towhom the denunciations came, and who then investigated the affair, collecting all documents and information concerning it with the passionof a cultivated authoritarian monk, who dreamt of ruling minds andconsciences as in the heroic days of the Inquisition. Then, too, Pierrehad visited one of the consultive prelates, Monsignor Fornaro, who was soambitious and affable, and so subtle a theologian that he would havediscovered attacks against the faith in a treatise on algebra, had hisinterests required it. Next there were the infrequent meetings of thecardinals, who at long intervals voted for the interdiction of somehostile book, deeply regretting that they could not suppress them all;and finally came the Pope, approving and signing the decrees, which was amere formality, for were not all books guilty? But what an extraordinarywretched Bastille of the past was that aged Index, that senileinstitution now sunk into second childhood. One realised that it musthave been a formidable power when books were rare and the Church hadtribunals of blood and fire to enforce her edicts. But books had sogreatly multiplied, the written, printed thoughts of mankind had swolleninto such a deep broad river, that they had swept all opposition away, and now the Index was swamped and reduced to powerlessness, compelledmore and more to limit its field of action, to confine itself to theexamination of the writings of ecclesiastics, and even in this respect itwas becoming corrupt, fouled by the worst passions and changed into aninstrument of intrigue, hatred, and vengeance. Ah! that confession ofdecay, of paralysis which grew more and more complete amidst the scornfulindifference of the nations. To think that Catholicism, the once gloriousagent of civilisation, had come to such a pass that it cast books intohell-fire by the heap; and what books they were, almost the entireliterature, history, philosophy, and science of the past and the present!Few works, indeed, are published nowadays that would not fall under theban of the Church. If she seems to close her eyes, it is in order toavoid the impossible task of hunting out and destroying everything. Yetshe stubbornly insists on retaining a semblance of sovereign authorityover human intelligence, just as some very aged queen, dispossessed ofher states and henceforth without judges or executioners, might continueto deliver vain sentences to which only an infinitesimal minority wouldpay heed. But imagine the Church momentarily victorious, miraculouslymastering the modern world, and ask yourself what she, with her tribunalsto condemn and her gendarmes to enforce, would do with human thought. Imagine a strict application of the Index regulations: no printer able toput anything whatever to press without the approval of his bishop, andeven then every book laid before the Congregation, the past expunged, thepresent throttled, subjected to an intellectual Reign of Terror! Wouldnot the closing of every library perforce ensue, would not the longheritage of written thought be cast into prison, would not the future bebarred, would not all progress, all conquest of knowledge, be totallyarrested? Rome herself is nowadays a terrible example of such adisastrous experiment--Rome with her congealed soil, her dead sap, killedby centuries of papal government, Rome which has become so barren thatnot a man, not a work has sprung from her midst even after five andtwenty years of awakening and liberty! And who would accept such a stateof things, not among people of revolutionary mind, but among those ofreligious mind that might possess any culture and breadth of view?Plainly enough it was all mere childishness and absurdity. 

Deep silence reigned, and Pierre, quite upset by his reflections, made agesture of despair whilst glancing at Don Vigilio, who sat speechless infront of him. For a moment longer, amidst the death-like quiescence ofthat old sleeping mansion, both continued silent, seated face to face inthe closed chamber which the lamp illumined with a peaceful glow. But atlast Don Vigilio leant forward, his eyes sparkling, and with a feverishshiver murmured: "It is they, you know, always they, at the bottom ofeverything. "

Pierre, who did not understand, felt astonished, indeed somewhat anxiousat such a strange remark coming without any apparent transition. "Who are_they_?" he asked. 

"The Jesuits!"

In this reply the little, withered, yellow priest had set all theconcentrated rage of his exploding passion. Ah! so much the worse if hehad perpetrated a fresh act of folly. The cat was out of the bag at last!Nevertheless, he cast a final suspicious glance around the walls. Andthen he relieved his mind at length, with a flow of words which gushedforth the more irresistibly since he had so long held them in check. "Ah!the Jesuits, the Jesuits! You fancy that you know them, but you haven'teven an idea of their abominable actions and incalculable power. They itis whom one always comes upon, everywhere, in every circumstance. Remember _that_ whenever you fail to understand anything, if you wish tounderstand it. Whenever grief or trouble comes upon you, whenever yousuffer, whenever you weep, say to yourself at once: 'It is they; they arethere!' Why, for all I know, there may be one of them under that bed, inside that cupboard. Ah! the Jesuits, the Jesuits! They have devouredme, they are devouring me still, they will leave nothing of me at last, neither flesh nor bone. "

Then, in a halting voice, he related the story of his life, beginningwith his youth, which had opened so hopefully. He belonged to the pettyprovincial nobility, and had been dowered with a fairly large income, besides a keen, supple intelligence, which looked smilingly towards thefuture. Nowadays, he would assuredly have been a prelate, on the road tohigh dignities, but he had been foolish enough to speak ill of theJesuits and to thwart them in two or three circumstances. And from thatmoment, if he were to be believed, they had caused every imaginablemisfortune to rain upon him: his father and mother had died, his bankerhad robbed him and fled, good positions had escaped him at the verymoment when he was about to occupy them, the most awful misadventures hadpursued him amidst the duties of his ministry to such a point indeed, that he had narrowly escaped interdiction. It was only since CardinalBoccanera, compassionating his bad luck, had taken him into his house andattached him to his person, that he had enjoyed a little repose. "Here Ihave a refuge, an asylum, " he continued. "They execrate his Eminence, whohas never been on their side, but they haven't yet dared to attack him orhis servants. Oh! I have no illusions, they will end by catching meagain, all the same. Perhaps they will even hear of our conversation thisevening, and make me pay dearly for it; for I do wrong to speak, I speakin spite of myself. They have stolen all my happiness, and brought allpossible misfortune on me, everything that was possible, everything--youhear me!"

Increasing discomfort was taking possession of Pierre, who, seeking torelieve himself by a jest, exclaimed: "Come, come, at any rate it wasn'tthe Jesuits who gave you the fever. "

"Yes, yes, it was!" Don Vigilio violently declared. "I caught it on thebank of the Tiber one evening, when I went to weep there in my grief athaving been driven from the little church where I officiated. "

Pierre, hitherto, had never believed in the terrible legend of theJesuits. He belonged to a generation which laughed at the idea ofwehr-wolves, and considered the _bourgeois_ fear of the famous black men, who hid themselves in walls and terrorised families, to be a trifleridiculous. To him all such things seemed to be nursery tales, exaggerated by religious and political passion. And so it was withamazement that he examined Don Vigilio, suddenly fearing that he mighthave to deal with a maniac. 

Nevertheless he could not help recalling the extraordinary story of theJesuits. If St. Francis of Assisi and St. Dominic are the very soul andspirit of the middle ages, its masters and teachers, the former a livingexpression of all the ardent, charitable faith of the humble, and theother defending dogma and fixing doctrines for the intelligent and thepowerful, on the other hand Ignatius de Loyola appeared on the thresholdof modern times to save the tottering heritage by accommodating religionto the new developments of society, thereby ensuring it the empire of theworld which was about to appear. 

At the advent of the modern era it seemed as if the Deity were to bevanquished in the uncompromising struggle with sin, for it was certainthat the old determination to suppress Nature, to kill the man withinman, with his appetites, passions, heart, and blood, could only result ina disastrous defeat, in which, indeed, the Church found herself on thevery eve of sinking; and it was the Jesuits who came to extricate herfrom this peril and reinvigorate her by deciding that it was she who nowought to go to the world, since the world seemed unwilling to go anylonger to her. All lay in that; you find the Jesuits declaring that onecan enter into arrangements with heaven; they bend and adjust themselvesto the customs, prejudices, and even vices of the times; they smile, allcondescension, cast rigourism aside, and practice the diplomacy ofamiability, ever ready to turn the most awful abominations "to thegreater glory of God. " That is their motto, their battle-cry, and thencesprings the moral principle which many regard as their crime: that allmeans are good to attain one's end, especially when that end is thefurtherance of the Deity's interests as represented by those of theChurch. And what overwhelming success attends the efforts of the Jesuits!they swarm and before long cover the earth, on all sides becominguncontested masters. They shrive kings, they acquire immense wealth, theydisplay such victorious power of invasion that, however humbly they mayset foot in any country, they soon wholly possess it: souls, bodies, power, and fortune alike falling to them. And they are particularlyzealous in founding schools, they show themselves to be incomparablemoulders of the human brain, well understanding that power always belongsto the morrow, to the generations which are growing up and whose masterone must be if one desire to reign eternally. So great is their power, based on the necessity of compromise with sin, that, on the morrow of theCouncil of Trent, they transform the very spirit of Catholicism, penetrate it, identify it with themselves and become the indispensablesoldiers of the papacy which lives by them and for them. And from thatmoment Rome is theirs, Rome where their general so long commands, whenceso long go forth the directions for the obscure tactics which are blindlyfollowed by their innumerable army, whose skilful organisation covers theglobe as with an iron network hidden by the velvet of hands expert indealing gently with poor suffering humanity. But, after all, the mostprodigious feature is the stupefying vitality of the Jesuits who areincessantly tracked, condemned, executed, and yet still and ever erect. As soon as their power asserts itself, their unpopularity begins andgradually becomes universal. Hoots of execration arise around them, abominable accusations, scandalous law cases in which they appear ascorruptors and felons. Pascal devotes them to public contempt, parliaments condemn their books to be burnt, universities denounce theirsystem of morals and their teaching as poisonous. They foment suchdisturbances, such struggles in every kingdom, that organised persecutionsets in, and they are soon driven from everywhere. During more than acentury they become wanderers, expelled, then recalled, passing andrepassing frontiers, leaving a country amidst cries of hatred to returnto it as soon as quiet has been restored. Finally, for supreme disaster, they are suppressed by one pope, but another re-establishes them, andsince then they have been virtually tolerated everywhere. And in thediplomatic self-effacement, the shade in which they have the prudence tosequester themselves, they are none the less triumphant, quietlyconfident of their victory like soldiers who have once and for eversubdued the earth. 

Pierre was aware that, judging by mere appearances, the Jesuits werenowadays dispossessed of all influence in Rome. They no longer officiatedat the Gesu, they no longer directed the Collegio Romano, where theyformerly fashioned so many souls; and with no abode of their own, reducedto accept foreign hospitality, they had modestly sought a refuge at theCollegio Germanico, where there is a little chapel. There they taught andthere they still confessed, but without the slightest bustle or display. Was one to believe, however, that this effacement was but masterlycunning, a feigned disappearance in order that they might really remainsecret, all-powerful masters, the hidden hand which directs and guideseverything? People certainly said that the proclamation of papalInfallibility had been their work, a weapon with which they had armedthemselves whilst feigning to bestow it on the papacy, in readiness forthe coming decisive task which their genius foresaw in the approachingsocial upheavals. And thus there might perhaps be some truth in what DonVigilio, with a shiver of mystery, related about their occultsovereignty, a seizin, as it were, of the government of the Church, aroyalty ignored but nevertheless complete. 

As this idea occurred to Pierre, a dim connection between certain of hisexperiences arose in his mind and he all at once inquired: "Is MonsignorNani a Jesuit, then?"

These words seemed to revive all Don Vigilio's anxious passion. He wavedhis trembling hand, and replied: "He? Oh, he's too clever, too skilful byfar to have taken the robe. But he comes from that Collegio Romano wherehis generation grew up, and he there imbibed that Jesuit genius whichadapted itself so well to his own. Whilst fully realising the danger ofwearing an unpopular and embarrassing livery, and wishing to be free, heis none the less a Jesuit in his flesh, in his bones, in his very soul. He is evidently convinced that the Church can only triumph by utilisingthe passions of mankind, and withal he is very fond of the Church, verypious at bottom, a very good priest, serving God without weakness ingratitude for the absolute power which God gives to His ministers. Andbesides, he is so charming, incapable of any brutal action, full of thegood breeding of his noble Venetian ancestors, and deeply versed inknowledge of the world, thanks to his experiences at the nunciatures ofParis, Vienna, and other places, without mentioning that he knowseverything that goes on by reason of the delicate functions which he hasdischarged for ten years past as Assessor of the Holy Office. Yes, he ispowerful, all-powerful, and in him you do not have the furtive Jesuitwhose robe glides past amidst suspicion, but the head, the brain, theleader whom no uniform designates. "

This reply made Pierre grave, for he was quite willing to admit that anopportunist code of morals, like that of the Jesuits, was inoculable andnow predominated throughout the Church. Indeed, the Jesuits mightdisappear, but their doctrine would survive them, since it was the oneweapon of combat, the one system of strategy which might again place thenations under the dominion of Rome. And in reality the struggle whichcontinued lay precisely in the attempts to accommodate religion to thecentury, and the century to religion. Such being the case, Pierrerealised that such men as Monsignor Nani might acquire vast and evendecisive importance. 

"Ah! if you knew, if you knew, " continued Don Vigilio, "he's everywhere, he has his hand in everything. For instance, nothing has ever happenedhere, among the Boccaneras, but I've found him at the bottom of it, tangling or untangling the threads according to necessities with which healone is acquainted. "

Then, in the unquenchable fever for confiding things which was nowconsuming him, the secretary related how Monsignor Nani had mostcertainly brought on Benedetta's divorce case. The Jesuits, in spite oftheir conciliatory spirit, have always taken up a hostile position withregard to Italy, either because they do not despair of reconquering Rome, or because they wait to treat in due season with the ultimate and realvictor, whether King or Pope. And so Nani, who had long been one of DonnaSerafina's intimates, had helped to precipitate the rupture with Prada assoon as Benedetta's mother was dead. Again, it was he who, to prevent anyinterference on the part of the patriotic Abbe Pisoni, the young woman'sconfessor and the artisan of her marriage, had urged her to take the samespiritual director as her aunt, Father Lorenza, a handsome Jesuit withclear and kindly eyes, whose confessional in the chapel of the CollegioGermanico was incessantly besieged by penitents. And it seemed certainthat this manoeuvre had brought about everything; what one cleric workingfor Italy had done, was to be undone by another working against Italy. Why was it, however, that Nani, after bringing about the rupture, hadmomentarily ceased to show all interest in the affair to the point evenof jeopardising the suit for the dissolution of the marriage? And why washe now again busying himself with it, setting Donna Serafina in action, prompting her to buy Monsignor Palma's support, and bringing his owninfluence to bear on the cardinals of the Congregation? There was mysteryin all this, as there was in everything he did, for his schemes werealways complicated and distant in their effects. However, one mightsuppose that he now wished to hasten the marriage of Benedetta and Dario, in order to stop all the abominable rumours which were circulating in thewhite world; unless, indeed, this divorce secured by pecuniary paymentsand the pressure of notorious influences were an intentional scandal atfirst spun out and now hastened, in order to harm Cardinal Boccanera, whom the Jesuits might desire to brush aside in certain eventualitieswhich were possibly near at hand. 

"To tell the truth, I rather incline to the latter view, " said DonVigilio, "the more so indeed as I learnt this evening that the Pope isnot well. With an old man of eighty-four the end may come at any moment, and so the Pope can never catch cold but what the Sacred College and theprelacies are all agog, stirred by sudden ambitious rivalries. Now, theJesuits have always opposed Cardinal Boccanera's candidature. They oughtto be on his side, on account of his rank, and his uncompromisingattitude towards Italy, but the idea of giving themselves such a masterdisquiets them, for they consider him unseasonably rough and stern, tooviolent in his faith, which unbending as it is would prove dangerous inthese diplomatic times through which the Church is passing. And so Ishould in no wise be astonished if there were an attempt to discredit himand render his candidature impossible, by employing the most underhandand shameful means. "

A little quiver of fear was coming over Pierre. The contagion of theunknown, of the black intrigues plotted in the dark, was spreading amidstthe silence of the night in the depths of that palace, near that Tiber, in that Rome so full of legendary tragedies. But all at once the youngman's mind reverted to himself, to his own affair. "But what is my partin all this?" he asked: "why does Monsignor Nani seem to take an interestin me? Why is he mixed up in the proceedings against my book?"

"Oh! one never knows, one never knows exactly!" replied Don Vigilio, waving his arms. "One thing I can say, that he only knew of the affairwhen the denunciations of the three bishops were already in the hands ofFather Dangelis; and I have also learnt that he then tried to stop theproceedings, which he no doubt thought both useless and impolitic. Butwhen a matter is once before the Congregation it is almost impossible forit to be withdrawn, and Monsignor Nani must also have come into collisionwith Father Dangelis who, like a faithful Dominican, is the passionateadversary of the Jesuits. It was then that he caused the Contessina towrite to Monsieur de la Choue, requesting him to tell you to hasten herein order to defend yourself, and to arrange for your acceptance ofhospitality in this mansion, during your stay. "

This revelation brought Pierre's emotion to a climax. "You are sure ofthat?" he asked. 

"Oh! quite sure. I heard Nani speak of you one Monday, and some time agoI told you that he seemed to know all about you, as if he had made mostminute inquiries. My belief is that he had already read your book, andwas extremely preoccupied about it. "

"Do you think that he shares my ideas, then? Is he sincere, is hedefending himself while striving to defend me?"

"Oh! no, no, not at all. Your ideas, why he certainly hates them, andyour book and yourself as well. You have no idea what contempt for theweak, what hatred of the poor, and love of authority and domination heconceals under his caressing amiability. Lourdes he might abandon to you, though it embodies a marvellous weapon of government; but he will neverforgive you for being on the side of the little ones of the world, andfor pronouncing against the temporal power. If you only heard with whatgentle ferocity he derides Monsieur de la Choue, whom he calls theweeping willow of Neo-Catholicism!"

Pierre carried his hands to his temples and pressed his headdespairingly. "Then why, why, tell me I beg of you, why has he brought mehere and kept me here in this house at his disposal? Why has hepromenaded me up and down Rome for three long months, throwing me againstobstacles and wearying me, when it was so easy for him to let the Indexcondemn my book if it embarrassed him? It's true, of course, that thingswould not have gone quietly, for I was disposed to refuse submission andopenly confess my new faith, even against the decisions of Rome. "

Don Vigilio's black eyes flared in his yellow face: "Perhaps it was thatwhich he wished to prevent. He knows you to be very intelligent andenthusiastic, and I have often heard him say that intelligence andenthusiasm should not be fought openly. "

Pierre, however, had risen to his feet, and instead of listening, wasstriding up and down the room as though carried away by the whirlwind ofhis thoughts. "Come, come, " he said at last, "it is necessary that Ishould know and understand things if I am to continue the struggle. Youmust be kind enough to give me some detailed particulars about each ofthe persons mixed up in my affair. Jesuits, Jesuits everywhere? _MonDieu_, it may be so, you are perhaps right! But all the same you mustpoint out the different shades to me. Now, for instance, what of thatFornaro?"

"Monsignor Fornaro, oh! he's whatever you like. Still he also was broughtup at the Collegio Romano, so you may be certain that he is a Jesuit, aJesuit by education, position, and ambition. He is longing to become acardinal, and if he some day becomes one, he'll long to be the next pope. Besides, you know, every one here is a candidate to the papacy as soon ashe enters the seminary. "

"And Cardinal Sanguinetti?"

"A Jesuit, a Jesuit! To speak plainly, he was one, then ceased to be one, and is now undoubtedly one again. Sanguinetti has flirted with everyinfluence. It was long thought that he was in favour of conciliationbetween the Holy See and Italy; but things drifted into a bad way, and heviolently took part against the usurpers. In the same style he hasfrequently fallen out with Leo XIII and then made his peace. To-day atthe Vatican, he keeps on a footing of diplomatic reserve. Briefly he onlyhas one object, the tiara, and even shows it too plainly, which is amistake, for it uses up a candidate. Still, just at present the struggleseems to be between him and Cardinal Boccanera. And that's why he hasgone over to the Jesuits again, utilising their hatred of his rival, andanticipating that they will be forced to support _him_ in order to defeatthe other. But I doubt it, they are too shrewd, they will hesitate topatronise a candidate who is already so compromised. He, blunder-head, passionate and proud as he is, doubts nothing, and since you say that heis now at Frascati, I'm certain that he made all haste to shut himself upthere with some grand strategical object in view, as soon as he heard ofthe Pope's illness. "

"Well, and the Pope himself, Leo XIII?" asked Pierre. 

This time Don Vigilio slightly hesitated, his eyes blinking. Then hesaid: "Leo XIII? He is a Jesuit, a Jesuit! Oh! I know it is said that hesides with the Dominicans, and this is in a measure true, for he fanciesthat he is animated with their spirit and he has brought St. Thomas intofavour again, and has restored all the ecclesiastical teaching ofdoctrine. But there is also the Jesuit, remember, who is oneinvoluntarily and without knowing it, and of this category the presentPope will prove the most famous example. Study his acts, investigate hispolicy, and you will find that everything in it emanates from the Jesuitspirit. The fact is that he has unwittingly become impregnated with thatspirit, and that all the influence, directly or indirectly brought tobear on him comes from a Jesuit centre. Ah! why don't you believe me? Irepeat that the Jesuits have conquered and absorbed everything, that allRome belongs to them from the most insignificant cleric to his Holinessin person. "

Then he continued, replying to each fresh name that Pierre gave with thesame obstinate, maniacal cry: "Jesuit, Jesuit!" It seemed as if aChurchman could be nothing else, as if each answer were a confirmation ofthe proposition that the clergy must compound with the modern world if itdesired to preserve its Deity. The heroic age of Catholicism wasaccomplished, henceforth it could only live by dint of diplomacy andruses, concessions and arrangements. "And that Paparelli, he's a Jesuittoo, a Jesuit!" Don Vigilio went on, instinctively lowering his voice. "Yes, the humble but terrible Jesuit, the Jesuit in his most abominable_role_ as a spy and a perverter! I could swear that he has merely beenplaced here in order to keep watch on his Eminence! And you should seewith what supple talent and craft he has performed his task, to such apoint indeed that it is now he alone who wills and orders things. Heopens the door to whomsoever he pleases, uses his master like somethingbelonging to him, weighs on each of his resolutions, and holds him in hispower by dint of his stealthy unremitting efforts. Yes! it's the lionconquered by the insect; the infinitesimally small disposing of theinfinitely great; the train-bearer--whose proper part is to sit at hiscardinal's feet like a faithful hound--in reality reigning over him, andimpelling him in whatsoever direction he chooses. Ah! the Jesuit! theJesuit! Mistrust him when you see him gliding by in his shabby oldcassock, with the flabby wrinkled face of a devout old maid. And makesure that he isn't behind the doors, or in the cupboards, or under thebeds. Ah! I tell you that they'll devour you as they've devoured me; andthey'll give you the fever too, perhaps even the plague if you are notcareful!"

Pierre suddenly halted in front of his companion. He was losing allassurance, both fear and rage were penetrating him. And, after all, whynot? These extraordinary stories must be true. "But in that case give mesome advice, " he exclaimed, "I asked you to come in here this eveningprecisely because I no longer know what to do, and need to be set in theright path--" Then he broke off and again paced to and fro, as if urgedinto motion by his exploding passion. "Or rather no, tell me nothing!" heabruptly resumed. "It's all over; I prefer to go away. The thoughtoccurred to me before, but it was in a moment of cowardice and with theidea of disappearing and of returning to live in peace in my little nook:whereas now, if I go off, it will be as an avenger, a judge, to cry aloudto all the world from Paris, to proclaim what I have seen in Rome, whatmen have done there with the Christianity of Jesus, the Vatican fallinginto dust, the corpse-like odour which comes from it, the idioticillusions of those who hope that they will one day see a renascence ofthe modern soul arise from a sepulchre where the remnants of deadcenturies rot and slumber. Oh! I will not yield, I will not make mysubmission, I will defend my book by a fresh one. And that book, Ipromise you, will make some noise in the world, for it will sound thelast agony of a dying religion, which one must make all haste to burylest its remains should poison the nations!"

All this was beyond Don Vigilio's mind. The Italian priest, with narrowbelief and ignorant terror of the new ideas, awoke within him. He claspedhis hands, affrighted. "Be quiet, be quiet! You are blaspheming! And, besides, you cannot go off like that without again trying to see hisHoliness. He alone is sovereign. And I know that I shall surprise you;but Father Dangelis has given you in jest the only good advice that canbe given: Go back to see Monsignor Nani, for he alone will open the doorof the Vatican for you. "

Again did Pierre give a start of anger: "What! It was with Monsignor Nanithat I began, from him that I set out; and I am to go back to him? Whatgame is that? Can I consent to be a shuttlecock sent flying hither andthither by every battledore? People are having a game with me!"

Then, harassed and distracted, the young man fell on his chair in frontof Don Vigilio, who with his face drawn by his prolonged vigil, and hishands still and ever faintly trembling, remained for some time silent. Atlast he explained that he had another idea. He was slightly acquaintedwith the Pope's confessor, a Franciscan father, a man of greatsimplicity, to whom he might recommend Pierre. This Franciscan, despitehis self-effacement, would perhaps prove of service to him. At all eventshe might be tried. Then, once more, silence fell, and Pierre, whosedreamy eyes were turned towards the wall, ended by distinguishing the oldpicture which had touched him so deeply on the day of his arrival. In thepale glow of the lamp it gradually showed forth and lived, like anincarnation of his own case, his own futile despair before the sternlyclosed portal of truth and justice. Ah! that outcast woman, that stubbornvictim of love, weeping amidst her streaming hair, her visage hiddenwhilst with pain and grief she sank upon the steps of that palace whosedoor was so pitilessly shut--how she resembled him! Draped with a merestrip of linen, she was shivering, and amidst the overpowering distressof her abandonment she did not reveal her secret, misfortune, ortransgression, whichever it might be. But he, behind her close-pressedhands, endowed her with a face akin to his own: she became his sister, aswere all the poor creatures without roof or certainty who weep becausethey are naked and alone, and wear out their strength in seeking to forcethe wicked thresholds of men. He could never gaze at her without pityingher, and it stirred him so much that evening to find her ever so unknown, nameless and visageless, yet steeped in the most bitter tears, that hesuddenly began to question his companion. 

"Tell me, " said he, "do you know who painted that old picture? It stirsme to the soul like a masterpiece. "

Stupefied by this unexpected question, the secretary raised his head andlooked, feeling yet more astonished when he had examined the blackened, forsaken panel in its sorry frame. 

"Where did it come from?" resumed Pierre; "why has it been stowed away inthis room?"

"Oh!" replied Don Vigilio, with a gesture of indifference, "it's nothing. There are heaps of valueless old paintings everywhere. That one, nodoubt, has always been here. But I don't know; I never noticed itbefore. "

Whilst speaking he had at last risen to his feet, and this simple actionhad brought on such a fit of shivering that he could scarcely take leave, so violently did his teeth chatter with fever. "No, no, don't show meout, " he stammered, "keep the lamp here. And to conclude: the best courseis for you to leave yourself in the hands of Monsignor Nani, for he, atall events, is a superior man. I told you on your arrival that, whetheryou would or not, you would end by doing as he desired. And so what's theuse of struggling? And mind, not a word of our conversation to-night; itwould mean my death. "

Then he noiselessly opened the doors, glanced distrustfully into thedarkness of the passage, and at last ventured out and disappeared, regaining his own room with such soft steps that not the faintestfootfall was heard amidst the tomb-like slumber of the old mansion. 

On the morrow, Pierre, again mastered by a desire to fight on to the veryend, got Don Vigilio to recommend him to the Pope's confessor, theFranciscan friar with whom the secretary was slightly acquainted. However, this friar proved to be an extremely timid if worthy man, selected precisely on account of his great modesty, simplicity, andabsolute lack of influence in order that he might not abuse his positionwith respect to the Holy Father. And doubtless there was an affectationof humility on the latter's part in taking for confessor a member of thehumblest of the regular orders, a friend of the poor, a holy beggar ofthe roads. At the same time the friar certainly enjoyed a reputation fororatory; and hidden by a veil the Pope at times listened to his sermons;for although as infallible Sovereign Pontiff Leo XIII could not receivelessons from any priest, it was admitted that as a man he might reapprofit by listening to good discourse. Nevertheless apart from hisnatural eloquence, the worthy friar was really a mere washer of souls, aconfessor who listens and absolves without even remembering theimpurities which he removes in the waters of penitence. And Pierre, finding him really so poor and such a cipher, did not insist on anintervention which he realised would be futile. 

All that day the young priest was haunted by the figure of that ingenuouslover of poverty, that delicious St. Francis, as Narcisse Habert was wontto say. Pierre had often wondered how such an apostle, so gentle towardsboth animate and inanimate creation, and so full of ardent charity forthe wretched, could have arisen in a country of egotism and enjoymentlike Italy, where the love of beauty alone has remained queen. Doubtlessthe times have changed; yet what a strong sap of love must have beenneeded in the old days, during the great sufferings of the middle ages, for such a consoler of the humble to spring from the popular soil andpreach the gift of self to others, the renunciation of wealth, the horrorof brutal force, the equality and obedience which would ensure the peaceof the world. St. Francis trod the roads clad as one of the poorest, arope girdling his grey gown and his bare feet shod with sandals, and hecarried with him neither purse nor staff. And he and his brethren spokealoud and freely, with sovereign florescence of poetry and boldness oftruth, attacking the rich and the powerful, and daring even to denouncethe priests of evil life, the debauched, simoniacal, and perjuredbishops. A long cry of relief greeted the Franciscans, the peoplefollowed them in crowds--they were the friends, the liberators of all thehumble ones who suffered. And thus, like revolutionaries, they at firstso alarmed Rome, that the popes hesitated to authorise their Order. Whenthey at last gave way it was assuredly with the hope of using this newforce for their own profit, by conquering the whole vague mass of thelowly whose covert threats have ever growled through the ages, even inthe most despotic times. And thenceforward in the sons of St. Francis theChurch possessed an ever victorious army--a wandering army which spreadover the roads, in the villages and through the towns, penetrating to thefiresides of artisan and peasant, and gaining possession of all simplehearts. How great the democratic power of such an Order which had sprungfrom the very entrails of the people! And thence its rapid prosperity, its teeming growth in a few years, friaries arising upon all sides, andthe third Order* so invading the secular population as to impregnate andabsorb it. And that there was here a genuine growth of the soil, avigorous vegetation of the plebeian stock was shown by an entire nationalart arising from it--the precursors of the Renascence in painting andeven Dante himself, the soul of Italia's genius. 

 * The Franciscans, like the Dominicans and others, admit, in addition to the two Orders of friars and nuns, a third Order comprising devout persons of either sex who have neither the vocation nor the opportunity for cloistered life, but live in the world, privately observing the chief principles of the fraternity with which they are connected. In central and southern Europe members of these third Orders are still numerous. --Trans. 

For some days now, in the Rome of the present time, Pierre had beencoming into contact with those great Orders of the past. The Franciscansand the Dominicans were there face to face in their vast convents ofprosperous aspect. But it seemed as if the humility of the Franciscanshad in the long run deprived them of influence. Perhaps, too, their_role_ as friends and liberators of the people was ended since the peoplenow undertook to liberate itself. And so the only real remaining battlewas between the Dominicans and the Jesuits, both of whom still claimed tomould the world according to their particular views. Warfare between themwas incessant, and Rome--the supreme power at the Vatican--was ever theprize for which they contended. But, although the Dominicans had St. Thomas on their side, they must have felt that their old dogmatic sciencewas crumbling, compelled as they were each day to surrender a littleground to the Jesuits whose principles accorded better with the spirit ofthe century. And, in addition to these, there were the white-robedCarthusians, those very holy, pure, and silent meditators who fled fromthe world into quiet cells and cloisters, those despairing and consoledones whose numbers may decrease but whose Order will live for ever, evenas grief and desire for solitude will live. And then there were theBenedictines whose admirable rules have sanctified labour, passionatetoilers in literature and science, once powerful instruments ofcivilisation, enlarging universal knowledge by their immense historicaland critical works. These Pierre loved, and with them would have sought arefuge two centuries earlier, yet he was astonished to find them buildingon the Aventine a huge dwelling, for which Leo XIII has already givenmillions, as if the science of to-day and to-morrow were yet a fieldwhere they might garner harvests. But _cui bono_, when the workmen havechanged, and dogmas are there to bar the road--dogmas which totter, nodoubt, but which believers may not fling aside in order to pass onward?And finally came the swarm of less important Orders, hundreds in number;there were the Carmelites, the Trappists, the Minims, the Barnabites, theLazzarists, the Eudists, the Mission Fathers, the Servites, the Brothersof the Christian Doctrine; there were the Bernadines, the Augustinians, the Theatines, the Observants, the Passionists, the Celestines, and theCapuchins, without counting the corresponding Orders of women or the PoorClares, or the innumerable nuns like those of the Visitation and theCalvary. Each community had its modest or sumptuous dwelling, certaindistricts of Rome were entirely composed of convents, and behind thesilent lifeless facades all those people buzzed, intrigued, and waged theeverlasting warfare of rival interests and passions. The social evolutionwhich produced them had long since ceased, still they obstinately soughtto prolong their life, growing weaker and more useless day by day, destined to a slow agony until the time shall come when the newdevelopment of society will leave them neither foothold nor breathingspace. 

And it was not only with the regulars that Pierre came in contact duringhis peregrinations through Rome; indeed, he more particularly had to dealwith the secular clergy, and learnt to know them well. A hierarchicalsystem which was still vigorously enforced maintained them in variousranks and classes. Up above, around the Pope, reigned the pontificalfamily, the high and noble cardinals and prelates whose conceit was greatin spite of their apparent familiarity. Below them the parish clergyformed a very worthy middle class of wise and moderate minds; and herepatriot priests were not rare. Moreover, the Italian occupation of aquarter of a century, by installing in the city a world of functionarieswho saw everything that went on, had, curiously enough, greatly purifiedthe private life of the Roman priesthood, in which under the popes women, beyond all question, played a supreme part. And finally one came to theplebeian clergy whom Pierre studied with curiosity, a collection ofwretched, grimy, half-naked priests who like famished animals prowledaround in search of masses, and drifted into disreputable taverns in thecompany of beggars and thieves. However, he was more interested by thefloating population of foreign priests from all parts of Christendom--theadventurers, the ambitious ones, the believers, the madmen whom Romeattracted just as a lamp at night time attracts the insects of the gloom. Among these were men of every nationality, position, and age, all lashedon by their appetites and scrambling from morn till eve around theVatican, in order to snap at the prey which they hoped to secure. Hefound them everywhere, and told himself with some shame that he was oneof them, that the unit of his own personality served to increase theincredible number of cassocks that one encountered in the streets. Ah!that ebb and flow, that ceaseless tide of black gowns and frocks of everyhue! With their processions of students ever walking abroad, theseminaries of the different nations would alone have sufficed to drapeand decorate the streets, for there were the French and the English allin black, the South Americans in black with blue sashes, the NorthAmericans in black with red sashes, the Poles in black with green sashes, the Greeks in blue, the Germans in red, the Scots in violet, the Romansin black or violet or purple, the Bohemians with chocolate sashes, theIrish with red lappets, the Spaniards with blue cords, to say nothing ofall the others with broidery and bindings and buttons in a hundreddifferent styles. And in addition there were the confraternities, thepenitents, white, black, blue, and grey, with sleeveless frocks and capesof different hue, grey, blue, black, or white. And thus even nowadaysPapal Rome at times seemed to resuscitate, and one could realise howtenaciously and vivaciously she struggled on in order that she might notdisappear in the cosmopolitan Rome of the new era. However, Pierre, whilst running about from one prelate to another, frequenting priests andcrossing churches, could not accustom himself to the worship, the Romanpiety which astonished him when it did not wound him. One rainy Sundaymorning, on entering Santa Maria Maggiore, he fancied himself in somewaiting-room, a very splendid one, no doubt, but where God seemed to haveno habitation. There was not a bench, not a chair in the nave, acrosswhich people passed, as they might pass through a railway station, wetting and soiling the precious mosaic pavement with their muddy shoes;and tired women and children sat round the bases of the columns, even asin railway stations one sees people sitting and waiting for their trainsduring the great crushes of the holiday season. And for this trampingthrong of folks of small degree, who had looked in _en passant_, a priestwas saying a low mass in a side chapel, before which a narrow file ofstanding people had gathered, extending across the nave, and recallingthe crowds which wait in front of theatres for the opening of the doors. At the elevation of the host one and all inclined themselves devoutly, but almost immediately afterwards the gathering dispersed. And indeed whylinger? The mass was said. Pierre everywhere found the same form ofattendance, peculiar to the countries of the sun; the worshippers were ina hurry and only favoured the Deity with short familiar visits, unless itwere a question of some gala scene at San Paolo or San Giovanni inLaterano or some other of the old basilicas. It was only at the Gesu, onanother Sunday morning, that the young priest came upon a high-masscongregation, which reminded him of the devout throngs of the North. Herethere were benches and women seated, a worldly warmth and cosiness underthe luxurious, gilded, carved, and painted roof, whose tawny splendour isvery fine now that time has toned down the eccentricities of thedecoration. But how many of the churches were empty, among them some ofthe most ancient and venerable, San Clemente, Sant' Agnese, Santa Crocein Gerusalemme, where during the offices one saw but a few believers ofthe neighbourhood. Four hundred churches were a good many for even Rometo people; and, indeed, some were merely attended on fixed ceremonialoccasions, and a good many merely opened their doors once every year--onthe feast day, that is, of their patron saint. Some also subsisted on thelucky possession of a fetish, an idol compassionate to human sufferings. Santa Maria in Ara Coeli possessed the miraculous little Jesus, the"Bambino, " who healed sick children, and Sant' Agostino had the "Madonnadel Parto, " who grants a happy delivery to mothers. Then others wererenowned for the holy water of their fonts, the oil of their lamps, thepower of some wooden saint or marble virgin. Others again seemedforsaken, given up to tourists and the perquisites of beadles, like meremuseums peopled with dead gods: Finally others disturbed one's faith bythe suggestiveness of their aspects, as, for instance, that Santa MariaRotonda, which is located in the Pantheon, a circular hall recalling acircus, where the Virgin remains the evident tenant of the Olympiandeities. 

Pierre took no little interest in the churches of the poor districts, butdid not find there the keen faith and the throngs he had hoped for. Oneafternoon, at Santa Maria in Trastevere, he heard the choir in full song, but the church was quite empty, and the chant had a most lugubrious soundin such a desert. Then, another day, on entering San Crisogono, he foundit draped, probably in readiness for some festival on the morrow. Thecolumns were cased with red damask, and between them were hangings andcurtains alternately yellow and blue, white and red; and the young manfled from such a fearful decoration as gaudy as that of a fair booth. Ah!how far he was from the cathedrals where in childhood he had believed andprayed! On all sides he found the same type of church, the antiquebasilica accommodated to the taste of eighteenth-century Rome. Though thestyle of San Luigi dei Francesi is better, more soberly elegant, the onlything that touched him even there was the thought of the heroic orsaintly Frenchmen, who sleep in foreign soil beneath the flags. And as hesought for something Gothic, he ended by going to see Santa Maria sopraMinerva, * which, he was told, was the only example of the Gothic style inRome. Here his stupefaction attained a climax at sight of the clusteringcolumns cased in stucco imitating marble, the ogives which dared notsoar, the rounded vaults condemned to the heavy majesty of the domestyle. No, no, thought he, the faith whose cooling cinders lingered therewas no longer that whose brazier had invaded and set all Christendomaglow! However, Monsignor Fornaro whom he chanced to meet as he wasleaving the church, inveighed against the Gothic style as rank heresy. The first Christian church, said the prelate, had been the basilica, which had sprung from the temple, and it was blasphemy to assert that theGothic cathedral was the real Christian house of prayer, for Gothicembodied the hateful Anglo-Saxon spirit, the rebellious genius of Luther. At this a passionate reply rose to Pierre's lips, but he said nothing forfear that he might say too much. However, he asked himself whether in allthis there was not a decisive proof that Catholicism was the veryvegetation of Rome, Paganism modified by Christianity. ElsewhereChristianity has grown up in quite a different spirit, to such a pointthat it has risen in rebellion and schismatically turned against themother-city. And the breach has ever gone on widening, the dissemblancehas become more and more marked; and amidst the evolution of newsocieties, yet a fresh schism appears inevitable and proximate in spiteof all the despairing efforts to maintain union. 

 * So called because it occupies the site of a temple to Minerva. --Trans. 

While Pierre thus visited the Roman churches, he also continued hisefforts to gain support in the matter of his book, his irritation tendingto such stubbornness, that if in the first instance he failed to obtainan interview, he went back again and again to secure one, steadfastlykeeping his promise to call in turn upon each cardinal of theCongregation of the Index. And as a cardinal may belong to severalCongregations, it resulted that he gradually found himself roamingthrough those former ministries of the old pontifical government which, if less numerous than formerly, are still very intricate institutions, each with its cardinal-prefect, its cardinal-members, its consultativeprelates, and its numerous employees. Pierre repeatedly had to return tothe Cancelleria, where the Congregation of the Index meets, and losthimself in its world of staircases, corridors, and halls. From the momenthe passed under the porticus he was overcome by the icy shiver which fellfrom the old walls, and was quite unable to appreciate the bare, frigidbeauty of the palace, Bramante's masterpiece though it be, so purelytypical of the Roman Renascence. He also knew the Propaganda where he hadseen Cardinal Sarno; and, sent as he was hither and thither, in hisefforts to gain over influential prelates, chance made him acquaintedwith the other Congregations, that of the Bishops and Regulars, that ofthe Rites and that of the Council. He even obtained a glimpse of theConsistorial, the Dataria, * and the sacred Penitentiary. All these formedpart of the administrative mechanism of the Church under its severalaspects--the government of the Catholic world, the enlargement of theChurch's conquests, the administration of its affairs in conqueredcountries, the decision of all questions touching faith, morals, andindividuals, the investigation and punishment of offences, the grant ofdispensations and the sale of favours. One can scarcely imagine what afearful number of affairs are each morning submitted to the Vatican, questions of the greatest gravity, delicacy, and intricacy, the solutionof which gives rise to endless study and research. It is necessary toreply to the innumerable visitors who flock to Rome from all parts, andto the letters, the petitions, and the batches of documents which aresubmitted and require to be distributed among the various offices. AndPierre was struck by the deep and discreet silence in which all thiscolossal labour was accomplished; not a sound reaching the streets fromthe tribunals, parliaments, and factories for the manufacture of saintsand nobles, whose mechanism was so well greased, that in spite of therust of centuries and the deep and irremediable wear and tear, the wholecontinued working without clank or creak to denote its presence behindthe walls. And did not that silence embody the whole policy of theChurch, which is to remain mute and await developments? Nevertheless whata prodigious mechanism it was, antiquated no doubt, but still sopowerful! And amidst those Congregations how keenly Pierre felt himselfto be in the grip of the most absolute power ever devised for thedomination of mankind. However much he might notice signs of decay andcoming ruin he was none the less seized, crushed, and carried off by thathuge engine made up of vanity and venality, corruption and ambition, meanness and greatness. And how far, too, he now was from the Rome thathe had dreamt of, and what anger at times filled him amidst hisweariness, as he persevered in his resolve to defend himself!

 * It is from the Dataria that bulls, rescripts, letters of appointment to benefices, and dispensations of marriage, are issued, after the affixture of the date and formula _Datum Romae_, "Given at Rome. "--Trans. 

All at once certain things which he had never understood were explainedto him. One day, when he returned to the Propaganda, Cardinal Sarno spoketo him of Freemasonry with such icy rage that he was abruptlyenlightened. Freemasonry had hitherto made him smile; he had believed init no more than he had believed in the Jesuits. Indeed, he had lookedupon the ridiculous stories which were current--the stories ofmysterious, shadowy men who governed the world with secret incalculablepower--as mere childish legends. In particular he had been amazed by theblind hatred which maddened certain people as soon as Freemasonry wasmentioned. However, a very distinguished and intelligent prelate haddeclared to him, with an air of profound conviction, that at least on oneoccasion every year each masonic Lodge was presided over by the Devil inperson, incarnate in a visible shape! And now, by Cardinal Sarno'sremarks, he understood the rivalry, the furious struggle of the RomanCatholic Church against that other Church, the Church of over the way. *Although the former counted on her own triumph, she none the less feltthat the other, the Church of Freemasonry, was a competitor, a veryancient enemy, who indeed claimed to be more ancient than herself, andwhose victory always remained a possibility. And the friction betweenthem was largely due to the circumstance that they both aimed atuniversal sovereignty, and had a similar international organisation, asimilar net thrown over the nations, and in a like way mysteries, dogmas, and rites. It was deity against deity, faith against faith, conquestagainst conquest: and so, like competing tradesmen in the same street, they were a source of mutual embarrassment, and one of them was bound tokill the other. But if Roman Catholicism seemed to Pierre to be worn outand threatened with ruin, he remained quite as sceptical with regard tothe power of Freemasonry. He had made inquiries as to the reality of thatpower in Rome, where both Grand Master and Pope were enthroned, one infront of the other. He was certainly told that the last Roman princes hadthought themselves compelled to become Freemasons in order to rendertheir own difficult position somewhat easier and facilitate the future oftheir sons. But was this true? had they not simply yielded to the forceof the present social evolution? And would not Freemasonry eventually besubmerged by its own triumph--that of the ideas of justice, reason, andtruth, which it had defended through the dark and violent ages ofhistory? It is a thing which constantly happens; the victory of an ideakills the sect which has propagated it, and renders the apparatus withwhich the members of the sect surrounded themselves, in order to fireimaginations, both useless and somewhat ridiculous. Carbonarism did notsurvive the conquest of the political liberties which it demanded; and onthe day when the Catholic Church crumbles, having accomplished its workof civilisation, the other Church, the Freemasons' Church of across theroad, will in a like way disappear, its task of liberation ended. Nowadays the famous power of the Lodges, hampered by traditions, weakenedby a ceremonial which provokes laughter, and reduced to a simple bond ofbrotherly agreement and mutual assistance, would be but a sorry weapon ofconquest for humanity, were it not that the vigorous breath of scienceimpels the nations onwards and helps to destroy the old religions. 

 * Some readers may think the above passages an exaggeration, but such is not the case. The hatred with which the Catholic priesthood, especially in Italy, Spain, and France, regards Freemasonry is remarkable. At the moment of writing these lines I have before me several French clerical newspapers, which contain the most abusive articles levelled against President Faure solely because he is a Freemason. One of these prints, a leading journal of Lyons, tells the French President that he cannot serve both God and the Devil; and that if he cannot give up Freemasonry he would do well to cease desecrating the abode of the Deity by his attendance at divine service. --Trans. 

However, all Pierre's journeyings and applications brought him nocertainty; and, while stubbornly clinging to Rome, intent on fighting tothe very end, like a soldier who will not believe in the possibility ofdefeat, he remained as anxious as ever. He had seen all the cardinalswhose influence could be of use to him. He had seen the Cardinal Vicar, entrusted with the diocese of Rome, who, like the man of letters he was, had spoken to him of Horace, and, like a somewhat blundering politician, had questioned him about France, the Republic, the Army, and the NavyEstimates, without dealing in the slightest degree with the incriminatedbook. He had also seen the Grand Penitentiary, that tall old man, withfleshless, ascetic face, of whom he had previously caught a glimpse atthe Boccanera mansion, and from whom he now only drew a long and severesermon on the wickedness of young priests, whom the century had pervertedand who wrote most abominable books. Finally, at the Vatican, he had seenthe Cardinal Secretary, in some wise his Holiness's Minister of ForeignAffairs, the great power of the Holy See, whom he had hitherto beenprevented from approaching by terrifying warnings as to the possibleresult of an unfavourable reception. However, whilst apologising forcalling at such a late stage, he had found himself in presence of a mostamiable man, whose somewhat rough appearance was softened by diplomaticaffability, and who, after making him sit down, questioned him with anair of interest, listened to him, and even spoke some words of comfort. Nevertheless, on again reaching the Piazza of St. Peter's, Pierre wellunderstood that his affair had not made the slightest progress, and thatif he ever managed to force the Pope's door, it would not be by way ofthe Secretariate of State. And that evening he returned home quiteexhausted by so many visits, in such distraction at feeling that littleby little he had been wholly caught in that huge mechanism with itshundred wheels, that he asked himself in terror what he should do on themorrow now that there remained nothing for him to do--unless, indeed, itwere to go mad. 

However, meeting Don Vigilio in a passage of the house, he again wishedto ask him for some good advice. But the secretary, who had a gleam ofterror in his eyes, silenced him, he knew not why, with an anxiousgesture. And then in a whisper, in Pierre's ear, he said: "Have you seenMonsignor Nani? No! Well, go to see him, go to see him. I repeat that youhave nothing else to do!"

Pierre yielded. And indeed why should he have resisted? Apart from themotives of ardent charity which had brought him to Rome to defend hisbook, was he not there for a self-educating, experimental purpose? It wasnecessary that he should carry his attempts to the very end. 

On the morrow, when he reached the colonnade of St. Peter's, the hour wasso early that he had to wait there awhile. He had never better realisedthe enormity of those four curving rows of columns, forming a forest ofgigantic stone trunks among which nobody ever promenades. In fact, thespot is a grandiose and dreary desert, and one asks oneself the why andwherefore of such a majestic porticus. Doubtless, however, it was for itssole majesty, for the mere pomp of decoration, that this colonnade wasreared; and therein, again, one finds the whole Roman spirit. However, Pierre at last turned into the Via di Sant' Offizio, and passing thesacristy of St. Peter's, found himself before the Palace of the HolyOffice in a solitary silent district, which the footfall of pedestriansor the rumble of wheels but seldom disturbs. The sun alone lives there, in sheets of light which spread slowly over the small, white paving. Youdivine the vicinity of the Basilica, for there is a smell as of incense, a cloisteral quiescence as of the slumber of centuries. And at one cornerthe Palace of the Holy Office rises up with heavy, disquieting bareness, only a single row of windows piercing its lofty, yellow front. The wallwhich skirts a side street looks yet more suspicious with its row of evensmaller casements, mere peep-holes with glaucous panes. In the brightsunlight this huge cube of mud-coloured masonry ever seems asleep, mysterious, and closed like a prison, with scarcely an aperture forcommunication with the outer world. 

Pierre shivered, but then smiled as at an act of childishness, for hereflected that the Holy Roman and Universal Inquisition, nowadays theSacred Congregation of the Holy Office, was no longer the institution ithad been, the purveyor of heretics for the stake, the occult tribunalbeyond appeal which had right of life and death over all mankind. True, it still laboured in secrecy, meeting every Wednesday, and judging andcondemning without a sound issuing from within its walls. But on theother hand if it still continued to strike at the crime of heresy, if itsmote men as well as their works, it no longer possessed either weaponsor dungeons, steel or fire to do its bidding, but was reduced to a mere_role_ of protest, unable to inflict aught but disciplinary penaltieseven upon the ecclesiastics of its own Church. 

When Pierre on entering was ushered into the reception-room of MonsignorNani who, as assessor, lived in the palace, he experienced an agreeablesurprise. The apartment faced the south, and was spacious and floodedwith sunshine. And stiff as was the furniture, dark as were the hangings, an exquisite sweetness pervaded the room, as though a woman had lived init and accomplished the prodigy of imparting some of her own grace to allthose stern-looking things. There were no flowers, yet there was apleasant smell. A charm expanded and conquered every heart from the verythreshold. 

Monsignor Nani at once came forward, with a smile on his rosy face, hisblue eyes keenly glittering, and his fine light hair powdered by age. With hands outstretched, he exclaimed: "Ah! how kind of you to have cometo see me, my dear son! Come, sit down, let us have a friendly chat. "Then with an extraordinary display of affection, he began to questionPierre: "How are you getting on? Tell me all about it, exactly what youhave done. "

Touched in spite of Don Vigilio's revelations, won over by the sympathywhich he fancied he could detect, Pierre thereupon confessed himself, relating his visits to Cardinal Sarno, Monsignor Fornaro and FatherDangelis, his applications to all the influential cardinals, those of theIndex, the Grand Penitentiary, the Cardinal Vicar, and the CardinalSecretary; and dwelling on his endless journeys from door to door throughall the Congregations and all the clergy, that huge, active, silentbee-hive amidst which he had wearied his feet, exhausted his limbs, andbewildered his poor brain. And at each successive Station of this Calvaryof entreaty, Monsignor Nani, who seemed to listen with an air of rapture, exclaimed: "But that's very good, that's capital! Oh! your affair isprogressing. Yes, yes, it's progressing marvellously well. "

He was exultant, though he allowed no unseemly irony to appear, while hispleasant, penetrating eyes fathomed the young priest, to ascertain if hehad been brought to the requisite degree of obedience. Had he beensufficiently wearied, disillusioned and instructed in the reality ofthings, for one to finish with him? Had three months' sojourn in Romesufficed to turn the somewhat mad enthusiast of the first days into anunimpassioned or at least resigned being?

However, all at once Monsignor Nani remarked: "But, my dear son, you tellme nothing of his Eminence Cardinal Sanguinetti. "

"The fact is, Monseigneur, that his Eminence is at Frascati, so I havebeen unable to see him. "

Thereupon the prelate, as if once more postponing the _denouement_ withthe secret enjoyment of an artistic _diplomate_, began to protest, raising his little plump hands with the anxious air of a man whoconsiders everything lost: "Oh! but you must see his Eminence; it isabsolutely necessary! Think of it! The Prefect of the Index! We can onlyact after your visit to him, for as you have not seen _him_ it is as ifyou had seen nobody. Go, go to Frascati, my dear son. "

And thereupon Pierre could only bow and reply: "I will go, Monseigneur. "

XI. 

ALTHOUGH Pierre knew that he would be unable to see Cardinal Sanguinettibefore eleven o'clock, he nevertheless availed himself of an early train, so that it was barely nine when he alighted at the little station ofFrascati. He had already visited the place during his enforced idleness, when he had made the classical excursion to the Roman castles whichextend from Frascati to Rocco di Papa, and from Rocco di Papa to MonteCavo, and he was now delighted with the prospect of strolling for acouple of hours along those first slopes of the Alban hills, where, amidst rushes, olives, and vines, Frascati, like a promontory, overlooksthe immense ruddy sea of the Campagna even as far as Rome, which, sixfull leagues away, wears the whitish aspect of a marble isle. 

Ah! that charming Frascati, on its greeny knoll at the foot of the woodedTusculan heights, with its famous terrace whence one enjoys the finestview in the world, its old patrician villas with proud and elegantRenascence facades and magnificent parks, which, planted with cypress, pine, and ilex, are for ever green! There was a sweetness, a delight, afascination about the spot, of which Pierre would have never wearied. Andfor more than an hour he had wandered blissfully along roads edged withancient, knotty olive-trees, along dingle ways shaded by the spreadingfoliage of neighbouring estates, and along perfumed paths, at each turnof which the Campagna was seen stretching far away, when all at once hewas accosted by a person whom he was both surprised and annoyed to meet. He had strolled down to some low ground near the railway station, someold vineyards where a number of new houses had been built of recentyears, and suddenly saw a stylish pair-horse victoria, coming from thedirection of Rome, draw up close by, whilst its occupant called to him:"What! Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, are you taking a walk here, at this earlyhour?"

Thereupon Pierre recognised Count Luigi Prada, who alighted, shook handswith him and began to walk beside him, whilst the empty carriage went onin advance. And forthwith the Count explained his tastes: "I seldom takethe train, " he said, "I drive over. It gives my horses an outing. I haveinterests over here as you may know, a big building enterprise which isunfortunately not progressing very well. And so, although the season isadvanced, I'm obliged to come rather more frequently than I care to do. "

As Prada suggested, Pierre was acquainted with the story. The Boccanerashad been obliged to sell a sumptuous villa which a cardinal of theirfamily had built at Frascati in accordance with the plans of Giacomodella Porta, during the latter part of the sixteenth century: a regalsummer-residence it had been, finely wooded, with groves and basins andcascades, and in particular a famous terrace projecting like a cape abovethe Roman Campagna whose expanse stretches from the Sabine mountains tothe Mediterranean sands. Through the division of the property, Benedettahad inherited from her mother some very extensive vineyards belowFrascati, and these she had brought as dowry to Prada at the very momentwhen the building mania was extending from Rome into the provinces. Andthereupon Prada had conceived the idea of erecting on the spot a numberof middle-class villas like those which litter the suburbs of Paris. Fewpurchasers, however, had come forward, the financial crash hadsupervened, and he was now with difficulty liquidating this unluckybusiness, having indemnified his wife at the time of their separation. 

"And then, " he continued, addressing Pierre, "one can come and go as onelikes with a carriage, whereas, on taking the train, one is at the mercyof the time table. This morning, for instance, I have appointments withcontractors, experts, and lawyers, and I have no notion how long theywill keep me. It's a wonderful country, isn't it? And we are quite rightto be proud of it in Rome. Although I may have some worries just now, Ican never set foot here without my heart beating with delight. "

A circumstance which he did not mention, was that his _amica_, LisbethKauffmann, had spent the summer in one of the newly erected villas, whereshe had installed her studio and had been visited by all the foreigncolony, which tolerated her irregular position on account of her gayspirits and artistic talent. Indeed, people had even ended by acceptingthe outcome of her connection with Prada, and a fortnight previously shehad returned to Rome, and there given birth to a son--an event which hadagain revived all the scandalous tittle-tattle respecting Benedetta'sdivorce suit. And Prada's attachment to Frascati doubtless sprang fromthe recollection of the happy hours he had spent there, and the joyfulpride with which the birth of the boy inspired him. 

Pierre, for his part, felt ill at ease in the young Count's presence, forhe had an instinctive hatred of money-mongers and men of prey. Nevertheless, he desired to respond to his amiability, and so inquiredafter his father, old Orlando, the hero of the Liberation. 

"Oh!" replied Prada, "excepting for his legs he's in wonderfully goodhealth. He'll live a hundred years. Poor father! I should so much haveliked to install him in one of these little houses, last summer. But Icould not get him to consent; he's determined not to leave Rome; he'safraid, perhaps, that it might be taken away from him during hisabsence. " Then the young Count burst into a laugh, quite merry at thethought of jeering at the heroic but no longer fashionable age ofindependence. And afterwards he said, "My father was speaking of youagain only yesterday, Monsieur l'Abbe. He is astonished that he has notseen you lately. "

This distressed Pierre, for he had begun to regard Orlando withrespectful affection. Since his first visit, he had twice called on theold hero, but the latter had refused to broach the subject of Rome solong as his young friend should not have seen, felt, and understoodeverything. There would be time for a talk later on, said he, when theywere both in a position to formulate their conclusions. 

"Pray tell Count Orlando, " responded Pierre, "that I have not forgottenhim, and that, if I have deferred a fresh visit, it is because I desireto satisfy him. However, I certainly will not leave Rome without going totell him how deeply his kind greeting has touched me. "

Whilst talking, the two men slowly followed the ascending road past thenewly erected villas, several of which were not yet finished. And whenPrada learned that the priest had come to call on Cardinal Sanguinetti, he again laughed, with the laugh of a good-natured wolf, showing hiswhite fangs. "True, " he exclaimed, "the Cardinal has been here since thePope has been laid up. Ah! you'll find him in a pretty fever. "

"Why?"

"Why, because there's bad news about the Holy Father this morning. When Ileft Rome it was rumoured that he had spent a fearful night. "

So speaking, Prada halted at a bend of the road, not far from an antiquechapel, a little church of solitary, mournful grace of aspect, on theverge of an olive grove. Beside it stood a ruinous building, the oldparsonage, no doubt, whence there suddenly emerged a tall, knotty priestwith coarse and earthy face, who, after roughly locking the door, wentoff in the direction of the town. 

"Ah!" resumed the Count in a tone of raillery, "that fellow's heart alsomust be beating violently; he's surely gone to your Cardinal in search ofnews. "

Pierre had looked at the priest. "I know him, " he replied; "I saw him, Iremember, on the day after my arrival at Cardinal Boccanera's. He broughtthe Cardinal a basket of figs and asked him for a certificate in favourof his young brother, who had been sent to prison for some deed ofviolence--a knife thrust if I recollect rightly. However, the Cardinalabsolutely refused him the certificate. "

"It's the same man, " said Prada, "you may depend on it. He was often atthe Villa Boccanera formerly; for his young brother was gardener there. But he's now the client, the creature of Cardinal Sanguinetti. Santobonohis name is, and he's a curious character, such as you wouldn't find inFrance, I fancy. He lives all alone in that falling hovel, and officiatesat that old chapel of St. Mary in the Fields, where people don't go tohear mass three times in a year. Yes, it's a perfect sinecure, which withits stipend of a thousand francs enables him to live there like a peasantphilosopher, cultivating the somewhat extensive garden whose big wallsyou see yonder. "

The close to which he called attention stretched down the slope behindthe parsonage, without an aperture, like some savage place of refuge intowhich not even the eye could penetrate. And all that could be seen abovethe left-hand wall was a superb, gigantic fig-tree, whose big leavesshowed blackly against the clear sky. Prada had moved on again, andcontinued to speak of Santobono, who evidently interested him. Fancy, apatriot priest, a Garibaldian! Born at Nemi, in that yet savage nookamong the Alban hills, he belonged to the people and was still near tothe soil. However, he had studied, and knew sufficient history to realisethe past greatness of Rome, and dream of the re-establishment of Romandominion as represented by young Italy. And he had come to believe, withpassionate fervour, that only a great pope could realise his dream byseizing upon power, and then conquering all the other nations. And whatcould be easier, since the Pope commanded millions of Catholics? Did nothalf Europe belong to him? France, Spain, and Austria would give way assoon as they should see him powerful, dictating laws to the world. Germany and Great Britain, indeed all the Protestant countries, wouldalso inevitably be conquered, for the papacy was the only dike that couldbe opposed to error, which must some day fatally succumb in its effortsagainst such a barrier. Politically, however, Santobono had declaredhimself for Germany, for he considered that France needed to be crushedbefore she would throw herself into the arms of the Holy Father. And thuscontradictions and fancies clashed in his foggy brain, whose burningideas swiftly turned to violence under the influence of primitive, racialfierceness. Briefly, the priest was a barbarian upholder of the Gospel, afriend of the humble and woeful, a sectarian of that school which iscapable alike of great virtues and great crimes. 

"Yes, " concluded Prada, "he is now devoted to Cardinal Sanguinettibecause he believes that the latter will prove the great pope ofto-morrow, who is to make Rome the one capital of the nations. At thesame time he doubtless harbours a lower personal ambition, that ofattaining to a canonry or of gaining assistance in the little worries oflife, as when he wished to extricate his brother from trouble. Here, youknow, people stake their luck on a cardinal just as they nurse a 'trey'in the lottery, and if their cardinal proves the winning number andbecomes pope they gain a fortune. And that's why you now see Santobonostriding along yonder, all anxiety to know if Leo XIII will die andSanguinetti don the tiara. "

"Do you think the Pope so very ill, then?" asked Pierre, both anxious andinterested. 

The Count smiled and raised both arms: "Ah!" said he, "can one ever tell?They all get ill when their interest lies that way. However, I believethat the Pope is this time really indisposed; a complaint of the bowels, it is said; and at his age, you know, the slightest indisposition mayprove fatal. "

The two men took a few steps in silence, then the priest again asked aquestion: "Would Cardinal Sanguinetti have a great chance if the Holy Seewere vacant?"

"A great chance! Ah! that's another of those things which one neverknows. The truth is people class Sanguinetti among the acceptablecandidates, and if personal desire sufficed he would certainly be thenext pope, for ambition consumes him to the marrow, and he displaysextraordinary passion and determination in his efforts to succeed. Buttherein lies his very weakness; he is using himself up, and he knows it. And so he must be resolved to every step during the last days of battle. You may be quite sure that if he has shut himself up here at thiscritical time, it is in order that he may the better direct hisoperations from a distance, whilst at the same time feigning a retreat, adisinterestedness which is bound to have a good effect. "

Then Prada began to expatiate on Sanguinetti with no little complacency, for he liked the man's spirit of intrigue, his keen, conquering appetite, his excessive, and even somewhat blundering activity. He had becomeacquainted with him on his return from the nunciature at Vienna, when hehad already resolved to win the tiara. That ambition explainedeverything, his quarrels and reconciliations with the reigning pope, hisaffection for Germany, followed by a sudden evolution in the direction ofFrance, his varying attitude with regard to Italy, at first a desire foragreement, and then absolute rejection of all compromises, a refusal togrant any concession, so long as Rome should not be evacuated. This, indeed, seemed to be Sanguinetti's definite position; he made a show ofdisliking the wavering sway of Leo XIII, and of retaining a ferventadmiration for Pius IX, the great, heroic pope of the days of resistance, whose goodness of heart had proved no impediment to unshakable firmness. And all this was equivalent to a promise that he, Sanguinetti, wouldagain make kindliness exempt from weakness, the rule of the Church, andwould steer clear of the dangerous compounding of politics. At bottom, however, politics were his only dream, and he had even formulated acomplete programme of intentional vagueness, which his clients andcreatures spread abroad with an air of rapturous mystery. However, sincea previous indisposition of the Pope's, during the spring, he had beenliving in mortal disquietude, for it had then been rumoured that theJesuits would resign themselves to support Cardinal Pio Boccanera, although the latter scarcely favoured them. He was rough and stern, nodoubt, and his extreme bigotry might be a source of danger in thistolerant age; but, on the other hand, was he not a patrician, and wouldnot his election imply that the papacy would never cease to claim thetemporal power? From that moment Boccanera had been the one man whomSanguinetti feared, for he beheld himself despoiled of his prize, andspent his time in devising plans to rid himself of such a powerful rival, repeating abominable stories of Cardinal Pio's alleged complaisance withregard to Benedetta and Dario, and incessantly representing him asAntichrist, the man of sin, whose reign would consummate the ruin of thepapacy. Finally, to regain the support of the Jesuits, Sanguinetti's lastidea was to repeat through his familiars that for his part he would notmerely maintain the principle of the temporal power intact, but wouldeven undertake to regain that power. And he had a full plan on thesubject, which folks confided to one another in whispers, a plan which, in spite of its apparent concessions, would lead to the overwhelmingvictory of the Church. It was to raise the prohibition which preventedCatholics from voting or becoming candidates at the Italian elections; tosend a hundred, then two hundred, and then three hundred deputies to theChamber, and in that wise to overthrow the House of Savoy, and establisha Federation of the Italian provinces, whereof the Holy Father, once moreplaced in possession of Rome, would become the august and sovereignPresident. 

As Prada finished he again laughed, showing his white teeth--teeth whichwould never readily relinquish the prey they held. "So you see, " headded, "we need to defend ourselves, since it's a question of turning usout. Fortunately, there are some little obstacles in the way of that. Nevertheless, such dreams naturally have great influence on excitedminds, such as that of Santobono, for instance. He's a man whom one wordfrom Sanguinetti would lead far indeed. Ah! he has good legs. Look at himup yonder, he has already reached the Cardinal's little palace--thatwhite villa with the sculptured balconies. "

Pierre raised his eyes and perceived the episcopal residence, which wasone of the first houses of Frascati. Of modern construction andRenascence style, it overlooked the immensity of the Roman Campagna. 

It was now eleven o'clock, and as the young priest, before going up topay his own visit, bade the Count good-bye, the latter for a moment kepthold of his hand. "Do you know, " said he, "it would be very kind of youto lunch with me--will you? Come and join me at that restaurant yonderwith the pink front as soon as you are at liberty. I shall have settledmy own business in an hour's time, and I shall be delighted to have yourcompany at table. "

Pierre began by declining, but he could offer no possible excuse, and atlast surrendered, won over, despite himself, by Prada's real charm ofmanner. When they had parted, the young priest only had to climb a streetin order to reach the Cardinal's door. With his natural expansiveness andcraving for popularity, Sanguinetti was easy of access, and at Frascatiin particular his doors were flung open even to the most humble cassocks. So Pierre was at once ushered in, a circumstance which somewhat surprisedhim, for he remembered the bad humour of the servant whom he had seen oncalling at the Cardinal's residence in Rome, when he had been advised toforego the journey, as his Eminence did not like to be disturbed when hewas ill. However, nothing spoke of illness in that pleasant villa, flooded with sunshine. True, the waiting-room, where he was momentarilyleft alone, displayed neither luxury nor comfort; but it was brightenedby the finest light in the world, and overlooked that extraordinaryCampagna, so flat, so bare, and so unique in its beauty, for in front ofit one ever dreams and sees the past arise. And so, whilst waiting, Pierre stationed himself at an open window, conducting on to a balcony, and his eyes roamed over the endless sea of herbage to the far-awaywhiteness of Rome, above which rose the dome of St. Peter's, at thatdistance a mere sparkling speck, barely as large as the nail of one'slittle finger. 

However, the young man had scarcely taken up this position when he wassurprised to hear some people talking, their words reaching him withgreat distinctness. And on leaning forward he realised that his Eminencein person was standing on another balcony close by, and conversing with apriest, only a portion of whose cassock could be seen. Still, thissufficed for Pierre to recognise Santobono. His first impulse, dictatedby natural discretion, was to withdraw from the window, but the words henext heard riveted him to the spot. 

"We shall know in a moment, " his Eminence was saying in his full voice. "I sent Eufemio to Rome, for he is the only person in whom I've anyconfidence. And see, there is the train bringing him back. "

A train, still as small as a plaything, could in fact be seen approachingover the vast plain, and doubtless it was to watch for its arrival thatSanguinetti had stationed himself on the balcony. And there he lingered, with his eyes fixed on distant Rome. Then Santobono, in a passionatevoice, spoke some words which Pierre imperfectly understood, but theCardinal with clear articulation rejoined, "Yes, yes, my dear fellow, acatastrophe would be a great misfortune. Ah! may his Holiness long bepreserved to us. " Then he paused, and as he was no hypocrite, gave fullexpression to the thoughts which were in his mind: "At least, I hope thathe will be preserved just now, for the times are bad, and I am infrightful anguish. The partisans of Antichrist have lately gained muchground. "

A cry escaped Santobono: "Oh! your Eminence will act and triumph. "

"I, my dear fellow? What would you have me do? I am simply at thedisposal of my friends, those who are willing to believe in me, with thesole object of ensuring the victory of the Holy See. It is they who oughtto act, it is they--each according to the measure of his means--who oughtto bar the road to the wicked in order that the righteous may succeed. Ah! if Antichrist should reign--"

The recurrence of this word Antichrist greatly disturbed Pierre; but hesuddenly remembered what the Count had told him: Antichrist was CardinalBoccanera. 

"Think of that, my dear fellow, " continued Sanguinetti. "PictureAntichrist at the Vatican, consummating the ruin of religion by hisimplacable pride, his iron will, his gloomy passion for nihility; forthere can be no doubt of it, he is the Beast of Death announced by theprophecies, the Beast who will expose one and all to the danger of beingswallowed up with him in his furious rush into abysmal darkness. I knowhim; he only dreams of obstinacy and destruction, he will seize thepillars of the temple and shake them in order that he may sink beneaththe ruins, he and the whole Catholic world! In less than six months hewill be driven from Rome, at strife with all the nations, execrated byItaly, and roaming the world like the phantom of the last pope!"

It was with a low growl, suggestive of a stifled oath, that Santobonoresponded to this frightful prediction. But the train had now reached thestation, and among the few passengers who had alighted, Pierre coulddistinguish a little Abbe, who was walking so fast that his cassockflapped against his hips. It was Abbe Eufemio, the Cardinal's secretary, and when he had perceived his Eminence on the balcony he lost allself-respect, and broke into a run, in order that he might the soonerascend the sloping street. "Ah! here's Eufemio, " exclaimed the Cardinal, quivering with anxiety. "We shall know now, we shall know now. "

The secretary had plunged into the doorway below, and he climbed thestairs with such rapidity that almost immediately afterwards Pierre sawhim rush breathlessly across the waiting-room, and vanish into theCardinal's sanctum. Sanguinetti had quitted the balcony to meet hismessenger, but soon afterwards he returned to it asking questions, venting exclamations, raising, in fact, quite a tumult over the newswhich he had received. "And so it's really true, the night was a bad one. His Holiness scarcely slept! Colic, you were told? But nothing could beworse at his age; it might carry him off in a couple of hours. And thedoctors, what do they say?"

The answer did not reach Pierre, but he understood its purport as theCardinal in his naturally loud voice resumed: "Oh! the doctors neverknow. Besides, when they refuse to speak death is never far off. _Dio_!what a misfortune if the catastrophe cannot be deferred for a few days!"

Then he became silent, and Pierre realised that his eyes were once moretravelling towards Rome, gazing with ambitious anguish at the dome of St. Peter's, that little, sparkling speck above the vast, ruddy plain. What acommotion, what agitation if the Pope were dead! And he wished that ithad merely been necessary for him to stretch forth his arm in order totake and hold the Eternal City, the Holy City, which, yonder on thehorizon, occupied no more space than a heap of gravel cast there by achild's spade. And he was already dreaming of the coming Conclave, whenthe canopy of each other cardinal would fall, and his own, motionless andsovereign, would crown him with purple. 

"But you are right, my friend!" he suddenly exclaimed, addressingSantobono, "one must act, the salvation of the Church is at stake. And, besides, it is impossible that Heaven should not be with us, since oursole desire is its triumph. If necessary, at the supreme moment, Heavenwill know how to crush Antichrist. "

Then, for the first time, Pierre distinctly heard the voice of Santobono, who, gruffly, with a sort of savage decision, responded: "Oh! if Heavenis tardy it shall be helped. "

That was all; the young man heard nothing further save a confused murmurof voices. The speakers quitted the balcony, and his spell of waitingbegan afresh in the sunlit _salon_ so peaceful and delightful in itsbrightness. But all at once the door of his Eminence's private room wasthrown wide open and a servant ushered him in; and he was surprised tofind the Cardinal alone, for he had not witnessed the departure of thetwo priests, who had gone off by another door. The Cardinal, with hishighly coloured face, big nose, thick lips, square-set, vigorous figure, which still looked young despite his sixty years, was standing near awindow in the bright golden light. He had put on the paternal smile withwhich he greeted even the humblest from motives of good policy, and assoon as Pierre had knelt and kissed his ring, he motioned him to a chair. "Sit down, dear son, sit down. You have come of course about thatunfortunate affair of your book. I am very pleased indeed to be able tospeak with you about it. "

He himself then took a chair in front of that window overlooking Romewhence he seemed unable to drag himself. And the young priest, whilstapologising for coming to disturb his rest, perceived that he scarcelylistened, for his eyes again sought the prey which he so ardentlycoveted. Yet the semblance of good-natured attention was perfect, andPierre marvelled at the force of will which this man must possess toappear so calm, so interested in the affairs of others, when such atempest was raging in him. 

"Your Eminence will, I hope, kindly forgive me, " continued the youngpriest. 

"But you have done right to come, since I am kept here by my failinghealth, " said the Cardinal. "Besides, I am somewhat better, and it isonly natural that you should wish to give me some explanations and defendyour work and enlighten my judgment. In fact, I was astonished at not yethaving seen you, for I know that your faith in your cause is great andthat you spare no steps to convert your judges. So speak, my dear son, Iam listening and shall be pleased indeed if I can absolve you. "

Pierre was caught by these kind words, and a hope returned to him, thatof winning the support of the all-powerful Prefect of the Index. Healready regarded this ex-nuncio--who at Brussels and Vienna had acquiredthe worldly art of sending people away satisfied with indefinite promisesthough he meant to grant them nothing--as a man of rare intelligence andexquisite cordiality. And so once more he regained the fervour of hisapostolate to express his views respecting the future Rome, the Rome hedreamt of, which was destined yet again to become the mistress of theworld if she would return to the Christianity of Jesus, to an ardent lovefor the weak and the humble. 

Sanguinetti smiled, wagged his head, and raised exclamations of rapture:"Very good, very good indeed, perfect! Oh! I agree with you, dear son. One cannot put things better. It is quite evident; all good minds mustagree with you. " And then, said he, the poetic side deeply touched him. Like Leo XIII--and doubtless in a spirit of rivalry--he courted thereputation of being a very distinguished Latinist, and professed aspecial and boundless affection for Virgil. "I know, I know, " heexclaimed, "I remember your page on the return of spring, which consolesthe poor whom winter has frozen. Oh! I read it three times over! And areyou aware that your writing is full of Latin turns of style. I noticedmore than fifty expressions which could be found in the 'Bucolics. ' Yourbook is a charm, a perfect charm!"

As he was no fool, and realised that the little priest before him was aman of high intelligence, he ended by interesting himself, not in Pierrepersonally, but in the profit which he might possibly derive from him. Amidst his feverish intrigues, he unceasingly sought to utilise all thequalities possessed by those whom God sent to him that might in any waybe conducive to his own triumph. So, for a moment, he turned away fromRome and looked his companion in the face, listening to him and askinghimself in what way he might employ him--either at once in the crisisthrough which he was passing, or later on when he should be pope. But theyoung priest again made the mistake of attacking the temporal power, andof employing that unfortunate expression, "a new religion. " Thereupon theCardinal stopped him with a gesture, still smiling, still retaining allhis amiability, although the resolution which he had long since formedbecame from that moment definitive. "You are certainly in the right onmany points, my dear son, " he said, "and I often share your views--sharethem completely. But come, you are doubtless not aware that I am theprotector of Lourdes here at Rome. And so, after the page which you havewritten about the Grotto, how can I possibly pronounce in your favour andagainst the Fathers?"

Pierre was utterly overcome by this announcement, for he was indeedunaware of the Cardinal's position with respect to Lourdes, nobody havingtaken the precaution to warn him. However, each of the Catholicenterprises distributed throughout the world has a protector at Rome, acardinal who is designated by the Pope to represent it and, if need be, to defend it. 

"Those good Fathers!" Sanguinetti continued in a gentle voice, "you havecaused them great grief, and really our hands are tied, we cannot add totheir sorrow. If you only knew what a number of masses they send us! Iknow more than one of our poor priests who would die of hunger if it werenot for them. "

Pierre could only bow beneath the blow. Once more he found himself inpresence of the pecuniary question, the necessity in which the Holy Seeis placed to secure the revenue it requires one year with another. Andthus the Pope was ever in servitude, for if the loss of Rome had freedhim of the cares of state, his enforced gratitude for the alms hereceived still riveted him to earth. So great, indeed, were therequirements, that money was the ruler, the sovereign power, before whichall bowed at the Court of Rome. 

And now Sanguinetti rose to dismiss his visitor. "You must not despair, dear son, " he said effusively. "I have only my own vote, you know, and Ipromise you that I will take into account the excellent explanationswhich you have just given me. And who can tell? If God be with you, Hewill save you even in spite of all!" This speech formed part of theCardinal's usual tactics; for one of his principles was never to drivepeople to extremes by sending them away hopeless. What good, indeed, would it do to tell this one that the condemnation of his book was aforegone conclusion, and that his only prudent course would be to disavowit? Only a savage like Boccanera breathed anger upon fiery souls andplunged them into rebellion. "You must hope, hope!" repeated Sanguinettiwith a smile, as if implying a multitude of fortunate things which hecould not plainly express. 

Thereupon Pierre, who was deeply touched, felt born anew. He even forgotthe conversation he had surprised, the Cardinal's keen ambition andcovert rage with his redoubtable rival. Besides, might not intelligencetake the place of heart among the powerful? If this man should some daybecome pope, and had understood him, might he not prove the pope who wasawaited, the pope who would accept the task of reorganising the Church ofthe United States of Europe, and making it the spiritual sovereign of theworld? So he thanked him with emotion, bowed, and left him to his dream, standing before that widely open window whence Rome appeared to him, glittering like a jewel, even indeed as the tiara of gold and gems, inthe splendour of the autumn sun. 

It was nearly one o'clock when Pierre and Count Prada were at last ableto sit down to _dejeuner_ in the little restaurant where they had agreedto meet. They had both been delayed by their affairs. However, the Count, having settled some worrying matters to his own advantage, was verylively, whilst the priest on his side was again hopeful, and yielded tothe delightful charm of that last fine day. And so the meal proved a verypleasant one in the large, bright room, which, as usual at that season ofthe year, was quite deserted. Pink and blue predominated in thedecoration, but Cupids fluttered on the ceiling, and landscapes, vaguelyrecalling the Roman castles, adorned the walls. The things they ate werefresh, and they drank the wine of Frascati, to which the soil imparts akind of burnt flavour as if the old volcanoes of the region had left somelittle of their fire behind. 

For a long while the conversation ranged over those wild and gracefulAlban hills, which, fortunately for the pleasure of the eye, overlook theflat Roman Campagna. Pierre, who had made the customary carriageexcursion from Frascati to Nemi, still felt its charm and spoke of it inglowing language. First came the lovely road from Frascati to Albano, ascending and descending hillsides planted with reeds, vines, andolive-trees, amongst which one obtained frequent glimpses of theCampagna's wavy immensity. On the right-hand the village of Rocca di Papaarose in amphitheatrical fashion, showing whitely on a knoll below MonteCavo, which was crowned by lofty and ancient trees. And from this pointof the road, on looking back towards Frascati, one saw high up, on theverge of a pine wood the ruins of Tusculum, large ruddy ruins, baked bycenturies of sunshine, and whence the boundless panorama must have beensuperb. Next one passed through Marino, with its sloping streets, itslarge cathedral, and its black decaying palace belonging to the Colonnas. Then, beyond a wood of ilex-trees, the lake of Albano was skirted withscenery which has no parallel in the world. In front, beyond the clearmirror of motionless water, were the ruins of Alba Longa; on the leftrose Monte Cavo with Rocca di Papa and Palazzuolo; whilst on the rightCastel Gandolfo overlooked the lake as from the summit of a cliff. Downbelow in the extinct crater, as in the depths of a gigantic cup ofverdure, the lake slept heavy and lifeless: a sheet of molten metal, which the sun on one side streaked with gold, whilst the other was blackwith shade. And the road then ascended all the way to Castel Gandolfo, which was perched on its rock, like a white bird betwixt the lake and thesea. Ever refreshed by breezes, even in the most burning hours of summer, the little place was once famous for its papal villa, where Pius IX lovedto spend hours of indolence, and whither Leo XIII has never come. Andnext the road dipped down, and the ilex-trees appeared again, ilex-treesfamous for their size, a double row of monsters with twisted limbs, twoand three hundred years old. Then one at last reached Albano, a smalltown less modernised and less cleansed than Frascati, a patch of the oldland which has retained some of its ancient wildness; and afterwardsthere was Ariccia with the Palazzo Chigi, and hills covered with forestsand viaducts spanning ravines which overflowed with foliage; and therewas yet Genzano, and yet Nemi, growing still wilder and more remote, lostin the midst of rocks and trees. 

Ah! how ineffaceable was the recollection which Pierre had retained ofNemi, Nemi on the shore of its lake, Nemi so delicious and fascinatingfrom afar, conjuring up all the ancient legends of fairy towns springingfrom amidst the greenery of mysterious waters, but so repulsively filthywhen one at last reaches it, crumbling on all sides but yet dominated bythe Orsini tower, as by the evil genius of the middle ages, which thereseems to perpetuate the ferocious habits, the violent passions, the knifethrusts of the past! Thence came that Santobono whose brother had killed, and who himself, with his eyes of crime glittering like live embers, seemed to be consumed by a murderous flame. And the lake, that lake roundlike an extinguished moon fallen into the depths of a former crater, adeeper and less open cup than that of the lake of Albano, a cup rimmedwith trees of wondrous vigour and density! Pines, elms, and willowsdescend to the very margin, with a green mass of tangled branches whichweigh each other down. This formidable fecundity springs from the vapourwhich constantly arises from the water under the parching action of thesun, whose rays accumulate in this hollow till it becomes like a furnace. There is a warm, heavy dampness, the paths of the adjacent gardens growgreen with moss, and in the morning dense mists often fill the large cupwith white vapour, as with the steaming milk of some sorceress ofmalevolent craft. And Pierre well remembered how uncomfortable he hadfelt before that lake where ancient atrocities, a mysterious religionwith abominable rites, seemed to slumber amidst the superb scenery. Hehad seen it at the approach of evening, looking, in the shade of itsforest girdle, like a plate of dull metal, black and silver, motionlessby reason of its weight. And that water, clear and yet so deep, thatwater deserted, without a bark upon its surface, that water august, lifeless, and sepulchral, had left him a feeling of inexpressiblesadness, of mortal melancholy, the hopelessness of great solitarypassion, earth and water alike swollen by the mute spasms of germs, troublous in their fecundity. Ah! those black and plunging banks, andthat black mournful lake prone at the bottom!*

 * Some literary interest attaches to M. Zola's account of Nemi, whose praises have been sung by a hundred poets. It will be observed that he makes no mention of Egeria. The religion distinguished by abominable practices to which he alludes, may perhaps be the worship of the Egyptian Diana, who had a famous temple near Nemi, which was excavated by Lord Savile some ten years ago, when all the smaller objects discovered were presented to the town of Nottingham. At this temple, according to some classical writers, the chief priest was required to murder his predecessor, and there were other abominable usages. --Trans. 

Count Prada began to laugh when Pierre told him of these impressions. "Yes, yes, " said he, "it's true, Nemi isn't always gay. In dull weather Ihave seen the lake looking like lead, and even the full sunshine scarcelyanimates it. For my part, I know I should die of _ennui_ if I had to liveface to face with that bare water. But it is admired by poets andromantic women, those who adore great tragedies of passion. "

Then, as he and Pierre rose from the table to go and take coffee on theterrace of the restaurant, the conversation changed: "Do you mean toattend Prince Buongiovanni's reception this evening?" the Count inquired. "It will be a curious sight, especially for a foreigner, and I advise younot to miss it. "

"Yes, I have an invitation, " Pierre replied. "A friend of mine, MonsieurNarcisse Habert, an _attache_ at our embassy, procured it for me, and Iam going with him. "

That evening, indeed, there was to be a _fete_ at the PalazzoBuongiovanni on the Corso, one of the few galas that take place in Romeeach winter. People said that this one would surpass all others inmagnificence, for it was to be given in honour of the betrothal of littlePrincess Celia. The Prince, her father, after boxing her ears, it wasrumoured, and narrowly escaping an attack of apoplexy as the result of afrightful fit of anger, had, all at once, yielded to her quiet, gentlestubbornness, and consented to her marriage with Lieutenant Attilio, theson of Minister Sacco. And all the drawing-rooms of Rome, those of thewhite world quite as much as those of the black, were thoroughly upset bythe tidings. 

Count Prada made merry over the affair. "Ah! you'll see a fine sight!" heexclaimed. "Personally, I'm delighted with it all for the sake of my goodcousin Attilio, who is really a very nice and worthy fellow. And nothingin the world would keep me from going to see my dear uncle Sacco make hisentry into the ancient _salons_ of the Buongiovanni. It will be somethingextraordinary and superb. He has at last become Minister of Agriculture, you know. My father, who always takes things so seriously, told me thismorning that the affair so worried him he hadn't closed his eyes allnight. "

The Count paused, but almost immediately added: "I say, it is half-pasttwo and you won't have a train before five o'clock. Do you know what youought to do? Why, drive back to Rome with me in my carriage. "

"No, no, " rejoined Pierre, "I'm deeply obliged to you but I'm to dinewith my friend Narcisse this evening, and I mustn't be late. "

"But you won't be late--on the contrary! We shall start at three andreach Rome before five o'clock. There can't be a more pleasant promenadewhen the light falls; and, come, I promise you a splendid sunset. "

He was so pressing that the young priest had to accept, quite subjugatedby so much amiability and good humour. They spent another half-hour verypleasantly in chatting about Rome, Italy, and France. Then, for a moment, they went up into Frascati where the Count wished to say a few words to acontractor, and just as three o'clock was striking they started off, seated side by side on the soft cushions and gently rocked by the motionof the victoria as the two horses broke into a light trot. As Prada hadpredicted, that return to Rome across the bare Campagna under the vastlimpid heavens at the close of such a mild autumn day proved mostdelightful. First of all, however, the victoria had to descend the slopesof Frascati between vineyards and olive-trees. The paved road snaked, andwas but little frequented; they merely saw a few peasants in old felthats, a white mule, and a cart drawn by a donkey, for it is only uponSundays that the _osterie_ or wine-shops are filled and that artisans ineasy circumstances come to eat a dish of kid at the surrounding_bastides_. However, at one turn of the road they passed a monumentalfountain. Then a flock of sheep momentarily barred the way beforedefiling past. And beyond the gentle undulations of the ruddy CampagnaRome appeared amidst the violet vapours of evening, sinking by degrees asthe carriage itself descended to a lower and lower level. There came amoment when the city was a mere thin grey streak, speckled whitely hereand there by a few sunlit house-fronts. And then it seemed to plungebelow the ground--to be submerged by the swell of the far-spreadingfields. 

The victoria was now rolling over the plain, leaving the Alban hillsbehind, whilst before it and on either hand came the expanse of meadowsand stubbles. And then it was that the Count, after leaning forward, exclaimed: "Just look ahead, yonder, there's our man of this morning, Santobono in person--what a strapping fellow he is, and how fast hewalks! My horses can scarcely overtake him. "

Pierre in his turn leant forward and likewise perceived the priest of St. Mary in the Fields, looking tall and knotty, fashioned as it were with abill-hook. Robed in a long black cassock, he showed like a vigoroussplotch of ink amidst the bright sunshine streaming around him; and hewas walking on at such a fast, stern, regular pace that he suggestedDestiny on the march. Something, which could not be well distinguished, was hanging from his right arm. 

When the carriage had at last overtaken him Prada told the coachman toslacken speed, and then entered into conversation. 

"Good-day, Abbe; you are well, I hope?" he asked. 

"Very well, Signor Conte, I thank you. "

"And where are you going so bravely?"

"Signor Conte, I am going to Rome. "

"What! to Rome, at this late hour?"

"Oh! I shall be there nearly as soon as yourself. The distance doesn'tfrighten me, and money's quickly earned by walking. "

Scarcely turning his head to reply, stepping out beside the wheels, Santobono did not miss a stride. And Prada, diverted by the meeting, whispered to Pierre: "Wait a bit, he'll amuse us. " Then he added aloud:"Since you are going to Rome, Abbe, you had better get in here; there'sroom for you. "

Santobono required no pressing, but at once accepted the offer. "Willingly; a thousand thanks, " he said. "It's still better to save one'sshoe leather. "

Then he got in and installed himself on the bracket-seat, declining withabrupt humility the place which Pierre politely offered him beside theCount. The young priest and the latter now saw that the object he wascarrying was a little basket of fresh figs, nicely arranged and coveredwith leaves. 

The horses set off again at a faster trot, and the carriage rolled on andon over the superb, flat plain. "So you are going to Rome?" the Countresumed in order to make Santobono talk. 

"Yes, " the other replied, "I am taking his Eminence Cardinal Boccanerathese few figs, the last of the season: a little present which I hadpromised him. " He had placed the basket on his knees and was holding itbetween his big knotty hands as if it were something rare and fragile. 

"Ah! some of the famous figs of your garden, " said Prada. "It's quitetrue, they are like honey. But why don't you rid yourself of them. Yousurely don't mean to keep them on your knees all the way to Rome. Givethem to me, I'll put them in the hood. "

However, Santobono became quite agitated, and vigorously declined theoffer. "No, no, a thousand thanks! They don't embarrass me in the least;they are very well here; and in this way I shall be sure that no accidentwill befall them. "

His passion for the fruit he grew quite amused Prada, who nudged Pierre, and then inquired: "Is the Cardinal fond of your figs?"

"Oh! his Eminence condescends to adore them. In former years, when hespent the summer at the villa, he would never touch the figs from othertrees. And so, you see, knowing his tastes, it costs me very little togratify him. "

Whilst making this reply Santobono had shot such a keen glance in thedirection of Pierre that the Count felt it necessary to introduce them toone another. This he did saying: "As it happens, Monsieur l'Abbe Fromentis stopping at the Palazzo Boccanera; he has been there for three monthsor so. "

"Yes, I'm aware of it, " Santobono quietly replied; "I found Monsieurl'Abbe with his Eminence one day when I took some figs to the Palazzo. Those were less ripe, but these are perfect. " So speaking he gave thelittle basket a complacent glance, and seemed to press it yet moreclosely between his huge and hairy fingers. 

Then came a spell of silence, whilst on either hand the Campagna spreadout as far as the eye could reach. All houses had long since disappeared;there was not a wall, not a tree, nothing but the undulating expansewhose sparse, short herbage was, with the approach of winter, beginningto turn green once more. A tower, a half-fallen ruin which came intosight on the left, rising in solitude into the limpid sky above the flat, boundless line of the horizon, suddenly assumed extraordinary importance. Then, on the right, the distant silhouettes of cattle and horses wereseen in a large enclosure with wooden rails. Urged on by the goad, oxen, still yoked, were slowly coming back from ploughing; whilst a farmer, cantering beside the ploughed land on a little sorrel nag, gave a finallook round for the night. Now and again the road became peopled. A_biroccino_, an extremely light vehicle with two huge wheels and a smallseat perched upon the springs, whisked by like a gust of wind. From timeto time also the victoria passed a _carrotino_, one of the low carts inwhich peasants, sheltered by a kind of bright-hued tent, bring the wine, vegetables, and fruit of the castle-lands to Rome. The shrill tinkling ofhorses' bells was heard afar off as the animals followed the well-knownroad of their own accord, their peasant drivers usually being soundasleep. Women with bare, black hair, scarlet neckerchiefs, and skirtscaught up, were seen going home in groups of three and four. And then theroad again emptied, and the solitude became more and more complete, without a wayfarer or an animal appearing for miles and miles, whilstyonder, at the far end of the lifeless sea, so grandiose and mournful inits monotony, the sun continued to descend from the infinite vault ofheaven. 

"And the Pope, Abbe, is he dead?" Prada suddenly inquired. 

Santobono did not even start. "I trust, " he replied in all simplicity, "that his Holiness still has many long years to live for the triumph ofthe Church. "

"So you had good news this morning when you called on your bishop, Cardinal Sanguinetti?"

This time the priest was unable to restrain a slight start. Had he beenseen, then? In his haste he had failed to notice the two men followingthe road behind him. However, he at once regained self-possession, andreplied: "Oh! one can never tell exactly whether news is good or bad. Itseems that his Holiness passed a somewhat painful night, but I devoutlyhope that the next will be a better one. " Then he seemed to meditate fora moment, and added: "Moreover, if God should have deemed it time to callhis Holiness to Himself, He would not leave His flock without a shepherd. He would have already chosen and designated the Sovereign Pontiff ofto-morrow. "

This superb answer increased Prada's gaiety. "You are reallyextraordinary, Abbe, " he said. "So you think that popes are solelycreated by the grace of the Divinity! The pope of to-morrow is chosen upin heaven, eh, and simply waits? Well, I fancied that men had somethingto do with the matter. But perhaps you already know which cardinal it isthat the divine favour has thus elected in advance?"

Then, like the unbeliever he was, he went on with his facile jests, whichleft the priest unruffled. In fact, the latter also ended by laughingwhen the Count, after alluding to the gambling passion which at eachfresh Conclave sets wellnigh the whole population of Rome betting for oragainst this or that candidate, told him that he might easily make hisfortune if he were in the divine secret. Next the talk turned on thethree white cassocks of different sizes which are always kept inreadiness in a cupboard at the Vatican. Which of them would be requiredon this occasion?--the short one, the long one, or the one of mediumsize? Each time that the reigning pope falls somewhat seriously ill thereis in this wise an extraordinary outburst of emotion, a keen awakening ofall ambitions and intrigues, to such a point that not merely in the blackworld, but throughout the city, people have no other subject ofcuriosity, conversation, and occupation than that of discussing therelative claims of the cardinals and predicting which of them will beelected. 

"Come, come, " Prada resumed, "since you know the truth, I'm determinedthat you shall tell me. Will it be Cardinal Moretta?"

Santobono, in spite of his evident desire to remain dignified anddisinterested, like a good, pious priest, was gradually growingimpassioned, yielding to the hidden fire which consumed him. And thisinterrogatory finished him off; he could no longer restrain himself, butreplied: "Moretta! What an idea! Why, he is sold to all Europe!"

"Well, will it be Cardinal Bartolini?"

"Oh! you can't think that. Bartolini has used himself up in striving foreverything and getting nothing. "

"Will it be Cardinal Dozio, then?"

"Dozio, Dozio! Why, if Dozio were to win one might altogether despair ofour Holy Church, for no man can have a baser mind than he!"

Prada raised his hands, as if he had exhausted the serious candidates. Inorder to increase the priest's exasperation he maliciously refrained fromnaming Cardinal Sanguinetti, who was certainly Santobono's nominee. Allat once, however, he pretended to make a good guess, and gaily exclaimed:"Ah! I have it; I know your man--Cardinal Boccanera!"

The blow struck Santobono full in the heart, wounding him both in hisrancour and his patriotic faith. His terrible mouth was already opening, and he was about to shout "No! no!" with all his strength, but he managedto restrain the cry, compelled as he was to silence by the present on hisknees--that little basket of figs which he pressed so convulsively withboth hands; and the effort which he was obliged to make left himquivering to such a point that he had to wait some time before he couldreply in a calm voice: "His most reverend Eminence Cardinal Boccanera isa saintly man, well worthy of the throne, and my only fear is that, withhis hatred of new Italy, he might bring us warfare. "

Prada, however, desired to enlarge the wound. "At all events, " said he, "you accept him and love him too much not to rejoice over his chances ofsuccess. And I really think that we have arrived at the truth, foreverybody is convinced that the Conclave's choice cannot fall elsewhere. Come, come; Boccanera is a very tall man, so it's the long white cassockwhich will be required. "

"The long cassock, the long cassock, " growled Santobono, despite himself;"that's all very well, but--"

Then he stopped short, and, again overcoming his passion, left hissentence unfinished. Pierre, listening in silence, marvelled at the man'sself-restraint, for he remembered the conversation which he had overheardat Cardinal Sanguinetti's. Those figs were evidently a mere pretext forgaining admission to the Boccanera mansion, where some friend--AbbePaparelli, no doubt--could alone supply certain positive informationwhich was needed. But how great was the command which the hot-bloodedpriest exercised over himself amidst the riotous impulses of his soul!

On either side of the road the Campagna still and ever spread its expanseof verdure, and Prada, who had become grave and dreamy, gazed before himwithout seeing anything. At last, however, he gave expression to histhoughts. "You know, Abbe, what will be said if the Pope should die thistime. That sudden illness, those colics, those refusals to make anyinformation public, mean nothing good--Yes, yes, poison, just as for theothers!"

Pierre gave a start of stupefaction. The Pope poisoned! "What! Poison?Again?" he exclaimed as he gazed at his companions with dilated eyes. Poison at the end of the nineteenth century, as in the days of theBorgias, as on the stage in a romanticist melodrama! To him the ideaappeared both monstrous and ridiculous. 

Santobono, whose features had become motionless and impenetrable, made noreply. But Prada nodded, and the conversation was henceforth confined tohim and the young priest. "Why, yes, poison, " he replied. "The fear of ithas remained very great in Rome. Whenever a death seems inexplicable, either by reason of its suddenness or the tragic circumstances whichattend it, the unanimous thought is poison. And remark this: in no city, I believe, are sudden deaths so frequent. The causes I don't exactlyknow, but some doctors put everything down to the fevers. Among thepeople, however, the one thought is poison, poison with all its legends, poison which kills like lightning and leaves no trace, the famous recipebequeathed from age to age, through the emperors and the popes, down tothese present times of middle-class democracy. "

As he spoke he ended by smiling, for he was inclined to be somewhatsceptical on the point, despite the covert terror with which he wasinspired by racial and educational causes. However, he quoted instances. The Roman matrons had rid themselves of their husbands and lovers byemploying the venom of red toads. Locusta, in a more practical spirit, sought poison in plants, one of which, probably aconite, she was wont toboil. Then, long afterwards, came the age of the Borgias, andsubsequently, at Naples, La Toffana sold a famous water, doubtless somepreparation of arsenic, in phials decorated with a representation of St. Nicholas of Bari. There were also extraordinary stories of pins, a prickfrom which killed one like lightning, of cups of wine poisoned by theinfusion of rose petals, of woodcocks cut in half with prepared knives, which poisoned but one-half of the bird, so that he who partook of thathalf was killed. "I myself, in my younger days, " continued Prada, "had afriend whose bride fell dead in church during the marriage servicethrough simply inhaling a bouquet of flowers. And so isn't it possiblethat the famous recipe may really have been handed down, and haveremained known to a few adepts?"

"But chemistry has made too much progress, " Pierre replied. "Ifmysterious poisons were believed in by the ancients and remainedundetected in their time it was because there were no means of analysis. But the drug of the Borgias would now lead the simpleton who might employit straight to the Assizes. Such stories are mere nonsense, and at thepresent day people scarcely tolerate them in newspaper serials andshockers. "

"Perhaps so, " resumed the Count with his uneasy smile. "You are right, nodoubt--only go and tell that to your host, for instance, CardinalBoccanera, who last summer held in his arms an old and deeply-lovedfriend, Monsignor Gallo, who died after a seizure of a couple of hours. "

"But apoplexy may kill one in two hours, and aneurism only takes twominutes. "

"True, but ask the Cardinal what he thought of his friend's prolongedshudders, the leaden hue which overcame his face, the sinking of hiseyes, and the expression of terror which made him quite unrecognisable. The Cardinal is convinced that Monsignor Gallo was poisoned, because hewas his dearest confidant, the counsellor to whom he always listened, andwhose wise advice was a guarantee of success. "

Pierre's bewilderment was increasing, and, irritated by the impassibilityof Santobono, he addressed him direct. "It's idiotic, it's awful! Doesyour reverence also believe in these frightful stories?"

But the priest of Frascati gave no sign. His thick, passionate lipsremained closed while his black glowing eyes never ceased to gaze atPrada. The latter, moreover, was quoting other instances. There was thecase of Monsignor Nazzarelli, who had been found in bed, shrunken andcalcined like carbon. And there was that of Monsignor Brando, struck downin his sacerdotal vestments at St. Peter's itself, in the very sacristy, during vespers!

"Ah! _Mon Dieu_!" sighed Pierre, "you will tell me so much that I myselfshall end by trembling, and sha'n't dare to eat anything but boiled eggsas long as I stay in this terrible Rome of yours. "

For a moment this whimsical reply enlivened both the Count and Pierre. But it was quite true that their conversation showed Rome under aterrible aspect, for it conjured up the Eternal City of Crime, the cityof poison and the knife, where for more than two thousand years, eversince the raising of the first bit of wall, the lust of power, thefrantic hunger for possession and enjoyment, had armed men's hands, ensanguined the pavements, and cast victims into the river and theground. Assassinations and poisonings under the emperors, poisonings andassassinations under the popes, ever did the same torrent of abominationsstrew that tragic soil with death amidst the sovereign glory of the sun. 

"All the same, " said the Count, "those who take precautions are perhapsnot ill advised. It is said that more than one cardinal shudders andmistrusts people. One whom I know will never eat anything that has notbeen bought and prepared by his own cook. And as for the Pope, if he isanxious--"

Pierre again raised a cry of stupefaction. "What, the Pope himself! ThePope afraid of being poisoned!"

"Well, my dear Abbe, people commonly assert it. There are certainly dayswhen he considers himself more menaced than anybody else. And are you notaware of the old Roman view that a pope ought never to live till toogreat an age, and that when he is so obstinate as not to die at the righttime he ought to be assisted? As soon as a pope begins to fall intosecond childhood, and by reason of his senility becomes a source ofembarrassment, and possibly even danger, to the Church, his right placeis heaven. Moreover, matters are managed in a discreet manner; a slightcold becomes a decent pretext to prevent him from tarrying any longer onthe throne of St. Peter. "

Prada then gave some curious details. One prelate, it was said, wishingto dispel his Holiness's fears, had devised an elaborate precautionarysystem which, among other things, was to comprise a little padlockedvehicle, in which the food destined for the frugal pontifical table wasto be securely placed before leaving the kitchen, so that it might not betampered with on its way to the Pope's apartments. However, this projecthad not yet been carried into effect. 

"After all, " the Count concluded with a laugh, "every pope has to diesome day, especially when his death is needful for the welfare of theChurch. Isn't that so, Abbe?"

Santobono, whom he addressed, had a moment previously lowered his eyes asif to contemplate the little basket of figs which he held on his lap withas much care as if it had been the Blessed Sacrament. On being questionedin such a direct, sharp fashion he could not do otherwise than look up. However, he did not depart from his prolonged silence, but limited hisanswer to a slow nod. 

"And it is God alone, and not poison, who causes one to die. Is that notso, Abbe?" repeated Prada. "It is said that those were the last words ofpoor Monsignor Gallo before he expired in the arms of his friend CardinalBoccanera. "

For the second time Santobono nodded without speaking. And then silencefell, all three sinking into a dreamy mood. 

Meantime, without a pause, the carriage rolled on across the immensity ofthe Campagna. The road, straight as an arrow, seemed to extend into theinfinite. As the sun descended towards the horizon the play of light andshade became more marked on the broad undulations of the ground whichstretched away, alternately of a pinky green and a violet grey, till theyreached the distant fringe of the sky. At the roadside on either handthere were still and ever tall withered thistles and giant fennel withyellow umbels. Then, after a time, came a team of four oxen, that hadbeen kept ploughing until late, and stood forth black and huge in thepale atmosphere and mournful solitude. Farther on some flocks of sheep, whence the breeze wafted a tallowy odour, set patches of brown amidst theherbage, which once more was becoming verdant; whilst at intervals a dogwas heard to bark, his voice the only distinct sound amidst the lowquivering of that silent desert where the sovereign peacefulness of deathseemed to reign. But all at once a light melody arose and some larks flewup, one of them soaring into the limpid golden heavens. And ahead, at thefar extremity of the pure sky, Rome, with her towers and domes, grewlarger and larger, like a city of white marble springing from a mirageamidst the greenery of some enchanted garden. 

"Matteo!" Prada called to his coachman, "pull up at the Osteria Romana. "And to his companions he added: "Pray excuse me, but I want to see if Ican get some new-laid eggs for my father. He is so fond of them. "

A few minutes afterwards the carriage stopped. At the very edge of theroad stood a primitive sort of inn, bearing the proud and sonorous nameof "Antica Osteria Romana. " It had now become a mere house of call forcarters and chance sportsmen, who ventured to drink a flagon of whitewine whilst eating an omelet and a slice of ham. Occasionally, onSundays, some of the humble classes would walk over from Rome and makemerry there; but the week days often went by without a soul entering theplace, such was its isolation amidst the bare Campagna. 

The Count was already springing from the carriage. "I shall only be aminute, " said he as he turned away. 

The _osteria_ was a long, low pile with a ground floor and one upperstorey, the last being reached by an outdoor stairway built of largeblocks of stone which had been scorched by the hot suns. The entireplace, indeed, was corroded, tinged with the hue of old gold. On theground floor one found a common room, a cart-house, and a stable withadjoining sheds. At one side, near a cluster of parasol pines--the onlytrees that could grow in that ungrateful soil--there was an arbour ofreeds where five or six rough wooden tables were set out. And, as abackground to this sorry, mournful nook of life, there arose a fragmentof an ancient aqueduct whose arches, half fallen and opening on to space, alone interrupted the flat line of the horizon. 

All at once, however, the Count retraced his steps, and, addressingSantobono, exclaimed: "I say, Abbe, you'll surely accept a glass of whitewine. I know that you are a bit of a vine grower, and they have a littlewhite wine here which you ought to make acquaintance with. "

Santobono again required no pressing, but quietly alighted. "Oh! I knowit, " said he; "it's a wine from Marino; it's grown in a lighter soil thanours at Frascati. "

Then, as he would not relax his hold on his basket of figs, but even nowcarried it along with him, the Count lost patience. "Come, you don't wantthat basket, " said he; "leave it in the carriage. "

The priest gave no reply, but walked ahead, whilst Pierre also made uphis mind to descend from the carriage in order to see what a suburban_osteria_ was like. Prada was known at this place, and an old woman, tall, withered, but looking quite queenly in her wretched garments, hadat once presented herself. On the last occasion when the Count had calledshe had managed to find half a dozen eggs. This time she said she wouldgo to see, but could promise nothing, for the hens laid here and thereall over the place, and she could never tell what eggs there might be. 

"All right!" Prada answered, "go and look; and meantime we will have a_caraffa_ of white wine. "

The three men entered the common room, which was already quite dark. Although the hot weather was now over, one heard the buzzing ofinnumerable flies immediately one reached the threshold, and a pungentodour of acidulous wine and rancid oil caught one at the throat. As soonas their eyes became accustomed to the dimness they were able todistinguish the spacious, blackened, malodorous chamber, whose onlyfurniture consisted of some roughly made tables and benches. It seemed tobe quite empty, so complete was the silence, apart from the buzz of theflies. However, two men were seated there, two wayfarers who remainedmute and motionless before their untouched, brimming glasses. Moreover, on a low chair near the door, in the little light which penetrated fromwithout, a thin, sallow girl, the daughter of the house, sat idle, trembling with fever, her hands close pressed between her knees. 

Realising that Pierre felt uncomfortable there, the Count proposed thatthey should drink their wine outside. "We shall be better out of doors, "said he, "it's so very in mild this evening. "

Accordingly, whilst the mother looked for the eggs, and the father mendeda wheel in an adjacent shed, the daughter was obliged to get up shiveringto carry the flagon of wine and the three glasses to the arbour, whereshe placed them on one of the tables. And, having pocketed the price ofthe wine--threepence--in silence, she went back to her seat with a sullenlook, as if annoyed at having been compelled to make such a long journey. Meanwhile the three men had sat down, and Prada gaily filled each of theglasses, although Pierre declared that he was quite unable to drink winebetween his meals. "Pooh, pooh, " said the Count, "you can always clinkglasses with us. And now, Abbe, isn't this little wine droll? Come, here's to the Pope's better health, since he's unwell!"

Santobono at one gulp emptied his glass and clacked his tongue. Withgentle, paternal care he had deposited his basket on the ground besidehim: and, taking off his hat, he drew a long breath. The evening wasreally delightful. A superb sky of a soft golden hue stretched over thatendless sea of the Campagna which was soon to fall asleep with sovereignquiescence. And the light breeze which went by amidst the deep silencebrought with it an exquisite odour of wild herbs and flowers. 

"How pleasant it is!" muttered Pierre, affected by the surrounding charm. "And what a desert for eternal rest, forgetfulness of all the world!"

Prada, who had emptied the flagon by filling Santobono's glass a secondtime, made no reply; he was silently amusing himself with an occurrencewhich at first he was the only one to observe. However, with a merryexpression of complicity, he gave the young priest a wink, and then theyboth watched the dramatic incidents of the affair. Some scraggy fowlswere wandering round them searching the yellow turf for grasshoppers; andone of these birds, a little shiny black hen with an impudent manner, hadcaught sight of the basket of figs and was boldly approaching it. Whenshe got near, however, she took fright, and retreated somewhat, with neckstiffened and head turned, so as to cast suspicious glances at the basketwith her round sparkling eye. But at last covetousness gained thevictory, for she could see one of the figs between the leaves, and so sheslowly advanced, lifting her feet very high at each step; and, all atonce, stretching out her neck, she gave the fig a formidable peck, whichripped it open and made the juice exude. 

Prada, who felt as happy as a child, was then able to give vent to thelaughter which he had scarcely been able to restrain: "Look out, Abbe, "he called, "mind your figs!"

At that very moment Santobono was finishing his second glass of wine withhis head thrown back and his eyes blissfully raised to heaven. He gave astart, looked round, and on seeing the hen at once understood theposition. And then came a terrible outburst of anger, with sweepinggestures and terrible invectives. But the hen, who was again pecking, would not be denied; she dug her beak into the fig and carried it off, flapping her wings, so quick and so comical that Prada, and Pierre aswell, laughed till tears came into their eyes, their merriment increasingat sight of the impotent fury of Santobono, who, for a moment, pursuedthe thief, threatening her with his fist. 

"Ah!" said the Count, "that's what comes of not leaving the basket in thecarriage. If I hadn't warned you the hen would have eaten all the figs. "

The priest did not reply, but, growling out vague imprecations, placedthe basket on the table, where he raised the leaves and artisticallyrearranged the fruit so as to fill up the void. Then, the harm havingbeen repaired as far as was possible, he at last calmed down. 

It was now time for them to resume their journey, for the sun was sinkingtowards the horizon, and night would soon fall. Thus the Count ended bygetting impatient. "Well, and those eggs?" he called. 

Then, as the woman did not return, he went to seek her. He entered thestable, and afterwards the cart-house, but she was neither here northere. Next he went towards the rear of the _osteria_ in order to look inthe sheds. But all at once an unexpected spectacle made him stop short. The little black hen was lying on the ground, dead, killed as bylightning. She showed no sign of hurt; there was nothing but a littlestreamlet of violet blood still trickling from her beak. Prada was atfirst merely astonished. He stooped and touched the hen. She was stillwarm and soft like a rag. Doubtless some apoplectic stroke had killedher. But immediately afterwards he became fearfully pale; the truthappeared to him, and turned him as cold as ice. In a moment he conjuredup everything: Leo XIII attacked by illness, Santobono hurrying toCardinal Sanguinetti for tidings, and then starting for Rome to present abasket of figs to Cardinal Boccanera. And Prada also remembered theconversation in the carriage: the possibility of the Pope's demise, thecandidates for the tiara, the legendary stories of poison which stillfostered terror in and around the Vatican; and he once more saw thepriest, with his little basket on his knees, lavishing paternal attentionon it, and he saw the little black hen pecking at the fruit and fleeingwith a fig on her beak. And now that little black hen lay there, suddenlystruck down, dead!

His conviction was immediate and absolute. But he did not have time todecide what course he should take, for a voice behind him exclaimed:"Why, it's the little hen; what's the matter with her?"

The voice was that of Pierre, who, letting Santobono climb into thecarriage alone, had in his turn come round to the rear of the house inorder to obtain a better view of the ruined aqueduct among the parasolpines. 

Prada, who shuddered as if he himself were the culprit, answered him witha lie, a lie which he did not premeditate, but to which he was impelledby a sort of instinct. "But she's dead, " he said.... "Just fancy, there was a fight. At the moment when I got here that other hen, whichyou see yonder, sprang upon this one to get the fig, which she was stillholding, and with a thrust of the beak split her head open.... Theblood's flowing, as you can see yourself. "

Why did he say these things? He himself was astonished at them whilst hewent on inventing them. Was it then that he wished to remain master ofthe situation, keep the abominable secret entirely to himself, in orderthat he might afterwards act in accordance with his own desires?Certainly his feelings partook of shame and embarrassment in presence ofthat foreigner, whilst his personal inclination for violence set someadmiration amidst the revolt of his conscience, and a covert desire arosewithin him to examine the matter from the standpoint of his interestsbefore he came to a decision. But, on the other hand, he claimed to be aman of integrity, and would assuredly not allow people to be poisoned. 

Pierre, who was compassionately inclined towards all creation, looked atthe hen with the emotion which he always felt at the sudden severance oflife. However, he at once accepted Prada's story. "Ah! those fowls!" saidhe. "They treat one another with an idiotic ferocity which even men canscarcely equal. I kept fowls at home at one time, and one of the hens nosooner hurt her leg than all the others, on seeing the blood oozing, would flock round and peck at the limb till they stripped it to thebone. "

Prada, however, did not listen, but at once went off; and it so happenedthat the woman was, on her side, looking for him in order to hand himfour eggs which, after a deal of searching, she had discovered in oddcorners about the house. The Count made haste to pay for them, and calledto Pierre, who was lingering behind: "We must look sharp! We sha'n'treach Rome now until it is quite dark. "

They found Santobono quietly waiting in the carriage, where he had againinstalled himself on the bracket with his spine resting against thebox-seat and his long legs drawn back under him, and he again had thelittle basket of figs on his knees, and clasped it with his big knottyhands as though it were something fragile and rare which the slightestjolting might damage. His cassock showed like a huge blot, and in hiscoarse ashen face, that of a peasant yet near to the wild soil and butslightly polished by a few years of theological studies, his eyes aloneseemed to live, glowing with the dark flame of a devouring passion. Onseeing him seated there in such composure Prada could not restrain aslight shudder. Then, as soon as the victoria was again rolling along theroad, he exclaimed: "Well, Abbe, that glass of wine will guarantee usagainst the malaria. The Pope would soon be cured if he could imitate ourexample. "

Santobono's only reply was a growl. He was in no mood for conversation, but wrapped himself in perfect silence, as in the night which was slowlyfalling. And Prada in his turn ceased to speak, and, with his eyes stillfixed upon the other, reflected on the course that he should follow. 

The road turned, and then the carriage rolled on and on over anotherinterminable straight highway with white paving, whose brilliancy madethe road look like a ribbon of snow stretching across the Campagna, wheredelicate shadows were slowly falling. Gloom gathered in the hollows ofthe broad undulations whence a tide of violet hue seemed to spread overthe short herbage until all mingled and the expanse became an indistinctswell of neutral hue from one to the other horizon. And the solitude wasnow yet more complete; a last indolent cart had gone by and a lasttinkling of horses' bells had subsided in the distance. There was nolonger a passer-by, no longer a beast of the fields to be seen, colourand sound died away, all forms of life sank into slumber, into the serenestillness of nihility. Some fragments of an aqueduct were still to beseen at intervals on the right hand, where they looked like portions ofgigantic millepeds severed by the scythe of time; next, on the left, cameanother tower, whose dark and ruined pile barred the sky as with a hugeblack stake; and then the remains of another aqueduct spanned the road, assuming yet greater dimensions against the sunset glow. Ah! that uniquehour, the hour of twilight in the Campagna, when all is blotted out andsimplified, the hour of bare immensity, of the infinite in its simplestexpression! There is nothing, nothing all around you, but the flat lineof the horizon with the one splotch of an isolated tower, and yet thatnothing is instinct with sovereign majesty. 

However, on the left, towards the sea, the sun was setting, descending inthe limpid sky like a globe of fire of blinding redness. It slowlyplunged beneath the horizon, and the only sign of cloud was some fieryvapour, as if indeed the distant sea had seethed at contact with thatroyal and flaming visit. And directly the sun had disappeared the heavensabove it purpled and became a lake of blood, whilst the Campagna turnedto grey. At the far end of the fading plain there remained only thatpurple lake whose brasier slowly died out behind the black arches of theaqueduct, while in the opposite direction the scattered arches remainedbright and rosy against a pewter-like sky. Then the fiery vapour wasdissipated, and the sunset ended by fading away. One by one the starscame out in the pacified vault, now of an ashen blue, while the lights ofRome, still far away on the verge of the horizon, scintillated like thelamps of light-houses. 

And Prada, amidst the dreamy silence of his companions and the infinitemelancholy of the evening and the inexpressible distress which even heexperienced, continued to ask himself what course he should adopt. Againand again he mentally repeated that he could not allow people to bepoisoned. The figs were certainly intended for Cardinal Boccanera, and onthe whole it mattered little to him whether there were a cardinal themore or the fewer in the world. Moreover, it had always seemed to himbest to let Destiny follow its course; and, infidel that he was, he sawno harm in one priest devouring another. Again, it might be dangerous forhim to intervene in that abominable affair, to mix himself up in thebase, fathomless intrigues of the black world. But on the other hand theCardinal was not the only person who lived in the Boccanera mansion, andmight not the figs go to others, might they not be eaten by people towhom no harm was intended? This idea of a treacherous chance haunted him, and in spite of every effort the figures of Benedetta and Dario rose upbefore him, returned and imposed themselves on him though he again andagain sought to banish them from his mind. What if Benedetta, what ifDario should partake of that fruit? For Benedetta he felt no fear, for heknew that she and her aunt ate their meals by themselves, and that theircuisine and the Cardinal's had nothing in common. But Dario sat at hisuncle's table every day, and for a moment Prada, pictured the youngPrince suddenly seized with a spasm, then falling, like poor MonsignorGallo, into the Cardinal's arms with livid face and receding eyes, anddying within two hours. 

But no, no! That would be frightful, he could not suffer such anabomination. And thereupon he made up his mind. He would wait till thenight had completely gathered round and would then simply take the basketfrom Santobono's lap and fling it into some dark hollow without saying aword. The priest would understand him. The other one, the youngFrenchman, would perhaps not even notice the incident. Besides, thatmattered little, for he would not even attempt to explain his action. Andhe felt quite calm again when the idea occurred to him to throw thebasket away while the carriage passed through the Porta Furba, a coupleof miles or so before reaching Rome. That would suit him exactly; in thedarkness of the gateway nothing whatever would be seen. 

"We stopped too long at that _osteria_, " he suddenly exclaimed aloud, turning towards Pierre. "We sha'n't reach Rome much before six o'clock. Still you will have time to dress and join your friend. " And then withoutawaiting the young man's reply he said to Santobono: "Your figs willarrive very late, Abbe. "

"Oh!" answered the priest, "his Eminence receives until eight o'clock. And, besides, the figs are not for this evening. People don't eat figs inthe evening. They will be for to-morrow morning. " And thereupon he againrelapsed into silence. 

"For to-morrow morning--yes, yes, no doubt, " repeated Prada. "And theCardinal will be able to thoroughly regale himself if nobody helps him toeat the fruit. "

Thereupon Pierre, without pausing to reflect, exclaimed: "He will nodoubt eat it by himself, for his nephew, Prince Dario, must have startedto-day for Naples on a little convalescence trip to rid himself of theeffects of the accident which laid him up during the last month. " Then, having got so far, the young priest remembered to whom he was speaking, and abruptly stopped short. 

The Count noticed his embarrassment. "Oh! speak on, my dear MonsieurFroment, " said he, "you don't offend me. It's an old affair now. So thatyoung man has left, you say?"

"Yes, unless he has postponed his departure. However, I don't expect tofind him at the palazzo when I get there. "

For a moment the only sound was that of the continuous rumble of thewheels. Prada again felt worried, a prey to the discomfort ofuncertainty. Why should he mix himself up in the affair if Dario werereally absent? All the ideas which came to him tired his brain, and heended by thinking aloud: "If he has gone away it must be for propriety'ssake, so as to avoid attending the Buongiovanni reception, for theCongregation of the Council met this morning to give its decision in thesuit which the Countess has brought against me. Yes, I shall know by andby whether our marriage is to be dissolved. "

It was in a somewhat hoarse voice that he spoke these words, and onecould realise that the old wound was again bleeding within him. AlthoughLisbeth had borne him a son, the charge levelled against him in hiswife's petition for divorce still filled him with blind fury each timethat he thought of it. And all at once he shuddered violently, as if anicy blast had darted through his frame. Then, turning the conversation, he added: "It's not at all warm this evening. This is the dangerous hourof the Roman climate, the twilight hour when it's easy to catch aterrible fever if one isn't prudent. Here, pull the rug over your legs, wrap it round you as carefully as you can. "

Then, as they drew near the Porta Furba, silence again fell, moreprofound, like the slumber which was invincibly spreading over theCampagna, now steeped in night. And at last, in the bright starlight, appeared the gate, an arch of the Acqua Felice, under which the roadpassed. From a distance, this fragment seemed to bar the way with itsmass of ancient half-fallen walls. But afterwards the gigantic arch whereall was black opened like a gaping porch. And the carriage passed underit in darkness whilst the wheels rumbled with increased sonority. 

When the victoria emerged on the other side, Santobono still had thelittle basket of figs upon his knees and Prada looked at it, quiteovercome, asking himself what sudden paralysis of the hands had preventedhim from seizing it and throwing it into the darkness. Such had stillbeen his intention but a few seconds before they passed under the arch. He had even given the basket a final glance in order that he might thebetter realise what movements he should make. What had taken place withinhim then? At present he was yielding to increasing irresolution, henceforth incapable of decisive action, feeling a need of delay in orderthat he might, before everything else, fully satisfy himself as to whatwas likely to happen. And as Dario had doubtless gone away and the figswould certainly not be eaten until the following morning, what reason wasthere for him to hurry? He would know that evening if the Congregation ofthe Council had annulled his marriage, he would know how far theso-called "Justice of God" was venal and mendacious! Certainly he wouldsuffer nobody to be poisoned, not even Cardinal Boccanera, though thelatter's life was of little account to him personally. But had not thatlittle basket, ever since leaving Frascati, been like Destiny on themarch? And was it not enjoyment, the enjoyment of omnipotence, to be ableto say to himself that he was the master who could stay that basket'scourse, or allow it to go onward and accomplish its deadly purpose?Moreover, he yielded to the dimmest of mental struggles, ceasing toreason, unable to raise his hand, and yet convinced that he would drop awarning note into the letter-box at the palazzo before he went to bed, though at the same time he felt happy in the thought that if his interestdirected otherwise he would not do so. 

And the remainder of the journey was accomplished in silent weariness, amidst the shiver of evening which seemed to have chilled all three men. In vain did the Count endeavour to escape from the battle of histhoughts, by reverting to the Buongiovanni reception, and givingparticulars of the splendours which would be witnessed at it: his wordsfell sparsely in an embarrassed and absent-minded way. Then he sought toinspirit Pierre by speaking to him of Cardinal Sanguinetti's amiablemanner and fair words, but although the young priest was returning homewell pleased with his journey, in the idea that with a little help hemight yet triumph, he scarcely answered the Count, so wrapt he was in hisreverie. And Santobono, on his side, neither spoke nor moved. Black likethe night itself, he seemed to have vanished. However, the lights of Romewere increasing in number, and houses again appeared on either hand, atfirst at long intervals, and then in close succession. They were suburbanhouses, and there were yet more fields of reeds, quickset hedges, olive-trees overtopping long walls, and big gateways with vase-surmountedpillars; but at last came the city with its rows of small grey houses, its petty shops and its dingy taverns, whence at times came shouts andrumours of battle. 

Prada insisted on setting his companions down in the Via Giulia, at fiftypaces from the palazzo. "It doesn't inconvenience me at all, " said he toPierre. "Besides, with the little time you have before you, it wouldnever do for you to go on foot. "

The Via Giulia was already steeped in slumber, and wore a melancholyaspect of abandonment in the dreary light of the gas lamps standing oneither hand. And as soon as Santobono had alighted from the carriage, hetook himself off without waiting for Pierre, who, moreover, always wentin by the little door in the side lane. 

"Good-bye, Abbe, " exclaimed Prada. 

"Good-bye, Count, a thousand thanks, " was Santobono's response. 

Then the two others stood watching him as he went towards the Boccaneramansion, whose old, monumental entrance, full of gloom, was still wideopen. For a moment they saw his tall, rugged figure erect against thatgloom. Then in he plunged, he and his little basket, bearing Destiny. 

XII. 

IT was ten o'clock when Pierre and Narcisse, after dining at the Caffe diRoma, where they had long lingered chatting, at last walked down theCorso towards the Palazzo Buongiovanni. They had the greatest difficultyto reach its entrance, for carriages were coming up in serried files, andthe inquisitive crowd of on-lookers, who pressed even into the roadway, in spite of the injunctions of the police, was growing so compact thateven the horses could no longer approach. The ten lofty windows on thefirst floor of the long monumental facade shone with an intense whiteradiance, the radiance of electric lamps, which illumined the street likesunshine, spreading over the equipages aground in that human sea, whosebillows of eager, excited faces rolled to and fro amidst an extraordinarytumult. 

And in all this there was not merely the usual curiosity to see uniformsgo by and ladies in rich attire alight from their carriages, for Pierresoon gathered from what he heard that the crowd had come to witness thearrival of the King and Queen, who had promised to appear at the ballgiven by Prince Buongiovanni, in celebration of the betrothal of hisdaughter Celia to Lieutenant Attilio Sacco, the son of one of hisMajesty's ministers. Moreover, people were enraptured with this marriage, the happy ending of a love story which had impassioned the whole city: tobegin with, love at first sight, with the suddenness of alightning-flash, and then stubborn fidelity triumphing over allobstacles, amidst romantic circumstances whose story sped from lip tolip, moistening every eye and stirring every heart. 

It was this story that Narcisse had related at dessert to Pierre, whoalready knew some portion of it. People asserted that if the Prince hadended by yielding after a final terrible scene, it was only from fear ofseeing Celia elope from the palace with her lover. She did not threatento do so, but, amidst her virginal calmness, there was so much contemptfor everything foreign to her love, that her father felt her to becapable of acting with the greatest folly in all ingenuousness. Onlyindifference was manifested by the Prince's wife, a phlegmatic and stillbeautiful Englishwoman, who considered that she had done quite enough forthe household by bringing her husband a dowry of five millions, andbearing him five children. The Prince, anxious and weak despite hisviolence, in which one found a trace of the old Roman blood, alreadyspoilt by mixture with that of a foreign race, was nowadays everinfluenced in his actions by the fear that his house and fortune--whichhitherto had remained intact amidst the accumulated ruins of the_patriziato_--might suddenly collapse. And in finally yielding to Celia, he must have been guided by the idea of rallying to the new _regime_through his daughter, so as to have one foot firmly set at the Quirinal, without withdrawing the other from the Vatican. It was galling, no doubt;his pride must have bled at the idea of allying his name with that ofsuch low folks as the Saccos. But then Sacco was a minister, and had spedso quickly from success to success that it seemed likely he would riseyet higher, and, after the portfolio of Agriculture, secure that ofFinances, which he had long coveted. And an alliance with Sacco meant thecertain favour of the King, an assured retreat in that direction shouldthe papacy some day collapse. Then, too, the Prince had made inquiriesrespecting the son, and was somewhat disarmed by the good looks, bravery, and rectitude of young Attilio, who represented the future, and possiblythe glorious Italy of to-morrow. He was a soldier, and could be helpedforward to the highest rank. And people spitefully added that the lastreason which had influenced the Prince, who was very avaricious, andgreatly worried by the thought that his fortune must be divided among hisfive children, * was that an opportunity presented itself for him tobestow a ridiculously small dowry on Celia. However, having consented tothe marriage, he resolved to give a splendid _fete_, such as was nowseldom witnessed in Rome, throwing his doors open to all the rivalsections of society, inviting the sovereigns, and setting the palazzoablaze as in the grand days of old. In doing this he would necessarilyhave to expend some of the money to which he clung, but a boastful spiritincited him to show the world that he at any rate had not been vanquishedby the financial crisis, and that the Buongiovannis had nothing to hideand nothing to blush for. To tell the truth, some people asserted thatthis bravado had not originated with himself, but had been instilled intohim without his knowledge by the quiet and innocent Celia, who wished toexhibit her happiness to all applauding Rome. 

 * The Italian succession law is similar to the French. Children cannot be disinherited. All property is divided among them, and thus the piling up of large hereditary fortunes is prevented. --Trans. 

"Dear me!" said Narcisse, whom the throng prevented from advancing. "Weshall never get in. Why, they seem to have invited the whole city. " Andthen, as Pierre seemed surprised to see a prelate drive up in hiscarriage, the _attache_ added: "Oh! you will elbow more than one of themupstairs. The cardinals won't like to come on account of the presence ofthe King and Queen, but the prelates are sure to be here. This, you know, is a neutral drawing-room where the black and the white worlds canfraternise. And then too, there are so few _fetes_ that people rush onthem. "

He went on to explain that there were two grand balls at Court everywinter, but that it was only under exceptional circumstances that the_patriziato_ gave similar _galas_. Two or three of the black _salons_were opened once in a way towards the close of the Carnival, but littledances among intimates replaced the pompous entertainments of formertimes. Some princesses moreover merely had their day. And as for the fewwhite _salons_ that existed, these likewise retained the same characterof intimacy, more or less mixed, for no lady had yet become theundisputed queen of the new society. 

"Well, here we are at last, " resumed Narcisse as they eventually climbedthe stairs. 

"Let us keep together, " Pierre somewhat anxiously replied. "My onlyacquaintance is with the _fiancee_, and I want you to introduce me. "

However, a considerable effort was needed even to climb the monumentalstaircase, so great was the crush of arriving guests. Never, in the olddays of wax candles and oil lamps, had this staircase offered such ablaze of light. Electric lamps, burning in clusters in superb bronzecandelabra on the landings, steeped everything in a white radiance. Thecold stucco of the walls was hidden by a series of lofty tapestriesdepicting the story of Cupid and Psyche, marvels which had remained inthe family since the days of the Renascence. And a thick carpet coveredthe worn marble steps, whilst clumps of evergreens and tall spreadingpalms decorated every corner. An affluence of new blood warmed theantique mansion that evening; there was a resurrection of life, so tosay, as the women surged up the staircase, smiling and perfumed, bare-shouldered, and sparkling with diamonds. 

At the entrance of the first reception-room Pierre at once perceivedPrince and Princess Buongiovanni, standing side by side and receivingtheir guests. The Prince, a tall, slim man with fair complexion and hairturning grey, had the pale northern eyes of his American mother in anenergetic face such as became a former captain of the popes. ThePrincess, with small, delicate, and rounded features, looked barelythirty, though she had really passed her fortieth year. And still pretty, displaying a smiling serenity which nothing could disconcert, she purelyand simply basked in self-adoration. Her gown was of pink satin, and amarvellous parure of large rubies set flamelets about her dainty neck andin her fine, fair hair. Of her five children, her son, the eldest, wastravelling, and three of the girls, mere children, were still at school, so that only Celia was present, Celia in a modest gown of white muslin, fair like her mother, quite bewitching with her large innocent eyes andher candid lips, and retaining to the very end of her love story thesemblance of a closed lily of impenetrable, virginal mysteriousness. TheSaccos had but just arrived, and Attilio, in his simple lieutenant'suniform, had remained near his betrothed, so naively and openly delightedwith his great happiness that his handsome face, with its caressing mouthand brave eyes, was quite resplendent with youth and strength. Standingthere, near one another, in the triumph of their passion they appearedlike life's very joy and health, like the personification of hope in themorrow's promises; and the entering guests who saw them could not refrainfrom smiling and feeling moved, momentarily forgetting their loquaciousand malicious curiosity to give their hearts to those chosen ones of lovewho looked so handsome and so enraptured. 

Narcisse stepped forward in order to present Pierre, but Celiaanticipated him. Going to meet the young priest she led him to her fatherand mother, saying: "Monsieur l'Abbe Pierre Froment, a friend of my dearBenedetta. " Ceremonious salutations followed. Then the young girl, whosegraciousness greatly touched Pierre, said to him: "Benedetta is comingwith her aunt and Dario. She must be very happy this evening! And youwill also see how beautiful she will be. "

Pierre and Narcisse next began to congratulate her, but they could notremain there, the throng was ever jostling them; and the Prince andPrincess, quite lost in the crush, had barely time to answer the manysalutations with amiable, continuous nods. And Celia, after conductingthe two friends to Attilio, was obliged to return to her parents so as totake her place beside them as the little queen of the _fete_. 

Narcisse was already slightly acquainted with Attilio, and so freshcongratulations ensued. Then the two friends manoeuvred to find a spotwhere they might momentarily tarry and contemplate the spectacle whichthis first _salon_ presented. It was a vast hall, hung with green velvetbroidered with golden flowers, and contained a very remarkable collectionof weapons and armour, breast-plates, battle-axes, and swords, almost allof which had belonged to the Buongiovannis of the fifteenth and sixteenthcenturies. And amidst those stern implements of war there was a lovelysedan-chair of the last century, gilded and decorated with delicatepaintings. It was in this chair that the Prince's great-grandmother, thecelebrated Bettina, whose beauty was historical, had usually been carriedto mass. On the walls, moreover, there were numerous historicalpaintings: battles, peace congresses, and royal receptions in which theBuongiovannis had taken part, without counting the many family portraits, tall and proud figures of sea-captains, commanders in the field, greatdignitaries of the Church, prelates and cardinals, amongst whom, in theplace of honour, appeared the family pope, the white-robed Buongiovanniwhose accession to the pontifical throne had enriched a long line ofdescendants. And it was among those armours, near that coquettish sedan, and below those antique portraits, that the Saccos, husband and wife, hadin their turn just halted, at a few steps from the master and mistress ofthe house, in order to secure their share of congratulations and bows. 

"Look over there!" Narcisse whispered to Pierre, "those are the Saccos infront of us, that dark little fellow and the lady in mauve silk. "

Pierre promptly recognised the bright face and pleasant smile of Stefana, whom he had already met at old Orlando's. But he was more interested inher husband, a dark dry man, with big eyes, sallow complexion, prominentchin, and vulturine nose. Like some gay Neapolitan "Pulcinello, " he wasdancing, shouting, and displaying such infectious good humour that itspread to all around him. He possessed a wonderful gift of speech, with avoice that was unrivalled as an instrument of fascination and conquest;and on seeing how easily he ingratiated himself with the people in thatdrawing-room, one could understand his lightning-like successes in thepolitical world. He had manoeuvered with rare skill in the matter of hisson's marriage, affecting such exaggerated delicacy of feeling as to sethimself against the lovers, and declare that he would never consent totheir union, as he had no desire to be accused of stealing a dowry and atitle. As a matter of fact, he had only yielded after the Buongiovannishad given their consent, and even then he had desired to take the opinionof old Orlando, whose lofty integrity was proverbial. However, he knewright well that he would secure the old hero's approval in thisparticular affair, for Orlando made no secret of his opinion that theBuongiovannis ought to be glad to admit his grand-nephew into theirfamily, as that handsome young fellow, with brave and healthy heart, would help to regenerate their impoverished blood. And throughout thewhole affair, Sacco had shrewdly availed himself of Orlando's famousname, for ever talking of the relationship between them, and displayingfilial veneration for this glorious founder of the country, as if indeedhe had no suspicion that the latter despised and execrated him andmourned his accession to power in the conviction that he would lead Italyto shame and ruin. 

"Ah!" resumed Narcisse addressing Pierre, "he's one of those supple, practical men who care nothing for a smack in the face. It seems thatunscrupulous individuals like himself become necessary when states getinto trouble and have to pass through political, financial, and moralcrises. It is said that Sacco with his imperturbable assurance andingenious and resourceful mind has quite won the King's favour. Just lookat him! Why, with that crowd of courtiers round him, one might think himthe master of this palace!"

And indeed the guests, after passing the Prince and Princess with a bow, at once congregated around Sacco, for he represented power, emoluments, pensions, and crosses; and if folks still smiled at seeing his dark, turbulent, and scraggy figure amidst that framework of family portraitswhich proclaimed the mighty ancestry of the Buongiovannis, they none theless worshipped him as the personification of the new power, thedemocratic force which was confusedly rising even from the old Roman soilwhere the _patriziato_ lay in ruins. 

"What a crowd!" muttered Pierre. "Who are all these people?"

"Oh!" replied Narcisse, "it is a regular mixture. These people belongneither to the black nor the white world; they form a grey world as itwere. The evolution was certain; a man like Cardinal Boccanera may retainan uncompromising attitude, but a whole city, a nation can't. The Popealone will always say no and remain immutable. But everything around himprogresses and undergoes transformation, so that in spite of allresistance, Rome will become Italian in a few years' time. Even now, whenever a prince has two sons only one of them remains on the side ofthe Vatican, the other goes over to the Quirinal. People must live, yousee; and the great families threatened with annihilation have notsufficient heroism to carry obstinacy to the point of suicide. And I havealready told you that we are here on neutral ground, for PrinceBuongiovanni was one of the first to realise the necessity ofconciliation. He feels that his fortune is perishing, he does not care torisk it either in industry or in speculation, and already sees itportioned out among his five children, by whose descendants it will beyet further divided; and this is why he prudently makes advances to theKing without, however, breaking with the Pope. In this _salon_, therefore, you see a perfect picture of the _debacle_, the confusionwhich reigns in the Prince's ideas and opinions. " Narcisse paused, andthen began to name some of the persons who were coming in. "There's ageneral, " said he, "who has become very popular since his last campaignin Africa. There will be a great many military men here this evening, forall Attilio's superiors have been invited, so as to give the young man an_entourage_ of glory. Ah! and there's the German ambassador. I fancy thatnearly all the Corps Diplomatique will come on account of theirMajesties' presence. But, by way of contrast, just look at that stoutfellow yonder. He's a very influential deputy, a _parvenu_ of the newmiddle class. Thirty years ago he was merely one of Prince Albertini'sfarmers, one of those _mercanti di campagna_ who go about the environs ofRome in stout boots and a soft felt hat. And now look at that prelatecoming in--"

"Oh! I know him, " Pierre interrupted. "He's Monsignor Fornaro. "

"Exactly, Monsignor Fornaro, a personage of some importance. You told me, I remember, that he is the reporter of the Congregation in that affair ofyour book. A most delightful man! Did you see how he bowed to thePrincess? And what a noble and graceful bearing he has in his littlemantle of violet silk!"

Then Narcisse went on enumerating the princes and princesses, the dukesand duchesses, the politicians and functionaries, the diplomatists andministers, and the officers and well-to-do middle-class people, who ofthemselves made up a most wonderful medley of guests, to say nothing ofthe representatives of the various foreign colonies, English people, Americans, Germans, Spaniards, and Russians, in a word, all ancientEurope, and both Americas. And afterwards the young man reverted to theSaccos, to the little Signora Sacco in particular, in order to tellPierre of the heroic efforts which she had made to open a _salon_ for thepurpose of assisting her husband's ambition. Gentle and modest as sheseemed, she was also very shrewd, endowed with genuine qualities, Piedmontese patience and strength of resistance, orderly habits andthriftiness. And thus it was she who re-established the equilibrium inhousehold affairs which her husband by his exuberance so often disturbed. He was indeed greatly indebted to her, though nobody suspected it. At thesame time, however, she had so far failed in her attempts to establish awhite _salon_ which should take the lead in influencing opinion. Only thepeople of her own set visited her, not a single prince ever came, and herMonday dances were the same as in a score of other middle-class homes, having no brilliancy and no importance. In fact, the real white _salon_, which should guide men and things and sway all Rome was still indreamland. 

"Just notice her keen smile as she examines everything here, " resumedNarcisse. "She's teaching herself and forming plans, I'm sure of it. Nowthat she is about to be connected with a princely family she probablyhopes to receive some of the best society. "

Large as was the room, the crowd in it had by this time grown so densethat the two friends were pressed back to a wall, and felt almoststifled. The _attache_ therefore decided to lead the priest elsewhere, and as they walked along he gave him some particulars concerning thepalace, which was one of the most sumptuous in Rome, and renowned for themagnificence of its reception-rooms. Dancing took place in the picturegallery, a superb apartment more than sixty feet long, with eight windowsoverlooking the Corso; while the buffet was installed in the Hall of theAntiques, a marble hall, which among other precious things contained astatue of Venus, rivalling the one at the Capitol. Then there was a suiteof marvellous _salons_, still resplendent with ancient luxury, hung withthe rarest stuffs, and retaining some unique specimens of old-timefurniture, on which covetous antiquaries kept their eyes fixed, whilstwaiting and hoping for the inevitable future ruin. And one of theseapartments, the little Saloon of the Mirrors, was particularly famous. Ofcircular shape and Louis XV style, it was surrounded by mirrors in_rococo_ frames, extremely rich, and most exquisitely carved. 

"You will see all that by and by, " continued Narcisse. "At present we hadbetter go in here if we want to breathe a little. It is here that thearm-chairs from the adjacent gallery have been brought for theaccommodation of the ladies who desire to sit down and be seen andadmired. "

The apartment they entered was a spacious one, draped with the mostsuperb Genoese velvet, that antique _jardiniere_ velvet with pale satinground, and flowers once of dazzling brightness, whose greens and bluesand reds had now become exquisitely soft, with the subdued, faded tonesof old floral love-tokens. On the pier tables and in the cabinets allaround were some of the most precious curios in the palace, ivorycaskets, gilt and painted wood carvings, pieces of antiqueplate--briefly, a collection of marvels. And several ladies, fleeing thecrush, had already taken refuge on the numerous seats, clustering inlittle groups, and laughing and chatting with the few gentlemen who haddiscovered this retreat of grace and _galanterie_. In the bright glow ofthe lamps nothing could be more delightful than the sight of all thosebare, sheeny shoulders, and those supple necks, above whose napes werecoiled tresses of fair or raven hair. Bare arms emerged like livingflowers of flesh from amidst the mingling lace and silk of soft-huedbodices. The fans played slowly, as if to heighten the fires of theprecious stones, and at each beat wafted around an _odore di femina_blended with a predominating perfume of violets. 

"Hallo!" exclaimed Narcisse, "there's our good friend Monsignor Nanibowing to the Austrian ambassadress. "

As soon as Nani perceived the young priest and his companion he cametowards them, and the trio then withdrew into the embrasure of a windowin order that they might chat for a moment at their ease. The prelate wassmiling like one enchanted with the beauty of the _fete_, but at the sametime he retained all the serenity of innocence, as if he had not evennoticed the exhibition of bare shoulders by which he was surrounded. "Ah, my dear son!" he said to Pierre, "I am very pleased to see you! Well, andwhat do you think of our Rome when she makes up her mind to give_fetes_?"

"Why, it is superb, Monseigneur. "

Then, in an emotional manner, Nani spoke of Celia's lofty piety; and, inorder to give the Vatican the credit of this sumptuous _gala_, affectedto regard the Prince and Princess as staunch adherents of the Church, asif he were altogether unaware that the King and Queen were presentlycoming. And afterwards he abruptly exclaimed: "I have been thinking ofyou all day, my dear son. Yes, I heard that you had gone to see hisEminence Cardinal Sanguinetti. Well, and how did he receive you?"

"Oh! in a most paternal manner, " Pierre replied. "At first he made meunderstand the embarrassment in which he was placed by his position asprotector of Lourdes; but just as I was going off he showed himselfcharming, and promised me his help with a delicacy which deeply touchedme. "

"Did he indeed, my dear son? But it doesn't surprise me, his Eminence isso good-hearted!"

"And I must add, Monseigneur, that I came back with a light and hopefulheart. It now seems to me as if my suit were half gained. "

"Naturally, I understand it, " replied Nani, who was still smiling withthat keen, intelligent smile of his, sharpened by a touch of almostimperceptible irony. And after a short pause he added in a very simpleway: "The misfortune is that on the day before yesterday your book wascondemned by the Congregation of the Index, which was convoked by itsSecretary expressly for that purpose. And the judgment will be laidbefore his Holiness, for him to sign it, on the day after to-morrow. "

Pierre looked at the prelate in bewilderment. Had the old mansion fallenon his head he would not have felt more overcome. What! was it all over?His journey to Rome, the experiment he had come to attempt there, hadresulted in that defeat, of which he was thus suddenly apprised amidstthat betrothal _fete_. And he had not even been able to defend himself, he had sacrificed his time without finding any one to whom he mightspeak, before whom he might plead his cause! Anger was rising within him, and he could not prevent himself from muttering bitterly: "Ah! how I havebeen duped! And that Cardinal who said to me only this morning: 'If Godbe with you he will save you in spite of everything. ' Yes, yes, I nowunderstand him; he was juggling with words, he only desired a disaster inorder that submission might lead me to Heaven! Submit, indeed, ah! Icannot, I cannot yet! My heart is too full of indignation and grief. "

Nani examined and studied him with curiosity. "But my dear son, " he said, "nothing is final so long as the Holy Father has not signed the judgment. You have all to-morrow and even the morning of the day after before you. A miracle is always possible. " Then, lowering his voice and drawingPierre on one side whilst Narcisse in an aesthetical spirit examined theladies, he added: "Listen, I have a communication to make to you in greatsecrecy. Come and join me in the little Saloon of the Mirrors by and by, during the Cotillon. We shall be able to talk there at our ease. "

Pierre nodded, and thereupon the prelate discreetly withdrew anddisappeared in the crowd. However, the young man's ears were buzzing; hecould no longer hope; what indeed could he accomplish in one day since hehad lost three months without even being able to secure an audience withthe Pope? And his bewilderment increased as he suddenly heard Narcissespeaking to him of art. "It's astonishing how the feminine figure hasdeteriorated in these dreadful democratic days. It's all fat and horriblycommon. Not one of those women yonder shows the Florentine contour, withsmall bosom and slender, elegant neck. Ah! that one yonder isn't so badperhaps, the fair one with her hair coiled up, whom Monsignor Fornaro hasjust approached. "

For a few minutes indeed Monsignor Fornaro had been fluttering frombeauty to beauty, with an amiable air of conquest. He looked superb thatevening with his lofty decorative figure, blooming cheeks, and victoriousaffability. No unpleasant scandal was associated with his name; he wassimply regarded as a prelate of gallant ways who took pleasure in thesociety of ladies. And he paused and chatted, and leant over their bareshoulders with laughing eyes and humid lips as if experiencing a sort ofdevout rapture. However, on perceiving Narcisse whom he occasionally met, he at once came forward and the _attache_ had to bow to him. "You havebeen in good health I hope, Monseigneur, since I had the honour of seeingyou at the embassy. "

"Oh! yes, I am very well, very well indeed. What a delightful _fete_, isit not?"

Pierre also had bowed. This was the man whose report had brought aboutthe condemnation of his book; and it was with resentment that he recalledhis caressing air and charming greeting, instinct with such lyingpromise. However, the prelate, who was very shrewd, must have guessedthat the young priest was already acquainted with the decision of theCongregation, and have thought it more dignified to abstain from openrecognition; for on his side he merely nodded and smiled at him. "What anumber of people!" he went on, "and how many charming persons there are!It will soon be impossible for one to move in this room. "

All the seats in fact were now occupied by ladies, and what with thestrong perfume of violets and the exhalations of warm necks and shouldersthe atmosphere was becoming most oppressive. The fans flapped morebriskly, and clear laughter rang out amidst a growing hubbub ofconversation in which the same words constantly recurred. Some news, doubtless, had just arrived, some rumour was being whispered from groupto group, throwing them all into feverish excitement. As it happened, Monsignor Fornaro, who was always well informed, desired to be theproclaimer of this news, which nobody as yet had ventured to announcealoud. 

"Do you know what is exciting them all?" he inquired. 

"Is it the Holy Father's illness?" asked Pierre in his anxiety. "Is heworse this evening?"

The prelate looked at him in astonishment, and then somewhat impatientlyreplied: "Oh, no, no. His Holiness is much better, thank Heaven. A personbelonging to the Vatican was telling me just now that he was able to getup this afternoon and receive his intimates as usual. "

"All the same, people have been alarmed, " interrupted Narcisse. "I mustconfess that we did not feel easy at the embassy, for a Conclave at thepresent time would be a great worry for France. She would exercise noinfluence at it. It is a great mistake on the part of our RepublicanGovernment to treat the Holy See as of no importance! However, can oneever tell whether the Pope is ill or not? I know for a certainty that hewas nearly carried off last winter when nobody breathed a word about anyillness, whereas on the last occasion when the newspapers killed him andtalked about a dreadful attack of bronchitis, I myself saw him quitestrong and in the best of spirits! His reported illnesses are merematters of policy, I fancy. "*

 * There is much truth in this; but the reader must not imagine that the Pope is never ill. At his great age, indispositions are only natural. --Trans. 

With a hasty gesture, however, Monsignor Fornaro brushed this importunatesubject aside. "No, no, " said he, "people are tranquillised and no longertalk of it. What excites all those ladies is that the Congregation of theCouncil to-day voted the dissolution of the Prada marriage by a greatmajority. "

Again did Pierre feel moved. However, not having had time to see anymembers of the Boccanera family on his return from Frascati he fearedthat the news might be false and said so. Thereupon the prelate gave hisword of honour that things were as he stated. "The news is certain, " hedeclared. "I had it from a member of the Congregation. " And then, all atonce, he apologised and hurried off: "Excuse me but I see a lady whom Ihad not yet caught sight of, and desire to pay my respects to her. "

He at once hastened to the lady in question, and, being unable to sitdown, inclined his lofty figure as if to envelop her with his gallantcourtesy; whilst she, young, fresh, and bare-shouldered, laughed with apearly laugh as his cape of violet silk lightly brushed her sheeny skin. 

"You know that person, don't you?" Narcisse inquired of Pierre. "No!Really? Why, that is Count Prada's _inamorata_, the charming LisbethKauffmann, by whom he has just had a son. It's her first appearance insociety since that event. She's a German, you know, and lost her husbandhere. She paints a little; in fact, rather nicely. A great deal isforgiven to the ladies of the foreign colony, and this one isparticularly popular on account of the very affable manner in which shereceives people at her little palazzo in the Via Principe Amedeo. As youmay imagine, the news of the dissolution of that marriage must amuseher!"

She looked really exquisite, that Lisbeth, very fair, rosy, and gay, withsatiny skin, soft blue eyes, and lips wreathed in an amiable smile, whichwas renowned for its grace. And that evening, in her gown of white silkspangled with gold, she showed herself so delighted with life, sosecurely happy in the thought that she was free, that she loved and wasloved in return, that the whispered tidings, the malicious remarksexchanged behind the fans of those around her, seemed to turn to herpersonal triumph. For a moment all eyes had sought her, and people talkedof the outcome of her connection with Prada, the man whose manhood theChurch solemnly denied by its decision of that very day! And there camestifled laughter and whispered jests, whilst she, radiant in her insolentserenity, accepted with a rapturous air the gallantry of MonsignorFornaro, who congratulated her on a painting of the Virgin with the lily, which she had lately sent to a fine-art show. 

Ah! that matrimonial nullity suit, which for a year had supplied Romewith scandal, what a final hubbub it occasioned as the tidings of itstermination burst forth amidst that ball! The black and white worlds hadlong chosen it as a battlefield for the exchange of incredible slander, endless gossip, the most nonsensical tittle-tattle. And now it was over;the Vatican with imperturbable impudence had pronounced the marriage nulland void on the ground that the husband was no man, and all Rome wouldlaugh over the affair, with that free scepticism which it displayed assoon as the pecuniary affairs of the Church came into question. Theincidents of the struggle were already common property: Prada's feelingsrevolting to such a point that he had withdrawn from the contest, theBoccaneras moving heaven and earth in their feverish anxiety, the moneywhich they had distributed among the creatures of the various cardinalsin order to gain their influence, and the large sum which they hadindirectly paid for the second and favourable report of Monsignor Palma. People said that, altogether, more than a hundred thousand francs hadbeen expended, but this was not thought over-much, as a well-known Frenchcountess had been obliged to disburse nearly ten times that amount tosecure the dissolution of her marriage. But then the Holy Father's needwas so great! And, moreover, nobody was angered by this venality; itmerely gave rise to malicious witticisms; and the fans continued wavingin the increasing heat, and the ladies quivered with contentment as thewhispered pleasantries took wing and fluttered over their bare shoulders. 

"Oh! how pleased the Contessina must be!" Pierre resumed. "I did notunderstand what her little friend, Princess Celia, meant by saying whenwe came in that she would be so happy and beautiful this evening. It isdoubtless on that account that she is coming here, after cloisteringherself all the time the affair lasted, as if she were in mourning. "

However, Lisbeth's eyes had chanced to meet those of Narcisse, and as shesmiled at him he was, in his turn, obliged to pay his respects to her, for, like everybody else of the foreign colony, he knew her throughhaving visited her studio. He was again returning to Pierre when a freshoutburst of emotion stirred the diamond aigrettes and the flowersadorning the ladies' hair. People turned to see what was the matter, andagain did the hubbub increase. "Ah! it's Count Prada in person!" murmuredNarcisse, with an admiring glance. "He has a fine bearing, whatever folksmay say. Dress him up in velvet and gold, and what a splendid, unscrupulous, fifteenth-century adventurer he would make!"

Prada entered the room, looking quite gay, in fact, almost triumphant. And above his large, white shirtfront, edged by the black of his coat, hereally had a commanding, predacious expression, with his frank, sterneyes, and his energetic features barred by a large black moustache. Neverhad a more rapturous smile of sensuality revealed the wolfish teeth ofhis voracious mouth. With rapid glances he took stock of the women, divedinto their very souls. Then, on seeing Lisbeth, who looked so pink, andfair, and girlish, his expression softened, and he frankly went up toher, without troubling in the slightest degree about the ardent, inquisitive eyes which were turned upon him. As soon as Monsignor Fornarohad made room, he stooped and conversed with the young woman in a lowtone. And she no doubt confirmed the news which was circulating, for ashe again drew himself erect, he laughed a somewhat forced laugh, and madean involuntary gesture. 

However, he then caught sight of Pierre, and joined him in the embrasureof the window; and when he had also shaken hands with Narcisse, he saidto the young priest with all his wonted _bravura_: "You recollect what Itold you as we were coming back from Frascati? Well, it's done, it seems, they've annulled my marriage. It's such an impudent, such an imbeciledecision, that I still doubted it a moment ago!"

"Oh! the news is certain, " Pierre made bold to reply. "It has just beenconfirmed to us by Monsignor Fornaro, who had it from a member of theCongregation. And it is said that the majority was very large. "

Prada again shook with laughter. "No, no, " said he, "such a farce isbeyond belief! It's the finest smack given to justice and common-sensethat I know of. Ah! if the marriage can also be annulled by the civilcourts, and if my friend whom you see yonder be only willing, we shallamuse ourselves in Rome! Yes, indeed, I'd marry her at Santa MariaMaggiore with all possible pomp. And there's a dear little being in theworld who would take part in the _fete_ in his nurse's arms!"

He laughed too loud as he spoke, alluded in too brutal a fashion to hischild, that living proof of his manhood. Was it suffering that made hislips curve upwards and reveal his white teeth? It could be divined thathe was quivering, fighting against an awakening of covert, tumultuouspassion, which he would not acknowledge even to himself. 

"And you, my dear Abbe?" he hastily resumed. "Do you know the otherreport? Do you know that the Countess is coming here?" It was thus, byforce of habit, that he designated Benedetta, forgetting that she was nolonger his wife. 

"Yes, I have just been told so, " Pierre replied; and then he hesitatedfor a moment before adding, with a desire to prevent any disagreeablesurprise: "And we shall no doubt see Prince Dario also, for he has notstarted for Naples as I told you. Something prevented his departure atthe last moment, I believe. At least so I gathered from a servant. "

Prada no longer laughed. His face suddenly became grave, and he contentedhimself with murmuring: "Ah! so the cousin is to be of the party. Well, we shall see them, we shall see them both!"

Then, whilst the two friends went on chatting, he became silent, as ifserious considerations impelled him to reflect. And suddenly making agesture of apology he withdrew yet farther into the embrasure in which hestood, pulled a note-book out of his pocket, and tore from it a leaf onwhich, without modifying his handwriting otherwise than by slightlyenlarging it, he pencilled these four lines: "A legend avers that the figtree of Judas now grows at Frascati, and that its fruit is deadly for himwho may desire to become Pope. Eat not the poisoned figs, nor give themeither to your servants or your fowls. " Then he folded the paper, fastened it with a postage stamp, and wrote on it the address: "To hismost Reverend and most Illustrious Eminence, Cardinal Boccanera. " Andwhen he had placed everything in his pocket again, he drew a long breathand once more called back his laugh. 

A kind of invincible discomfort, a far-away terror had momentarily frozenhim. Without being guided by any clear train of reasoning, he had feltthe need of protecting himself against any cowardly temptation, anypossible abomination. He could not have told what course of ideas hadinduced him to write those four lines without a moment's delay, on thevery spot where he stood, under penalty of contributing to a greatcatastrophe. But one thought was firmly fixed in his brain, that onleaving the ball he would go to the Via Giulia and throw that note intothe letter-box at the Palazzo Boccanera. And that decided, he was oncemore easy in mind. 

"Why, what is the matter with you, my dear Abbe?" he inquired on againjoining in the conversation of the two friends. "You are quite gloomy. "And on Pierre telling him of the bad news which he had received, thecondemnation of his book, and the single day which remained to him foraction if he did not wish his journey to Rome to result in defeat, hebegan to protest as if he himself needed agitation and diversion in orderto continue hopeful and bear the ills of life. "Never mind, never mind, don't worry yourself, " said he, "one loses all one's strength byworrying. A day is a great deal, one can do ever so many things in a day. An hour, a minute suffices for Destiny to intervene and turn defeat intovictory!" He grew feverish as he spoke, and all at once added, "Come, let's go to the ball-room. It seems that the scene there is somethingprodigious. "

Then he exchanged a last loving glance with Lisbeth whilst Pierre andNarcisse followed him, the three of them extricating themselves fromtheir corner with the greatest difficulty, and then wending their waytowards the adjoining gallery through a sea of serried skirts, a billowyexpanse of necks and shoulders whence ascended the passion which makeslife, the odour alike of love and of death. 

With its eight windows overlooking the Corso, their panes uncurtained andthrowing a blaze of light upon the houses across the road, the picturegallery, sixty-five feet in length and more than thirty in breadth, spread out with incomparable splendour. The illumination was dazzling. Clusters of electric lamps had changed seven pairs of huge marblecandelabra into gigantic _torcheres_, akin to constellations; and allalong the cornice up above, other lamps set in bright-hued floral glassesformed a marvellous garland of flaming flowers: tulips, paeonies, androses. The antique red velvet worked with gold, which draped the walls, glowed like a furnace fire. About the doors and windows there werehangings of old lace broidered with flowers in coloured silk whose hueshad the very intensity of life. But the sight of sights beneath thesumptuous panelled ceiling adorned with golden roses, the uniquespectacle of a richness not to be equalled, was the collection ofmasterpieces such as no museum could excel. There were works of Raffaelleand Titian, Rembrandt and Rubens, Velasquez and Ribera, famous workswhich in this unexpected illumination suddenly showed forth, triumphantwith youth regained, as if awakened to the immortal life of genius. And, as their Majesties would not arrive before midnight, the ball had justbeen opened, and flights of soft-hued gowns were whirling in a waltz pastall the pompous throng, the glittering jewels and decorations, thegold-broidered uniforms and the pearl-broidered robes, whilst silk andsatin and velvet spread and overflowed upon every side. 

"It is prodigious, really!" declared Prada with his excited air; "let usgo this way and place ourselves in a window recess again. There is nobetter spot for getting a good view without being too much jostled. "

They lost Narcisse somehow or other, and on reaching the desired recessfound themselves but two, Pierre and the Count. The orchestra, installedon a little platform at the far end of the gallery, had just finished thewaltz, and the dancers, with an air of giddy rapture, were slowly walkingthrough the crowd when a fresh arrival caused every head to turn. DonnaSerafina, arrayed in a robe of purple silk as if she had worn the coloursof her brother the Cardinal, was making a royal entry on the arm ofConsistorial-Advocate Morano. And never before had she laced herself sotightly, never had her waist looked so slim and girlish; and never hadher stern, wrinkled face, which her white hair scarcely softened, expressed such stubborn and victorious domination. A discreet murmur ofapproval ran round, a murmur of public relief as it were, for all Romansociety had condemned the unworthy conduct of Morano in severing aconnection of thirty years to which the drawing-rooms had grown asaccustomed as if it had been a legal marriage. The rupture had lasted fortwo months, to the great scandal of Rome where the cult of long andfaithful affections still abides. And so the reconciliation touched everyheart and was regarded as one of the happiest consequences of the victorywhich the Boccaneras had that day gained in the affair of Benedetta'smarriage. Morano repentant and Donna Serafina reappearing on his arm, nothing could have been more satisfactory; love had conquered, decorumwas preserved and good order re-established. 

But there was a deeper sensation as soon as Benedetta and Dario were seento enter, side by side, behind the others. This tranquil indifference forthe ordinary forms of propriety, on the very day when the marriage withPrada had been annulled, this victory of love, confessed and celebratedbefore one and all, seemed so charming in its audacity, so full of thebravery of youth and hope, that the pair were at once forgiven amidst amurmur of universal admiration. And as in the case of Celia and Attilio, all hearts flew to them, to their radiant beauty, to the wondroushappiness that made their faces so resplendent. Dario, still pale afterhis long convalescence, somewhat slight and delicate of build, with thefine clear eyes of a big child, and the dark curly beard of a young god, bore himself with a light pride, in which all the old princely blood ofthe Boccaneras could be traced. And Benedetta, she so white under hercasque of jetty hair, she so calm and so sensible, wore her lovely smile, that smile so seldom seen on her face but which was irresistiblyfascinating, transfiguring her, imparting the charm of a flower to hersomewhat full mouth, and filling the infinite of her dark and fathomlesseyes with a radiance as of heaven. And in this gay return of youth andhappiness, an exquisite instinct had prompted her to put on a white gown, a plain girlish gown which symbolised her maidenhood, which told that shehad remained through all a pure untarnished lily for the husband of herchoice. And nothing of her form was to be seen, not a glimpse of bosom orshoulder. It was as if the impenetrable, redoubtable mystery of love, thesovereign beauty of woman slumbered there, all powerful, but veiled withwhite. Again, not a jewel appeared on her fingers or in her ears. Therewas simply a necklace falling about her _corsage_, but a necklace fit forroyalty, the famous pearl necklace of the Boccaneras, which she hadinherited from her mother, and which was known to all Rome--pearls offabulous size cast negligently about her neck, and sufficing, simply asshe was gowned, to make her queen of all. 

"Oh!" murmured Pierre in ecstasy, "how happy and how beautiful she is!"

But he at once regretted that he had expressed his thoughts aloud, forbeside him he heard a low plaint, an involuntary growl which reminded himof the Count's presence. However, Prada promptly stifled this cry ofreturning anguish, and found strength enough to affect a brutish gaiety:"The devil!" said he, "they have plenty of impudence. I hope we shall seethem married and bedded at once!" Then regretting this coarse jest whichhad been prompted by the revolt of passion, he sought to appearindifferent: "She looks very nice this evening, " he said; "she has thefinest shoulders in the world, you know, and its a real success for herto hide them and yet appear more beautiful than ever. "

He went on speaking, contriving to assume an easy tone, and givingvarious little particulars about the Countess as he still obstinatelycalled the young woman. However, he had drawn rather further into therecess, for fear, no doubt, that people might remark his pallor, and thepainful twitch which contracted his mouth. He was in no state to fight, to show himself gay and insolent in presence of the joy which the loversso openly and naively expressed. And he was glad of the respite which thearrival of the King and Queen at this moment offered him. "Ah! here aretheir Majesties!" he exclaimed, turning towards the window. "Look at thescramble in the street!"

Although the windows were closed, a tumult could be heard rising from thefootways. And Pierre on looking down saw, by the light of the electriclamps, a sea of human heads pour over the road and encompass thecarriages. He had several times already seen the King during the latter'sdaily drives to the grounds of the Villa Borghese, whither he came likeany private gentleman--unguarded, unescorted, with merely an aide-de-campaccompanying him in his victoria. At other times he drove a light phaetonwith only a footman in black livery to attend him. And on one occasionPierre had seen him with the Queen, the pair of them seated side by sidelike worthy middle-class folks driving abroad for pleasure. And, as theroyal couple went by, the busy people in the streets and the promenadersin the public gardens contented themselves with wafting them anaffectionate wave of the hand, the most expansive simply approaching tosmile at them, and no one importuning them with acclamations. Pierre, whoharboured the traditional idea of kings closely guarded and passingprocessionally with all the accompaniment of military pomp, was thereforegreatly surprised and touched by the amiable _bonhomie_ of this royalpair, who went wherever they listed in full security amidst the smilingaffection of their people. Everybody, moreover, had told him of theKing's kindliness and simplicity, his desire for peace, and his passionfor sport, solitude, and the open air, which, amidst the worries ofpower, must often have made him dream of a life of freedom far from theimperious duties of royalty for which he seemed unfitted. * But the Queenwas yet more tenderly loved. So naturally and serenely virtuous that shealone remained ignorant of the scandals of Rome, she was also a woman ofgreat culture and great refinement, conversant with every field ofliterature, and very happy in being so intelligent, so superior to thosearound her--a pre-eminence which she realised and which she was fond ofshowing, but in the most natural and most graceful of ways. 

 * King Humbert inherited these tastes from his father Victor Emanuel, who was likewise a great sportsman and had a perfect horror of court life, pageantry, and the exigencies of politics. --Trans. 

Like Pierre, Prada had remained with his face to the window, and suddenlypointing to the crowd he said: "Now that they have seen the Queen theywill go to bed well pleased. And there isn't a single police agent there, I'm sure. Ah! to be loved, to be loved!" Plainly enough his distress ofspirit was coming back, and so, turning towards the gallery again, hetried to play the jester. "Attention, my dear Abbe, we mustn't miss theirMajesties' entry. That will be the finest part of the _fete_!"

A few minutes went by, and then, in the very midst of a polka, theorchestra suddenly ceased playing. But a moment afterwards, with all theblare of its brass instruments, it struck up the Royal March. The dancersfled in confusion, the centre of the gallery was cleared, and the Kingand Queen entered, escorted by the Prince and Princess Buongiovanni, whohad received them at the foot of the staircase. The King was in ordinaryevening dress, while the Queen wore a robe of straw-coloured satin, covered with superb white lace; and under the diadem of brilliants whichencircled her beautiful fair hair, she looked still young, with a freshand rounded face, whose expression was all amiability, gentleness, andwit. The music was still sounding with the enthusiastic violence ofwelcome. Behind her father and mother, Celia appeared amidst the press ofpeople who were following to see the sight; and then came Attilio, theSaccos, and various relatives and official personages. And, pending thetermination of the Royal March, only salutations, glances, and smileswere exchanged amidst the sonorous music and dazzling light; whilst allthe guests crowded around on tip-toe, with outstretched necks andglittering eyes--a rising tide of heads and shoulders, flashing with thefires of precious stones. 

At last the march ended and the presentations began. Their Majesties werealready acquainted with Celia, and congratulated her with quiteaffectionate kindliness. However, Sacco, both as minister and father, wasparticularly desirous of presenting his son Attilio. He bent his supplespine, and summoned to his lips the fine words which were appropriate, insuch wise that he contrived to make the young man bow to the King in thecapacity of a lieutenant in his Majesty's army, whilst his homage as ahandsome young man, so passionately loved by his betrothed was reservedfor Queen Margherita. Again did their Majesties show themselves verygracious, even towards the Signora Sacco who, ever modest and prudent, had remained in the background. And then occurred an incident that wasdestined to give rise to endless gossip. Catching sight of Benedetta, whom Count Prada had presented to her after his marriage, the Queen, whogreatly admired her beauty and charm of manner, addressed her a smile insuch wise that the young woman was compelled to approach. A conversationof some minutes' duration ensued, and the Contessina was favoured withsome extremely amiable expressions which were perfectly audible to allaround. Most certainly the Queen was ignorant of the event of the day, the dissolution of Benedetta's marriage with Prada, and her coming unionwith Dario so publicly announced at this _gala_, which now seemed to havebeen given to celebrate a double betrothal. Nevertheless thatconversation caused a deep impression; the guests talked of nothing butthe compliments which Benedetta had received from the most virtuous andintelligent of queens, and her triumph was increased by it all, shebecame yet more beautiful and more victorious amidst the happiness shefelt at being at last able to bestow herself on the spouse of her choice, that happiness which made her look so radiant. 

But, on the other hand, the torture which Prada experienced now becameintense. Whilst the sovereigns continued conversing, the Queen with theladies who came to pay her their respects, the King with the officers, diplomatists, and other important personages who approached him, Pradasaw none but Benedetta--Benedetta congratulated, caressed, exalted byaffection and glory. Dario was near her, flushing with pleasure, radiantlike herself. It was for them that this ball had been given, for themthat the lamps shone out, for them that the music played, for them thatthe most beautiful women of Rome had bared their bosoms and adorned themwith precious stones. It was for them that their Majesties had entered tothe strains of the Royal March, for them that the _fete_ was becominglike an apotheosis, for them that a fondly loved queen was smiling, appearing at that betrothal _gala_ like the good fairy of the nurserytales, whose coming betokens life-long happiness. And for Prada, thiswondrously brilliant hour when good fortune and joyfulness attained theirapogee, was one of defeat. It was fraught with the victory of that womanwho had refused to be his wife in aught but name, and of that man who nowwas about to take her from him: such a public, ostentatious, insultingvictory that it struck him like a buffet in the face. And not merely didhis pride and passion bleed for that: he felt that the triumph of theSaccos dealt a blow to his fortune. Was it true, then, that the roughconquerors of the North were bound to deteriorate in the delightfulclimate of Rome, was that the reason why he already experienced such asensation of weariness and exhaustion? That very morning at Frascati inconnection with that disastrous building enterprise he had realised thathis millions were menaced, albeit he refused to admit that things weregoing badly with him, as some people rumoured. And now, that evening, amidst that _fete_ he beheld the South victorious, Sacco winning the daylike one who feeds at his ease on the warm prey so gluttonously pouncedupon under the flaming sun. 

And the thought of Sacco being a minister, an intimate of the King, allying himself by marriage to one of the noblest families of the Romanaristocracy, and already laying hands on the people and the nationalfunds with the prospect of some day becoming the master of Rome andItaly--that thought again was a blow for the vanity of this man of prey, for the ever voracious appetite of this enjoyer, who felt as if he werebeing pushed away from table before the feast was over! All crumbled andescaped him, Sacco stole his millions, and Benedetta tortured his flesh, stirring up that awful wound of unsatisfied passion which never would behealed. 

Again did Pierre hear that dull plaint, that involuntary despairinggrowl, which had upset him once before. And he looked at the Count, andasked him: "Are you suffering?" But on seeing how livid was the face ofPrada, who only retained his calmness by a superhuman effort, heregretted his indiscreet question, which, moreover, remained unanswered. And then to put the other more at ease, the young priest went onspeaking, venting the thoughts which the sight before him inspired: "Yourfather was right, " said he, "we Frenchmen whose education is so full ofthe Catholic spirit, even in these days of universal doubt, we neverthink of Rome otherwise than as the old Rome of the popes. We scarcelyknow, we can scarcely understand the great changes which, year by year, have brought about the Italian Rome of the present day. Why, when Iarrived here, the King and his government and the young nation working tomake a great capital for itself, seemed to me of no account whatever!Yes, I dismissed all that, thought nothing of it, in my dream ofresuscitating a Christian and evangelical Rome, which should assure thehappiness of the world. "

He laughed as he spoke, pitying his own artlessness, and then pointedtowards the gallery where Prince Buongiovanni was bowing to the Kingwhilst the Princess listened to the gallant remarks of Sacco: a scenefull of symbolism, the old papal aristocracy struck down, the _parvenus_accepted, the black and white worlds so mixed together that one and allwere little else than subjects, on the eve of forming but one unitednation. That conciliation between the Quirinal and the Vatican which inprinciple was regarded as impossible, was it not in practice fatal, inface of the evolution which went on day by day? People must go on living, loving, and creating life throughout the ages. And the marriage ofAttilio and Celia would be the symbol of the needful union: youth andlove triumphing over ancient hatred, all quarrels forgotten as a handsomelad goes by, wins a lovely girl, and carries her off in his arms in orderthat the world may last. 

"Look at them!" resumed Pierre, "how handsome and young and gay both the_fiances_ are, all confidence in the future. Ah! I well understand thatyour King should have come here to please his minister and win one of theold Roman families over to his throne; it is good, brave, and fatherlypolicy. But I like to think that he has also realised the touchingsignificance of that marriage--old Rome, in the person of that candid, loving child giving herself to young Italy, that upright, enthusiasticyoung man who wears his uniform so jauntily. And may their nuptials bedefinitive and fruitful; from them and from all the others may therearise the great nation which, now that I begin to know you, I trust youwill soon become!"

Amidst the tottering of his former dream of an evangelical and universalRome, Pierre expressed these good wishes for the Eternal City's futurefortune with such keen and deep emotion that Prada could not helpreplying: "I thank you; that wish of yours is in the heart of every goodItalian. "

But his voice quavered, for even whilst he was looking at Celia andAttilio, who stood smiling and talking together, he saw Benedetta andDario approach them, wearing the same joyful expression of perfecthappiness. And when the two couples were united, so radiant and sotriumphant, so full of superb and happy life, he no longer had strengthto stay there, see them, and suffer. 

"I am frightfully thirsty, " he hoarsely exclaimed. "Let's go to thebuffet to drink something. " And, thereupon, in order to avoid notice, heso manoeuvred as to glide behind the throng, skirting the windows in thedirection of the entrance to the Hall of the Antiques, which was beyondthe gallery. 

Whilst Pierre was following him they were parted by an eddy of the crowd, and the young priest found himself carried towards the two loving coupleswho still stood chatting together. And Celia, on recognising him, beckoned to him in a friendly way. With her passionate cult for beauty, she was enraptured with the appearance of Benedetta, before whom shejoined her little lily hands as before the image of the Madonna. "Oh!Monsieur l'Abbe, " said she, "to please me now, do tell her how beautifulshe is, more beautiful than anything on earth, more beautiful than eventhe sun, and the moon and stars. If you only knew, my dear, it makes mequiver to see you so beautiful as that, as beautiful as happiness, asbeautiful as love itself!"

Benedetta began to laugh, while the two young men made merry. "But youare as beautiful as I am, darling, " said the Contessina. "And if we arebeautiful it is because we are happy. "

"Yes, yes, happy, " Celia gently responded. "Do you remember the eveningwhen you told me that one didn't succeed in marrying the Pope and theKing? But Attilio and I are marrying them, and yet we are very happy. "

"But we don't marry them, Dario and I! On the contrary!" said Benedettagaily. "No matter; as you answered me that same evening, it is sufficientthat we should love one another, love saves the world. "

When Pierre at last succeeded in reaching the door of the Hall of theAntiques, where the buffet was installed, he found Prada there, motionless, gazing despite himself on the galling spectacle which hedesired to flee. A power stronger than his will had kept him there, forcing him to turn round and look, and look again. And thus, with ableeding heart, he still lingered and witnessed the resumption of thedancing, the first figure of a quadrille which the orchestra began toplay with a lively flourish of its brass instruments. Benedetta andDario, Celia and Attilio were _vis-à-vis_. And so charming anddelightful was the sight which the two couples presented dancing in thewhite blaze, all youth and joy, that the King and Queen drew near to themand became interested. And soon bravos of admiration rang out, while fromevery heart spread a feeling of infinite tenderness. 

"I'm dying of thirst, let's go!" repeated Prada, at last managing towrench himself away from the torturing sight. 

He called for some iced lemonade and drank the glassful at one draught, gulping it down with the greedy eagerness of a man stricken with fever, who will never more be able to quench the burning fire within him. 

The Hall of the Antiques was a spacious room with mosaic pavement, anddecorations of stucco; and a famous collection of vases, bas-reliefs, andstatues, was disposed along its walls. The marbles predominated, butthere were a few bronzes, and among them a dying gladiator of extremebeauty. The marvel however was the famous statue of Venus, a companion tothat of the Capitol, but with a more elegant and supple figure and withthe left arm falling loosely in a gesture of voluptuous surrender. Thatevening a powerful electric reflector threw a dazzling light upon thestatue, which, in its divine and pure nudity, seemed to be endowed withsuperhuman, immortal life. Against the end-wall was the buffet, a longtable covered with an embroidered cloth and laden with fruit, pastry, andcold meats. Sheaves of flowers rose up amidst bottles of champagne, hotpunch, and iced _sorbetto_, and here and there were marshalled armies ofglasses, tea-cups, and broth-bowls, a perfect wealth of sparklingcrystal, porcelain, and silver. And a happy innovation had been to fillhalf of the hall with rows of little tables, at which the guests, in lieuof being obliged to refresh themselves standing, were able to sit downand order what they desired as in a cafe. 

At one of these little tables, Pierre perceived Narcisse seated near ayoung woman, whom Prada, on approaching, recognised to be Lisbeth. "Youfind me, you see, in delightful company, " gallantly exclaimed the_attache_. "As we lost one another, I could think of nothing better thanof offering madame my arm to bring her here. "

"It was, in fact, a good idea, " said Lisbeth with her pretty laugh, "forI was feeling very thirsty. "

They had ordered some iced coffee, which they were slowly sipping out oflittle silver-gilt spoons. 

"I have a terrible thirst, too, " declared the Count, "and I can't quenchit. You will allow us to join you, will you not, my dear sir? Some ofthat coffee will perhaps calm me. " And then to Lisbeth he added, "Ah! mydear, allow me to introduce to you Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, a youngFrench priest of great distinction. "

Then for a long time they all four remained seated at that table, chatting and making merry over certain of the guests who went by. Prada, however, in spite of his usual gallantry towards Lisbeth, frequentlybecame absent-minded; at times he quite forgot her, being again masteredby his anguish, and, in spite of all his efforts, his eyes ever turnedtowards the neighbouring gallery whence the sound of music and dancingreached him. 

"Why, what are you thinking of, _caro mio_?" Lisbeth asked in her prettyway, on seeing him at one moment so pale and lost. "Are you indisposed?"

He did not reply, however, but suddenly exclaimed, "Ah! look there, that's the real pair, there's real love and happiness for you!"

With a jerk of the hand he designated Dario's mother, the MarchionessMontefiori and her second husband, Jules Laporte--that ex-sergeant of thepapal Swiss Guard, her junior by fifteen years, whom she had one dayhooked at the Corso with her eyes of fire, which yet had remained superb, and whom she had afterwards triumphantly transformed into a MarquisMontefiori in order to have him entirely to herself. Such was her passionthat she never relaxed her hold on him whether at ball or reception, but, despite all usages, kept him beside her, and even made him escort her tothe buffet, so much did she delight in being able to exhibit him and saythat this handsome man was her own exclusive property. And standing thereside by side, the pair of them began to drink champagne and eatsandwiches, she yet a marvel of massive beauty although she was overfifty, and he with long wavy moustaches, and proud bearing, like afortunate adventurer whose jovial impudence pleased the ladies. 

"You know that she had to extricate him from a nasty affair, " resumed theCount in a lower tone. "Yes, he travelled in relics; he picked up aliving by supplying relics on commission to convents in France andSwitzerland; and he had launched quite a business in false relics withthe help of some Jews here who concocted little ancient reliquaries outof mutton bones, with everything sealed and signed by the most genuineauthorities. The affair was hushed up, as three prelates were alsocompromised in it! Ah! the happy man! Do you see how she devours him withher eyes? And he, doesn't he look quite a _grand seigneur_ by the mereway in which he holds that plate for her whilst she eats the breast of afowl out of it!"

Then, in a rough way and with biting irony, he went on to speak of the_amours_ of Rome. The Roman women, said he, were ignorant, obstinate, andjealous. When a woman had managed to win a man, she kept him for ever, hebecame her property, and she disposed of him as she pleased. By way ofproof, he cited many interminable _liaisons_, such as that of DonnaSerafina and Morano which, in time became virtual marriages; and hesneered at such a lack of fancy, such an excess of fidelity whose onlyending, when it did end, was some very disagreeable unpleasantness. 

At this, Lisbeth interrupted him. "But what is the matter with you thisevening, my dear?" she asked with a laugh. "What you speak of is on thecontrary very nice and pretty! When a man and a woman love one anotherthey ought to do so for ever!"

She looked delightful as she spoke, with her fine wavy blonde hair anddelicate fair complexion; and Narcisse with a languorous expression inhis half-closed eyes compared her to a Botticelli which he had seen atFlorence. However, the night was now far advanced, and Pierre had oncemore sunk into gloomy thoughtfulness when he heard a passing lady remarkthat they had already begun to dance the Cotillon in the gallery; andthereupon he suddenly remembered that Monsignor Nani had given him anappointment in the little Saloon of the Mirrors. 

"Are you leaving?" hastily inquired Prada on seeing him rise and bow toLisbeth. 

"No, no, not yet, " Pierre answered. 

"Oh! all right. Don't go away without me. I want to walk a little, andI'll see you home. It's agreed, eh? You will find me here. "

The young priest had to cross two rooms, one hung with yellow and theother with blue, before he at last reached the mirrored _salon_. This wasreally an exquisite example of the _rococo_ style, a rotunda as it wereof pale mirrors framed with superb gilded carvings. Even the ceiling wascovered with mirrors disposed slantwise so that on every side thingsmultiplied, mingled, and appeared under all possible aspects. Discreetlyenough no electric lights had been placed in the room, the onlyillumination being that of some pink tapers burning in a pair ofcandelabra. The hangings and upholstery were of soft blue silk, and theimpression on entering was very sweet and charming, as if one had foundoneself in the abode of some fairy queen of the rills, a palace of limpidwater, illumined to its farthest depths by clusters of stars. 

Pierre at once perceived Monsignor Nani, who was sitting on a low couch, and, as the prelate had hoped, he was quite alone, for the Cotillon hadattracted almost everybody to the picture gallery. And the silence in thelittle _salon_ was nearly perfect, for at that distance the blare of theorchestra subsided into a faint, flute-like murmur. The young priest atonce apologised to the prelate for having kept him waiting. 

"No, no, my dear son, " said Nani, with his inexhaustible amiability. "Iwas very comfortable in this retreat--when the press of the crowd becameover-threatening I took refuge here. " He did not speak of the King andQueen, but he allowed it to be understood that he had politely avoidedtheir company. If he had come to the _fete_ it was on account of hissincere affection for Celia and also with a very delicate diplomaticobject, for the Church wished to avoid any appearance of having entirelybroken with the Buongiovanni family, that ancient house which was sofamous in the annals of the papacy. Doubtless the Vatican was unable tosubscribe to this marriage which seemed to unite old Rome with the youngKingdom of Italy, but on the other hand it did not desire people to thinkthat it abandoned old and faithful supporters and took no interest inwhat befell them. 

"But come, my dear son, " the prelate resumed, "it is you who are now inquestion. I told you that although the Congregation of the Index hadpronounced itself for the condemnation of your book, the sentence wouldonly be submitted to the Holy Father and signed by him on the day afterto-morrow. So you still have a whole day before you. "

At this Pierre could not refrain from a dolorous and vivaciousinterruption. 

"Alas! Monseigneur, what can I do?" said he; "I have thought it all over, and I see no means, no opportunity of defending myself. How could I evensee his Holiness now that he is so ill?"

"Oh! ill, ill!" muttered Nani with his shrewd expression. "His Holinessis ever so much better, for this very day, like every other Wednesday, Ihad the honour to be received by him. When his Holiness is a little tiredand people say that he is very ill, he often lets them do so, for itgives him a rest and enables him to judge certain ambitions andmanifestations of impatience around him. "

Pierre, however, was too upset to listen attentively. "No, it's allover, " he continued, "I'm in despair. You spoke to me of the possibilityof a miracle, but I am no great believer in miracles. Since I am defeatedhere at Rome, I shall go away, I shall return to Paris, and continue thestruggle there. Oh! I cannot resign myself, my hope in salvation by thepractice of love cannot die, and I shall answer my denouncers in a newbook, in which I shall tell in what new soil the new religion will growup!"

Silence fell. Nani looked at him with his clear eyes in whichintelligence shone distinct and sharp like steel. And amidst the deepcalm, the warm heavy atmosphere of the little _salon_, whose mirrors werestarred with countless reflections of candles, a more sonorous burst ofmusic was suddenly wafted from the gallery, a rhythmical waltz melody, which slowly expanded, then died away. 

"My dear son, " said Nani, "anger is always harmful. You remember that onyour arrival here I promised that if your own efforts to obtain aninterview with the Holy Father should prove unavailing, I would myselfendeavour to secure an audience for you. " Then, seeing how agitated theyoung priest was getting, he went on: "Listen to me and don't exciteyourself. His Holiness, unfortunately, is not always prudently advised. Around him are persons whose devotion, however great, is at timesdeficient in intelligence. I told you that, and warned you againstinconsiderate applications. And this is why, already three weeks ago, Imyself handed your book to his Holiness in the hope that he would deignto glance at it. I rightly suspected that it had not been allowed toreach him. And this is what I am instructed to tell you: his Holiness, who has had the great kindness to read your book, expressly desires tosee you. "

A cry of joy and gratitude died away in Pierre's throat: "Ah!Monseigneur. Ah! Monseigneur!"

But Nani quickly silenced him and glanced around with an expression ofkeen anxiety as if he feared that some one might hear them. "Hush! Hush!"said he, "it is a secret. His Holiness wishes to see you privately, without taking anybody else into his confidence. Listen attentively. Itis now two o'clock in the morning. Well, this very day, at nine in theevening precisely, you must present yourself at the Vatican and at everydoor ask for Signor Squadra. You will invariably be allowed to pass. Signor Squadra will be waiting for you upstairs, and will introduce you. And not a word, mind; not a soul must have the faintest suspicion ofthese things. "

Pierre's happiness and gratitude at last flowed forth. He had caught holdof the prelate's soft, plump hands, and stammered, "Ah! Monseigneur, howcan I express my gratitude to you? If you only knew how full my soul wasof night and rebellion since I realised that I had been a mere playthingin the hands of those powerful cardinals. But you have saved me, andagain I feel sure that I shall win the victory, for I shall at last beable to fling myself at the feet of his Holiness the father of all truthand all justice. He can but absolve me, I who love him, I who admire him, I who have never battled for aught but his own policy and most cherishedideas. No, no, it is impossible; he will not sign that judgment; he willnot condemn my book!"

Releasing his hands, Nani sought to calm him with a fatherly gesture, whilst retaining a faint smile of contempt for such a useless expenditureof enthusiasm. At last he succeeded, and begged him to retire. Theorchestra was again playing more loudly in the distance. And when theyoung priest at last withdrew, thanking him once more, he said verysimply, "Remember, my dear son, that only obedience is great. "

Pierre, whose one desire now was to take himself off, found Prada almostimmediately afterwards in the first reception-room. Their Majesties hadjust left the ball in grand ceremony, escorted to the threshold by theBuongiovannis and the Saccos. And before departing the Queen hadmaternally kissed Celia, whilst the King shook hands withAttilio--honours instinct with a charming good nature which made themembers of both families quite radiant. However, a good many of theguests were following the example of the sovereigns and disappearing insmall batches. And the Count, who seemed strangely nervous, and showedmore sternness and bitterness than ever, was, on his side, also eager tobe gone. "Ah! it's you at last. I was waiting for you, " he said toPierre. "Well, let's get off at once, eh? Your compatriot MonsieurNarcisse Habert asked me to tell you not to look for him. The fact is, hehas gone to see my friend Lisbeth to her carriage. I myself want a breathof fresh air, a stroll, and so I'll go with you as far as the ViaGiulia. "

Then, as they took their things from the cloak-room, he could not helpsneering and saying in his brutal way: "I saw your good friends go off, all four together. It's lucky that you prefer to go home on foot, forthere was no room for you in the carriage. What superb impudence it wason the part of that Donna Serafina to drag herself here, at her age, withthat Morano of hers, so as to triumph over the return of the fickle one!And the two others, the two young ones--ah! I confess that I can hardlyspeak calmly of _them_, for in parading here together as they did thisevening, they have shown an impudence and a cruelty such as is rarelyseen!" Prada's hands trembled, and he murmured: "A good journey, a goodjourney to the young man, since he is going to Naples. Yes, I heard Celiasay that he was starting for Naples this evening at six o'clock. Well, mywishes go with him; a good journey!"

The two men found the change delightful when they at last emerged fromthe stifling heat of the reception-rooms into the lovely, cool, andlimpid night. It was a night illumined by a superb full moon, one ofthose matchless Roman nights when the city slumbers in Elysian radiance, steeped in a dream of the Infinite, under the vast vault of heaven. Andthey took the most agreeable route, going down the Corso proper and thenturning into the Corso Vittorio Emanuele. 

Prada had grown somewhat calmer, but remained full of irony. To diverthis mind, no doubt, he talked on in the most voluble manner, reverting tothe women of Rome and to that _fete_ which he had at first foundsplendid, but at which he now began to rail. 

"Oh! of course they have very fine gowns, " said he, speaking of thewomen; "but gowns which don't fit them, gowns which are sent them fromParis, and which, of course, they can't try on. It's just the same withtheir jewels; they still have diamonds and pearls, in particular, whichare very fine, but they are so wretchedly, so heavily mounted that theylook frightful. And if you only knew how ignorant and frivolous thesewomen are, despite all their conceit! Everything is on the surface withthem, even religion: there's nothing beneath. I looked at them eating atthe buffet. Oh! they at least have fine appetites. This evening somedecorum was observed, there wasn't too much gorging. But at one of theCourt balls you would see a general pillage, the buffets besieged, andeverything swallowed up amidst a scramble of amazing voracity!"

To all this talk Pierre only returned monosyllabic responses. He waswrapped in overflowing delight at the thought of that audience with thePope, which, unable as he was to confide in any one, he strove to arrangeand picture in his own mind, even in its pettiest details. And meantimethe footsteps of the two men rang out on the dry pavement of the clear, broad, deserted thoroughfare, whose black shadows were sharply outlinedby the moonlight. 

All at once Prada himself became silent. His loquacious _bravura_ wasexhausted, the frightful struggle going on in his mind wholly possessedand paralysed him. Twice already he had dipped his hand into his coatpocket and felt the pencilled note whose four lines he mentally repeated:"A legend avers that the fig-tree of Judas now grows at Frascati, andthat its fruit is deadly for him who may desire to become pope. Eat notthe poisoned figs, nor give them either to your servants or your fowls. "The note was there; he could feel it; and if he had desired to accompanyPierre, it was in order that he might drop it into the letter-box at thePalazzo Boccanera. And he continued to step out briskly, so that withinanother ten minutes that note would surely be in the box, for no power inthe world could prevent it, since such was his express determination. Never would he commit such a crime as to allow people to be poisoned. 

But he was suffering such abominable torture. That Benedetta and thatDario had raised such a tempest of jealous hatred within him! For them heforgot Lisbeth whom he loved, and even that flesh of his flesh, the childof whom he was so proud. All sex as he was, eager to conquer and subdue, he had never cared for facile loves. His passion was to overcome. And nowthere was a woman in the world who defied him, a woman forsooth whom hehad bought, whom he had married, who had been handed over to him, but whowould never, never be his. Ah! in the old days, to subdue her, he wouldif needful have fired Rome like a Nero; but now he asked himself what hecould possibly do to prevent her from belonging to another. That gallingthought made the blood gush from his gaping wound. How that woman and herlover must deride him! And to think that they had sought to turn him toridicule by a baseless charge, an arrant lie which still and ever madehim smart, all proof of its falsity to the contrary. He, on his side, hadaccused them in the past without much belief in what he said, but now thecharges he had imputed to them must come true, for they were free, freedat all events of the religious bond, and that no doubt was their onlycare. And then visions of their happiness passed before his eyes, infuriating him. Ah! no, ah! no, it was impossible, he would ratherdestroy the world!

Then, as he and Pierre turned out of the Corso Vittorio Emanuele tothread the old narrow tortuous streets leading to the Via Giulia, hepictured himself dropping the note into the letter-box at the palazzo. And next he conjured up what would follow. The note would lie in theletter-box till morning. At an early hour Don Vigilio, the secretary, whoby the Cardinal's express orders kept the key of the box, would comedown, find the note, and hand it to his Eminence, who never allowedanother to open any communication addressed to him. And then the figswould be thrown away, there would be no further possibility of crime, theblack world would in all prudence keep silent. But if the note should notbe in the letter-box, what would happen then? And admitting thatsupposition he pictured the figs placed on the table at the one o'clockmeal, in their pretty little leaf-covered basket. Dario would be there asusual, alone with his uncle, since he was not to leave for Naples tillthe evening. And would both the uncle and the nephew eat the figs, orwould only one of them partake of the fruit, and which of them would thatbe? At this point Prada's clearness of vision failed him; again heconjured up Destiny on the march, that Destiny which he had met on theroad from Frascati, going on towards its unknown goal, athwart allobstacles without possibility of stoppage. Aye, the little basket of figswent ever on and on to accomplish its fateful purpose, which no hand inthe world had power enough to prevent. 

And at last, on either hand of Pierre and Prada, the Via Giulia stretchedaway in a long line white with moonlight, and the priest emerged as iffrom a dream at sight of the Palazzo Boccanera rising blackly under thesilver sky. Three o'clock struck at a neighbouring church. And he felthimself quivering slightly as once again he heard near him the dolorousmoan of a lion wounded unto death, that low involuntary growl which theCount, amidst the frightful struggle of his feelings, had for the thirdtime allowed to escape him. But immediately afterwards he burst into asneering laugh, and pressing the priest's hands, exclaimed: "No, no, I amnot going farther. If I were seen here at this hour, people would thinkthat I had fallen in love with my wife again. "

And thereupon he lighted a cigar, and retraced his steps in the clearnight, without once looking round. 

XIII. 

WHEN Pierre awoke he was much surprised to hear eleven o'clock striking. Fatigued as he was by that ball where he had lingered so long, he hadslept like a child in delightful peacefulness, and as soon as he openedhis eyes the radiant sunshine filled him with hope. His first thought wasthat he would see the Pope that evening at nine o'clock. Ten more hoursto wait! What would he be able to do with himself during that lovely day, whose radiant sky seemed to him of such happy augury? He rose and openedthe windows to admit the warm air which, as he had noticed on the day ofhis arrival, had a savour of fruit and flowers, a blending, as it were, of the perfume of rose and orange. Could this possibly be December? Whata delightful land, that the spring should seem to flower on the verythreshold of winter! Then, having dressed, he was leaning out of thewindow to glance across the golden Tiber at the evergreen slopes of theJaniculum, when he espied Benedetta seated in the abandoned garden of themansion. And thereupon, unable to keep still, full of a desire for life, gaiety, and beauty, he went down to join her. 

With radiant visage and outstretched hands, she at once vented the cry hehad expected: "Ah! my dear Abbe, how happy I am!"

They had often spent their mornings in that quiet, forsaken nook; butwhat sad mornings those had been, hopeless as they both were! To-day, however, the weed-grown paths, the box-plants growing in the old basin, the orange-trees which alone marked the outline of the beds--all seemedfull of charm, instinct with a sweet and dreamy cosiness in which it wasvery pleasant to lull one's joy. And it was so warm, too, beside the biglaurel-bush, in the corner where the streamlet of water ever fell withflute-like music from the gaping, tragic mask. 

"Ah!" repeated Benedetta, "how happy I am! I was stifling upstairs, andmy heart felt such a need of space, and air, and sunlight, that I camedown here!"

She was seated on the fallen column beside the old marble sarcophagus, and desired the priest to place himself beside her. Never had he seen herlooking so beautiful, with her black hair encompassing her pure face, which in the sunshine appeared pinky and delicate as a flower. Her large, fathomless eyes showed in the light like braziers rolling gold, and herchildish mouth, all candour and good sense, laughed the laugh of one whowas at last free to love as her heart listed, without offending eitherGod or man. And, dreaming aloud, she built up plans for the future. "It'sall simple enough, " said she; "I have already obtained a separation, andshall easily get that changed into civil divorce now that the Church hasannulled my marriage. And I shall marry Dario next spring, perhapssooner, if the formalities can be hastened. He is going to Naples thisevening about the sale of some property which we still possess there, butwhich must now be sold, for all this business has cost us a lot of money. Still, that doesn't matter since we now belong to one another. And whenhe comes back in a few days, what a happy time we shall have! I could notsleep when I got back from that splendid ball last night, for my head wasso full of plans--oh! splendid plans, as you shall see, for I mean tokeep you in Rome until our marriage. "

Like herself, Pierre began to laugh, so gained upon by this explosion ofyouth and happiness that he had to make a great effort to refrain fromspeaking of his own delight, his hopefulness at the thought of his cominginterview with the Pope. Of that, however, he had sworn to speak tonobody. 

Every now and again, amidst the quivering silence of the sunlit garden, the cry of a bird persistently rang out; and Benedetta, raising her headand looking at a cage hanging beside one of the first-floor windows, jestingly exclaimed: "Yes, yes, Tata, make a good noise, show that youare pleased, my dear. Everybody in the house must be pleased now. " Then, turning towards Pierre, she added gaily: "You know Tata, don't you? What!No? Why, Tata is my uncle's parrot. I gave her to him last spring; he'svery fond of her, and lets her help herself out of his plate. And hehimself attends to her, puts her out and takes her in, and keeps her inhis dining-room, for fear lest she should take cold, as that is the onlyroom of his which is at all warm. "

Pierre in his turn looked up and saw the bird, one of those pretty littleparrots with soft, silky, dull-green plumage. It was hanging by the beakfrom a bar of its cage, swinging itself and flapping its wings, all mirthin the bright sunshine. 

"Does the bird talk?" he asked. 

"No, she only screams, " replied Benedetta, laughing. "Still my unclepretends that he understands her. " And then the young woman abruptlydarted to another subject, as if this mention of her uncle the Cardinalhad made her think of the uncle by marriage whom she had in Paris. "Isuppose you have heard from Viscount de la Choue, " said she. "I had aletter from him yesterday, in which he said how grieved he was that youwere unable to see the Holy Father, as he had counted on you for thetriumph of his ideas. "

Pierre indeed frequently heard from the Viscount, who was greatlydistressed by the importance which his adversary, Baron de Fouras, hadacquired since his success with the International Pilgrimage of thePeter's Pence. The old, uncompromising Catholic party would awaken, saidthe Viscount, and all the conquests of Neo-Catholicism would bethreatened, if one could not obtain the Holy Father's formal adhesion tothe proposed system of free guilds, in order to overcome the demand forclosed guilds which was brought forward by the Conservatives. And theViscount overwhelmed Pierre with injunctions, and sent him all sorts ofcomplicated plans in his eagerness to see him received at the Vatican. "Yes, yes, " muttered the young priest in reply to Benedetta. "I had aletter on Sunday, and found another waiting for me on my return fromFrascati yesterday. Ah! it would make me very happy to be able to sendthe Viscount some good news. " Then again Pierre's joy overflowed at thethought that he would that evening see the Pope, and, on opening hisloving heart to the Pontiff, receive the supreme encouragement whichwould strengthen him in his mission to work social salvation in the nameof the lowly and the poor. And he could not restrain himself any longer, but let his secret escape him: "It's settled, you know, " said he. "Myaudience is for this evening. "

Benedetta did not understand at first. "What audience?" she asked. 

"Oh! Monsignor Nani was good enough to tell me at the ball this morning, that the Holy Father has read my book and desires to see me. I shall bereceived this evening at nine o'clock. "

At this the Contessina flushed with pleasure, participating in thedelight of the young priest to whom she had grown much attached. And thissuccess of his, coming in the midst of her own felicity, acquiredextraordinary importance in her eyes as if it were an augury of completesuccess for one and all. Superstitious as she was, she raised a cry ofrapture and excitement: "Ah! _Dio_, that will bring us good luck. Howhappy I am, my friend, to see happiness coming to you at the same time asto me! You cannot think how pleased I am! And all will go well now, it'scertain, for a house where there is any one whom the Pope welcomes isblessed, the thunder of Heaven falls on it no more!"

She laughed yet more loudly as she spoke, and clapped her hands with suchexuberant gaiety that Pierre became anxious. "Hush! hush!" said he, "it'sa secret. Pray don't mention it to any one, either your aunt or even hisEminence. Monsignor Nani would be much annoyed. "

She thereupon promised to say nothing, and in a kindly voice spoke ofNani as a benefactor, for was she not indebted to him for the dissolutionof her marriage? Then, with a fresh explosion of gaiety, she went on:"But come, my friend, is not happiness the only good thing? You don't askme to weep over the suffering poor to-day! Ah! the happiness of life, that's everything. People don't suffer or feel cold or hungry when theyare happy. "

He looked at her in stupefaction at the idea of that strange solution ofthe terrible question of human misery. And suddenly he realised that, with that daughter of the sun who had inherited so many centuries ofsovereign aristocracy, all his endeavours at conversion were vain. He hadwished to bring her to a Christian love for the lowly and the wretched, win her over to the new, enlightened, and compassionate Italy that he haddreamt of; but if she had been moved by the sufferings of the multitudeat the time when she herself had suffered, when grievous wounds had madeher own heart bleed, she was no sooner healed than she proclaimed thedoctrine of universal felicity like a true daughter of a clime of burningsummers, and winters as mild as spring. "But everybody is not happy!"said he. 

"Yes, yes, they are!" she exclaimed. "You don't know the poor! Give agirl of the Trastevere the lad she loves, and she becomes as radiant as aqueen, and finds her dry bread quite sweet. The mothers who save a childfrom sickness, the men who conquer in a battle, or who win at thelottery, one and all in fact are like that, people only ask for goodfortune and pleasure. And despite all your striving to be just and toarrive at a more even distribution of fortune, the only satisfied oneswill be those whose hearts sing--often without their knowing thecause--on a fine sunny day like this. "

Pierre made a gesture of surrender, not wishing to sadden her by againpleading the cause of all the poor ones who at that very moment weresomewhere agonising with physical or mental pain. But, all at once, through the luminous mild atmosphere a shadow seemed to fall, tingeingjoy with sadness, the sunshine with despair. And the sight of the oldsarcophagus, with its bacchanal of satyrs and nymphs, brought back thememory that death lurks even amidst the bliss of passion, the unsatiatedkisses of love. For a moment the clear song of the water sounded inPierre's ears like a long-drawn sob, and all seemed to crumble in theterrible shadow which had fallen from the invisible. 

Benedetta, however, caught hold of his hands and roused him once more tothe delight of being there beside her. "Your pupil is rebellious, is shenot, my friend?" said she. "But what would you have? There are ideaswhich can't enter into our heads. No, you will never get those thingsinto the head of a Roman girl. So be content with loving us as we are, beautiful with all our strength, as beautiful as we can be. "

She herself, in her resplendent happiness, looked at that moment sobeautiful that he trembled as in presence of a divinity whoseall-powerfulness swayed the world. "Yes, yes, " he stammered, "beauty, beauty, still and ever sovereign. Ah! why can it not suffice to satisfythe eternal longings of poor suffering men?"

"Never mind!" she gaily responded. "Do not distress yourself; it ispleasant to live. And now let us go upstairs, my aunt must be waiting. "

The midday meal was served at one o'clock, and on the few occasions whenPierre did not eat at one or another restaurant a cover was laid for himat the ladies' table in the little dining-room of the second floor, overlooking the courtyard. At the same hour, in the sunlit dining-room ofthe first floor, whose windows faced the Tiber, the Cardinal likewise satdown to table, happy in the society of his nephew Dario, for hissecretary, Don Vigilio, who also was usually present, never opened hismouth unless to reply to some question. And the two services were quitedistinct, each having its own kitchen and servants, the only thing at allcommon to them both being a large room downstairs which served as apantry and store-place. 

Although the second-floor dining-room was so gloomy, saddened by thegreeny half-light of the courtyard, the meal shared that day by the twoladies and the young priest proved a very gay one. Even Donna Serafina, usually so rigid, seemed to relax under the influence of great internalfelicity. She was no doubt still enjoying her triumph of the previousevening, and it was she who first spoke of the ball and sung its praises, though the presence of the King and Queen had much embarrassed her, saidshe. According to her account, she had only avoided presentation byskilful strategy; however she hoped that her well-known affection forCelia, whose god-mother she was, would explain her presence in thatneutral mansion where Vatican and Quirinal had met. At the same time shemust have retained certain scruples, for she declared that directly afterdinner she was going to the Vatican to see the Cardinal Secretary, towhom she desired to speak about an enterprise of which she waslady-patroness. This visit would compensate for her attendance at theBuongiovanni entertainment. And on the other hand never had DonnaSerafina seemed so zealous and hopeful of her brother's speedy accessionto the throne of St. Peter: therein lay a supreme triumph, an elevationof her race, which her pride deemed both needful and inevitable; andindeed during Leo XIII's last indisposition she had actually concernedherself about the trousseau which would be needed and which would requireto be marked with the new Pontiff's arms. 

On her side, Benedetta was all gaiety during the repast, laughing ateverything, and speaking of Celia and Attilio with the passionateaffection of a woman whose own happiness delights in that of her friends. Then, just as the dessert had been served, she turned to the servant withan air of surprise: "Well, and the figs, Giacomo?" she asked. 

Giacomo, slow and sleepy of notion, looked at her without understanding. However, Victorine was crossing the room, and Benedetta's next questionwas for her: "Why are the figs not served, Victorine?" she inquired. 

"What figs, Contessina?"

"Why the figs I saw in the pantry as I passed through it this morning onmy way to the garden. They were in a little basket and looked superb. Iwas even astonished to see that there were still some fresh figs left atthis season. I'm very fond of them, and felt quite pleased at the thoughtthat I should eat some at dinner. "

Victorine began to laugh: "Ah! yes, Contessina, I understand, " shereplied. "They were some figs which that priest of Frascati, whom youknow very well, brought yesterday evening as a present for his Eminence. I was there, and I heard him repeat three or four times that they were apresent, and were to be put on his Eminence's table without a leaf beingtouched. And so one did as he said. "

"Well, that's nice, " retorted Benedetta with comical indignation. "What_gourmands_ my uncle and Dario are to regale themselves without us! Theymight have given us a share!"

Donna Serafina thereupon intervened, and asked Victorine: "You arespeaking, are you not, of that priest who used to come to the villa atFrascati?"

"Yes, yes, Abbe Santobono his name is, he officiates at the little churchof St. Mary in the Fields. He always asks for Abbe Paparelli when hecalls; I think they were at the seminary together. And it was AbbePaparelli who brought him to the pantry with his basket last night. Totell the truth, the basket was forgotten there in spite of all theinjunctions, so that nobody would have eaten the figs to-day if AbbePaparelli hadn't run down just now and carried them upstairs as piouslyas if they were the Blessed Sacrament. It's true though that his Eminenceis so fond of them. "

"My brother won't do them much honour to-day, " remarked the Princess. "Heis slightly indisposed. He passed a bad night. " The repeated mention ofAbbe Paparelli had made the old lady somewhat thoughtful. She hadregarded the train-bearer with displeasure ever since she had noticed theextraordinary influence he was gaining over the Cardinal, despite all hisapparent humility and self-effacement. He was but a servant andapparently a very insignificant one, yet he governed, and she could feelthat he combated her own influence, often undoing things which she haddone to further her brother's interests. Twice already, moreover, she hadsuspected him of having urged the Cardinal to courses which she lookedupon as absolute blunders. But perhaps she was wrong; she did thetrain-bearer the justice to admit that he had great merits and displayedexemplary piety. 

However, Benedetta went on laughing and jesting, and as Victorine had nowwithdrawn, she called the man-servant: "Listen, Giacomo, I have acommission for you. " Then she broke off to say to her aunt and Pierre:"Pray let us assert our rights. I can see them at table almost underneathus. Uncle is taking the leaves off the basket and serving himself with asmile; then he passes the basket to Dario, who passes it on to DonVigilio. And all three of them eat and enjoy the figs. You can see them, can't you?" She herself could see them well. And it was her desire to benear Dario, the constant flight of her thoughts to him that now made herpicture him at table with the others. Her heart was down below, and therewas nothing there that she could not see, and hear, and smell, with suchkeenness of the senses did her love endow her. "Giacomo, " she resumed, "you are to go down and tell his Eminence that we are longing to tastehis figs, and that it will be very kind of him if he will send us such ashe can spare. "

Again, however, did Donna Serafina intervene, recalling her wontedseverity of voice: "Giacomo, you will please stay here. " And to her nieceshe added: "That's enough childishness! I dislike such silly freaks. "

"Oh! aunt, " Benedetta murmured. "But I'm so happy, it's so long since Ilaughed so good-heartedly. "

Pierre had hitherto remained listening, enlivened by the sight of hergaiety. But now, as a little chill fell, he raised his voice to say thaton the previous day he himself had been astonished to see the famousfig-tree of Frascati still bearing fruit so late in the year. This wasdoubtless due, however, to the tree's position and the protection of ahigh wall. 

"Ah! so you saw the tree?" said Benedetta. 

"Yes, and I even travelled with those figs which you would so much liketo taste. "

"Why, how was that?"

The young man already regretted the reply which had escaped him. However, having gone so far, he preferred to say everything. "I met somebody atFrascati who had come there in a carriage and who insisted on driving meback to Rome, " said he. "On the way we picked up Abbe Santobono, who wasbravely making the journey on foot with his basket in his hand. Andafterwards we stopped at an _osteria_--" Then he went on to describe thedrive and relate his impressions whilst crossing the Campagna amidst thefalling twilight. But Benedetta gazed at him fixedly, aware as she was ofPrada's frequent visits to the land and houses which he owned atFrascati; and suddenly she murmured: "Somebody, somebody, it was theCount, was it not?"

"Yes, madame, the Count, " Pierre answered. "I saw him again last night;he was overcome, and really deserves to be pitied. "

The two women took no offence at this charitable remark which fell fromthe young priest with such deep and natural emotion, full as he was ofoverflowing love and compassion for one and all. Donna Serafina remainedmotionless as if she had not even heard him, and Benedetta made a gesturewhich seemed to imply that she had neither pity nor hatred to express fora man who had become a perfect stranger to her. However, she no longerlaughed, but, thinking of the little basket which had travelled inPrada's carriage, she said: "Ah! I don't care for those figs at all now, I am even glad that I haven't eaten any of them. "

Immediately after the coffee Donna Serafina withdrew, saying that she wasat once going to the Vatican; and the others, being left to themselves, lingered at table, again full of gaiety, and chatting like friends. Thepriest, with his feverish impatience, once more referred to the audiencewhich he was to have that evening. It was now barely two o'clock, and hehad seven more hours to wait. How should he employ that endlessafternoon? Thereupon Benedetta good-naturedly made him a proposal. "I'lltell you what, " said she, "as we are all in such good spirits we mustn'tleave one another. Dario has his victoria, you know. He must havefinished lunch by now, and I'll ask him to take us for a long drive alongthe Tiber. "

This fine project so delighted her that she began to clap her hands; butjust then Don Vigilio appeared with a scared look on his face. "Isn't thePrincess here?" he inquired. 

"No, my aunt has gone out. What is the matter?"

"His Eminence sent me. The Prince has just felt unwell on rising fromtable. Oh! it's nothing--nothing serious, no doubt. "

Benedetta raised a cry of surprise rather than anxiety: "What, Dario!Well, we'll all go down. Come with me, Monsieur l'Abbe. He mustn't getill if he is to take us for a drive!" Then, meeting Victorine on thestairs, she bade her follow. "Dario isn't well, " she said. "You may bewanted. "

They all four entered the spacious, antiquated, and simply furnishedbed-room where the young Prince had lately been laid up for a wholemonth. It was reached by way of a small _salon_, and from an adjoiningdressing-room a passage conducted to the Cardinal's apartments, therelatively small dining-room, bed-room, and study, which had been devisedby subdividing one of the huge galleries of former days. In addition, thepassage gave access to his Eminence's private chapel, a bare, uncarpeted, chairless room, where there was nothing beyond the painted, wooden altar, and the hard, cold tiles on which to kneel and pray. 

On entering, Benedetta hastened to the bed where Dario was lying, stillfully dressed. Near him, in fatherly fashion, stood Cardinal Boccanera, who, amidst his dawning anxiety, retained his proud and loftybearing--the calmness of a soul beyond reproach. "Why, what is thematter, Dario _mio_?" asked the young woman. 

He smiled, eager to reassure her. One only noticed that he was very pale, with a look as of intoxication on his face. 

"Oh! it's nothing, mere giddiness, " he replied. "It's just as if I haddrunk too much. All at once things swam before my eyes, and I thought Iwas going to fall. And then I only had time to come and fling myself onthe bed. "

Then he drew a long breath, as though talking exhausted him, and theCardinal in his turn gave some details. "We had just finished our meal, "said he, "I was giving Don Vigilio some orders for this afternoon, andwas about to rise when I saw Dario get up and reel. He wouldn't sit downagain, but came in here, staggering like a somnambulist, and fumbling atthe doors to open them. We followed him without understanding. And Iconfess that I don't yet comprehend it. "

So saying, the Cardinal punctuated his surprise by waving his arm towardsthe rooms, through which a gust of misfortune seemed to have suddenlyswept. All the doors had remained wide open: the dressing-room could beseen, and then the passage, at the end of which appeared the dining-room, in a disorderly state, like an apartment suddenly vacated; the tablestill laid, the napkins flung here and there, and the chairs pushed back. As yet, however, there was no alarm. 

Benedetta made the remark which is usually made in such cases: "I hopeyou haven't eaten anything which has disagreed with you. "

The Cardinal, smiling, again waved his hand as if to attest the frugalityof his table. "Oh!" said he, "there were only some eggs, some lambcutlets, and a dish of sorrel--they couldn't have overloaded his stomach. I myself only drink water; he takes just a sip of white wine. No, no, thefood has nothing to do with it. "

"Besides, in that case his Eminence and I would also have feltindisposed, " Don Vigilio made bold to remark. 

Dario, after momentarily closing his eyes, opened them again, and oncemore drew a long breath, whilst endeavouring to laugh. "Oh, it will benothing;" he said. "I feel more at ease already. I must get up and stirmyself. "

"In that case, " said Benedetta, "this is what I had thought of. You willtake Monsieur l'Abbe Froment and me for a long drive in the Campagna. "

"Willingly. It's a nice idea. Victorine, help me. "

Whilst speaking he had raised himself by means of one arm; but, beforethe servant could approach, a slight convulsion seized him, and he fellback again as if overcome by a fainting fit. It was the Cardinal, stillstanding by the bedside, who caught him in his arms, whilst theContessina this time lost her head: "_Dio, Dio_! It has come on himagain. Quick, quick, a doctor!"

"Shall I run for one?" asked Pierre, whom the scene was also beginning toupset. 

"No, no, not you; stay with me. Victorine will go at once. She knows theaddress. Doctor Giordano, Victorine. "

The servant hurried away, and a heavy silence fell on the room where theanxiety became more pronounced every moment. Benedetta, now quite pale, had again approached the bed, whilst the Cardinal looked down at Dario, whom he still held in his arms. And a terrible suspicion, vague, indeterminate as yet, had just awoke in the old man's mind: Dario's faceseemed to him to be ashen, to wear that mask of terrified anguish whichhe had already remarked on the countenance of his dearest friend, Monsignor Gallo, when he had held him in his arms, in like manner, twohours before his death. There was also the same swoon and the samesensation of clasping a cold form whose heart ceases to beat. And aboveeverything else there was in Boccanera's mind the same growing thought ofpoison, poison coming one knew not whence or how, but mysteriouslystriking down those around him with the suddenness of lightning. And fora long time he remained with his head bent over the face of his nephew, that last scion of his race, seeking, studying, and recognising the signsof the mysterious, implacable disorder which once already had rent hisheart atwain. 

But Benedetta addressed him in a low, entreating voice: "You will tireyourself, uncle. Let me take him a little, I beg you. Have no fear, I'llhold him very gently, he will feel that it is I, and perhaps that willrouse him. "

At last the Cardinal raised his head and looked at her, and allowed herto take his place after kissing her with distracted passion, his eyes thewhile full of tears--a sudden burst of emotion in which his great lovefor the young woman melted the stern frigidity which he usually affected. "Ah! my poor child, my poor child!" he stammered, trembling from head tofoot like an oak-tree about to fall. Immediately afterwards, however, hemastered himself, and whilst Pierre and Don Vigilio, mute and motionless, regretted that they could be of no help, he walked slowly to and fro. Soon, moreover, that bed-chamber became too small for all the thoughtsrevolving in his mind, and he strayed first into the dressing-room andthen down the passage as far as the dining-room. And again and again hewent to and fro, grave and impassible, his head low, ever lost in thesame gloomy reverie. What were the multitudinous thoughts stirring in thebrain of that believer, that haughty Prince who had given himself to Godand could do naught to stay inevitable Destiny? From time to time hereturned to the bedside, observed the progress of the disorder, and thenstarted off again at the same slow regular pace, disappearing andreappearing, carried along as it were by the monotonous alternations offorces which man cannot control. Possibly he was mistaken, possibly thiswas some mere indisposition at which the doctor would smile. One musthope and wait. And again he went off and again he came back; and amidstthe heavy silence nothing more clearly bespoke the torture of anxiousfear than the rhythmical footsteps of that tall old man who was thusawaiting Destiny. 

The door opened, and Victorine came in breathless. "I found the doctor, here he is, " she gasped. 

With his little pink face and white curls, his discreet paternal bearingwhich gave him the air of an amiable prelate, Doctor Giordano came insmiling; but on seeing that room and all the anxious people waiting init, he turned very grave, at once assuming the expression of profoundrespect for all ecclesiastical secrets which he had acquired by longpractice among the clergy. And when he had glanced at the sufferer he letbut a low murmur escape him: "What, again! Is it beginning again!"

He was probably alluding to the knife thrust for which he had recentlytended Dario. Who could be thus relentlessly pursuing that poor andinoffensive young prince? However no one heard the doctor unless it wereBenedetta, and she was so full of feverish impatience, so eager to betranquillised, that she did not listen but burst into fresh entreaties:"Oh! doctor, pray look at him, examine him, tell us that it is nothing. It can't be anything serious, since he was so well and gay but a littlewhile ago. It's nothing serious, is it?"

"You are right no doubt, Contessina, it can be nothing dangerous. We willsee. "

However, on turning round, Doctor Giordano perceived the Cardinal, whowith regular, thoughtful footsteps had come back from the dining-room toplace himself at the foot of the bed. And while bowing, the doctordoubtless detected a gleam of mortal anxiety in the dark eyes fixed uponhis own, for he added nothing but began to examine Dario like a man whorealises that time is precious. And as his examination progressed theaffable optimism which usually appeared upon his countenance gave placeto ashen gravity, a covert terror which made his lips slightly tremble. It was he who had attended Monsignor Gallo when the latter had beencarried off so mysteriously; it was he who for imperative reasons hadthen delivered a certificate stating the cause of death to be infectiousfever; and doubtless he now found the same terrible symptoms as in thatcase, a leaden hue overspreading the sufferer's features, a stupor as ofexcessive intoxication; and, old Roman practitioner that he was, accustomed to sudden deaths, he realised that the _malaria_ which killswas passing, that _malaria_ which science does not yet fully understand, which may come from the putrescent exhalations of the Tiber unless it bebut a name for the ancient poison of the legends. 

As the doctor raised his head his glance again encountered the black eyesof the Cardinal, which never left him. "Signor Giordano, " said hisEminence, "you are not over-anxious, I hope? It is only some case ofindigestion, is it not?"

The doctor again bowed. By the slight quiver of the Cardinal's voice heunderstood how acute was the anxiety of that powerful man, who once morewas stricken in his dearest affections. 

"Your Eminence must be right, " he said, "there's a bad digestioncertainly. Such accidents sometimes become dangerous when feversupervenes. I need not tell your Eminence how thoroughly you may rely onmy prudence and zeal. " Then he broke off and added in a clearprofessional voice: "We must lose no time; the Prince must be undressed. I should prefer to remain alone with him for a moment. "

Whilst speaking in this way, however, Doctor Giordano detained Victorine, who would be able to help him, said he; should he need any furtherassistance he would take Giacomo. His evident desire was to get rid ofthe members of the family in order that he might have more freedom ofaction. And the Cardinal, who understood him, gently led Benedetta intothe dining-room, whither Pierre and Don Vigilio followed. 

When the doors had been closed, the most mournful and oppressive silencereigned in that dining-room, which the bright sun of winter filled withsuch delightful warmth and radiance. The table was still laid, its clothstrewn here and there with bread-crumbs; and a coffee cup had remainedhalf full. In the centre stood the basket of figs, whose covering ofleaves had been removed. However, only two or three of the figs weremissing. And in front of the window was Tata, the female parrot, who hadflown out of her cage and perched herself on her stand, where sheremained, dazzled and enraptured, amidst the dancing dust of a broadyellow sunray. In her astonishment however, at seeing so many peopleenter, she had ceased to scream and smooth her feathers, and had turnedher head the better to examine the newcomers with her round andscrutinising eye. 

The minutes went by slowly amidst all the feverish anxiety as to whatmight be occurring in the neighbouring room. Don Vigilio had taken acorner seat in silence, whilst Benedetta and Pierre, who had remainedstanding, preserved similar muteness, and immobility. But the Cardinalhad reverted to that instinctive, lulling tramp by which he apparentlyhoped to quiet his impatience and arrive the sooner at the explanationfor which he was groping through a tumultuous maze of ideas. And whilsthis rhythmical footsteps resounded with mechanical regularity, dark furywas taking possession of his mind, exasperation at being unable tounderstand the why and wherefore of that sickness. As he passed the tablehe had twice glanced at the things lying on it in confusion, as ifseeking some explanation from them. Perhaps the harm had been done bythat unfinished coffee, or by that bread whose crumbs lay here and there, or by those cutlets, a bone of which remained? Then as for the third timehe passed by, again glancing, his eyes fell upon the basket of figs, andat once he stopped, as if beneath the shock of a revelation. An ideaseized upon him and mastered him, without any plan, however, occurring tohim by which he might change his sudden suspicion into certainty. For amoment he remained puzzled with his eyes fixed upon the basket. Then hetook a fig and examined it, but, noticing nothing strange, was about toput it back when Tata, the parrot, who was very fond of figs, raised astrident cry. And this was like a ray of light; the means of changingsuspicion into certainty was found. 

Slowly, with grave air and gloomy visage, the Cardinal carried the fig tothe parrot and gave it to her without hesitation or regret. She was avery pretty bird, the only being of the lower order of creation to whichhe had ever really been attached. Stretching out her supple, delicateform, whose silken feathers of dull green here and there assumed a pinkytinge in the sunlight, she took hold of the fig with her claws, thenripped it open with her beak. But when she had raked it she ate butlittle, and let all the rest fall upon the floor. Still grave andimpassible, the Cardinal looked at her and waited. Quite three minuteswent by, and then feeling reassured, he began to scratch the bird's poll, whilst she, taking pleasure in the caress, turned her neck and fixed herbright ruby eye upon her master. But all at once she sank back withouteven a flap of the wings, and fell like a bullet. She was dead, killed asby a thunderbolt. 

Boccanera made but a gesture, raising both hands to heaven as if inhorror at what he now knew. Great God! such a terrible crime, and such afearful mistake, such an abominable trick of Destiny! No cry of griefcame from him, but the gloom upon his face grew black and fierce. Yetthere was a cry, a piercing cry from Benedetta, who like Pierre and DonVigilio had watched the Cardinal with an astonishment which had changedinto terror: "Poison! poison! Ah! Dario, my heart, my soul!"

But the Cardinal violently caught his niece by the wrist, whilst dartinga suspicious glance at the two petty priests, the secretary and theforeigner, who were present: "Be quiet, be quiet!" said he. 

She shook herself free, rebelling, frantic with rage and hatred: "Whyshould I be quiet!" she cried. "It is Prada's work, I shall denounce him, he shall die as well! I tell you it is Prada, I know it, for yesterdayAbbe Froment came back with him from Frascati in his carriage with thatpriest Santobono and that basket of figs! Yes, yes, I have witnesses, itis Prada, Prada!"

"No, no, you are mad, be quiet!" said the Cardinal, who had again takenhold of the young woman's hands and sought to master her with all hissovereign authority. He, who knew the influence which CardinalSanguinetti exercised over Santobono's excitable mind, had justunderstood the whole affair; no direct complicity but covert propulsion, the animal excited and then let loose upon the troublesome rival at themoment when the pontifical throne seemed likely to be vacant. Theprobability, the certainty of all this flashed upon Boccanera who, thoughsome points remained obscure, did not seek to penetrate them. It was notnecessary indeed that he should know every particular: the thing was ashe said, since it was bound to be so. "No, no, it was not Prada, " heexclaimed, addressing Benedetta. "That man can bear me no personalgrudge, and I alone was aimed at, it was to me that those figs weregiven. Come, think it out! Only an unforeseen indisposition prevented mefrom eating the greater part of the fruit, for it is known that I am veryfond of figs, and while my poor Dario was tasting them, I jested and toldhim to leave the finer ones for me to-morrow. Yes, the abominable blowwas meant for me, and it is on him that it has fallen by the mostatrocious of chances, the most monstrous of the follies of fate. Ah! LordGod, Lord God, have you then forsaken us!"

Tears came into the old man's eyes, whilst she still quivered and seemedunconvinced: "But you have no enemies, uncle, " she said. "Why should thatSantobono try to take your life?"

For a moment he found no fitting reply. With supreme grandeur he hadalready resolved to keep the truth secret. Then a recollection came tohim, and he resigned himself to the telling of a lie: "Santobono's mindhas always been somewhat unhinged, " said he, "and I know that he hashated me ever since I refused to help him to get a brother of his, one ofour former gardeners, out of prison. Deadly spite often has no moreserious cause. He must have thought that he had reason to be revenged onme. "

Thereupon Benedetta, exhausted, unable to argue any further, sank upon achair with a despairing gesture: "Ah! God, God! I no longer know--andwhat matters it now that my Dario is in such danger? There's only onething to be done, he must be saved. How long they are over what they aredoing in that room--why does not Victorine come for us!"

The silence again fell, full of terror. Without speaking the Cardinaltook the basket of figs from the table and carried it to a cupboard inwhich he locked it. Then he put the key in his pocket. No doubt, whennight had fallen, he himself would throw the proofs of the crime into theTiber. However, on coming back from the cupboard he noticed the twopriests, who naturally had watched him; and with mingled grandeur andsimplicity he said to them: "Gentlemen, I need not ask you to bediscreet. There are scandals which we must spare the Church, which isnot, cannot be guilty. To deliver one of ourselves, even when he is acriminal, to the civil tribunals, often means a blow for the wholeChurch, for men of evil mind may lay hold of the affair and seek toimpute the responsibility of the crime even to the Church itself. Wetherefore have but to commit the murderer to the hands of God, who willknow more surely how to punish him. Ah! for my part, whether I be struckin my own person or whether the blow be directed against my family, mydearest affections, I declare in the name of the Christ who died upon thecross, that I feel neither anger, nor desire for vengeance, that I effacethe murderer's name from my memory and bury his abominable act in theeternal silence of the grave. "

Tall as he was, he seemed of yet loftier stature whilst with handupraised he took that oath to leave his enemies to the justice of Godalone; for he did not refer merely to Santobono, but to CardinalSanguinetti, whose evil influence he had divined. And amidst all theheroism of his pride, he was rent by tragic dolour at thought of the darkbattle which was waged around the tiara, all the evil hatred andvoracious appetite which stirred in the depths of the gloom. Then, asPierre and Don Vigilio bowed to him as a sign that they would preservesilence, he almost choked with invincible emotion, a sob of loving griefwhich he strove to keep down rising to his throat, whilst he stammered:"Ah! my poor child, my poor child, the only scion of our race, the onlylove and hope of my heart! Ah! to die, to die like this!"

But Benedetta, again all violence, sprang up: "Die! Who, Dario? I won'thave it! We'll nurse him, we'll go back to him. We will take him in ourarms and save him. Come, uncle, come at once! I won't, I won't, I won'thave him die!"

She was going towards the door, and nothing would have prevented her fromre-entering the bed-room, when, as it happened, Victorine appeared with awild look on her face, for, despite her wonted serenity, all her couragewas now exhausted. "The doctor begs madame and his Eminence to come atonce, at once, " said she. 

Stupefied by all these things, Pierre did not follow the others, butlingered for a moment in the sunlit dining-room with Don Vigilio. What!poison? Poison as in the time of the Borgias, elegantly hidden away, served up with luscious fruit by a crafty traitor, whom one dared noteven denounce! And he recalled the conversation on his way back fromFrascati, and his Parisian scepticism with respect to those legendarydrugs, which to his mind had no place save in the fifth acts ofmelodramas. Yet those abominable stories were true, those tales ofpoisoned knives and flowers, of prelates and even dilatory popes beingsuppressed by a drop or a grain of something administered to them intheir morning chocolate. That passionate tragical Santobono was really apoisoner, Pierre could no longer doubt it, for a lurid light nowillumined the whole of the previous day: there were the words of ambitionand menace which had been spoken by Cardinal Sanguinetti, the eagernessto act in presence of the probable death of the reigning pope, thesuggestion of a crime for the sake of the Church's salvation, then thatpriest with his little basket of figs encountered on the road, then thatbasket carried for hours so carefully, so devoutly, on the priest'sknees, that basket which now haunted Pierre like a nightmare, and whosecolour, and odour, and shape he would ever recall with a shudder. Aye, poison, poison, there was truth in it; it existed and still circulated inthe depths of the black world, amidst all the ravenous, rival longingsfor conquest and sovereignty. 

And all at once the figure of Prada likewise arose in Pierre's mind. Alittle while previously, when Benedetta had so violently accused theCount, he, Pierre, had stepped forward to defend him and cry aloud whathe knew, whence the poison had come, and what hand had offered it. But asudden thought had made him shiver: though Prada had not devised thecrime, he had allowed it to be perpetrated. Another memory darted keenlike steel through the young priest's mind--that of the little black henlying lifeless beside the shed, amidst the dismal surroundings of the_osteria_, with a tiny streamlet of violet blood trickling from her beak. And here again, Tata, the parrot, lay still soft and warm at the foot ofher stand, with her beak stained by oozing blood. Why had Prada told thatlie about a battle between two fowls? All the dim intricacy of passionand contention bewildered Pierre, he could not thread his way through it;nor was he better able to follow the frightful combat which must havebeen waged in that man's mind during the night of the ball. At the sametime he could not again picture him by his side during their nocturnalwalk towards the Boccanera mansion without shuddering, dimly diviningwhat a frightful decision had been taken before that mansion's door. Moreover, whatever the obscurities, whether Prada had expected that theCardinal alone would be killed, or had hoped that some chance stroke offate might avenge him on others, the terrible fact remained--he hadknown, he had been able to stay Destiny on the march, but had allowed itto go onward and blindly accomplish its work of death. 

Turning his head Pierre perceived Don Vigilio still seated on the cornerchair whence he had not stirred, and looking so pale and haggard thatperhaps he also had swallowed some of the poison. "Do you feel unwell?"the young priest asked. 

At first the secretary could not reply, for terror had gripped him at thethroat. Then in a low voice he said: "No, no, I didn't eat any. Ah, Heaven, when I think that I so much wanted to taste them, and that merelydeference kept me back on seeing that his Eminence did not take any!" DonVigilio's whole body shivered at the thought that his humility alone hadsaved him; and on his face and his hands there remained the icy chill ofdeath which had fallen so near and grazed him as it passed. 

Then twice he heaved a sigh, and with a gesture of affright sought tobrush the horrid thing away while murmuring: "Ah! Paparelli, Paparelli!"

Pierre, deeply stirred, and knowing what he thought of the train-bearer, tried to extract some information from him: "What do you mean?" he asked. "Do you accuse him too? Do you think they urged him on, and that it wasthey at bottom?"

The word Jesuits was not even spoken, but a big black shadow passedathwart the gay sunlight of the dining-room, and for a moment seemed tofill it with darkness. "They! ah yes!" exclaimed Don Vigilio, "they areeverywhere; it is always they! As soon as one weeps, as soon as one dies, they are mixed up in it. And this is intended for me too; I am quitesurprised that I haven't been carried off. " Then again he raised a dullmoan of fear, hatred, and anger: "Ah! Paparelli, Paparelli!" And herefused to reply any further, but darted scared glances at the walls asif from one or another of them he expected to see the train-beareremerge, with his wrinkled flabby face like that of an old maid, hisfurtive mouse-like trot, and his mysterious, invading hands which hadgone expressly to bring the forgotten figs from the pantry and depositthem on the table. 

At last the two priests decided to return to the bedroom, where perhapsthey might be required; and Pierre on entering was overcome by theheart-rending scene which the chamber now presented. Doctor Giordano, suspecting poison, had for half an hour been trying the usual remedies, an emetic and then magnesia. Just then, too, he had made Victorine whipsome whites of eggs in water. But the disorder was progressing with suchlightning-like rapidity that all succour was becoming futile. Undressedand lying on his back, his bust propped up by pillows and his arms lyingoutstretched over the sheets, Dario looked quite frightful in the sort ofpainful intoxication which characterised that redoubtable and mysteriousdisorder to which already Monsignor Gallo and others had succumbed. Theyoung man seemed to be stricken with a sort of dizzy stupor, his eyesreceded farther and farther into the depth of their dark sockets, whilsthis whole face became withered, aged as it were, and covered with anearthy pallor. A moment previously he had closed his eyes, and the onlysign that he still lived was the heaving of his chest induced by painfulrespiration. And leaning over his poor dying face stood Benedetta, sharing his sufferings, and mastered by such impotent grief that she alsowas unrecognisable, so white, so distracted by anguish, that it seemed asif death were gradually taking her at the same time as it was taking him. 

In the recess by the window whither Cardinal Boccanera had led DoctorGiordano, a few words were exchanged in low tones. "He is lost, is henot?"

The doctor made the despairing gesture of one who is vanquished: "Alas!yes. I must warn your Eminence that in an hour all will be over. "

A short interval of silence followed. "And the same malady as Gallo, isit not?" asked the Cardinal; and as the doctor trembling and averting hiseyes did not answer he added: "At all events of an infectious fever!"

Giordano well understood what the Cardinal thus asked of him: silence, the crime for ever hidden away for the sake of the good renown of hismother, the Church. And there could be no loftier, no more tragicalgrandeur than that of this old man of seventy, still so erect andsovereign, who would neither suffer a slur to be cast upon his spiritualfamily, nor consent to his human family being dragged into the inevitablemire of a sensational murder trial. No, no, there must be none of that, there must be silence, the eternal silence in which all becomesforgotten. 

At last the doctor bowed with his gentle air of discretion. "Evidently, of an infectious fever as your Eminence so well says, " he replied. 

Two big tears then again appeared in Boccanera's eyes. Now that he hadscreened the Deity from attack in the person of the Church, his heart asa man again bled. He begged the doctor to make a supreme effort, toattempt the impossible; but, pointing to the dying man with tremblinghands, Giordano shook his head. For his own father, his own mother hecould have done nothing. Death was there. So why weary, why torture adying man, whose sufferings he would only have increased? And then, asthe Cardinal, finding the end so near at hand, thought of his sisterSerafina, and lamented that she would not be able to kiss her nephew forthe last time if she lingered at the Vatican, the doctor offered to fetchher in his carriage which was waiting below. It would not take him morethan twenty minutes, said he, and he would be back in time for the end, should he then be needed. 

Left to himself in the window recess the Cardinal remained theremotionless for another moment. With eyes blurred by tears, he gazedtowards heaven. And his quivering arms were suddenly raised in a gestureof ardent entreaty. O God, since the science of man was so limited andvain, since that doctor had gone off happy to escape the embarrassment ofhis impotence, O God, why not a miracle which should proclaim thesplendour of Thy Almighty Power! A miracle, a miracle! that was what theCardinal asked from the depths of his believing soul, with theinsistence, the imperious entreaty of a Prince of the Earth, who deemedthat he had rendered considerable services to Heaven by dedicating hiswhole life to the Church. And he asked for that miracle in order that hisrace might be perpetuated, in order that its last male scion might notthus miserably perish, but be able to marry that fondly loved cousin, whonow stood there all woe and tears. A miracle, a miracle for the sake ofthose two dear children! A miracle which would endow the family withfresh life: a miracle which would eternise the glorious name of Boccaneraby enabling an innumerable posterity of valiant ones and faithful ones tospring from that young couple!

When the Cardinal returned to the centre of the room he seemedtransfigured. Faith had dried his eyes, his soul had become strong andsubmissive, exempt from all human weakness. He had placed himself in thehands of God, and had resolved that he himself would administer extremeunction to Dario. With a gesture he summoned Don Vigilio and led him intothe little room which served as a chapel, and the key of which he alwayscarried. A cupboard had been contrived behind the altar of painted wood, and the Cardinal went to it to take both stole and surplice. The coffercontaining the Holy Oils was likewise there, a very ancient silver cofferbearing the Boccanera arms. And on Don Vigilio following the Cardinalback into the bed-room they in turn pronounced the Latin words:

"_Pax huic domui_. "

"_Et omnibus habitantibus in ea_. "*

 * "Peace unto this house and unto all who dwell in it. "--Trans. 

Death was coming so fast and threatening, that all the usual preparationswere perforce dispensed with. Neither the two lighted tapers, nor thelittle table covered with white cloth had been provided. And, in the sameway, Don Vigilio the assistant, having failed to bring the Holy Waterbasin and sprinkler, the Cardinal, as officiating priest, could merelymake the gesture of blessing the room and the dying man, whilstpronouncing the words of the ritual: "_Asperges me, Domine, hyssopo, etmundabor; lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor. _"*

 * "Sprinkle me, Lord, with hyssop, and purify me; wash me, and make me whiter than snow. "--Trans. 

Benedetta on seeing the Cardinal appear carrying the Holy Oils, had witha long quiver fallen on her knees at the foot of the bed, whilst, somewhat farther away, Pierre and Victorine likewise knelt, overcome bythe dolorous grandeur of the scene. And the dilated eyes of theContessina, whose face was pale as snow, never quitted her Dario, whomshe no longer recognised, so earthy was his face, its skin tanned andwrinkled like that of an old man. And it was not for their marriage whichhe so much desired that their uncle, the all-powerful Prince of theChurch, was bringing the Sacrament, but for the supreme rupture, the endof all pride, Death which finishes off the haughtiest races, and sweepsthem away, even as the wind sweeps the dust of the roads. 

It was needful that there should be no delay, so the Cardinal promptlyrepeated the Credo in an undertone, "_Credo in unum Deum--_"

"_Amen_, " responded Don Vigilio, who, after the prayers of the ritual, stammered the Litanies in order that Heaven might take pity on thewretched man who was about to appear before God, if God by a prodigy didnot spare him. 

Then, without taking time to wash his fingers, the Cardinal opened thecase containing the Holy Oils, and limiting himself to one anointment, asis permissible in pressing cases, he deposited a single drop of the oilon Dario's parched mouth which was already withered by death. And indoing so he repeated the words of the formula, his heart all aglow withfaith as he asked that the divine mercy might efface each and every sinthat the young man had committed by either of his five senses, those fiveportals by which everlasting temptation assails the soul. And theCardinal's fervour was also instinct with the hope that if God hadsmitten the poor sufferer for his offences, perhaps He would make Hisindulgence entire and even restore him to life as soon as He should haveforgiven his sins. Life, O Lord, life in order that the ancient line ofthe Boccaneras might yet multiply and continue to serve Thee in battleand at the altar until the end of time!

For a moment the Cardinal remained with quivering hands, gazing at themute face, the closed eyes of the dying man, and waiting for the miracle. But no sign appeared, not the faintest glimmer brightened that haggardcountenance, nor did a sigh of relief come from the withered lips as DonVigilio wiped them with a little cotton wool. And the last prayer wassaid, and whilst the frightful silence fell once more the Cardinal, followed by his assistant, returned to the chapel. There they both knelt, the Cardinal plunging into ardent prayer upon the bare tiles. With hiseyes raised to the brass crucifix upon the altar he saw nothing, heardnothing, but gave himself wholly to his entreaties, supplicating God totake him in place of his nephew, if a sacrifice were necessary, and yetclinging to the hope that so long as Dario retained a breath of life andhe himself thus remained on his knees addressing the Deity, he mightsucceed in pacifying the wrath of Heaven. He was both so humble and sogreat. Would not accord surely be established between God and aBoccanera? The old palace might have fallen to the ground, he himselfwould not even have felt the toppling of its beams. 

In the bed-room, however, nothing had yet stirred beneath the weight oftragic majesty which the ceremony had left there. It was only now thatDario raised his eyelids, and when on looking at his hands he saw them soaged and wasted the depths of his eyes kindled with an expression ofimmense regretfulness that life should be departing. Doubtless it was atthis moment of lucidity amidst the kind of intoxication with which thepoison overwhelmed him, that he for the first time realised his perilouscondition. Ah! to die, amidst such pain, such physical degradation, whata revolting horror for that frivolous and egotistical man, that lover ofbeauty, joy, and light, who knew not how to suffer! In him ferocious fatechastised racial degeneracy with too heavy a hand. He became horrifiedwith himself, seized with childish despair and terror, which lent himstrength enough to sit up and gaze wildly about the room, in order to seeif every one had not abandoned him. And when his eyes lighted onBenedetta still kneeling at the foot of the bed, a supreme impulsecarried him towards her, he stretched forth both arms as passionately ashis strength allowed and stammered her name: "O Benedetta, Benedetta!"

She, motionless in the stupor of her anxiety, had not taken her eyes fromhis face. The horrible disorder which was carrying off her lover, seemedalso to possess and annihilate her more and more, even as he himself grewweaker and weaker. Her features were assuming an immaterial whiteness;and through the void of her clear eyeballs one began to espy her soul. However, when she perceived him thus resuscitating and calling her witharms outstretched, she in her turn arose and standing beside the bed madeanswer: "I am coming, my Dario, here I am. "

And then Pierre and Victorine, still on their knees, beheld a sublimedeed of such extraordinary grandeur that they remained rooted to thefloor, spell-bound as in the presence of some supra-terrestrial spectaclein which human beings may not intervene. Benedetta herself spoke andacted like one freed from all social and conventional ties, alreadybeyond life, only seeing and addressing beings and things from a greatdistance, from the depths of the unknown in which she was about todisappear. 

"Ah! my Dario, so an attempt has been made to part us! It was in orderthat I might never belong to you--that we might never be happy, that yourdeath was resolved upon, and it was known that with your life my own mustcease! And it is that man who is killing you! Yes, he is your murderer, even if the actual blow has been dealt by another. He is the firstcause--he who stole me from you when I was about to become yours, he whoravaged our lives, and who breathed around us the hateful poison which iskilling us. Ah! how I hate him, how I hate him; how I should like tocrush him with my hate before I die with you!"

She did not raise her voice, but spoke those terrible words in a deepmurmur, simply and passionately. Prada was not even named, and shescarcely turned towards Pierre--who knelt, paralysed, behind her--to addwith a commanding air: "You will see his father, I charge you to tell himthat I cursed his son! That kind-hearted hero loved me well--I love himeven now, and the words you will carry to him from me will rend hisheart. But I desire that he should know--he must know, for the sake oftruth and justice. "

Distracted by terror, sobbing amidst a last convulsion, Dario againstretched forth his arms, feeling that she was no longer looking at him, that her clear eyes were no longer fixed upon his own: "Benedetta, Benedetta!"

"I am coming, I am coming, my Dario--I am here!" she responded, drawingyet nearer to the bedside and almost touching him. "Ah!" she went on, "that vow which I made to the Madonna to belong to none, not even you, until God should allow it by the blessing of one of his priests! Ah! Iset a noble, a divine pride in remaining immaculate for him who should bethe one master of my soul and body. And that chastity which I was soproud of, I defended it against the other as one defends oneself againsta wolf, and I defended it against you with tears for fear of sacrilege. And if you only knew what terrible struggles I was forced to wage withmyself, for I loved you and longed to be yours, like a woman who acceptsthe whole of love, the love that makes wife and mother! Ah! my vow to theMadonna--with what difficulty did I keep it when the old blood of ourrace arose in me like a tempest; and now what a disaster!" She drew yetnearer, and her low voice became more ardent: "You remember that eveningwhen you came back with a knife-thrust in your shoulder. I thought youdead, and cried aloud with rage at the idea of losing you like that. Iinsulted the Madonna and regretted that I had not damned myself with youthat we might die together, so tightly clasped that we must needs beburied together also. And to think that such a terrible warning was of noavail! I was blind and foolish; and now you are again stricken, againbeing taken from my love. Ah! my wretched pride, my idiotic dream!"

That which now rang out in her stifled voice was the anger of thepractical woman that she had ever been, all superstition notwithstanding. Could the Madonna, who was so maternal, desire the woe of lovers? No, assuredly not. Nor did the angels make the mere absence of a priest acause for weeping over the transports of true and mutual love. Was notsuch love holy in itself, and did not the angels rather smile upon it andburst into gladsome song! And ah! how one cheated oneself by not lovingto heart's content under the sun, when the blood of life coursed throughone's veins!

"Benedetta! Benedetta!" repeated the dying man, full of child-like terrorat thus going off all alone into the depths of the black and everlastingnight. 

"Here I am, my Dario, I am coming!"

Then, as she fancied that the servant, albeit motionless, had stirred, asif to rise and interfere, she added: "Leave me, leave me, Victorine, nothing in the world can henceforth prevent it. A moment ago, when I wason my knees, something roused me and urged me on. I know whither I amgoing. And besides, did I not swear on the night of the knife thrust? DidI not promise to belong to him alone, even in the earth if it werenecessary? I must embrace him, and he will carry me away! We shall bedead, and we shall be wedded in spite of all, and for ever and for ever!"

She stepped back to the dying man, and touched him: "Here I am, my Dario, here I am!"

Then came the apogee. Amidst growing exaltation, buoyed up by a blaze oflove, careless of glances, candid like a lily, she divested herself ofher garments and stood forth so white, that neither marble statue, nordove, nor snow itself was ever whiter. "Here I am, my Dario, here I am!"

Recoiling almost to the ground as at sight of an apparition, the gloriousflash of a holy vision, Pierre and Victorine gazed at her with dazzledeyes. The servant had not stirred to prevent this extraordinary action, seized as she was with that shrinking reverential terror which comes uponone in presence of the wild, mad deeds of faith and passion. And thepriest, whose limbs were paralysed, felt that something so sublime waspassing that he could only quiver in distraction. And no thought ofimpurity came to him on beholding that lily, snowy whiteness. All candourand all nobility as she was, that virgin shocked him no more than somesculptured masterpiece of genius. 

"Here I am, my Dario, here I am. "

She had lain herself down beside the spouse whom she had chosen, she hadclasped the dying man whose arms only had enough strength left to foldthemselves around her. Death was stealing him from her, but she would gowith him; and again she murmured: "My Dario, here I am. "

And at that moment, against the wall at the head of the bed, Pierreperceived the escutcheon of the Boccaneras, embroidered in gold andcoloured silks on a groundwork of violet velvet. There was the wingeddragon belching flames, there was the fierce and glowing motto "_Boccanera, Alma rossa_" (black mouth, red soul), the mouth darkened by a roar, the soul flaming like a brazier of faith and love. And behold! all thatold race of passion and violence with its tragic legends had reappeared, its blood bubbling up afresh to urge that last and adorable daughter ofthe line to those terrifying and prodigious nuptials in death. And toPierre that escutcheon recalled another memory, that of the portrait ofCassia Boccanera the _amorosa_ and avengeress who had flung herself intothe Tiber with her brother Ercole and the corpse of her lover Flavio. Wasthere not here even with Benedetta the same despairing clasp seeking tovanquish death, the same savagery in hurling oneself into the abyss withthe corpse of the one's only love? Benedetta and Cassia were as sisters, Cassia, who lived anew in the old painting in the _salon_ overhead, Benedetta who was here dying of her lover's death, as though she were butthe other's spirit. Both had the same delicate childish features, thesame mouth of passion, the same large dreamy eyes set in the same round, practical, and stubborn head. 

"My Dario, here I am!"

For a second, which seemed an eternity, they clasped one another, sheneither repelled nor terrified by the disorder which made him sounrecognisable, but displaying a delirious passion, a holy frenzy as ifto pass beyond life, to penetrate with him into the black Unknown. Andbeneath the shock of the felicity at last offered to him he expired, withhis arms yet convulsively wound around her as though indeed to carry heroff. Then, whether from grief or from bliss amidst that embrace of death, there came such a rush of blood to her heart that the organ burst: shedied on her lover's neck, both tightly and for ever clasped in oneanother's arms. 

There was a faint sigh. Victorine understood and drew near, while Pierre, also erect, remained quivering with the tearful admiration of one who hasbeheld the sublime. 

"Look, look!" whispered the servant, "she no longer moves, she no longerbreathes. Ah! my poor child, my poor child, she is dead!"

Then the priest murmured: "Oh! God, how beautiful they are. "

It was true, never had loftier and more resplendent beauty appeared onthe faces of the dead. Dario's countenance, so lately aged and earthen, had assumed the pallor and nobility of marble, its features lengthenedand simplified as by a transport of ineffable joy. Benedetta remainedvery grave, her lips curved by ardent determination, whilst her wholeface was expressive of dolorous yet infinite beatitude in a setting ofinfinite whiteness. Their hair mingled, and their eyes, which hadremained open, continued gazing as into one another's souls with eternal, caressing sweetness. They were for ever linked, soaring into immortalityamidst the enchantment of their union, vanquishers of death, radiant withthe rapturous beauty of love, the conqueror, the immortal. 

But Victorine's sobs at last burst forth, mingled with such lamentationsthat great confusion followed. Pierre, now quite beside himself, in somemeasure failed to understand how it was that the room suddenly becameinvaded by terrified people. The Cardinal and Don Vigilio, however, musthave hastened in from the chapel; and at the same moment, no doubt, Doctor Giordano must have returned with Donna Serafina, for both were nowthere, she stupefied by the blows which had thus fallen on the house inher absence, whilst he, the doctor, displayed the perturbation andastonishment which comes upon the oldest practitioners when facts seem togive the lie to their experience. However, he sought an explanation ofBenedetta's death, and hesitatingly ascribed it to aneurism, or possiblyembolism. 

Thereupon Victorine, like a servant whose grief makes her the equal ofher employers, boldly interrupted him: "Ah! Sir, " said she, "they lovedeach other too fondly; did not that suffice for them to die together?"

Meantime Donna Serafina, after kissing the poor children on the brow, desired to close their eyes; but she could not succeed in doing so, forthe lids lifted directly she removed her finger and once more the eyesbegan to smile at one another, to exchange in all fixity their loving andeternal glance. And then as she spoke of parting the bodies, Victorineagain protested: "Oh! madame, oh! madame, " she said, "you would have tobreak their arms. Cannot you see that their fingers are almost dug intoone another's shoulders? No, they can never be parted!"

Thereupon Cardinal Boccanera intervened. God had not granted the miracle;and he, His minister, was livid, tearless, and full of icy despair. Buthe waved his arm with a sovereign gesture of absolution andsanctification, as if, Prince of the Church that he was, disposing of thewill of Heaven, he consented that the lovers should appear in thatembrace before the supreme tribunal. In presence of such wondrous love, indeed, profoundly stirred by the sufferings of their lives and thebeauty of their death, he showed a broad and lofty contempt for mundaneproprieties. "Leave them, leave me, my sister, " said he, "do not disturbtheir slumber. Let their eyes remain open since they desire to gaze onone another till the end of time without ever wearying. And let themsleep in one another's arms since in their lives they did not sin, andonly locked themselves in that embrace in order that they might be laidtogether in the ground. "

And then, again becoming a Roman Prince whose proud blood was yet hotwith old-time deeds of battle and passion, he added: "Two Boccaneras maywell sleep like that; all Rome will admire them and weep for them. Leavethem, leave them together, my sister. God knows them and awaits them!"

All knelt, and the Cardinal himself repeated the prayers for the dead. Night was coming, increasing gloom stole into the chamber, where twoburning tapers soon shone out like stars. 

And then, without knowing how, Pierre again found himself in the littledeserted garden on the bank of the Tiber. Suffocating with fatigue andgrief, he must have come thither for fresh air. Darkness shrouded thecharming nook where the streamlet of water falling from the tragic maskinto the ancient sarcophagus ever sang its shrill and flute-like song;and the laurel-bush which shaded it, and the bitter box-plants and theorange-trees skirting the paths now formed but vague masses under theblue-black sky. Ah! how gay and sweet had that melancholy garden been inthe morning, and what a desolate echo it retained of Benedetta's winsomelaughter, all that fine delight in coming happiness which now lay proneupstairs, steeped in the nothingness of things and beings! So dolorouswas the pang which came to Pierre's heart that he burst into sobs, seatedon the same broken column where she had sat, and encompassed by the sameatmosphere that she had breathed, in which still lingered the perfume ofher presence. 

But all at once a distant clock struck six, and the young priest startedon remembering that he was to be received by the Pope that very eveningat nine. Yet three more hours! He had not thought of that interviewduring the terrifying catastrophe, and it seemed to him now as if monthsand months had gone by, as if the appointment were some very old onewhich a man is only able to keep after years of absence, when he hasgrown aged and had his heart and brain modified by innumerableexperiences. However, he made an effort and rose to his feet. In threehours' time he would go to the Vatican and at last he would see the Pope. 

PART V. 

XIV. 

THAT evening, when Pierre emerged from the Borgo in front of the Vatican, a sonorous stroke rang out from the clock amidst the deep silence of thedark and sleepy district. It was only half-past eight, and being inadvance the young priest resolved to wait some twenty minutes in order toreach the doors of the papal apartments precisely at nine, the hour fixedfor his audience. 

This respite brought him some relief amidst the infinite emotion andgrief which gripped his heart. That tragic afternoon which he had spentin the chamber of death, where Dario and Benedetta now slept the eternalsleep in one another's arms, had left him very weary. He was haunted by awild, dolorous vision of the two lovers, and involuntary sighs came fromhis lips whilst tears continually moistened his eyes. He had beenaltogether unable to eat that evening. Ah! how he would have liked tohide himself and weep at his ease! His heart melted at each freshthought. The pitiful death of the lovers intensified the grievous feelingwith which his book was instinct, and impelled him to yet greatercompassion, a perfect anguish of charity for all who suffered in theworld. And he was so distracted by the thought of the many physical andmoral sores of Paris and of Rome, where he had beheld so much unjust andabominable suffering, that at each step he took he feared lest he shouldburst into sobs with arms upstretched towards the blackness of heaven. 

In the hope of somewhat calming himself he began to walk slowly acrossthe Piazza of St. Peter's, now all darkness and solitude. On arriving hehad fancied that he was losing himself in a murky sea, but by degrees hiseyes grew accustomed to the dimness. The vast expanse was only lighted bythe four candelabra at the corners of the obelisk and by infrequent lampsskirting the buildings which run on either hand towards the Basilica. Under the colonnade, too, other lamps threw yellow gleams across theforest of pillars, showing up their stone trunks in fantastic fashion;while on the piazza only the pale, ghostly obelisk was at all distinctlyvisible. Pierre could scarcely perceive the dim, silent facade of St. Peter's; whilst of the dome he merely divined a gigantic, bluey roundnessfaintly shadowed against the sky. In the obscurity he at first heard theplashing of the fountains without being at all able to see them, but onapproaching he at last distinguished the slender phantoms of the everrising jets which fell again in spray. And above the vast squarestretched the vast and moonless sky of a deep velvety blue, where thestars were large and radiant like carbuncles; Charles's Wain, with goldenwheels and golden shaft tilted back as it were, over the roof of theVatican, and Orion, bedizened with the three bright stars of his belt, showing magnificently above Rome, in the direction of the Via Giulia. 

At last Pierre raised his eyes to the Vatican, but facing the piazzathere was here merely a confused jumble of walls, amidst which only twogleams of light appeared on the floor of the papal apartments. The Courtof San Damaso was, however, lighted, for the conservatory-like glass-workof two of its sides sparkled as with the reflection of gas lamps whichcould not be seen. For a time there was not a sound or sign of movement, but at last two persons crossed the expanse of the piazza, and then camea third who in his turn disappeared, nothing remaining but a rhythmicalfar-away echo of steps. The spot was indeed a perfect desert, there wereneither promenaders nor passers-by, nor was there even the shadow of aprowler in the pillared forest of the colonnade, which was as empty asthe wild primeval forests of the world's infancy. And what a solemndesert it was, full of the silence of haughty desolation. Never had sovast and black a presentment of slumber, so instinct with the sovereignnobility of death, appeared to Pierre. 

At ten minutes to nine he at last made up his mind and went towards thebronze portal. Only one of the folding doors was now open at the end ofthe right-hand porticus, where the increasing density of the gloomsteeped everything in night. Pierre remembered the instructions whichMonsignor Nani had given him; at each door that he reached he was to askfor Signor Squadra without adding a word, and thereupon each door wouldopen and he would have nothing to do but to let himself be guided on. Noone but the prelate now knew that he was there, since Benedetta, the onlybeing to whom he had confided the secret, was dead. When he had crossedthe threshold of the bronze doors and found himself in presence of themotionless, sleeping Swiss Guard, who was on duty there, he simply spokethe words agreed upon: "Signor Squadra. " And as the Guard did not stir, did not seek to bar his way, he passed on, turning into the vestibule ofthe Scala Pia, the stone stairway which ascends to the Court of SanDamaso. And not a soul was to be seen: there was but the faint sound ofhis own light footsteps and the sleepy glow of the gas jets whose lightwas softly whitened by globes of frosted glass. Up above, on reaching thecourtyard he found it a solitude, whose slumber seemed sepulchral amidstthe mournful gleams of the gas lamps which cast a pallid reflection onthe lofty glass-work of the facades. And feeling somewhat nervous, affected by the quiver which pervaded all that void and silence, Pierrehastened on, turning to the right, towards the low flight of steps whichleads to the staircase of the Pope's private apartments. 

Here stood a superb gendarme in full uniform. "Signor Squadra, " saidPierre, and without a word the gendarme pointed to the stairs. 

The young man went up. It was a broad stairway, with low steps, balustrade of white marble, and walls covered with yellowish stucco. Thegas, burning in globes of round glass, seemed to have been already turneddown in a spirit of prudent economy. And in the glimmering light nothingcould have been more mournfully solemn than that cold and pallidstaircase. On each landing there was a Swiss Guard, halbard in hand, andin the heavy slumber spreading through the palace one only heard theregular monotonous footsteps of these men, ever marching up and down, inorder no doubt that they might not succumb to the benumbing influence oftheir surroundings. 

Amidst the invading dimness and the quivering silence the ascent of thestairs seemed interminable to Pierre, who by the time he reached thesecond-floor landing imagined that he had been climbing for ages. There, outside the glass door of the Sala Clementina, only the right-hand halfof which was open, a last Swiss Guard stood watching. 

"Signor Squadra, " Pierre said again, and the Guard drew back to let himpass. 

The Sala Clementina, spacious enough by daylight, seemed immense at thatnocturnal hour, in the twilight glimmer of its lamps. All the opulentdecorative-work, sculpture, painting, and gilding became blended, thewalls assuming a tawny vagueness amidst which appeared bright patcheslike the sparkle of precious stones. There was not an article offurniture, nothing but the endless pavement stretching away into thesemi-darkness. At last, however, near a door at the far end Pierre espiedsome men dozing on a bench. They were three Swiss Guards. "SignorSquadra, " he said to them. 

One of the Guards thereupon slowly rose and left the hall, and Pierreunderstood that he was to wait. He did not dare to move, disturbed as hewas by the sound of his own footsteps on the paved floor, so he contentedhimself with gazing around and picturing the crowds which at timespeopled that vast apartment, the first of the many papal ante-chambers. But before long the Guard returned, and behind him, on the threshold ofthe adjoining room, appeared a man of forty or thereabouts, who was cladin black from head to foot and suggested a cross between a butler and abeadle. He had a good-looking, clean-shaven face, with somewhatpronounced nose and large, clear, fixed eyes. "Signor Squadra, " saidPierre for the last time. 

The man bowed as if to say that he was Signor Squadra, and then, with afresh reverence, he invited the priest to follow him. Thereupon at aleisurely step, one behind the other, they began to thread theinterminable suite of waiting-rooms. Pierre, who was acquainted with theceremonial, of which he had often spoken with Narcisse, recognised thedifferent apartments as he passed through them, recalling their names andpurpose, and peopling them in imagination with the various officials ofthe papal retinue who have the right to occupy them. These according totheir rank cannot go beyond certain doors, so that the persons who are tohave audience of the Pope are passed on from the servants to the NobleGuards, from the Noble Guards to the honorary _Camerieri_, and from thelatter to the _Camerieri segreti_, until they at last reach the presenceof the Holy Father. At eight o'clock, however, the ante-rooms empty andbecome both deserted and dim, only a few lamps being left alight upon thepier tables standing here and there against the walls. 

And first Pierre came to the ante-room of the _bussolanti_, mere ushersclad in red velvet broidered with the papal arms, who conduct visitors tothe door of the ante-room of honour. At that late hour only one of themwas left there, seated on a bench in such a dark corner that his purpletunic looked quite black. Then the Hall of the Gendarmes was crossed, where according to the regulations the secretaries of cardinals and otherhigh personages await their masters' return; and this was now completelyempty, void both of the handsome blue uniforms with white shoulder beltsand the cassocks of fine black cloth which mingled in it during thebrilliant reception hours. Empty also was the following room, a smallerone reserved to the Palatine Guards, who are recruited among the Romanmiddle class and wear black tunics with gold epaulets and shakoessurmounted by red plumes. Then Pierre and his guide turned into anotherseries of apartments, and again was the first one empty. This was theHall of the Arras, a superb waiting-room with lofty painted ceiling andadmirable Gobelins tapestry designed by Audran and representing themiracles of Jesus. And empty also was the ante-chamber of the NobleGuards which followed, with its wooden stools, its pier table on theright-hand surmounted by a large crucifix standing between two lamps, andits large door opening at the far end into another but smaller room, asort of alcove indeed, where there is an altar at which the Holy Fathersays mass by himself whilst those privileged to be present remainkneeling on the marble slabs of the outer apartment which is resplendentwith the dazzling uniforms of the Guards. And empty likewise was theensuing ante-room of honour, otherwise the grand throne-room, where thePope receives two or three hundred people at a time in public audience. The throne, an arm-chair of elaborate pattern, gilded, and upholsteredwith red velvet, stands under a velvet canopy of the same hue, in frontof the windows. Beside it is the cushion on which the Pope rests his footin order that it may be kissed. Then facing one another, right and leftof the room, there are two pier tables, on one of which is a clock and onthe other a crucifix between lofty candelabra with feet of gilded wood. The wall hangings, of red silk damask with a Louis XIV palm pattern, aretopped by a pompous frieze, framing a ceiling decorated with allegoricalfigures and attributes, and it is only just in front of the throne that aSmyrna carpet covers the magnificent marble pavement. On the days ofprivate audience, when the Pope remains in the little throne-room or attimes in his bed-chamber, the grand throne-room becomes simply theante-room of honour, where high dignitaries of the Church, ambassadors, and great civilian personages, wait their turns. Two _Camerieri_, one inviolet coat, the other of the Cape and the Sword, here do duty, receivingfrom the _bussolanti_ the persons who are to be honoured with audiencesand conducting them to the door of the next room, the secret or privateante-chamber, where they hand them over to the _Camerieri segreti_. 

Signor Squadra who, walking on with slow and silent steps, had not yetonce turned round, paused for a moment on reaching the door of the_anticamera segreta_ so as to give Pierre time to breathe and recoverhimself somewhat before crossing the threshold of the sanctuary. The_Camerieri segreti_ alone had the right to occupy that last ante-chamber, and none but the cardinals might wait there till the Pope shouldcondescend to receive them. And so when Signor Squadra made up his mindto admit Pierre, the latter could not restrain a slight nervous shiver asif he were passing into some redoubtable mysterious sphere beyond thelimits of the lower world. In the daytime a Noble Guard stood on sentryduty before the door, but the latter was now free of access, and the roomwithin proved as empty as all the others. It was rather narrow, almostlike a passage, with two windows overlooking the new district of thecastle fields and a third one facing the Piazza of St. Peter's. Near thelast was a door conducting to the little throne-room, and between thisdoor and the window stood a small table at which a secretary, now absent, usually sat. And here again, as in all the other rooms, one found agilded pier table surmounted by a crucifix flanked by a pair of lamps. Ina corner too there was a large clock, loudly ticking in its ebony caseincrusted with brass-work. Still there was nothing to awaken curiosityunder the panelled and gilded ceiling unless it were the wall-hangings ofred damask, on which yellow scutcheons displaying the Keys and the Tiaraalternated with armorial lions, each with a paw resting on a globe. 

Signor Squadra, however, now noticed that Pierre still carried his hat inhis hand, whereas according to etiquette he should have left it in thehall of the _bussolanti_, only cardinals being privileged to carry theirhats with them into the Pope's presence. Accordingly he discreetly tookthe young priest's from him, and deposited it on the pier table toindicate that it must at least remain there. Then, without a word, by asimple bow he gave Pierre to understand that he was about to announce himto his Holiness, and that he must be good enough to wait for a fewminutes in that room. 

On being left to himself Pierre drew a long breath. He was stifling; hisheart was beating as though it would burst. Nevertheless his mindremained clear, and in spite of the semi-obscurity he had been able toform some idea of the famous and magnificent apartments of the Pope, asuite of splendid _salons_ with tapestried or silken walls, gilded orpainted friezes, and frescoed ceilings. By way of furniture, however, there were only pier table, stools, * and thrones. And the lamps and theclocks, and the crucifixes, even the thrones, were all presents broughtfrom the four quarters of the world in the great fervent days of jubilee. There was no sign of comfort, everything was pompous, stiff, cold, andinconvenient. All olden Italy was there, with its perpetual display andlack of intimate, cosy life. It had been necessary to lay a few carpetsover the superb marble slabs which froze one's feet; and some_caloriferes_ had even lately been installed, but it was not thoughtprudent to light them lest the variations of temperature should give thePope a cold. However, that which more particularly struck Pierre now thathe stood there waiting was the extraordinary silence which prevailed allaround, silence so deep that it seemed as if all the dark quiescence ofthat huge, somniferous Vatican were concentrated in that one suite oflifeless, sumptuous rooms, which the motionless flamelets of the lamps asdimly illumined. 

 * M. Zola seems to have fallen into error here. Many of the seats, which are of peculiar antique design, do, in the lower part, resemble stools, but they have backs, whereas a stool proper has none. Briefly, these seats, which are entirely of wood, are not unlike certain old-fashioned hall chairs. --Trans. 

All at once the ebony clock struck nine and the young man feltastonished. What! had only ten minutes elapsed since he had crossed thethreshold of the bronze doors below? He felt as if he had been walking onfor days and days. Then, desiring to overcome the nervous feeling whichoppressed him--for he ever feared lest his enforced calmness shouldcollapse amidst a flood of tears--he began to walk up and down, passingin front of the clock, glancing at the crucifix on the pier table, andthe globe of the lamp on which had remained the mark of a servant'sgreasy fingers. And the light was so faint and yellow that he feltinclined to turn the lamp up, but did not dare. Then he found himselfwith his brow resting against one of the panes of the window facing thePiazza of St. Peter's, and for a moment he was thunderstruck, for betweenthe imperfectly closed shutters he could see all Rome, as he had seen itone day from the _loggie_ of Raffaelle, and as he had pictured Leo XIIIcontemplating it from the window of his bed-room. However, it was nowRome by night, Rome spreading out into the depths of the gloom, aslimitless as the starry sky. And in that sea of black waves one couldonly with certainty identify the larger thoroughfares which the whitebrightness of electric lights turned, as it were, into Milky Ways. Allthe rest showed but a swarming of little yellow sparks, the crumbs, as itwere, of a half-extinguished heaven swept down upon the earth. Occasionalconstellations of bright stars, tracing mysterious figures, vainlyendeavoured to show forth distinctly, but they were submerged, blottedout by the general chaos which suggested the dust of some old planet thathad crumbled there, losing its splendour and reduced to merephosphorescent sand. And how immense was the blackness thus sprinkledwith light, how huge the mass of obscurity and mystery into which theEternal City with its seven and twenty centuries, its ruins, itsmonuments, its people, its history seemed to have been merged. You couldno longer tell where it began or where it ended, whether it spread to thefarthest recesses of the gloom, or whether it were so reduced that thesun on rising would illumine but a little pile of ashes. 

However, in spite of all Pierre's efforts, his nervous anguish increasedeach moment, even in presence of that ocean of darkness which displayedsuch sovereign quiescence. He drew away from the window and quivered fromhead to foot on hearing a faint footfall and thinking it was that ofSignor Squadra approaching to fetch him. The sound came from an adjacentapartment, the little throne-room, whose door, he now perceived, hadremained ajar. And at last, as he heard nothing further, he yielded tohis feverish impatience and peeped into this room which he found to befairly spacious, again hung with red damask, and containing a gildedarm-chair, covered with red velvet under a canopy of the same material. And again there was the inevitable pier table, with a tall ivorycrucifix, a clock, a pair of lamps, a pair of candelabra, a pair of largevases on pedestals, and two smaller ones of Sevres manufacture decoratedwith the Holy Father's portrait. At the same time, however, the roomdisplayed rather more comfort, for a Smyrna carpet covered the whole ofthe marble floor, while a few arm-chairs stood against the walls, and animitation chimney-piece, draped with damask, served as counterpart to thepier table. As a rule the Pope, whose bed-chamber communicated with thislittle throne-room, received in the latter such persons as he desired tohonour. And Pierre's shiver became more pronounced at the idea that inall likelihood he would merely have the throne-room to cross and that LeoXIII was yonder behind its farther door. Why was he kept waiting, hewondered? He had been told of mysterious audiences granted at a similarhour to personages who had been received in similar silent fashion, greatpersonages whose names were only mentioned in the lowest whispers. Withregard to himself no doubt, it was because he was considered compromisingthat there was a desire to receive him in this manner unknown to thepersonages of the Court, and so as to speak with him at ease. Then, allat once, he understood the cause of the noise he had recently heard, forbeside the lamp on the pier table of the little throne-room he saw a kindof butler's tray containing some soiled plates, knives, forks, andspoons, with a bottle and a glass, which had evidently just been removedfrom a supper table. And he realised that Signor Squadra, having seenthese things in the Pope's room, had brought them there, and had thengone in again, perhaps to tidy up. He knew also of the Pope's frugality, how he took his meals all alone at a little round table, everything beingbrought to him in that tray, a plate of meat, a plate of vegetables, alittle Bordeaux claret as prescribed by his doctor, and a large allowanceof beef broth of which he was very fond. In the same way as others mightoffer a cup of tea, he was wont to offer cups of broth to the oldcardinals his friends and favourites, quite an invigorating little treatwhich these old bachelors much enjoyed. And, O ye orgies of Alexander VI, ye banquets and _galas_ of Julius II and Leo X, only eight _lire_ aday--six shillings and fourpence--were allowed to defray the cost of LeoXIII's table! However, just as that recollection occurred to Pierre, heagain heard a slight noise, this time in his Holiness's bed-chamber, andthereupon, terrified by his indiscretion, he hastened to withdraw fromthe entrance of the throne-room which, lifeless and quiescent though itwas, seemed in his agitation to flare as with sudden fire. 

Then, quivering too violently to be able to remain still, he began towalk up and down the ante-chamber. He remembered that Narcisse had spokento him of that Signor Squadra, his Holiness's cherished valet, whoseimportance and influence were so great. He alone, on reception days, wasable to prevail on the Pope to don a clean cassock if the one he waswearing happened to be soiled by snuff. And though his Holinessstubbornly shut himself up alone in his bed-room every night from aspirit of independence, which some called the anxiety of a miserdetermined to sleep alone with his treasure, Signor Squadra at all eventsoccupied an adjoining chamber, and was ever on the watch, ready torespond to the faintest call. Again, it was he who respectfullyintervened whenever his Holiness sat up too late or worked too long. Buton this point it was difficult to induce the Pope to listen to reason. During his hours of insomnia he would often rise and send Squadra tofetch a secretary in order that he might detail some memoranda or sketchout an encyclical letter. When the drafting of one of the latterimpassioned him he would have spent days and nights over it, just asformerly, when claiming proficiency in Latin verse, he had often let thedawn surprise him whilst he was polishing a line. But, indeed, he sleptvery little, his brain ever being at work, ever scheming out therealisation of some former ideas. His memory alone seemed to haveslightly weakened during recent times. 

Pierre, as he slowly paced to and fro, gradually became absorbed in histhoughts of that lofty and sovereign personality. From the petty detailsof the Pope's daily existence, he passed to his intellectual life, to the_role_ which he was certainly bent on playing as a great pontiff. AndPierre asked himself which of his two hundred and fifty-sevenpredecessors, the long line of saints and criminals, men of mediocrityand men of genius, he most desired to resemble. Was it one of the firsthumble popes, those who followed on during the first three centuries, mere heads of burial guilds, fraternal pastors of the Christiancommunity? Was it Pope Damasus, the first great builder, the man ofletters who took delight in intellectual matters, the ardent believer whois said to have opened the Catacombs to the piety of the faithful? Was itLeo III, who by crowning Charlemagne boldly consummated the rupture withthe schismatic East and conveyed the Empire to the West by theall-powerful will of God and His Church, which thenceforth disposed ofthe crowns of monarchs? Was it the terrible Gregory VII, the purifier ofthe temple, the sovereign of kings; was it Innocent III or Boniface VIII, those masters of souls, nations, and thrones, who, armed with the fierceweapon of excommunication, reigned with such despotism over the terrifiedmiddle ages that Catholicism was never nearer the attainment of its dreamof universal dominion? Was it Urban II or Gregory IX or another of thosepopes in whom flared the red Crusading passion which urged the nations onto the conquest of the unknown and the divine? Was it Alexander III, whodefended the Holy See against the Empire, and at last conquered and sethis foot on the neck of Frederick Barbarossa? Was it, long after thesorrows of Avignon, Julius II, who wore the cuirass and once morestrengthened the political power of the papacy? Was it Leo X, thepompous, glorious patron of the Renascence, of a whole great century ofart, whose mind, however, was possessed of so little penetration andforesight that he looked on Luther as a mere rebellious monk? Was it PiusV, who personified dark and avenging reaction, the fire of the stakesthat punished the heretic world? Was it some other of the popes whoreigned after the Council of Trent with faith absolute, beliefre-established in its full integrity, the Church saved by pride and thestubborn upholding of every dogma? Or was it a pope of the decline, suchas Benedict XIV, the man of vast intelligence, the learned theologianwho, as his hands were tied, and he could not dispose of the kingdoms ofthe world, spent a worthy life in regulating the affairs of heaven?

In this wise, in Pierre's mind there spread out the whole history of thepopes, the most prodigious of all histories, showing fortune in everyguise, the lowest, the most wretched, as well as the loftiest and mostdazzling; whilst an obstinate determination to live enabled the papacy tosurvive everything--conflagrations, massacres, and the downfall of manynations, for always did it remain militant and erect in the persons ofits popes, that most extraordinary of all lines of absolute, conquering, and domineering sovereigns, every one of them--even the puny andhumble--masters of the world, every one of them glorious with theimperishable glory of heaven when they were thus evoked in that ancientVatican, where their spirits assuredly awoke at night and prowled aboutthe endless galleries and spreading halls in that tomb-like silence whosequiver came no doubt from the light touch of their gliding steps over themarble slabs. 

However, Pierre was now thinking that he indeed knew which of the greatpopes Leo XIII most desired to resemble. It was first Gregory the Great, the conqueror and organiser of the early days of Catholic power. He hadcome of ancient Roman stock, and in his heart there was a little of theblood of the emperors. He administered Rome after it had been saved fromthe Goths, cultivated the ecclesiastical domains, and divided earthlywealth into thirds, one for the poor, one for the clergy, and one for theChurch. Then too he was the first to establish the Propaganda, sendinghis priests forth to civilise and pacify the nations, and carrying hisconquests so far as to win Great Britain over to the divine law ofChrist. And the second pope whom Leo XIII took as model was one who hadarisen after a long lapse of centuries, Sixtus V, the pope financier andpolitician, the vine-dresser's son, who, when he had donned the tiara, revealed one of the most extensive and supple minds of a period fertilein great diplomatists. He heaped up treasure and displayed stern avarice, in order that he might ever have in his coffers all the money needful forwar or for peace. He spent years and years in negotiations with kings, never despairing of his own triumph; and never did he display openhostility for his times, but took them as they were and then sought tomodify them in accordance with the interests of the Holy See, showinghimself conciliatory in all things and with every one, already dreamingof an European balance of power which he hoped to control. And withal avery saintly pope, a fervent mystic, yet a pope of the most absolute anddomineering mind blended with a politician ready for whatever coursesmight most conduce to the rule of God's Church on earth. 

And, after all, Pierre amidst his rising enthusiasm, which despite hisefforts at calmness was sweeping away all prudence and doubt, Pierreasked himself why he need question the past. Was not Leo XIII the popewhom he had depicted in his book, the great pontiff, who was desired andexpected? No doubt the portrait which he had sketched was not accurate inevery detail, but surely its main lines must be correct if mankind wereto retain a hope of salvation. Whole pages of that book of his arosebefore him, and he again beheld the Leo XIII that he had portrayed, thewise and conciliatory politician, labouring for the unity of the Churchand so anxious to make it strong and invincible against the day of theinevitable great struggle. He again beheld him freed from the cares ofthe temporal power, elevated, radiant with moral splendour, the onlyauthority left erect above the nations; he beheld him realising whatmortal danger would be incurred if the solution of the social questionwere left to the enemies of Christianity, and therefore resolving tointervene in contemporary quarrels for the defence of the poor and thelowly, even as Jesus had intervened once before. And he again beheld himputting himself on the side of the democracies, accepting the Republic inFrance, leaving the dethroned kings in exile, and verifying theprediction which promised the empire of the world to Rome once more whenthe papacy should have unified belief and have placed itself at the headof the people. The times indeed were near accomplishment, Caesar wasstruck down, the Pope alone remained, and would not the people, the greatsilent multitude, for whom the two powers had so long contended, giveitself to its Father now that it knew him to be both just and charitable, with heart aglow and hand outstretched to welcome all the pennilesstoilers and beggars of the roads! Given the catastrophe which threatenedour rotten modern societies, the frightful misery which ravaged everycity, there was surely no other solution possible: Leo XIII, thepredestined, necessary redeemer, the pastor sent to save the flock fromcoming disaster by re-establishing the true Christian community, theforgotten golden age of primitive Christianity. The reign of justicewould at last begin, all men would be reconciled, there would be but onenation living in peace and obeying the equalising law of work, under thehigh patronage of the Pope, sole bond of charity and love on earth!

And at this thought Pierre was upbuoyed by fiery enthusiasm. At last hewas about to see the Holy Father, empty his heart and open his soul tohim! He had so long and so passionately looked for the advent of thatmoment! To secure it he had fought with all his courage through everrecurring obstacles, and the length and difficulty of the struggle andthe success now at last achieved, increased his feverishness, his desirefor final victory. Yes, yes, he would conquer, he would confound hisenemies. As he had said to Monsignor Fornaro, could the Pope disavow him?Had he not expressed the Holy Father's secret ideas? Perhaps he mighthave done so somewhat prematurely, but was not that a fault to beforgiven? And then too, he remembered his declaration to Monsignor Nani, that he himself would never withdraw and suppress his book, for heneither regretted nor disowned anything that was in it. At this verymoment he again questioned himself, and felt that all his valour anddetermination to defend his book, all his desire to work the triumph ofhis belief, remained intact. Yet his mental perturbation was becominggreat, he had to seek for ideas, wondering how he should enter the Pope'spresence, what he should say, what precise terms he should employ. Something heavy and mysterious which he could hardly account for seemedto weigh him down. At bottom he was weary, already exhausted, only heldup by his dream, his compassion for human misery. However, he would enterin all haste, he would fall upon his knees and speak as he best could, letting his heart flow forth. And assuredly the Holy Father would smileon him, and dismiss him with a promise that he would not sign thecondemnation of a work in which he had found the expression of his ownmost cherished thoughts. 

Then, again, such an acute sensation as of fainting came over Pierre thathe went up to the window to press his burning brow against the coldglass. His ears were buzzing, his legs staggering, whilst his brainthrobbed violently. And he was striving to forget his thoughts by gazingupon the black immensity of Rome, longing to be steeped in night himself, total, healing night, the night in which one sleeps on for ever, knowingneither pain nor wretchedness, when all at once he became conscious thatsomebody was standing behind him; and thereupon, with a start, he turnedround. 

And there, indeed, stood Signor Squadra in his black livery. Again hemade one of his customary bows to invite the visitor to follow him, andagain he walked on in front, crossing the little throne-room, and slowlyopening the farther door. Then he drew aside, allowed Pierre to enter, and noiselessly closed the door behind him. 

Pierre was in his Holiness's bed-room. He had feared one of thoseoverwhelming attacks of emotion which madden or paralyse one. He had beentold of women reaching the Pope's presence in a fainting condition, staggering as if intoxicated, while others came with a rush, as thoughupheld and borne along by invisible pinions. And suddenly the anguish ofhis own spell of waiting, his intense feverishness, ceased in a sort ofastonishment, a reaction which rendered him very calm and so restored hisclearness of vision, that he could see everything. As he entered hedistinctly realised the decisive importance of such an audience, he, amere petty priest in presence of the Supreme Pontiff, the Head of theChurch. All his religious and moral life would depend on it; and possiblyit was this sudden thought that thus chilled him on the threshold of theredoubtable sanctuary, which he had approached with such quivering steps, and which he would not have thought to enter otherwise than withdistracted heart and loss of senses, unable to do more than stammer thesimple prayers of childhood. 

Later on, when he sought to classify his recollections he remembered thathis eyes had first lighted on Leo XIII, not, however, to the exclusion ofhis surroundings, but in conjunction with them, that spacious room hungwith yellow damask whose alcove, adorned with fluted marble columns, wasso deep that the bed was quite hidden away in it, as well as otherarticles of furniture, a couch, a wardrobe, and some trunks, those famoustrunks in which the treasure of the Peter's Pence was said to be securelylocked. A sort of Louis XIV writing-desk with ornaments of engraved brassstood face to face with a large gilded and painted Louis XV pier table onwhich a lamp was burning beside a lofty crucifix. The room was virtuallybare, only three arm-chairs and four or five other chairs, upholstered inlight silk, being disposed here and there over the well-worn carpet. Andon one of the arm-chairs sat Leo XIII, near a small table on whichanother lamp with a shade had been placed. Three newspapers, moreover, lay there, two of them French and one Italian, and the last was halfunfolded as if the Pope had momentarily turned from it to stir a glass ofsyrup, standing beside him, with a long silver-gilt spoon. 

In the same way as Pierre saw the Pope's room, he saw his costume, hiscassock of white cloth with white buttons, his white skull-cap, his whitecape and his white sash fringed with gold and broidered at either endwith golden keys. His stockings were white, his slippers were of redvelvet, and these again were broidered with golden keys. What surprisedthe young priest, however, was his Holiness's face and figure, which nowseemed so shrunken that he scarcely recognised them. This was his fourthmeeting with the Pope. He had seen him walking in the Vatican gardens, enthroned in the Hall of Beatifications, and pontifying at St. Peter's, and now he beheld him on that arm-chair, in privacy, and looking soslight and fragile that he could not restrain a feeling of affectionateanxiety. Leo's neck was particularly remarkable, slender beyond belief, suggesting the neck of some little, aged, white bird. And his face, ofthe pallor of alabaster, was characteristically transparent, to such adegree, indeed, that one could see the lamplight through his largecommanding nose, as if the blood had entirely withdrawn from that organ. A mouth of great length, with white bloodless lips, streaked the lowerpart of the papal countenance, and the eyes alone had remained young andhandsome. Superb eyes they were, brilliant like black diamonds, endowedwith sufficient penetration and strength to lay souls open and force themto confess the truth aloud. Some scanty white curls emerged from underthe white skull-cap, thus whitely crowning the thin white face, whoseugliness was softened by all this whiteness, this spiritual whiteness inwhich Leo XIII's flesh seemed as it were but pure lily-white florescence. 

At the first glance, however, Pierre noticed that if Signor Squadra hadkept him waiting, it had not been in order to compel the Holy Father todon a clean cassock, for the one he was wearing was badly soiled bysnuff. A number of brown stains had trickled down the front of thegarment beside the buttons, and just like any good _bourgeois_, hisHoliness had a handkerchief on his knees to wipe himself. Apart from allthis he seemed in good health, having recovered from his recentindisposition as easily as he usually recovered from such passingillnesses, sober, prudent old man that he was, quite free from organicdisease, and simply declining by reason of progressive naturalexhaustion. 

Immediately on entering Pierre had felt that the Pope's sparkling eyes, those two black diamonds, were fixed upon him. The silence was profound, and the lamps burned with motionless, pallid flames. He had to approach, and after making the three genuflections prescribed by etiquette, hestooped over one of the Pope's feet resting on a cushion in order to kissthe red velvet slipper. And on the Pope's side there was not a word, nota gesture, not a movement. When the young man drew himself up again hefound the two black diamonds, those two eyes which were all brightnessand intelligence, still riveted on him. 

But at last Leo XIII, who had been unwilling to spare the young priestthe humble duty of kissing his foot and who now left him standing, beganto speak, whilst still examining him, probing, as it were, his very soul. "My son, " he said, "you greatly desired to see me, and I consented toafford you that satisfaction. "

He spoke in French, somewhat uncertain French, pronounced after theItalian fashion, and so slowly did he articulate each sentence that onecould have written it down like so much dictation. And his voice, asPierre had previously noticed, was strong and nasal, one of those fullvoices which people are surprised to hear coming from debile andapparently bloodless and breathless frames. 

In response to the Holy Father's remark Pierre contented himself withbowing, knowing that respect required him to wait for a direct answerbefore speaking. However, this question promptly came. "You live inParis?" 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, isit not? And how old are you, my son?"

"Thirty-four, Holy Father. "

A short interval followed. Leo XIII had at last lowered his eyes. Withfrail, ivory hand he took up the glass beside him, again stirred thesyrup with the long spoon, and then drank a little of it. And all this hedid gently and slowly, with a prudent, judicious air, as was his wont nodoubt 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. Buta person who is interested in you handed me the volume, begging me toglance 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 coulddetect a protest against the isolation in which he was kept by thosesurrounding him, who, as Monsignor Nani had said, maintained a strictwatch in order that nothing they objected to might reach him. Andthereupon the young priest ventured to say: "I thank your Holiness forhaving done me so much honour. No greater or more desired happiness couldhave befallen me. " He was indeed so happy! On seeing the Pope so calm, sofree from all signs of anger, and on hearing him speak in that way of hisbook, like one well acquainted with it, he imagined that his cause waswon. 

"You are in relations with Monsieur le Vicomte Philibert de la Choue, areyou not, my son?" continued Leo XIII. "I was struck by the resemblancebetween some of your ideas and those of that devoted servant of theChurch, who has in other ways given us previous testimony of his goodfeelings. "

"Yes, indeed, Holy Father, Monsieur de la Choue is kind enough to show mesome affection. We have often talked together, so it is not surprisingthat I should have given expression to some of his most cherished ideas. "

"No doubt, no doubt. For instance, there is that question of theworking-class guilds with which he largely occupies himself--with which, in fact, he occupies himself rather too much. At the time of his lastjourney to Rome he spoke to me of it in the most pressing manner. And inthe same way, quite recently, another of your compatriots, one of thebest and worthiest of men, Monsieur le Baron de Fouras, who brought usthat superb pilgrimage of the St. Peter's Pence Fund, never ceased hisefforts until I consented to receive him, when he spoke to me on the samesubject during nearly an hour. Only it must be said that they do notagree in the matter, for one begs me to do things which the other willnot 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 thePope he would make an attempt to obtain from him a decisive expression ofopinion on the famous question as to whether the working-class guilds orcorporations should be free or obligatory, open or closed. And theunhappy Viscount, kept in Paris by the gout, had written the young priestletter after letter on the subject, whilst his rival the Baron, availinghimself of the opportunity offered by the international pilgrimage, endeavoured to wring from the Pope an approval of his own views, withwhich he would have returned in triumph to France. Pierre conscientiouslydesired to keep his promise, and so he answered: "Your Holiness knowsbetter than any of us in which direction true wisdom lies. Monsieur deFouras is of opinion that salvation, the solution of the labour question, lies simply in the re-establishment of the old free corporations, whilstMonsieur de la Choue desires the corporations to be obligatory, protectedby the state and governed by new regulations. This last conception iscertainly more in agreement with the social ideas now prevalent inFrance. Should your Holiness condescend to express a favourable opinionin that sense, the young French Catholic party would certainly know howto turn it to good result, by producing quite a movement of the workingclasses in favour of the Church. "

In his quiet way Leo XIII responded: "But I cannot. Frenchmen always askthings of me which I cannot, will not do. What I will allow you to say onmy behalf to Monsieur de la Choue is, that though I cannot content him Ihave not contented Monsieur de Fouras. He obtained from me nothing beyondthe 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 thefaith. You must surely understand, however, that among you Frenchmenthere are questions of detail, of mere organisation, so to say, intowhich I cannot possibly enter without imparting to them an importancewhich they do not have, and at the same time greatly discontenting somepeople should I please others. "

As the Pope pronounced these last words he smiled a pale smile, in whichthe shrewd, conciliatory politician, who was determined not to allow hisinfallibility to be compromised in useless and risky ventures, was fullyrevealed. And then he drank a little more syrup and wiped his mouth withhis handkerchief, like a sovereign whose Court day is over and who takeshis ease, having chosen this hour of solitude and silence to chat as longas 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 soanxious to know the fate reserved to my book--as if, indeed, it were hisown--that I should have been very happy to convey to him an expression ofyour Holiness's approval. "

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

"I became acquainted with the Viscount, " continued Pierre, "at theresidence of his Eminence Cardinal Bergerot, another great heart whoseardent charity ought to suffice to restore the faith in France. "

This time the effect was immediate. "Ah! yes, Monsieur le CardinalBergerot!" said Leo XIII. "I read that letter of his which is printed atthe beginning of your book. He was very badly inspired in writing it toyou; and you, my son, acted very culpably on the day you published it. Icannot yet believe that Monsieur le Cardinal Bergerot had read some ofyour pages when he sent you an expression of his complete and fullapproval. I prefer to charge him with ignorance and thoughtlessness. Howcould he approve of your attacks on dogma, your revolutionary theorieswhich tend to the complete destruction of our holy religion? If it be afact that he had read your book, the only excuse he can invoke is suddenand inexplicable aberration. It is true that a very bad spirit prevailsamong a small portion of the French clergy. What are called Gallicanideas are ever sprouting up like noxious weeds; there is a malcontentLiberalism rebellious to our authority which continually hungers for freeexamination and sentimental adventures. "

The Pope grew animated as he spoke. Italian words mingled with hishesitating French, and every now and again his full nasal voice resoundedwith the sonority of a brass instrument. "Monsieur le Cardinal Bergerot, "he continued, "must be given to understand that we shall crush him on theday when we see in him nothing but a rebellious son. He owes the exampleof obedience; we shall acquaint him with our displeasure, and we hopethat he will submit. Humility and charity are great virtues doubtless, and we have always taken pleasure in recognising them in him. But theymust not be the refuge of a rebellious heart, for they are as nothingunless accompanied by obedience--obedience, obedience, the finestadornment of the great saints!"

Pierre listened thunderstruck, overcome. He forgot himself to think ofthe apostle of kindliness and tolerance upon whose head he had drawn thisall-powerful anger. So Don Vigilio had spoken the truth: over and abovehis--Pierre's--head the denunciations of the Bishops of Evreux andPoitiers were about to fall on the man who opposed their Ultramontanepolicy, that worthy and gentle Cardinal Bergerot, whose heart was open toall the woes of the lowly and the poor. This filled the young priest withdespair; he could accept the denunciation of the Bishop of Tarbes actingon behalf of the Fathers of the Grotto, for that only fell on himself, asa reprisal for what he had written about Lourdes; but the underhandwarfare of the others exasperated him, filled him with dolorousindignation. 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 allowedhimself to be deceived by appearances on entering? How could he haveimagined that he was simply in presence of a poor old man, worn out byage, desirous of peace, and ready for every concession? A blast had sweptthrough that sleepy chamber, and all his doubts and his anguish awokeonce more. Ah! that Pope, how thoroughly he answered to all the accountsthat he, Pierre, had heard but had refused to believe; so many people hadtold him in Rome that he would find Leo XIII a man of intellect ratherthan of sentiment, a man of the most unbounded pride, who from his veryyouth had nourished the supreme ambition, to such a point indeed that hehad promised eventual triumph to his relatives in order that they mightmake the necessary sacrifices for him, while since he had occupied thepontifical throne his one will and determination had been to reign, toreign in spite of all, to be the sole absolute and omnipotent master ofthe world! And now here was reality arising with irresistible force andconfirming everything. And yet Pierre struggled, stubbornly clutching athis dream once more. 

"Oh! Holy Father, " said he, "I should be grieved indeed if his Eminenceshould have a moment's worry on account of my unfortunate book. If I beguilty I can answer for my error, but his Eminence only obeyed thedictates of his heart and can only have transgressed by excess of lovefor the disinherited of the world!"

Leo XIII made no reply. He had again raised his superb eyes, those eyesof ardent life, set, as it were, in the motionless countenance of analabaster idol; and once more he was fixedly gazing at the young priest. 

And Pierre, amidst his returning feverishness, seemed to behold himgrowing in power and splendour, whilst behind him arose a vision of theages, a vision of that long line of popes whom the young priest hadpreviously evoked, the saintly and the proud ones, the warriors and theascetics, the theologians and the diplomatists, those who had wornarmour, those who had conquered by the Cross, those who had disposed ofempires as of mere provinces which God had committed to their charge. Andin particular Pierre beheld the great Gregory, the conqueror and founder, and Sixtus V, the negotiator and politician, who had first foreseen theeventual victory of the papacy over all the vanquished monarchies. Ah!what a throng of magnificent princes, of sovereign masters with powerfulbrains and arms, there was behind that pale, motionless, old man! What anaccumulation of inexhaustible determination, stubborn genius, andboundless domination! The whole history of human ambition, the wholeeffort of the ages to subject the nations to the pride of one man, thegreatest force that has ever conquered, exploited, and fashioned mankindin the name of its happiness! And even now, when territorial sovereigntyhad come to an end, how great was the spiritual sovereignty of that paleand slender old man, in whose presence women fainted, as if overcome bythe divine splendour radiating from his person. Not only did all theresounding glories, the masterful triumphs of history spread out behindhim, but heaven opened, the very spheres beyond life shone out in theirdazzling mystery. He--the Pope--stood at the portals of heaven, holdingthe keys and opening those portals to human souls; all the ancientsymbolism was revived, freed at last from the stains of royalty herebelow. 

"Oh! I beg you, Holy Father, " resumed Pierre, "if an example be neededstrike 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 havingbrought condemnation on the innocent. "

Leo XIII still refrained from replying, though he continued to look atthe young priest with burning eyes. And he, Pierre, no longer beheld LeoXIII, the last of a long line of popes, the Vicar of Jesus Christ, theSuccessor of the Prince of the Apostles, the Supreme Pontiff of theUniversal Church, Patriarch of the East, Primate of Italy, Archbishop andMetropolitan of the Roman Province, Sovereign of the Temporal Domains ofthe Holy Church; he saw the Leo XIII that he had dreamt of, the awaitedsaviour who would dispel the frightful cataclysm in which rotten societywas sinking. He beheld him with his supple, lofty intelligence andfraternal, conciliatory tactics, avoiding friction and labouring to bringabout unity whilst with his heart overflowing with love he went straightto the hearts of the multitude, again giving the best of his blood insign of the new alliance. He raised him aloft as the sole remaining moralauthority, the sole possible bond of charity and peace--as the Father, infact, who alone could stamp out injustice among his children, destroymisery, and re-establish the liberating Law of Work by bringing thenations back to the faith of the primitive Church, the gentleness and thewisdom of the true Christian community. And in the deep silence of thatroom the great figure which he thus set up assumed invincibleall-powerfulness, extraordinary majesty. 

"Oh, I beseech you, Holy Father, listen to me, " he said. "Do not evenstrike me, strike no one, neither a being nor a thing, anything that cansuffer under the sun. Show kindness and indulgence to all, show all thekindness and indulgence which the sight of the world's sufferings musthave set in you!"

And then, seeing that Leo XIII still remained silent and still left himstanding there, he sank down upon his knees, as if felled by the growingemotion which rendered his heart so heavy. And within him there was asort of _debacle_; all his doubts, all his anguish and sadness burstforth in an irresistible stream. There was the memory of the frightfulday that he had just spent, the tragic death of Dario and Benedetta, which weighed on him like lead; there were all the sufferings that he hadexperienced since his arrival in Rome, the destruction of his illusions, the wounds dealt to his delicacy, the buffets with which men and thingshad responded to his young enthusiasm; and, lying yet more deeply withinhis heart, there was the sum total of human wretchedness, the thought offamished ones howling for food, of mothers whose breasts were drained andwho sobbed whilst kissing their hungry babes, of fathers without work, who clenched their fists and revolted--indeed, the whole of that hatefulmisery which is as old as mankind itself, which has preyed upon mankindsince its earliest hour, and which he now had everywhere found increasingin horror and havoc, without a gleam of hope that it would ever behealed. And withal, yet more immense and more incurable, he felt withinhim a nameless sorrow to which he could assign no precise cause orname--an universal, an illimitable sorrow with which he melteddespairingly, and which was perhaps the very sorrow of life. 

"O Holy Father!" he exclaimed, "I myself have no existence and my bookhas no existence. I desired, passionately desired to see your Holinessthat I might explain and defend myself. But I no longer know, I can nolonger recall a single one of the things that I wished to say, I can onlyweep, weep the tears which are stifling me. Yes, I am but a poor man, andthe only need I feel is to speak to you of the poor. Oh! the poor ones, oh! the lowly ones, whom for two years past I have seen in our faubourgsof Paris, so wretched and so full of pain; the poor little children thatI have picked out of the snow, the poor little angels who had eatennothing for two days; the women too, consumed by consumption, withoutbread or fire, shivering in filthy hovels; and the men thrown on thestreet by slackness of trade, weary of begging for work as one begs foralms, sinking back into night, drunken with rage and harbouring the soleavenging thought of setting the whole city afire! And that night too, that terrible night, when in a room of horror I beheld a mother who hadjust killed herself with her five little ones, she lying on a palliassesuckling her last-born, and two little girls, two pretty little blondes, sleeping the last sleep beside her, while the two boys had succumbedfarther away, one of them crouching against a wall, and the other lyingupon the floor, distorted as though by a last effort to avoid death!... O Holy Father! I am but an ambassador, the messenger of those who sufferand who sob, the humble delegate of the humble ones who die of wantbeneath the hateful harshness, the frightful injustice of our present-daysocial system! And I bring your Holiness their tears, and I lay theirtortures at your Holiness's feet, I raise their cry of woe, like a cryfrom the abyss, that cry which demands justice unless indeed the veryheavens are to fall! Oh! show your loving kindness, Holy Father, showcompassion!"

The young man had stretched out his arms and implored Leo XIII with agesture as of supreme appeal to the divine compassion. Then he continued:"And here, Holy Father, in this splendid and eternal Rome, is not thewant and misery as frightful! During the weeks that I have roamed hitherand thither among the dust of famous ruins, I have never ceased to comein contact with evils which demand cure. Ah! to think of all that iscrumbling, all that is expiring, the agony of so much glory, the fearfulsadness of a world which is dying of exhaustion and hunger! Yonder, underyour Holiness's windows, have I not seen a district of horrors, adistrict of unfinished palaces stricken like rickety children who cannotattain to full growth, palaces which are already in ruins and have becomeplaces of refuge for all the woeful misery of Rome? And here, as inParis, what a suffering multitude, what a shameless exhibition too of thesocial sore, the devouring cancer openly tolerated and displayed in utterheedlessness! There are whole families leading idle and hungry lives inthe splendid sunlight; fathers waiting for work to fall to them fromheaven; sons listlessly spending their days asleep on the dry grass;mothers and daughters, withered before their time, shuffling about inloquacious idleness. O Holy Father, already to-morrow at dawn may yourHoliness open that window yonder and with your benediction awaken thatgreat childish people, which still slumbers in ignorance and poverty! Mayyour Holiness give it the soul it lacks, a soul with the consciousness ofhuman dignity, of the necessary law of work, of free and fraternal liferegulated by justice only! Yes, may your Holiness make a people out ofthat heap of wretches, whose excuse lies in all their bodily sufferingand mental night, who live like the beasts that go by and die, neverknowing nor understanding, yet ever lashed onward with the whip!"

Pierre's sobs were gradually choking him, and it was only the impulse ofhis passion which still enabled him to speak. "And, Holy Father, " hecontinued, "is it not to you that I ought to address myself in the nameof all these wretched ones? Are you not the Father, and is it not beforethe Father that the messenger of the poor and the lowly should kneel as Iam kneeling now? And is it not to the Father that he should bring thehuge burden of their sorrows and ask for pity and help and justice? Yes, particularly for justice! And since you are the Father throw the doorswide open so that all may enter, even the humblest of your children, thefaithful, the chance passers, even the rebellious ones and those who havegone astray but who will perhaps enter and whom you will save from theerrors of abandonment! Be as the house of refuge on the dangerous road, the loving greeter of the wayfarer, the lamp of hospitality which everburns, and is seen afar off and saves one in the storm! And since, OFather, you are power be salvation also! You can do all; you havecenturies of domination behind you; you have nowadays risen to a moralauthority which has rendered you the arbiter of the world; you are therebefore me like the very majesty of the sun which illumines andfructifies! Oh! be the star of kindness and charity, be the redeemer;take in hand once more the purpose of Jesus, which has been perverted bybeing left in the hands of the rich and the powerful who have ended bytransforming the work of the Gospel into the most hateful of allmonuments of pride and tyranny! And since the work has been spoilt, takeit in hand, begin it afresh, place yourself on the side of the littleones, the lowly ones, the poor ones, and bring them back to the peace, the fraternity, and the justice of the original Christian communion. Andsay, O Father, that I have understood you, that I have sincerelyexpressed in this respect your most cherished ideas, the sole livingdesire of your reign! The rest, oh! the rest, my book, myself, whatmatter they! I do not defend myself, I only seek your glory and thehappiness of mankind. Say that from the depths of this Vatican you haveheard the rending of our corrupt modern societies! Say that you havequivered with loving pity, say that you desire to prevent the awfulimpending catastrophe by recalling the Gospel to the hearts of yourchildren who are stricken with madness, and by bringing them back to theage of simplicity and purity when the first Christians lived together ininnocent brotherhood! Yes, it is for that reason, is it not, that youhave placed yourself, Father, on the side of the poor, and for thatreason I am here and entreat you for pity and kindness and justice withmy whole soul!"

Then the young man gave way beneath his emotion, and fell all of a heapupon the floor amidst a rush of sobs--loud, endless sobs, which flowedforth in billows, coming as it were not only from himself but from allthe wretched, from the whole world in whose veins sorrow coursed mingledwith the very blood of life. He was there as the ambassador of suffering, as he had said. And indeed, at the foot of that mute and motionless pope, he was like the personification of the whole of human woe. 

Leo XIII, who was extremely fond of talking and could only listen toothers with an effort, had twice raised one of his pallid hands tointerrupt the young priest. Then, gradually overcome by astonishment, touched by emotion himself, he had allowed him to continue, to go on tothe end of his outburst. A little blood even had suffused the snowywhiteness of the Pontiff's face whilst his eyes shone out yet morebrilliantly. And as soon as he saw the young man speechless at his feet, shaken by those sobs which seemed to be wrenching away his heart, hebecame anxious and leant forward: "Calm yourself, my son, raiseyourself, " he said. 

But the sobs still continued, still flowed forth, all reason and respectbeing swept away amidst that distracted plaint of a wounded soul, thatmoan of suffering, dying flesh. 

"Raise yourself, my son, it is not proper, " repeated Leo XIII. "There, take that chair. " And with a gesture of authority he at last invited theyoung man to sit down. 

Pierre rose with pain, and at once seated himself in order that he mightnot fall. He brushed his hair back from his forehead, and wiped hisscalding tears away with his hands, unable to understand what had justhappened, but striving to regain his self-possession. 

"You appeal to the Holy Father, " said Leo XIII. "Ah! rest assured thathis heart is full of pity and affection for those who are unfortunate. But that is not the point, it is our holy religion which is in question. I have read your book, a bad book, I tell you so at once, the mostdangerous and culpable of books, precisely on account of its qualities, the pages in which I myself felt interested. Yes, I was often fascinated, I should not have continued my perusal had I not felt carried away, transported by the ardent breath of your faith and enthusiasm. Thesubject 'New Rome' is such a beautiful one and impassions me so much! andcertainly there is a book to be written under that title, but in a verydifferent spirit to yours. You think that you have understood me, my son, that you have so penetrated yourself with my writings and actions thatyou simply express my most cherished ideas. But no, no, you have notunderstood me, and that is why I desired to see you, explain things toyou, and convince you. "

It was now Pierre who sat listening, mute and motionless. Yet he had onlycome thither to defend himself; for three months past he had beenfeverishly desiring this interview, preparing his arguments and feelingconfident of victory; and now although he heard his book spoken of asdangerous and culpable he did not protest, did not reply with any one ofthose good reasons which he had deemed so irresistible. But the fact wasthat intense weariness had come upon him, the appeal that he had made, the tears that he had shed had left him utterly exhausted. By and by, however, he would be brave and would say what he had resolved to say. 

"People do not understand me, do not understand me!" resumed Leo XIIIwith an air of impatient irritation. "It is incredible what trouble Ihave to make myself understood, in France especially! Take the temporalpower for instance; how can you have fancied that the Holy See would everenter into any compromise on that question? Such language is unworthy ofa priest, it is the chimerical dream of one who is ignorant of theconditions in which the papacy has hitherto lived and in which it muststill live if it does not desire to disappear. Cannot you see thesophistry of your argument that the Church becomes the loftier the moreit frees itself from the cares of terrestrial sovereignty? A purelyspiritual royalty, a sway of charity and love, indeed, 'tis a fineimaginative idea! But who will ensure us respect? Who will grant us thealms of a stone on which to rest our head if we are ever driven forth andforced to roam the highways? Who will guarantee our independence when weare at the mercy of every state?... No, no! this soil of Rome is ours, we have inherited it from the long line of our ancestors, and it is theindestructible, eternal soil on which the Church is built, so that anyrelinquishment would mean the downfall of the Holy Catholic Apostolic andRoman Church. And, moreover, we could not relinquish it; we are bound byour oath to God and man. "

He paused for a moment to allow Pierre to answer him. But the latter tohis stupefaction could say nothing, for he perceived that this pope spokeas he was bound to speak. All the heavy mysterious things which hadweighed the young priest down whilst he was waiting in the ante-room, nowbecame more and more clearly defined. They were, indeed, the things whichhe had seen and learnt since his arrival in Rome, the disillusions, therebuffs which he had experienced, all the many points of differencebetween existing reality and imagination, whereby his dream of a returnto primitive Christianity was already half shattered. And in particularhe remembered the hour which he had spent on the dome of St. Peter's, when, in presence of the old city of glory so stubbornly clinging to itspurple, he had realised that he was an imbecile with his idea of a purelyspiritual pope. He had that day fled from the furious shouts of thepilgrims acclaiming the Pope-King. He had only accepted the necessity formoney, that last form of servitude still binding the Pope to earth. Butall had crumbled afterwards, when he had beheld the real Rome, theancient city of pride and domination where the papacy can never becomplete without the temporal power. Too many bonds, dogma, tradition, environment, the very soil itself rendered the Church for ever immutable. It was only in appearances that she could make concessions, and a timewould even arrive when her concessions would cease, in presence of theimpossibility of going any further without committing suicide. If his, Pierre's, dream of a New Rome were ever to be realised, it would only befaraway from ancient Rome. Only in some distant region could the newChristianity arise, for Catholicism was bound to die on the spot when thelast of the popes, riveted to that land of ruins, should disappearbeneath the falling dome of St. Peter's, which would fall as surely asthe temple of Jupiter had fallen! And, as for that pope of the presentday, though he might have no kingdom, though age might have made him weakand fragile, though his bloodless pallor might be that of some ancientidol of wax, he none the less flared with the red passion for universalsovereignty, he was none the less the stubborn scion of his ancestry, thePontifex Maximus, the Caesar Imperator in whose veins flowed the blood ofAugustus, master of the world. 

"You must be fully aware, " resumed Leo XIII, "of the ardent desire forunity which has always possessed us. We were very happy on the day whenwe unified the rite, by imposing the Roman rite throughout the wholeCatholic world. This is one of our most cherished victories, for it cando much to uphold our authority. And I hope that our efforts in the Eastwill end by bringing our dear brethren of the dissident communions backto us, in the same way as I do not despair of convincing the Anglicansects, without speaking of the other so-called Protestant sects who willbe compelled to return to the bosom of the only Church, the Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman Church, when the times predicted by the Christ shallbe accomplished. But a thing which you did not say in your book is thatthe Church can relinquish nothing whatever of dogma. On the contrary, youseem to fancy that an agreement might be effected, concessions made oneither side, and that, my son, is a culpable thought, such language as apriest cannot use without being guilty of a crime. No, the truth isabsolute, not a stone of the edifice shall be changed. Oh! in matters ofform, we will do whatever may be asked. We are ready to adopt the mostconciliatory courses if it be only a question of turning certaindifficulties and weighing expressions in order to facilitate agreement.... Again, there is the part we have taken in contemporary socialism, andhere too it is necessary that we should be understood. Those whom youhave so well called the disinherited of the world, are certainly theobject of our solicitude. If socialism be simply a desire for justice, and a constant determination to come to the help of the weak and thesuffering, who can claim to give more thought to the matter and work withmore energy than ourselves? Has not the Church always been the mother ofthe afflicted, the helper and benefactress of the poor? We are for allreasonable progress, we admit all new social forms which will promotepeace and fraternity.... Only we can but condemn that socialism whichbegins by driving away God as a means of ensuring the happiness ofmankind. Therein lies simple savagery, an abominable relapse into theprimitive state in which there can only be catastrophe, conflagration, and massacre. And that again is a point on which you have not laidsufficient stress, for you have not shown in your book that there can beno progress outside the pale of the Church, that she is really the onlyinitiatory and guiding power to whom one may surrender oneself withoutfear. Indeed, and in this again you have sinned, it seemed to me as ifyou set God on one side, as if for you religion lay solely in a certainbent of the soul, a florescence of love and charity, which sufficed oneto work one's salvation. But that is execrable heresy. God is everpresent, master of souls and bodies; and religion remains the bond, thelaw, the very governing power of mankind, apart from which there can onlybe barbarism in this world and damnation in the next. And, once again, forms are of no importance; it is sufficient that dogma should remain. Thus our adhesion to the French Republic proves that we in no wise meanto link the fate of religion to that of any form of government, howeveraugust and ancient the latter may be. Dynasties may have done their time, but God is eternal. Kings may perish, but God lives! And, moreover, thereis nothing anti-Christian in the republican form of government; indeed, on the contrary, it would seem like an awakening of that Christiancommonwealth to which you have referred in some really charming pages. The worst is that liberty at once becomes license, and that our desirefor conciliation is often very badly requited.... But ah! what awicked book you have written, my son, --with the best intentions, I amwilling to believe, --and how your silence shows that you are beginning torecognise the disastrous consequences of your error. "

Pierre still remained silent, overcome, feeling as if his arguments wouldfall against some deaf, blind, and impenetrable rock, which it wasuseless to assail since nothing could enter it. And only one thing nowpreoccupied him; he wondered how it was that a man of such intelligenceand such ambition had not formed a more distinct and exact idea of themodern world. He could divine that the Pope possessed much informationand carried the map of Christendom with many of the needs, deeds, andhopes of the nations, in his mind amidst his complicated diplomaticenterprises; but at the same time what gaps there were in his knowledge!The truth, no doubt, was that his personal acquaintance with the worldwas confined to his brief nunciature at Brussels. *

 * That too, was in 1843-44, and the world is now utterly unlike what it was then!--Trans. 

During his occupation of the see of Perugia, which had followed, he hadonly mingled with the dawning life of young Italy. And for eighteen yearsnow he had been shut up in the Vatican, isolated from the rest of mankindand communicating with the nations solely through his _entourage_, whichwas often most unintelligent, most mendacious, and most treacherous. Moreover, he was an Italian priest, a superstitious and despotic HighPontiff, bound by tradition, subjected to the influences of raceenvironment, pecuniary considerations, and political necessities, not tospeak of his great pride, the conviction that he ought to be implicitlyobeyed in all things as the one sole legitimate power upon earth. Thereinlay fatal causes of mental deformity, of errors and gaps in hisextraordinary brain, though the latter certainly possessed many admirablequalities, quickness of comprehension and patient stubbornness of willand strength to draw conclusions and act. Of all his powers, however, that of intuition was certainly the most wonderful, for was it not thisalone which, owing to his voluntary imprisonment, enabled him to divinethe vast evolution of humanity at the present day? He was thus keenlyconscious of the dangers surrounding him, of the rising tide of democracyand the boundless ocean of science which threatened to submerge thelittle islet where the dome of St. Peter's yet triumphed. And the objectof all his policy, of all his labour, was to conquer so that he mightreign. If he desired the unity of the Church it was in order that thelatter might become strong and inexpugnable in the contest which heforesaw. If he preached conciliation, granting concessions in matters ofform, tolerating audacious actions on the part of American bishops, itwas because he deeply and secretly feared the dislocation of the Church, some sudden schism which might hasten disaster. And this fear explainedhis returning affection for the people, the concern which he displayedrespecting socialism, and the Christian solution which he offered to thewoes of earthly life. As Caesar was stricken low, was not the longcontest for possession of the people over, and would not the people, thegreat silent multitude, speak out, and give itself to him, the Pope? Hehad begun experiments with France, forsaking the lost cause of themonarchy and recognising the Republic which he hoped might prove strongand victorious, for in spite of everything France remained the eldestdaughter of the Church, the only Catholic nation which yet possessedsufficient strength to restore the temporal power at some propitiousmoment. And briefly Leo's desire was to reign. To reign by the support ofFrance since it seemed impossible to do so by the support of Germany! Toreign by the support of the people, since the people was now becoming themaster, the bestower of thrones! To reign by means even of an ItalianRepublic, if only that Republic could wrest Rome from the House of Savoyand restore her to him, a federal Republic which would make him Presidentof the United States of Italy pending the time when he should bePresident of the United States of Europe! To reign in spite of everybodyand everything, such was his ambition, to reign over the world, even asAugustus had reigned, Augustus whose devouring blood alone upheld thisexpiring old man, yet so stubbornly clinging to power!

"And another crime of yours, my son, " resumed Leo XIII, "is that you havedared to ask for a new religion. That is impious, blasphemous, sacrilegious. There is but one religion in the world, our Holy CatholicApostolic and Roman Religion, apart from which there can be but darknessand damnation. I quite understand that what you mean to imply is a returnto early Christianity. But the error of so-called Protestantism, soculpable and so deplorable in its consequences, never had any otherpretext. As soon as one departs from the strict observance of dogma andabsolute respect for tradition one sinks into the most frightfulprecipices.... Ah! schism, schism, my son, is a crime beyondforgiveness, an assassination of the true God, a device of the loathsomeBeast of Temptation which Hell sends into the world to work the ruin ofthe faithful! If your book contained nothing beyond those words 'a newreligion, ' it would be necessary to destroy and burn it like so muchpoison fatal in its effects upon the human soul. "

He continued at length on this subject, while Pierre recalled what DonVigilio had told him of those all-powerful Jesuits who at the Vatican aselsewhere remained in the background, secretly but none the lessdecisively governing the Church. Was it true then that this pope, whoseopportunist tendencies were so freely displayed, was one of them, a meredocile instrument in their hands, though he fancied himself penetratedwith the doctrines of St. Thomas Aquinas? In any case, like them hecompounded with the century, made approaches to the world, and waswilling to flatter it in order that he might possess it. Never before hadPierre so cruelly realised that the Church was now so reduced that shecould only live by dint of concessions and diplomacy. And he could atlast distinctly picture that Roman clergy which at first is so difficultof comprehension to a French priest, that Government of the Church, represented by the pope, the cardinals, and the prelates, whom the Deityhas appointed to govern and administer His mundane possessions--mankindand the earth. They begin by setting that very Deity on one side, in thedepths of the tabernacle, and impose whatever dogmas they please as somany essential truths. That the Deity exists is evident, since theygovern in His name which is sufficient for everything. And being byvirtue of their charge the masters, if they consent to sign covenants, Concordats, it is only as matters of form; they do not observe them, andnever yield to anything but force, always reserving the principle oftheir absolute sovereignty which must some day finally triumph. Pendingthat day's arrival, they act as diplomatists, slowly carrying on theirwork of conquest as the Deity's functionaries; and religion is but thepublic homage which they pay to the Deity, and which they organise withall the pomp and magnificence that is likely to influence the multitude. Their only object is to enrapture and conquer mankind in order that thelatter may submit to the rule of the Deity, that is the rule ofthemselves, since they are the Deity's visible representatives, expresslydelegated to govern the world. In a word, they straightway descend fromRoman law, they are still but the offspring of the old pagan soul ofRome, and if they have lasted until now and if they rely on lasting forever, until the awaited hour when the empire of the world shall berestored to them, it is because they are the direct heirs of thepurple-robed Caesars, the uninterrupted and living progeny of the bloodof Augustus. 

And thereupon Pierre felt ashamed of his tears. Ah! those poor nerves ofhis, that outburst of sentiment and enthusiasm to which he had given way!His very modesty was appalled, for he felt as if he had exhibited hissoul in utter nakedness. And so uselessly too, in that room where nothingsimilar had ever been said before, and in presence of that Pontiff-Kingwho could not understand him. His plan of the popes reigning by means ofthe poor and lowly now horrified him. His idea of the papacy going to thepeople, at last rid of its former masters, seemed to him a suggestionworthy of a wolf, for if the papacy should go to the people it would onlybe to prey upon it as the others had done. And really he, Pierre, musthave been mad when he had imagined that a Roman prelate, a cardinal, apope, was capable of admitting a return to the Christian commonwealth, afresh florescence of primitive Christianity to pacify the aged nationswhom hatred consumed. Such a conception indeed was beyond thecomprehension of men who for centuries had regarded themselves as mastersof the world, so heedless and disdainful of the lowly and the suffering, that they had at last become altogether incapable of either love orcharity. *

 * The reader should bear in mind that these remarks apply to the Italian cardinals and prelates, whose vanity and egotism are remarkable. --Trans. 

Leo XIII, however, was still holding forth in his full, unwearying voice. And the young priest heard him saying: "Why did you write that page onLourdes which shows such a thoroughly bad spirit? Lourdes, my son, hasrendered great services to religion. To the persons who have come andtold me of the touching miracles which are witnessed at the Grotto almostdaily, I have often expressed my desire to see those miracles confirmed, proved by the most rigorous scientific tests. And, indeed, according towhat I have read, I do not think that the most evilly disposed minds canentertain any further doubt on the matter, for the miracles _are_ provedscientifically in the most irrefutable manner. Science, my son, must beGod's servant. It can do nothing against Him, it is only by His gracethat it arrives at the truth. All the solutions which people nowadayspretend to discover and which seemingly destroy dogma will some day berecognised as false, for God's truth will remain victorious when thetimes shall be accomplished. That is a very simple certainty, known evento little children, and it would suffice for the peace and salvation ofmankind, if mankind would content itself with it. And be convinced, myson, that faith and reason are not incompatible. Have we not got St. Thomas who foresaw everything, explained everything, regulatedeverything? Your faith has been shaken by the onslaught of the spirit ofexamination, you have known trouble and anguish which Heaven has beenpleased to spare our priests in this land of ancient belief, this city ofRome which the blood of so many martyrs has sanctified. However, we haveno fear of the spirit of examination, study St. Thomas, read himthoroughly and your faith will return, definitive and triumphant, firmerthan ever. "

These remarks caused Pierre as much dismay as if fragments of thecelestial vault were raining on his head. O God of truth, miracles--themiracles of Lourdes!--proved scientifically, faith in the dogmascompatible with reason, and the writings of St. Thomas Aquinas sufficientto instil certainty into the minds of this present generation! How couldone answer that, and indeed why answer it at all?

"Yes, yours is a most culpable and dangerous book, " concluded Leo XIII;"its very title 'New Rome' is mendacious and poisonous, and the work isthe more to be condemned as it offers every fascination of style, everyperversion of generous fancy. Briefly it is such a book that a priest, ifhe conceived it in an hour of error, can have no other duty than that ofburning it in public with the very hand which traced the pages of errorand scandal. "

All at once Pierre rose up erect. He was about to exclaim: "'Tis true, Ihad lost my faith, but I thought I had found it again in the compassionwhich the woes of the world set in my heart. You were my last hope, theawaited saviour. But, behold, that again is a dream, you cannot take thework of Jesus in hand once more and pacify mankind so as to avert thefrightful fratricidal war which is preparing. You cannot leave yourthrone and come along the roads with the poor and the humble to carry outthe supreme work of fraternity. Well, it is all over with you, yourVatican and your St. Peter's. All is falling before the onslaught of therising multitude and growing science. You no longer exist, there are onlyruins and remnants left here. "

However, he did not speak those words. He simply bowed and said: "HolyFather, I make my submission and reprobate my book. " And as he thusreplied his voice trembled with disgust, and his open hands made agesture of surrender as though he were yielding up his soul. The words hehad chosen were precisely those of the required formula: _Auctorlaudabiliter se subjecit et opus reprobavit_. "The author has laudablymade his submission and reprobated his work. " No error could have beenconfessed, no hope could have accomplished self-destruction with loftierdespair, more sovereign grandeur. But what frightful irony: that bookwhich he had sworn never to withdraw, and for whose triumph he had foughtso passionately, and which he himself now denied and suppressed, notbecause he deemed it guilty, but because he had just realised that it wasas futile, as chimerical as a lover's desire, a poet's dream. Ah! yes, since he had been mistaken, since he had merely dreamed, since he hadfound there neither the Deity nor the priest that he had desired for thehappiness of mankind, why should he obstinately cling to the illusion ofan awakening which was impossible! 'Twere better to fling his book on theground like a dead leaf, better to deny it, better to cut it away like adead limb that could serve no purpose whatever!

Somewhat surprised by such a prompt victory Leo XIII raised a slightexclamation of content. "That is well said, my son, that is well said!You have spoken the only words that can become a priest. "

And in his evident satisfaction, he who left nothing to chance, whocarefully prepared each of his audiences, deciding beforehand what wordshe would say, what gestures even he would make, unbent somewhat anddisplayed real _bonhomie_. Unable to understand, mistaking the realmotives of this rebellious priest's submission, he tasted positivedelight in having so easily reduced him to silence, the more so as reporthad stated the young man to be a terrible revolutionary. And thus hisHoliness felt quite proud of such a conversion. "Moreover, my son, " hesaid, "I did not expect less of one of your distinguished mind. There canbe no loftier enjoyment than that of owning one's error, doing penance, and submitting. "

He had again taken the glass off the little table beside him and wasstirring the last spoonful of syrup before drinking it. And Pierre wasamazed at again finding him as he had found him at the outset, shrunken, bereft of sovereign majesty, and simply suggestive of some aged_bourgeois_ drinking his glass of sugared water before getting into bed. It was as if after growing and radiating, like a planet ascending to thezenith, he had again sunk to the level of the soil in all humanmediocrity. Again did Pierre find him puny and fragile, with the slenderneck of a little sick bird, and all those marks of senile ugliness whichrendered him so exacting with regard to his portraits, whether they wereoil paintings or photographs, gold medals, or marble busts, for of oneand the other he would say that the artist must not portray "Papa Pecci"but Leo XIII, the great Pope, of whom he desired to leave such a loftyimage to posterity. And Pierre, after momentarily ceasing to see them, was again embarrassed by the handkerchief which lay on the Pope's lap, and the dirty cassock soiled by snuff. His only feelings now wereaffectionate pity for such white old age, deep admiration for thestubborn power of life which had found a refuge in those dark black eyes, and respectful deference, such as became a worker, for that large brainwhich harboured such vast projects and overflowed with such innumerableideas and actions. 

The audience was over, and the young man bowed low: "I thank yourHoliness for having deigned to give me such a fatherly reception, " hesaid. 

However, Leo XIII detained him for a moment longer, speaking to him ofFrance and expressing his sincere desire to see her prosperous, calm, andstrong for the greater advantage of the Church. And Pierre, during thatlast moment, had a singular vision, a strange haunting fancy. As he gazedat the Holy Father's ivory brow and thought of his great age and of hisliability to be carried off by the slightest chill, he involuntarilyrecalled the scene instinct with a fierce grandeur which is witnessedeach time a pope dies. He recalled Pius IX, Giovanni Mastai, two hoursafter death, his face covered by a white linen cloth, while thepontifical family surrounded him in dismay; and then Cardinal Pecci, the_Camerlingo_, approaching the bed, drawing aside the veil and dealingthree taps with his silver hammer on the forehead of the deceased, repeating at each tap the call, "Giovanni! Giovanni! Giovanni!" And asthe corpse made no response, turning, after an interval of a few seconds, and saying: "The Pope is dead!" And at the same time, yonder in the ViaGiulia Pierre pictured Cardinal Boccanera, the present _Camerlingo_, awaiting his turn with his silver hammer, and he imagined Leo XIII, otherwise Gioachino Pecci, dead, like his predecessor, his face coveredby a white linen cloth and his corpse surrounded by his prelates in thatvery room. And he saw the _Camerlingo_ approach, draw the veil aside andtap the ivory forehead, each time repeating the call: "Gioachino!Gioachino! Gioachino!" Then, as the corpse did not answer, he waited fora few seconds and turned and said "The Pope is dead!" Did Leo XIIIremember how he had thrice tapped the forehead of Pius IX, and did heever feel on the brow an icy dread of the silver hammer with which he hadarmed his own _Camerlingo_, the man whom he knew to be his implacableadversary, Cardinal Boccanera?

"Go in peace, my son, " at last said his Holiness by way of partingbenediction. "Your transgression will be forgiven you since you haveconfessed and testify your horror for it. "

With distressful spirit, accepting humiliation as well-deservedchastisement for his chimerical fancies, Pierre retired, steppingbackwards according to the customary ceremonial. He made three deep bowsand crossed the threshold without turning, followed by the black eyes ofLeo XIII, which never left him. Still he saw the Pope stretch his armtowards the table to take up the newspaper which he had been readingprior to the audience, for Leo retained a great fancy for newspapers, andwas very inquisitive as to news, though in the isolation in which helived he frequently made mistakes respecting the relative importance ofarticles. And once more the chamber sank into deep quietude, whilst thetwo lamps continued to diffuse a soft and steady light. 

In the centre of the _anticamera segreta_ Signor Squadra stood waitingblack and motionless. And on noticing that Pierre in his flurry forgot totake his hat from the pier table, he himself discreetly fetched it andhanded it to the young priest with a silent bow. Then without anyappearance of haste, he walked ahead to conduct the visitor back to theSala Clementina. The endless promenade through the interminableante-rooms began once more, and there was still not a soul, not a sound, not a breath. In each empty room stood the one solitary lamp, burning lowamidst a yet deeper silence than before. The wilderness seemed also tohave grown larger as the night advanced, casting its gloom over the fewarticles of furniture scattered under the lofty gilded ceilings, thethrones, the stools, the pier tables, the crucifixes, and the candelabrawhich recurred in each succeeding room. And at last the Sala Clementinawhich the Swiss Guards had just quitted was reached again, and SignorSquadra, who hitherto had not turned his head, thereupon drew asidewithout word or gesture, and, saluting Pierre with a last bow, allowedhim to pass on. Then he himself disappeared. 

And Pierre descended the two flights of the monumental staircase wherethe gas jets in their globes of ground glass glimmered like night lightsamidst a wondrously heavy silence now that the footsteps of the sentriesno longer resounded on the landings. And he crossed the Court of St. Damasus, empty and lifeless in the pale light of the lamps above thesteps, and descended the Scala Pia, that other great stairway as dim, deserted, and void of life as all the rest, and at last passed beyond thebronze door which a porter slowly shut behind him. And with what arumble, what a fierce roar did the hard metal close upon all that waswithin; all the accumulated darkness and silence; the dead, motionlesscenturies perpetuated by tradition; the indestructible idols, the dogmas, bound round for preservation like mummies; every chain which may weigh onone or hamper one, the whole apparatus of bondage and sovereigndomination, with whose formidable clang all the dark, deserted hallsre-echoed. 

Once more the young man found himself alone on the gloomy expanse of thePiazza of St. Peter's. Not a single belated pedestrian was to be seen. There was only the lofty, livid, ghost-like obelisk, emerging between itsfour candelabra, from the mosaic pavement of red and serpentine porphyry. The facade of the Basilica also showed vaguely, pale as a vision, whilstfrom it on either side like a pair of giant arms stretched the quadruplecolonnade, a thicket of stone, steeped in obscurity. The dome was but ahuge roundness scarcely discernible against the moonless sky; and onlythe jets of the fountains, which could at last be detected rising likeslim phantoms ever on the move, lent a voice to the silence, the endlessmurmur of a plaint of sorrow coming one knew not whence. Ah! how greatwas the melancholy grandeur of that slumber, that famous square, theVatican and St. Peter's, thus seen by night when wrapped in silence anddarkness! But suddenly the clock struck ten with so slow and loud a chimethat never, so it seemed, had more solemn and decisive an hour rung outamidst blacker and more unfathomable gloom. All Pierre's poor weary framequivered at the sound as he stood motionless in the centre of theexpanse. What! had he spent barely three-quarters of an hour, chatting upyonder with that white old man who had just wrenched all his soul awayfrom him! Yes, it was the final wrench; his last belief had been tornfrom his bleeding heart and brain. The supreme experiment had been made, a world had collapsed within him. And all at once he thought of MonsignorNani, and reflected that he alone had been right. He, Pierre, had beentold that in any case he would end by doing what Monsignor Nani mightdesire, and he was now stupefied to find that he had done so. 

But sudden despair seized upon him, such atrocious distress of spiritthat, from the depths of the abyss of darkness where he stood, he raisedhis quivering arms into space and spoke aloud: "No, no, Thou art nothere, O God of life and love, O God of Salvation! But come, appear sinceThy children are perishing because they know neither who Thou art, norwhere to find Thee amidst the Infinite of the worlds!"

Above the vast square spread the vast sky of dark-blue velvet, the silentdisturbing Infinite, where the constellations palpitated. Over the roofsof the Vatican, Charles's Wain seemed yet more tilted, its golden wheelsstraying from the right path, its golden shaft upreared in the air;whilst yonder, over Rome towards the Via Giulia, Orion was about todisappear and already showed but one of the three golden stars whichbedecked his belt. 

XV. 

IT was nearly daybreak when Pierre fell asleep, exhausted by emotion andhot with fever. And at nine o'clock, when he had risen and breakfasted, he at once wished to go down into Cardinal Boccanera's rooms where thebodies of Dario and Benedetta had been laid in state in order that themembers of the family, its friends and clients, might bring them theirtears and prayers. 

Whilst he breakfasted, Victorine who, showing an active bravery amidsther despair, had not been to bed at all, told him of what had taken placein the house during the night and early morning. Donna Serafina, prudethat she was, had again made an attempt to have the bodies separated; butthis had proved an impossibility, as _rigor mortis_ had set in, and topart the lovers it would have been necessary to break their limbs. Moreover, the Cardinal, who had interposed once before, almost quarrelledwith his sister on the subject, unwilling as he was that any one shoulddisturb the lovers' last slumber, their union of eternity. Beneath hispriestly garb there coursed the blood of his race, a pride in thepassions of former times; and he remarked that if the family counted twopopes among its forerunners, it had also been rendered illustrious bygreat captains and ardent lovers. Never would he allow any one to touchthose two children, whose dolorous lives had been so pure and whom thegrave alone had united. He was the master in his house, and they shouldbe sewn together in the same shroud, and nailed together in the samecoffin. Then too the religious service should take place at theneighbouring church of San Carlo, of which he was Cardinal-priest andwhere again he was the master. And if needful he would address himself tothe Pope. And such being his sovereign will, so authoritativelyexpressed, everybody in the house had to bow submissively. 

Donna Serafina at once occupied herself with the laying-out. According tothe Roman custom the servants were present, and Victorine as the oldestand most appreciated of them, assisted the relatives. All that could bedone in the first instance was to envelop both corpses in Benedetta'sunbound hair, thick and odorous hair, which spread out into a royalmantle; and they were then laid together in one shroud of white silk, fastened about their necks in such wise that they formed but one being indeath. And again the Cardinal imperatively ordered that they should bebrought into his apartments and placed on a state bed in the centre ofthe throne-room, so that a supreme homage might be rendered to them as tothe last scions of the name, the two tragic lovers with whom the onceresounding glory of the Boccaneras was about to return to earth. Thestory which had been arranged was already circulating through Rome; folksrelated how Dario had been carried off in a few hours by infectiousfever, and how Benedetta, maddened by grief, had expired whilst claspinghim in her arms to bid him a last farewell; and there was talk too of theroyal honours which the bodies were to receive, the superb funeralnuptials which were to be accorded them as they lay clasped on their bedof eternal rest. All Rome, quite overcome by this tragic story of loveand death, would talk of nothing else for several weeks. 

Pierre would have started for France that same night, eager as he was toquit the city of disaster where he had lost the last shreds of his faith, but he desired to attend the obsequies, and therefore postponed hisdeparture until the following evening. And thus he would spend one moreday in that old crumbling palace, near the corpse of that unhappy youngwoman to whom he had been so much attached and for whom he would try tofind some prayers in the depths of his empty and lacerated heart. 

When he reached the threshold of the Cardinal's reception-rooms, hesuddenly remembered his first visit to them. They still presented thesame aspect of ancient princely pomp falling into decay and dust. Thedoors of the three large ante-rooms were wide open, and the roomsthemselves were at that early hour still empty. In the first one, theservants' anteroom, there was nobody but Giacomo who stood motionless inhis black livery in front of the old red hat hanging under the_baldacchino_ where spiders spun their webs between the crumblingtassels. In the second room, which the secretary formerly had occupied, Abbe Paparelli, the train-bearer, was softly walking up and down whilstwaiting for visitors; and with his conquering humility, his all-powerfulobsequiousness, he had never before so closely resembled an old maid, whitened and wrinkled by excess of devout observances. Finally, in thethird ante-room, the _anticamera nobile_, where the red cap lay on acredence facing the large imperious portrait of the Cardinal inceremonial costume, there was Don Vigilio who had left his littlework-table to station himself at the door of the throne-room and therebow to those who crossed the threshold. And on that gloomy winter morningthe rooms appeared more mournful and dilapidated than ever, the hangingsfrayed and ragged, the few articles of furniture covered with dust, theold wood-work crumbling beneath the continuous onslaught of worms, andthe ceilings alone retaining their pompous show of gilding and painting. 

However, Pierre, to whom Abbe Paparelli addressed a profound bow, inwhich one divined the irony of a sort of dismissal given to one who wasvanquished, felt more impressed by the mournful grandeur which thosethree dilapidated rooms presented that day, conducting as they did to theold throne-room, now a chamber of death, where the two last children ofthe house slept their last sleep. What a superb and sorrowful _gala_ ofdeath! Every door wide open and all the emptiness of those over-spaciousrooms, void of the throngs of ancient days and leading to the supremeaffliction--the end of a race! The Cardinal had shut himself up in hislittle work-room where he received the relatives and intimates whodesired to present their condolences to him, whilst Donna Serafina hadchosen an adjoining apartment to await her lady friends who would come inprocession until evening. And Pierre, informed of the ceremonial byVictorine, had in the first place to enter the throne-room, greeted as hepassed by a deep bow from Don Vigilio who, pale and silent, did not seemto recognise him. 

A surprise awaited the young priest. He had expected such alying-in-state as is seen in France and elsewhere, all windows closed soas to steep the room in night, and hundreds of candles burning round a_catafalco_, whilst from ceiling to floor the walls were hung with blackdrapery. He had been told that the bodies would lie in the throne-roombecause the antique chapel on the ground floor of the palazzo had beenshut up for half a century and was in no condition to be used, whilst theCardinal's little private chapel was altogether too small for any suchceremony. And thus it had been necessary to improvise an altar in thethrone-room, an altar at which masses had been said ever since dawn. Masses and other religious services were moreover to be celebrated allday long in the private chapel; and two additional altars had even beenset up, one in a small room adjoining the _anticamera nobile_ and theother in a sort of alcove communicating with the second anteroom: and inthis wise priests, Franciscans, and members of other Orders bound by thevow of poverty, would simultaneously and without intermission celebratethe divine sacrifice on those four altars. The Cardinal, indeed, haddesired that the Divine Blood should flow without pause under his rooffor the redemption of those two dear souls which had flown away together. And thus in that mourning mansion, through those funeral halls the bellsscarcely stopped tinkling for the elevation of the host, whilst thequivering murmur of Latin words ever continued, and consecrated waferswere continually broken and chalices drained, in such wise that theDivine Presence could not for a moment quit the heavy atmosphere allredolent of death. 

On the other hand, however, Pierre, to his great astonishment, found thethrone-room much as it had been on the day of his first visit. Thecurtains of the four large windows had not even been drawn, and the grey, cold, subdued light of the gloomy winter morning freely entered. Underthe ceiling of carved and gilded wood-work there were the customary redwall-hangings of _brocatelle_, worn away by long usage; and there was theold throne with the arm-chair turned to the wall, uselessly waiting for avisit from the Pope which would never more come. The principal changes inthe aspect of the room were that its seats and tables had been removed, and that, in addition to the improvised altar arranged beside the throne, it now contained the state bed on which lay the bodies of Benedetta andDario, amidst a profusion of flowers. The bed stood in the centre of theroom on a low platform, and at its head were two lighted candles, one oneither side. There was nothing else, nothing but that wealth of flowers, such a harvest of white roses that one wondered in what fairy garden theyhad been culled, sheaves of them on the bed, sheaves of them topplingfrom the bed, sheaves of them covering the step of the platform, andfalling from that step on to the magnificent marble paving of the room. 

Pierre drew near to the bed, his heart faint with emotion. Those taperswhose little yellow flamelets scarcely showed in the pale daylight, thatcontinuous low murmur of the mass being said at the altar, thatpenetrating perfume of roses which rendered the atmosphere so heavy, filled the antiquated, dusty room with a spirit of infinite woe, alamentation of boundless mourning. And there was not a gesture, not aword spoken, save by the priest officiating at the altar, nothing but anoccasional faint sound of stifled sobbing among the few persons present. Servants of the house constantly relieved one another, four alwaysstanding erect and motionless at the head of the bed, like faithful, familiar guards. From time to time Consistorial-Advocate Morano who, since early morning had been attending to everything, crossed the roomwith a silent step and the air of a man in a hurry. And at the edge ofthe platform all who entered, knelt, prayed, and wept. Pierre perceivedthree ladies there, their faces hidden by their handkerchiefs; and therewas also an old priest who trembled with grief and hung his head in suchwise that his face could not be distinguished. However, the young man wasmost moved by the sight of a poorly clad girl, whom he took for aservant, and whom sorrow had utterly prostrated on the marble slabs. 

Then in his turn he knelt down, and with the professional murmur of thelips sought to repeat the Latin prayers which, as a priest, he had sooften said at the bedside of the departed. But his growing emotionconfused his memory, and he became wrapt in contemplation of the loverswhom his eyes were unable to quit. Under the wealth of flowers whichcovered them the clasped bodies could scarcely be distinguished, but thetwo heads emerged from the silken shroud, and lying there on the samecushion, with their hair mingling, they were still beautiful, beautifulas with satisfied passion. Benedetta had kept her divinely gay, loving, and faithful face for eternity, transported with rapture at havingrendered up her last breath in a kiss of love; whilst Dario retained amore dolorous expression amidst his final joy. And their eyes were stillwide open, gazing at one another with a persistent and caressingsweetness which nothing would ever more disturb. 

Oh! God, was it true that yonder lay that Benedetta whom he, Pierre, hadloved with such pure, brotherly affection? He was stirred to the verydepths of his soul by the recollection of the delightful hours which hehad spent with her. She had been so beautiful, so sensible, yet so fullof passion! And he had indulged in so beautiful a dream, that ofanimating with his own liberating fraternal feelings that admirablecreature with soul of fire and indolent air, in whom he had pictured allancient Rome, and whom he would have liked to awaken and win over to theItaly of to-morrow. He had dreamt of enlarging her brain and heart byfilling her with love for the lowly and the poor, with all present-daycompassion for things and beings. How he would now have smiled at such adream had not his tears been flowing! Yet how charming she had shownherself in striving to content him despite the invincible obstacles ofrace, education, and environment. She had been a docile pupil, but wasincapable of any real progress. One day she had certainly seemed to drawnearer to him, as though her own sufferings had opened her soul to everycharity; but the illusion of happiness had come back, and then she hadlost all understanding of the woes of others, and had gone off in theegotism of her own hope and joy. Did that mean then that this Roman racemust finish in that fashion, beautiful as it still often is, and fondlyadored but so closed to all love for others, to those laws of charity andjustice which, by regulating labour, can henceforth alone save this worldof ours?

Then there came another great sorrow to Pierre which left him stammering, unable to speak any precise prayer. He thought of the overwhelmingreassertion of Nature's powers which had attended the death of those twopoor children. Was it not awful? To have taken that vow to the Virgin, tohave endured torment throughout life, and to end by plunging into death, on the loved one's neck, distracted by vain regret and eager forself-bestowal! The brutal fact of impending separation had sufficed forBenedetta to realise how she had duped herself, and to revert to theuniversal instinct of love. And therein, again once more, was the Churchvanquished; therein again appeared the great god Pan, mating the sexesand scattering life around! If in the days of the Renascence the Churchdid not fall beneath the assault of the Venuses and Hercules then exhumedfrom the old soil of Rome, the struggle at all events continued asbitterly as ever; and at each and every hour new nations, overflowingwith sap, hungering for life, and warring against a religion which wasnothing more than an appetite for death, threatened to sweep away thatold Holy Apostolic Roman and Catholic edifice whose walls were alreadytottering on all sides. 

And at that moment Pierre felt that the death of that adorable Benedettawas for him the supreme disaster. He was still looking at her and tearswere scorching his eyes. She was carrying off his chimera. This time'twas really the end. Rome the Catholic and the Princely was dead, lyingthere like marble on that funeral bed. She had been unable to go to thehumble, the suffering ones of the world, and had just expired amidst theimpotent cry of her egotistical passion when it was too late either tolove or to create. Never more would children be born of her, the oldRoman house was henceforth empty, sterile, beyond possibility ofawakening. Pierre whose soul mourned such a splendid dream, was sogrieved at seeing her thus motionless and frigid, that he felt himselffainting. He feared lest he might fall upon the step beside the bed, andso struggled to his feet and drew aside. 

Then, as he sought refuge in a window recess in order that he might tryto recover self-possession, he was astonished to perceive Victorineseated there on a bench which the hangings half concealed. She had comethither by Donna Serafina's orders, and sat watching her two dearchildren as she called them, whilst keeping an eye upon all who came inand went out. And, on seeing the young priest so pale and nearlyswooning, she at once made room for him to sit down beside her. "Ah!" hemurmured after drawing a long breath, "may they at least have the joy ofbeing together elsewhere, of living a new life in another world. "

Victorine, however, shrugged her shoulders, and in an equally low voiceresponded, "Oh! live again, Monsieur l'Abbe, why? When one's dead thebest is to remain so and to sleep. Those poor children had enoughtorments on earth, one mustn't wish that they should begin againelsewhere. "

This naive yet deep remark on the part of an ignorant unbelieving womansent a shudder through Pierre's very bones. To think that his own teethhad chattered with fear at night time at the sudden thought ofannihilation. He deemed her heroic at remaining so undisturbed by anyideas of eternity and the infinite. And she, as she felt he wasquivering, went on: "What can you suppose there should be after death?We've deserved a right to sleep, and nothing to my thinking can be moredesirable and consoling. "

"But those two did not live, " murmured Pierre, "so why not allow oneselfthe joy of believing that they now live elsewhere, recompensed for alltheir torments?"

Victorine, however, again shook her head; "No, no, " she replied. "Ah! Iwas quite right in saying that my poor Benedetta did wrong in torturingherself with all those superstitious ideas of hers when she was really sofond of her lover. Yes, happiness is rarely found, and how one regretshaving missed it when it's too late to turn back! That's the whole storyof those poor little ones. It's too late for them, they are dead. " Thenin her turn she broke down and began to sob. "Poor little ones! poorlittle ones! Look how white they are, and think what they will be whenonly the bones of their heads lie side by side on the cushion, and onlythe bones of their arms still clasp one another. Ah! may they sleep, maythey sleep; at least they know nothing and feel nothing now. "

A long interval of silence followed. Pierre, amidst the quiver of his owndoubts, the anxious desire which in common with most men he felt for anew life beyond the grave, gazed at this woman who did not find prieststo her fancy, and who retained all her Beauceronne frankness of speech, with the tranquil, contented air of one who has ever done her duty in herhumble station as a servant, lost though she had been for five and twentyyears in a land of wolves, whose language she had not even been able tolearn. Ah! yes, tortured as the young man was by his doubts, he wouldhave liked to be as she was, a well-balanced, healthy, ignorant creaturewho was quite content with what the world offered, and who, when she hadaccomplished her daily task, went fully satisfied to bed, careless as towhether she might never wake again!

However, as Pierre's eyes once more sought the state bed, he suddenlyrecognised the old priest, who was kneeling on the step of the platform, and whose features he had hitherto been unable to distinguish. "Isn'tthat Abbe Pisoni, the priest of Santa Brigida, where I sometimes saidmass?" he inquired. "The poor old man, how he weeps!"

In her quiet yet desolate voice Victorine replied, "He has good reason toweep. He did a fine thing when he took it into his head to marry my poorBenedetta to Count Prada. All those abominations would never havehappened if the poor child had been given her Dario at once. But in thisidiotic city they are all mad with their politics; and that old priest, who is none the less a very worthy man, thought he had accomplished areal miracle and saved the world by marrying the Pope and the King as hesaid with a soft laugh, poor old _savant_ that he is, who for his parthas never been in love with anything but old stones--you know, all thatantiquated rubbish of theirs of a hundred thousand years ago. And now, you see, he can't keep from weeping. The other one too came not twentyminutes ago, Father Lorenza, the Jesuit who became the Contessina'sconfessor after Abbe Pisoni, and who undid what the other had done. Yes, a handsome man he is, but a fine bungler all the same, a perfect killjoywith all the crafty hindrances which he brought into that divorce affair. I wish you had been here to see what a big sign of the cross he madeafter he had knelt down. He didn't cry, he didn't: he seemed to be sayingthat as things had ended so badly it was evident that God had withdrawnfrom all share in the business. So much the worse for the dead!"

Victorine spoke gently and without a pause, as it relieved her, to emptyher heart after the terrible hours of bustle and suffocation which shehad spent since the previous day. "And that one yonder, " she resumed in alower voice, "don't you recognise her?"

She glanced towards the poorly clad girl whom Pierre had taken for aservant, and whom intensity of grief had prostrated beside the bed. Witha gesture of awful suffering this girl had just thrown back her head, ahead of extraordinary beauty, enveloped by superb black hair. 

"La Pierina!" said Pierre. "Ah! poor girl. "

Victorine made a gesture of compassion and tolerance. 

"What would you have?" said she, "I let her come up. I don't know how sheheard of the trouble, but it's true that she is always prowling round thehouse. She sent and asked me to come down to her, and you should haveheard her sob and entreat me to let her see her Prince once more! Well, she does no harm to anybody there on the floor, looking at them both withher beautiful loving eyes full of tears. She's been there for half anhour already, and I had made up my mind to turn her out if she didn'tbehave properly. But since she's so quiet and doesn't even move, she maywell stop and fill her heart with the sight of them for her whole lifelong. "

It was really sublime to see that ignorant, passionate, beautiful Pierinathus overwhelmed below the nuptial couch on which the lovers slept forall eternity. She had sunk down on her heels, her arms hanging heavilybeside her, and her hands open. And with raised face, motionless as in anecstasy of suffering, she did not take her eyes from that adorable andtragic pair. Never had human face displayed such beauty, such a dazzlingsplendour of suffering and love; never had there been such a portrayal ofancient Grief, not however cold like marble but quivering with life. Whatwas she thinking of, what were her sufferings, as she thus fixedly gazedat her Prince now and for ever locked in her rival's arms? Was it somejealousy which could have no end that chilled the blood of her veins? Orwas it mere suffering at having lost him, at realising that she waslooking at him for the last time, without thought of hatred for thatother woman who vainly sought to warm him with her arms as icy cold ashis own? There was still a soft gleam in the poor girl's blurred eyes, and her lips were still lips of love though curved in bitterness bygrief. She found the lovers so pure and beautiful as they lay thereamidst that profusion of flowers! And beautiful herself, beautiful like aqueen, ignorant of her own charms, she remained there breathless, ahumble servant, a loving slave as it were, whose heart had been wrenchedaway and carried off by her dying master. 

People were now constantly entering the room, slowly approaching withmournful faces, then kneeling and praying for a few minutes, andafterwards retiring with the same mute, desolate mien. A pang came toPierre's heart when he saw Dario's mother, the ever beautiful Flavia, enter, accompanied by her husband, the handsome Jules Laporte, thatex-sergeant of the Swiss Guard whom she had turned into a MarquisMontefiori. Warned of the tragedy directly it had happened, she hadalready come to the mansion on the previous evening; but now she returnedin grand ceremony and full mourning, looking superb in her black garmentswhich were well suited to her massive, Juno-like style of beauty. Whenshe had approached the bed with a queenly step, she remained for a momentstanding with two tears at the edges of her eyelids, tears which did notfall. Then, at the moment of kneeling, she made sure that Jules wasbeside her, and glanced at him as if to order him to kneel as well. Theyboth sank down beside the platform and remained in prayer for the properinterval, she very dignified in her grief and he even surpassing her, with the perfect sorrow-stricken bearing of a man who knew how to conducthimself in every circumstance of life, even the gravest. And afterwardsthey rose together, and slowly betook themselves to the entrance of theprivate apartments where the Cardinal and Donna Serafina were receivingtheir relatives and friends. 

Five ladies then came in one after the other, while two Capuchins and theSpanish ambassador to the Holy See went off. And Victorine, who for a fewminutes had remained silent, suddenly resumed. "Ah! there's the littlePrincess, she's much afflicted too, and, no wonder, she was so fond ofour Benedetta. "

Pierre himself had just noticed Celia coming in. She also had attiredherself in full mourning for this abominable visit of farewell. Behindher was a maid, who carried on either arm a huge sheaf of white roses. 

"The dear girl!" murmured Victorine, "she wanted her wedding with herAttilio to take place on the same day as that of the poor lovers who liethere. And they, alas! have forestalled her, their wedding's over; therethey sleep in their bridal bed. "

Celia had at once crossed herself and knelt down beside the bed, but itwas evident that she was not praying. She was indeed looking at thelovers with desolate stupefaction at finding them so white and cold witha beauty as of marble. What! had a few hours sufficed, had life departed, would those lips never more exchange a kiss! She could again see them atthe ball of that other night, so resplendent and triumphant with theirliving love. And a feeling of furious protest rose from her young heart, so open to life, so eager for joy and sunlight, so angry with the hatefulidiocy of death. And her anger and affright and grief, as she thus foundherself face to face with the annihilation which chills every passion, could be read on her ingenuous, candid, lily-like face. She herself stoodon the threshold of a life of passion of which she yet knew nothing, andbehold! on that very threshold she encountered the corpses of thosedearly loved ones, the loss of whom racked her soul with grief. 

She gently closed her eyes and tried to pray, whilst big tears fell fromunder her lowered eyelids. Some time went by amidst the quiveringsilence, which only the murmur of the mass near by disturbed. At last sherose and took the sheaves of flowers from her maid; and standing on theplatform she hesitated for a moment, then placed the roses to the rightand left of the cushion on which the lovers' heads were resting, as ifshe wished to crown them with those blossoms, perfume their young browswith that sweet and powerful aroma. Then, though her hands remained emptyshe did not retire, but remained there leaning over the dead ones, trembling and seeking what she might yet say to them, what she mightleave them of herself for ever more. An inspiration came to her, and shestooped forward, and with her whole, deep, loving soul set a long, longkiss on the brow of either spouse. 

"Ah! the dear girl!" said Victorine, whose tears were again flowing. "Yousaw that she kissed them, and nobody had yet thought of that, not eventhe poor young Prince's mother. Ah! the dear little heart, she surelythought of her Attilio. "

However, as Celia turned to descend from the platform she perceived LaPierina, whose figure was still thrown back in an attitude of mute anddolorous adoration. And she recognised the girl and melted with pity onseeing such a fit of sobbing come over her that her whole body, hergoddess-like hips and bosom, shook as with frightful anguish. That agonyof love quite upset the little Princess, and she could be heard murmuringin 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 shouldfall again. And she led her away in a sisterly clasp, like a sister ofaffection and despair, lavishing the most gentle, consoling words uponher 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 poorchildren. "

A Capuchin was just beginning a fresh mass at the improvised altar, andthe low Latin psalmody went on again, while in the adjoiningante-chamber, where another mass was being celebrated, a bell was heardtinkling for the elevation of the host. The perfume of the flowers wasbecoming more violent and oppressive amidst the motionless and mournfulatmosphere of the spacious throne-room. The four servants standing at thehead of the bed, as for a _gala_ reception, did not stir, and theprocession of visitors ever continued, men and women entering in silence, suffocating there for a moment, and then withdrawing, carrying away withthem the never-to-be-forgotten vision of the two tragic lovers sleepingtheir eternal sleep. 

Pierre joined Celia and La Pierina in the _anticamera nobile_, wherestood Don Vigilio. The few seats belonging to the throne-room had therebeen placed in a corner, and the little Princess had just compelled thework-girl to sit down in an arm-chair, in order that she might recoverself-possession. Celia was in ecstasy before her, enraptured at findingher so beautiful, more beautiful than any other, as she said. Then shespoke of the two dead ones, who also had seemed to her very beautiful, endowed with an extraordinary beauty, at once superb and sweet; anddespite all her tears, she still remained in a transport of admiration. On speaking with La Pierina, Pierre learnt that her brother Tito was atthe hospital in great danger from the effects of a terrible knife thrustdealt him in the side; and since the beginning of the winter, said thegirl, the misery in the district of the castle fields had becomefrightful. It was a source of great suffering to every one, and thosewhom death carried off had reason to rejoice. 

Celia, however, with a gesture of invincible hopefulness, brushed allidea of suffering, even of death, aside. "No, no, we must live, " shesaid. "And beauty is sufficient for life. Come, my dear, do not remainhere, 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 thearm-chairs, overcome by such sorrow and weariness that he would haveliked to remain there for ever. Don Vigilio was still bowing to eachfresh visitor that arrived. A severe attack of fever had come on himduring the night, and he was shivering from it, with his face veryyellow, 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 byAbbe Paparelli, who stood in the next ante-room, the door of which waswide open, doubtless restrained him, for he did not cease to watch thetrain-bearer. At last the latter was compelled to absent himself for amoment, and the secretary thereupon approached the young Frenchman. 

"You saw his Holiness last night, " he said; and as Pierre gazed at him instupefaction he added: "Oh! everything gets known, I told you so before. Well, and you purely and simply withdrew your book, did you not?" Theyoung priest's increasing stupor was sufficient answer, and withoutleaving him time to reply, Don Vigilio went on: "I suspected it, but Iwished to make certain. Ah! that's just the way they work! Do you believeme now, have you realised that they stifle those whom they don't poison?"

He was no doubt referring to the Jesuits. However, after glancing intothe adjoining room to make sure that Abbe Paparelli had not returnedthither, 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 didnot see him in the throne-room he must have gone to pay his respects toDonna Serafina and his Eminence. However, he will certainly pass this wayagain; you will see him by and by. " Then with the bitterness of one whowas weak, ever terror-smitten and vanquished, Don Vigilio added: "I toldyou that you would end by doing what Monsignor Nani desired. "

With these words, fancying that he heard the light footfall of AbbePaparelli, he hastily returned to his place and bowed to two old ladieswho just then walked in. And Pierre, still seated, overcome, his eyeswearily closing, at last saw the figure of Nani arise before him in allits reality so typical of sovereign intelligence and address. Heremembered what Don Vigilio, on the famous night of his revelations, hadtold him of this man who was far too shrewd to have labelled himself, soto say, with an unpopular robe, and who, withal, was a charming prelatewith thorough knowledge of the world, acquired by long experience atdifferent nunciatures and at the Holy Office, mixed up in everything, informed with regard to everything, one of the heads, one of the chiefminds in fact of that modern black army, which by dint of Opportunismhopes to bring this century back to the Church. And all at once, fullenlightenment fell on Pierre, he realised by what supple, clever strategythat man had led him to the act which he desired of him, the pure andsimple withdrawal of his book, accomplished with every appearance of freewill. First there had been great annoyance on Nani's part on learningthat the book was being prosecuted, for he feared lest its excitableauthor might be prompted to some dangerous revolt; then plans had at oncebeen formed, information had been collected concerning this young priestwho 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 andenlighten him. And afterwards had come the ever recurring obstacles, thesystem of prolonging his sojourn in Rome by preventing him from seeingthe Pope, but promising him the much-desired interview when the propertime should come, that is after he had been sent hither and thither andbrought into collision with one and all. And finally, when every one andeverything had shaken, wearied, and disgusted him, and he was restoredonce more to his old doubts, there had come the audience for which he hadundergone all this preparation, that visit to the Pope which was destinedto shatter whatever remained to him of his dream. Pierre could pictureNani smiling at him and speaking to him, declaring that the repeateddelays were a favour of Providence, which would enable him to visit Rome, study and understand things, reflect, and avoid blunders. How delicateand how profound had been the prelate's diplomacy in thus crushing hisfeelings beneath his reason, appealing to his intelligence to suppresshis work without any scandalous struggle as soon as his knowledge of thereal Rome should have shown him how supremely ridiculous it was to dreamof a new one!

At that moment Pierre perceived Nani in person just coming from thethrone-room, and did not feel the irritation and rancour which he hadanticipated. On the contrary he was glad when the prelate, in his turnseeing him, drew near and held out his hand. Nani, however, did not wearhis wonted smile, but looked very grave, quite grief-stricken. "Ah! mydear son, " he said, "what a frightful catastrophe! I have just left hisEminence, he is in tears. It is horrible, horrible!"

He seated himself on one of the chairs, inviting the young priest, whohad risen, to do the same; and for a moment he remained silent, wearywith emotion no doubt, and needing a brief rest to free himself of theweight of thoughts which visibly darkened his usually bright face. Then, with a gesture, he strove to dismiss that gloom, and recover his amiablecordiality. "Well, my dear son, " he began, "you saw his Holiness?"

"Yes, Monseigneur, yesterday evening; and I thank you for your greatkindness in satisfying my desire. "

Nani looked at him fixedly, and his invincible smile again returned tohis lips. "You thank me.... I can well see that you behaved sensiblyand laid your full submission at his Holiness's feet. I was certain ofit, 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 notmistaken concerning you. " And then, setting aside his reserve, theprelate went on: "I never discussed things with you. What would have beenthe good of it, since facts were there to convince you? And now that youhave withdrawn your book a discussion would be still more futile. However, just reflect that if it were possible for you to bring theChurch back to her early period, to that Christian community which youhave sketched so delightfully, she could only again follow the sameevolutions as those in which God the first time guided her; so that, atthe end of a similar number of centuries, she would find herself exactlyin the position which she occupies to-day. No, what God has done has beenwell done, the Church such as she is must govern the world, such as itis; it is for her alone to know how she will end by firmly establishingher reign here below. And this is why your attack upon the temporal powerwas an unpardonable fault, a crime even, for by dispossessing the papacyof her domains you hand her over to the mercy of the nations. Your newreligion is but the final downfall of all religion, moral anarchy, theliberty of schism, in a word, the destruction of the divine edifice, thatancient Catholicism which has shown such prodigious wisdom and solidity, which has sufficed for the salvation of mankind till now, and will alonebe able to save it to-morrow and always. "

Pierre felt that Nani was sincere, pious even, and really unshakable inhis faith, loving the Church like a grateful son, and convinced that shewas the only social organisation which could render mankind happy. And ifhe were bent on governing the world, it was doubtless for the pleasure ofgoverning, but also in the conviction that no one could do so better thanhimself. 

"Oh! certainly, " said he, "methods are open to discussion. I desire themto be as affable and humane as possible, as conciliatory as can be withthis present century, which seems to be escaping us, precisely becausethere is a misunderstanding between us. But we shall bring it back, I amsure of it. And that is why, my dear son, I am so pleased to see youreturn to the fold, thinking as we think, and ready to battle on ourside, is that not so?"

In Nani's words the young priest once more found the arguments of LeoXIII. Desiring to avoid a direct reply, for although he now felt no angerthe 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 myvain illusions with the skill of an accomplished surgeon. A little later, when I shall have ceased to suffer, I shall think of you with eternalgratitude. "

Monsignor Nani still looked at him with a smile. He fully understood thatthis young priest would remain on one side, that as an element ofstrength he was lost to the Church. What would he do now? Somethingfoolish no doubt. However, the prelate had to content himself with havinghelped 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 theday was the evil thereof. 

"Will you allow me to conclude, my dear son?" he at last exclaimed. "Besensible, your happiness as a priest and a man lies in humility. You willbe terribly unhappy if you use the great intelligence which God has givenyou against Him. "

Then with another gesture he dismissed this affair, which was all over, and with which he need busy himself no more. And thereupon the otheraffair came back to make him gloomy, that other affair which also wasdrawing to a close, but so tragically, with those two poor childrenslumbering in the adjoining room. "Ah!" he resumed, "that poor Princessand that poor Cardinal quite upset my heart! Never did catastrophe fallso cruelly on a house. No, no, it is indeed too much, misfortune goes toofar--it revolts one's soul!"

Just as he finished a sound of voices came from the second ante-room, andPierre was thunderstruck to see Cardinal Sanguinetti go by, escorted withthe greatest obsequiousness by Abbe Paparelli. 

"If your most Reverend Eminence will have the extreme kindness to followme, " the train-bearer was saying, "I will conduct your most ReverendEminence myself. "

"Yes, " replied Sanguinetti, "I arrived yesterday evening from Frascati, and when I heard the sad news, I at once desired to express my sorrow andoffer consolation. "

"Your Eminence will perhaps condescend to remain for a moment near thebodies. I will afterwards escort your Eminence to the privateapartments. "

"Yes, by all means. I desire every one to know how greatly I participatein the sorrow which has fallen on this illustrious house. "

Then Sanguinetti entered the throne-room, leaving Pierre quite aghast athis quiet audacity. The young priest certainly did not accuse him ofdirect complicity with Santobono, he did not even dare to measure how farhis moral complicity might go. But on seeing him pass by like that, hisbrow so lofty, his speech so clear, he had suddenly felt convinced thathe knew the truth. How or through whom, he could not have told; butdoubtless crimes become known in those shady spheres by those whoseinterest it is to know of them. And Pierre remained quite chilled by thehaughty fashion in which that man presented himself, perhaps to stiflesuspicion and certainly to accomplish an act of good policy by giving hisrival a public mark of esteem and affection. 

"The Cardinal! Here!" Pierre murmured despite himself. 

Nani, who followed the young man's thoughts in his childish eyes, inwhich all could be read, pretended to mistake the sense of hisexclamation. "Yes, " said he, "I learnt that the Cardinal returned to Romeyesterday evening. He did not wish to remain away any longer; the HolyFather being so much better that he might perhaps have need of him. "

Although these words were spoken with an air of perfect innocence, Pierrewas not for a moment deceived by them. And having in his turn glanced atthe prelate, he was convinced that the latter also knew the truth. Then, all at once, the whole affair appeared to him in its intricacy, in theferocity which fate had imparted to it. Nani, an old intimate of thePalazzo Boccanera, was not heartless, he had surely loved Benedetta withaffection, charmed by so much grace and beauty. One could thus explainthe victorious manner in which he had at last caused her marriage to beannulled. But if Don Vigilio were to be believed, that divorce, obtainedby pecuniary outlay, and under pressure of the most notorious influences, was simply a scandal which he, Nani, had in the first instance spun out, and then precipitated towards a resounding finish with the sole object ofdiscrediting the Cardinal and destroying his chances of the tiara on theeve of the Conclave which everybody thought imminent. It seemed certain, too, that the Cardinal, uncompromising as he was, could not be thecandidate of Nani, who was so desirous of universal agreement, and so thelatter's long labour in that house, whilst conducing to the happiness ofthe Contessina, had been designed to frustrate Donna Serafina andCardinal Pio in their burning ambition, that third triumphant elevationto the papacy which they sought to secure for their ancient family. However, if Nani had always desired to baulk this ambition, and had evenat one moment placed his hopes in Sanguinetti and fought for him, he hadnever imagined that Boccanera's foes would go to the point of crime, tosuch an abomination as poison which missed its mark and killed theinnocent. No, no, as he himself said, that was too much, and made one'ssoul rebel. He employed more gentle weapons; such brutality filled himwith indignation; and his face, so pinky and carefully tended, still worethe grave expression of his revolt in presence of the tearful Cardinaland those poor lovers stricken in his stead. 

Believing that Sanguinetti was still the prelate's secret candidate, Pierre was worried to know how far their moral complicity in this balefulaffair might go. So he resumed the conversation by saying: "It isasserted that his Holiness is on bad terms with his Eminence CardinalSanguinetti. Of course the reigning pope cannot look on the future popewith a very kindly eye. "

At this, Nani for a moment became quite gay in all frankness. "Oh, " saidhe, "the Cardinal has quarrelled and made things up with the Vaticanthree or four times already. And, in any event, the Holy Father has nomotive for posthumous jealousy; he knows very well that he can give hisEminence a good greeting. " Then, regretting that he had thus expressed acertainty, he added: "I am joking, his Eminence is altogether worthy ofthe high fortune which perhaps awaits him. "

Pierre knew what to think however; Sanguinetti was certainly Nani'scandidate no longer. It was doubtless considered that he had used himselfup too much by his impatient ambition, and was too dangerous by reason ofthe equivocal alliances which in his feverishness he had concluded withevery party, even that of patriotic young Italy. And thus the situationbecame clearer. Cardinals Sanguinetti and Boccanera devoured andsuppressed one another; the first, ever intriguing, accepting everycompromise, dreaming of winning Rome back by electoral methods; and theother, erect and motionless in his stern maintenance of the past, excommunicating the century, and awaiting from God alone the miraclewhich would save the Church. And, indeed, why not leave the two theories, thus placed face to face, to destroy one another, including all theextreme, disquieting views which they respectively embodied? If Boccanerahad escaped the poison, he had none the less become an impossiblecandidate, killed by all the stories which had set Rome buzzing; while ifSanguinetti could say that he was rid of a rival, he had at the same timedealt a mortal blow to his own candidature, by displaying such passionfor power, and such unscrupulousness with regard to the methods heemployed, as to be a danger for every one. Monsignor Nani was visiblydelighted with this result; neither candidate was left, it was like thelegendary story of the two wolves who fought and devoured one another socompletely that nothing of either of them was found left, not even theirtails! And in the depths of the prelate's pale eyes, in the whole of hisdiscreet person, there remained nothing but redoubtable mystery: themystery of the yet unknown, but definitively selected candidate who wouldbe patronised by the all-powerful army of which he was one of the mostskilful leaders. A man like him always had a solution ready. Who, then, who would be the next pope?

However, he now rose and cordially took leave of the young priest. "Idoubt if I shall see you again, my dear son, " he said; "I wish you a goodjourney. "

Still he did not go off, but continued to look at Pierre with hispenetrating eyes, and finally made him sit down again and did the samehimself. "I feel sure, " he said, "that you will go to pay your respectsto Cardinal Bergerot as soon as you have returned to France. Kindly tellhim that I respectfully desired to be reminded to him. I knew him alittle at the time when he came here for his hat. He is one of the greatluminaries of the French clergy. Ah! a man of such intelligence wouldonly work for a good understanding in our holy Church. Unfortunately Ifear that race and environment have instilled prejudices into him, for hedoes not always help us. "

Pierre, who was surprised to hear Nani speak of the Cardinal for thefirst time at this moment of farewell, listened with curiosity. Then inall frankness he replied: "Yes, his Eminence has very decided ideas aboutour old Church of France. For instance, he professes perfect horror ofthe Jesuits. "

With a light exclamation Nani stopped the young man. And he wore the mostsincerely, frankly astonished air that could be imagined. "What! horrorof the Jesuits! In what way can the Jesuits disquiet him? The Jesuits, there are none, that's all over! Have you seen any in Rome? Have theytroubled you in any way, those poor Jesuits who haven't even a stone oftheir own left here on which to lay their heads? No, no, that bogeymustn't be brought up again, it's childish. "

Pierre in his turn looked at him, marvelling at his perfect ease, hisquiet courage in dealing with this burning subject. He did not avert hiseyes, but displayed an open face like a book of truth. "Ah!" hecontinued, "if by Jesuits you mean the sensible priests who, instead ofentering into sterile and dangerous struggles with modern society, seekby human methods to bring it back to the Church, why, then of course weare all of us more or less Jesuits, for it would be madness not to takeinto account the times in which one lives. And besides, I won't haggleover words; they are of no consequence! Jesuits, well, yes, if you like, Jesuits!" He was again smiling with that shrewd smile of his in whichthere was so much raillery and so much intelligence. "Well, when you seeCardinal Bergerot tell him that it is unreasonable to track the Jesuitsand treat them as enemies of the nation. The contrary is the truth. TheJesuits are for France, because they are for wealth, strength, andcourage. France is the only great Catholic country which has yet remainederect and sovereign, the only one on which the papacy can some day lean. Thus the Holy Father, after momentarily dreaming of obtaining supportfrom victorious Germany, has allied himself with France, the vanquished, because he has understood that apart from France there can be nosalvation for the Church. And in this he has only followed the policy ofthe Jesuits, those frightful Jesuits, whom your Parisians execrate. Andtell Cardinal Bergerot also that it would be grand of him to work forpacification by making people understand how wrong it is for yourRepublic to help the Holy Father so little in his conciliatory efforts. It pretends to regard him as an element in the world's affairs that maybe neglected; and that is dangerous, for although he may seem to have nopolitical means of action he remains an immense moral force, and can atany moment raise consciences in rebellion and provoke a religiousagitation of the most far-reaching consequences. It is still he whodisposes of the nations, since he disposes of their souls, and theRepublic acts most inconsiderately, from the standpoint of its owninterests, in showing that it no longer even suspects it. And tell theCardinal too, that it is really pitiful to see in what a wretched wayyour Republic selects its bishops, as though it intentionally desired toweaken its episcopacy. Leaving out a few fortunate exceptions, yourbishops are men of small brains, and as a result your cardinals, likewisemere mediocrities, have no influence, play no part here in Rome. Ah! whata sorry figure you Frenchmen will cut at the next Conclave! And so why doyou show such blind and foolish hatred of those Jesuits, who, politically, are your friends? Why don't you employ their intelligentzeal, which is ready to serve you, so that you may assure yourselves thehelp of the next, the coming pope? It is necessary for you that he shouldbe on your side, that he should continue the work of Leo XIII, which isso badly judged and so much opposed, but which cares little for the pettyresults of to-day, since its purpose lies in the future, in the union ofall the nations under their holy mother the Church. Tell CardinalBergerot, tell him plainly that he ought to be with us, that he ought towork for his country by working for us. The coming pope, why the wholequestion lies in that, and woe to France if in him she does not find acontinuator of Leo XIII!"

Nani had again risen, and this time he was going off. Never before had heunbosomed himself at such length. But most assuredly he had only saidwhat he desired to say, for a purpose that he alone knew of, and in afirm, gentle, and deliberate voice by which one could tell that each wordhad been weighed and determined beforehand. "Farewell, my dear son, " hesaid, "and once again think over all you have seen and heard in Rome. Beas sensible as you can, and do not spoil your life. "

Pierre bowed, and pressed the small, plump, supple hand which the prelateoffered him. "Monseigneur, " he replied, "I again thank you for all yourkindness; you may be sure that I shall forget nothing of my journey. "

Then he watched Nani as he went off, with a light and conquering step asif marching to all the victories of the future. No, no, he, Pierre, wouldforget nothing of his journey! He well knew that union of all the nationsunder their holy mother the Church, that temporal bondage in which thelaw of Christ would become the dictatorship of Augustus, master of theworld! And as for those Jesuits, he had no doubt that they did loveFrance, the eldest daughter of the Church, and the only daughter thatcould yet help her mother to reconquer universal sovereignty, but theyloved her even as the black swarms of locusts love the harvests whichthey swoop upon and devour. Infinite sadness had returned to the youngman's heart as he dimly realised that in that sorely-stricken mansion, inall that mourning and downfall, it was they, they again, who must havebeen the artisans of grief and disaster. 

As this thought came to him he turned round and perceived Don Vigilioleaning against the credence in front of the large portrait of theCardinal. Holding his hands to his face as if he desired to annihilatehimself, the secretary was shivering in every limb as much with fear aswith fever. At a moment when no fresh visitors were arriving he hadsuccumbed to an attack of terrified despair. 

"_Mon Dieu_! What is the matter with you?" asked Pierre stepping forward, "are you ill, can I help you?"

But Don Vigilio, suffocating and still hiding his face, could only gaspbetween his close-pressed hands "Ah! Paparelli, Paparelli!"

"What is it? What has he done to you?" asked the other astonished. 

Then the secretary disclosed his face, and again yielded to his quiveringdesire to confide in some one. "Eh? what he has done to me? Can't youfeel anything, can't you see anything then? Didn't you notice the mannerin which he took possession of Cardinal Sanguinetti so as to conduct himto his Eminence? To impose that suspected, hateful rival on his Eminenceat such a moment as this, what insolent audacity! And a few minutespreviously did you notice with what wicked cunning he bowed out an oldlady, a very old family friend, who only desired to kiss his Eminence'shand and show a little real affection which would have made his Eminenceso happy! Ah! I tell you that he's the master here, he opens or closesthe door as he pleases, and holds us all between his fingers like a pinchof dust which one throws to the wind!"

Pierre became anxious, seeing how yellow and feverish Don Vigilio was:"Come, come, my dear fellow, " he said, "you are exaggerating!"

"Exaggerating? Do you know what happened last night, what I myselfunwillingly witnessed? No, you don't know it; well, I will tell you. "

Thereupon he related that Donna Serafina, on returning home on theprevious day to face the terrible catastrophe awaiting her, had alreadybeen overcome by the bad news which she had learnt when calling on theCardinal Secretary and various prelates of her acquaintance. She had thenacquired a certainty that her brother's position was becoming extremelybad, for he had made so many fresh enemies among his colleagues of theSacred College, that his election to the pontifical throne, which a yearpreviously had seemed probable, now appeared an impossibility. Thus, allat once, the dream of her life collapsed, the ambition which she had solong nourished lay in dust at her feet. On despairingly seeking the whyand wherefore of this change, she had been told of all sorts of blunderscommitted by the Cardinal, acts of rough sternness, unseasonablemanifestations of opinion, inconsiderate words or actions which hadsufficed to wound people, in fact such provoking demeanour that one mighthave thought it adopted with the express intention of spoilingeverything. And the worst was that in each of the blunders she hadrecognised errors of judgment which she herself had blamed, but which herbrother had obstinately insisted on perpetrating under the unacknowledgedinfluence of Abbe Paparelli, that humble and insignificant train-bearer, in whom she detected a baneful and powerful adviser who destroyed her ownvigilant and devoted influence. And so, in spite of the mourning in whichthe house was plunged, she did not wish to delay the punishment of thetraitor, particularly as his old friendship with that terrible Santobono, and the story of that basket of figs which had passed from the hands ofthe one to those of the other, chilled her blood with a suspicion whichshe even recoiled from elucidating. However, at the first words shespoke, directly she made a formal request that the traitor should beimmediately turned out of the house, she was confronted by invincibleresistance on her brother's part. He would not listen to her, but flewinto one of those hurricane-like passions which swept everything away, reproaching her for laying blame on so modest, pious, and saintly a man, and accusing her of playing into the hands of his enemies, who, afterkilling Monsignor Gallo, were seeking to poison his sole remainingaffection for that poor, insignificant priest. He treated all the storieshe was told as abominable inventions, and swore that he would keep thetrain-bearer in his service if only to show his disdain for calumny. Andshe was thereupon obliged to hold her peace. 

However, Don Vigilio's shuddering fit had again come back; he carried hishands to his face stammering: "Ah! Paparelli, Paparelli!" And mutteredinvectives followed: the train-bearer was an artful hypocrite who feignedmodesty and humility, a vile spy appointed to pry into everything, listento everything, and pervert everything that went on in the palace; he wasa loathsome, destructive insect, feeding on the most noble prey, devouring the lion's mane, a Jesuit--the Jesuit who is at once lackey andtyrant, in all his base horror as he accomplishes the work of vermin. 

"Calm yourself, calm yourself, " repeated Pierre, who whilst allowing forfoolish exaggeration on the secretary's part could not help shivering atthought of all the threatening things which he himself could divine astirin the gloom. 

However, since Don Vigilio had so narrowly escaped eating those horriblefigs, his fright was such that nothing could calm it. Even when he wasalone at night, in bed, with his door locked and bolted, sudden terrorfell on him and made him hide his head under the sheet and vent stifledcries as if he thought that men were coming through the wall to stranglehim. In a faint, breathless voice, as if just emerging from a struggle, he now resumed: "I told you what would happen on the evening when we hada talk together in your room. Although all the doors were securely shut, I did wrong to speak of them to you, I did wrong to ease my heart bytelling you all that they were capable of. I was sure they would learnit, and you see they did learn it, since they tried to kill me.... Whyit's even wrong of me to tell you this, for it will reach their ears andthey won't miss me the next time. Ah! it's all over, I'm as good as dead;this house which I thought so safe will be my tomb. "

Pierre began to feel deep compassion for this ailing man, whose feverishbrain was haunted by nightmares, and whose life was being finally wreckedby the anguish of persecution mania. "But you must run away in thatcase!" he said. "Don't stop here; come to France. "

Don Vigilio looked at him, momentarily calmed by surprise. "Run away, why? Go to France? Why, they are there! No matter where I might go, theywould be there. They are everywhere, I should always be surrounded bythem! No, no, I prefer to stay here and would rather die at once if hisEminence can no longer defend me. " With an expression of ardent entreatyin which a last gleam of hope tried to assert itself, he raised his eyesto the large painting in which the Cardinal stood forth resplendent inhis cassock of red moire; but his attack came back again and overwhelmedhim with increased intensity of fever. "Leave me, I beg you, leave me, "he gasped. "Don't make me talk any more. Ah! Paparelli, Paparelli! If heshould come back and see us and hear me speak.... Oh! I'll never sayanything again. I'll tie up my tongue, I'll cut it off. Leave me, you arekilling me, I tell you, he'll be coming back and that will mean my death. Go away, oh! for mercy's sake, go away!"

Thereupon Don Vigilio turned towards the wall as if to flatten his faceagainst it, and immure his lips in tomb-like silence; and Pierre resolvedto leave him to himself, fearing lest he should provoke a yet moreserious attack if he went on endeavouring to succour him. 

On returning to the throne-room the young priest again found himselfamidst all the frightful mourning. Mass was following mass; withoutcessation murmured prayers entreated the divine mercy to receive the twodear departed souls with loving kindness. And amidst the dying perfume ofthe fading roses, in front of the pale stars of the lighted candles, Pierre thought of that supreme downfall of the Boccaneras. Dario was thelast of the name, and one could well understand that the Cardinal, whoseonly sin was family pride, should have loved that one remaining scion bywhom alone the old stock might yet blossom afresh. And indeed, if he andDonna Serafina had desired the divorce, and then the marriage of thecousins, it had been less with the view of putting an end to scandal thanwith the hope of seeing a new line of Boccaneras spring up. But thelovers were dead, and the last remains of a long series of dazzlingprinces of sword and of gown lay there on that bed, soon to rot in thegrave. It was all over; that old maid and that aged Cardinal could leaveno posterity. They remained face to face like two withered oaks, soleremnants of a vanished forest, and their fall would soon leave the plainquite clear. And how terrible the grief of surviving in impotence, whatanguish to have to tell oneself that one is the end of everything, thatwith oneself all life, all hope for the morrow will depart! Amidst themurmur of the prayers, the dying perfume of the roses, the pale gleams ofthe two candies, Pierre realised what a downfall was that bereavement, how heavy was the gravestone which fell for ever on an extinct house, avanished world. 

He well understood that as one of the familiars of the mansion he mustpay his respects to Donna Serafina and the Cardinal, and he at oncesought admission to the neighbouring room where the Princess wasreceiving her friends. He found her robed in black, very slim and veryerect in her arm-chair, whence she rose with slow dignity to respond tothe bow of each person that entered. She listened to the condolences butanswered never a word, overcoming her physical pain by rigidity ofbearing. Pierre, who had learnt to know her, could divine, however, bythe hollowness of her cheeks, the emptiness of her eyes, and the bittertwinge of her mouth, how frightful was the collapse within her. Not onlywas her race ended, but her brother would never be pope, never secure theelevation which she had so long fancied she was winning for him by dintof devotion, dint of feminine renunciation, giving brain and heart, careand money, foregoing even wifehood and motherhood, spoiling her wholelife, in order to realise that dream. And amidst all the ruin of hope, itwas perhaps the nonfulfilment of that ambition which most made her heartbleed. She rose for the young priest, her guest, as she rose for theother persons who presented themselves; but she contrived to introduceshades of meaning into the manner in which she quitted her chair, andPierre fully realised that he had remained in her eyes a mere pettyFrench priest, an insignificant domestic of the Divinity who had notknown how to acquire even the title of prelate. When she had again seatedherself after acknowledging his compliment with a slight inclination ofthe head, he remained for a moment standing, out of politeness. Not aword, not a sound disturbed the mournful quiescence of the room, foralthough there were four or five lady visitors seated there they remainedmotionless and silent as with grief. Pierre was most struck, however, bythe sight of Cardinal Sarno, who was lying back in an arm-chair with hiseyes closed. The poor puny lopsided old man had lingered thereforgetfully after expressing his condolences, and, overcome by the heavysilence and close atmosphere, had just fallen asleep. And everybodyrespected his slumber. Was he dreaming as he dozed of that map ofChristendom which he carried behind his low obtuse-looking brow? Was hecontinuing in dreamland his terrible work of conquest, that task ofsubjecting and governing the earth which he directed from his dark roomat the Propaganda? The ladies glanced at him affectionately anddeferentially; he was gently scolded at times for over-working himself, the sleepiness which nowadays frequently overtook him in all sorts ofplaces being attributed to excess of genius and zeal. And of thisall-powerful Eminence Pierre was destined to carry off only this lastimpression: an exhausted old man, resting amidst the emotion of amourning-gathering, sleeping there like a candid child, without any oneknowing whether this were due to the approach of senile imbecility, or tothe fatigues of a night spent in organising the reign of God over somedistant continent. 

Two ladies went off and three more arrived. Donna Serafina rose, bowed, and then reseated herself, reverting to her rigid attitude, her busterect, her face stern and full of despair. Cardinal Sarno was stillasleep. Then Pierre felt as if he would stifle, a kind of vertigo came onhim, and his heart beat violently. So he bowed and withdrew: and onpassing through the dining-room on his way to the little study whereCardinal Boccanera received his visitors, he found himself in thepresence of Paparelli who was jealously guarding the door. When thetrain-bearer had sniffed at the young man, he seemed to realise that hecould not refuse him admittance. Moreover, as this intruder was goingaway the very next day, defeated and covered with shame, there wasnothing to be feared from him. 

"You wish to see his Eminence?" said Paparelli. "Good, good. By and by, wait. " And opining that Pierre was too near the door, he pushed him backto the other end of the room, for fear no doubt lest he should overhearanything. "His Eminence is still engaged with his Eminence CardinalSanguinetti. Wait, wait there!"

Sanguinetti indeed had made a point of kneeling for a long time in frontof the bodies in the throne-room, and had then spun out his visit toDonna Serafina in order to mark how largely he shared the family sorrow. And for more than ten minutes now he had been closeted with CardinalBoccanera, nothing but an occasional murmur of their voices being heardthrough the closed door. 

Pierre, however, on finding Paparelli there, was again haunted by allthat Don Vigilio had told him. He looked at the train-bearer, so fat andshort, puffed out with bad fat in his dirty cassock, his face flabby andwrinkled, and his whole person at forty years of age suggestive of thatof a very old maid: and he felt astonished. How was it that CardinalBoccanera, that superb prince who carried his head so high, and who wasso supremely proud of his name, had allowed himself to be captured andswayed by such a frightful creature reeking of baseness and abomination?Was it not the man's very physical degradation and profound humility thathad struck him, disturbed him, and finally fascinated him, as wondrousgifts conducing to salvation, which he himself lacked? Paparelli's personand disposition were like blows dealt to his own handsome presence andhis own pride. He, who could not be so deformed, he who could notvanquish his passion for glory, must, by an effort of faith, have grownjealous of that man who was so extremely ugly and so extremelyinsignificant, he must have come to admire him as a superior force ofpenitence and human abasement which threw the portals of heaven wideopen. Who can ever tell what ascendency is exercised by the monster overthe hero; by the horrid-looking saint covered with vermin over thepowerful of this world in their terror at having to endure everlastingflames in payment of their terrestrial joys? And 'twas indeed the liondevoured by the insect, vast strength and splendour destroyed by theinvisible. Ah! to have that fine soul which was so certain of paradise, which for its welfare was enclosed in such a disgusting body, to possessthe happy humility of that wide intelligence, that remarkable theologian, who scourged himself with rods each morning on rising, and was content tobe the lowest of servants. 

Standing there a heap of livid fat, Paparelli on his side watched Pierrewith his little grey eyes blinking amidst the myriad wrinkles of hisface. And the young priest began to feel uneasy, wondering what theirEminences could be saying to one another, shut up together like that forso long a time. And what an interview it must be if Boccanera suspectedSanguinetti of counting Santobono among his clients. What serene audacityit was on Sanguinetti's part to have dared to present himself in thathouse, and what strength of soul there must be on Boccanera's part, whatempire over himself, to prevent all scandal by remaining silent andaccepting the visit as a simple mark of esteem and affection! What couldthey be saying to one another, however? How interesting it would havebeen to have seen them face to face, and have heard them exchange thediplomatic phrases suited to such an interview, whilst their souls wereraging with furious hatred!

All at once the door opened and Cardinal Sanguinetti appeared with calmface, no ruddier than usual, indeed a trifle paler, and retaining thefitting measure of sorrow which he had thought it right to assume. Hisrestless eyes alone revealed his delight at being rid of a difficulttask. And he was going off, all hope, in the conviction that he was theonly eligible candidate to the papacy that remained. 

Abbe Paparelli had darted forward: "If your Eminence will kindly followme--I will escort your Eminence to the door. " Then, turning towardsPierre, he added: "You may go in now. "

Pierre watched them walk away, the one so humble behind the other, whowas so triumphant. Then he entered the little work-room, furnished simplywith a table and three chairs, and in the centre of it he at onceperceived Cardinal Boccanera still standing in the lofty, noble attitudewhich he had assumed to take leave of Sanguinetti, his hated rival to thepontifical throne. And, visibly, Boccanera also believed himself the onlypossible pope, the one whom the coming Conclave would elect. 

However, when the door had been closed, and the Cardinal beheld thatyoung priest, his guest, who had witnessed the death of those two dearchildren lying in the adjoining room, he was again mastered by emotion, an unexpected attack of weakness in which all his energy collapsed. Hishuman feelings were taking their revenge now that his rival was no longerthere to see him. He staggered like an old tree smitten with the axe, andsank upon a chair, stifling with sobs. 

And as Pierre, according to usage, was about to stoop and kiss his ring, he raised him and at once made him sit down, stammering in a haltingvoice: "No, no, my dear son! Seat yourself there, wait--Excuse me, leaveme to myself for a moment, my heart is bursting. "

He sobbed with his hands to his face, unable to master himself, unable todrive back his grief with those yet vigorous fingers which were pressedto his cheeks and temples. 

Tears came into Pierre's eyes, for he also lived through all that woeafresh, and was much upset by the weeping of that tall old man, thatsaint and prince, usually so haughty, so fully master of himself, but nowonly a poor, suffering, agonising man, as weak and as lost as a child. However, although the young priest was likewise stifling with grief, hedesired to present his condolences, and sought for kindly words by whichhe might soothe the other's despair. "I beg your Eminence to believe inmy profound grief, " he said. "I have been overwhelmed with kindness here, and desired at once to tell your Eminence how much that irreparableloss--"

But with a brave gesture the Cardinal silenced him. "No, no, say nothing, for mercy's sake say nothing!"

And silence reigned while he continued weeping, shaken by the struggle hewas waging, his efforts to regain sufficient strength to overcomehimself. At last he mastered his quiver and slowly uncovered his face, which had again become calm, like that of a believer strong in his faith, and submissive to the will of God. In refusing a miracle, in dealing sohard a blow to that house, God had doubtless had His reasons, and he, theCardinal, one of God's ministers, one of the high dignitaries of Histerrestrial court, was in duty bound to bow to it. The silence lasted foranother moment, and then, in a voice which he managed to render naturaland cordial, Boccanera said: "You are leaving us, you are going back toFrance to-morrow, are you not, my dear son?"

"Yes, I shall have the honour to take leave of your Eminence to-morrow, again thanking your Eminence for your inexhaustible kindness. "

"And you have learnt that the Congregation of the Index has condemnedyour book, as was inevitable?"

"Yes, I obtained the signal favour of being received by his Holiness, andin his presence made my submission and reprobated my book. "

The Cardinal's moist eyes again began to sparkle. "Ah! you did that, ah!you did well, my dear son, " he said. "It was only your strict duty as apriest, but there are so many nowadays who do not even do their duty! Asa member of the Congregation I kept the promise I gave you to read yourbook, particularly the incriminated pages. And if I afterwards remainedneutral, to such a point even as to miss the sitting in which judgmentwas pronounced, it was only to please my poor, dear niece, who was sofond of you, and who pleaded your cause to me. "

Tears were coming into his eyes again, and he paused, feeling that hewould once more be overcome if he evoked the memory of that adored andlamented Benedetta. And so it was with a pugnacious bitterness that heresumed: "But what an execrable book it was, my dear son, allow me totell you so. You told me that you had shown respect for dogma, and Istill wonder what aberration can have come over you that you should havebeen so blind to all consciousness of your offences. Respect fordogma--good Lord! when the entire work is the negation of our holyreligion! Did you not realise that by asking for a new religion youabsolutely condemned the old one, the only true one, the only good one, the only one that can be eternal? And that sufficed to make your book themost deadly of poisons, one of those infamous books which in former timeswere burnt by the hangman, and which one is nowadays compelled to leavein circulation after interdicting them and thereby designating them toevil curiosity, which explains the contagious rottenness of the century. Ah! I well recognised there some of the ideas of our distinguished andpoetical relative, that dear Viscount Philibert de la Choue. A man ofletters, yes! a man of letters! Literature, mere literature! I beg God toforgive him, for he most surely does not know what he is doing, orwhither he is going with his elegiac Christianity for talkative workingmen and young persons of either sex, to whom scientific notions havegiven vagueness of soul. And I only feel angry with his Eminence CardinalBergerot, for he at any rate knows what he does, and does as he pleases. No, say nothing, do not defend him. He personifies Revolution in theChurch, and is against God. "

Although Pierre had resolved that he would not reply or argue, he hadallowed a gesture of protest to escape him on hearing this furious attackupon the man whom he most respected in the whole world. However, heyielded to Cardinal Boccanera's injunction and again bowed. 

"I cannot sufficiently express my horror, " the Cardinal roughlycontinued; "yes, my horror for all that hollow dream of a new religion!That appeal to the most hideous passions which stir up the poor againstthe rich, by promising them I know not what division of wealth, whatcommunity of possession which is nowadays impossible! That base flatteryshown to the lower orders to whom equality and justice are promised butnever given, for these can come from God alone, it is only He who canfinally make them reign on the day appointed by His almighty power! Andthere is even that interested charity which people abuse of to railagainst Heaven itself and accuse it of iniquity and indifference, thatlackadaisical weakening charity and compassion, unworthy of strong firmhearts, for it is as if human suffering were not necessary for salvation, as if we did not become more pure, greater and nearer to the supremehappiness, the more and more we suffer!"

He was growing excited, full of anguish, and superb. It was hisbereavement, his heart wound, which thus exasperated him, the great blowwhich had felled him for a moment, but against which he again rose erect, defying grief, and stubborn in his stoic belief in an omnipotent God, whowas the master of mankind, and reserved felicity to those whom Heselected. Again, however, he made an effort to calm himself, and resumedin a more gentle voice: "At all events the fold is always open, my dearson, and here you are back in it since you have repented. You cannotimagine how happy it makes me. "

In his turn Pierre strove to show himself conciliatory in order that hemight not further ulcerate that violent, grief-stricken soul: "YourEminence, " said he, "may be sure that I shall endeavour to remember everyone of the kind words which your Eminence has spoken to me, in the sameway as I shall remember the fatherly greeting of his Holiness Leo XIII. "

This sentence seemed to throw Boccanera into agitation again. At firstonly murmured, restrained words came from him, as if he were strugglingagainst a desire to question the young priest. "Ah yes! you saw hisHoliness, you spoke to him, and he told you I suppose, as he tells allthe foreigners who go to pay their respects to him, that he desiresconciliation and peace. For my part I now only see him when it isabsolutely necessary; for more than a year I have not been received inprivate audience. "

This proof of disfavour, of the covert struggle which as in the days ofPius IX kept the Holy Father and the _Camerlingo_ at variance, filled thelatter with bitterness. He was unable to restrain himself and spoke out, reflecting no doubt that he had a familiar before him, one whosediscretion was certain, and who moreover was leaving Rome on the morrow. "One may go a long way, " said he, "with those fine words, peace andconciliation, which are so often void of real wisdom and courage. Theterrible truth is that Leo XIII's eighteen years of concessions haveshaken everything in the Church, and should he long continue to reignCatholicism would topple over and crumble into dust like a building whosepillars have been undermined. "

Interested by this remark, Pierre in his desire for knowledge began toraise objections. "But hasn't his Holiness shown himself very prudent?"he asked; "has he not placed dogma on one side in an impregnablefortress? If he seems to have made concessions on many points, have theynot always been concessions in mere matters of form?"

"Matters of form; ah, yes!" the Cardinal resumed with increasing passion. "He told you, no doubt, as he tells others, that whilst in substance hewill make no surrender, he will readily yield in matters of form! It's adeplorable axiom, an equivocal form of diplomacy even when it isn't somuch low hypocrisy! My soul revolts at the thought of that Opportunism, that Jesuitism which makes artifice its weapon, and only serves to castdoubt among true believers, the confusion of a _sauve-qui-peut_, which byand by must lead to inevitable defeat. It is cowardice, the worst form ofcowardice, abandonment of one's weapons in order that one may retreat themore speedily, shame of oneself, assumption of a mask in the hope ofdeceiving the enemy, penetrating into his camp, and overcoming him bytreachery! No, no, form is everything in a traditional and immutablereligion, which for eighteen hundred years has been, is now, and till theend of time will be the very law of God!"

The Cardinal's feelings so stirred him that he was unable to remainseated, and began to walk about the little room. And it was the wholereign, the whole policy of Leo XIII which he discussed and condemned. "Unity too, " he continued, "that famous unity of the Christian Churchwhich his Holiness talks of bringing about, and his desire for whichpeople turn to his great glory, why, it is only the blind ambition of aconqueror enlarging his empire without asking himself if the new nationsthat he subjects may not disorganise, adulterate, and impregnate his oldand hitherto faithful people with every error. What if all theschismatical nations on returning to the Catholic Church should sotransform it as to kill it and make it a new Church? There is only onewise course, which is to be what one is, and that firmly. Again, isn'tthere both shame and danger in that pretended alliance with the democracywhich in itself gives the lie to the ancient spirit of the papacy? Theright of kings is divine, and to abandon the monarchical principle is toset oneself against God, to compound with revolution, and harbour amonstrous scheme of utilising the madness of men the better to establishone's power over them. All republics are forms of anarchy, and there canbe no more criminal act, one which must for ever shake the principle ofauthority, order, and religion itself, than that of recognising arepublic as legitimate for the sole purpose of indulging a dream ofimpossible conciliation. And observe how this bears on the question ofthe temporal power. He continues to claim it, he makes a point of nosurrender on that question of the restoration of Rome; but in reality, has he not made the loss irreparable, has he not definitively renouncedRome, by admitting that nations have the right to drive away their kingsand live like wild beasts in the depths of the forest?"

All at once the Cardinal stopped short and raised his arms to Heaven in aburst of holy anger. "Ah! that man, ah! that man who by his vanity andcraving for success will have proved the ruin of the Church, that man whohas never ceased corrupting everything, dissolving everything, crumblingeverything in order to reign over the world which he fancies he willreconquer by those means, why, Almighty God, why hast Thou not alreadycalled him to Thee?"

So sincere was the accent in which that appeal to Death was raised, tosuch a point was hatred magnified by a real desire to save the Deityimperilled here below, that a great shudder swept through Pierre also. Henow understood that Cardinal Boccanera who religiously and passionatelyhated Leo XIII; he saw him in the depths of his black palace, waiting andwatching for the Pope's death, that death which as _Camerlingo_ he mustofficially certify. How feverishly he must wait, how impatiently he mustdesire the advent of the hour, when with his little silver hammer hewould deal the three symbolic taps on the skull of Leo XIII, while thelatter lay cold and rigid on his bed surrounded by his pontifical Court. Ah! to strike that wall of the brain, to make sure that nothing morewould answer from within, that nothing beyond night and silence was leftthere. And the three calls would ring out: "Gioachino! Gioachino!Gioachino!" And, the corpse making no answer, the _Camerlingo_ afterwaiting for a few seconds would turn and say: "The Pope is dead!"

"Conciliation, however, is the weapon of the times, " remarked Pierre, wishing to bring the Cardinal back to the present, "and it is in order tomake sure of conquering that the Holy Father yields in matters of form. "

"He will not conquer, he will be conquered, " cried Boccanera. "Never hasthe Church been victorious save in stubbornly clinging to itsintegrality, the immutable eternity of its divine essence. And it wouldfor a certainty fall on the day when it should allow a single stone ofits edifice to be touched. Remember the terrible period through which itpassed at the time of the Council of Trent. The Reformation had justdeeply shaken it, laxity of discipline and morals was everywhereincreasing, there was a rising tide of novelties, ideas suggested by thespirit of evil, unhealthy projects born of the pride of man, running riotin full license. And at the Council itself many members were disturbed, poisoned, ready to vote for the wildest changes, a fresh schism added toall the others. Well, if Catholicism was saved at that critical period, under the threat of such great danger, it was because the majority, enlightened by God, maintained the old edifice intact, it was becausewith divinely inspired obstinacy it kept itself within the narrow limitsof dogma, it was because it made no concession, none, whether insubstance or in form! Nowadays the situation is certainly not worse thanit was at the time of the Council of Trent. Let us suppose it to be muchthe same, and tell me if it is not nobler, braver, and safer for theChurch to show the courage which she showed before and declare aloud whatshe is, what she has been, and what she will be. There is no salvationfor her otherwise than in her complete, indisputable sovereignty; andsince she has always conquered by non-surrender, all attempts toconciliate her with the century are tantamount to killing her!"

The Cardinal had again begun to walk to and fro with thoughtful step. "No, no, " said he, "no compounding, no surrender, no weakness! Rather thewall of steel which bars the road, the block of granite which marks thelimit of a world! As I told you, my dear son, on the day of your arrival, to try to accommodate Catholicism to the new times is to hasten its end, if really it be threatened, as atheists pretend. And in that way it woulddie basely and shamefully instead of dying erect, proud, and dignified inits old glorious royalty! Ah! to die standing, denying nought of thepast, braving the future and confessing one's whole faith!"

That old man of seventy seemed to grow yet loftier as he spoke, free fromall dread of final annihilation, and making the gesture of a hero whodefies futurity. Faith had given him serenity of peace; he believed, heknew, he had neither doubt nor fear of the morrow of death. Still hisvoice was tinged with haughty sadness as he resumed, "God can do all, even destroy His own work should it seem evil in His eyes. But though allshould crumble to-morrow, though the Holy Church should disappear amongthe ruins, though the most venerated sanctuaries should be crushed by thefalling stars, it would still be necessary for us to bow and adore God, who after creating the world might thus annihilate it for His own glory. And I wait, submissive to His will, for nothing happens unless He willsit. If really the temples be shaken, if Catholicism be fated to fallto-morrow into dust, I shall be here to act as the minister of death, even as I have been the minister of life! It is certain, I confess it, that there are hours when terrible signs appear to me. Perhaps, indeed, the end of time is nigh, and we shall witness that fall of the old worldwith which others threaten us. The worthiest, the loftiest are struckdown as if Heaven erred, and in them punished the crimes of the world. Have I not myself felt the blast from the abyss into which all must sink, since my house, for transgressions that I am ignorant of, has beenstricken with that frightful bereavement which precipitates it into thegulf which casts it back into night everlasting!"

He again evoked those two dear dead ones who were always present in hismind. Sobs were once more rising in his throat, his hands trembled, hislofty figure quivered with the last revolt of grief. Yes, if God hadstricken him so severely by suppressing his race, if the greatest andmost faithful were thus punished, it must be that the world wasdefinitively condemned. Did not the end of his house mean the approachingend of all? And in his sovereign pride as priest and as prince, he founda cry of supreme resignation, once more raising his hands on high:"Almighty God, Thy will be done! May all die, all fall, all return to thenight of chaos! I shall remain standing in this ruined palace, waiting tobe buried beneath its fragments. And if Thy will should summon me to buryThy holy religion, be without fear, I shall do nothing unworthy toprolong its life for a few days! I will maintain it erect, like myself, as proud, as uncompromising as in the days of all its power. I will yieldnothing, whether in discipline, or in rite, or in dogma. And when the dayshall come I will bury it with myself, carrying it whole into the graverather than yielding aught of it, encompassing it with my cold arms torestore it to Thee, even as Thou didst commit it to the keeping of ThyChurch. O mighty God and sovereign Master, dispose of me, make me if suchbe Thy good pleasure the pontiff of destruction, the pontiff of the deathof the world. "

Pierre, who was thunderstruck, quivered with fear and admiration at theextraordinary vision this evoked: the last of the popes interringCatholicism. He understood that Boccanera must at times have made thatdream; he could see him in the Vatican, in St. Peter's which thethunderbolts had riven asunder, he could see him erect and alone in thespacious halls whence his terrified, cowardly pontifical Court had fled. Clad in his white cassock, thus wearing white mourning for the Church, heonce more descended to the sanctuary, there to wait for heaven to fall onthe evening of Time's accomplishment and annihilate the earth. Thrice heraised the large crucifix, overthrown by the supreme convulsions of thesoil. Then, when the final crack rent the steps apart, he caught it inhis arms and was annihilated with it beneath the falling vaults. Andnothing could be more instinct with fierce and kingly grandeur. 

Voiceless, but without weakness, his lofty stature invincible and erectin spite of all, Cardinal Boccanera made a gesture dismissing Pierre, whoyielding to his passion for truth and beauty found that he alone wasgreat and right, and respectfully kissed his hand. 

It was in the throne-room, with closed doors, at nightfall, after thevisits had ceased, that the two bodies were laid in their coffin. Thereligious services had come to an end, and in the close silent atmospherethere only lingered the dying perfume of the roses and the warm odour ofthe candles. As the latter's pale stars scarcely lighted the spaciousroom, some lamps had been brought, and servants held them in their handslike torches. According to custom, all the servants of the house werepresent to bid a last farewell to the departed. 

There was a little delay. Morano, who had been giving himself no end oftrouble ever since morning, was forced to run off again as the triplecoffin did not arrive. At last it came, some servants brought it up, andthen they were able to begin. The Cardinal and Donna Serafina stood sideby side near the bed. Pierre also was present, as well as Don Vigilio. Itwas Victorine who sewed the lovers up in the white silk shroud, whichseemed like a bridal robe, the gay pure robe of their union. Then twoservants came forward and helped Pierre and Don Vigilio to lay the bodiesin the first coffin, of pine wood lined with pink satin. It was scarcelybroader than an ordinary coffin, so young and slim were the lovers and sotightly were they clasped in their last embrace. When they were stretchedinside they there continued their eternal slumber, their heads halfhidden by their odorous, mingling hair. And when this first coffin hadbeen placed in the second one, a leaden shell, and the second had beenenclosed in the third, of stout oak, and when the three lids had beensoldered and screwed down, the lovers' faces could still be seen throughthe circular opening, covered with thick glass, which in accordance withthe Roman custom had been left in each of the coffins. And then, for everparted from the living, alone together, they still gazed at one anotherwith their eyes obstinately open, having all eternity before them whereinto exhaust their infinite love. 

XVI. 

ON the following day, on his return from the funeral Pierre lunched alonein his room, having decided to take leave of the Cardinal and DonnaSerafina during the afternoon. He was quitting Rome that evening by thetrain which started at seventeen minutes past ten. There was nothing todetain him any longer; there was only one visit which he desired to make, a visit to old Orlando, with whom he had promised to have a long chatprior to his departure. And so a little before two o'clock he sent for acab which took him to the Via Venti Settembre. A fine rain had fallen allnight, its moisture steeping the city in grey vapour; and though thisrain had now ceased the sky remained very dark, and the huge new mansionsof the Via Venti Settembre were quite livid, interminably mournful withtheir balconies ever of the same pattern and their regular and endlessrows of windows. The Ministry of Finances, that colossal pile of masonryand sculpture, looked in particular like a dead town, a huge bloodlessbody whence all life had withdrawn. On the other hand, although all wasso gloomy the rain had made the atmosphere milder, in fact it was almostwarm, damply and feverishly warm. 

In the hall of Prada's little palazzo Pierre was surprised to find fouror five gentlemen taking off their overcoats; however he learnt from aservant that Count Luigi had a meeting that day with some contractors. Ashe, Pierre, wished to see the Count's father he had only to ascend to thethird floor, added the servant. He must knock at the little door on theright-hand side of the landing there. 

On the very first landing, however, the priest found himself face to facewith the young Count who was there receiving the contractors, and who onrecognising him became frightfully pale. They had not met since thetragedy at the Boccanera mansion, and Pierre well realised how greatlyhis glance disturbed that man, what a troublesome recollection of moralcomplicity it evoked, and what mortal dread lest he should have guessedthe truth. 

"Have you come to see me, have you something to tell me?" the Countinquired. 

"No, I am leaving Rome, I have come to wish your father good-bye. "

Prada's pallor increased at this, and his whole face quivered: "Ah! it isto see my father. He is not very well, be gentle with him, " he replied, and as he spoke, his look of anguish clearly proclaimed what he fearedfrom Pierre, some imprudent word, perhaps even a final mission, themalediction of that man and woman whom he had killed. And surely if hisfather knew, he would die as well. "Ah! how annoying it is, " he resumed, "I can't go up with you! There are gentlemen waiting for me. Yes, howannoyed I am. As soon as possible, however, I will join you, yes, as soonas possible. "

He knew not how to stop the young priest, whom he must evidently allow toremain with his father, whilst he himself stayed down below, kept thereby his pecuniary worries. But how distressful were the eyes with which hewatched Pierre climb the stairs, how he seemed to supplicate him with hiswhole quivering form. His father, good Lord, the only true love, the onegreat, pure, faithful passion of his life!

"Don't make him talk too much, brighten him, won't you?" were his partingwords. 

Up above it was not Batista, the devoted ex-soldier, who opened the door, but a very young fellow to whom Pierre did not at first pay anyattention. The little room was bare and light as on previous occasions, and from the broad curtainless window there was the superb view of Rome, Rome crushed that day beneath a leaden sky and steeped in shade ofinfinite mournfulness. Old Orlando, however, had in no wise changed, butstill displayed the superb head of an old blanched lion, a powerfulmuzzle and youthful eyes, which yet sparkled with the passions which hadgrowled in a soul of fire. Pierre found the stricken hero in the samearm-chair as previously, near the same table littered with newspapers, and with his legs buried in the same black wrapper, as if he were thereimmobilised in a sheath of stone, to such a point that after months andyears one was sure to perceive him quite unchanged, with living bust, andface glowing with strength and intelligence. 

That grey day, however, he seemed gloomy, low in spirits. "Ah! so hereyou are, my dear Monsieur Froment, " he exclaimed, "I have been thinkingof you these three days past, living the awful days which you must havelived in that tragic Palazzo Boccanera. Ah, God! What a frightfulbereavement! My heart is quite overwhelmed, these newspapers have againjust upset me with the fresh details they give!" He pointed as he spoketo the papers scattered over the table. Then with a gesture he strove tobrush aside the gloomy story, and banish that vision of Benedetta dead, which had been haunting him. "Well, and yourself?" he inquired. 

"I am leaving this evening, " replied Pierre, "but I did not wish to quitRome without pressing your brave hands. "

"You are leaving? But your book?"

"My book--I have been received by the Holy Father, I have made mysubmission and reprobated my book. "

Orlando looked fixedly at the priest. There was a short interval ofsilence, during which their eyes told one another all that they had totell respecting the affair. Neither felt the necessity of any longerexplanation. The old man merely spoke these concluding words: "You havedone well, your book was a chimera. "

"Yes, a chimera, a piece of childishness, and I have condemned it myselfin the name of truth and reason. "

A smile appeared on the dolorous lips of the impotent hero. "Then youhave seen things, you understand and know them now?"

"Yes, I know them; and that is why I did not wish to go off withouthaving that frank conversation with you which we agreed upon. "

Orlando was delighted, but all at once he seemed to remember the youngfellow who had opened the door to Pierre, and who had afterwards modestlyresumed his seat on a chair near the window. This young fellow was ayouth of twenty, still beardless, of a blonde handsomeness such asoccasionally flowers at Naples, with long curly hair, a lily-likecomplexion, a rosy mouth, and soft eyes full of a dreamy languor. The oldman presented him in fatherly fashion, Angiolo Mascara his name was, andhe was the grandson of an old comrade in arms, the epic Mascara of theThousand, who had died like a hero, his body pierced by a hundred wounds. 

"I sent for him to scold him, " continued Orlando with a smile. "Do youknow that this fine fellow with his girlish airs goes in for the newideas? He is an Anarchist, one of the three or four dozen Anarchists thatwe have in Italy. He's a good little lad at bottom, he has only hismother left him, and supports her, thanks to the little berth which heholds, but which he'll lose one of these fine days if he is not careful. Come, come, my child, you must promise me to be reasonable. "

Thereupon Angiolo, whose clean but well-worn garments bespoke decentpoverty, made answer in a grave and musical voice: "I am reasonable, itis the others, all the others who are not. When all men are reasonableand desire truth and justice, the world will be happy. "

"Ah! if you fancy that he'll give way!" cried Orlando. "But, my poorchild, just ask Monsieur l'Abbe if one ever knows where truth and justiceare. Well, well, one must leave you the time to live, and see, andunderstand things. "

Then, paying no more attention to the young man, he returned to Pierre, while Angiolo, remaining very quiet in his corner, kept his eyes ardentlyfixed on them, and with open, quivering ears lost not a word they said. 

"I told you, my dear Monsieur Froment, " resumed Orlando, "that your ideaswould change, and that acquaintance with Rome would bring you to accurateviews far more readily than any fine speeches I could make to you. So Inever doubted but what you would of your own free will withdraw your bookas soon as men and things should have enlightened you respecting theVatican at the present day. But let us leave the Vatican on one side, there is nothing to be done but to let it continue falling slowly andinevitably into ruin. What interests me is our Italian Rome, which youtreated as an element to be neglected, but which you have now seen andstudied, so that we can both speak of it with the necessary knowledge!"

He thereupon at once granted a great many things, acknowledged thatblunders had been committed, that the finances were in a deplorablestate, and that there were serious difficulties of all kinds. They, theItalians, had sinned by excess of legitimate pride, they had proceededtoo hastily with their attempt to improvise a great nation, to changeancient Rome into a great modern capital as by the mere touch of a wand. And thence had come that mania for erecting new districts, that madspeculation in land and shares, which had brought the country within ahair's breadth of bankruptcy. 

At this Pierre gently interrupted him to tell him of the view which hehimself had arrived at after his peregrinations and studies through Rome. "That fever of the first hour, that financial _debacle_, " said he, "isafter all nothing. All pecuniary sores can be healed. But the grave pointis that your Italy still remains to be created. There is no aristocracyleft, and as yet there is no people, nothing but a devouring middleclass, dating from yesterday, which preys on the rich harvest of thefuture before it is ripe. "

Silence fell. Orlando sadly wagged his old leonine head. The cuttingharshness of Pierre's formula struck him in the heart. "Yes, yes, " hesaid at last, "that is so, you have seen things plainly; and why say nowhen facts are there, patent to everybody? I myself had already spoken toyou of that middle class which hungers so ravenously for place andoffice, distinctions and plumes, and which at the same time is soavaricious, so suspicious with regard to its money which it invests inbanks, never risking it in agriculture or manufactures or commerce, having indeed the one desire to enjoy life without doing anything, and sounintelligent that it cannot see it is killing its country by itsloathing for labour, its contempt for the poor, its one ambition to livein a petty way with the barren glory of belonging to some officialadministration. And, as you say, the aristocracy is dying, discrowned, ruined, sunk into the degeneracy which overtakes races towards theirclose, most of its members reduced to beggary, the others, the few whohave clung to their money, crushed by heavy imposts, possessing noughtbut dead fortunes which constant sharing diminishes and which must soondisappear with the princes themselves. And then there is the people, which has suffered so much and suffers still, but is so used to sufferingthat it can seemingly conceive no idea of emerging from it, blind anddeaf as it is, almost regretting its ancient bondage, and so ignorant, soabominably ignorant, which is the one cause of its hopeless, morrowlessmisery, for it has not even the consolation of understanding that if wehave conquered and are trying to resuscitate Rome and Italy in theirancient glory, it is for itself, the people, alone. Yes, yes, noaristocracy left, no people as yet, and a middle class which reallyalarms one. How can one therefore help yielding at times to the terrorsof the pessimists, who pretend that our misfortunes are as yet nothing, that we are going forward to yet more awful catastrophes, as though, indeed, what we now behold were but the first symptoms of our race's end, the premonitory signs of final annihilation!"

As he spoke he raised his long quivering arms towards the window, towardsthe light, and Pierre, deeply moved, remembered how Cardinal Boccanera onthe previous day had made a similar gesture of supplicant distress whenappealing to the divine power. And both men, Cardinal and patriot, sohostile in their beliefs, were instinct with the same fierce anddespairing grandeur. 

"As I told you, however, on the first day, " continued Orlando, "we onlysought to accomplish logical and inevitable things. As for Rome, with herpast history of splendour and domination which weighs so heavily upon us, we could not do otherwise than take her for capital, for she alone wasthe bond, the living symbol of our unity at the same time as the promiseof eternity, the renewal offered to our great dream of resurrection andglory. "

He went on, recognising the disastrous conditions under which Romelaboured as a capital. She was a purely decorative city with exhaustedsoil, she had remained apart from modern life, she was unhealthy, sheoffered no possibility of commerce or industry, she was invincibly preyedupon by death, standing as she did amidst that sterile desert of theCampagna. Then he compared her with the other cities which are jealous ofher; first Florence, which, however, has become so indifferent and sosceptical, impregnated with a happy heedlessness which seems inexplicablewhen one remembers the frantic passions, and the torrents of bloodrolling through her history; next Naples, which yet remains content withher bright sun, and whose childish people enjoy their ignorance andwretchedness so indolently that one knows not whether one ought to pitythem; next Venice, which has resigned herself to remaining a marvel ofancient art, which one ought to put under glass so as to preserve herintact, slumbering amid the sovereign pomp of her annals; next Genoa, which is absorbed in trade, still active and bustling, one of the lastqueens of that Mediterranean, that insignificant lake which was once theopulent central sea, whose waters carried the wealth of the world; andthen particularly Turin and Milan, those industrial and commercialcentres, which are so full of life and so modernised that touristsdisdain them as not being "Italian" cities, both of them having savedthemselves from ruin by entering into that Western evolution which ispreparing the next century. Ah! that old land of Italy, ought one toleave it all as a dusty museum for the pleasure of artistic souls, leaveit to crumble away, even as its little towns of Magna Graecia, Umbria, and Tuscany are already crumbling, like exquisite _bibelots_ which onedares not repair for fear that one might spoil their character. At allevents, there must either be death, death soon and inevitable, or elsethe pick of the demolisher, the tottering walls thrown to the ground, andcities of labour, science, and health created on all sides; in one word, a new Italy really rising from the ashes of the old one, and adapted tothe new civilisation into which humanity is entering. 

"However, why despair?" Orlando continued energetically. "Rome may weighheavily on our shoulders, but she is none the less the summit we coveted. We are here, and we shall stay here awaiting events. Even if thepopulation does not increase it at least remains stationary at a figureof some 400, 000 souls, and the movement of increase may set in again whenthe causes which stopped it shall have ceased. Our blunder was to thinkthat Rome would become a Paris or Berlin; but, so far, all sorts ofsocial, historical, even ethnical considerations seem opposed to it; yetwho can tell what may be the surprises of to-morrow? Are we forbidden tohope, to put faith in the blood which courses in our veins, the blood ofthe old conquerors of the world? I, who no longer stir from this room, impotent as I am, even I at times feel my madness come back, believe inthe invincibility and immortality of Rome, and wait for the two millionsof people who must come to populate those dolorous new districts whichyou have seen so empty and already falling into ruins! And certainly theywill come! Why not? You will see, you will see, everything will bepopulated, and even more houses will have to be built. Moreover, can youcall a nation poor, when it possesses Lombardy? Is there not alsoinexhaustible wealth in our southern provinces? Let peace settle down, let the South and the North mingle together, and a new generation ofworkers grow up. Since we have the soil, such a fertile soil, the greatharvest which is awaited will surely some day sprout and ripen under theburning sun!"

Enthusiasm was upbuoying him, all the _furia_ of youth inflamed his eyes. Pierre smiled, won over; and as soon as he was able to speak, he said:"The problem must be tackled down below, among the people. You must makemen!"

"Exactly!" cried Orlando. "I don't cease repeating it, one must makeItaly. It is as if a wind from the East had blown the seed of humanity, the seed which makes vigorous and powerful nations, elsewhere. Our peopleis not like yours in France, a reservoir of men and money from which onecan draw as plentifully as one pleases. It is such another inexhaustiblereservoir that I wish to see created among us. And one must begin at thebottom. There must be schools everywhere, ignorance must be stamped out, brutishness and idleness must be fought with books, intellectual andmoral instruction must give us the industrious people which we need if weare not to disappear from among the great nations. And once again forwhom, if not for the democracy of to-morrow, have we worked in takingpossession of Rome? And how easily one can understand that all shouldcollapse here, and nothing grow up vigorously since such a democracy isabsolutely absent. Yes, yes, the solution of the problem does not lieelsewhere; we must make a people, make an Italian democracy. "

Pierre had grown calm again, feeling somewhat anxious yet not daring tosay that it is by no means easy to modify a nation, that Italy is such assoil, history, and race have made her, and that to seek to transform herso radically and all at once might be a dangerous enterprise. Do notnations like beings have an active youth, a resplendent prime, and a moreor less prolonged old age ending in death? A modern democratic Rome, goodheavens! The modern Romes are named Paris, London, Chicago. So hecontented himself with saying: "But pending this great renovation of thepeople, don't you think that you ought to be prudent? Your finances arein such a bad condition, you are passing through such great social andeconomic difficulties, that you run the risk of the worst catastrophesbefore you secure either men or money. Ah! how prudent would thatminister be who should say in your Chamber: 'Our pride has made amistake, it was wrong of us to try to make ourselves a great nation inone day; more time, labour, and patience are needed; and we consent toremain for the present a young nation, which will quietly reflect andlabour at self-formation, without, for a long time yet, seeking to play adominant part. So we intend to disarm, to strike out the war and navalestimates, all the estimates intended for display abroad, in order todevote ourselves to our internal prosperity, and to build up byeducation, physically and morally, the great nation which we swear wewill be fifty years hence!' Yes, yes, strike out all needlessexpenditure, your salvation lies in that!"

But Orlando, while listening, had become gloomy again, and with a vague, weary gesture he replied in an undertone: "No, no, the minister whoshould use such language would be hooted. It would be too hard aconfession, such as one cannot ask a nation to make. Every heart wouldbound, leap forth at the idea. And, besides, would not the danger perhapsbe even greater if all that has been done were allowed to crumble? Howmany wrecked hopes, how much discarded, useless material there would be!No, we can now only save ourselves by patience and courage--and forward, ever forward! We are a very young nation, and in fifty years we desiredto effect the unity which others have required two hundred years toarrive at. Well, we must pay for our haste, we must wait for the harvestto ripen, and fill our barns. " Then, with another and more sweeping waveof the arm, he stubbornly strengthened himself in his hopes. "You know, "said he, "that I was always against the alliance with Germany. As Ipredicted, it has ruined us. We were not big enough to march side by sidewith such a wealthy and powerful person, and it is in view of a war, always near at hand and inevitable, that we now suffer so cruelly fromhaving to support the budgets of a great nation. Ah! that war which hasnever come, it is that which has exhausted the best part of our blood andsap and money without the slightest profit. To-day we have nothing beforeus but the necessity of breaking with our ally, who speculated on ourpride, who has never helped us in any way, who has never given usanything but bad advice, and treated us otherwise than with suspicion. But it was all inevitable, and that's what people won't admit in France. I can speak freely of it all, for I am a declared friend of France, andpeople even feel some spite against me on that account. However, explainto your compatriots, that on the morrow of our conquest of Rome, in ourfrantic desire to resume our ancient rank, it was absolutely necessarythat we should play our part in Europe and show that we were a power withwhom the others must henceforth count. And hesitation was not allowable, all our interests impelled us toward Germany, the evidence was so bindingas to impose itself. The stern law of the struggle for life weighs asheavily on nations as on individuals, and this it is which explains andjustifies the rupture between the two sisters, France and Italy, theforgetting of so many ties, race, commercial intercourse, and, if youlike, services also. The two sisters, ah! they now pursue each other withso much hatred that all common sense even seems at an end. My poor oldheart bleeds when I read the articles which your newspapers and oursexchange like poisoned darts. When will this fratricidal massacre cease, which of the two will first realise the necessity of peace, the necessityof the alliance of the Latin races, if they are to remain alive amidstthose torrents of other races which more and more invade the world?" Thengaily, with the _bonhomie_ of a hero disarmed by old age, and seeking arefuge in his dreams, Orlando added: "Come, you must promise to help meas soon as you are in Paris. However small your field of action may be, promise me you will do all you can to promote peace between France andItaly; there can be no more holy task. Relate all you have seen here, allyou have heard, oh! as frankly as possible. If we have faults, youcertainly have faults as well. And, come, family quarrels can't last forever!"

"No doubt, " Pierre answered in some embarrassment. "Unfortunately theyare the most tenacious. In families, when blood becomes exasperated withblood, hate goes as far as poison and the knife. And pardon becomesimpossible. "

He dared not fully express his thoughts. Since he had been in Rome, listening, and considering things, the quarrel between Italy and Francehad resumed itself in his mind in a fine tragic story. Once upon a timethere were two princesses, daughters of a powerful queen, the mistress ofthe world. The elder one, who had inherited her mother's kingdom, wassecretly grieved to see her sister, who had established herself in aneighbouring land, gradually increase in wealth, strength, andbrilliancy, whilst she herself declined as if weakened by age, dismembered, so exhausted, and so sore, that she already felt defeated onthe day when she attempted a supreme effort to regain universal power. And so how bitter were her feelings, how hurt she always felt on seeingher sister recover from the most frightful shocks, resume her dazzling_gala_, and continue to reign over the world by dint of strength andgrace and wit. Never would she forgive it, however well that envied anddetested sister might act towards her. Therein lay an incurable wound, the life of one poisoned by that of the other, the hatred of old bloodfor young blood, which could only be quieted by death. And even if peace, as was possible, should soon be restored between them in presence of theyounger sister's evident triumph, the other would always harbour deepwithin her heart an endless grief at being the elder yet the vassal. 

"However, you may rely on me, " Pierre affectionately resumed. "Thisquarrel between the two countries is certainly a great source of griefand a great peril. And assuredly I will only say what I think to be thetruth about you. At the same time I fear that you hardly like the truth, for temperament and custom have hardly prepared you for it. The poets ofevery nation who at various times have written on Rome have intoxicatedyou with so much praise that you are scarcely fitted to hear the realtruth about your Rome of to-day. No matter how superb a share of praiseone may accord you, one must all the same look at the reality of things, and this reality is just what you won't admit, lovers of the beautiful asyou ever are, susceptible too like women, whom the slightest hint of awrinkle sends into despair. "

Orlando began to laugh. "Well, certainly, one must always beautify thingsa little, " said he. "Why speak of ugly faces at all? We in our theatresonly care for pretty music, pretty dancing, pretty pieces which pleaseone. As for the rest, whatever is disagreeable let us hide it, formercy's sake!"

"On the other hand, " the priest continued, "I will cheerfully confess thegreat error of my book. The Italian Rome which I neglected and sacrificedto papal Rome not only exists but is already so powerful and triumphantthat it is surely the other one which is bound to disappear in course oftime. However much the Pope may strive to remain immutable within hisVatican, a steady evolution goes on around him, and the black world, bymingling with the white, has already become a grey world. I neverrealised that more acutely than at the _fete_ given by PrinceBuongiovanni for the betrothal of his daughter to your grand-nephew. Icame away quite enchanted, won over to the cause of your resurrection. "

The old man's eyes sparkled. "Ah! you were present?" said he, "and youwitnessed a never-to-be-forgotten scene, did you not, and you no longerdoubt our vitality, our growth into a great people when the difficultiesof to-day are overcome? What does a quarter of a century, what does evena century matter! Italy will again rise to her old glory, as soon as thegreat people of to-morrow shall have sprung from the soil. And if Idetest that man Sacco it is because to my mind he is the incarnation ofall the enjoyers and intriguers whose appetite for the spoils of ourconquest has retarded everything. But I live again in my deargrand-nephew Attilio, who represents the future, the generation of braveand worthy men who will purify and educate the country. Ah! may some ofthe great ones of to-morrow spring from him and that adorable littlePrincess Celia, whom my niece Stefana, a sensible woman at bottom, brought to see me the other day. If you had seen that child fling herarms about me, call me endearing names, and tell me that I should begodfather to her first son, so that he might bear my name and once againsave Italy! Yes, yes, may peace be concluded around that coming cradle;may the union of those dear children be the indissoluble marriage of Romeand the whole nation, and may all be repaired, and all blossom anew intheir love!"

Tears came to his eyes, and Pierre, touched by his inextinguishablepatriotism, sought to please him. "I myself, " said he, "expressed to yourson much the same wish on the evening of the betrothal _fete_, when Itold him I trusted that their nuptials might be definitive and fruitful, and that from them and all the others there might arise the great nationwhich, now that I begin to know you, I hope you will soon become!"

"You said that!" exclaimed Orlando. "Well, I forgive your book, for youhave understood at last; and new Rome, there she is, the Rome which isours, which we wish to make worthy of her glorious past, and for thethird time the queen of the world. "

With one of those broad gestures into which he put all his remaininglife, he pointed to the curtainless window where Rome spread out insolemn majesty from one horizon to the other. But, suddenly he turned hishead and in a fit of paternal indignation began to apostrophise youngAngiolo Mascara. "You young rascal!" said he, "it's our Rome which youdream of destroying with your bombs, which you talk of razing like arotten, tottering house, so as to rid the world of it for ever!"

Angiolo had hitherto remained silent, passionately listening to theothers. His pretty, girlish, beardless face reflected the slightestemotion in sudden flashes; and his big blue eyes also had glowed onhearing what had been said of the people, the new people which it wasnecessary to create. "Yes!" he slowly replied in his pure and musicalvoice, "we mean to raze it and not leave a stone of it, but raze it inorder to build it up again. "

Orlando interrupted him with a soft, bantering laugh: "Oh! you wouldbuild it up again; that's fortunate!" he said. 

"I would build it up again, " the young man replied, in the tremblingvoice of an inspired prophet. "I would build it up again oh, so vast, sobeautiful, and so noble! Will not the universal democracy of to-morrow, humanity when it is at last freed, need an unique city, which shall bethe ark of alliance, the very centre of the world? And is not Romedesignated, Rome which the prophecies have marked as eternal andimmortal, where the destinies of the nations are to be accomplished? Butin order that it may become the final definitive sanctuary, the capitalof the destroyed kingdoms, where the wise men of all countries shall meetonce every year, one must first of all purify it by fire, leave nothingof its old stains remaining. Then, when the sun shall have absorbed allthe pestilence of the old soil, we will rebuild the city ten times morebeautiful and ten times larger than it has ever been. And what a city oftruth and justice it will at last be, the Rome that has been announcedand awaited for three thousand years, all in gold and all in marble, filling the Campagna from the sea to the Sabine and the Alban mountains, and so prosperous and so sensible that its twenty millions of inhabitantsafter regulating the law of labour will live with the unique joy ofbeing. Yes, yes, Rome the Mother, Rome the Queen, alone on the face ofthe earth and for all eternity!"

Pierre listened to him, aghast. What! did the blood of Augustus go tosuch a point as this? The popes had not become masters of Rome withoutfeeling impelled to rebuild it in their passion to rule over the world;young Italy, likewise yielding to the hereditary madness of universaldomination, had in its turn sought to make the city larger than anyother, erecting whole districts for people who had never come, and noweven the Anarchists were possessed by the same stubborn dream of therace, a dream beyond all measure this time, a fourth and monstrous Rome, whose suburbs would invade continents in order that liberated humanity, united in one family, might find sufficient lodging! This was the climax. Never could more extravagant proof be given of the blood of pride andsovereignty which had scorched the veins of that race ever since Augustushad bequeathed it the inheritance of his absolute empire, with thefurious instinct that the world legally belonged to it, and that itsmission was to conquer it again. This idea had intoxicated all thechildren of that historic soil, impelling all of them to make their cityThe City, the one which had reigned and which would reign again insplendour when the days predicted by the oracles should arrive. AndPierre remembered the four fatidical letters, the S. P. Q. R. Of old andglorious Rome, which like an order of final triumph given to Destiny hehad everywhere found in present-day Rome, on all the walls, on all theinsignia, even on the municipal dust-carts! And he understood theprodigious vanity of these people, haunted by the glory of theirancestors, spellbound by the past of their city, declaring that shecontains everything, that they themselves cannot know her thoroughly, that she is the sphinx who will some day explain the riddle of theuniverse, that she is so great and noble that all within her acquiresincrease of greatness and nobility, in such wise that they demand for herthe idolatrous respect of the entire world, so vivacious in their mindsis the illusive legend which clings to her, so incapable are they ofrealising that what was once great may be so no longer. 

"But I know your fourth Rome, " resumed Orlando, again enlivened. "It'sthe Rome of the people, the capital of the Universal Republic, whichMazzini dreamt of. Only he left the pope in it. Do you know, my lad, thatif we old Republicans rallied to the monarchy, it was because we fearedthat in the event of revolution the country might fall into the hands ofdangerous madmen such as those who have upset your brain? Yes, that waswhy we resigned ourselves to our monarchy, which is not much differentfrom a parliamentary republic. And now, goodbye and be sensible, rememberthat your poor mother would die of it if any misfortune should befallyou. Come, let me embrace you all the same. "

On receiving the hero's affectionate kiss Angiolo coloured like a girl. Then he went off with his gentle, dreamy air, never adding a word butpolitely inclining his head to the priest. Silence continued tillOrlando's eyes encountered the newspapers scattered on the table, when heonce more spoke of the terrible bereavement of the Boccaneras. He hadloved Benedetta like a dear daughter during the sad days when she haddwelt near him; and finding the newspaper accounts of her death somewhatsingular, worried in fact by the obscure points which he could divine inthe tragedy, he was asking Pierre for particulars, when his son Luigisuddenly entered the room, breathless from having climbed the stairs soquickly and with his face full of anxious fear. He had just dismissed hiscontractors with impatient roughness, giving no thought to his seriousfinancial position, the jeopardy in which his fortune was now placed, soanxious was he to be up above beside his father. And when he was therehis first uneasy glance was for the old man, to make sure whether thepriest by some imprudent word had not dealt him his death blow. 

He shuddered on noticing how Orlando quivered, moved to tears by theterrible affair of which he was speaking; and for a moment he thought hehad arrived too late, that the harm was done. "Good heavens, father!" heexclaimed, "what is the matter with you, why are you crying?" And as hespoke he knelt at the old man's feet, taking hold of his hands and givinghim such a passionate, loving glance that he seemed to be offering allthe blood of his heart to spare him the slightest grief. 

"It is about the death of that poor woman, " Orlando sadly answered. "Iwas telling Monsieur Froment how it grieved me, and I added that I couldnot yet understand it all. The papers talk of a sudden death which isalways so extraordinary. "

The young Count rose again looking very pale. The priest had not yetspoken. But what a frightful moment was this! What if he should reply, what if he should speak out?

"You were present, were you not?" continued the old man addressingPierre. "You saw everything. Tell me then how the thing happened. "

Luigi Prada looked at Pierre. Their eyes met fixedly, plunging into oneanother's souls. All began afresh in their minds, Destiny on the march, Santobono encountered with his little basket, the drive across themelancholy Campagna, the conversation about poison while the littlebasket was gently rocked on the priest's knees; then, in particular, thesleepy _osteria_, and the little black hen, so suddenly killed, lying onthe ground with a tiny streamlet of violet blood trickling from her beak. And next there was that splendid ball at the Buongiovanni mansion, withall its _odore di femina_ and its triumph of love: and finally, beforethe Palazzo Boccanera, so black under the silvery moon, there was the manwho lighted a cigar and went off without once turning his head, allowingdim Destiny to accomplish its work of death. Both of them, Pierre andPrada, knew that story and lived it over again, having no need to recallit aloud in order to make certain that they had fully penetrated oneanother's soul. 

Pierre did not immediately answer the old man. "Oh!" he murmured at last, "there were frightful things, yes, frightful things. "

"No doubt--that is what I suspected, " resumed Orlando. "You can tell usall. In presence of death my son has freely forgiven. "

The young Count's gaze again sought that of Pierre with such weight, suchardent entreaty that the priest felt deeply stirred. He had justremembered that man's anguish during the ball, the atrocious torture ofjealousy which he had undergone before allowing Destiny to avenge him. And he pictured also what must have been his feelings after the terribleoutcome of it all: at first stupefaction at Destiny's harshness, at thisfull vengeance which he had never desired so ferocious; then icy calmnesslike that of the cool gambler who awaits events, reading the newspapers, and feeling no other remorse than that of the general whose victory hascost him too many men. He must have immediately realised that theCardinal would stifle the affair for the sake of the Church's honour; andonly retained one weight on his heart, regret possibly for that womanwhom he had never won, with perhaps a last horrible jealousy which he didnot confess to himself but from which he would always suffer, jealousy atknowing that she lay in another's arms in the grave, for all eternity. But behold, after that victorious effort to remain calm, after that coldand remorseless waiting, Punishment arose, the fear that Destiny, travelling on with its poisoned figs, might have not yet ceased itsmarch, and might by a rebound strike down his own father. Yet anotherthunderbolt, yet another victim, the most unexpected, the being he mostadored! At that thought all his strength of resistance had in one momentcollapsed, and he was there, in terror of Destiny, more at a loss, moretrembling than a child. 

"The newspapers, however, " slowly said Pierre as if he were seeking hiswords, "the newspapers must have told you that the Prince succumbedfirst, and that the Contessina died of grief whilst embracing him for thelast time.... As for the cause of death, _mon Dieu_, you know thatdoctors themselves in sudden cases scarcely dare to pronounce an exactopinion--"

He stopped short, for within him he had suddenly heard the voice ofBenedetta giving him just before she died that terrible order: "You, whowill see his father, I charge you to tell him that I cursed his son. Iwish that he should know, it is necessary that he should know, for thesake of truth and justice. " And was he, oh! Lord, about to obey thatorder, was it one of those divine commands which must be executed even ifthe result be a torrent of blood and tears? For a few seconds Pierresuffered from a heart-rending combat within him, hesitating between theact of truth and justice which the dead woman had called for and his ownpersonal desire for forgiveness, and the horror he would feel should hekill that poor old man by fulfilling his implacable mission which couldbenefit nobody. And certainly the other one, the son, must haveunderstood what a supreme struggle was going on in the priest's mind, astruggle which would decide his own father's fate, for his glance becameyet more suppliant than ever. 

"One first thought that it was merely indigestion, " continued Pierre, "but the Prince became so much worse, that one was alarmed, and thedoctor was sent for--"

Ah! Prada's eyes, they had become so despairing, so full of the mosttouching and weightiest things, that the priest could read in them allthe decisive reasons which were about to stay his tongue. No, no, hewould not strike an innocent old man, he had promised nothing, and toobey the last expression of the dead woman's hatred would have seemed tohim like charging her memory with a crime. The young Count, too, duringthose few minutes of anguish, had suffered a whole life of suchabominable torture, that after all some little justice was done. 

"And then, " Pierre concluded, "when the doctor arrived he at oncerecognised that it was a case of infectious fever. There can be no doubtof it. This morning I attended the funeral, it was very splendid and verytouching. "

Orlando did not insist, but contented himself with saying that he alsohad felt much emotion all the morning on thinking of that funeral. Then, as he turned to set the papers on the table in order with his tremblinghands, his son, icy cold with perspiration, staggering and clinging tothe back of a chair in order that he might not fall, again gave Pierre along glance, but a very soft one, full of distracted gratitude. 

"I am leaving this evening, " resumed Pierre, who felt exhausted andwished to break off the conversation, "and I must now bid you farewell. Have you any commission to give me for Paris?"

"No, none, " replied Orlando; and then, with sudden recollection, headded, "Yes, I have, though! You remember that book written by my oldcomrade in arms, Theophile Morin, one of Garibaldi's Thousand, thatmanual for the bachelor's degree which he desired to see translated andadopted here. Well, I am pleased to say that I have a promise that itshall be used in our schools, but on condition that he makes somealterations in it. Luigi, give me the book, it is there on that shelf. "

Then, when his son had handed him the volume, he showed Pierre some noteswhich he had pencilled on the margins, and explained to him themodifications which were desired in the general scheme of the work. "Willyou be kind enough, " he continued, "to take this copy to Morin himself?His address is written inside the cover. If you can do so you will spareme the trouble of writing him a very long letter; in ten minutes you canexplain matters to him more clearly and completely than I could do in tenpages.... And you must embrace Morin for me, and tell him that I stilllove him, oh! with all my heart of the bygone days, when I could stilluse my legs and we two fought like devils side by side under a hail ofbullets. "

A short silence followed, that pause, that embarrassment tinged withemotion which precedes the moment of farewell. "Come, good-bye, " saidOrlando, "embrace me for him and for yourself, embrace me affectionatelylike that lad did just now. I am so old and so near my end, my dearMonsieur Froment, that you will allow me to call you my child and to kissyou like a grandfather, wishing you all courage and peace, and that faithin life which alone helps one to live. "

Pierre was so touched that tears rose to his eyes, and when with all hissoul he kissed the stricken hero on either cheek, he felt that helikewise was weeping. With a hand yet as vigorous as a vice, Orlandodetained him for a moment beside his arm-chair, whilst with his otherhand waving in a supreme gesture, he for the last time showed him Rome, so immense and mournful under the ashen sky. And his voice came low, quivering and suppliant. "For mercy's sake swear to me that you will loveher all the same, in spite of all, for she is the cradle, the mother!Love her for all that she no longer is, love her for all that she desiresto be! Do not say that her end has come, love her, love her so that shemay live again, that she may live for ever!"

Pierre again embraced him, unable to find any other response, upset as hewas by all the passion displayed by that old warrior, who spoke of hiscity as a man of thirty might speak of the woman he adores. And he foundhim so handsome and so lofty with his old blanched, leonine mane and hisstubborn belief in approaching resurrection, that once more the other oldRoman, Cardinal Boccanera, arose before him, equally stubborn in hisfaith and relinquishing nought of his dream, even though he might becrushed on the spot by the fall of the heavens. These twain ever stoodface to face, at either end of their city, alone rearing their loftyfigures above the horizon, whilst awaiting the future. 

Then, when Pierre had bowed to Count Luigi, and found himself outsideagain in the Via Venti Settembre he was all eagerness to get back to theBoccanera mansion so as to pack up his things and depart. His farewellvisits were made, and he now only had to take leave of Donna Serafina andthe Cardinal, and to thank them for all their kind hospitality. For himalone did their doors open, for they had shut themselves up on returningfrom the funeral, resolved to see nobody. At twilight, therefore, Pierrehad no one but Victorine to keep him company in the vast, black mansion, for when he expressed a desire to take supper with Don Vigilio she toldhim that the latter had also shut himself in his room. Desirous as he wasof at least shaking hands with the secretary for the last time, Pierrewent to knock at the door, which was so near his own, but could obtain noreply, and divined that the poor fellow, overcome by a fresh attack offever and suspicion, desired not to see him again, in terror at the ideathat he might compromise himself yet more than he had done already. Thereupon, it was settled that as the train only started at seventeenminutes past ten Victorine should serve Pierre his supper on the littletable in his sitting-room at eight o'clock. She brought him a lamp andspoke of putting his linen in order, but he absolutely declined her help, and she had to leave him to pack up quietly by himself. 

He had purchased a little box, since his valise could not possibly holdall the linen and winter clothing which had been sent to him from Parisas his stay in Rome became more and more protracted. However, the packingwas soon accomplished; the wardrobe was emptied, the drawers werevisited, the box and valise filled and securely locked by seven o'clock. An hour remained to him before supper and he sat there resting, when hiseyes whilst travelling round the walls to make sure that he had forgottennothing, encountered that old painting by some unknown master, which hadso often filled him with emotion. The lamplight now shone full upon it;and this time again as he gazed at it he felt a blow in the heart, a blowwhich was all the deeper, as now, at his parting hour, he found a symbolof his defeat at Rome in that dolent, tragic, half-naked woman, draped ina shred of linen, and weeping between her clasped hands whilst seated onthe threshold of the palace whence she had been driven. Did not thatrejected one, that stubborn victim of love, who sobbed so bitterly, andof whom one knew nothing, neither what her face was like, nor whence shehad come, nor what her fault had been--did she not personify all man'suseless efforts to force the doors of truth, and all the frightfulabandonment into which he falls as soon as he collides with the wallwhich shuts the unknown off from him? For a long while did Pierre look ather, again worried at being obliged to depart without having seen herface behind her streaming golden hair, that face of dolorous beauty whichhe pictured radiant with youth and delicious in its mystery. And as hegazed he was just fancying that he could see it, that it was becoming hisat last, when there was a knock at the door and Narcisse Habert entered. 

Pierre was surprised to see the young _attache_, for three dayspreviously he had started for Florence, impelled thither by one of thesudden whims of his artistic fancy. However, he at once apologised forhis unceremonious intrusion. "Ah! there is your luggage!" he said; "Iheard that you were going away this evening, and I was unwilling to letyou leave Rome without coming to shake hands with you. But what frightfulthings have happened since we met! I only returned this afternoon, sothat I could not attend the funeral. However, you may well imagine howthunderstruck I was by the news of those frightful deaths. "

Then, suspecting some unacknowledged tragedy, like a man well acquaintedwith the legendary dark side of Rome, he put some questions to Pierre butdid not insist on them, being at bottom far too prudent to burden himselfuselessly with redoubtable secrets. And after Pierre had given him suchparticulars as he thought fit, the conversation changed and they spoke atlength of Italy, Rome, Naples, and Florence. "Ah! Florence, Florence!"Narcisse repeated languorously. He had lighted a cigarette and his wordsfell more slowly, as he glanced round the room. "You were very welllodged here, " he said, "it is very quiet. I had never come up to thisfloor before. "

His eyes continued wandering over the walls until they were at lastarrested by the old painting which the lamp illumined, and thereupon heremained for a moment blinking as if surprised. And all at once he roseand approached the picture. "Dear me, dear me, " said he, "but that's verygood, that's very fine. "

"Isn't it?" rejoined Pierre. "I know nothing about painting but I wasstirred by that picture on the very day of my arrival, and over and overagain it has kept me here with my heart beating and full of indescribablefeelings. "

Narcisse no longer spoke but examined the painting with the care of aconnoisseur, an expert, whose keen glance decides the question ofauthenticity, and appraises commercial value. And the most extraordinarydelight appeared upon the young man's fair, rapturous face, whilst hisfingers began to quiver. "But it's a Botticelli, it's a Botticelli! Therecan be no doubt about it, " he exclaimed. "Just look at the hands, andlook at the folds of the drapery! And the colour of the hair, and thetechnique, the flow of the whole composition. A Botticelli, ah! _monDieu_, a Botticelli. "

He became quite faint, overflowing with increasing admiration as hepenetrated more and more deeply into the subject, at once so simple andso poignant. Was it not acutely modern? The artist had foreseen ourpain-fraught century, our anxiety in presence of the invisible, ourdistress at being unable to cross the portal of mystery which was forever closed. And what an eternal symbol of the world's wretchedness wasthat woman, whose face one could not see, and who sobbed so distractedlywithout it being possible for one to wipe away her tears. Yes, aBotticelli, unknown, uncatalogued, what a discovery! Then he paused toinquire of Pierre: "Did you know it was a Botticelli?"

"Oh no! I spoke to Don Vigilio about it one day, but he seemed to thinkit of no account. And Victorine, when I spoke to her, replied that allthose old things only served to harbour dust. "

Narcisse protested, quite stupefied: "What! they have a Botticelli hereand don't know it! Ah! how well I recognise in that the Roman princeswho, unless their masterpieces have been labelled, are for the most partutterly at sea among them! No doubt this one has suffered a little, but asimple cleaning would make a marvel, a famous picture of it, for which amuseum would at least give--"

He abruptly stopped, completing his sentence with a wave of the hand andnot mentioning the figure which was on his lips. And then, as Victorinecame in followed by Giacomo to lay the little table for Pierre's supper, he turned his back upon the Botticelli and said no more about it. Theyoung priest's attention was aroused, however, and he could well divinewhat was passing in the other's mind. Under that make-believe Florentine, all angelicalness, there was an experienced business man, who well knewhow to look after his pecuniary interests and was even reported to besomewhat avaricious. Pierre, who was aware of it, could not help smilingtherefore when he saw him take his stand before another picture--afrightful Virgin, badly copied from some eighteenth-century canvas--andexclaim: "Dear me! that's not at all bad! I've a friend, I remember, whoasked me to buy him some old paintings. I say, Victorine, now that DonnaSerafina and the Cardinal are left alone do you think they would like torid themselves of a few valueless pictures?"

The servant raised her arms as if to say that if it depended on her, everything might be carried away. Then she replied: "Not to a dealer, sir, on account of the nasty rumours which would at once spread about, but I'm sure they would be happy to please a friend. The house costs alot to keep up, and money would be welcome. "

Pierre then vainly endeavoured to persuade Narcisse to stay and sup withhim, but the young man gave his word of honour that he was expectedelsewhere and was even late. And thereupon he ran off, after pressing thepriest's hands and affectionately wishing him a good journey. 

Eight o'clock was striking, and Pierre seated himself at the littletable, Victorine remaining to serve him after dismissing Giacomo, who hadbrought the supper things upstairs in a basket. "The people here make mewild, " said the worthy woman after the other had gone, "they are so slow. And besides, it's a pleasure for me to serve you your last meal, Monsieurl'Abbe. I've had a little French dinner cooked for you, a _sole augratin_ and a roast fowl. "

Pierre was touched by this attention, and pleased to have the company ofa compatriot whilst he partook of his final meal amidst the deep silenceof the old, black, deserted mansion. The buxom figure of Victorine wasstill instinct with mourning, with grief for the loss of her dearContessina, but her daily toil was already setting her erect again, restoring her quick activity; and she spoke almost cheerfully whilstpassing plates and dishes to Pierre. "And to think Monsieur l'Abbe, " saidshe, "that you'll be in Paris on the morning of the day after to-morrow!As for me, you know, it seems as if I only left Auneau yesterday. Ah!what fine soil there is there; rich soil yellow like gold, not like theirpoor stuff here which smells of sulphur! And the pretty fresh willowsbeside our stream, too, and the little wood so full of moss! They've nomoss here, their trees look like tin under that stupid sun of theirswhich burns up the grass. _Mon Dieu_! in the early times I would havegiven I don't know what for a good fall of rain to soak me and wash awayall the dust. Ah! I shall never get used to their awful Rome. What acountry and what people!"

Pierre was quite enlivened by her stubborn fidelity to her own nook, which after five and twenty years of absence still left her horrifiedwith that city of crude light and black vegetation, true daughter as shewas of a smiling and temperate clime which of a morning was steeped inrosy mist. "But now that your young mistress is dead, " said he, "whatkeeps you here? Why don't you take the train with me?"

She looked at him in surprise: "Go off with you, go back to Auneau! Oh!it's impossible, Monsieur l'Abbe. It would be too ungrateful to beginwith, for Donna Serafina is accustomed to me, and it would be bad on mypart to forsake her and his Eminence now that they are in trouble. Andbesides, what could I do elsewhere? No, my little hole is here now. "

"So you will never see Auneau again?"

"No, never, that's certain. "

"And you don't mind being buried here, in their ground which smells ofsulphur?"

She burst into a frank laugh. "Oh!" she said, "I don't mind where I amwhen I'm dead. One sleeps well everywhere. And it's funny that you shouldbe so anxious as to what there may be when one's dead. There's nothing, I'm sure. That's what tranquillises me, to feel that it will be all overand that I shall have a rest. The good God owes us that after we'veworked so hard. You know that I'm not devout, oh! dear no. Still thatdoesn't prevent me from behaving properly, and, true as I stand here, I've never had a lover. It seems foolish to say such a thing at my age, still I say it because it's the sober truth. "

She continued laughing like the worthy woman she was, having no belief inpriests and yet without a sin upon her conscience. And Pierre once moremarvelled at the simple courage and great practical common sense of thislaborious and devoted creature, who for him personified the wholeunbelieving lowly class of France, those who no longer believe and willbelieve never more. Ah! to be as she was, to do one's work and lie downfor the eternal sleep without any revolt of pride, satisfied with the onejoy of having accomplished one's share of toil!

When Pierre had finished his supper Victorine summoned Giacomo to clearthe things away. And as it was only half-past eight she advised thepriest to spend another quiet hour in his room. Why go and catch a chillby waiting at the station? She could send for a cab at half-past nine, and as soon as it arrived she would send word to him and have his luggagecarried down. He might be easy as to that, and need trouble himself aboutnothing. 

When she had gone off Pierre soon sank into a deep reverie. It seemed tohim, indeed, as if he had already quitted Rome, as if the city were faraway and he could look back on it, and his experiences within it. Hisbook, "New Rome, " arose in his mind; and he remembered his first morningon the Janiculum, his view of Rome from the terrace of San Pietro inMontorio, a Rome such as he had dreamt of, so young and ethereal underthe pure sky. It was then that he had asked himself the decisivequestion: Could Catholicism be renewed? Could it revert to the spirit ofprimitive Christianity, become the religion of the democracy, the faithwhich the distracted modern world, in danger of death, awaits in orderthat it may be pacified and live? His heart had then beaten with hope andenthusiasm. After his disaster at Lourdes from which he had scarcelyrecovered, he had come to attempt another and supreme experiment byasking Rome what her reply to his question would be. And now theexperiment had failed, he knew what answer Rome had returned him throughher ruins, her monuments, her very soil, her people, her prelates, hercardinals, her pope! No, Catholicism could not be renewed: no, it couldnot revert to the spirit of primitive Christianity; no, it could notbecome the religion of the democracy, the new faith which might save theold toppling societies in danger of death. Though it seemed to be ofdemocratic origin, it was henceforth riveted to that Roman soil, itremained kingly in spite of everything, forced to cling to the principleof temporal power under penalty of suicide, bound by tradition, enchainedby dogma, its evolutions mere simulations whilst in reality it wasreduced to such immobility that, behind the bronze doors of the Vatican, the papacy was the prisoner, the ghost of eighteen centuries of atavism, indulging the ceaseless dream of universal dominion. There, where withpriestly faith exalted by love of the suffering and the poor, he had cometo seek life and a resurrection of the Christian communion, he had founddeath, the dust of a destroyed world in which nothing more couldgerminate, an exhausted soil whence now there could never grow aught butthat despotic papacy, the master of bodies as it was of souls. To hisdistracted cry asking for a new religion, Rome had been content to replyby condemning his book as a work tainted with heresy, and he himself hadwithdrawn it amidst the bitter grief of his disillusions. He had seen, hehad understood, and all had collapsed. And it was himself, his soul andhis brain, which lay among the ruins. 

Pierre was stifling. He rose, threw the window overlooking the Tiber wideopen, and leant out. The rain had begun to fall again at the approach ofevening, but now it had once more ceased. The atmosphere was very mild, moist, even oppressive. The moon must have arisen in the ashen grey sky, for her presence could be divined behind the clouds which she illuminedwith a vague, yellow, mournful light. And under that slumberous glimmerthe vast horizon showed blackly and phantom-like: the Janiculum in frontwith the close-packed houses of the Trastevere; the river flowing awayyonder on the left towards the dim height of the Palatine; whilst on theright the dome of St. Peter's showed forth, round and domineering in thepale atmosphere. Pierre could not see the Quirinal but divined it to bebehind him, and could picture its long facade shutting off part of thesky. And what a collapsing Rome, half-devoured by the gloom, was this, sodifferent from the Rome all youth and dreamland which he had beheld andpassionately loved on the day of his arrival! He remembered the threesymbolic summits which had then summed up for him the whole long historyof Rome, the ancient, the papal, and the Italian city. But if thePalatine had remained the same discrowned mount on which there only rosethe phantom of the ancestor, Augustus, emperor and pontiff, master of theworld, he now pictured St. Peter's and the Quirinal as strangely altered. To that royal palace which he had so neglected, and which had seemed tohim like a flat, low barrack, to that new Government which had broughthim the impression of some attempt at sacrilegious modernity, he nowaccorded the large, increasing space that they occupied in the panorama, the whole of which they would apparently soon fill; whilst, on thecontrary, St. Peter's, that dome which he had found so triumphal, allazure, reigning over the city like a gigantic and unshakable monarch, atpresent seemed to him full of cracks and already shrinking, as if it wereone of those huge old piles, which, through the secret, unsuspected decayof their timbers, at times fall to the ground in one mass. 

A murmur, a growling plaint rose from the swollen Tiber, and Pierreshivered at the icy abysmal breath which swept past his face. And histhoughts of the three summits and their symbolic triangle aroused withinhim the memory of the sufferings of the great silent multitude of poorand lowly for whom pope and king had so long disputed. It all dated fromlong ago, from the day when, in dividing the inheritance of Augustus, theemperor had been obliged to content himself with men's bodies, leavingtheir souls to the pope, whose one idea had henceforth been to gain thetemporal power of which God, in his person, was despoiled. All the middleages had been disturbed and ensanguined by the quarrel, till at last thesilent multitude weary of vexations and misery spoke out; threw off thepapal yoke at the Reformation, and later on began to overthrow its kings. And then, as Pierre had written in his book, a new fortune had beenoffered to the pope, that of reverting to the ancient dream, bydissociating himself from the fallen thrones and placing himself on theside of the wretched in the hope that this time he would conquer thepeople, win it entirely for himself. Was it not prodigious to see thatman, Leo XIII, despoiled of his kingdom and allowing himself to be calleda socialist, assembling under his banner the great flock of thedisinherited, and marching against the kings at the head of that fourthestate to whom the coming century will belong? The eternal struggle forpossession of the people continued as bitterly as ever even in Romeitself, where pope and king, who could see each other from their windows, contended together like falcon and hawk for the little birds of thewoods. And in this for Pierre lay the reason why Catholicism was fatallycondemned; for it was of monarchical essence to such a point that theApostolic and Roman papacy could not renounce the temporal power underpenalty of becoming something else and disappearing. In vain did it feigna return to the people, in vain did it seek to appear all soul; there wasno room in the midst of the world's democracies for any such total anduniversal sovereignty as that which it claimed to hold from God. Pierreever beheld the Imperator sprouting up afresh in the Pontifex Maximus, and it was this in particular which had killed his dream, destroyed hisbook, heaped up all those ruins before which he remained distractedwithout either strength or courage. 

The sight of that ashen Rome, whose edifices faded away into the night, at last brought him such a heart-pang that he came back into the room andfell on a chair near his luggage. Never before had he experienced suchdistress of spirit, it seemed like the death of his soul. After hisdisaster at Lourdes he had not come to Rome in search of the candid andcomplete faith of a little child, but the superior faith of anintellectual being, rising above rites and symbols, and seeking to ensurethe greatest possible happiness of mankind based on its need ofcertainty. And if this collapsed, if Catholicism could not be rejuvenatedand become the religion and moral law of the new generations, if the Popeat Rome and with Rome could not be the Father, the arch of alliance, thespiritual leader whom all hearkened to and obeyed, why then, in Pierre'seyes, the last hope was wrecked, the supreme rending which must plungepresent-day society into the abyss was near at hand. That scaffolding ofCatholic socialism which had seemed to him so happily devised for theconsolidation of the old Church, now appeared to him lying on the ground;and he judged it severely as a mere passing expedient which might perhapsfor some years prop up the ruined edifice, but which was simply based onan intentional misunderstanding, on a skilful lie, on politics anddiplomacy. No, no, that the people should once again, as so many timesbefore, be duped and gained over, caressed in order that it might beenthralled--this was repugnant to one's reason, and the whole systemappeared degenerate, dangerous, temporary, calculated to end in the worstcatastrophes. So this then was the finish, nothing remained erect andstable, the old world was about to disappear amidst the frightfulsanguinary crisis whose approach was announced by such indisputablesigns. And he, before that chaos near at hand, had no soul left him, having once more lost his faith in that decisive experiment which, he hadfelt beforehand, would either strengthen him or strike him down for ever. The thunderbolt had fallen, and now, O God, what should he do?

To shake off his anguish he began to walk across the room. Aye, whatshould he do now that he was all doubt again, all dolorous negation, andthat his cassock weighed more heavily than it had ever weighed upon hisshoulders? He remembered having told Monsignor Nani that he would neversubmit, would never be able to resign himself and kill his hope insalvation by love, but would rather reply by a fresh book, in which hewould say in what new soil the new religion would spring up. Yes, aflaming book against Rome, in which he would set down all he had seen, abook which would depict the real Rome, the Rome which knows neithercharity nor love, and is dying in the pride of its purple! He had spokenof returning to Paris, leaving the Church and going to the point ofschism. Well, his luggage now lay there packed, he was going off and hewould write that book, he would be the great schismatic who was awaited!Did not everything foretell approaching schism amidst that great movementof men's minds, weary of old mummified dogmas and yet hungering for thedivine? Even Leo XIII must be conscious of it, for his whole policy, hiswhole effort towards Christian unity, his assumed affection for thedemocracy had no other object than that of grouping the whole familyaround the papacy, and consolidating it so as to render the Popeinvincible in the approaching struggle. But the times had come, Catholicism would soon find that it could grant no more politicalconcessions without perishing, that at Rome it was reduced to theimmobility of an ancient hieratic idol, and that only in the lands ofpropaganda, where it was fighting against other religions, could furtherevolution take place. It was, indeed, for this reason that Rome wascondemned, the more so as the abolition of the temporal power, byaccustoming men's minds to the idea of a purely spiritual papacy, seemedlikely to conduce to the rise of some anti-pope, far away, whilst thesuccessor of St. Peter was compelled to cling stubbornly to his Apostolicand Roman fiction. A bishop, a priest would arise--where, who could tell?Perhaps yonder in that free America, where there are priests whom thestruggle for life has turned into convinced socialists, into ardentdemocrats, who are ready to go forward with the coming century. Andwhilst Rome remains unable to relinquish aught of her past, aught of hermysteries and dogmas, that priest will relinquish all of those thingswhich fall from one in dust. Ah! to be that priest, to be that greatreformer, that saviour of modern society, what a vast dream, what a part, akin to that of a Messiah summoned by the nations in distress. For amoment Pierre was transported as by a breeze of hope and triumph. If thatgreat change did not come in France, in Paris, it would come elsewhere, yonder across the ocean, or farther yet, wherever there might be asufficiently fruitful soil for the new seed to spring from it inoverflowing harvests. A new religion! a new religion! even as he hadcried on returning from Lourdes, a religion which in particular shouldnot be an appetite for death, a religion which should at last realisehere below that Kingdom of God referred to in the Gospel, and whichshould equitably divide terrestrial wealth, and with the law of labourensure the rule of truth and justice. 

In the fever of this fresh dream Pierre already saw the pages of his newbook flaring before him when his eyes fell on an object lying upon achair, which at first surprised him. This also was a book, that work ofTheophile Morin's which Orlando had commissioned him to hand to itsauthor, and he felt annoyed with himself at having left it there, for hemight have forgotten it altogether. Before putting it into his valise heretained it for a moment in his hand turning its pages over, his ideaschanging as by a sudden mental revolution. The work was, however, a verymodest one, one of those manuals for the bachelor's degree containinglittle beyond the first elements of the sciences; still all the scienceswere represented in it, and it gave a fair summary of the present stateof human knowledge. And it was indeed Science which thus burst uponPierre's reverie with the energy of sovereign power. Not only wasCatholicism swept away from his mind, but all his religious conceptions, every hypothesis of the divine tottered and fell. Only that little schoolbook, nothing but the universal desire for knowledge, that educationwhich ever extends and penetrates the whole people, and behold themysteries became absurdities, the dogmas crumbled, and nothing of ancientfaith was left. A nation nourished upon Science, no longer believing inmysteries and dogmas, in a compensatory system of reward and punishment, is a nation whose faith is for ever dead: and without faith Catholicismcannot be. Therein is the blade of the knife, the knife which falls andsevers. If one century, if two centuries be needed, Science will takethem. She alone is eternal. It is pure _naivete_ to say that reason isnot contrary to faith. The truth is, that now already in order to savemere fragments of the sacred writings, it has been necessary toaccommodate them to the new certainties, by taking refuge in theassertion that they are simply symbolical! And what an extraordinaryattitude is that of the Catholic Church, expressly forbidding all thosewho may discover a truth contrary to the sacred writings to pronounceupon it in definitive fashion, and ordering them to await events in theconviction that this truth will some day be proved an error! Only thePope, says the Church, is infallible; Science is fallible, her constantgroping is exploited against her, and divines remain on the watchstriving to make it appear that her discoveries of to-day are incontradiction with her discoveries of yesterday. What do her sacrilegiousassertions, what do her certainties rending dogma asunder, matter to aCatholic since it is certain that at the end of time, she, Science, willagain join Faith, and become the latter's very humble slave! Voluntaryblindness and impudent denial of things as evident as the sunlight, canno further go. But all the same the insignificant little book, the manualof truth travels on continuing its work, destroying error and building upthe new world, even as the infinitesimal agents of life built up ourpresent continents. 

In the sudden great enlightenment which had come on him Pierre at lastfelt himself upon firm ground. Has Science ever retreated? It isCatholicism which has always retreated before her, and will always beforced to retreat. Never does Science stop, step by step she wrests truthfrom error, and to say that she is bankrupt because she cannot explainthe world in one word and at one effort, is pure and simple nonsense. Ifshe leaves, and no doubt will always leave a smaller and smaller domainto mystery, and if supposition may always strive to explain that mystery, it is none the less certain that she ruins, and with each successive hourwill add to the ruin of the ancient hypotheses, those which crumble awaybefore the acquired truths. And Catholicism is in the position of thoseancient hypotheses, and will be in it yet more thoroughly to-morrow. Likeall religions it is, at the bottom, but an explanation of the world, asuperior social and political code, intended to bring about the greatestpossible sum of peace and happiness on earth. This code which embracesthe universality of things thenceforth becomes human, and mortal likeeverything that is human. One cannot put it on one side and say that itexists on one side by itself, whilst Science does the same on the other. Science is total and has already shown Catholicism that such is the case, and will show it again and again by compelling it to repair the breachesincessantly effected in its ramparts till the day of victory shall comewith the final assault of resplendent truth. Frankly, it makes one laughto hear people assign a _role_ to Science, forbid her to enter such andsuch a domain, predict to her that she shall go no further, and declarethat at this end of the century she is already so weary that sheabdicates! Oh! you little men of shallow or distorted brains, youpoliticians planning expedients, you dogmatics at bay, you authoritariansso obstinately clinging to the ancient dreams, Science will pass on, andsweep you all away like withered leaves!

Pierre continued glancing through the humble little book, listening toall it told him of sovereign Science. She cannot become bankrupt, for shedoes not promise the absolute, she is simply the progressive conquest oftruth. Never has she pretended that she could give the whole truth at oneeffort, that sort of edifice being precisely the work of metaphysics, ofrevelation, of faith. The _role_ of Science, on the contrary, is only todestroy error as she gradually advances and increases enlightenment. Andthus, far from becoming bankrupt, in her march which nothing stops, sheremains the only possible truth for well-balanced and healthy minds. Asfor those whom she does not satisfy, who crave for immediate anduniversal knowledge, they have the resource of seeking refuge in nomatter what religious hypothesis, provided, if they wish to appear in theright, that they build their fancy upon acquired certainties. Everythingwhich is raised on proven error falls. However, although religiousfeeling persists among mankind, although the need of religion may beeternal, it by no means follows that Catholicism is eternal, for it is, after all, but one form of religion, which other forms preceded and whichothers will follow. Religions may disappear, but religious feeling willcreate new ones even with the help of Science. Pierre thought of thatalleged repulse of Science by the present-day awakening of mysticism, thecauses of which he had indicated in his book: the discredit into whichthe idea of liberty has fallen among the people, duped in the last socialreorganisation, and the uneasiness of the _elite_, in despair at the voidin which their liberated minds and enlarged intelligences have left them. It is the anguish of the Unknown springing up again; but it is also onlya natural and momentary reaction after so much labour, on finding thatScience does not yet calm our thirst for justice, our desire forsecurity, or our ancient idea of an eternal after-life of enjoyment. Inorder, however, that Catholicism might be born anew, as some seem tothink it will be, the social soil would have to change, and it cannotchange; it no longer possesses the sap needful for the renewal of adecaying formula which schools and laboratories destroy more and moreeach day. The ground is other than it once was, a different oak mustspring from it. May Science therefore have her religion, for such areligion will soon be the only one possible for the coming democracies, for the nations, whose knowledge ever increases whilst their Catholicfaith is already nought but dust. 

And all at once, by way of conclusion, Pierre bethought himself of theidiocy of the Congregation of the Index. It had condemned his book, andwould surely condemn the other one that he had thought of, should he everwrite it. A fine piece of work truly! To fall tooth and nail on the poorbooks of an enthusiastic dreamer, in which chimera contended withchimera! Yet the Congregation was so foolish as not to interdict thatlittle book which he held in his hands, that humble book which alone wasto be feared, which was the ever triumphant enemy that would surelyoverthrow the Church. Modest it was in its cheap "get up" as a schoolmanual, but that did not matter: danger began with the very alphabet, increased as knowledge was acquired, and burst forth with those _resumes_of the physical, chemical, and natural sciences which bring the veryCreation, as described by Holy Writ, into question. However, the Indexdared not attempt to suppress those humble volumes, those terriblesoldiers of truth, those destroyers of faith. What was the use, then, ofall the money which Leo XIII drew from his hidden treasure of the Peter'sPence to subvention Catholic schools, with the thought of forming thebelieving generations which the papacy needed to enable it to conquer?What was the use of that precious money if it was only to serve for thepurchase of similar insignificant yet formidable volumes, which couldnever be sufficiently "cooked" and expurgated, but would always containtoo much Science, that growing Science which one day would blow up bothVatican and St. Peter's? Ah! that idiotic and impotent Index, whatwretchedness and what derision!

Then, when Pierre had placed Theophile Morin's book in his valise, heonce more returned to the window, and while leaning out, beheld anextraordinary vision. Under the cloudy, coppery sky, in the mild andmournful night, patches of wavy mist had risen, hiding many of thehouse-roofs with trailing shreds which looked like shrouds. Entireedifices had disappeared, and he imagined that the times were at lastaccomplished, and that truth had at last destroyed St. Peter's dome. In ahundred or a thousand years, it would be like that, fallen, obliteratedfrom the black sky. One day, already, he had felt it tottering andcracking beneath him, and had foreseen that this temple of Catholicismwould fall even as Jove's temple had fallen on the Capitol. And it wasover now, the dome had strewn the ground with fragments, and all thatremained standing, in addition to a portion of the apse, where fivecolumns of the central nave, still upholding a shred of entablature, andfour cyclopean buttress-piers on which the dome had rested--piers whichstill arose, isolated and superb, looking indestructible among all thesurrounding downfall. But a denser mist flowed past, another thousandyears no doubt went by, and then nothing whatever remained. The apse, thelast pillars, the giant piers themselves were felled! The wind had sweptaway their dust, and it would have been necessary to search the soilbeneath the brambles and the nettles to find a few fragments of brokenstatues, marbles with mutilated inscriptions, on the sense of whichlearned men were unable to agree. And, as formerly, on the Capitol, amongthe buried remnants of Jupiter's temple, goats strayed and climbedthrough the solitude, browsing upon the bushes, amidst the deep silenceof the oppressive summer sunlight, which only the buzzing fliesdisturbed. 

Then, only then, did Pierre feel the supreme collapse within him. It wasreally all over, Science was victorious, nothing of the old worldremained. What use would it be then to become the great schismatic, thereformer who was awaited? Would it not simply mean the building up of anew dream? Only the eternal struggle of Science against the Unknown, thesearching, pursuing inquiry which incessantly moderated man's thirst forthe divine, now seemed to him of import, leaving him waiting to know ifshe would ever triumph so completely as to suffice mankind, by satisfyingall its wants. And in the disaster which had overcome his apostolicenthusiasm, in presence of all those ruins, having lost his faith, andeven his hope of utilising old Catholicism for social and moralsalvation, there only remained reason that held him up. She had at onemoment given way. If he had dreamt that book, and had just passed throughthat terrible crisis, it was because sentiment had once again overcomereason within him. It was his mother, so to say, who had wept in hisheart, who had filled him with an irresistible desire to relieve thewretched and prevent the massacres which seemed near at hand; and hispassion for charity had thus swept aside the scruples of hisintelligence. But it was his father's voice that he now heard, lofty andbitter reason which, though it had fled, at present came back in allsovereignty. As he had done already after Lourdes, he protested againstthe glorification of the absurd and the downfall of common sense. Reasonalone enabled him to walk erect and firm among the remnants of the oldbeliefs, even amidst the obscurities and failures of Science. Ah! Reason, it was through her alone that he suffered, through her alone that hecould content himself, and he swore that he would now always seek tosatisfy her, even if in doing so he should lose his happiness. 

At that moment it would have been vain for him to ask what he ought todo. Everything remained in suspense, the world stretched before him stilllittered with the ruins of the past, of which, to-morrow, it wouldperhaps be rid. Yonder, in that dolorous faubourg of Paris, he would findgood Abbe Rose, who but a few days previously had written begging him toreturn and tend, love, and save his poor, since Rome, so dazzling fromafar, was dead to charity. And around the good and peaceful old priest hewould find the ever growing flock of wretched ones; the little fledglingswho had fallen from their nests, and whom he found pale with hunger andshivering with cold; the households of abominable misery in which thefather drank and the mother became a prostitute, while the sons and thedaughters sank into vice and crime; the dwellings, too, through whichfamine swept, where all was filth and shameful promiscuity, where therewas neither furniture nor linen, nothing but purely animal life. And thenthere would also come the cold blasts of winter, the disasters of slacktimes, the hurricanes of consumption carrying off the weak, whilst thestrong clenched their fists and dreamt of vengeance. One evening, too, perhaps, he might again enter some room of horror and find that anothermother had killed herself and her five little ones, her last-born in herarms clinging to her drained breast, and the others scattered over thebare tiles, at last contented, feeling hunger no more, now that they weredead! But no, no, such awful things were no longer possible: such blackmisery conducting to suicide in the heart of that great city of Paris, which is brimful of wealth, intoxicated with enjoyment, and flingsmillions out of window for mere pleasure! The very foundations of thesocial edifice were rotten; all would soon collapse amidst mire andblood. Never before had Pierre so acutely realised the derisive futilityof Charity. And all at once he became conscious that the long-awaitedword, the word which was at last springing from the great silentmultitude, the crushed and gagged people was _Justice_! Aye, Justice notCharity! Charity had only served to perpetuate misery, Justice perhapswould cure it. It was for Justice that the wretched hungered; an act ofJustice alone could sweep away the olden world so that the new one mightbe reared. After all, the great silent multitude would belong neither toVatican nor to Quirinal, neither to pope nor to king. If it had covertlygrowled through the ages in its long, sometimes mysterious, and sometimesopen contest; if it had struggled betwixt pontiff and emperor who eachhad wished to retain it for himself alone, it had only done so in orderthat it might free itself, proclaim its resolve to belong to none on theday when it should cry Justice! Would to-morrow then at last prove thatday of Justice and Truth? For his part, Pierre amidst his anguish--havingon one hand that need of the divine which tortures man, and on the othersovereignty of reason which enables man to remain erect--was only sure ofone thing, that he would keep his vows, continue a priest, watching overthe belief of others though he could not himself believe, and would thuschastely and honestly follow his profession, amidst haughty sadness athaving been unable to renounce his intelligence in the same way as he hadrenounced his flesh and his dream of saving the nations. And again, asafter Lourdes, he would wait. 

So deeply was he plunged in reflection at that window, face to face withthe mist which seemed to be destroying the dark edifices of Rome, that hedid not hear himself called. At last, however, he felt a tap on theshoulder: "Monsieur l'Abbe!" And then as he turned he saw Victorine, whosaid to him: "It is half-past nine; the cab is there. Giacomo has alreadytaken your luggage down. You must come away, Monsieur l'Abbe. "

Then seeing him blink, still dazed as it were, she smiled and added: "Youwere bidding Rome goodbye. What a frightful sky there is. "

"Yes, frightful, " was his reply. 

Then they descended the stairs. He had handed her a hundred-franc note tobe shared between herself and the other servants. And she apologised forgoing down before him with the lamp, explaining that the old palace wasso dark that evening one could scarcely see. 

Ah! that departure, that last descent through the black and emptymansion, it quite upset Pierre's heart. He gave his room that glance offarewell which always saddened him, even when he was leaving a spot wherehe had suffered. Then, on passing Don Vigilio's chamber, whence thereonly came a quivering silence, he pictured the secretary with his headburied in his pillows, holding his breath for fear lest he should speakand attract vengeance. But it was in particular on the second and firstfloor landings, on passing the closed doors of Donna Serafina and theCardinal, that Pierre quivered with apprehension at hearing nothing butthe silence of the grave. And as he followed Victorine, who, lamp inhand, was still descending, he thought of the brother and sister who wereleft alone in the ruined palace, last relics of a world which had halfpassed away. All hope of life had departed with Benedetta and Dario, noresurrection could come from that old maid and that priest who was boundto chastity. Ah! those interminable and lugubrious passages, that frigidand gigantic staircase which seemed to descend into nihility, those hugehalls with cracking walls where all was wretchedness and abandonment! Andthat inner court, looking like a cemetery with its weeds and its dampporticus, where remnants of Apollos and Venuses were rotting! And thelittle deserted garden, fragrant with ripe oranges, whither nobody nowwould ever stray, where none would ever meet that adorable Contessinaunder the laurels near the sarcophagus! All was now annihilated inabominable mourning, in a death-like silence, amidst which the two lastBoccaneras must wait, in savage grandeur, till their palace should fallabout their heads. Pierre could only just detect a faint sound, thegnawing of a mouse perhaps, unless it were caused by Abbe Paparelliattacking the walls of some out-of-the-way rooms, preying on the oldedifice down below, so as to hasten its fall. 

The cab stood at the door, already laden with the luggage, the box besidethe driver, the valise on the seat; and the priest at once got in. 

"Oh! You have plenty of time, " said Victorine, who had remained on thefoot-pavement. "Nothing has been forgotten. I'm glad to see you go offcomfortably. "

And indeed at that last moment Pierre was comforted by the presence ofthat worthy woman, his compatriot, who had greeted him on his arrival andnow attended his departure. "I won't say 'till we meet again, ' Monsieurl'Abbe, " she exclaimed, "for I don't fancy that you'll soon be back inthis horrid city. Good-bye, Monsieur l'Abbe. "

"Good-bye, Victorine, and thank you with all my heart. "

The cab was already going off at a fast trot, turning into the narrowsinuous street which leads to the Corso Vittoria Emanuele. It was notraining and so the hood had not been raised, but although the dampatmosphere was comparatively mild, Pierre at once felt a chill. However, he was unwilling to stop the driver, a silent fellow whose only desireseemingly was to get rid of his fare as soon as possible. When the cabcame out into the Corso Vittoria Emanuele, the young man was astonishedto find it already quite deserted, the houses shut, the footways bare, and the electric lamps burning all alone in melancholy solitude. Intruth, however, the temperature was far from warm and the fog seemed tobe increasing, hiding the house-fronts more and more. When Pierre passedthe Cancelleria, that stern colossal pile seemed to him to be receding, fading away; and farther on, upon the right, at the end of the Via di AraCoeli, starred by a few smoky gas lamps, the Capitol had quite vanishedin the gloom. Then the thoroughfare narrowed, and the cab went on betweenthe dark heavy masses of the Gesu and the Altieri palace; and there inthat contracted passage, where even on fine sunny days one found all thedampness of old times, the quivering priest yielded to a fresh train ofthought. It was an idea which had sometimes made him feel anxious, theidea that mankind, starting from over yonder in Asia, had always marchedonward with the sun. An east wind had always carried the human seed forfuture harvest towards the west. And for a long while now the cradle ofhumanity had been stricken with destruction and death, as if indeed thenations could only advance by stages, leaving exhausted soil, ruinedcities, and degenerate populations behind, as they marched from orient tooccident, towards their unknown goal. Nineveh and Babylon on the banks ofthe Euphrates, Thebes and Memphis on the banks of the Nile, had beenreduced to dust, sinking from old age and weariness into a deadlynumbness beyond possibility of awakening. Then decrepitude had spread tothe shores of the great Mediterranean lake, burying both Tyre and Sidonwith dust, and afterwards striking Carthage with senility whilst it yetseemed in full splendour. In this wise as mankind marched on, carried bythe hidden forces of civilisation from east to west, it marked each day'sjourney with ruins; and how frightful was the sterility nowadaysdisplayed by the cradle of History, that Asia and that Egypt, which hadonce more lapsed into childhood, immobilised in ignorance and degeneracyamidst the ruins of ancient cities that once had been queens of theworld!

It was thus Pierre reflected as the cab rolled on. Still he was notunconscious of his surroundings. As he passed the Palazzo di Venezia itseemed to him to be crumbling beneath some assault of the invisible, forthe mist had already swept away its battlements, and the lofty, bare, fearsome walls looked as if they were staggering from the onslaught ofthe growing darkness. And after passing the deep gap of the Corso, whichwas also deserted amidst the pallid radiance of its electric lights, thePalazzo Torlonia appeared on the right-hand, with one wing ripped open bythe picks of demolishers, whilst on the left, farther up, the PalazzoColonna showed its long, mournful facade and closed windows, as if, nowthat it was deserted by its masters and void of its ancient pomp, itawaited the demolishers in its turn. 

Then, as the cab at a slower pace began to climb the ascent of the ViaNazionale, Pierre's reverie continued. Was not Rome also stricken, hadnot the hour come for her to disappear amidst that destruction which thenations on the march invariably left behind them? Greece, Athens, andSparta slumbered beneath their glorious memories, and were of no accountin the world of to-day. Moreover, the growing paralysis had alreadyinvaded the lower portion of the Italic peninsula; and after Naplescertainly came the turn of Rome. She was on the very margin of the deathspot which ever extends over the old continent, that margin where agonybegins, where the impoverished soil will no longer nourish and supportcities, where men themselves seem stricken with old age as soon as theyare born. For two centuries Rome had been declining, withdrawing littleby little from modern life, having neither manufactures nor trade, andbeing incapable even of science, literature, or art. And in Pierre'sthoughts it was no longer St. Peter's only that fell, but allRome--basilicas, palaces, and entire districts--which collapsed amidst asupreme rending, and covered the seven hills with a chaos of ruins. LikeNineveh and Babylon, and like Thebes and Memphis, Rome became but aplain, bossy with remnants, amidst which one vainly sought to identifythe sites of ancient edifices, whilst its sole denizens were coilingserpents and bands of rats. 

The cab turned, and on the right, in a huge gap of darkness Pierrerecognised Trajan's column, but it was no longer gilded by the sun aswhen he had first seen it; it now rose up blackly like the dead trunk ofa giant tree whose branches have fallen from old age. And farther on, when he raised his eyes while crossing the little triangular piazza, andperceived a real tree against the leaden sky, that parasol pine of theVilla Aldobrandini which rises there like a symbol of Rome's grace andpride, it seemed to him but a smear, a little cloud of soot ascendingfrom the downfall of the whole city. 

With the anxious, fraternal turn of his feelings, fear was coming overhim as he reached the end of his tragic dream. When the numbness whichspreads across the aged world should have passed Rome, when Lombardyshould have yielded to it, and Genoa, Turin, and Milan should have fallenasleep as Venice has fallen already, then would come the turn of France. The Alps would be crossed, Marseilles, like Tyre and Sidon, would see itsport choked up by sand, Lyons would sink into desolation and slumber, andat last Paris, invaded by the invincible torpor, and transformed into asterile waste of stones bristling with nettles, would join Rome andNineveh and Babylon in death, whilst the nations continued their marchfrom orient to occident following the sun. A great cry sped through thegloom, the death cry of the Latin races! History, which seemed to havebeen born in the basin of the Mediterranean, was being transportedelsewhere, and the ocean had now become the centre of the world. How manyhours of the human day had gone by? Had mankind, starting from its cradleover yonder at daybreak, strewing its road with ruins from stage tostage, now accomplished one-half of its day and reached the dazzling hourof noon? If so, then the other half of the day allotted to it wasbeginning, the new world was following the old one, the new world ofthose American cities where democracy was forming and the religion ofto-morrow was sprouting, those sovereign queens of the coming century, with yonder, across another ocean, on the other side of the globe, thatmotionless Far East, mysterious China and Japan, and all the threateningswarm of the yellow races. 

However, while the cab climbed higher and higher up the Via Nazionale, Pierre felt his nightmare dissipating. There was here a lighteratmosphere, and he came back into a renewal of hope and courage. Yet theBanca d'Italia, with its brand-new ugliness, its chalky hugeness, lookedto him like a phantom in a shroud; whilst above a dim expanse of gardensthe Quirinal formed but a black streak barring the heavens. However, thestreet ever ascended and broadened, and on the summit of the Viminal, onthe Piazza delle Terme, when he passed the ruins of Diocletian's baths, he could breathe as his lungs listed. No, no, the human day could notfinish, it was eternal, and the stages of civilisation would follow andfollow without end! What mattered that eastern wind which carried thenations towards the west, as if borne on by the power of the sun! Ifnecessary, they would return across the other side of the globe, theywould again and again make the circuit of the earth, until the day shouldcome when they could establish themselves in peace, truth, and justice. After the next civilisation on the shores of the Atlantic, which wouldbecome the world's centre, skirted by queenly cities, there would springup yet another civilisation, having the Pacific for its centre, withseaport capitals that could not be yet foreseen, whose germs yetslumbered on unknown shores. And in like way there would be still othercivilisations and still others! And at that last moment, the inspiritingthought came to Pierre that the great movement of the nations was theinstinct, the need which impelled them to return to unity. Originating inone sole family, afterwards parted and dispersed in tribes, thrown intocollision by fratricidal hatred, their tendency was none the less tobecome one sole family again. The provinces united in nations, thenations would unite in races, and the races would end by uniting in oneimmortal mankind--mankind at last without frontiers, or possibility ofwars, mankind living by just labour amidst an universal commonwealth. Wasnot this indeed the evolution, the object of the labour progressingeverywhere, the finish reserved to History? Might Italy then become astrong and healthy nation, might concord be established between her andFrance, and might that fraternity of the Latin races become the beginningof universal fraternity! Ah! that one fatherland, the whole earthpacified and happy, in how many centuries would that come--and what adream!

Then, on reaching the station the scramble prevented Pierre from thinkingany further. He had to take his ticket and register his luggage, andafterwards he at once climbed into the train. At dawn on the next day butone, he would be back in Paris. 

END

 *****

PARIS

FROM THE THREE CITIES

By Emile Zola

Translated By Ernest A. Vizetelly

BOOK I. 

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

WITH the present work M. Zola completes the "Trilogy of the ThreeCities, " which he began with "Lourdes" and continued with "Rome"; andthus the adventures and experiences of Abbe Pierre Froment, the doubtingCatholic priest who failed to find faith at the miraculous grotto by theCave, and hope amidst the crumbling theocracy of the Vatican, are herebrought to what, from M. Zola's point of view, is their logicalconclusion. From the first pages of "Lourdes, " many readers will havedivined that Abbe Froment was bound to finish as he does, for, frankly, no other finish was possible from a writer of M. Zola's opinions. 

Taking the Trilogy as a whole, one will find that it is essentiallysymbolical. Abbe Froment is Man, and his struggles are the strugglesbetween Religion, as personified by the Roman Catholic Church, on the onehand, and Reason and Life on the other. In the Abbe's case the victoryultimately rests with the latter; and we may take it as being M. Zola'sopinion that the same will eventually be the case with the great bulk ofmankind. English writers are often accused of treating subjects from aninsular point of view, and certainly there may be good ground for such acharge. But they are not the only writers guilty of the practice. Thepurview of French authors is often quite as limited: they regard Frenchopinion as the only good opinion, and judge the rest of the world bytheir own standard. In the present case, if we leave the world andmankind generally on one side, and apply M. Zola's facts and theories toFrance alone, it will be found, I think, that he has made out aremarkably good case for himself. For it is certain that Catholicism, Imay say Christianity, is fast crumbling in France. There may be revivalsin certain limited circles, efforts of the greatest energy to prop up thetottering edifice by a "rallying" of believers to the democratic cause, and by a kindling of the most bitter anti-Semitic warfare; but all theserevivals and efforts, although they are extremely well-advertised andcreate no little stir, produce very little impression on the bulk of thepopulation. So far as France is concerned, the policy of Leo XIII. Seemsto have come too late. The French masses regard Catholicism orChristianity, whichever one pleases, as a religion of death, --a religionwhich, taking its stand on the text "There shall always be poor amongyou, " condemns them to toil and moil in poverty and distress their wholelife long, with no other consolation than the promise of happiness inheaven. And, on the other hand, they see the ministers of the Deity, "whose kingdom is not of this world, " supporting the wealthy andpowerful, and striving to secure wealth and power for themselves. Charityexists, of course, but the masses declare that it is no remedy; they donot ask for doles, they ask for Justice. It is largely by reason of allthis that Socialism and Anarchism have made such great strides in Franceof recent years. Robespierre, as will be remembered, once tried tosuppress Christianity altogether, and for a time certainly there was avirtually general cessation of religious observances in France. But nosuch Reign of Terror prevails there to-day. Men are perfectly free tobelieve if they are inclined to do so; and yet never were there fewerreligious marriages, fewer baptisms or smaller congregations in theFrench churches. I refer not merely to Paris and other large cities, butto the smaller towns, and even the little hamlets of many parts. Oldvillage priests, men practising what they teach and possessed of the mostloving, benevolent hearts, have told me with tears in their eyes of thegrowing infidelity of their parishioners. 

I have been studying this matter for some years, and write withoutprejudice, merely setting down what I believe to be the truth. Of coursewe are all aware that the most stupendous efforts are being made by theCatholic clergy and zealous believers to bring about a revival of thefaith, and certainly in some circles there has been a measure of success. But the reconversion of a nation is the most formidable of tasks; and, inmy own opinion, as in M. Zola's, France as a whole is lost to theChristian religion. On this proposition, combined with a second one, namely, that even as France as a nation will be the first to discardChristianity, so she will be the first to promulgate a new faith based onreason, science and the teachings of life, is founded the whole argumentof M. Zola's Trilogy. 

Having thus dealt with the Trilogy's religious aspects, I would now speakof "Paris, " its concluding volume. This is very different from "Lourdes"and "Rome. " Whilst recounting the struggles and fate of Abbe Froment andhis brother Guillaume, and entering largely into the problem of Capitaland Labour, which problem has done so much to turn the masses away fromChristianity, it contains many an interesting and valuable picture of theParisian world at the close of the nineteenth century. It is noguide-book to Paris; but it paints the city's social life, its rich andpoor, its scandals and crimes, its work and its pleasures. Among thehouseholds to which the reader is introduced are those of a banker, anaged Countess of the old _noblesse_, a cosmopolitan Princess, of a kindthat Paris knows only too well, a scientist, a manufacturer, a workingmechanician, a priest, an Anarchist, a petty clerk and an actress of aclass that so often dishonours the French stage. Science and art andlearning and religion, all have their representatives. Then, too, thepolitical world is well to the front. There are honest and unscrupulousMinisters of State, upright and venal deputies, enthusiastic and cautiouscandidates for power, together with social theoreticians of variousschools. And the _blase_, weak-minded man of fashion is here, as well asthe young "symbolist" of perverted, degraded mind. The women are of alltypes, from the most loathsome to the most lovable. Then, too, thejournalists are portrayed in such life-like fashion that I might giveeach of them his real name. And journalism, Parisian journalism, isflagellated, shown as it really is, --if just a few well-conducted organsbe excepted, --that is, venal and impudent, mendacious and even petty. 

The actual scenes depicted are quite as kaleidoscopic as are thecharacters in their variety. We enter the banker's gilded saloon and thehovel of the pauper, the busy factory, the priest's retired home and thelaboratory of the scientist. We wait in the lobbies of the Chamber ofDeputies, and afterwards witness "a great debate"; we penetrate into theprivate sanctum of a Minister of the Interior; we attend a fashionablewedding at the Madeleine and a first performance at the ComedieFrancaise; we dine at the Cafe Anglais and listen to a notorious vocalistin a low music hall at Montmartre; we pursue an Anarchist through theBois de Boulogne; we slip into the Assize Court and see that Anarchisttried there; we afterwards gaze upon his execution by the guillotine; weare also on the boulevards when the lamps are lighted for a long night ofrevelry, and we stroll along the quiet streets in the small hours of themorning, when crime and homeless want are prowling round. 

And ever the scene changes; the whole world of Paris passes before one. Yet the book, to my thinking, is far less descriptive than analytical. The souls of the principal characters are probed to their lowest depths. Many of the scenes, too, are intensely dramatic, admirably adapted forthe stage; as, for instance, Baroness Duvillard's interview with herdaughter in the chapter which I have called "The Rivals. " And side byside with baseness there is heroism, while beauty of the flesh finds itscounterpart in beauty of the mind. M. Zola has often been reproached forshowing us the vileness of human nature; and no doubt such vileness maybe found in "Paris, " but there are contrasting pictures. If some of M. Zola's characters horrify the reader, there are others that the lattercan but admire. Life is compounded of good and evil, and unfortunately itis usually the evil that makes the most noise and attracts the mostattention. Moreover, in M. Zola's case, it has always been his purpose toexpose the evils from which society suffers in the hope of directingattention to them and thereby hastening a remedy, and thus, in the courseof his works, he could not do otherwise than drag the whole frightfulmass of human villany and degradation into the full light of day. But ifthere are, again, black pages in "Paris, " others, bright and comforting, will be found near them. And the book ends in no pessimist strain. Whatever may be thought of the writer's views on religion, most readerswill, I imagine, agree with his opinion that, despite much socialinjustice, much crime, vice, cupidity and baseness, we are ever marchingon to better things. 

In the making of the coming, though still far-away, era of truth andjustice, Paris, he thinks, will play the leading part, for whatever thestains upon her, they are but surface-deep; her heart remains good andsound; she has genius and courage and energy and wit and fancy. She canbe generous, too, when she chooses, and more than once her ideas haveirradiated the world. Thus M. Zola hopes much from her, and who willgainsay him? Not I, who can apply to her the words which Byron addressedto the home of my own and M. Zola's forefathers:--

 "I loved her from my boyhood; she to me Was as a fairy city of the heart. "

Thus I can but hope that Paris, where I learnt the little I know, where Istruggled and found love and happiness, whose every woe and disaster andtriumph I have shared for over thirty years, may, however dark the cloudsthat still pass over her, some day fully justify M. Zola's confidence, and bring to pass his splendid dream of perfect truth and perfectjustice. 

E. A. V. 

MERTON, SURREY, ENGLAND, Feb. 5, 1898. 

I. THE PRIEST AND THE POOR

THAT morning, one towards the end of January, Abbe Pierre Froment, whohad a mass to say at the Sacred Heart at Montmartre, was on the height, in front of the basilica, already at eight o'clock. And before going inhe gazed for a moment upon the immensity of Paris spread out below him. 

After two months of bitter cold, ice and snow, the city was steeped in amournful, quivering thaw. From the far-spreading, leaden-hued heavens athick mist fell like a mourning shroud. All the eastern portion of thecity, the abodes of misery and toil, seemed submerged beneath ruddysteam, amid which the panting of workshops and factories could bedivined; while westwards, towards the districts of wealth and enjoyment, the fog broke and lightened, becoming but a fine and motionless veil ofvapour. The curved line of the horizon could scarcely be divined, theexpanse of houses, which nothing bounded, appeared like a chaos of stone, studded with stagnant pools, which filled the hollows with pale steam;whilst against them the summits of the edifices, the housetops of theloftier streets, showed black like soot. It was a Paris of mystery, shrouded by clouds, buried as it were beneath the ashes of some disaster, already half-sunken in the suffering and the shame of that which itsimmensity concealed. 

Thin and sombre in his flimsy cassock, Pierre was looking on when AbbeRose, who seemed to have sheltered himself behind a pillar of the porchon purpose to watch for him, came forward: "Ah! it's you at last, my dearchild, " said he, "I have something to ask you. "

He seemed embarrassed and anxious, and glanced round distrustfully tomake sure that nobody was near. Then, as if the solitude thereabouts didnot suffice to reassure him, he led Pierre some distance away, throughthe icy, biting wind, which he himself did not seem to feel. "This is thematter, " he resumed, "I have been told that a poor fellow, a formerhouse-painter, an old man of seventy, who naturally can work no more, isdying of hunger in a hovel in the Rue des Saules. So, my dear child, Ithought of you. I thought you would consent to take him these threefrancs from me, so that he may at least have some bread to eat for a fewdays. "

"But why don't you take him your alms yourself?"

At this Abbe Rose again grew anxious, and cast vague, frightened glancesabout him. "Oh, no, oh, no!" he said, "I can no longer do that after allthe worries that have befallen me. You know that I am watched, and shouldget another scolding if I were caught giving alms like this, scarcelyknowing to whom I give them. It is true that I had to sell something toget these three francs. But, my dear child, render me this service, Ipray you. "

Pierre, with heart oppressed, stood contemplating the old priest, whoselocks were quite white, whose full lips spoke of infinite kindliness, andwhose eyes shone clear and childlike in his round and smiling face. Andhe bitterly recalled the story of that lover of the poor, thesemi-disgrace into which he had fallen through the sublime candour of hischaritable goodness. His little ground-floor of the Rue de Charonne, which he had turned into a refuge where he offered shelter to all thewretchedness of the streets, had ended by giving cause for scandal. His_naivete_ and innocence had been abused; and abominable things had goneon under his roof without his knowledge. Vice had turned the asylum intoa meeting-place; and at last, one night, the police had descended upon itto arrest a young girl accused of infanticide. Greatly concerned by thisscandal, the diocesan authorities had forced Abbe Rose to close hisshelter, and had removed him from the church of Ste. Marguerite to thatof St. Pierre of Montmartre, where he now again acted as curate. Truth totell, it was not a disgrace but a removal to another spot. However, hehad been scolded and was watched, as he said; and he was much ashamed ofit, and very unhappy at being only able to give alms by stealth, muchlike some harebrained prodigal who blushes for his faults. 

Pierre took the three francs. "I promise to execute your commission, myfriend, oh! with all my heart, " he said. 

"You will go after your mass, won't you? His name is Laveuve, he lives inthe Rue des Saules in a house with a courtyard, just before reaching theRue Marcadet. You are sure to find it. And if you want to be very kindyou will tell me of your visit this evening at five o'clock, at theMadeleine, where I am going to hear Monseigneur Martha's address. He hasbeen so good to me! Won't you also come to hear him?"

Pierre made an evasive gesture. Monseigneur Martha, Bishop of Persepolisand all powerful at the archiepiscopal palace, since, like the genialpropagandist he was, he had been devoting himself to increasing thesubscriptions for the basilica of the Sacred Heart, had indeed supportedAbbe Rose; in fact, it was by his influence that the abbe had been keptin Paris, and placed once more at St. Pierre de Montmartre. 

"I don't know if I shall be able to hear the address, " said Pierre, "butin any case I will go there to meet you. "

The north wind was blowing, and the gloomy cold penetrated both of themon that deserted summit amidst the fog which changed the vast city into amisty ocean. However, some footsteps were heard, and Abbe Rose, againmistrustful, saw a man go by, a tall and sturdy man, who wore clogs andwas bareheaded, showing his thick and closely-cut white hair. "Is notthat your brother?" asked the old priest. 

Pierre had not stirred. "Yes, it is my brother Guillaume, " he quietlyresponded. "I have found him again since I have been coming occasionallyto the Sacred Heart. He owns a house close by, where he has been livingfor more than twenty years, I think. When we meet we shake hands, but Ihave never even been to his house. Oh! all is quite dead between us, wehave nothing more in common, we are parted by worlds. "

Abbe Rose's tender smile again appeared, and he waved his hand as if tosay that one must never despair of love. Guillaume Froment, a savant oflofty intelligence, a chemist who lived apart from others, like one whorebelled against the social system, was now a parishioner of the abbe's, and when the latter passed the house where Guillaume lived with his threesons--a house all alive with work--he must often have dreamt of leadinghim back to God. 

"But, my dear child, " he resumed, "I am keeping you here in this darkcold, and you are not warm. Go and say your mass. Till this evening, atthe Madeleine. " Then, in entreating fashion, after again making sure thatnone could hear them, he added, still with the air of a child at fault:"And not a word to anybody about my little commission--it would again besaid that I don't know how to conduct myself. "

Pierre watched the old priest as he went off towards the Rue Cartot, where he lived on a damp ground-floor, enlivened by a strip of garden. The veil of disaster, which was submerging Paris, now seemed to growthicker under the gusts of the icy north wind. And at last Pierre enteredthe basilica, his heart upset, overflowing with the bitterness stirred upby the recollection of Abbe Rose's story--that bankruptcy of charity, thefrightful irony of a holy man punished for bestowing alms, and hidinghimself that he might still continue to bestow them. Nothing could calmthe smart of the wound reopened in Pierre's heart--neither the warmpeacefulness into which he entered, nor the silent solemnity of thebroad, deep fabric, whose new stonework was quite bare, without a singlepainting or any kind of decoration; the nave being still half-barred bythe scaffoldings which blocked up the unfinished dome. At that early hourthe masses of entreaty had already been said at several altars, under thegrey light falling from the high and narrow windows, and the tapers ofentreaty were burning in the depths of the apse. So Pierre made haste togo to the sacristy, there to assume his vestments in order that he mightsay his mass in the chapel of St. Vincent de Paul. 

But the floodgates of memory had been opened, and he had no thought butfor his distress whilst, in mechanical fashion, he performed the ritesand made the customary gestures. Since his return from Rome three yearspreviously, he had been living in the very worst anguish that can fall onman. At the outset, in order to recover his lost faith, he had essayed afirst experiment: he had gone to Lourdes, there to seek the innocentbelief of the child who kneels and prays, the primitive faith of youngnations bending beneath the terror born of ignorance; but he had rebelledyet more than ever in presence of what he had witnessed at Lourdes: thatglorification of the absurd, that collapse of common sense; and wasconvinced that salvation, the peace of men and nations nowadays, couldnot lie in that puerile relinquishment of reason. And afterwards, againyielding to the need of loving whilst yet allowing reason, so hard tosatisfy, her share in his intellect, he had staked his final peace on asecond experiment, and had gone to Rome to see if Catholicism could therebe renewed, could revert to the spirit of primitive Christianity andbecome the religion of the democracy, the faith which the modern world, upheaving and in danger of death, was awaiting in order to calm down andlive. And he had found there naught but ruins, the rotted trunk of a treethat could never put forth another springtide; and he had heard therenaught but the supreme rending of the old social edifice, near to itsfall. Then it was, that, relapsing into boundless doubt, total negation, he had been recalled to Paris by Abbe Rose, in the name of their poor, and had returned thither that he might forget and immolate himself andbelieve in them--the poor--since they and their frightful sufferingsalone remained certain. And then it was too, that for three years he cameinto contact with that collapse, that very bankruptcy of goodness itself:charity a derision, charity useless and flouted. 

Those three years had been lived by Pierre amidst ever-growing torments, in which his whole being had ended by sinking. His faith was foreverdead; dead, too, even his hope of utilising the faith of the multitudesfor the general salvation. He denied everything, he anticipated nothingbut the final, inevitable catastrophe: revolt, massacre andconflagration, which would sweep away a guilty and condemned world. Unbelieving priest that he was, yet watching over the faith of others, honestly, chastely discharging his duties, full of haughty sadness at thethought that he had been unable to renounce his mind as he had renouncedhis flesh and his dream of being a saviour of the nations, he withalremained erect, full of fierce yet solitary grandeur. And thisdespairing, denying priest, who had dived to the bottom of nothingness, retained such a lofty and grave demeanour, perfumed by such purekindness, that in his parish of Neuilly he had acquired the reputation ofbeing a young saint, one beloved by Providence, whose prayers wroughtmiracles. He was but a personification of the rules of the Church; of thepriest he retained only the gestures; he was like an empty sepulchre inwhich not even the ashes of hope remained; yet grief-stricken weepingwomen worshipped him and kissed his cassock; and it was a tortured motherwhose infant was in danger of death, who had implored him to come and askthat infant's cure of Jesus, certain as she felt that Jesus would granther the boon in that sanctuary of Montmartre where blazed the prodigy ofHis heart, all burning with love. 

Clad in his vestments, Pierre had reached the chapel of St. Vincent dePaul. He there ascended the altar-step and began the mass; and when heturned round with hands spread out to bless the worshippers he showed hishollow cheeks, his gentle mouth contracted by bitterness, his loving eyesdarkened by suffering. He was no longer the young priest whosecountenance had glowed with tender fever on the road to Lourdes, whoseface had been illumined by apostolic fervour when he started for Rome. The two hereditary influences which were ever at strife within him--thatof his father to whom he owed his impregnable, towering brow, that of hismother who had given him his love-thirsting lips, were still waging war, the whole human battle of sentiment and reason, in that now ravaged faceof his, whither in moments of forgetfulness ascended all the chaos ofinternal suffering. The lips still confessed that unquenched thirst forlove, self-bestowal and life, which he well thought he could nevermorecontent, whilst the solid brow, the citadel which made him suffer, obstinately refused to capitulate, whatever might be the assaults oferror. But he stiffened himself, hid the horror of the void in which hestruggled, and showed himself superb, making each gesture, repeating eachword in sovereign fashion. And gazing at him through her tears, themother who was there among the few kneeling women, the mother who awaiteda supreme intercession from him, who thought him in communion with Jesusfor the salvation of her child, beheld him radiant with angelic beautylike some messenger of the divine grace. 

When, after the offertory, Pierre uncovered the chalice he felt contemptfor himself. The shock had been too great, and he thought of those thingsin spite of all. What puerility there had been in his two experiments atLourdes and Rome, the _naivete_ of a poor distracted being, consumed bydesire to love and believe. To have imagined that present-day sciencewould in his person accommodate itself to the faith of the year OneThousand, and in particular to have foolishly believed that he, pettypriest that he was, would be able to indoctrinate the Pope and prevail onhim to become a saint and change the face of the world! It all filled himwith shame; how people must have laughed at him! Then, too, his idea of aschism made him blush. He again beheld himself at Rome, dreaming ofwriting a book by which he would violently sever himself from Catholicismto preach the new religion of the democracies, the purified, human andliving Gospel. But what ridiculous folly! A schism? He had known in Parisan abbe of great heart and mind who had attempted to bring about thatfamous, predicted, awaited schism. Ah! the poor man, the sad, theludicrous labour in the midst of universal incredulity, the icyindifference of some, the mockery and the reviling of others! If Lutherwere to come to France in our days he would end, forgotten and dying ofhunger, on a Batignolles fifth-floor. A schism cannot succeed among apeople that no longer believes, that has ceased to take all interest inthe Church, and sets its hope elsewhere. And it was all Catholicism, infact all Christianity, that would be swept away, for, apart from certainmoral maxims, the Gospel no longer supplied a possible code for society. And this conviction increased Pierre's torment on the days when hiscassock weighed more heavily on his shoulders, when he ended by feelingcontempt for himself at thus celebrating the divine mystery of the mass, which for him had become but the formula of a dead religion. 

Having half filled the chalice with wine from the vase, Pierre washed hishands and again perceived the mother with her face of ardent entreaty. Then he thought it was for her that, with the charitable leanings of avow-bound man, he had remained a priest, a priest without belief, feedingthe belief of others with the bread of illusion. But this heroic conduct, the haughty spirit of duty in which he imprisoned himself, was notpractised by him without growing anguish. Did not elementary probityrequire that he should cast aside the cassock and return into the midstof men? At certain times the falsity of his position filled him withdisgust for his useless heroism; and he asked himself if it were notcowardly and dangerous to leave the masses in superstition. Certainly thetheory of a just and vigilant Providence, of a future paradise where allthese sufferings of the world would receive compensation, had long seemednecessary to the wretchedness of mankind; but what a trap lay in it, whata pretext for the tyrannical grinding down of nations; and how far morevirile it would be to undeceive the nations, however brutally, and givethem courage to live the real life, even if it were in tears. If theywere already turning aside from Christianity was not this because theyneeded a more human ideal, a religion of health and joy which should notbe a religion of death? On the day when the idea of charity shouldcrumble, Christianity would crumble also, for it was built upon the ideaof divine charity correcting the injustice of fate, and offering futurerewards to those who might suffer in this life. And it was crumbling; forthe poor no longer believed in it, but grew angry at the thought of thatdeceptive paradise, with the promise of which their patience had beenbeguiled so long, and demanded that their share of happiness should notalways be put off until the morrow of death. A cry for justice arose fromevery lip, for justice upon this earth, justice for those who hunger andthirst, whom alms are weary of relieving after eighteen hundred years ofGospel teaching, and who still and ever lack bread to eat. 

When Pierre, with his elbows on the altar, had emptied the chalice afterbreaking the sacred wafer, he felt himself sinking into yet greaterdistress. And so a third experiment was beginning for him, the supremebattle of justice against charity, in which his heart and his mind wouldstruggle together in that great Paris, so full of terrible, unknownthings. The need for the divine still battled within him againstdomineering intelligence. How among the masses would one ever be able tocontent the thirst for the mysterious? Leaving the _elite_ on one side, would science suffice to pacify desire, lull suffering, and satisfy thedream? And what would become of himself in the bankruptcy of that samecharity, which for three years had alone kept him erect by occupying hisevery hour, and giving him the illusion of self-devotion, of being usefulto others? It seemed, all at once, as if the ground sank beneath him, andhe heard nothing save the cry of the masses, silent so long, but nowdemanding justice, growling and threatening to take their share, whichwas withheld from them by force and ruse. Nothing more, it seemed, coulddelay the inevitable catastrophe, the fratricidal class warfare thatwould sweep away the olden world, which was condemned to disappearbeneath the mountain of its crimes. Every hour with frightful sadness heexpected the collapse, Paris steeped in blood, Paris in flames. And hishorror of all violence froze him; he knew not where to seek the newbelief which might dissipate the peril. Fully conscious, though he was, that the social and religious problems are but one, and are alone inquestion in the dreadful daily labour of Paris, he was too deeplytroubled himself, too far removed from ordinary things by his position asa priest, and too sorely rent by doubt and powerlessness to tell as yetwhere might be truth, and health, and life. Ah! to be healthy and tolive, to content at last both heart and reason in the peace, the certain, simply honest labour, which man has come to accomplish upon this earth!

The mass was finished, and Pierre descended from the altar, when theweeping mother, near whom he passed, caught hold of a corner of thechasuble with her trembling hands, and kissed it with wild fervour, asone may kiss some relic of a saint from whom one expects salvation. Shethanked him for the miracle which he must have accomplished, certain asshe felt that she would find her child cured. And he was deeply stirredby that love, that ardent faith of hers, in spite of the sudden and yetkeener distress which he felt at being in no wise the sovereign ministerthat she thought him, the minister able to obtain a respite from Death. But he dismissed her consoled and strengthened, and it was with an ardentprayer that he entreated the unknown but conscious Power to succour thepoor creature. Then, when he had divested himself in the sacristy, andfound himself again out of doors before the basilica, lashed by the keenwintry wind, a mortal shiver came upon him, and froze him, while throughthe mist he looked to see if a whirlwind of anger and justice had notswept Paris away: that catastrophe which must some day destroy it, leaving under the leaden heavens only the pestilential quagmire of itsruins. 

Pierre wished to fulfil Abbe Rose's commission immediately. He followedthe Rue des Norvins, on the crest of Montmartre; and, reaching the Ruedes Saules, descended by its steep slope, between mossy walls, to theother side of Paris. The three francs which he was holding in hiscassock's pocket, filled him at once with gentle emotion and covert angeragainst the futility of charity. But as he gradually descended by thesharp declivities and interminable storeys of steps, the mournful nooksof misery which he espied took possession of him, and infinite pity wrunghis heart. A whole new district was here being built alongside the broadthoroughfares opened since the great works of the Sacred Heart had begun. Lofty middle-class houses were already rising among ripped-up gardens andplots of vacant land, still edged with palings. And these houses withtheir substantial frontages, all new and white, lent a yet more sombreand leprous aspect to such of the old shaky buildings as remained, thelow pot-houses with blood-coloured walls, the _cites_ of workmen'sdwellings, those abodes of suffering with black, soiled buildings inwhich human cattle were piled. Under the low-hanging sky that day, thepavement, dented by heavily-laden carts, was covered with mud; the thawsoaked the walls with an icy dampness, whilst all the filth anddestitution brought terrible sadness to the heart. 

After going as far as the Rue Marcadet, Pierre retraced his steps; and inthe Rue des Saules, certain that he was not mistaken, he entered thecourtyard of a kind of barracks or hospital, encompassed by threeirregular buildings. This court was a quagmire, where filth must haveaccumulated during the two months of terrible frost; and now all wasmelting, and an abominable stench arose. The buildings were half falling, the gaping vestibules looked like cellar holes, strips of paper streakedthe cracked and filthy window-panes, and vile rags hung about like flagsof death. Inside a shanty which served as the door-keeper's abode Pierreonly saw an infirm man rolled up in a tattered strip of what had oncebeen a horse-cloth. 

"You have an old workman named Laveuve here, " said the priest. "Whichstaircase is it, which floor?"

The man did not answer, but opened his anxious eyes, like a scared idiot. The door-keeper, no doubt, was in the neighbourhood. For a moment thepriest waited; then seeing a little girl on the other side of thecourtyard, he risked himself, crossed the quagmire on tip-toe, and asked:"Do you know an old workman named Laveuve in the house, my child?"

The little girl, who only had a ragged gown of pink cotton stuff abouther meagre figure, stood there shivering, her hands covered withchilblains. She raised her delicate face, which looked pretty thoughnipped by the cold: "Laveuve, " said she, "no, don't know, don't know. "And with the unconscious gesture of a beggar child she put out one of herpoor, numbed and disfigured hands. Then, when the priest had given her alittle bit of silver, she began to prance through the mud like a joyfulgoat, singing the while in a shrill voice: "Don't know, don't know. "

Pierre decided to follow her. She vanished into one of the gapingvestibules, and, in her rear, he climbed a dark and fetid staircase, whose steps were half-broken and so slippery, on account of the vegetableparings strewn over them, that he had to avail himself of the greasy ropeby which the inmates hoisted themselves upwards. But every door wasclosed; he vainly knocked at several of them, and only elicited, at thelast, a stifled growl, as though some despairing animal were confinedwithin. Returning to the yard, he hesitated, then made his way to anotherstaircase, where he was deafened by piercing cries, as of a child who isbeing butchered. He climbed on hearing this noise and at last foundhimself in front of an open room where an infant, who had been leftalone, tied in his little chair, in order that he might not fall, washowling and howling without drawing breath. Then Pierre went down again, upset, frozen by the sight of so much destitution and abandonment. 

But a woman was coming in, carrying three potatoes in her apron, and onbeing questioned by him she gazed distrustfully at his cassock. "Laveuve, Laveuve? I can't say, " she replied. "If the door-keeper were there, shemight be able to tell you. There are five staircases, you see, and wedon't all know each other. Besides, there are so many changes. Still tryover there; at the far end. "

The staircase at the back of the yard was yet more abominable than theothers, its steps warped, its walls slimy, as if soaked with the sweat ofanguish. At each successive floor the drain-sinks exhaled a pestilentialstench, whilst from every lodging came moans, or a noise of quarrelling, or some frightful sign of misery. A door swung open, and a man appeareddragging a woman by the hair whilst three youngsters sobbed aloud. On thenext floor, Pierre caught a glimpse of a room where a young girl in herteens, racked by coughing, was hastily carrying an infant to and fro toquiet it, in despair that all the milk of her breast should be exhausted. Then, in an adjoining lodging, came the poignant spectacle of threebeings, half clad in shreds, apparently sexless and ageless, who, amidstthe dire bareness of their room, were gluttonously eating from the sameearthen pan some pottage which even dogs would have refused. They barelyraised their heads to growl, and did not answer Pierre's questions. 

He was about to go down again, when right atop of the stairs, at theentry of a passage, it occurred to him to make a last try by knocking atthe door. It was opened by a woman whose uncombed hair was alreadygetting grey, though she could not be more than forty; while her palelips, and dim eyes set in a yellow countenance, expressed utterlassitude, the shrinking, the constant dread of one whom wretchedness haspitilessly assailed. The sight of Pierre's cassock disturbed her, and shestammered anxiously: "Come in, come in, Monsieur l'Abbe. "

However, a man whom Pierre had not at first seen--a workman also of someforty years, tall, thin and bald, with scanty moustache and beard of awashed-out reddish hue--made an angry gesture--a threat as it were--toturn the priest out of doors. But he calmed himself, sat down near arickety table and pretended to turn his back. And as there was also achild present--a fair-haired girl, eleven or twelve years old, with along and gentle face and that intelligent and somewhat aged expressionwhich great misery imparts to children--he called her to him, and heldher between his knees, doubtless to keep her away from the man in thecassock. 

Pierre--whose heart was oppressed by his reception, and who realised theutter destitution of this family by the sight of the bare, fireless room, and the distressed mournfulness of its three inmates--decided all thesame to repeat his question: "Madame, do you know an old workman namedLaveuve in the house?"

The woman--who now trembled at having admitted him, since it seemed todisplease her man--timidly tried to arrange matters. "Laveuve, Laveuve?no, I don't. But Salvat, you hear? Do you know a Laveuve here?"

Salvat merely shrugged his shoulders; but the little girl could not keepher tongue still: "I say, mamma Theodore, it's p'raps the Philosopher. "

"A former house-painter, " continued Pierre, "an old man who is ill andpast work. "

Madame Theodore was at once enlightened. "In that case it's him, it'shim. We call him the Philosopher, a nickname folks have given him in theneighbourhood. But there's nothing to prevent his real name from beingLaveuve. "

With one of his fists raised towards the ceiling, Salvat seemed to beprotesting against the abomination of a world and a Providence thatallowed old toilers to die of hunger just like broken-down beasts. However, he did not speak, but relapsed into the savage, heavy silence, the bitter meditation in which he had been plunged when the priestarrived. He was a journeyman engineer, and gazed obstinately at the tablewhere lay his little leather tool-bag, bulging with something itcontained--something, perhaps, which he had to take back to a work-shop. He might have been thinking of a long, enforced spell of idleness, of avain search for any kind of work during the two previous months of thatterrible winter. Or perhaps it was the coming bloody reprisals of thestarvelings that occupied the fiery reverie which set his large, strange, vague blue eyes aglow. All at once he noticed that his daughter had takenup the tool-bag and was trying to open it to see what it might contain. At this he quivered and at last spoke, his voice kindly, yet bitter withsudden emotion, which made him turn pale. "Celine, you must leave thatalone. I forbade you to touch my tools, " said he; then taking the bag, hedeposited it with great precaution against the wall behind him. 

"And so, madame, " asked Pierre, "this man Laveuve lives on this floor?"

Madame Theodore directed a timid, questioning glance at Salvat. She wasnot in favour of hustling priests when they took the trouble to call, forat times there was a little money to be got from them. And when sherealised that Salvat, who had once more relapsed into his black reverie, left her free to act as she pleased, she at once tendered her services. "If Monsieur l'Abbe is agreeable, I will conduct him. It's just at theend of the passage. But one must know the way, for there are still somesteps to climb. "

Celine, finding a pastime in this visit, escaped from her father's kneesand likewise accompanied the priest. And Salvat remained alone in thatden of poverty and suffering, injustice and anger, without a fire, without bread, haunted by his burning dream, his eyes again fixed uponhis bag, as if there, among his tools, he possessed the wherewithal toheal the ailing world. 

It indeed proved necessary to climb a few more steps; and then, followingMadame Theodore and Celine, Pierre found himself in a kind of narrowgarret under the roof, a loft a few yards square, where one could notstand erect. There was no window, only a skylight, and as the snow stillcovered it one had to leave the door wide open in order that one mightsee. And the thaw was entering the place, the melting snow was fallingdrop by drop, and coming over the tiled floor. After long weeks ofintense cold, dark dampness rained quivering over all. And there, lackingeven a chair, even a plank, Laveuve lay in a corner on a little pile offilthy rags spread upon the bare tiles; he looked like some animal dyingon a dung-heap. 

"There!" said Celine in her sing-song voice, "there he is, that's thePhilosopher!"

Madame Theodore had bent down to ascertain if he still lived. "Yes, hebreathes; he's sleeping I think. Oh! if he only had something to eatevery day, he would be well enough. But what would you have? He hasnobody left him, and when one gets to seventy the best is to throwoneself into the river. In the house-painting line it often happens thata man has to give up working on ladders and scaffoldings at fifty. He atfirst found some work to do on the ground level. Then he was lucky enoughto get a job as night watchman. But that's over, he's been turned awayfrom everywhere, and, for two months now, he's been lying in this nookwaiting to die. The landlord hasn't dared to fling him into the street asyet, though not for want of any inclination that way. We others sometimesbring him a little wine and a crust, of course; but when one has nothingoneself, how can one give to others?"

Pierre, terrified, gazed at that frightful remnant of humanity, thatremnant into which fifty years of toil, misery and social injustice hadturned a man. And he ended by distinguishing Laveuve's white, worn, sunken, deformed head. Here, on a human face, appeared all the ruinfollowing upon hopeless labour. Laveuve's unkempt beard straggled overhis features, suggesting an old horse that is no longer cropped; histoothless jaws were quite askew, his eyes were vitreous, and his noseseemed to plunge into his mouth. But above all else one noticed hisresemblance to some beast of burden, deformed by hard toil, lamed, wornto death, and now only good for the knackers. 

"Ah! the poor fellow, " muttered the shuddering priest. "And he is left todie of hunger, all alone, without any succour? And not a hospital, not anasylum has given him shelter?"

"Well, " resumed Madame Theodore in her sad yet resigned voice, "thehospitals are built for the sick, and he isn't sick, he's simplyfinishing off, with his strength at an end. Besides he isn't always easyto deal with. People came again only lately to put him in an asylum, buthe won't be shut up. And he speaks coarsely to those who question him, not to mention that he has the reputation of liking drink and talkingbadly about the gentle-folks. But, thank Heaven, he will now soon bedelivered. "

Pierre had leant forward on seeing Laveuve's eyes open, and he spoke tohim tenderly, telling him that he had come from a friend with a littlemoney to enable him to buy what he might most pressingly require. Atfirst, on seeing Pierre's cassock, the old man had growled some coarsewords; but, despite his extreme feebleness, he still retained the pertchaffing spirit of the Parisian artisan: "Well, then, I'll willinglydrink a drop, " he said distinctly, "and have a bit of bread with it, ifthere's the needful; for I've lost taste of both for a couple of dayspast. "

Celine offered her services, and Madame Theodore sent her to fetch a loafand a quart of wine with Abbe Rose's money. And in the interval she toldPierre how Laveuve was at one moment to have entered the Asylum of theInvalids of Labour, a charitable enterprise whose lady patronesses werepresided over by Baroness Duvillard. However, the usual regulationinquiries had doubtless led to such an unfavourable report that mattershad gone no further. 

"Baroness Duvillard! but I know her, and will go to see her to-day!"exclaimed Pierre, whose heart was bleeding. "It is impossible for a manto be left in such circumstances any longer. "

Then, as Celine came back with the loaf and the wine, the three of themtried to make Laveuve more comfortable, raised him on his heap of rags, gave him to eat and to drink, and then left the remainder of the wine andthe loaf--a large four-pound loaf--near him, recommending him to waitawhile before he finished the bread, as otherwise he might stifle. 

"Monsieur l'Abbe ought to give me his address in case I should have anynews to send him, " said Madame Theodore when she again found herself ather door. 

Pierre had no card with him, and so all three went into the room. ButSalvat was no longer alone there. He stood talking in a low voice veryquickly, and almost mouth to mouth, with a young fellow of twenty. Thelatter, who was slim and dark, with a sprouting beard and hair cut inbrush fashion, had bright eyes, a straight nose and thin lips set in apale and slightly freckled face, betokening great intelligence. Withstern and stubborn brow, he stood shivering in his well-worn jacket. 

"Monsieur l'Abbe wants to leave me his address for the Philosopher'saffair, " gently explained Madame Theodore, annoyed to find another therewith Salvat. 

The two men had glanced at the priest and then looked at one another, each with terrible mien. And they suddenly ceased speaking in the bittercold which fell from the ceiling. Then, again with infinite precaution, Salvat went to take his tool-bag from alongside the wall. 

"So you are going down, you are again going to look for work?" askedMadame Theodore. 

He did not answer, but merely made an angry gesture, as if to say that hewould no longer have anything to do with work since work for so long atime had not cared to have anything to do with him. 

"All the same, " resumed the woman, "try to bring something back with you, for you know there's nothing. At what time will you be back?"

With another gesture he seemed to answer that he would come back when hecould, perhaps never. And tears rising, despite all his efforts, to hisvague, blue, glowing eyes he caught hold of his daughter Celine, kissedher violently, distractedly, and then went off, with his bag under hisarm, followed by his young companion. 

"Celine, " resumed Madame Theodore, "give Monsieur l'Abbe your pencil, and, see, monsieur, seat yourself here, it will be better for writing. "

Then, when Pierre had installed himself at the table, on the chairpreviously occupied by Salvat, she went on talking, seeking to excuse herman for his scanty politeness: "He hasn't a bad heart, but he's had somany worries in life that he has become a bit cracked. It's like thatyoung man whom you just saw here, Monsieur Victor Mathis. There's anotherfor you, who isn't happy, a young man who was well brought up, who has alot of learning, and whose mother, a widow, has only just got thewherewithal to buy bread. So one can understand it, can't one? It allupsets their heads, and they talk of blowing up everybody. For my partthose are not my notions, but I forgive them, oh! willingly enough. "

Perturbed, yet interested by all the mystery and vague horror which hecould divine around him, Pierre made no haste to write his address, butlingered listening, as if inviting confidence. 

"If you only knew, Monsieur l'Abbe, that poor Salvat was a forsakenchild, without father or mother, and had to scour the roads and try everytrade at first to get a living. Then afterwards he became a mechanician, and a very good workman, I assure you, very skilful and very painstaking. But he already had those ideas of his, and quarrelled with people, andtried to bring his mates over to his views; and so he was unable to stayanywhere. At last, when he was thirty, he was stupid enough to go toAmerica with an inventor, who traded on him to such a point that aftersix years of it he came back ill and penniless. I must tell you that hehad married my younger sister Leonie, and that she died before he went toAmerica, leaving him little Celine, who was then only a year old. I wasthen living with my husband, Theodore Labitte, a mason; and it's not tobrag that I say it, but however much I wore out my eyes with needleworkhe used to beat me till he left me half-dead on the floor. But he endedby deserting me and going off with a young woman of twenty, which, afterall, caused me more pleasure than grief. And naturally when Salvat cameback he sought me out and found me alone with his little Celine, whom hehad left in my charge when he went away, and who called me mamma. Andwe've all three been living together since then--"

She became somewhat embarrassed, and then, as if to show that she did notaltogether lack some respectable family connections, she went on to say:"For my part I've had no luck; but I've another sister, Hortense, who'smarried to a clerk, Monsieur Chretiennot, and lives in a pretty lodgingon the Boulevard Rochechouart. There were three of us born of my father'ssecond marriage, --Hortense, who's the youngest, Leonie, who's dead, andmyself, Pauline, the eldest. And of my father's first marriage I've stilla brother Eugene Toussaint, who is ten years older than me and is anengineer like Salvat, and has been working ever since the war in the sameestablishment, the Grandidier factory, only a hundred steps away in theRue Marcadet. The misfortune is that he had a stroke lately. As for me, my eyes are done for; I ruined them by working ten hours a day at fineneedlework. And now I can no longer even try to mend anything without myeyes filling with water till I can't see at all. I've tried to findcharwoman's work, but I can't get any; bad luck always follows us. And sowe are in need of everything; we've nothing but black misery, two orthree days sometimes going by without a bite, so that it's like thechance life of a dog that feeds on what it can find. And with these lasttwo months of bitter cold to freeze us, it's sometimes made us think thatone morning we should never wake up again. But what would you have? I'venever been happy, I was beaten to begin with, and now I'm done for, leftin a corner, living on, I really don't know why. "

Her voice had begun to tremble, her red eyes moistened, and Pierre couldrealise that she thus wept through life, a good enough woman but one whohad no will, and was already blotted out, so to say, from existence. 

"Oh! I don't complain of Salvat, " she went on. "He's a good fellow; heonly dreams of everybody's happiness, and he doesn't drink, and he workswhen he can. Only it's certain that he'd work more if he didn't busyhimself with politics. One can't discuss things with comrades, and go topublic meetings and be at the workshop at the same time. In that he's atfault, that's evident. But all the same he has good reason to complain, for one can't imagine such misfortunes as have pursued him. Everythinghas fallen on him, everything has beaten him down. Why, a saint evenwould have gone mad, so that one can understand that a poor beggar whohas never had any luck should get quite wild. For the last two months hehas only met one good heart, a learned gentleman who lives up yonder onthe height, Monsieur Guillaume Froment, who has given him a little work, just something to enable us to have some soup now and then. "

Much surprised by this mention of his brother, Pierre wished to askcertain questions; but a singular feeling of uneasiness, in which fearand discretion mingled, checked his tongue. He looked at Celine, whostood before him, listening in silence with her grave, delicate air; andMadame Theodore, seeing him smile at the child, indulged in a finalremark: "It's just the idea of that child, " said she, "that throws Salvatout of his wits. He adores her, and he'd kill everybody if he could, whenhe sees her go supperless to bed. She's such a good girl, she waslearning so nicely at the Communal School! But now she hasn't even ashift to go there in. "

Pierre, who had at last written his address, slipped a five-franc pieceinto the little girl's hand, and, desirous as he was of curtailing anythanks, he hastily said: "You will know now where to find me if you needme for Laveuve. But I'm going to busy myself about him this veryafternoon, and I really hope that he will be fetched away this evening. "

Madame Theodore did not listen, but poured forth all possible blessings;whilst Celine, thunderstruck at seeing five francs in her hand, murmured:"Oh! that poor papa, who has gone to hunt for money! Shall I run afterhim to tell him that we've got enough for to-day?"

Then the priest, who was already in the passage, heard the woman answer:"Oh! he's far away if he's still walking. He'll p'raps come back rightenough. "

However, as Pierre, with buzzing head and grief-stricken heart, hastilyescaped out of that frightful house of suffering, he perceived to hisastonishment Salvat and Victor Mathis standing erect in a corner of thefilthy courtyard, where the stench was so pestilential. They had comedownstairs, there to continue their interrupted colloquy. And again, theywere talking in very low tones, and very quickly, mouth to mouth, absorbed in the violent thoughts which made their eyes flare. But theyheard the priest's footsteps, recognised him, and suddenly becoming coldand calm, exchanged an energetic hand-shake without uttering anotherword. Victor went up towards Montmartre, whilst Salvat hesitated like aman who is consulting destiny. Then, as if trusting himself to sternchance, drawing up his thin figure, the figure of a weary, hungry toiler, he turned into the Rue Marcadet, and walked towards Paris, his tool-bagstill under his arm. 

For an instant Pierre felt a desire to run and call to him that hislittle girl wished him to go back again. But the same feeling ofuneasiness as before came over the priest--a commingling of discretionand fear, a covert conviction that nothing could stay destiny. And hehimself was no longer calm, no longer experienced the icy, despairingdistress of the early morning. On finding himself again in the street, amidst the quivering fog, he felt the fever, the glow of charity whichthe sight of such frightful wretchedness had ignited, once more withinhim. No, no! such suffering was too much; he wished to struggle still, tosave Laveuve and restore a little joy to all those poor folk. The newexperiment presented itself with that city of Paris which he had seenshrouded as with ashes, so mysterious and so perturbing beneath thethreat of inevitable justice. And he dreamed of a huge sun bringinghealth and fruitfulness, which would make of the huge city the fertilefield where would sprout the better world of to-morrow. 

II. WEALTH AND WORLDLINESS

THAT same morning, as was the case nearly every day, some intimates wereexpected to _dejeuner_ at the Duvillards', a few friends who more or lessinvited themselves. And on that chilly day, all thaw and fog, the regalmansion in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy near the Boulevard de la Madeleinebloomed with the rarest flowers, for flowers were the greatest passion ofthe Baroness, who transformed the lofty, sumptuous rooms, littered withmarvels, into warm and odoriferous conservatories, whither the gloomy, livid light of Paris penetrated caressingly with infinite softness. 

The great reception rooms were on the ground-floor looking on to thespacious courtyard, and preceded by a little winter garden, which servedas a vestibule where two footmen in liveries of dark green and gold wereinvariably on duty. A famous gallery of paintings, valued at millions offrancs, occupied the whole of the northern side of the house. And thegrand staircase, of a sumptuousness which also was famous, conducted tothe apartments usually occupied by the family, a large red drawing-room, a small blue and silver drawing-room, a study whose walls were hung withold stamped leather, and a dining-room in pale green with Englishfurniture, not to mention the various bedchambers and dressing-rooms. Built in the time of Louis XIV. The mansion retained an aspect of noblegrandeur, subordinated to the epicurean tastes of the triumphant_bourgeoisie_, which for a century now had reigned by virtue of theomnipotence of money. 

Noon had not yet struck, and Baron Duvillard, contrary to custom, foundhimself the first in the little blue and silver _salon_. He was a man ofsixty, tall and sturdy, with a large nose, full cheeks, broad, fleshylips, and wolfish teeth, which had remained very fine. He had, however, become bald at an early age, and dyed the little hair that was left him. Moreover, since his beard had turned white, he had kept his faceclean-shaven. His grey eyes bespoke his audacity, and in his laugh therewas a ring of conquest, while the whole of his face expressed the factthat this conquest was his own, that he wielded the sovereignty of anunscrupulous master, who used and abused the power stolen and retained byhis caste. 

He took a few steps, and then halted in front of a basket of wonderfulorchids near the window. On the mantel-piece and table tufts of violetssent forth their perfume, and in the warm, deep silence which seemed tofall from the hangings, the Baron sat down and stretched himself in oneof the large armchairs, upholstered in blue satin striped with silver. Hehad taken a newspaper from his pocket, and began to re-peruse an articleit contained, whilst all around him the entire mansion proclaimed hisimmense fortune, his sovereign power, the whole history of the centurywhich had made him the master. His grandfather, Jerome Duvillard, son ofa petty advocate of Poitou, had come to Paris as a notary's clerk in1788, when he was eighteen; and very keen, intelligent and hungry as hewas, he had gained the family's first three millions--at first intrafficking with the _emigres'_ estates when they were confiscated andsold as national property, and later, in contracting for supplies to theimperial army. His father, Gregoire Duvillard, born in 1805, and the realgreat man of the family--he who had first reigned in the RueGodot-de-Mauroy, after King Louis Philippe had granted him the title ofBaron--remained one of the recognized heroes of modern finance by reasonof the scandalous profits which he had made in every famous thievingspeculation of the July Monarchy and the Second Empire, such as mines, railroads, and the Suez Canal. And he, the present Baron, Henri by name, and born in 1836, had only seriously gone into business on BaronGregoire's death soon after the Franco-German War. However, he had doneso with such a rageful appetite, that in a quarter of a century he hadagain doubled the family fortune. He rotted and devoured, corrupted, swallowed everything that he touched; and he was also the tempterpersonified--the man who bought all consciences that were forsale--having fully understood the new times and its tendencies inpresence of the democracy, which in its turn had become hungry andimpatient. Inferior though he was both to his father and his grandfather, being a man of enjoyment, caring less for the work of conquest than thedivision of the spoil, he nevertheless remained a terrible fellow, asleek triumpher, whose operations were all certainties, who amassedmillions at each stroke, and treated with governments on a footing ofequality, able as he was to place, if not France, at least a ministry inhis pocket. In one century and three generations, royalty had becomeembodied in him: a royalty already threatened, already shaken by thetempest close ahead. And at times his figure grew and expanded till itbecame, as it were, an incarnation of the whole _bourgeoisie_--that_bourgeoisie_ which at the division of the spoils in 1789 appropriatedeverything, and has since fattened on everything at the expense of themasses, and refuses to restore anything whatever. 

The article which the Baron was re-perusing in a halfpenny newspaperinterested him. "La Voix du Peuple" was a noisy sheet which, under thepretence of defending outraged justice and morality, set a fresh scandalcirculating every morning in the hope of thereby increasing its sales. And that morning, in big type on its front page, this sub-title wasdisplayed: "The Affair of the African Railways. Five Millions spent inBribes: Two Ministers Bought, Thirty Deputies and Senators Compromised. "Then in an article of odious violence the paper's editor, the famousSagnier, announced that he possessed and intended to publish the list ofthe thirty-two members of Parliament, whose support Baron Duvillard hadpurchased at the time when the Chambers had voted the bill for theAfrican Railway Lines. Quite a romantic story was mingled with all this, the adventures of a certain Hunter, whom the Baron had employed as hisgo-between and who had now fled. The Baron, however, re-perused eachsentence and weighed each word of the article very calmly; and althoughhe was alone he shrugged his shoulders and spoke aloud with the tranquilassurance of a man whose responsibility is covered and who is, moreover, too powerful to be molested. 

"The idiot, " he said, "he knows even less than he pretends. "

Just then, however, a first guest arrived, a man of barely four andthirty, elegantly dressed, dark and good looking, with a delicatelyshaped nose, and curly hair and beard. As a rule, too, he had laughingeyes, and something giddy, flighty, bird-like in his demeanour; but thatmorning he seemed nervous, anxious even, and smiled in a scared way. 

"Ah! it's you, Duthil, " said the Baron, rising. "Have you read this?" Andhe showed the new comer the "Voix du Peuple, " which he was folding up toreplace it in his pocket. 

"Why yes, I've read it. It's amazing. How can Sagnier have got hold ofthe list of names? Has there been some traitor?"

The Baron looked at his companion quietly, amused by his secret anguish. Duthil, the son of a notary of Angouleme, almost poor and very honest, had been sent to Paris as deputy for that town whilst yet very young, thanks to the high reputation of his father; and he there led a life ofpleasure and idleness, even as he had formerly done when a student. However, his pleasant bachelor's quarters in the Rue de Suresnes, and hissuccess as a handsome man in the whirl of women among whom he lived, costhim no little money; and gaily enough, devoid as he was of any moralsense, he had already glided into all sorts of compromising and loweringactions, like a light-headed, superior man, a charming, thoughtlessfellow, who attached no importance whatever to such trifles. 

"Bah!" said the Baron at last. "Has Sagnier even got a list? I doubt it, for there was none; Hunter wasn't so foolish as to draw one up. And then, too, it was merely an ordinary affair; nothing more was done than isalways done in such matters of business. "

Duthil, who for the first time in his life had felt anxious, listenedlike one that needs to be reassured. "Quite so, eh?" he exclaimed. "That's what I thought. There isn't a cat to be whipped in the wholeaffair. "

He tried to laugh as usual, and no longer exactly knew how it was that hehad received some ten thousand francs in connection with the matter, whether it were in the shape of a vague loan, or else under some pretextof publicity, puffery, or advertising, for Hunter had acted with extremeadroitness so as to give no offence to the susceptibilities of even theleast virginal consciences. 

"No, there's not a cat to be whipped, " repeated Duvillard, who decidedlyseemed amused by the face which Duthil was pulling. "And besides, my dearfellow, it's well known that cats always fall on their feet. But have youseen Silviane?"

"I just left her. I found her in a great rage with you. She learnt thismorning that her affair of the Comedie is off. "

A rush of anger suddenly reddened the Baron's face. He, who could scoffso calmly at the threat of the African Railways scandal, lost his balanceand felt his blood boiling directly there was any question of Silviane, the last, imperious passion of his sixtieth year. "What! off?" said he. "But at the Ministry of Fine Arts they gave me almost a positive promiseonly the day before yesterday. "

He referred to a stubborn caprice of Silviane d'Aulnay, who, although shehad hitherto only reaped a success of beauty on the stage, obstinatelysought to enter the Comedie Francaise and make her _debut_ there in thepart of "Pauline" in Corneille's "Polyeucte, " which part she had beenstudying desperately for several months past. Her idea seemed an insaneone, and all Paris laughed at it; but the young woman, with superbassurance, kept herself well to the front, and imperiously demanded the_role_, feeling sure that she would conquer. 

"It was the minister who wouldn't have it, " explained Duthil. 

The Baron was choking. "The minister, the minister! Ah! well, I will soonhave that minister sent to the rightabout. "

However, he had to cease speaking, for at that moment Baroness Duvillardcame into the little drawing-room. At forty-six years of age she wasstill very beautiful. Very fair and tall, having hitherto put on butlittle superfluous fat, and retaining perfect arms and shoulders, withspeckless silky skin, it was only her face that was spoiling, colouringslightly with reddish blotches. And these blemishes were her torment, herhourly thought and worry. Her Jewish origin was revealed by her somewhatlong and strangely charming face, with blue and softly voluptuous eyes. As indolent as an Oriental slave, disliking to have to move, walk, oreven speak, she seemed intended for a harem life, especially as she wasfor ever tending her person. That day she was all in white, gowned in awhite silk toilette of delicious and lustrous simplicity. 

Duthil complimented her, and kissed her hand with an enraptured air. "Ah!madame, you set a little springtide in my heart. Paris is so black andmuddy this morning. "

However, a second guest entered the room, a tall and handsome man of fiveor six and thirty; and the Baron, still disturbed by his passion, profited by this opportunity to make his escape. He carried Duthil awayinto his study, saying, "Come here an instant, my dear fellow. I have afew more words to say to you about the affair in question. Monsieur deQuinsac will keep my wife company for a moment. "

The Baroness, as soon as she was alone with the new comer, who, likeDuthil, had most respectfully kissed her hand, gave him a long, silentlook, while her soft eyes filled with tears. Deep silence, tinged withsome slight embarrassment, had fallen, but she ended by saying in a verylow voice: "How happy I am, Gerard, to find myself alone with you for amoment. For a month past I have not had that happiness. "

The circumstances in which Henri Duvillard had married the youngerdaughter of Justus Steinberger, the great Jew banker, formed quite astory which was often recalled. The Steinbergers--after the fashion ofthe Rothschilds--were originally four brothers--Justus, residing inParis, and the three others at Berlin, Vienna, and London, a circumstancewhich gave their secret association most formidable power in thefinancial markets of Europe. Justus, however, was the least wealthy ofthe four, and in Baron Gregoire Duvillard he had a redoubtable adversaryagainst whom he was compelled to struggle each time that any large preywas in question. And it was after a terrible encounter between the pair, after the eager sharing of the spoils, that the crafty idea had come toJustus of giving his younger daughter Eve in marriage, by way of_douceur_, to the Baron's son, Henri. So far the latter had only beenknown as an amiable fellow, fond of horses and club life; and no doubtJustus's idea was that, at the death of the redoubtable Baron, who wasalready condemned by his physicians, he would be able to lay his hands onthe rival banking-house, particularly if he only had in front of him ason-in-law whom it was easy to conquer. As it happened, Henri had beenmastered by a violent passion for Eve's blond beauty, which was thendazzling. He wished to marry her, and his father, who knew him, consented, in reality greatly amused to think that Justus was making anexecrably bad stroke of business. The enterprise became indeed disastrousfor Justus when Henri succeeded his father and the man of prey appearedfrom beneath the man of pleasure and carved himself his own huge share inexploiting the unbridled appetites of the middle-class democracy, whichhad at last secured possession of power. Not only did Eve fail to devourHenri, who in his turn had become Baron Duvillard, the all-powerfulbanker, more and more master of the market; but it was the Baron whodevoured Eve, and this in less than four years' time. After she had bornehim a daughter and a son in turn, he suddenly drew away from her, neglected her, as if she were a mere toy that he no longer cared for. Shewas at first both surprised and distressed by the change, especially onlearning that he was resuming his bachelor's habits, and had set hisfickle if ardent affections elsewhere. Then, however, without any kind ofrecrimination, any display of anger, or even any particular effort toregain her ascendency over him, she, on her side, imitated his example. She could not live without love, and assuredly she had only been born tobe beautiful, to fascinate and reap adoration. To the lover whom shechose when she was five and twenty she remained faithful for more thanfifteen years, as faithful as she might have been to a husband; and whenhe died her grief was intense, it was like real widowhood. Six monthslater, however, having met Count Gerard de Quinsac she had again beenunable to resist her imperative need of adoration, and an intrigue hadfollowed. 

"Have you been ill, my dear Gerard?" she inquired, noticing the youngman's embarrassment. "Are you hiding some worry from me?"

She was ten years older than he was; and she clung desperately to thislast passion of hers, revolting at the thought of growing old, andresolved upon every effort to keep the young man beside her. 

"No, I am hiding nothing, I assure you, " replied the Count. "But mymother has had much need of me recently. "

She continued looking at him, however, with anxious passion, finding himso tall and aristocratic of mien, with his regular features and dark hairand moustaches which were always most carefully tended. He belonged toone of the oldest families of France, and resided on a ground-floor inthe Rue St. Dominique with his widowed mother, who had been ruined by heradventurously inclined husband, and had at most an income of some fifteenthousand francs* to live upon. Gerard for his part had never doneanything; contenting himself with his one year of obligatory militaryservice, he had renounced the profession of arms in the same way as hehad renounced that of diplomacy, the only one that offered him an openingof any dignity. He spent his days in that busy idleness common to allyoung men who lead "Paris life. " And his mother, haughtily severe thoughshe was, seemed to excuse this, as if in her opinion a man of his birthwas bound by way of protest to keep apart from official life under aRepublic. However, she no doubt had more intimate, more disturbingreasons for indulgence. She had nearly lost him when he was only seven, through an attack of brain fever. At eighteen he had complained of hisheart, and the doctors had recommended that he should be treated gentlyin all respects. She knew, therefore, what a lie lurked behind his prouddemeanour, within his lofty figure, that haughty _facade_ of his race. Hewas but dust, ever threatened with illness and collapse. In the depths ofhis seeming virility there was merely girlish _abandon_; and he wassimply a weak, good-natured fellow, liable to every stumble. It was onthe occasion of a visit which he had paid with his mother to the Asylumof the Invalids of Labour that he had first seen Eve, whom he continuedto meet; his mother, closing her eyes to this culpable connection in asphere of society which she treated with contempt, in the same way as shehad closed them to so many other acts of folly which she had forgivenbecause she regarded them as the mere lapses of an ailing child. Moreover, Eve had made a conquest of Madame de Quinsac, who was verypious, by an action which had recently amazed society. It had beensuddenly learnt that she had allowed Monseigneur Martha to convert her tothe Roman Catholic faith. This thing, which she had refused to do whensolicited by her lawful husband, she had now done in the hope of ensuringherself a lover's eternal affection. And all Paris was still stirred bythe magnificence exhibited at the Madeleine, on the occasion of thebaptism of this Jewess of five and forty, whose beauty and whose tearshad upset every heart. 

 * About 3000 dollars. 

Gerard, on his side, was still flattered by the deep and touchingtenderness shown to him; but weariness was coming, and he had alreadysought to break off the connection by avoiding any further assignations. He well understood Eve's glances and her tears, and though he was movedat sight of them he tried to excuse himself. "I assure you, " said he, "mymother has kept me so busy that I could not get away. " But she, without aword, still turned her tearful glance on him, and weak, like herself, indespair that he should have been left alone with her in this fashion, heyielded, unable to continue refusing. "Well, then, " said he, "thisafternoon at four o'clock if you are free. "

He had lowered his voice in speaking, but a slight rustle made him turnhis head and start like one in fault. It was the Baroness's daughterCamille entering the room. She had heard nothing; but by the smile whichthe others had exchanged, by the very quiver of the air, she understoodeverything; an assignation for that very day and at the very spot whichshe suspected. Some slight embarrassment followed, an exchange of anxiousand evil glances. 

Camille, at three and twenty, was a very dark young woman, short ofstature and somewhat deformed, with her left shoulder higher than theright. There seemed to be nothing of her father or mother in her. Hercase was one of those unforeseen accidents in family heredity which makepeople wonder whence they can arise. Her only pride lay in her beautifulblack eyes and superb black hair, which, short as she was, would, saidshe, have sufficed to clothe her. But her nose was long, her facedeviated to the left, and her chin was pointed. Her thin, witty, andmalicious lips bespoke all the rancour and perverse anger stored in theheart of this uncomely creature, whom the thought of her uncomelinessenraged. However, the one whom she most hated in the whole world was herown mother, that _amorosa_ who was so little fitted to be a mother, whohad never loved her, never paid attention to her, but had abandoned herto the care of servants from her very infancy. In this wise real hatredhad grown up between the two women, mute and frigid on the one side, andactive and passionate on the other. The daughter hated her mother becauseshe found her beautiful, because she had not been created in the sameimage: beautiful with the beauty with which her mother crushed her. Dayby day she suffered at being sought by none, at realising that theadoration of one and all still went to her mother. As she was amusing inher maliciousness, people listened to her and laughed; however, theglances of all the men--even and indeed especially the younger ones--soonreverted to her triumphant mother, who seemingly defied old age. In partfor this reason Camille, with ferocious determination, had decided thatshe would dispossess her mother of her last lover Gerard, and marry himherself, conscious that such a loss would doubtless kill the Baroness. Thanks to her promised dowry of five millions of francs, the young womandid not lack suitors; but, little flattered by their advances, she wasaccustomed to say, with her malicious laugh: "Oh! of course; why for fivemillions they would take a wife from a mad-house. " However, she, herself, had really begun to love Gerard, who, good-natured as he was, evincedmuch kindness towards this suffering young woman whom nature had treatedso harshly. It worried him to see her forsaken by everyone, and little bylittle he yielded to the grateful tenderness which she displayed towardshim, happy, handsome man that he was, at being regarded as a demi-god andhaving such a slave. Indeed, in his attempt to quit the mother there wascertainly a thought of allowing the daughter to marry him, which would bean agreeable ending to it all, though he did not as yet acknowledge this, ashamed as he felt and embarrassed by his illustrious name and all thecomplications and tears which he foresaw. 

The silence continued. Camille with her piercing glance, as sharp as anyknife, had told her mother that she knew the truth; and then with anotherand pain-fraught glance she had complained to Gerard. He, in order tore-establish equilibrium, could only think of a compliment: "Goodmorning, Camille. Ah! that havana-brown gown of yours looks nice! It'sastonishing how well rather sombre colours suit you. "

Camille glanced at her mother's white robe, and then at her own darkgown, which scarcely allowed her neck and wrists to be seen. "Yes, " shereplied laughing, "I only look passable when I don't dress as a younggirl. "

Eve, ill at ease, worried by the growth of a rivalry in which she did notas yet wish to believe, changed the conversation. "Isn't your brotherthere?" she asked. 

"Why yes, we came down together. "

Hyacinthe, who came in at that moment, shook hands with Gerard in a wearyway. He was twenty, and had inherited his mother's pale blond hair, andher long face full of Oriental languor; while from his father he hadderived his grey eyes and thick lips, expressive of unscrupulousappetites. A wretched scholar, regarding every profession with the samecontempt, he had decided to do nothing. Spoilt by his father, he tooksome little interest in poetry and music, and lived in an extraordinarycircle of artists, low women, madmen and bandits; boasting himself of allsorts of crimes and vices, professing the very worst philosophical andsocial ideas, invariably going to extremes, becoming in turn aCollectivist, an Individualist, an Anarchist, a Pessimist, a Symbolist, and what not besides; without, however, ceasing to be a Catholic, as thisconjunction of Catholicity with something else seemed to him the supreme_bon ton_. In reality he was simply empty and rather a fool. In fourgenerations the vigorous hungry blood of the Duvillards, after producingthree magnificent beasts of prey, had, as if exhausted by the contentmentof every passion, ended in this sorry emasculated creature, who wasincapable alike of great knavery or great debauchery. 

Camille, who was too intelligent not to realise her brother'snothingness, was fond of teasing him; and looking at him as he stoodthere, tightly buttoned in his long frock coat with pleated skirt--aresurrection of the romantic period, which he carried to exaggeration, she resumed: "Mamma has been asking for you, Hyacinthe. Come and show heryour gown. You are the one who would look nice dressed as a young girl. "

However, he eluded her without replying. He was covertly afraid of her, though they lived together in great intimacy, frankly exchangingconfidences respecting their perverse views of life. And he directed aglance of disdain at the wonderful basket of orchids which seemed to himpast the fashion, far too common nowadays. For his part he had left thelilies of life behind him, and reached the ranunculus, the flower ofblood. 

The two last guests who were expected now arrived almost together. Thefirst was the investigating magistrate Amadieu, a little man of five andforty, who was an intimate of the household and had been brought intonotoriety by a recent anarchist affair. Between a pair of fair, bushywhiskers he displayed a flat, regular judicial face, to which he tried toimpart an expression of keenness by wearing a single eyeglass behindwhich his glance sparkled. Very worldly, moreover, he belonged to the newjudicial school, being a distinguished psychologist and having written abook in reply to the abuses of criminalist physiology. And he was also aman of great, tenacious ambition, fond of notoriety and ever on thelookout for those resounding legal affairs which bring glory. Behind him, at last appeared General de Bozonnet, Gerard's uncle on the maternalside, a tall, lean old man with a nose like an eagle's beak. Chronicrheumatism had recently compelled him to retire from the service. Raisedto a colonelcy after the Franco-German War in reward for his gallantconduct at St. Privat, he had, in spite of his extremely monarchicalconnections, kept his sworn faith to Napoleon III. And he was excused inhis own sphere of society for this species of military Bonapartism, onaccount of the bitterness with which he accused the Republic of havingruined the army. Worthy fellow that he was, extremely fond of his sister, Madame de Quinsac, it seemed as though he acted in accordance with somesecret desire of hers in accepting the invitations of Baroness Duvillardby way of rendering Gerard's constant presence in her house more naturaland excusable. 

However, the Baron and Duthil now returned from the study, laughingloudly in an exaggerated way, doubtless to make the others believe thatthey were quite easy in mind. And one and all passed into the largedining-room where a big wood fire was burning, its gay flames shininglike a ray of springtide amid the fine mahogany furniture of English makeladen with silver and crystal. The room, of a soft mossy green, had anunassuming charm in the pale light, and the table which in the centredisplayed the richness of its covers and the immaculate whiteness of itslinen adorned with Venetian point, seemed to have flowered miraculouslywith a wealth of large tea roses, most admirable blooms for the season, and of delicious perfume. 

The Baroness seated the General on her right, and Amadieu on her left. The Baron on his right placed Duthil, and on his left Gerard. Then theyoung people installed themselves at either end, Camille between Gerardand the General, and Hyacinthe between Duthil and Amadieu. And forthwith, from the moment of starting on the scrambled eggs and truffles, conversation began, the usual conversation of Parisian _dejeuners_, whenevery event, great or little, of the morning or the day before is passedin review: the truths and the falsehoods current in every social sphere, the financial scandal, and the political adventure of the hour, the novelthat has just appeared, the play that has just been produced, the storieswhich should only be retailed in whispers, but which are repeated aloud. And beneath all the light wit which circulates, beneath all the laughter, which often has a false ring, each retains his or her particular worry, or distress of mind, at times so acute that it becomes perfect agony. 

With his quiet and wonted impudence, the Baron, bravely enough, was thefirst to speak of the article in the "Voix du Peuple. " "I say, have youread Sagnier's article this morning? It's a good one; he has _verve_ youknow, but what a dangerous lunatic he is!"

This set everybody at ease, for the article would certainly have weighedupon the _dejeuner_ had no one mentioned it. 

"It's the 'Panama' dodge over again!" cried Duthil. "But no, no, we'vehad quite enough of it!"

"Why, " resumed the Baron, "the affair of the African Railway Lines is asclear as spring water! All those whom Sagnier threatens may sleep inpeace. The truth is that it's a scheme to upset Barroux's ministry. Leaveto interpellate will certainly be asked for this afternoon. You'll seewhat a fine uproar there'll be in the Chamber. "

"That libellous, scandal-seeking press, " said Amadieu gravely, "is adissolving agent which will bring France to ruin. We ought to have lawsagainst it. "

The General made an angry gesture: "Laws, what's the use of them, sincenobody has the courage to enforce them. "

Silence fell. With a light, discreet step the house-steward presentedsome grilled mullet. So noiseless was the service amid the cheerfulperfumed warmth that not even the faintest clatter of crockery was heard. Without anyone knowing how it had come about, however, the conversationhad suddenly changed; and somebody inquired: "So the revival of the pieceis postponed?"

"Yes, " said Gerard, "I heard this morning that 'Polyeucte' wouldn't getits turn till April at the earliest. "

At this Camille, who had hitherto remained silent, watching the youngCount and seeking to win him back, turned her glittering eyes upon herfather and mother. It was a question of that revival in which Silvianewas so stubbornly determined to make her _debut_. However, the Baron andthe Baroness evinced perfect serenity, having long been acquainted withall that concerned each other. Moreover Eve was too much occupied withher own passion to think of anything else; and the Baron too busy withthe fresh application which he intended to make in tempestuous fashion atthe Ministry of Fine Arts, so as to wrest Silviane's engagement fromthose in office. He contented himself with saying: "How would you havethem revive pieces at the Comedie! They have no actresses left there. "

"Oh, by the way, " the Baroness on her side simply remarked, "yesterday, in that play at the Vaudeville, Delphine Vignot wore such an exquisitegown. She's the only one too who knows how to arrange her hair. "

Thereupon Duthil, in somewhat veiled language, began to relate a storyabout Delphine and a well-known senator. And then came another scandal, the sudden and almost suspicious death of a lady friend of theDuvillards'; whereupon the General, without any transition, broke in torelieve his bitter feelings by denouncing the idiotic manner in which thearmy was nowadays organised. Meantime the old Bordeaux glittered likeruby blood in the delicate crystal glasses. A truffled fillet of venisonhad just cast its somewhat sharp scent amidst the dying perfume of theroses, when some asparagus made its appearance, a _primeur_ which oncehad been so rare but which no longer caused any astonishment. 

"Nowadays we get it all through the winter, " said the Baron with agesture of disenchantment. 

"And so, " asked Gerard at the same moment, "the Princess de Harn's_matinee_ is for this afternoon?"

Camille quickly intervened. "Yes, this afternoon. Shall you go?"

"No, I don't think so, I shan't be able, " replied the young man inembarrassment. 

"Ah! that little Princess, she's really deranged you know, " exclaimedDuthil. "You are aware that she calls herself a widow? But the truth, itseems, is that her husband, a real Prince, connected with a royal houseand very handsome, is travelling about the world in the company of asinger. She with her vicious urchin-like face preferred to come and reignin Paris, in that mansion of the Avenue Hoche, which is certainly themost extraordinary Noah's ark imaginable, with its swarming ofcosmopolitan society indulging in every extravagance!"

"Be quiet, you malicious fellow, " the Baroness gently interrupted. "We, here, are very fond of Rosemonde, who is a charming woman. "

"Oh! certainly, " Camille again resumed. "She invited us; and we are goingto her place by-and-by, are we not, mamma?"

To avoid replying, the Baroness pretended that she did not hear, whilstDuthil, who seemed to be well-informed concerning the Princess, continuedto make merry over her intended _matinee_, at which she meant to producesome Spanish dancing girls, whose performance was so very indecorous thatall Paris, forewarned of the circumstance, would certainly swarm to herhouse. And he added: "You've heard that she has given up painting. Yes, she busies herself with chemistry. Her _salon_ is full of Anarchistsnow--and, by the way, it seemed to me that she had cast her eyes on you, my dear Hyacinthe. "

Hyacinthe had hitherto held his tongue, as if he took no interest inanything. "Oh! she bores me to death, " he now condescended to reply. "IfI'm going to her _matinee_ it's simply in the hope of meeting my friendyoung Lord George Eldrett, who wrote to me from London to give me anappointment at the Princess's. And I admit that hers is the only _salon_where I find somebody to talk to. "

"And so, " asked Amadieu in an ironical way, "you have now gone over toAnarchism?"

With his air of lofty elegance Hyacinthe imperturbably confessed hiscreed: "But it seems to me, monsieur, that in these times of universalbaseness and ignominy, no man of any distinction can be other than anAnarchist. "

A laugh ran round the table. Hyacinthe was very much spoilt, andconsidered very entertaining. His father in particular was immenselyamused by the notion that he of all men should have an Anarchist for ason. However, the General, in his rancorous moments, talked anarchicallyenough of blowing up a society which was so stupid as to let itself beled by half a dozen disreputable characters. And, indeed, theinvestigating magistrate, who was gradually making a specialty ofAnarchist affairs, proved the only one who opposed the young man, defending threatened civilisation and giving terrifying particularsconcerning what he called the army of devastation and massacre. Theothers, while partaking of some delicious duck's-liver _pate_, which thehouse-steward handed around, continued smiling. There was so much misery, said they; one must take everything into account: things would surely endby righting themselves. And the Baron himself declared, in a conciliatorymanner: "It's certain that one might do something, though nobody knowsexactly what. As for all sensible and moderate claims, oh! I agree tothem in advance. For instance, the lot of the working classes may beameliorated, charitable enterprises may be undertaken, such, forinstance, as our Asylum for the Invalids of Labour, which we have reasonto be proud of. But we must not be asked for impossibilities. "

With the dessert came a sudden spell of silence; it was as if, amidst therestless fluttering of the conversation, and the dizziness born of thecopious meal, each one's worry or distress was again wringing the heartand setting an expression of perturbation on the countenance. The nervousunconscientiousness of Duthil, threatened with denunciation, was seen torevive; so, too, the anxious anger of the Baron, who was meditating howhe might possibly manage to content Silviane. That woman was this sturdy, powerful man's taint, the secret sore which would perhaps end by eatinghim away and destroying him. But it was the frightful drama in which theBaroness, Camille and Gerard were concerned that flitted by most visiblyacross the faces of all three of them: that hateful rivalry of mother anddaughter, contending for the man they loved. And, meantime, thesilver-gilt blades of the dessert-knives were delicately peeling choicefruit. And there were bunches of golden grapes looking beautifully fresh, and a procession of sweetmeats, little cakes, an infinity of dainties, over which the most satiated appetites lingered complacently. 

Then, just as the finger-glasses were being served, a footman came andbent over the Baroness, who answered in an undertone, "Well, show himinto the _salon_, I will join him there. " And aloud to the others sheadded: "It's Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, who has called and asks mostparticularly to see me. He won't be in our way; I think that almost allof you know him. Oh! he's a genuine saint, and I have much sympathy forhim. "

For a few minutes longer they loitered round the table, and then at lastquitted the dining-room, which was full of the odours of viands, wines, fruits and roses; quite warm, too, with the heat thrown out by the biglogs of firewood, which were falling into embers amidst the somewhatjumbled brightness of all the crystal and silver, and the pale, delicatelight which fell upon the disorderly table. 

Pierre had remained standing in the centre of the little blue and silver_salon_. Seeing a tray on which the coffee and the liqueurs were inreadiness, he regretted that he had insisted upon being received. And hisembarrassment increased when the company came in rather noisily, withbright eyes and rosy cheeks. However, his charitable fervour had revivedso ardently within him that he overcame this embarrassment, and all thatremained to him of it was a slight feeling of discomfort at bringing thewhole frightful morning which he had just spent amid such scenes ofwretchedness, so much darkness and cold, so much filth and hunger, intothis bright, warm, perfumed affluence, where the useless and thesuperfluous overflowed around those folks who seemed so gay at havingmade a delightful meal. 

However, the Baroness at once came forward with Gerard, for it wasthrough the latter, whose mother he knew, that the priest had beenpresented to the Duvillards at the time of the famous conversion. And ashe apologised for having called at such an inconvenient hour, theBaroness responded: "But you are always welcome, Monsieur l'Abbe. Youwill allow me just to attend to my guests, won't you? I will be with youin an instant. "

She thereupon returned to the table on which the tray had been placed, inorder to serve the coffee and the liqueurs, with her daughter'sassistance. Gerard, however, remained with Pierre; and, it so chanced, began to speak to him of the Asylum for the Invalids of Labour, wherethey had met one another at the recent laying of the foundation-stone ofa new pavilion which was being erected, thanks to a handsome donation of100, 000 francs made by Baron Duvillard. So far, the enterprise onlycomprised four pavilions out of the fourteen which it was proposed toerect on the vast site given by the City of Paris on the peninsula ofGennevilliers*; and so the subscription fund remained open, and, indeed, no little noise was made over this charitable enterprise, which wasregarded as a complete and peremptory reply to the accusations of thoseevilly disposed persons who charged the satiated _bourgeoisie_ with doingnothing for the workers. But the truth was that a magnificent chapel, erected in the centre of the site, had absorbed two-thirds of the fundshitherto collected. Numerous lady patronesses, chosen from all the"worlds" of Paris--the Baroness Duvillard, the Countess de Quinsac, thePrincess Rosemonde de Harn, and a score of others--were entrusted withthe task of keeping the enterprise alive by dint of collections and fancybazaars. But success had been chiefly obtained, thanks to the happy ideaof ridding the ladies of all the weighty cares of organisation, bychoosing as managing director a certain Fonsegue, who, besides being adeputy and editor of the "Globe" newspaper, was a prodigious promoter ofall sorts of enterprises. And the "Globe" never paused in its propaganda, but answered the attacks of the revolutionaries by extolling theinexhaustible charity of the governing classes in such wise that, at thelast elections, the enterprise had served as a victorious electoralweapon. 

 * This so-called peninsula lies to the northwest of Paris, and is formed by the windings of the Seine. --Trans. 

However, Camille was walking about with a steaming cup of coffee in herhand: "Will you take some coffee, Monsieur l'Abbe?" she inquired. 

"No, thank you, mademoiselle. "

"A glass of Chartreuse then?"

"No, thank you. "

Then everybody being served, the Baroness came back and said amiably:"Come, Monsieur l'Abbe, what do you desire of me?"

Pierre began to speak almost in an undertone, his throat contracting andhis heart beating with emotion. "I have come, madame, to appeal to yourgreat kindness of heart. This morning, in a frightful house, in the Ruedes Saules, behind Montmartre, I beheld a sight which utterly upset me. You can have no idea what an abode of misery and suffering it was; itsinmates without fire or bread, the men reduced to idleness because thereis no work, the mothers having no more milk for their babes, the childrenbarely clad, coughing and shivering. And among all these horrors I sawthe worst, the most abominable of all, an old workman, laid on his backby age, dying of hunger, huddled on a heap of rags, in a nook which a dogwould not even accept as kennel. "

He tried to recount things as discreetly as possible, frightened by thevery words he spoke, the horrors he had to relate in that sphere ofsuperlative luxury and enjoyment, before those happy ones who possessedall the gifts of this world; for--to use a slang expression--he fullyrealised that he sang out of tune, and in most uncourteous fashion. Whata strange idea of his to have called at the hour when one has justfinished _dejeuner_, when the aroma of hot coffee flatters happydigestion. Nevertheless he went on, and even ended by raising his voice, yielding to the feeling of revolt which gradually stirred him, going tothe end of his terrible narrative, naming Laveuve, insisting on theunjust abandonment in which the old man was left, and asking for succourin the name of human compassion. And the whole company approached tolisten to him; he could see the Baron and the General, and Duthil andAmadieu, in front of him, sipping their coffee, in silence, without agesture. 

"Well, madame, " he concluded, "it seemed to me that one could not leavethat old man an hour longer in such a frightful position, and that thisvery evening you would have the extreme goodness to have him admittedinto the Asylum of the Invalids of Labour, which is, I think, the properand only place for him. "

Tears had moistened Eve's beautiful eyes. She was in consternation at sosad a story coming to her to spoil her afternoon when she was lookingforward to her assignation with Gerard. Weak and indolent as she was, lacking all initiative, too much occupied moreover with her own person, she had only accepted the presidency of the Committee on the conditionthat all administrative worries were to fall on Fonsegue. "Ah! Monsieurl'Abbe, " she murmured, "you rend my heart. But I can do nothing, nothingat all, I assure you. Moreover, I believe that we have already inquiredinto the affair of that man Laveuve. With us, you know, there must be themost serious guarantees with regard to every admission. A reporter ischosen who has to give us full information. Wasn't it you, MonsieurDuthil, who was charged with this man Laveuve's affair?"

The deputy was finishing a glass of Chartreuse. "Yes, it was I. That finefellow played you a comedy, Monsieur l'Abbe. He isn't at all ill, and ifyou left him any money you may be sure he went down to drink it as soonas you were gone. For he is always drunk; and, besides that, he has themost hateful disposition imaginable, crying out from morning till eveningagainst the _bourgeois_, and saying that if he had any strength left inhis arms he would undertake to blow up the whole show. And, moreover, hewon't go into the asylum; he says that it's a real prison where one'sguarded by Beguins who force one to hear mass, a dirty convent where thegates are shut at nine in the evening! And there are so many of them likethat, who rather than be succoured prefer their liberty, with cold andhunger and death. Well then, let the Laveuves die in the street, sincethey refuse to be with us, and be warm and eat in our asylums!"

The General and Amadieu nodded their heads approvingly. But Duvillardshowed himself more generous. "No, no, indeed! A man's a man after all, and should be succoured in spite of himself. "

Eve, however, in despair at the idea that she would be robbed of herafternoon, struggled and sought for reasons. "I assure you that my handsare altogether tied. Monsieur l'Abbe does not doubt my heart or my zeal. But how call I possibly assemble the Committee without a few days' delay?And I have particular reasons for coming to no decision, especially in anaffair which has already been inquired into and pronounced upon, withoutthe Committee's sanction. " Then, all at once she found a solution: "WhatI advise you to do, Monsieur l'Abbe, is to go at once to see MonsieurFonsegue, our managing director. He alone can act in an urgent case, forhe knows that the ladies have unlimited confidence in him and approveeverything he does. "

"You will find Fonsegue at the Chamber, " added Duthil smiling, "only thesitting will be a warm one, and I doubt whether you will be able to havea comfortable chat with him. "

Pierre, whose heart had contracted yet more painfully, insisted on thesubject no further; but at once made up his mind to see Fonsegue, and inany event obtain from him a promise that the wretched Laveuve should beadmitted to the Asylum that very evening. Then he lingered in the saloonfor a few minutes listening to Gerard, who obligingly pointed out to himhow he might best convince the deputy, which was by alleging how bad aneffect such a story could have, should it be brought to light by therevolutionary newspapers. However, the guests were beginning to taketheir leave. The General, as he went off, came to ask his nephew if heshould see him that afternoon at his mother's, Madame de Quinsac, whose"day" it was: a question which the young man answered with an evasivegesture when he noticed that both Eve and Camille were looking at him. Then came the turn of Amadieu, who hurried off saying that a seriousaffair required his presence at the Palace of Justice. And Duthil soonfollowed him in order to repair to the Chamber. 

"I'll see you between four and five at Silviane's, eh?" said the Baron ashe conducted him to the door. "Come and tell me what occurs at theChamber in consequence of that odious article of Sagnier's. I must at allevents know. For my part I shall go to the Ministry of Fine Arts, tosettle that affair of the Comedie; and besides I've some calls to make, some contractors to see, and a big launching and advertisement affair tosettle. "

"It's understood then, between four and five, at Silviane's, " said thedeputy, who went off again mastered by his vague uneasiness, his anxietyas to what turn that nasty affair of the African Railway Lines mighttake. 

And all of them had forgotten Laveuve, the miserable wretch who lay atdeath's door; and all of them were hastening away to their business ortheir passions, caught in the toils, sinking under the grindstone andwhisked away by that rush of all Paris, whose fever bore them along, throwing one against another in an ardent scramble, in which the solequestion was who should pass over the others and crush them. 

"And so, mamma, " said Camille, who continued to scrutinise her mother andGerard, "you are going to take us to the Princess's _matinee_?"

"By-and-by, yes. Only I shan't be able to stay there with you. I receiveda telegram from Salmon about my corsage this morning, and I mustabsolutely go to try it on at four o'clock. "

By the slight trembling of her mother's voice, the girl felt certain thatshe was telling a falsehood. "Oh!" said she, "I thought you were onlygoing to try it on to-morrow? In that case I suppose we are to go andcall for you at Salmon's with the carriage on leaving the _matinee_?"

"Oh! no my dear! One never knows when one will be free; and besides, if Ihave a moment, I shall call at the _modiste's_. "

Camille's secret rage brought almost a murderous glare to her dark eyes. The truth was evident. But however passionately she might desire to setsome obstacle across her mother's path, she could not, dared not, carrymatters any further. In vain had she attempted to implore Gerard with hereyes. He was standing to take his leave, and turned away his eyes. Pierre, who had become acquainted with many things since he hadfrequented the house, noticed how all three of them quivered, and divinedthereby the mute and terrible drama. 

At this moment, however, Hyacinthe, stretched in an armchair, andmunching an ether capsule, the only liqueur in which he indulged, raisedhis voice: "For my part, you know, I'm going to the Exposition du Lis. All Paris is swarming there. There's one painting in particular, 'TheRape of a Soul, ' which it's absolutely necessary for one to have seen. "

"Well, but I don't refuse to drive you there, " resumed the Baroness. "Before going to the Princess's we can look in at that exhibition. "

"That's it, that's it, " hastily exclaimed Camille, who, though sheharshly derided the symbolist painters as a rule, now doubtless desiredto delay her mother. Then, forcing herself to smile, she asked: "Won'tyou risk a look-in at the Exposition du Lis with us, Monsieur Gerard?"

"Well, no, " replied the Count, "I want to walk. I shall go with Monsieurl'Abbe Froment to the Chamber. "

Thereupon he took leave of mother and daughter, kissing the hand of eachin turn. It had just occurred to him that to while away his time he alsomight call for a moment at Silviane's, where, like the others, he had his_entrees_. On reaching the cold and solemn courtyard he said to thepriest, "Ah! it does one good to breathe a little cool air. They keeptheir rooms too hot, and all those flowers, too, give one the headache. "

Pierre for his part was going off with his brain in a whirl, his handsfeverish, his senses oppressed by all the luxury which he left behindhim, like the dream of some glowing, perfumed paradise where only theelect had their abode. At the same time his reviving thirst for charityhad become keener than ever, and without listening to the Count, who wasspeaking very affectionately of his mother, he reflected as to how hemight obtain Laveuve's admission to the Asylum from Fonsegue. However, when the door of the mansion had closed behind them and they had taken afew steps along the street, it occurred to Pierre that a momentpreviously a sudden vision had met his gaze. Had he not seen a workmancarrying a tool-bag, standing and waiting on the foot pavement across theroad, gazing at that monumental door, closed upon so much fabulouswealth--a workman in whom he fancied he had recognised Salvat, thathungry fellow who had gone off that morning in search of work? At thisthought Pierre hastily turned round. Such wretchedness in face of so muchaffluence and enjoyment made him feel anxious. But the workman, disturbedin his contemplation, and possibly fearing that he had been recognised, was going off with dragging step. And now, getting only a back view ofhim, Pierre hesitated, and ended by thinking that he must have beenmistaken. 

III. RANTERS AND RULERS

WHEN Abbe Froment was about to enter the Palais-Bourbon he rememberedthat he had no card, and he was making up his mind that he would simplyask for Fonsegue, though he was not known to him, when, on reaching thevestibule, he perceived Mege, the Collectivist deputy, with whom he hadbecome acquainted in his days of militant charity in the poverty-strickenCharonne district. 

"What, you here? You surely have not come to evangelise us?" said Mege. 

"No, I've come to see Monsieur Fonsegue on an urgent matter, about a poorfellow who cannot wait. "

"Fonsegue? I don't know if he has arrived. Wait a moment. " And stopping ashort, dark young fellow with a ferreting, mouse-like air, Mege said tohim: "Massot, here's Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, who wants to speak to yourgovernor at once. "

"The governor? But he isn't here. I left him at the office of the paper, where he'll be detained for another quarter of an hour. However, ifMonsieur l'Abbe likes to wait he will surely see him here. "

Thereupon Mege ushered Pierre into the large waiting-hall, the Salle desPas Perdus, which in other moments looked so vast and cold with itsbronze Minerva and Laocoon, and its bare walls on which the pale mournfulwinter light fell from the glass doors communicating with the garden. Just then, however, it was crowded, and warmed, as it were, by thefeverish agitation of the many groups of men that had gathered here andthere, and the constant coming and going of those who hastened throughthe throng. Most of these were deputies, but there were also numerousjournalists and inquisitive visitors. And a growing uproar prevailed:colloquies now in undertones, now in loud voices, exclamations and burstsof laughter, amidst a deal of passionate gesticulation, Mege's returninto the tumult seemed to fan it. He was tall, apostolically thin, andsomewhat neglectful of his person, looking already old and worn for hisage, which was but five and forty, though his eyes still glowed withyouth behind the glasses which never left his beak-like nose. And he hada warm but grating voice, and had always been known to cough, living onsolely because he was bitterly intent on doing so in order to realise thedream of social re-organisation which haunted him. The son of animpoverished medical man of a northern town, he had come to Paris whenvery young, living there during the Empire on petty newspaper and otherunknown work, and first making a reputation as an orator at the publicmeetings of the time. Then, after the war, having become the chief of theCollectivist party, thanks to his ardent faith and the extraordinaryactivity of his fighting nature, he had at last managed to enter theChamber, where, brimful of information, he fought for his ideas withfierce determination and obstinacy, like a _doctrinaire_ who has decidedin his own mind what the world ought to be, and who regulates in advance, and bit by bit, the whole dogma of Collectivism. However, since he hadtaken pay as a deputy, the outside Socialists had looked upon him as amere rhetorician, an aspiring dictator who only tried to cast society ina new mould for the purpose of subordinating it to his personal views andruling it. 

"You know what is going on?" he said to Pierre. "This is another niceaffair, is it not? But what would you have? We are in mud to our veryears. "

He had formerly conceived genuine sympathy for the priest, whom he hadfound so gentle with all who suffered, and so desirous of socialregeneration. And the priest himself had ended by taking an interest inthis authoritarian dreamer, who was resolved to make men happy in spiteeven of themselves. He knew that he was poor, and led a retired life withhis wife and four children, to whom he was devoted. 

"You can well understand that I am no ally of Sagnier's, " Mege resumed. "But as he chose to speak out this morning and threaten to publish thenames of all those who have taken bribes, we can't allow ourselves topass as accomplices any further. It has long been said that there wassome nasty jobbery in that suspicious affair of the African railways. Andthe worst is that two members of the present Cabinet are in question, forthree years ago, when the Chambers dealt with Duvillard's emission, Barroux was at the Home Department, and Monferrand at that of PublicWorks. Now that they have come back again, Monferrand at the HomeDepartment, and Barroux at that of Finance, with the Presidency of theCouncil, it isn't possible, is it, for us to do otherwise than compelthem to enlighten us, in their own interest even, about their formergoings-on? No, no, they can no longer keep silence, and I've announcedthat I intend to interpellate them this very day. "

It was the announcement of Mege's interpellation, following the terriblearticle of the "Voix du Peuple, " which thus set the lobbies in an uproar. And Pierre remained rather scared at this big political affair fallinginto the midst of his scheme to save a wretched pauper from hunger anddeath. Thus he listened without fully understanding the explanationswhich the Socialist deputy was passionately giving him, while all aroundthem the uproar increased, and bursts of laughter rang out, testifying tothe astonishment which the others felt at seeing Mege in conversationwith a priest. 

"How stupid they are!" said Mege disdainfully. "Do they think then that Ieat a cassock for _dejeuner_ every morning? But I beg your pardon, mydear Monsieur Froment. Come, take a place on that seat and wait forFonsegue. "

Then he himself plunged into all the turmoil, and Pierre realised thathis best course was to sit down and wait quietly. His surroundings beganto influence and interest him, and he gradually forgot Laveuve for thepassion of the Parliamentary crisis amidst which he found himself cast. The frightful Panama adventure was scarcely over; he had followed theprogress of that tragedy with the anguish of a man who every nightexpects to hear the tocsin sound the last hour of olden, agonisingsociety. And now a little Panama was beginning, a fresh cracking of thesocial edifice, an affair such as had been frequent in all parliaments inconnection with big financial questions, but one which acquired mortalgravity from the circumstances in which it came to the front. That storyof the African Railway Lines, that little patch of mud, stirred up andexhaling a perturbing odour, and suddenly fomenting all that emotion, fear, and anger in the Chamber, was after all but an opportunity forpolitical strife, a field on which the voracious appetites of the various"groups" would take exercise and sharpen; and, at bottom, the solequestion was that of overthrowing the ministry and replacing it byanother. Only, behind all that lust of power, that continuous onslaughtof ambition, what a distressful prey was stirring--the whole people withall its poverty and its sufferings!

Pierre noticed that Massot, "little Massot, " as he was generally called, had just seated himself on the bench beside him. With his lively eye andready ear listening to everything and noting it, gliding everywhere withhis ferret-like air, Massot was not there in the capacity of a galleryman, but had simply scented a stormy debate, and come to see if he couldnot pick up material for some occasional "copy. " And this priest lost inthe midst of the throng doubtless interested him. 

"Have a little patience, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said he, with the amiablegaiety of a young gentleman who makes fun of everything. "The governorwill certainly come, for he knows well enough that they are going to heatthe oven here. You are not one of his constituents from La Correze, areyou?"

"No, no! I belong to Paris; I've come on account of a poor fellow whom Iwish to get admitted into the Asylum of the Invalids of Labour. "

"Oh! all right. Well, I'm a child of Paris, too. "

Then Massot laughed. And indeed he was a child of Paris, son of a chemistof the St. Denis district, and an ex-dunce of the Lycee Charlemagne, where he had not even finished his studies. He had failed entirely, andat eighteen years of age had found himself cast into journalism withbarely sufficient knowledge of orthography for that calling. And fortwelve years now, as he often said, he had been a rolling stone wanderingthrough all spheres of society, confessing some and guessing at others. He had seen everything, and become disgusted with everything, no longerbelieving in the existence of great men, or of truth, but livingpeacefully enough on universal malice and folly. He naturally had noliterary ambition, in fact he professed a deliberate contempt forliterature. Withal, he was not a fool, but wrote in accordance with nomatter what views in no matter what newspaper, having neither convictionnor belief, but quietly claiming the right to say whatever he pleased tothe public on condition that he either amused or impassioned it. 

"And so, " said he, "you know Mege, Monsieur l'Abbe? What a study incharacter, eh? A big child, a dreamer of dreams in the skin of a terriblesectarian! Oh! I have had a deal of intercourse with him, I know himthoroughly. You are no doubt aware that he lives on with the everlastingconviction that he will attain to power in six months' time, and thatbetween evening and morning he will have established that famousCollectivist community which is to succeed capitalist society, just asday follows night. And, by the way, as regards his interpellation to-day, he is convinced that in overthrowing the Barroux ministry he'll behastening his own turn. His system is to use up his adversaries. How manytimes haven't I heard him making his calculations: there's such a one tobe used up, then such a one, and then such a one, so that he himself mayat last reign. And it's always to come off in six months at the latest. The misfortune is, however, that others are always springing up, and sohis turn never comes at all. "

Little Massot openly made merry over it. Then, slightly lowering hisvoice, he asked: "And Sagnier, do you know him? No? Do you see thatred-haired man with the bull's neck--the one who looks like a butcher?That one yonder who is talking in a little group of frayed frock-coats. "

Pierre at last perceived the man in question. He had broad red ears, ahanging under-lip, a large nose, and big, projecting dull eyes. 

"I know that one thoroughly, as well, " continued Massot; "I was on the'Voix du Peuple' under him before I went on the 'Globe. ' The one thingthat nobody is exactly aware of is whence Sagnier first came. He longdragged out his life in the lower depths of journalism, doing nothing atall brilliant, but wild with ambition and appetite. Perhaps you rememberthe first hubbub he made, that rather dirty affair of a new Louis XVII. Which he tried to launch, and which made him the extraordinary Royalistthat he still is. Then it occurred to him to espouse the cause of themasses, and he made a display of vengeful Catholic socialism, attackingthe Republic and all the abominations of the times in the name of justiceand morality, under the pretext of curing them. He began with a series ofsketches of financiers, a mass of dirty, uncontrolled, unprovedtittle-tattle, which ought to have led him to the dock, but which met, asyou know, with such wonderful success when gathered together in a volume. And he goes on in the same style in the 'Voix du Peuple, ' which hehimself made a success at the time of the Panama affair by dint ofdenunciation and scandal, and which to-day is like a sewer-pipe pouringforth all the filth of the times. And whenever the stream slackens, why, he invents things just to satisfy his craving for that hubbub on whichboth his pride and his pocket subsist. "

Little Massot spoke without bitterness; indeed, he had even begun tolaugh again. Beneath his thoughtless ferocity he really felt some respectfor Sagnier. "Oh! he's a bandit, " he continued, "but a clever fellow allthe same. You can't imagine how full of vanity he is. Lately it occurredto him to get himself acclaimed by the populace, for he pretends to be akind of King of the Markets, you know. Perhaps he has ended by taking hisfine judge-like airs in earnest, and really believes that he is savingthe people and helping the cause of virtue. What astonishes me is hisfertility in the arts of denunciation and scandalmongering. Never amorning comes but he discovers some fresh horror, and delivers freshculprits over to the hatred of the masses. No! the stream of mud neverceases; there is an incessant, unexpected spurt of infamy, an increase ofmonstrous fancies each time that the disgusted public shows any sign ofweariness. And, do you know, there's genius in that, Monsieur l'Abbe; forhe is well aware that his circulation goes up as soon as he threatens tospeak out and publish a list of traitors and bribe-takers. His sales arecertain now for some days to come. "

Listening to Massot's gay, bantering voice, Pierre began to understandcertain things, the exact meaning of which had hitherto escaped him. Heended by questioning the young journalist, surprised as he was that somany deputies should be in the lobbies when the sitting was in progress. Oh! the sitting indeed. The gravest matters, some bill of nationalinterest, might be under discussion, yet every member fled from it at thesudden threat of an interpellation which might overturn the ministry. Andthe passion stirring there was the restrained anger, the growing anxietyof the present ministry's clients, who feared that they might have togive place to others; and it was also the sudden hope, the eager hungerof all who were waiting--the clients of the various possible ministriesof the morrow. 

Massot pointed to Barroux, the head of the Cabinet, who, though he wasout of his element in the Department of Finances, had taken it simplybecause his generally recognised integrity was calculated to reassurepublic opinion after the Panama crisis. Barroux was chatting in a cornerwith the Minister of Public Instruction, Senator Taboureau, an olduniversity man with a shrinking, mournful air, who was extremely honest, but totally ignorant of Paris, coming as he did from some far-awayprovincial faculty. Barroux for his part was of decorative aspect, tall, and with a handsome, clean-shaven face, which would have looked quitenoble had not his nose been rather too small. Although he was sixty, hestill had a profusion of curly snow-white hair completing the somewhattheatrical majesty of his appearance, which he was wont to turn toaccount when in the tribune. Coming of an old Parisian family, well-to-do, an advocate by profession, then a Republican journalist underthe Empire, he had reached office with Gambetta, showing himself at oncehonest and romantic, loud of speech, and somewhat stupid, but at the sametime very brave and very upright, and still clinging with ardent faith tothe principles of the great Revolution. However, his Jacobinism wasgetting out of fashion, he was becoming an "ancestor, " as it were, one ofthe last props of the middle-class Republic, and the new comers, theyoung politicians with long teeth, were beginning to smile at him. Moreover, beneath the ostentation of his demeanour, and the pomp of hiseloquence, there was a man of hesitating, sentimental nature, a goodfellow who shed tears when re-perusing the verses of Lamartine. 

However, Monferrand, the minister for the Home Department, passed by anddrew Barroux aside to whisper a few words in his ear. He, Monferrand, wasfifty, short and fat, with a smiling, fatherly air; nevertheless a lookof keen intelligence appeared at times on his round and somewhat commonface fringed by a beard which was still dark. In him one divined a man ofgovernment, with hands which were fitted for difficult tasks, and whichnever released a prey. Formerly mayor of the town of Tulle, he came fromLa Correze, where he owned a large estate. He was certainly a force inmotion, one whose constant rise was anxiously watched by keen observers. He spoke in a simple quiet way, but with extraordinary power ofconviction. Having apparently no ambition, affecting indeed the greatestdisinterestedness, he nevertheless harboured the most ferociousappetites. Sagnier had written that he was a thief and a murderer, havingstrangled two of his aunts in order to inherit their property. But evenif he were a murderer, he was certainly not a vulgar one. 

Then, too, came another personage of the drama which was about to beperformed--deputy Vignon, whose arrival agitated the various groups. Thetwo ministers looked at him, whilst he, at once surrounded by hisfriends, smiled at them from a distance. He was not yet thirty-six. Slim, and of average height, very fair, with a fine blond beard of which hetook great care, a Parisian by birth, having rapidly made his way in thegovernment service, at one time Prefect at Bordeaux, he now representedyouth and the future in the Chamber. He had realised that new men wereneeded in the direction of affairs in order to accomplish the moreurgent, indispensable reforms; and very ambitious and intelligent as hewas, knowing many things, he already had a programme, the application ofwhich he was quite capable of attempting, in part at any rate. However, he evinced no haste, but was full of prudence and shrewdness, convincedthat his day would dawn, strong in the fact that he was as yetcompromised in nothing, but had all space before him. At bottom he wasmerely a first-class administrator, clear and precise in speech, and hisprogramme only differed from Barroux's by the rejuvenation of itsformulas, although the advent of a Vignon ministry in place of a Barrouxministry appeared an event of importance. And it was of Vignon thatSagnier had written that he aimed at the Presidency of the Republic, evenshould he have to march through blood to reach the Elysee Palace. 

"_Mon Dieu_!" Massot was explaining, "it's quite possible that Sagnierisn't lying this time, and that he has really found a list of names insome pocket-book of Hunter's that has fallen into his hands. I myselfhave long known that Hunter was Duvillard's vote-recruiter in the affairof the African Railways. But to understand matters one must first realisewhat his mode of proceeding was, the skill and the kind of amiabledelicacy which he showed, which were far from the brutal corruption anddirty trafficking that people imagine. One must be such a man as Sagnierto picture a parliament as an open market, where every conscience is forsale and is impudently knocked down to the highest bidder. Oh! thingshappened in a very different way indeed; and they are explainable, and attimes even excusable. Thus the article is levelled in particular againstBarroux and Monferrand, who are designated in the clearest possiblemanner although they are not named. You are no doubt aware that at thetime of the vote Barroux was at the Home Department and Monferrand atthat of Public Works, and so now they are accused of having betrayedtheir trusts, the blackest of all social crimes. I don't know into whatpolitical combinations Barroux may have entered, but I am ready to swearthat he put nothing in his pocket, for he is the most honest of men. Asfor Monferrand, that's another matter; he's a man to carve himself hisshare, only I should be much surprised if he had put himself in a badposition. He's incapable of a blunder, particularly of a stupid blunder, like that of taking money and leaving a receipt for it lying about. "

Massot paused, and with a jerk of his head called Pierre's attention toDuthil, who, feverish, but nevertheless smiling, stood in a group whichhad just collected around the two ministers. "There! do you see thatyoung man yonder, that dark handsome fellow whose beard looks sotriumphant?"

"I know him, " said Pierre. 

"Oh! you know Duthil. Well, he's one who most certainly took money. Buthe's a mere bird. He came to us from Angouleme to lead the pleasantest oflives here, and he has no more conscience, no more scruples, than thepretty finches of his native part, who are ever love-making. Ah! forDuthil, Hunter's money was like manna due to him, and he never evenpaused to think that he was dirtying his fingers. You may be quite surehe feels astonished that people should attach the slightest importance tothe matter. "

Then Massot designated another deputy in the same group, a man of fiftyor thereabouts, of slovenly aspect and lachrymose mien, lanky, too, likea maypole, and somewhat bent by the weight of his head, which was longand suggestive of a horse's. His scanty, straight, yellowish hair, hisdrooping moustaches, in fact the whole of his distracted countenance, expressed everlasting distress. 

"And Chaigneux, do you know him?" continued Massot, referring to thedeputy in question. "No? Well, look at him and ask yourself if it isn'tquite as natural that he, too, should have taken money. He came fromArras. He was a solicitor there. When his division elected him he letpolitics intoxicate him, and sold his practice to make his fortune inParis, where he installed himself with his wife and his three daughters. And you can picture his bewilderment amidst those four women, terriblewomen ever busy with finery, receiving and paying visits, and runningafter marriageable men who flee away. It's ill-luck with a vengeance, thedaily defeat of a poor devil of mediocre attainments, who imagined thathis position as a deputy would facilitate money-making, and who isdrowning himself in it all. And so how can Chaigneux have done otherwisethan take money, he who is always hard up for a five-hundred-franc note!I admit that originally he wasn't a dishonest man. But he's become one, that's all. "

Massot was now fairly launched, and went on with his portraits, theseries which he had, at one moment, dreamt of writing under the title of"Deputies for Sale. " There were the simpletons who fell into the furnace, the men whom ambition goaded to exasperation, the low minds that yieldedto the temptation of an open drawer, the company-promoters who grewintoxicated and lost ground by dint of dealing with big figures. At thesame time, however, Massot admitted that these men were relatively few innumber, and that black sheep were to be found in every parliament of theworld. Then Sagnier's name cropped up again, and Massot remarked thatonly Sagnier could regard the French Chambers as mere dens of thieves. 

Pierre, meantime, felt most interested in the tempest which the threat ofa ministerial crisis was stirring up before him. Not only the men likeDuthil and Chaigneux, pale at feeling the ground tremble beneath them, and wondering whether they would not sleep at the Mazas prison thatnight, were gathered round Barroux and Monferrand; all the latters'clients were there, all who enjoyed influence or office through them, andwho would collapse and disappear should they happen to fall. And it wassomething to see the anxious glances and the pale dread amidst all thewhispered chatter, the bits of information and tittle-tattle which werecarried hither and thither. Then, in a neighbouring group formed roundVignon, who looked very calm and smiled, were the other clients, thosewho awaited the moment to climb to the assault of power, in order thatthey, in their turn, might at last possess influence or office. Eyesglittered with covetousness, hopeful delight could be read in them, pleasant surprise at the sudden opportunity now offered. Vignon avoidedreplying to the over-direct questions of his friends, and simplyannounced that he did not intend to intervene. Evidently enough his planwas to let Mege interpellate and overthrow the ministry, for he did notfear him, and in his own estimation would afterwards simply have to stoopto pick up the fallen portfolios. 

"Ah! Monferrand now, " little Massot was saying, "there's a rascal whotrims his sails! I knew him as an anti-clerical, a devourer of priests, Monsieur l'Abbe, if you will allow me so to express myself; however, Idon't say this to be agreeable to you, but I think I may tell you forcertain that he has become reconciled to religion. At least, I have beentold that Monseigneur Martha, who is a great converter, now seldom leaveshim. This is calculated to please one in these new times, when sciencehas become bankrupt, and religion blooms afresh with delicious mysticismon all sides, whether in art, literature, or society itself. "

Massot was jesting, according to his wont; but he spoke so amiably thatthe priest could not do otherwise than bow. However, a great stir had setin before them; it was announced that Mege was about to ascend thetribune, and thereupon all the deputies hastened into the assembly hall, leaving only the inquisitive visitors and a few journalists in the Salledes Pas Perdus. 

"It's astonishing that Fonsegue hasn't yet arrived, " resumed Massot;"he's interested in what's going on. However, he's so cunning, that whenhe doesn't behave as others do, one may be sure that he has his reasonsfor it. Do you know him?" And as Pierre gave a negative answer, Massotwent on: "Oh! he's a man of brains and real power--I speak with allfreedom, you know, for I don't possess the bump of veneration; and, asfor my editors, well, they're the very puppets that I know the best andpick to pieces with the most enjoyment. Fonsegue, also, is clearlydesignated in Sagnier's article. Moreover, he's one of Duvillard's usualclients. There can be no doubt that he took money, for he takes money ineverything. Only he always protects himself, and takes it for reasonswhich may be acknowledged--as payment or commission on account ofadvertising, and so forth. And if I left him just now, looking, as itseemed to me, rather disturbed, and if he delays his arrival here toestablish, as it were, a moral alibi, the truth must be that he hascommitted the first imprudent action in his life. "

Then Massot rattled on, telling all there was to tell about Fonsegue. He, too, came from the department of La Correze, and had quarrelled for lifewith Monferrand after some unknown underhand affairs. Formerly anadvocate at Tulle, his ambition had been to conquer Paris; and he hadreally conquered it, thanks to his big morning newspaper, "Le Globe, " ofwhich he was both founder and director. He now resided in a luxuriousmansion in the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, and no enterprise was launchedbut he carved himself a princely share in it. He had a genius for"business, " and employed his newspaper as a weapon to enable him to reignover the market. But how very carefully he had behaved, what long andskilful patience he had shown, before attaining to the reputation of areally serious man, who guided authoritatively the most virtuous andrespected of the organs of the press! Though in reality he believedneither in God nor in Devil, he had made this newspaper the supporter oforder, property, and family ties; and though he had become a ConservativeRepublican, since it was to his interest to be such, he had remainedoutwardly religious, affecting a Spiritualism which reassured the_bourgeoisie_. And amidst all his accepted power, to which others bowed, he nevertheless had one hand deep in every available money-bag. 

"Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe, " said Massot, "see to what journalism may lead aman. There you have Sagnier and Fonsegue: just compare them a bit. Inreality they are birds of the same feather: each has a quill and uses it. But how different the systems and the results. Sagnier's print is reallya sewer which rolls him along and carries him to the cesspool; while theother's paper is certainly an example of the best journalism one canhave, most carefully written, with a real literary flavour, a treat forreaders of delicate minds, and an honour to the man who directs it. Butat the bottom, good heavens! in both cases the farce is precisely thesame!"

Massot burst out laughing, well pleased with this final thrust. Then allat once: "Ah! here's Fonsegue at last!" said he. 

Quite at his ease, and still laughing, he forthwith introduced thepriest. "This is Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, my dear _patron_, who has beenwaiting more than twenty minutes for you--I'm just going to see what ishappening inside. You know that Mege is interpellating the government. "

The new comer started slightly: "An interpellation!" said he. "All right, all right, I'll go to it. "

Pierre was looking at him. He was about fifty years of age, short ofstature, thin and active, still looking young without a grey hair in hisblack beard. He had sparkling eyes, too, but his mouth, said to be aterrible one, was hidden by his moustaches. And withal he looked apleasant companion, full of wit to the tip of his little pointed nose, the nose of a sporting dog that is ever scenting game. "What can I do foryou, Monsieur l'Abbe?" he inquired. 

Then Pierre briefly presented his request, recounting his visit toLaveuve that morning, giving every heart-rending particular, and askingfor the poor wretch's immediate admittance to the Asylum. 

"Laveuve!" said the other, "but hasn't his affair been examined? Why, Duthil drew up a report on it, and things appeared to us of such a naturethat we could not vote for the man's admittance. "

But the priest insisted: "I assure you, monsieur, that your heart wouldhave burst with compassion had you been with me this morning. It isrevolting that an old man should be left in such frightful abandonmenteven for another hour. He must sleep at the Asylum to-night. "

Fonsegue began to protest. "To-night! But it's impossible, altogetherimpossible! There are all sorts of indispensable formalities to beobserved. And besides I alone cannot take such responsibility. I haven'tthe power. I am only the manager; all that I do is to execute the ordersof the committee of lady patronesses. "

"But it was precisely Baroness Duvillard who sent me to you, monsieur, telling me that you alone had the necessary authority to grant immediateadmittance in an exceptional case. "

"Oh! it was the Baroness who sent you? Ah! that is just like her, incapable of coming to any decision herself, and far too desirous of herown quietude to accept any responsibility. Why is it that she wants me tohave the worries? No, no, Monsieur l'Abbe, I certainly won't go againstall our regulations; I won't give an order which would perhaps embroil mewith all those ladies. You don't know them, but they become positivelyterrible directly they attend our meetings. "

He was growing lively, defending himself with a jocular air, whilst insecret he was fully determined to do nothing. However, just then Duthilabruptly reappeared, darting along bareheaded, hastening from lobby tolobby to recruit absent members, particularly those who were interestedin the grave debate at that moment beginning. "What, Fonsegue!" he cried, "are you still here? Go, go to your seat at once, it's serious!" Andthereupon he disappeared. 

His colleague evinced no haste, however. It was as if the suspiciousaffair which was impassioning the Chamber had no concern for him. And hestill smiled, although a slight feverish quiver made him blink. "Excuseme, Monsieur l'Abbe, " he said at last. "You see that my friends have needof me. I repeat to you that I can do absolutely nothing for your_protege_. "

But Pierre would not accept this reply as a final one. "No, no, monsieur, " he rejoined, "go to your affairs, I will wait for you here. Don't come to a decision without full reflection. You are wanted, and Ifeel that your mind is not sufficiently at liberty for you to listen tome properly. By-and-by, when you come back and give me your fullattention, I am sure that you will grant me what I ask. "

And, although Fonsegue, as he went off, repeated that he could not alterhis decision, the priest stubbornly resolved to make him do so, and satdown on the bench again, prepared, if needful, to stay there till theevening. The Salle des Pas Perdus was now almost quite empty, and lookedyet more frigid and mournful with its Laocoon and its Minerva, its barecommonplace walls like those of a railway-station waiting-room, betweenwhich all the scramble of the century passed, though apparently withouteven warming the lofty ceiling. Never had paler and more callous lightentered by the large glazed doors, behind which one espied the littleslumberous garden with its meagre, wintry lawns. And not an echo of thetempest of the sitting near at hand reached the spot; from the wholeheavy pile there fell but death-like silence, and a covert quiver ofdistress that had come from far away, perhaps from the entire country. 

It was that which now haunted Pierre's reverie. The whole ancient, envenomed sore spread out before his mind's eye, with its poison andvirulence. Parliamentary rottenness had slowly increased till it hadbegun to attack society itself. Above all the low intrigues and the rushof personal ambition there certainly remained the loftier struggle of thecontending principles, with history on the march, clearing the past awayand seeking to bring more truth, justice, and happiness in the future. But in practice, if one only considered the horrid daily cuisine of thesphere, what an unbridling of egotistical appetite one beheld, what anabsorbing passion to strangle one's neighbour and triumph oneself alone!Among the various groups one found but an incessant battle for power andthe satisfactions that it gives. "Left, " "Right, " "Catholics, ""Republicans, " "Socialists, " the names given to the parties of twentydifferent shades, were simply labels classifying forms of the one burningthirst to rule and dominate. All questions could be reduced to a singleone, that of knowing whether this man, that man, or that other man shouldhold France in his grasp, to enjoy it, and distribute its favours amonghis creatures. And the worst was that the outcome of the greatparliamentary battles, the days and the weeks lost in setting this man inthe place of that man, and that other man in the place of this man, wassimply stagnation, for not one of the three men was better than hisfellows, and there were but vague points of difference between them; insuch wise that the new master bungled the very same work as the previousone had bungled, forgetful, perforce, of programmes and promises as soonas ever he began to reign. 

However, Pierre's thoughts invincibly reverted to Laveuve, whom he hadmomentarily forgotten, but who now seized hold of him again with a quiveras of anger and death. Ah! what could it matter to that poor old wretch, dying of hunger on his bed of rags, whether Mege should overthrowBarroux's ministry, and whether a Vignon ministry should ascend to poweror not! At that rate, a century, two centuries, would be needed beforethere would be bread in the garrets where groan the lamed sons of labour, the old, broken-down beasts of burden. And behind Laveuve there appearedthe whole army of misery, the whole multitude of the disinherited and thepoor, who agonised and asked for justice whilst the Chamber, sitting inall pomp, grew furiously impassioned over the question as to whom thenation should belong to, as to who should devour it. Mire was flowing onin a broad stream, the hideous, bleeding, devouring sore displayed itselfin all impudence, like some cancer which preys upon an organ and spreadsto the heart. And what disgust, what nausea must such a spectacleinspire; and what a longing for the vengeful knife that would bringhealth and joy!

Pierre could not have told for how long he had been plunged in thisreverie, when uproar again filled the hall. People were coming back, gesticulating and gathering in groups. And suddenly he heard littleMassot exclaim near him: "Well, if it isn't down it's not much betteroff. I wouldn't give four sous for its chance of surviving. "

He referred to the ministry, and began to recount the sitting to a fellowjournalist who had just arrived. Mege had spoken very eloquently, withextraordinary fury of indignation against the rotten _bourgeoisie_, whichrotted everything it touched; but, as usual, he had gone much too far, alarming the Chamber by his very violence. And so, when Barroux hadascended the tribune to ask for a month's adjournment of theinterpellation, he had merely had occasion to wax indignant, in allsincerity be it said, full of lofty anger that such infamous campaignsshould be carried on by a certain portion of the press. Were the shamefulPanama scandals about to be renewed? Were the national representativesgoing to let themselves be intimidated by fresh threats of denunciation?It was the Republic itself which its adversaries were seeking to submergebeneath a flood of abominations. No, no, the hour had come for one tocollect one's thoughts, and work in quietude without allowing those whohungered for scandal to disturb the public peace. And the Chamber, impressed by these words, fearing, too, lest the electorate should atlast grow utterly weary of the continuous overflow of filth, hadadjourned the interpellation to that day month. However, although Vignonhad not personally intervened in the debate, the whole of his group hadvoted against the ministry, with the result that the latter had merelysecured a majority of two votes--a mockery. 

"But in that case they will resign, " said somebody to Massot. 

"Yes, so it's rumoured. But Barroux is very tenacious. At all events ifthey show any obstinacy they will be down before a week is over, particularly as Sagnier, who is quite furious, declares that he willpublish the list of names to-morrow. "

Just then, indeed, Barroux and Monferrand were seen to pass, hasteningalong with thoughtful, busy mien, and followed by their anxious clients. It was said that the whole Cabinet was about to assemble to consider theposition and come to a decision. And then Vignon, in his turn, reappearedamidst a stream of friends. He, for his part, was radiant, with a joywhich he sought to conceal, calming his friends in his desire not to cryvictory too soon. However, the eyes of the band glittered, like those ofa pack of hounds when the moment draws near for the offal of the quarryto be distributed. And even Mege also looked triumphant. He had all butoverthrown the ministry. That made another one that was worn out, andby-and-by he would wear out Vignon's, and at last govern in his turn. 

"The devil!" muttered little Massot, "Chaigneux and Duthil look likewhipped dogs. And see, there's nobody who is worth the governor. Justlook at him, how superb he is, that Fonsegue! But good-by, I must now beoff!"

Then he shook hands with his brother journalist unwilling as he was toremain any longer, although the sitting still continued, some bill ofpublic importance again being debated before the rows of empty seats. 

Chaigneux, with his desolate mien, had gone to lean against the pedestalof the high figure of Minerva; and never before had he been more boweddown by his needy distress, the everlasting anguish of his ill-luck. Onthe other hand, Duthil, in spite of everything, was perorating in thecentre of a group with an affectation of scoffing unconcern; neverthelessnervous twitches made his nose pucker and distorted his mouth, while thewhole of his handsome face was becoming moist with fear. And even asMassot had said, there really was only Fonsegue who showed composure andbravery, ever the same with his restless little figure, and his eyesbeaming with wit, though at times they were just faintly clouded by ashadow of uneasiness. 

Pierre had risen to renew his request; but Fonsegue forestalled him, vivaciously exclaiming: "No, no, Monsieur l'Abbe, I repeat that I cannottake on myself such an infraction of our rules. There was an inquiry, anda decision was arrived at. How would you have me over-rule it?"

"Monsieur, " said the priest, in a tone of deep grief, "it is a questionof an old man who is hungry and cold, and in danger of death if he be notsuccoured. "

With a despairing gesture, the director of "Le Globe" seemed to take thevery walls as witnesses of his powerlessness. No doubt he feared somenasty affair for his newspaper, in which he had abused the Invalids ofLabour enterprise as an electoral weapon. Perhaps, too, the secret terrorinto which the sitting of the Chamber had just thrown him was hardeninghis heart. "I can do nothing, " he repeated. "But naturally I don't askbetter than to have my hands forced by the ladies of the Committee. Youalready have the support of the Baroness Duvillard, secure that of someothers. "

Pierre, who was determined to fight on to the very end, saw in thissuggestion a supreme chance. "I know the Countess de Quinsac, " he said, "I can go to see her at once. "

"Quite so! an excellent idea, the Countess de Quinsac! Take a cab and goto see the Princess de Harn as well. She bestirs herself a great deal, and is becoming very influential. Secure the approval of these ladies, goback to the Baroness's at seven, get a letter from her to cover me, andthen call on me at the office of my paper. That done, your man shallsleep at the Asylum at nine o'clock!"

He evinced in speaking a kind of joyous good nature, as though he nolonger doubted of success now that he ran no risk of compromisinghimself. And great hope again came back to the priest: "Ah! thank you, monsieur, " he said; "it is a work of salvation that you will accomplish. "

"But you surely know that I ask nothing better. Ah! if we could only curemisery, prevent hunger and thirst by a mere word. However, make haste, you have not a minute to lose. "

They shook hands, and Pierre at once tried to get out of the throng. This, however, was no easy task, for the various groups had grown largeras all the anger and anguish, roused by the recent debate, ebbed backthere amid a confused tumult. It was as when a stone, cast into a pool, stirs the ooze below, and causes hidden, rotting things to rise once moreto the surface. And Pierre had to bring his elbows into play and force apassage athwart the throng, betwixt the shivering cowardice of some, theinsolent audacity of others, and the smirchings which sullied the greaternumber, given the contagion which inevitably prevailed. However, hecarried away a fresh hope, and it seemed to him that if he should save alife, make but one man happy that day, it would be like a firstinstalment of redemption, a sign that a little forgiveness would beextended to the many follies and errors of that egotistical andall-devouring political world. 

On reaching the vestibule a final incident detained him for a momentlonger. Some commotion prevailed there following upon a quarrel between aman and an usher, the latter of whom had prevented the former fromentering on finding that the admission ticket which he tendered was anold one, with its original date scratched out. The man, very rough at theoutset, had then refrained from insisting, as if indeed sudden timidityhad come upon him. And in this ill-dressed fellow Pierre was astonishedto recognise Salvat, the journeyman engineer, whom he had seen going offin search of work that same morning. This time it was certainly he, tall, thin and ravaged, with dreamy yet flaming eyes, which set his palestarveling's face aglow. He no longer carried his tool-bag; his raggedjacket was buttoned up and distended on the left side by something thathe carried in a pocket, doubtless some hunk of bread. And on beingrepulsed by the ushers, he walked away, taking the Concorde bridge, slowly, as if chancewise, like a man who knows not whither he is going. 

IV. SOCIAL SIDELIGHTS

IN her old faded drawing-room--a Louis Seize _salon_ with greywoodwork--the Countess de Quinsac sat near the chimney-piece in heraccustomed place. She was singularly like her son, with a long and nobleface, her chin somewhat stern, but her eyes still beautiful beneath herfine snowy hair, which was arranged in the antiquated style of her youth. And whatever her haughty coldness, she knew how to be amiable, withperfect, kindly graciousness. 

Slightly waving her hand after a long silence, she resumed, addressingherself to the Marquis de Morigny, who sat on the other side of thechimney, where for long years he had always taken the same armchair. "Ah!you are right, my friend, Providence has left us here forgotten, in amost abominable epoch. "

"Yes, we passed by the side of happiness and missed it, " the Marquisslowly replied, "and it was your fault, and doubtless mine as well. "

Smiling sadly, she stopped him with another wave of her hand. And thesilence fell once more; not a sound from the streets reached that gloomyground floor at the rear of the courtyard of an old mansion in the RueSt. Dominique, almost at the corner of the Rue de Bourgogne. 

The Marquis was an old man of seventy-five, nine years older than theCountess. Short and thin though he was, he none the less had adistinguished air, with his clean-shaven face, furrowed by deep, aristocratic wrinkles. He belonged to one of the most ancient families ofFrance, and remained one of the last hopeless Legitimists, of very pureand lofty views, zealously keeping his faith to the dead monarchy amidstthe downfall of everything. His fortune, still estimated at severalmillions of francs, remained, as it were, in a state of stagnation, through his refusal to invest it in any of the enterprises of thecentury. It was known that in all discretion he had loved the Countess, even when M. De Quinsac was alive, and had, moreover, offered marriageafter the latter's death, at the time when the widow had sought a refugeon that damp ground floor with merely an income of some 15, 000 francs, saved with great difficulty from the wreck of the family fortune. Butshe, who adored her son Gerard, then in his tenth year, and of delicatehealth, had sacrificed everything to the boy from a kind of maternalchasteness and a superstitious fear that she might lose him should sheset another affection and another duty in her life. And the Marquis, while bowing to her decision, had continued to worship her with his wholesoul, ever paying his court as on the first evening when he had seen her, still gallant and faithful after a quarter of a century had passed. Therehad never been anything between them, not even the exchange of a kiss. 

Seeing how sad she looked, he feared that he might have displeased her, and so he asked: "I should have liked to render you happy, but I didn'tknow how, and the fault can certainly only rest with me. Is Gerard givingyou any cause for anxiety?"

She shook her head, and then replied: "As long as things remain as theyare we cannot complain of them, my friend, since we accepted them. "

She referred to her son's culpable connection with Baroness Duvillard. She had ever shown much weakness with regard to that son whom she had hadso much trouble to rear, for she alone knew what exhaustion, what racialcollapse was hidden behind his proud bearing. She tolerated his idleness, the apathetic disgust which, man of pleasure that he was, had turned himfrom the profession of diplomacy as from that of arms. How many times hadshe not repaired his acts of folly and paid his petty debts, keepingsilent concerning them, and refusing all pecuniary help from the Marquis, who no longer dared offer his millions, so stubbornly intent she was onliving upon the remnants of her own fortune. And thus she had ended byclosing her eyes to her son's scandalous love intrigue, divining in somemeasure how things had happened, through self-abandonment and lack ofconscience--the man weak, unable to resume possession of himself, and thewoman holding and retaining him. The Marquis, however, strangely enough, had only forgiven the intrigue on the day when Eve had allowed herself tobe converted. 

"You know, my friend, how good-natured Gerard is, " the Countess resumed. "In that lie both his strength and weakness. How would you have me scoldhim when he weeps over it all with me? He will tire of that woman. "

M. De Morigny wagged his head. "She is still very beautiful, " said he. "And then there's the daughter. It would be graver still if he were tomarry her--"

"But the daughter's infirm?"

"Yes, and you know what would be said: A Quinsac marrying a monster forthe sake of her millions. "

This was their mutual terror. They knew everything that went on at theDuvillards, the affectionate friendship of the uncomely Camille and thehandsome Gerard, the seeming idyll beneath which lurked the most awful ofdramas. And they protested with all their indignation. "Oh! that, no, no, never!" the Countess declared. "My son in that family, no, I will neverconsent to it. "

Just at that moment General de Bozonnet entered. He was much attached tohis sister and came to keep her company on the days when she received, for the old circle had gradually dwindled down till now only a fewfaithful ones ventured into that grey gloomy _salon_, where one mighthave fancied oneself at thousands of leagues from present-day Paris. Andforthwith, in order to enliven the room, he related that he had been to_dejeuner_ at the Duvillards, and named the guests, Gerard among them. Heknew that he pleased his sister by going to the banker's house whence hebrought her news, a house, too, which he cleansed in some degree byconferring on it the great honour of his presence. And he himself in nowise felt bored there, for he had long been gained over to the centuryand showed himself of a very accommodating disposition in everything thatdid not pertain to military art. 

"That poor little Camille worships Gerard, " said he; "she was devouringhim with her eyes at table. "

But M. De Morigny gravely intervened: "There lies the danger, a marriagewould be absolutely monstrous from every point of view. "

The General seemed astonished: "Why, pray? She isn't beautiful, but it'snot only the beauties who marry! And there are her millions. However, ourdear child would only have to put them to a good use. True, there is alsothe mother; but, _mon Dieu_! such things are so common nowadays in Parissociety. "

This revolted the Marquis, who made a gesture of utter disgust. What wasthe use of discussion when all collapsed? How could one answer aBozonnet, the last surviving representative of such an illustriousfamily, when he reached such a point as to excuse the infamous moralsthat prevailed under the Republic; after denying his king, too, andserving the Empire, faithfully and passionately attaching himself to thefortunes and memory of Caesar? However, the Countess also becameindignant: "Oh! what are you saying, brother? I will never authorize sucha scandal, I swore so only just now. "

"Don't swear, sister, " exclaimed the General; "for my part I should liketo see our Gerard happy. That's all. And one must admit that he's notgood for much. I can understand that he didn't go into the Army, for thatprofession is done for. But I do not so well understand why he did notenter the diplomatic profession, or accept some other occupation. It isvery fine, no doubt, to run down the present times and declare that a manof our sphere cannot possibly do any clean work in them. But, as a matterof fact, it is only idle fellows who still say that. And Gerard has butone excuse, his lack of aptitude, will and strength. "

Tears had risen to the mother's eyes. She even trembled, well knowing howdeceitful were appearances: a mere chill might carry her son off, howevertall and strong he might look. And was he not indeed a symbol of thatold-time aristocracy, still so lofty and proud in appearance, though atbottom it is but dust?

"Well, " continued the General, "he's thirty-six now; he's constantlyhanging on your hands, and he must make an end of it all. "

However, the Countess silenced him and turned to the Marquis: "Let us putour confidence in God, my friend, " said she. "He cannot but come to myhelp, for I have never willingly offended Him. "

"Never!" replied the Marquis, who in that one word set an expression ofall his grief, all his affection and worship for that woman whom he hadadored for so many years. 

But another faithful friend came in and the conversation changed. M. DeLarombiere, Vice-President of the Appeal Court, was an old man ofseventy-five, thin, bald and clean shaven but for a pair of little whitewhiskers. And his grey eyes, compressed mouth and square and obstinatechin lent an expression of great austerity to his long face. The grief ofhis life was that, being afflicted with a somewhat childish lisp, he hadnever been able to make his full merits known when a public prosecutor, for he esteemed himself to be a great orator. And this secret worryrendered him morose. In him appeared an incarnation of that old royalistFrance which sulked and only served the Republic against its heart, thatold stern magistracy which closed itself to all evolution, to all newviews of things and beings. Of petty "gown" nobility, originally aLegitimist but now supporting Orleanism, he believed himself to be theone man of wisdom and logic in that _salon_, where he was very proud tomeet the Marquis. 

They talked of the last events; but with them political conversation wassoon exhausted, amounting as it did to a mere bitter condemnation of menand occurrences, for all three were of one mind as to the abominations ofthe Republican _regime_. They themselves, however, were only ruins, theremnants of the old parties now all but utterly powerless. The Marquisfor his part soared on high, yielding in nothing, ever faithful to thedead past; he was one of the last representatives of that lofty obstinate_noblesse_ which dies when it finds itself without an effort to escapeits fate. The judge, who at least had a pretender living, relied on amiracle, and demonstrated the necessity for one if France were not tosink into the depths of misfortune and completely disappear. And as forthe General, all that he regretted of the two Empires was their greatwars; he left the faint hope of a Bonapartist restoration on one side todeclare that by not contenting itself with the Imperial military system, and by substituting thereto obligatory service, the nation in arms, theRepublic had killed both warfare and the country. 

When the Countess's one man-servant came to ask her if she would consentto receive Abbe Froment she seemed somewhat surprised. "What can he wantof me? Show him in, " she said. 

She was very pious, and having met Pierre in connection with variouscharitable enterprises, she had been touched by his zeal as well as bythe saintly reputation which he owed to his Neuilly parishioners. 

He, absorbed by his fever, felt intimidated directly he crossed thethreshold. He could at first distinguish nothing, but fancied he wasentering some place of mourning, a shadowy spot where human forms seemedto melt away, and voices were never raised above a whisper. Then, onperceiving the persons present, he felt yet more out of his element, forthey seemed so sad, so far removed from the world whence he had justcome, and whither he was about to return. And when the Countess had madehim sit down beside her in front of the chimney-piece, it was in a lowvoice that he told her the lamentable story of Laveuve, and asked hersupport to secure the man's admittance to the Asylum for the Invalids ofLabour. 

"Ah! yes, " said she, "that enterprise which my son wished me to belongto. But, Monsieur l'Abbe, I have never once attended the Committeemeetings. So how could I intervene, having assuredly no influencewhatever?"

Again had the figures of Eve and Gerard arisen before her, for it was atthis asylum that the pair had first met. And influenced by her sorrowfulmaternal love she was already weakening, although it was regretfully thatshe had lent her name to one of those noisy charitable enterprises, whichpeople abused to further their selfish interests in a manner shecondemned. 

"But, madame, " Pierre insisted, "it is a question of a poor starving oldman. I implore you to be compassionate. "

Although the priest had spoken in a low voice the General drew near. "It's for your old revolutionary that you are running about, is it not, "said he. "Didn't you succeed with the manager, then? The fact is thatit's difficult to feel any pity for fellows who, if they were themasters, would, as they themselves say, sweep us all away. "

M. De Larombiere jerked his chin approvingly. For some time past he hadbeen haunted by the Anarchist peril. But Pierre, distressed andquivering, again began to plead his cause. He spoke of all the frightfulmisery, the homes where there was no food, the women and childrenshivering with cold, and the fathers scouring muddy, wintry Paris insearch of a bit of bread. All that he asked for was a line on a visitingcard, a kindly word from the Countess, which he would at once carry toBaroness Duvillard to prevail on her to set the regulations aside. Andhis words fell one by one, tremulous with stifled tears, in that mournful_salon_, like sounds from afar, dying away in a dead world where therewas no echo left. 

Madame de Quinsac turned towards M. De Morigny, but he seemed to take nointerest in it all. He was gazing fixedly at the fire, with the haughtyair of a stranger who was indifferent to the things and beings in whosemidst an error of time compelled him to live. But feeling that the glanceof the woman he worshipped was fixed upon him he raised his head; andthen their eyes met for a moment with an expression of infinitegentleness, the mournful gentleness of their heroic love. 

"_Mon Dieu_!" said she, "I know your merits, Monsieur l'Abbe, and I won'trefuse my help to one of your good works. "

Then she went off for a moment, and returned with a card on which she hadwritten that she supported with all her heart Monsieur l'Abbe Froment inthe steps he was taking. And he thanked her and went off delighted, as ifhe carried yet a fresh hope of salvation from that drawing-room where, ashe retired, gloom and silence once more seemed to fall on that old ladyand her last faithful friends gathered around the fire, last relics of aworld that was soon to disappear. 

Once outside, Pierre joyfully climbed into his cab again, after givingthe Princess de Harn's address in the Avenue Kleber. If he could alsoobtain her approval he would no longer doubt of success. However, therewas such a crush on the Concorde bridge, that the driver had to walk hishorse. And, on the foot-pavement, Pierre again saw Duthil, who, with acigar between his lips, was smiling at the crowd, with his amiablebird-like heedlessness, happy as he felt at finding the pavement dry andthe sky blue on leaving that worrying sitting of the Chamber. Seeing howgay and triumphant he looked, a sudden inspiration came to the priest, who said to himself that he ought to win over this young man, whosereport had had such a disastrous effect. As it happened, the cab havingbeen compelled to stop altogether, the deputy had just recognized him andwas smiling at him. 

"Where are you going, Monsieur Duthil?" Pierre asked. 

"Close by, in the Champs Elysees. "

"I'm going that way, and, as I should much like to speak to you for amoment, it would be very kind of you to take a seat beside me. I will setyou down wherever you like. "

"Willingly, Monsieur l'Abbe. It won't inconvenience you if I finish mycigar?"

"Oh! not at all. "

The cab found its way out of the crush, crossed the Place de la Concordeand began to ascend the Champs Elysees. And Pierre, reflecting that hehad very few minutes before him, at once attacked Duthil, quite ready forany effort to convince him. He remembered what a sortie the young deputyhad made against Laveuve at the Baron's; and thus he was astonished tohear him interrupt and say quite pleasantly, enlivened as he seemed bythe bright sun which was again beginning to shine: "Ah, yes! your olddrunkard! So you didn't settle his business with Fonsegue? And what is ityou want? To have him admitted to-day? Well, you know I don't oppose it?"

"But there's your report. "

"My report, oh, my report! But questions change according to the way onelooks at them. And if you are so anxious about your Laveuve I won'trefuse to help you. "

Pierre looked at him in astonishment, at bottom extremely well pleased. And there was no further necessity even for him to speak. 

"You didn't take the matter in hand properly, " continued Duthil, leaningforward with a confidential air. "It's the Baron who's the master athome, for reasons which you may divine, which you may very likely know. The Baroness does all that he asks without even discussing the point; andthis morning, --instead of starting on a lot of useless visits, you onlyhad to gain his support, particularly as he seemed to be very welldisposed. And she would then have given way immediately. " Duthil began tolaugh. "And so, " he continued, "do you know what I'll do? Well, I'll gainthe Baron over to your cause. Yes, I am this moment going to a housewhere he is, where one is certain to find him every day at this time. "Then he laughed more loudly. "And perhaps you are not ignorant of it, Monsieur l'Abbe. When he is there you may be certain he never gives arefusal. I promise you I'll make him swear that he will compel his wifeto grant your man admission this very evening. Only it will, perhaps, berather late. "

Then all at once, as if struck by a fresh idea, Duthil went on: "But whyshouldn't you come with me? You secure a line from the Baron, andthereupon, without losing a minute, you go in search of the Baroness. Ah!yes, the house embarrasses you a little, I understand it. Would you liketo see only the Baron there? You can wait for him in a little _salon_downstairs; I will bring him to you. "

This proposal made Duthil altogether merry, but Pierre, quite scared, hesitated at the idea of thus going to Silviane d'Aulnay's. It was hardlya place for him. However, to achieve his purpose, he would have descendedinto the very dwelling of the fiend, and had already done so sometimeswith Abbe Rose, when there was hope of assuaging wretchedness. So heturned to Duthil and consented to accompany him. 

Silviane d'Aulnay's little mansion, a very luxurious one, displaying, too, so to say, the luxury of a temple, refined but suggestive ofgallantry, stood in the Avenue d'Antin, near the Champs Elysees. Theinmate of this sanctuary, where the orfrays of old dalmaticas glitteredin the mauve reflections from the windows of stained-glass, had justcompleted her twenty-fifth year. Short and slim she was, of an adorable, dark beauty, and all Paris was acquainted with her delicious, virginalcountenance of a gentle oval, her delicate nose, her little mouth, hercandid cheeks and artless chin, above all which she wore her black hairin thick, heavy bands, which hid her low brow. Her notoriety was dueprecisely to her pretty air of astonishment, the infinite purity of herblue eyes, the whole expression of chaste innocence which she assumedwhen it so pleased her, an expression which contrasted powerfully withher true nature, shameless creature that she really was, of the mostmonstrous, confessed, and openly-displayed perversity; such as, in fact, often spring up from the rotting soil of great cities. Extraordinarythings were related about Silviane's tastes and fancies. Some said thatshe was a door-keeper's, others a doctor's, daughter. In any case she hadmanaged to acquire instruction and manners, for when occasion requiredshe lacked neither wit, nor style, nor deportment. She had been rollingthrough the theatres for ten years or so, applauded for her beauty'ssake, and she had even ended by obtaining some pretty little successes insuch parts as those of very pure young girls or loving and persecutedyoung women. Since there had been a question, though, of her entering theComedie Francaise to play the _role_ of Pauline in "Polyeucte, " somepeople had waxed indignant and others had roared with laughter, soridiculous did the idea appear, so outrageous for the majesty of classictragedy. She, however, quiet and stubborn, wished this thing to be, wasresolved that it should be, certain as she was that she would secure it, insolent like a creature to whom men had never yet been able to refuseanything. 

That day, at three o'clock, Gerard de Quinsac, not knowing how to killthe time pending the appointment he had given Eve in the Rue Matignon, had thought of calling at Silviane's, which was in the neighbourhood. Shewas an old caprice of his, and even nowadays he would sometimes linger atthe little mansion if its pretty mistress felt bored. But he had thistime found her in a fury; and, reclining in one of the deep armchairs ofthe _salon_ where "old gold" formed the predominant colour, he waslistening to her complaints. She, standing in a white gown, white indeedfrom head to foot like Eve herself at the _dejeuner_, was speakingpassionately, and fast convincing the young man, who, won over by so muchyouth and beauty, unconsciously compared her to his other flame, wearyalready of his coming assignation, and so mastered by supineness, bothmoral and physical, that he would have preferred to remain all day in thedepths of that armchair. 

"You hear me, Gerard!" she at last exclaimed, "I'll have nothing whateverto do with him, unless he brings me my nomination. "

Just then Baron Duvillard came in, and forthwith she changed to ice andreceived him like some sorely offended young queen who awaits anexplanation; whilst he, who foresaw the storm and brought moreoverdisastrous tidings, forced a smile, though very ill at ease. She was thestain, the blemish attaching to that man who was yet so sturdy and sopowerful amidst the general decline of his race. And she was also thebeginning of justice and punishment, taking all his piled-up gold fromhim by the handful, and by her cruelty avenging those who shivered andwho starved. And it was pitiful to see that feared and flattered man, beneath whom states and governments trembled, here turn pale withanxiety, bend low in all humility, and relapse into the senile, lispinginfancy of acute passion. 

"Ah! my dear friend, " said he, "if you only knew how I have been rushingabout. I had a lot of worrying business, some contractors to see, a bigadvertisement affair to settle, and I feared that I should never be ableto come and kiss your hand. "

He kissed it, but she let her arm fall, coldly, indifferently, contentingherself with looking at him, waiting for what he might have to say toher, and embarrassing him to such a point that he began to perspire andstammer, unable to express himself. "Of course, " he began, "I alsothought of you, and went to the Fine Arts Office, where I had received apositive promise. Oh! they are still very much in your favour at the FineArts Office! Only, just fancy, it's that idiot of a minister, thatTaboureau, * an old professor from the provinces who knows nothing aboutour Paris, that has expressly opposed your nomination, saying that aslong as he is in office you shall not appear at the Comedie. "

 * Taboureau is previously described as Minister of Public Instruction. It should be pointed out, however, that although under the present Republic the Ministries of Public Instruction and Fine Arts have occasionally been distinct departments, at other times they have been united, one minister, as in Taboureau's case, having charge of both. --Trans. 

Erect and rigid, she spoke but two words: "And then?"

"And then--well, my dear, what would you have me do? One can't after alloverthrow a ministry to enable you to play the part of Pauline. "

"Why not?"

He pretended to laugh, but his blood rushed to his face, and the whole ofhis sturdy figure quivered with anguish. "Come, my little Silviane, " saidhe, "don't be obstinate. You can be so nice when you choose. Give up theidea of that _debut_. You, yourself, would risk a great deal in it, forwhat would be your worries if you were to fail? You would weep all thetears in your body. And besides, you can ask me for so many other thingswhich I should be so happy to give you. Come now, at once, make a wishand I will gratify it immediately. "

In a frolicsome way he sought to take her hand again. But she drew backwith an air of much dignity. "No, you hear me, my dear fellow, I willhave nothing whatever to do with you--nothing, so long as I don't playPauline. "

He understood her fully, and he knew her well enough to realise howrigorously she would treat him. Only a kind of grunt came from hiscontracted throat, though he still tried to treat the matter in a jestingway. "Isn't she bad-tempered to-day!" he resumed at last, turning towardsGerard. "What have you done to her that I find her in such a state?"

But the young man, who kept very quiet for fear lest he himself might bebespattered in the course of the dispute, continued to stretch himselfout in a languid way and gave no answer. 

But Silviane's anger burst forth. "What has he done to me? He has pitiedme for being at the mercy of such a man as you--so egotistical, soinsensible to the insults heaped upon me. Ought you not to be the firstto bound with indignation? Ought you not to have exacted my admittance tothe Comedie as a reparation for the insult? For, after all, it is adefeat for you; if I'm considered unworthy, you are struck at the sametime as I am. And so I'm a drab, eh? Say at once that I'm a creature tobe driven away from all respectable houses. "

She went on in this style, coming at last to vile words, the abominablewords which, in moments of anger, always ended by returning to herinnocent-looking lips. The Baron, who well knew that a syllable from himwould only increase the foulness of the overflow, vainly turned animploring glance on the Count to solicit his intervention. Gerard, withhis keen desire for peace and quietness, often brought about areconciliation, but this time he did not stir, feeling too lazy andsleepy to interfere. And Silviane all at once came to a finish, repeatingher trenchant, severing words: "Well, manage as you can, secure my_debut_, or I'll have nothing more to do with you, nothing!"

"All right! all right!" Duvillard at last murmured, sneering, but indespair, "we'll arrange it all. "

However, at that moment a servant came in to say that M. Duthil wasdownstairs and wished to speak to the Baron in the smoking-room. Duvillard was astonished at this, for Duthil usually came up as thoughthe house were his own. Then he reflected that the deputy had doubtlessbrought him some serious news from the Chamber which he wished to impartto him confidentially at once. So he followed the servant, leaving Gerardand Silviane together. 

In the smoking-room, an apartment communicating with the hall by a widebay, the curtain of which was drawn up, Pierre stood with his companion, waiting and glancing curiously around him. What particularly struck himwas the almost religious solemnness of the entrance, the heavy hangings, the mystic gleams of the stained-glass, the old furniture steeped inchapel-like gloom amidst scattered perfumes of myrrh and incense. Duthil, who was still very gay, tapped a low divan with his cane and said: "Shehas a nicely-furnished house, eh? Oh! she knows how to look after herinterests. "

Then the Baron came in, still quite upset and anxious. And without evenperceiving the priest, desirous as he was of tidings, he began: "Well, what did they do? Is there some very bad news, then?"

"Mege interpellated and applied for a declaration of urgency so as tooverthrow Barroux. You can imagine what his speech was. "

"Yes, yes, against the _bourgeois_, against me, against you. It's alwaysthe same thing--And then?"

"Then--well, urgency wasn't voted, but, in spite of a very fine defence, Barroux only secured a majority of two votes. "

"Two votes, the devil! Then he's down, and we shall have a Vignonministry next week. "

"That's what everybody said in the lobbies. "

The Baron frowned, as if he were estimating what good or evil mightresult to the world from such a change. Then, with a gesture ofdispleasure, he said: "A Vignon ministry! The devil! that would hardly beany better. Those young democrats pretend to be virtuous, and a Vignonministry wouldn't admit Silviane to the Comedie. "

This, at first, was his only thought in presence of the crisis which madethe political world tremble. And so the deputy could not refrain fromreferring to his own anxiety. "Well, and we others, what is our positionin it all?"

This brought Duvillard back to the situation. With a fresh gesture, thistime a superbly proud one, he expressed his full and impudent confidence. "We others, why we remain as we are; we've never been in peril, Iimagine. Oh! I am quite at ease. Sagnier can publish his famous list ifit amuses him to do so. If we haven't long since bought Sagnier and hislist, it's because Barroux is a thoroughly honest man, and for my part Idon't care to throw money out of the window--I repeat to you that we fearnothing. "

Then, as he at last recognised Abbe Froment, who had remained in theshade, Duthil explained what service the priest desired of him. AndDuvillard, in his state of emotion, his heart still rent by Silviane'ssternness, must have felt a covert hope that a good action might bringhim luck; so he at once consented to intervene in favour of Laveuve'sadmission. Taking a card and a pencil from his pocket-book he drew nearto the window. "Oh! whatever you desire, Monsieur l'Abbe, " he said, "Ishall be very happy to participate in this good work. Here, this is whatI have written: 'My dear, please do what M. L'Abbe Froment solicits infavour of this unfortunate man, since our friend Fonsegue only awaits aword from you to take proper steps. '"

At this moment through the open bay Pierre caught sight of Gerard, whomSilviane, calm once more, and inquisitive no doubt to know why Duthil hadcalled, was escorting into the hall. And the sight of the young womanfilled him with astonishment, so simple and gentle did she seem to him, full of the immaculate candour of a virgin. Never had he dreamt of a lilyof more unobtrusive yet delicious bloom in the whole garden of innocence. 

"Now, " continued Duvillard, "if you wish to hand this card to my wife atonce, you must go to the Princess de Harn's, where there is a_matinee_--"

"I was going there, Monsieur le Baron. "

"Very good. You will certainly find my wife there; she is to take thechildren there. " Then he paused, for he too had just seen Gerard; and hecalled him: "I say, Gerard, my wife said that she was going to that_matinee_, didn't she? You feel sure--don't you?--that Monsieur l'Abbewill find her there?"

Although the young man was then going to the Rue Matignon, there to waitfor Eve, it was in the most natural manner possible that he replied: "IfMonsieur l'Abbe makes haste, I think he will find her there, for she wascertainly going there before trying on a corsage at Salmon's. "

Then he kissed Silviane's hand, and went off with the air of a handsome, indolent man, who knows no malice, and is even weary of pleasure. 

Pierre, feeling rather embarrassed, was obliged to let Duvillardintroduce him to the mistress of the house. He bowed in silence, whilstshe, likewise silent, returned his bow with modest reserve, the tactappropriate to the occasion, such as no _ingenue_, even at the Comedie, was then capable of. And while the Baron accompanied the priest to thedoor, she returned to the _salon_ with Duthil, who was scarcely screenedby the door-curtain before he passed his arm round her waist. 

When Pierre, who at last felt confident of success, found himself, stillin his cab, in front of the Princess de Harn's mansion in the AvenueKleber, he suddenly relapsed into great embarrassment. The avenue wascrowded with carriages brought thither by the musical _matinee_, and sucha throng of arriving guests pressed round the entrance, decorated with akind of tent with scallopings of red velvet, that he deemed the houseunapproachable. How could he manage to get in? And how in his cassockcould he reach the Princess, and ask for a minute's conversation withBaroness Duvillard? Amidst all his feverishness he had not thought ofthese difficulties. However, he was approaching the door on foot, askinghimself how he might glide unperceived through the throng, when the soundof a merry voice made him turn: "What, Monsieur l'Abbe! Is it possible!So now I find you here!"

It was little Massot who spoke. He went everywhere, witnessed ten sightsa day, --a parliamentary sitting, a funeral, a wedding, any festive ormourning scene, --when he wanted a good subject for an article. "What!Monsieur l'Abbe, " he resumed, "and so you have come to our amiablePrincess's to see the Mauritanians dance!"

He was jesting, for the so-called Mauritanians were simply six Spanishdancing-girls, who by the sensuality of their performance were thenmaking all Paris rush to the Folies-Bergere. For drawing-roomentertainments these girls reserved yet more indecorous dances--dances ofsuch a character indeed that they would certainly not have been allowedin a theatre. And the _beau monde_ rushed to see them at the houses ofthe bolder lady-entertainers, the eccentric and foreign ones like thePrincess, who in order to draw society recoiled from no "attraction. "

But when Pierre had explained to little Massot that he was still runningabout on the same business, the journalist obligingly offered to pilothim. He knew the house, obtained admittance by a back door, and broughtPierre along a passage into a corner of the hall, near the very entranceof the grand drawing-room. Lofty green plants decorated this hall, and inthe spot selected Pierre was virtually hidden. "Don't stir, my dearAbbe, " said Massot, "I will try to ferret out the Princess for you. Andyou shall know if Baroness Duvillard has already arrived. "

What surprised Pierre was that every window-shutter of the mansion wasclosed, every chink stopped up so that daylight might not enter, and thatevery room flared with electric lamps, an illumination of supernaturalintensity. The heat was already very great, the atmosphere heavy with aviolent perfume of flowers and _odore di femina_. And to Pierre, who feltboth blinded and stifled, it seemed as if he were entering one of thoseluxurious, unearthly Dens of the Flesh such as the pleasure-world ofParis conjures from dreamland. By rising on tiptoes, as the drawing-roomentrance was wide open, he could distinguish the backs of the women whowere already seated, rows of necks crowned with fair or dark hair. TheMauritanians were doubtless executing their first dance. He did not seethem, but he could divine the lascivious passion of the dance from thequiver of all those women's necks, which swayed as beneath a great gustof wind. Then laughter arose and a tempest of bravos, quite a tumult ofenjoyment. 

"I can't put my hand on the Princess; you must wait a little, " Massotreturned to say. "I met Janzen and he promised to bring her to me. Don'tyou know Janzen?"

Then, in part because his profession willed it, and in part forpleasure's sake, he began to gossip. The Princess was a good friend ofhis. He had described her first _soiree_ during the previous year, whenshe had made her _debut_ at that mansion on her arrival in Paris. He knewthe real truth about her so far as it could be known. Rich? yes, perhapsshe was, for she spent enormous sums. Married she must have been, and toa real prince, too; no doubt she was still married to him, in spite ofher story of widowhood. Indeed, it seemed certain that her husband, whowas as handsome as an archangel, was travelling about with a vocalist. Asfor having a bee in her bonnet that was beyond discussion, as clear asnoonday. Whilst showing much intelligence, she constantly and suddenlyshifted. Incapable of any prolonged effort, she went from one thing thathad awakened her curiosity to another, never attaching herself anywhere. After ardently busying herself with painting, she had lately becomeimpassioned for chemistry, and was now letting poetry master her. 

"And so you don't know Janzen, " continued Massot. "It was he who threwher into chemistry, into the study of explosives especially, for, as youmay imagine, the only interest in chemistry for her is its connectionwith Anarchism. She, I think, is really an Austrian, though one mustalways doubt anything she herself says. As for Janzen, he calls himself aRussian, but he's probably German. Oh! he's the most unobtrusive, enigmatical man in the world, without a home, perhaps without a name--aterrible fellow with an unknown past. I myself hold proofs which make methink that he took part in that frightful crime at Barcelona. At allevents, for nearly a year now I've been meeting him in Paris, where thepolice no doubt are watching him. And nothing can rid me of the idea thathe merely consented to become our lunatic Princess's lover in order tothrow the detectives off the scent. He affects to live in the midst of_fetes_, and he has introduced to the house some extraordinary people, Anarchists of all nationalities and all colours--for instance, oneRaphanel, that fat, jovial little man yonder, a Frenchman he is, and hiscompanions would do well to mistrust him. Then there's a Bergaz, aSpaniard, I think, an obscure jobber at the Bourse, whose sensual, blobber-lipped mouth is so disquieting. And there are others and others, adventurers and bandits from the four corners of the earth!... Ah! theforeign colonies of our Parisian pleasure-world! There are a few spotlessfine names, a few real great fortunes among them, but as for the rest, ah! what a herd!"

Rosemonde's own drawing-room was summed up in those words: resoundingtitles, real millionaires, then, down below, the most extravagant medleyof international imposture and turpitude. And Pierre thought of thatinternationalism, that cosmopolitanism, that flight of foreigners which, ever denser and denser, swooped down upon Paris. Most certainly it camethither to enjoy it, as to a city of adventure and delight, and it helpedto rot it a little more. Was it then a necessary thing, thatdecomposition of the great cities which have governed the world, thataffluxion of every passion, every desire, every gratification, thataccumulation of reeking soil from all parts of the world, there where, inbeauty and intelligence, blooms the flower of civilisation?

However, Janzen appeared, a tall, thin fellow of about thirty, very fairwith grey, pale, harsh eyes, and a pointed beard and flowing curly hairwhich elongated his livid, cloudy face. He spoke indifferent French in alow voice and without a gesture. And he declared that the Princess couldnot be found; he had looked for her everywhere. Possibly, if somebody haddispleased her, she had shut herself up in her room and gone to bed, leaving her guests to amuse themselves in all freedom in whatever waythey might choose. 

"Why, but here she is!" suddenly said Massot. 

Rosemonde was indeed there, in the vestibule, watching the door as if sheexpected somebody. Short, slight, and strange rather than pretty, withher delicate face, her sea-green eyes, her small quivering nose, herrather large and over-ruddy mouth, which was parted so that one could seeher superb teeth, she that day wore a sky-blue gown spangled with silver;and she had silver bracelets on her arms and a silver circlet in her palebrown hair, which rained down in curls and frizzy, straggling locks asthough waving in a perpetual breeze. 

"Oh! whatever you desire, Monsieur l'Abbe, " she said to Pierre as soon asshe knew his business. "If they don't take your old man in at our asylum, send him to me, I'll take him, I will; I will sleep him somewhere here. "

Still, she remained disturbed, and continually glanced towards the door. And on the priest asking if Baroness Duvillard had yet arrived, "Why no!"she cried, "and I am much surprised at it. She is to bring her son anddaughter. Yesterday, Hyacinthe positively promised me that he wouldcome. "

There lay her new caprice. If her passion for chemistry was giving way toa budding taste for decadent, symbolical verse, it was because oneevening, whilst discussing Occultism with Hyacinthe, she had discoveredan extraordinary beauty in him: the astral beauty of Nero's wanderingsoul! At least, said she, the signs of it were certain. 

And all at once she quitted Pierre: "Ah, at last!" she cried, feelingrelieved and happy. Then she darted forward: Hyacinthe was coming in withhis sister Camille. 

On the very threshold, however, he had just met the friend on whoseaccount he was there, young Lord George Eldrett, a pale and languidstripling with the hair of a girl; and he scarcely condescended to noticethe tender greeting of Rosemonde, for he professed to regard woman as animpure and degrading creature. Distressed by such coldness, she followedthe two young men, returning in their rear into the reeking, blindingfurnace of the drawing-room. 

Massot, however, had been obliging enough to stop Camille and bring herto Pierre, who at the first words they exchanged relapsed into despair. "What, mademoiselle, has not madame your mother accompanied you here?"

The girl, clad according to her wont in a dark gown, this time ofpeacock-blue, was nervous, with wicked eyes and sibilant voice. And asshe ragefully drew up her little figure, her deformity, her left shoulderhigher than the right one, became more apparent than ever. "No, " sherejoined, "she was unable. She had something to try on at herdressmaker's. We stopped too long at the Exposition du Lis, and sherequested us to set her down at Salmon's door on our way here. "

It was Camille herself who had skilfully prolonged the visit to the artshow, still hoping to prevent her mother from meeting Gerard. And herrage arose from the ease with which her mother had got rid of her, thanksto that falsehood of having something to try on. 

"But, " ingenuously said Pierre, "if I went at once to this person Salmon, I might perhaps be able to send up my card. "

Camille gave a shrill laugh, so funny did the idea appear to her. Thenshe retorted: "Oh! who knows if you would still find her there? She hadanother pressing appointment, and is no doubt already keeping it!"

"Well, then, I will wait for her here. She will surely come to fetch you, will she not?"

"Fetch us? Oh no! since I tell you that she has other important affairsto attend to. The carriage will take us home alone, my brother and I. "

Increasing bitterness was infecting the girl's pain-fraught irony. Did henot understand her then, that priest who asked such naive questions whichwere like dagger-thrusts in her heart? Yet he must know, since everybodyknew the truth. 

"Ah! how worried I am, " Pierre resumed, so grieved indeed that tearsalmost came to his eyes. "It's still on account of that poor man aboutwhom I have been busying myself since this morning. I have a line fromyour father, and Monsieur Gerard told me--" But at this point he pausedin confusion, and amidst all his thoughtlessness of the world, absorbedas he was in the one passion of charity, he suddenly divined the truth. "Yes, " he added mechanically, "I just now saw your father again withMonsieur de Quinsac. "

"I know, I know, " replied Camille, with the suffering yet scoffing air ofa girl who is ignorant of nothing. "Well, Monsieur l'Abbe, if you have aline from papa for mamma, you must wait till mamma has finished herbusiness. You might come to the house about six o'clock, but I doubt ifyou'll find her there, as she may well be detained. "

While Camille thus spoke, her murderous eyes glistened, and each word sheuttered, simple as it seemed, became instinct with ferocity, as if itwere a knife, which she would have liked to plunge into her mother'sbreast. In all certainty she had never before hated her mother to such apoint as this in her envy of her beauty and her happiness in being loved. And the irony which poured from the girl's virgin lips, before thatsimple priest, was like a flood of mire with which she sought to submergeher rival. 

Just then, however, Rosemonde came back again, feverish and flurried asusual. And she led Camille away: "Ah, my dear, make haste. They areextraordinary, delightful, intoxicating!"

Janzen and little Massot also followed the Princess. All the men hastenedfrom the adjoining rooms, scrambled and plunged into the _salon_ at thenews that the Mauritanians had again begun to dance. That time it musthave been the frantic, lascivious gallop that Paris whispered about, forPierre saw the rows of necks and heads, now fair, now dark, wave andquiver as beneath a violent wind. With every window-shutter closed, theconflagration of the electric lamps turned the place into a perfectbrazier, reeking with human effluvia. And there came a spell of rapture, fresh laughter and bravos, all the delight of an overflowing orgy. 

When Pierre again found himself on the footwalk, he remained for a momentbewildered, blinking, astonished to be in broad daylight once more. Half-past four would soon strike, but he had nearly two hours to waitbefore calling at the house in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy. What should hedo? He paid his driver; preferring to descend the Champs Elysees on foot, since he had some time to lose. A walk, moreover, might calm the feverwhich was burning his hands, in the passion of charity which ever sincethe morning had been mastering him more and more, in proportion as heencountered fresh and fresh obstacles. He now had but one pressingdesire, to complete his good work, since success henceforth seemedcertain. And he tried to restrain his steps and walk leisurely down themagnificent avenue, which had now been dried by the bright sun, and wasenlivened by a concourse of people, while overhead the sky was againblue, lightly blue, as in springtime. 

Nearly two hours to lose while, yonder, the wretched Laveuve lay withlife ebbing from him on his bed of rags, in his icy den. Sudden feelingsof revolt, of well-nigh irresistible impatience ascended from Pierre'sheart, making him quiver with desire to run off and at once find BaronessDuvillard so as to obtain from her the all-saving order. He felt surethat she was somewhere near, in one of those quiet neighbouring streets, and great was his perturbation, his grief-fraught anger at having to waitin this wise to save a human life until she should have attended to thoseaffairs of hers, of which her daughter spoke with such murderous glances!He seemed to hear a formidable cracking, the family life of the_bourgeoisie_ was collapsing: the father was at a hussy's house, themother with a lover, the son and daughter knew everything; the formergliding to idiotic perversity, the latter enraged and dreaming ofstealing her mother's lover to make a husband of him. And meantime thesplendid equipages descended the triumphal avenue, and the crowd with itsluxury flowed along the sidewalks, one and all joyous and superb, seemingly with no idea that somewhere at the far end there was a gapingabyss wherein everyone of them would fall and be annihilated!

When Pierre got as far as the Summer Circus he was much surprised atagain seeing Salvat, the journeyman engineer, on one of the avenue seats. He must have sunk down there, overcome by weariness and hunger, aftermany a vain search. However, his jacket was still distended by somethinghe carried in or under it, some bit of bread, no doubt, which he meant totake home with him. And leaning back, with his arms hanging listlessly, he was watching with dreamy eyes the play of some very little children, who, with the help of their wooden spades, were laboriously raisingmounds of sand, and then destroying them by dint of kicks. As he lookedat them his red eyelids moistened, and a very gentle smile appeared onhis poor discoloured lips. This time Pierre, penetrated by disquietude, wished to approach and question him. But Salvat distrustfully rose andwent off towards the Circus, where a concert was drawing to a close; andhe prowled around the entrance of that festive edifice in which twothousand happy people were heaped up together listening to music. 

V. FROM RELIGION TO ANARCHY

AS Pierre was reaching the Place de la Concorde he suddenly rememberedthe appointment which Abbe Rose had given him for five o'clock at theMadeleine, and which he was forgetting in the feverishness born of hisrepeated steps to save Laveuve. And at thought of it he hastened on, wellpleased at having this appointment to occupy and keep him patient. 

When he entered the church he was surprised to find it so dark. Therewere only a few candles burning, huge shadows were flooding the nave, andamidst the semi-obscurity a very loud, clear voice spoke on with aceaseless streaming of words. All that one could at first distinguish ofthe numerous congregation was a pale, vague mass of heads, motionlesswith extreme attention. In the pulpit stood Monseigneur Martha, finishinghis third address on the New Spirit. The two former ones had re-echoedfar and wide, and so what is called "all Paris" was there--women ofsociety, politicians, and writers, who were captivated by the speaker'sartistic oratory, his warm, skilful language, and his broad, easygestures, worthy of a great actor. 

Pierre did not wish to disturb the solemn attention, the quiveringsilence above which the prelate's voice alone rang out. Accordingly heresolved to wait before seeking Abbe Rose, and remained standing near apillar. A parting gleam of daylight fell obliquely on Monseigneur Martha, who looked tall and sturdy in his white surplice, and scarcely showed agrey hair, although he was more than fifty. He had handsome features:black, keen eyes, a commanding nose, a mouth and chin of the greatestfirmness of contour. What more particularly struck one, however, whatgained the heart of every listener, was the expression of extremeamiability and anxious sympathy which ever softened the imperioushaughtiness of the prelate's face. 

Pierre had formerly known him as Cure, or parish priest, of Ste. Clotilde. He was doubtless of Italian origin, but he had been born inParis, and had quitted the seminary of St. Sulpice with the best possiblerecord. Very intelligent and very ambitious, he had evinced an activitywhich even made his superiors anxious. Then, on being appointed Bishop ofPersepolis, he had disappeared, gone to Rome, where he had spent fiveyears engaged in work of which very little was known. However, since hisreturn he had been astonishing Paris by his brilliant propaganda, busyinghimself with the most varied affairs, and becoming much appreciated andvery powerful at the archiepiscopal residence. He devoted himself inparticular, and with wonderful results, to the task of increasing thesubscriptions for the completion of the basilica of the Sacred Heart. Herecoiled from nothing, neither from journeys, nor lectures, norcollections, nor applications to Government, nor even endeavours amongIsraelites and Freemasons. And at last, again enlarging his sphere ofaction, he had undertaken to reconcile Science with Catholicism, and tobring all Christian France to the Republic, on all sides expounding thepolicy of Pope Leo XIII. , in order that the Church might finally triumph. 

However, in spite of the advances of this influential and amiable man, Pierre scarcely liked him. He only felt grateful to him for one thing, the appointment of good Abbe Rose as curate at St. Pierre de Montmartre, which appointment he had secured for him no doubt in order to preventsuch a scandal as the punishment of an old priest for showing himself toocharitable. On thus finding and hearing the prelate speak in thatrenowned pulpit of the Madeleine, still and ever pursuing his work ofconquest, Pierre remembered how he had seen him at the Duvillards' duringthe previous spring, when, with his usual _maestria_, he had achieved hisgreatest triumph--the conversion of Eve to Catholicism. That church, too, had witnessed her baptism, a wonderfully pompous ceremony, a perfect galaoffered to the public which figures in all the great events of Parisianlife. Gerard had knelt down, moved to tears, whilst the Baron triumphedlike a good-natured husband who was happy to find religion establishingperfect harmony in his household. It was related among the spectatorsthat Eve's family, and particularly old Justus Steinberger, her father, was not in reality much displeased by the affair. The old man sneeringlyremarked, indeed, that he knew his daughter well enough to wish her tobelong to his worst enemy. In the banking business there is a class ofsecurity which one is pleased to see discounted by one's rivals. With thestubborn hope of triumph peculiar to his race, Justus, consoling himselffor the failure of his first scheme, doubtless considered that Eve wouldprove a powerful dissolving agent in the Christian family which she hadentered, and thus help to make all wealth and power fall into the handsof the Jews. 

However, Pierre's vision faded. Monseigneur Martha's voice was risingwith increase of volume, celebrating, amidst the quivering of thecongregation, the benefits that would accrue from the New Spirit, whichwas at last about to pacify France and restore her to her due rank andpower. Were there not certain signs of this resurrection on every hand?The New Spirit was the revival of the Ideal, the protest of the soulagainst degrading materialism, the triumph of spirituality over filthyliterature; and it was also Science accepted, but set in its properplace, reconciled with Faith, since it no longer pretended to encroach onthe latter's sacred domain; and it was further the Democracy welcomed infatherly fashion, the Republic legitimated, recognised in her turn asEldest Daughter of the Church. A breath of poetry passed by. The Churchopened her heart to all her children, there would henceforth be butconcord and delight if the masses, obedient to the New Spirit, would givethemselves to the Master of love as they had given themselves to theirkings, recognising that the Divinity was the one unique power, absolutesovereign of both body and soul. 

Pierre was now listening attentively, wondering where it was that he hadpreviously heard almost identical words. And suddenly he remembered; andcould fancy that he was again at Rome, listening to the last words ofMonsignor Nani, the Assessor of the Holy Office. Here, again, he foundthe dream of a democratic Pope, ceasing to support the compromisedmonarchies, and seeking to subdue the masses. Since Caesar was down, ornearly so, might not the Pope realise the ancient ambition of hisforerunners and become both emperor and pontiff, the sovereign, universaldivinity on earth? This, too, was the dream in which Pierre himself, withapostolic naivete, had indulged when writing his book, "New Rome": adream from which the sight of the real Rome had so roughly roused him. Atbottom it was merely a policy of hypocritical falsehood, the priestlypolicy which relies on time, and is ever tenacious, carrying on the workof conquest with extraordinary suppleness, resolved to profit byeverything. And what an evolution it was, the Church of Rome makingadvances to Science, to the Democracy, to the Republican _regimes_, convinced that it would be able to devour them if only it were allowedthe time! Ah! yes, the New Spirit was simply the Old Spirit ofDomination, incessantly reviving and hungering to conquer and possess theworld. 

Pierre thought that he recognised among the congregation certain deputieswhom he had seen at the Chamber. Wasn't that tall gentleman with the fairbeard, who listened so devoutly, one of Monferrand's creatures? It wassaid that Monferrand, once a devourer of priests, was now smilinglycoquetting with the clergy. Quite an underhand evolution was beginning inthe sacristies, orders from Rome flitted hither and thither; it was aquestion of accepting the new form of government, and absorbing it bydint of invasion. France was still the Eldest Daughter of the Church, theonly great nation which had sufficient health and strength to place thePope in possession of his temporal power once more. So France must bewon; it was well worth one's while to espouse her, even if she wereRepublican. In the eager struggle of ambition the bishop made use of theminister, who thought it to his interest to lean upon the bishop. Butwhich of the two would end by devouring the other? And to what a _role_had religion sunk: an electoral weapon, an element in a parliamentarymajority, a decisive, secret reason for obtaining or retaining aministerial portfolio! Of divine charity, the basis of religion, therewas no thought, and Pierre's heart filled with bitterness as heremembered the recent death of Cardinal Bergerot, the last of the greatsaints and pure minds of the French episcopacy, among which there nowseemed to be merely a set of intriguers and fools. 

However, the address was drawing to a close. In a glowing peroration, which evoked the basilica of the Sacred Heart dominating Paris with thesaving symbol of the Cross from the sacred Mount of the Martyrs, *Monseigneur Martha showed that great city of Paris Christian once moreand master of the world, thanks to the moral omnipotence conferred uponit by the divine breath of the New Spirit. Unable to applaud, thecongregation gave utterance to a murmur of approving rapture, delightedas it was with this miraculous finish which reassured both pocket andconscience. Then Monseigneur Martha quitted the pulpit with a noble step, whilst a loud noise of chairs broke upon the dark peacefulness of thechurch, where the few lighted candles glittered like the first stars inthe evening sky. A long stream of men, vague, whispering shadows, glidedaway. The women alone remained, praying on their knees. 

 * Montmartre. 

Pierre, still in the same spot, was rising on tip-toes, looking for AbbeRose, when a hand touched him. It was that of the old priest, who hadseen him from a distance. "I was yonder near the pulpit, " said he, "and Isaw you plainly, my dear child. Only I preferred to wait so as to disturbnobody. What a beautiful address dear Monseigneur delivered!"

He seemed, indeed, much moved. But there was deep sadness about hiskindly mouth and clear childlike eyes, whose smile as a rule illuminedhis good, round white face. "I was afraid you might go off without seeingme, " he resumed, "for I have something to tell you. You know that poorold man to whom I sent you this morning and in whom I asked you tointerest yourself? Well, on getting home I found a lady there, whosometimes brings me a little money for my poor. Then I thought to myselfthat the three francs I gave you were really too small a sum, and as thethought worried me like a kind of remorse, I couldn't resist the impulse, but went this afternoon to the Rue des Saules myself. "

He lowered his voice from a feeling of respect, in order not to disturbthe deep, sepulchral silence of the church. Covert shame, moreover, impeded his utterance, shame at having again relapsed into the sin ofblind, imprudent charity, as his superiors reproachfully said. And, quivering, he concluded in a very low voice indeed: "And so, my child, picture my grief. I had five francs more to give the poor old man, and Ifound him dead. "

Pierre suddenly shuddered. But he was unwilling to understand: "What, dead!" he cried. "That old man dead! Laveuve dead?"

"Yes, I found him dead--ah! amidst what frightful wretchedness, like anold animal that has laid itself down for the finish on a heap of rags inthe depths of a hole. No neighbours had assisted him in his last moments;he had simply turned himself towards the wall. And ah! how bare and coldand deserted it was! And what a pang for a poor creature to go off likethat without a word, a caress. Ah! my heart bounded within me and it isstill bleeding!"

Pierre in his utter amazement at first made but a gesture of revoltagainst imbecile social cruelty. Had the bread left near the unfortunatewretch, and devoured too eagerly, perhaps, after long days of abstinence, been the cause of his death? Or was not this rather the fatal_denouement_ of an ended life, worn away by labour and privation?However, what did the cause signify? Death had come and delivered thepoor man. "It isn't he that I pity, " Pierre muttered at last; "it iswe--we who witness all that, we who are guilty of these abominations. "

But good Abbe Rose was already becoming resigned, and would only think offorgiveness and hope. "No, no, my child, rebellion is evil. If we are allguilty we can only implore Providence to forget our faults. I had givenyou an appointment here hoping for good news; and it's I who come to tellyou of that frightful thing. Let us be penitent and pray. "

Then he knelt upon the flagstones near the pillar, in the rear of thepraying women, who looked black and vague in the gloom. And he inclinedhis white head, and for a long time remained in a posture of humility. 

But Pierre was unable to pray, so powerfully did revolt stir him. He didnot even bend his knees, but remained erect and quivering. His heartseemed to have been crushed; not a tear came to his ardent eyes. SoLaveuve had died yonder, stretched on his litter of rags, his handsclenched in his obstinate desire to cling to his life of torture, whilsthe, Pierre, again glowing with the flame of charity, consumed byapostolic zeal, was scouring Paris to find him for the evening a cleanbed on which he might be saved. Ah! the atrocious irony of it all! Hemust have been at the Duvillards' in the warm _salon_, all blue andsilver, whilst the old man was expiring; and it was for a wretched corpsethat he had then hastened to the Chamber of Deputies, to the Countess deQuinsac's, to that creature Silviane's, and to that creature Rosemonde's. And it was for that corpse, freed from life, escaped from misery as fromprison, that he had worried people, broken in upon their egotism, disturbed the peace of some, threatened the pleasures of others! What wasthe use of hastening from the parliamentary den to the cold _salon_ wherethe dust of the past was congealing; of going from the sphere ofmiddle-class debauchery to that of cosmopolitan extravagance, since onealways arrived too late, and saved people when they were already dead?How ridiculous to have allowed himself to be fired once more by thatblaze of charity, that final conflagration, only the ashes of which henow felt within him? This time he thought he was dead himself; he wasnaught but an empty sepulchre. 

And all the frightful void and chaos which he had felt that morning atthe basilica of the Sacred Heart after his mass became yet deeper, henceforth unfathomable. If charity were illusory and useless the Gospelcrumbled, the end of the Book was nigh. After centuries of stubbornefforts, Redemption through Christianity failed, and another means ofsalvation was needed by the world in presence of the exasperated thirstfor justice which came from the duped and wretched nations. They wouldhave no more of that deceptive paradise, the promise of which had so longserved to prop up social iniquity; they demanded that the question ofhappiness should be decided upon this earth. But how? By means of whatnew religion, what combination between the sentiment of the Divine andthe necessity for honouring life in its sovereignty and its fruitfulness?Therein lay the grievous, torturing problem, into the midst of whichPierre was sinking; he, a priest, severed by vows of chastity andsuperstition from the rest of mankind. 

He had ceased to believe in the efficacy of alms; it was not sufficientthat one should be charitable, henceforth one must be just. Givenjustice, indeed, horrid misery would disappear, and no such thing ascharity would be needed. Most certainly there was no lack ofcompassionate hearts in that grievous city of Paris; charitablefoundations sprouted forth there like green leaves at the first warmth ofspringtide. There were some for every age, every peril, every misfortune. Through the concern shown for mothers, children were succoured evenbefore they were born; then came the infant and orphan asylums lavishlyprovided for all sorts of classes; and, afterwards, man was followedthrough his life, help was tendered on all sides, particularly as he grewold, by a multiplicity of asylums, almshouses, and refuges. And therewere all the hands stretched out to the forsaken ones, the disinheritedones, even the criminals, all sorts of associations to protect the weak, societies for the prevention of crime, homes that offered hospitality tothose who repented. Whether as regards the propagation of good deeds, thesupport of the young, the saving of life, the bestowal of pecuniary help, or the promotion of guilds, pages and pages would have been needed merelyto particularise the extraordinary vegetation of charity that sproutedbetween the paving-stones of Paris with so fine a vigour, in whichgoodness of soul was mingled with social vanity. Still that could notmatter, since charity redeemed and purified all. But how terrible theproposition that this charity was a useless mockery! What! after so manycenturies of Christian charity not a sore had healed. Misery had onlygrown and spread, irritated even to rage. Incessantly aggravated, theevil was reaching the point when it would be impossible to tolerate itfor another day, since social injustice was neither arrested nor evendiminished thereby. And besides, if only one single old man died of coldand hunger, did not the social edifice, raised on the theory of charity, collapse? But one victim, and society was condemned, thought Pierre. 

He now felt such bitterness of heart that he could remain no longer inthat church where the shadows ever slowly fell, blurring the sanctuariesand the large pale images of Christ nailed upon the Cross. All was aboutto sink into darkness, and he could hear nothing beyond an expiringmurmur of prayers, a plaint from the women who were praying on theirknees, in the depths of the shrouding gloom. 

At the same time he hardly liked to go off without saying a word to AbbeRose, who in his entreaties born of simple faith left the happiness andpeace of mankind to the good pleasure of the Invisible. However, fearingthat he might disturb him, Pierre was making up his mind to retire, whenthe old priest of his own accord raised his head. "Ah, my child, " saidhe, "how difficult it is to be good in a reasonable manner. MonseigneurMartha has scolded me again, and but for the forgiveness of God I shouldfear for my salvation. "

For a moment Pierre paused under the porticus of the Madeleine, on thesummit of the great flight of steps which, rising above the railings, dominates the Place. Before him was the Rue Royale dipping down to theexpanse of the Place de la Concorde, where rose the obelisk and the pairof plashing fountains. And, farther yet, the paling colonnade of theChamber of Deputies bounded the horizon. It was a vista of sovereigngrandeur under that pale sky over which twilight was slowly stealing, andwhich seemed to broaden the thoroughfares, throw back the edifices, andlend them the quivering, soaring aspect of the palaces of dreamland. Noother capital in the world could boast a scene of such aerial pomp, suchgrandiose magnificence, at that hour of vagueness, when falling nightimparts to cities a dreamy semblance, the infinite of human immensity. 

Motionless and hesitating in presence of the opening expanse, Pierredistressfully pondered as to whither he should go now that all which hehad so passionately sought to achieve since the morning had suddenlycrumbled away. Was he still bound for the Duvillard mansion in the RueGodot-de-Mauroy? He no longer knew. Then the exasperating remembrance, with its cruel irony, returned to him. Since Laveuve was dead, of whatuse was it for him to kill time and perambulate the pavements pending thearrival of six o'clock? The idea that he had a home, and that the mostsimple course would be to return to it, did not even occur to him. Hefelt as if there were something of importance left for him to do, thoughhe could not possibly tell what it might be. It seemed to him to beeverywhere and yet very far away, to be so vague and so difficult ofaccomplishment that he would certainly never be in time or havesufficient power to do it. However, with heavy feet and tumultuous brainhe descended the steps and, yielding to some obstinate impulse, began towalk through the flower-market, a late winter market where the firstazaleas were opening with a little shiver. Some women were purchasingNice roses and violets; and Pierre looked at them as if he wereinterested in all that soft, delicate, perfumed luxury. But suddenly hefelt a horror of it and went off, starting along the Boulevards. 

He walked straight before him without knowing why or whither. The fallingdarkness surprised him as if it were an unexpected phenomenon. Raisinghis eyes to the sky he felt astonished at seeing its azure gently palebetween the slender black streaks of the chimney funnels. And the hugegolden letters by which names or trades were advertised on every balconyalso seemed to him singular in the last gleams of the daylight. Neverbefore had he paid attention to the motley tints seen on thehouse-fronts, the painted mirrors, the blinds, the coats of arms, theposters of violent hues, the magnificent shops, like drawing-rooms andboudoirs open to the full light. And then, both in the roadway and alongthe foot-pavements, between the blue, red or yellow columns and kiosks, what mighty traffic there was, what an extraordinary crowd! The vehiclesrolled along in a thundering stream: on all sides billows of cabs wereparted by the ponderous tacking of huge omnibuses, which suggested lofty, bright-hued battle-ships. And on either hand, and farther and farther, and even among the wheels, the flood of passengers rushed on incessantly, with the conquering haste of ants in a state of revolution. Whence cameall those people, and whither were all those vehicles going? Howstupefying and torturing it all was. 

Pierre was still walking straight ahead, mechanically, carried on by hisgloomy reverie. Night was coming, the first gas-burners were beinglighted; it was the dusk of Paris, the hour when real darkness has notyet come, when the electric lights flame in the dying day. Lamps shoneforth on all sides, the shop-fronts were being illumined. Soon, moreover, right along the Boulevards the vehicles would carry their vivid starrylights, like a milky way on the march betwixt the foot-pavements allglowing with lanterns and cordons and girandoles, a dazzling profusion ofradiance akin to sunlight. And the shouts of the drivers and the jostlingof the foot passengers re-echoed the parting haste of the Paris which isall business or passion, which is absorbed in the merciless struggle forlove and for money. The hard day was over, and now the Paris of Pleasurewas lighting up for its night of _fete_. The cafes, the wine shops, therestaurants, flared and displayed their bright metal bars, and theirlittle white tables behind their clear and lofty windows, whilst neartheir doors, by way of temptation, were oysters and choice fruits. Andthe Paris which was thus awaking with the first flashes of the gas wasalready full of the gaiety of enjoyment, already yielding to an unbridledappetite for whatsoever may be purchased. 

However, Pierre had a narrow escape from being knocked down. A flock ofnewspaper hawkers came out of a side street, and darted through the crowdshouting the titles of the evening journals. A fresh edition of the "Voixdu Peuple" gave rise, in particular, to a deafening clamour, which roseabove all the rumbling of wheels. At regular intervals hoarse voicesraised and repeated the cry: "Ask for the 'Voix du Peuple'--the newscandal of the African Railway Lines, the repulse of the ministry, thethirty-two bribe-takers of the Chamber and the Senate!" And theseannouncements, set in huge type, could be read on the copies of thepaper, which the hawkers flourished like banners. Accustomed as it was tosuch filth, saturated with infamy, the crowd continued on its way withoutpaying much attention. Still a few men paused and bought the paper, whilepainted women, who had come down to the Boulevards in search of a dinner, trailed their skirts and waited for some chance lover, glancinginterrogatively at the outside customers of the cafes. And meantime thedishonouring shout of the newspaper hawkers, that cry in which there wasboth smirch and buffet, seemed like the last knell of the day, ringingthe nation's funeral at the outset of the night of pleasure which wasbeginning. 

Then Pierre once more remembered his morning and that frightful house inthe Rue des Saules, where so much want and suffering were heaped up. Heagain saw the yard filthy like a quagmire, the evil-smelling staircases, the sordid, bare, icy rooms, the families fighting for messes which evenstray dogs would not have eaten; the mothers, with exhausted breasts, carrying screaming children to and fro; the old men who fell in cornerslike brute beasts, and died of hunger amidst filth. And then came hisother hours with the magnificence or the quietude or the gaiety of the_salons_ through which he had passed, the whole insolent display offinancial Paris, and political Paris, and society Paris. And at last hecame to the dusk, and to that Paris-Sodom and Paris-Gomorrah before him, which was lighting itself up for the night, for the abominations of thataccomplice night which, like fine dust, was little by little submergingthe expanse of roofs. And the hateful monstrosity of it all howled aloudunder the pale sky where the first pure, twinkling stars were gleaming. 

A great shudder came upon Pierre as he thought of all that mass ofiniquity and suffering, of all that went on below amid want and crime, and all that went on above amid wealth and vice. The _bourgeoisie_, wielding power, would relinquish naught of the sovereignty which it hadconquered, wholly stolen, while the people, the eternal dupe, silent solong, clenched its fists and growled, claiming its legitimate share. Andit was that frightful injustice which filled the growing gloom withanger. From what dark-breasted cloud would the thunderbolt fall? Foryears he had been waiting for that thunderbolt which low rumblesannounced on all points of the horizon. And if he had written a book fullof candour and hope, if he had gone in all innocence to Rome, it was toavert that thunderbolt and its frightful consequences. But all hope ofthe kind was dead within him; he felt that the thunderbolt wasinevitable, that nothing henceforth could stay the catastrophe. And neverbefore had he felt it to be so near, amidst the happy impudence of some, and the exasperated distress of others. And it was gathering, and itwould surely fall over that Paris, all lust and bravado, which, whenevening came, thus stirred up its furnace. 

Tired out and distracted, Pierre raised his eyes as he reached the Placede l'Opera. Where was he then? The heart of the great city seemed to beaton this spot, in that vast expanse where met so many thoroughfares, as iffrom every point the blood of distant districts flowed thither alongtriumphal avenues. Right away to the horizon stretched the great gaps ofthe Avenue de l'Opera, the Rue du Quatre-Septembre, and the Rue de laPaix, still showing clearly in a final glimpse of daylight, but alreadystarred with swarming sparks. The torrent of the Boulevard traffic pouredacross the Place, where clashed, too, all that from the neighbouringstreets, with a constant turning and eddying which made the spot the mostdangerous of whirlpools. In vain did the police seek to impose somelittle prudence, the stream of pedestrians still overflowed, wheelsbecame entangled and horses reared amidst all the uproar of the humantide, which was as loud, as incessant, as the tempest voice of an ocean. Then there was the detached mass of the opera-house, slowly steeped ingloom, and rising huge and mysterious like a symbol, its lyre-bearingfigure of Apollo, right aloft, showing a last reflection of daylightamidst the livid sky. And all the windows of the house-fronts began toshine, gaiety sprang from those thousands of lamps which coruscated oneby one, a universal longing for ease and free gratification of eachdesire spread with the increasing darkness; whilst, at long intervals, the large globes of the electric lights shone as brightly as the moons ofthe city's cloudless nights. 

But why was he, Pierre, there, he asked himself, irritated and wondering. Since Laveuve was dead he had but to go home, bury himself in his nook, and close up door and windows, like one who was henceforth useless, whohad neither belief nor hope, and awaited naught save annihilation. It wasa long journey from the Place de l'Opera to his little house at Neuilly. Still, however great his weariness, he would not take a cab, but retracedhis steps, turning towards the Madeleine again, and plunging into thescramble of the pavements, amidst the deafening uproar from the roadway, with a bitter desire to aggravate his wound and saturate himself withrevolt and anger. Was it not yonder at the corner of that street, at theend of that Boulevard, that he would find the expected abyss into whichthat rotten world, whose old society he could hear rending at each step, must soon assuredly topple?

However, when Pierre wished to cross the Rue Scribe a block in thetraffic made him halt. In front of a luxurious cafe two tall, shabbily-clad and very dirty fellows were alternately offering the "Voixdu Peuple" with its account of the scandals and the bribe-takers of theChamber and the Senate, in voices so suggestive of cracked brass thatpassers-by clustered around them. And here, in a hesitating, wanderingman, who after listening drew near to the large cafe and peered throughits windows, Pierre was once again amazed to recognise Salvat. This timethe meeting struck him forcibly, filled him with suspicion to such apoint that he also stopped and resolved to watch the journeyman engineer. He did not expect that one of such wretched aspect, with what seemed tobe a hunk of bread distending his old ragged jacket, would enter and seathimself at one of the cafe's little tables amidst the warm gaiety of thelamps. However, he waited for a moment, and then saw him wander away withslow and broken steps as if the cafe, which was nearly empty, did notsuit him. What could he have been seeking, whither had he been going, since the morning, ever on a wild, solitary chase through the Paris ofwealth and enjoyment while hunger dogged his steps? It was only withdifficulty that he now dragged himself along, his will and energy seemedto be exhausted. As if quite overcome, he drew near to a kiosk, and for amoment leant against it. Then, however, he drew himself up again, andwalked on further, still as it were in search of something. 

And now came an incident which brought Pierre's emotion to a climax. Atall sturdy man on turning out of the Rue Caumartin caught sight ofSalvat, and approached him. And just as the new comer without false pridewas shaking the workman's hand, Pierre recognised him as his brotherGuillaume. Yes, it was indeed he, with his thick bushy hair already whitelike snow, though he was but seven and forty. However, his heavymoustaches had remained quite dark without one silver thread, thuslending an expression of vigorous life to his full face with its loftytowering brow. It was from his father that he had inherited that brow ofimpregnable logic and reason, similar to that which Pierre himselfpossessed. But the lower part of the elder brother's countenance wasfuller than that of his junior; his nose was larger, his chin was square, and his mouth broad and firm of contour. A pale scar, the mark of an oldwound, streaked his left temple. And his physiognomy, though it might atfirst seem very grave, rough, and unexpansive, beamed with masculinekindliness whenever a smile revealed his teeth, which had remainedextremely white. 

While looking at his brother, Pierre remembered what Madame Theodore hadtold him that morning. Guillaume, touched by Salvat's dire want, hadarranged to give him a few days' employment. And this explained the airof interest with which he now seemed to be questioning him, while theengineer, whom the meeting disturbed, stamped about as if eager to resumehis mournful ramble. For a moment Guillaume appeared to notice theother's perturbation, by the embarrassed answers which he obtained fromhim. Still, they at last parted as if each were going his way. Then, however, almost immediately, Guillaume turned round again and watched theother, as with harassed stubborn mien he went off through the crowd. Andthe thoughts which had come to Guillaume must have been very serious andvery pressing, for he all at once began to retrace his steps and followthe workman from a distance, as if to ascertain for certain whatdirection he would take. 

Pierre had watched the scene with growing disquietude. His nervousapprehension of some great unknown calamity, the suspicions born of hisfrequent and inexplicable meetings with Salvat, his surprise at nowseeing his brother mingled with the affair, all helped to fill him with apressing desire to know, witness, and perhaps prevent. So he did nothesitate, but began to follow the others in a prudent way. 

Fresh perturbation came upon him when first Salvat and then Guillaumesuddenly turned into the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy. What destiny was thusbringing him back to that street whither a little time previously he hadwished to return in feverish haste, and whence only the death of Laveuvehad kept him? And his consternation increased yet further when, afterlosing sight of Salvat for a moment, he saw him standing in front of theDuvillard mansion, on the same spot where he had fancied he recognisedhim that morning. As it happened the carriage entrance of the mansion waswide open. Some repairs had been made to the paving of the porch, andalthough the workmen had now gone off, the doorway remained gaping, fullof the falling night. The narrow street, running from the glitteringBoulevard, was steeped in bluish gloom, starred at long intervals by afew gas-lamps. Some women went by, compelling Salvat to step off thefoot-pavement. But he returned to it again, lighted the stump of a cigar, some remnant which he had found under a table outside a cafe, and thenresumed his watch, patient and motionless, in front of the mansion. 

Disturbed by his dim conjectures, Pierre gradually grew frightened, andasked himself if he ought not to approach that man. The chief thing thatdetained him was the presence of his brother, whom he had seen disappearinto a neighbouring doorway, whence he also was observing the engineer, ready to intervene. And so Pierre contented himself with not losing sightof Salvat, who was still waiting and watching, merely taking his eyesfrom the mansion in order to glance towards the Boulevard as though heexpected someone or something which would come from that direction. Andat last, indeed, the Duvillards' landau appeared, with coachman andfootman in livery of green and gold--a closed landau to which a pair oftall horses of superb build were harnessed in stylish fashion. 

Contrary to custom, however, the carriage, which at that hour usuallybrought the father and mother home, was only occupied that evening by theson and daughter, Hyacinthe and Camille. Returning from the Princess deHarn's _matinee_, they were chatting freely, with that calm immodesty bywhich they sought to astonish one another. Hyacinthe, influenced by hisperverted ideas, was attacking women, whilst Camille openly counselledhim to respond to the Princess's advances. However, she was visiblyirritated and feverish that evening, and, suddenly changing the subject, she began to speak of their mother and Gerard de Quinsac. 

"But what can it matter to you?" quietly retorted Hyacinthe; and, seeingthat she almost bounded from the seat at this remark, he continued: "Areyou still in love with him, then? Do you still want to marry him?"

"Yes, I do, and I will!" she cried with all the jealous rage of anuncomely girl, who suffered so acutely at seeing herself spurned whilsther yet beautiful mother stole from her the man she wanted. 

"You will, you will!" resumed Hyacinthe, well pleased to have anopportunity of teasing his sister, whom he somewhat feared. "But youwon't unless _he_ is willing--And he doesn't care for you. "

"He does!" retorted Camille in a fury. "He's kind and pleasant with me, and that's enough. "

Her brother felt afraid as he noticed the blackness of her glance, andthe clenching of her weak little hands, whose fingers bent like claws. And after a pause he asked: "And papa, what does he say about it?"

"Oh, papa! All that he cares about is the other one. "

Then Hyacinthe began to laugh. 

But the landau, with its tall horses trotting on sonorously, had turnedinto the street and was approaching the house, when a slim fair-hairedgirl of sixteen or seventeen, a modiste's errand girl with a largebandbox on her arm, hastily crossed the road in order to enter the archeddoorway before the carriage. She was bringing a bonnet for the Baroness, and had come all along the Boulevard musing, with her soft blue eyes, herpinky nose, and her mouth which ever laughed in the most adorable littleface that one could see. And it was at this same moment that Salvat, after another glance at the landau, sprang forward and entered thedoorway. An instant afterwards he reappeared, flung his lighted cigarstump into the gutter; and without undue haste went off, slinking intothe depths of the vague gloom of the street. 

And then what happened? Pierre, later on, remembered that a dray of theWestern Railway Company in coming up stopped and delayed the landau for amoment, whilst the young errand girl entered the doorway. And with aheart-pang beyond description he saw his brother Guillaume in his turnspring forward and rush into the mansion as though impelled to do so bysome revelation, some sudden certainty. He, Pierre, though he understoodnothing clearly, could divine the approach of some frightful horror. Butwhen he would have run, when he would have shouted, he found himself asif nailed to the pavement, and felt his throat clutched as by a hand oflead. Then suddenly came a thunderous roar, a formidable explosion, as ifthe earth was opening, and the lightning-struck mansion was beingannihilated. Every window-pane of the neighbouring houses was shivered, the glass raining down with the loud clatter of hail. For a moment ahellish flame fired the street, and the dust and the smoke were such thatthe few passers-by were blinded and howled with affright, aghast attoppling, as they thought, into that fiery furnace. 

And that dazzling flare brought Pierre enlightenment. He once more sawthe bomb distending the tool-bag, which lack of work had emptied andrendered useless. He once more saw it under the ragged jacket, aprotuberance caused, he had fancied, by some hunk of bread, picked up ina corner and treasured that it might be carried home to wife and child. After wandering and threatening all happy Paris, it was there that it hadflared, there that it had burst with a thunder-clap, there on thethreshold of the sovereign _bourgeoisie_ to whom all wealth belonged. He, however, at that moment thought only of his brother Guillaume, and flunghimself into that porch where a volcanic crater seemed to have opened. And at first he distinguished nothing, the acrid smoke streamed over all. Then he perceived the walls split, the upper floor rent open, the pavingbroken up, strewn with fragments. Outside, the landau which had been onthe point of entering, had escaped all injury; neither of the horses hadbeen touched, nor was there even a scratch on any panel of the vehicle. But the young girl, the pretty, slim, fair-haired errand girl, lay thereon her back, her stomach ripped open, whilst her delicate face remainedintact, her eyes clear, her smile full of astonishment, so swiftly andlightning-like had come the catastrophe. And near her, from the fallenbandbox, whose lid had merely come unfastened, had rolled the bonnet, avery fragile pink bonnet, which still looked charming in its floweryfreshness. 

By a prodigy Guillaume was alive and already on his legs again. His lefthand alone streamed with blood, a projectile seemed to have broken hiswrist. His moustaches moreover had been burnt, and the explosion bythrowing him to the ground had so shaken and bruised him that he shiveredfrom head to feet as with intense cold. Nevertheless, he recognised hisbrother without even feeling astonished to see him there, as indeed oftenhappens after great disasters, when the unexplained becomes providential. That brother, of whom he had so long lost sight, was there, naturallyenough, because it was necessary that he should be there. And Guillaume, amidst the wild quivers by which he was shaken, at once cried to him"Take me away! take me away! To your house at Neuilly, oh! take me away!"

Then, for sole explanation, and referring to Salvat, he stammered: "Isuspected that he had stolen a cartridge from me; only one, mostfortunately, for otherwise the whole district would have been blown topieces. Ah! the wretched fellow! I wasn't in time to set my foot upon thematch. "

With perfect lucidity of mind, such as danger sometimes imparts, Pierre, neither speaking nor losing a moment, remembered that the mansion had aback entrance fronting the Rue Vignon. He had just realised in whatserious peril his brother would be if he were found mixed up in thataffair. And with all speed, when he had led him into the gloom of the RueVignon, he tied his handkerchief round his wrist, which he bade him pressto his chest, under his coat, as that would conceal it. 

But Guillaume, still shivering and haunted by the horror he hadwitnessed, repeated: "Take me away--to your place at Neuilly--not to myhome. "

"Of course, of course, be easy. Come, wait here a second, I will stop acab. "

In his eagerness to procure a conveyance, Pierre had brought his brotherdown to the Boulevard again. But the terrible thunderclap of theexplosion had upset the whole neighbourhood, horses were still rearing, and people were running demented, hither and thither. And numerouspolicemen had hastened up, and a rushing crowd was already blocking thelower part of the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy, which was now as black as a pit, every light in it having been extinguished; whilst on the Boulevard ahawker of the "Voix du Peuple" still stubbornly vociferated: "The newscandal of the African Railway Lines! The thirty-two bribe-takers of theChamber and the Senate! The approaching fall of the ministry!"

Pierre was at last managing to stop a cab when he heard a person who ranby say to another, "The ministry? Ah, well! that bomb will mend it rightenough!"

Then the brothers seated themselves in the cab, which carried them away. And now, over the whole of rumbling Paris black night had gathered, anunforgiving night, in which the stars foundered amidst the mist of crimeand anger that had risen from the house-roofs. The great cry of justiceswept by amidst the same terrifying flapping of wings which Sodom andGomorrah once heard bearing down upon them from all the black clouds ofthe horizon. 

BOOK II. 

I. REVOLUTIONISTS

IN that out-of-the-way street at Neuilly, along which nobody passed afterdusk, Pierre's little house was now steeped in deep slumber under theblack sky; each of its shutters closed, and not a ray of light stealingforth from within. And one could divine, too, the profound quietude ofthe little garden in the rear, a garden empty and lifeless, benumbed bythe winter cold. 

Pierre had several times feared that his brother would faint away in thecab in which they were journeying. Leaning back, and often sinking down, Guillaume spoke not a word. And terrible was the silence between them--asilence fraught with all the questions and answers which they felt itwould be useless and painful to exchange at such a time. However, thepriest was anxious about the wound, and wondered to what surgeon he mightapply, desirous as he was of admitting only a sure, staunch man into thesecret, for he had noticed with how keen a desire to disappear hisbrother had sought to hide himself. 

Until they reached the Arc de Triomphe the silence remained unbroken. Itwas only there that Guillaume seemed to emerge from the prostration ofhis reverie. "Mind, Pierre, " said he, "no doctor. We will attend to thistogether. "

Pierre was on the point of protesting, but he realised that it would beuseless to discuss the subject at such a moment, and so he merely wavedhis hand to signify that he should act in spite of the prohibition wereit necessary. In point of fact, his anxiety had increased, and, when thecab at last drew up before the house, it was with real relief that he sawhis brother alight without evincing any marked feebleness. He himselfquickly paid the driver, well-pleased, too, at finding that nobody, noteven a neighbour, was about. And having opened the door with his latchkey, he helped the injured man to ascend the steps. 

A little night lamp glimmered faintly in the vestibule. On hearing thedoor open, Pierre's servant, Sophie, had at once emerged from thekitchen. A short, thin, dark woman of sixty, she had formed part of thehousehold for more than thirty years, having served the mother beforeserving the son. She knew Guillaume, having seen him when he was a youngman, and doubtless she now recognised him, although well-nigh ten yearshad gone by since he had last crossed that threshold. Instead of evincingany surprise, she seemed to consider his extraordinary return quitenatural, and remained as silent and discreet as usual. She led, indeed, the life of a recluse, never speaking unless her work absolutely requiredit. And thus she now contented herself with saying: "Monsieur l'Abbe, Monsieur Bertheroy is in the study, and has been waiting there for aquarter of an hour. "

At this Guillaume intervened, as if the news revived him: "Does Bertheroystill come here, then? I'll see him willingly. His is one of the best, the broadest, minds of these days. He has still remained my master. "

A former friend of their father, --the illustrious chemist, MichelFroment, --Bertheroy had now, in his turn, become one of the loftiestglories of France, one to whom chemistry owed much of the extraordinaryprogress that has made it the mother-science, by which the very face ofthe earth is being changed. A member of the Institute, laden with officesand honours, he had retained much affection for Pierre, and occasionallyvisited him in this wise before dinner, by way of relaxation, he wouldsay. 

"You showed him into the study? All right, then, we will go there, " saidthe Abbe to the servant. "Light a lamp and take it into my room, and getmy bed ready so that my brother may go to bed at once. "

While Sophie, without a word or sign of surprise, was obeying theseinstructions, the brothers went into their father's former laboratory, ofwhich the priest had now made a spacious study. And it was with a cry ofjoyous astonishment that the _savant_ greeted them on seeing them enterthe room side by side, the one supporting the other. "What, together!" heexclaimed. "Ah! my dear children, you could not have caused me greaterpleasure! I who have so often deplored your painful misunderstanding. "

Bertheroy was a tall and lean septuagenarian, with angular features. Hisyellow skin clung like parchment to the projecting bones of his cheeksand jaw. Moreover, there was nothing imposing about him; he looked likesome old shop-keeping herbalist. At the same time he had a fine, broad, smooth brow, and his eyes still glittered brightly beneath his tangledhair. 

"What, have you injured yourself, Guillaume?" he continued, as soon as hesaw the bandaged hand. 

Pierre remained silent, so as to let his brother tell the story as hechose. Guillaume had realised that he must confess the truth, but insimple fashion, without detailing the circumstances. "Yes, in anexplosion, " he answered, "and I really think that I have my wristbroken. "

At this, Bertheroy, whose glance was fixed upon him, noticed that hismoustaches were burnt, and that there was an expression of bewilderedstupor, such as follows a catastrophe, in his eyes. Forthwith the_savant_ became grave and circumspect; and, without seeking to compelconfidence by any questions, he simply said: "Indeed! an explosion! Willyou let me see the injury? You know that before letting chemistry ensnareme I studied medicine, and am still somewhat of a surgeon. "

On hearing these words Pierre could not restrain a heart-cry: "Yes, yes, master! Look at the injury--I was very anxious, and to find you here isunhoped-for good fortune!"

The _savant_ glanced at him, and divined that the hidden circumstances ofthe accident must be serious. And then, as Guillaume, smiling, thoughpaling with weakness, consented to the suggestion, Bertheroy retortedthat before anything else he must be put to bed. The servant just thenreturned to say the bed was ready, and so they all went into theadjoining room, where the injured man was soon undressed and helpedbetween the sheets. 

"Light me, Pierre, " said Bertheroy, "take the lamp; and let Sophie giveme a basin full of water and some cloths. " Then, having gently washed thewound, he resumed: "The devil! The wrist isn't broken, but it's a nastyinjury. I am afraid there must be a lesion of the bone. Some nails passedthrough the flesh, did they not?"

Receiving no reply, he relapsed into silence. But his surprise wasincreasing, and he closely examined the hand, which the flame of theexplosion had scorched, and even sniffed the shirt cuff as if seeking tounderstand the affair better. He evidently recognised the effects of oneof those new explosives which he himself had studied, almost created. Inthe present case, however, he must have been puzzled, for there werecharacteristic signs and traces the significance of which escaped him. 

"And so, " he at last made up his mind to ask, carried away byprofessional curiosity, "and so it was a laboratory explosion which putyou in this nice condition? What devilish powder were you concoctingthen?"

Guillaume, ever since he had seen Bertheroy thus studying his injury, had, in spite of his sufferings, given marked signs of annoyance andagitation. And as if the real secret which he wished to keep layprecisely in the question now put to him, in that powder, the firstexperiment with which had thus injured him, he replied with an air ofrestrained ardour, and a straight frank glance: "Pray do not question me, master. I cannot answer you. You have, I know, sufficient nobility ofnature to nurse me and care for me without exacting a confession. "

"Oh! certainly, my friend, " exclaimed Bertheroy; "keep your secret. Yourdiscovery belongs to you if you have made one; and I know that you arecapable of putting it to the most generous use. Besides, you must beaware that I have too great a passion for truth to judge the actions ofothers, whatever their nature, without knowing every circumstance andmotive. "

So saying, he waved his hand as if to indicate how broadly tolerant andfree from error and superstition was that lofty sovereign mind of his, which in spite of all the orders that bedizened him, in spite of all theacademical titles that he bore as an official _savant_, made him a man ofthe boldest and most independent views, one whose only passion was truth, as he himself said. 

He lacked the necessary appliances to do more than dress the wound, aftermaking sure that no fragment of any projectile had remained in the flesh. Then he at last went off, promising to return at an early hour on themorrow; and, as the priest escorted him to the street door, he spoke somecomforting words: if the bone had not been deeply injured all would bewell. 

On returning to the bedside, Pierre found his brother still sitting upand seeking fresh energy in his desire to write home and tranquillise hisloved ones. So the priest, after providing pen and paper, again had totake up the lamp and light him. Guillaume fortunately retained full useof his right hand, and was thus able to pen a few lines to say that hewould not be home that night. He addressed the note to Madame Leroi, themother of his deceased mistress, who, since the latter's death, hadremained with him and had reared his three sons. Pierre was aware alsothat the household at Montmartre included a young woman of five or sixand twenty, the daughter of an old friend, to whom Guillaume had givenshelter on her father's death, and whom he was soon to marry, in spite ofthe great difference in their ages. For the priest, however, all thesewere vague, disturbing things, condemnable features of disorderly life, and he had invariably pretended to be ignorant of them. 

"So you wish this note to be taken to Montmartre at once?" he said to hisbrother. 

"Yes, at once. It is scarcely more than seven o'clock now, and it will bethere by eight. And you will choose a reliable man, won't you?"

"The best course will be for Sophie to take a cab. We need have no fearwith her. She won't chatter. Wait a moment, and I will settleeverything. "

Sophie, on being summoned, at once understood what was wanted of her, andpromised to say, in reply to any questions, that M. Guillaume had come tospend the night at his brother's, for reasons which she did not know. Andwithout indulging in any reflections herself, she left the house, sayingsimply: "Monsieur l'Abbe's dinner is ready; he will only have to take thebroth and the stew off the stove. "

However, when Pierre this time returned to the bedside to sit down there, he found that Guillaume had fallen back with his head resting on bothpillows. And he looked very weary and pale, and showed signs of fever. The lamp, standing on a corner of a side table, cast a soft light around, and so deep was the quietude that the big clock in the adjoiningdining-room could be heard ticking. For a moment the silence continuedaround the two brothers, who, after so many years of separation, were atlast re-united and alone together. Then the injured man brought his righthand to the edge of the sheet, and the priest grasped it, pressed ittenderly in his own. And the clasp was a long one, those two brotherlyhands remaining locked, one in the other. 

"My poor little Pierre, " Guillaume faintly murmured, "you must forgive mefor falling on you in this fashion. I've invaded the house and taken yourbed, and I'm preventing you from dining. "

"Don't talk, don't tire yourself any more, " interrupted Pierre. "Is notthis the right place for you when you are in trouble?"

A warmer pressure came from Guillaume's feverish hand, and tears gatheredin his eyes. "Thanks, my little Pierre. I've found you again, and you areas gentle and loving as you always were. Ah! you cannot know howdelightful it seems to me. "

Then the priest's eyes also were dimmed by tears. Amidst the deepquietude, the great sense of comfort which had followed their violentemotion, the brothers found an infinite charm in being together once morein the home of their childhood. * It was there that both their father andmother had died--the father tragically, struck down by an explosion inhis laboratory; the mother piously, like a very saint. It was there, too, in that same bed, that Guillaume had nursed Pierre, when, after theirmother's death, the latter had nearly died; and it was there now thatPierre in his turn was nursing Guillaume. All helped to bow them down andfill them with emotion: the strange circumstances of their meeting, thefrightful catastrophe which had caused them such a shock, themysteriousness of the things which remained unexplained between them. Andnow that after so long a separation they were tragically brought togetheragain, they both felt their memory awaking. The old house spoke to themof their childhood, of their parents dead and gone, of the far-away dayswhen they had loved and suffered there. Beneath the window lay thegarden, now icy cold, which once, under the sunbeams, had re-echoed withtheir play. On the left was the laboratory, the spacious room where theirfather had taught them to read. On the right, in the dining-room, theycould picture their mother cutting bread and butter for them, and lookingso gentle with her big, despairing eyes--those of a believer mated to aninfidel. And the feeling that they were now alone in that home, and thepale, sleepy gleam of the lamp, and the deep silence of the garden andthe house, and the very past itself, all filled them with the softest ofemotion blended with the keenest bitterness. 

 * See M. Zola's "Lourdes, " Day I. , Chapter II. 

They would have liked to talk and unbosom themselves. But what could theysay to one another? Although their hands remained so tightly clasped, didnot the most impassable of chasms separate them? In any case, theythought so. Guillaume was convinced that Pierre was a saint, a priest ofthe most robust faith, without a doubt, without aught in common withhimself, whether in the sphere of ideas or in that of practical life. Ahatchet-stroke had parted them, and each lived in a different world. Andin the same way Pierre pictured Guillaume as one who had lost caste, whose conduct was most suspicious, who had never even married the motherof his three children, but was on the point of marrying that girl who wasfar too young for him, and who had come nobody knew whence. In him, moreover, were blended the passionate ideas of a _savant_ and arevolutionist, ideas in which one found negation of everything, acceptance and possibly provocation of the worst forms of violence, witha glimpse of the vague monster of Anarchism underlying all. And so, onwhat basis could there be any understanding between them, since eachretained his prejudices against the other, and saw him on the oppositeside of the chasm, without possibility of any plank being thrown acrossit to enable them to unite? Thus, all alone in that room, their poorhearts bled with distracted brotherly love. 

Pierre knew that, on a previous occasion, Guillaume had narrowly escapedbeing compromised in an Anarchist affair. He asked him no questions, buthe could not help reflecting that he would not have hidden himself inthis fashion had he not feared arrest for complicity. Complicity withSalvat? Was he really an accomplice? Pierre shuddered, for the onlymaterials on which he could found a contrary opinion were, on one hand, the words that had escaped his brother after the crime, the cry he hadraised accusing Salvat of having stolen a cartridge from him; and, on theother hand, his heroic rush into the doorway of the Duvillard mansion inorder to extinguish the match. A great deal still remained obscure; butif a cartridge of that frightful explosive had been stolen from Guillaumethe fact must be that he manufactured such cartridges and had others athome. Of course, even if he were not an accomplice, the injury to hiswrist had made it needful for him to disappear. Given his bleeding hand, and the previous suspicions levelled against him, he would never haveconvinced anybody of his innocence. And yet, even allowing for thesesurmises, the affair remained wrapt in darkness: a crime on Guillaume'spart seemed a possibility, and to Pierre it was all dreadful to think of. 

Guillaume, by the trembling of his brother's moist, yielding hand, mustin some degree have realised the prostration of his poor mind, alreadyshattered by doubt and finished off by this calamity. Indeed, thesepulchre was empty now, the very ashes had been swept out of it. 

"My poor little Pierre, " the elder brother slowly said. "Forgive me if Ido not tell you anything. I cannot do so. And besides, what would be theuse of it? We should certainly not understand one another.... So letus keep from saying anything, and let us simply enjoy the delight ofbeing together and loving one another in spite of all. "

Pierre raised his eyes, and for a long time their glances lingered, onefixed on the other. "Ah!" stammered the priest, "how frightful it allis!"

Guillaume, however, had well understood the mute inquiry of Pierre'seyes. His own did not waver but replied boldly, beaming with purity andloftiness: "I can tell you nothing. Yet, all the same, let us love eachother, my little Pierre. "

And then Pierre for a moment felt that his brother was above all baseanxiety, above the guilty fear of the man who trembles for himself. Inlieu thereof he seemed to be carried away by the passion of some greatdesign, the noble thought of concealing some sovereign idea, some secretwhich it was imperative for him to save. But, alas! this was only thefleeting vision of a vague hope; for all vanished, and again came thedoubt, the suspicion, of a mind dealing with one that it knew nothing of. 

And all at once a souvenir, a frightful spectacle, arose before Pierre'seyes and distracted him: "Did you see, brother, " he stammered, "did yousee that fair-haired girl lying under the archway, ripped open, with asmile of astonishment on her face?"

Guillaume in his turn quivered, and in a low and dolorous voice replied:"Yes, I saw her! Ah, poor little thing! Ah! the atrocious necessities, the atrocious errors, of justice!"

Then, amidst the frightful shudder that seemed to sweep by, Pierre, withhis horror of all violence, succumbed, and let his face sink upon thecounterpane at the edge of the bed. And he sobbed distractedly: a suddenattack of weakness, overflowing in tears, cast him there exhausted, withno more strength than a child. It was as if all his sufferings since themorning, the deep grief with which universal injustice and woe inspiredhim, were bursting forth in that flood of tears which nothing now couldstay. And Guillaume, who, to calm his little brother, had set his handupon his head, in the same way as he had often caressingly stroked hishair in childhood's days, likewise felt upset and remained silent, unableto find a word of consolation, resigned, as he was, to the eruption whichin life is always possible, the cataclysm by which the slow evolution ofnature is always liable to be precipitated. But how hard a fate for thewretched ones whom the lava sweeps away in millions! And then his tearsalso began to flow amidst the profound silence. 

"Pierre, " he gently exclaimed at last, "you must have some dinner. Go, goand have some. And screen the lamp; leave me by myself, and let me closemy eyes. It will do me good. "

Pierre had to content him. Still, he left the dining-room door open; and, weak for want of food, though he had not hitherto noticed it, he atestanding, with his ears on the alert, listening lest his brother shouldcomplain or call him. And the silence seemed to have become yet morecomplete, the little house sank, as it were, into annihilation, instinctwith all the melancholy charm of the past. 

At about half-past eight, when Sophie returned from her errand toMontmartre, Guillaume heard her step, light though it was. And he at oncebecame restless and wanted to know what news she brought. It was Pierre, however, who enlightened him. "Don't be anxious. Sophie was received byan old lady who, after reading your note, merely answered, 'Very well. 'She did not even ask Sophie a question, but remained quite composedwithout sign of curiosity. "

Guillaume, realising that this fine serenity perplexed his brother, thereupon replied with similar calmness: "Oh! it was only necessary thatgrandmother should be warned. She knows well enough that if I don'treturn home it is because I can't. "

However, from that moment it was impossible for the injured man to rest. Although the lamp was hidden away in a corner, he constantly opened hiseyes, glanced round him, and seemed to listen, as if for sounds from thedirection of Paris. And it at last became necessary for the priest tosummon the servant and ask her if she had noticed anything strange on herway to or from Montmartre. She seemed surprised by the question, andanswered that she had noticed nothing. Besides, the cab had followed theouter boulevards, which were almost deserted. A slight fog had againbegun to fall, and the streets were steeped in icy dampness. 

By the time it was nine o'clock Pierre realised that his brother wouldnever be able to sleep if he were thus left without news. Amidst hisgrowing feverishness the injured man experienced keen anxiety, a hauntingdesire to know if Salvat were arrested and had spoken out. He did notconfess this; indeed he sought to convey the impression that he had nopersonal disquietude, which was doubtless true. But his great secret wasstifling him; he shuddered at the thought that his lofty scheme, all hislabour and all his hope, should be at the mercy of that unhappy man whomwant had filled with delusions and who had sought to set justice uponearth by the aid of a bomb. And in vain did the priest try to makeGuillaume understand that nothing certain could yet be known. Heperceived that his impatience increased every minute, and at lastresolved to make some effort to satisfy him. 

But where could he go, of whom could he inquire? Guillaume, while talkingand trying to guess with whom Salvat might have sought refuge, hadmentioned Janzen, the Princess de Harn's mysterious lover; and for amoment he had even thought of sending to this man for information. But hereflected that if Janzen had heard of the explosion he was not at all theindividual to wait for the police at home. 

Meantime Pierre repeated: "I will willingly go to buy the evening papersfor you--but there will certainly be nothing in them. Although I knowalmost everyone in Neuilly I can think of nobody who is likely to haveany information, unless perhaps it were Bache--"

"You know Bache, the municipal councillor?" interrupted Guillaume. 

"Yes, we have both had to busy ourselves with charitable work in theneighbourhood. "

"Well, Bache is an old friend of mine, and I know no safer man. Pray goto him and bring him back with you. "

A quarter of an hour later Pierre returned with Bache, who resided in aneighbouring street. And it was not only Bache whom he brought with him, for, much to his surprise, he had found Janzen at Bache's house. AsGuillaume had suspected, Janzen, while dining at the Princess de Harn's, had heard of the crime, and had consequently refrained from returning tohis little lodging in the Rue des Martyrs, where the police might wellhave set a trap for him. His connections were known, and he was awarethat he was watched and was liable at any moment to arrest or expulsionas a foreign Anarchist. And so he had thought it prudent to solicit a fewdays' hospitality of Bache, a very upright and obliging man, to whom heentrusted himself without fear. He would never have remained withRosemonde, that adorable lunatic who for a month past had been exhibitinghim as her lover, and whose useless and dangerous extravagance of conducthe fully realised. 

Guillaume was so delighted on seeing Bache and Janzen that he wished tosit up in bed again. But Pierre bade him remain quiet, rest his head onthe pillows, and speak as little as possible. Then, while Janzen stoodnear, erect and silent, Bache took a chair and sat down by the bedsidewith many expressions of friendly interest. He was a stout man of sixty, with a broad, full face, a large white beard and long white hair. Hislittle, gentle eyes had a dim, dreamy expression, while a pleasant, hopeful smile played round his thick lips. His father, a fervent St. Simonian, had brought him up in the doctrines of that belief. Whileretaining due respect for it, however, his personal inclinations towardsorderliness and religion had led him to espouse the ideas of Fourier, insuch wise that one found in him a succession and an abridgment, so tosay, of two doctrines. Moreover, when he was about thirty, he had busiedhimself with spiritualism. Possessed of a comfortable little fortune, hisonly adventure in life had been his connection with the Paris Commune of1871. How or why he had become a member of it he could now scarcely tell. Condemned to death by default, although he had sat among the Moderates, he had resided in Belgium until the amnesty; and since then Neuilly hadelected him as its representative on the Paris Municipal Council, less byway of glorifying in him a victim of reaction than as a reward for hisworthiness, for he was really esteemed by the whole district. 

Guillaume, with his desire for tidings, was obliged to confide in his twovisitors, tell them of the explosion and Salvat's flight, and how hehimself had been wounded while seeking to extinguish the match. Janzen, with curly beard and hair, and a thin, fair face such as painters oftenattribute to the Christ, listened coldly, as was his wont, and at lastsaid slowly in a gentle voice: "Ah! so it was Salvat! I thought it mightbe little Mathis--I'm surprised that it should be Salvat--for he hadn'tmade up his mind. " Then, as Guillaume anxiously inquired if he thoughtthat Salvat would speak out, he began to protest: "Oh! no; oh! no. "

However, he corrected himself with a gleam of disdain in his clear, harsheyes: "After all, there's no telling. Salvat is a man of sentiment. "

Then Bache, who was quite upset by the news of the explosion, tried tothink how his friend Guillaume, to whom he was much attached, might beextricated from any charge of complicity should he be denounced. AndGuillaume, at sight of Janzen's contemptuous coldness, must have sufferedkeenly, for the other evidently believed him to be trembling, tortured bythe one desire to save his own skin. But what could he say, how could hereveal the deep concern which rendered him so feverish without betrayingthe secret which he had hidden even from his brother?

However, at this moment Sophie came to tell her master that M. TheophileMorin had called with another gentleman. Much astonished by this visit atso late an hour, Pierre hastened into the next room to receive the newcomers. He had become acquainted with Morin since his return from Rome, and had helped him to introduce a translation of an excellent scientificmanual, prepared according to the official programmes, into the Italianschools. * A Franc-Comtois by birth, a compatriot of Proudhon, with whosepoor family he had been intimate at Besancon, Morin, himself the son of ajourneyman clockmaker, had grown up with Proudhonian ideas, full ofaffection for the poor and an instinctive hatred of property and wealth. Later on, having come to Paris as a school teacher, impassioned by study, he had given his whole mind to Auguste Comte. Beneath the ferventPositivist, however, one might yet find the old Proudhonian, the pauperwho rebelled and detested want. Moreover, it was scientific Positivismthat he clung to; in his hatred of all mysticism he would have naught todo with the fantastic religious leanings of Comte in his last years. Andin Morin's brave, consistent, somewhat mournful life, there had been butone page of romance: the sudden feverish impulse which had carried himoff to fight in Sicily by Garibaldi's side. Afterwards he had againbecome a petty professor in Paris, obscurely earning a dismal livelihood. 

 * See M. Zola's "Rome, " Chapters IV. And XVI. 

When Pierre returned to the bedroom he said to his brother in a tone ofemotion: "Morin has brought me Barthes, who fancies himself in danger andasks my hospitality. "

At this Guillaume forgot himself and became excited: "Nicholas Barthes, ahero with a soul worthy of antiquity. Oh! I know him; I admire and lovehim. You must set your door open wide for him. "

Bache and Janzen, however, had glanced at one another smiling. And thelatter, with his cold ironical air, slowly remarked: "Why does MonsieurBarthes hide himself? A great many people think he is dead; he is simplya ghost who no longer frightens anybody. "

Four and seventy years of age as he now was, Barthes had spent nearlyhalf a century in prison. He was the eternal prisoner, the hero ofliberty whom each successive Government had carried from citadel tofortress. Since his youth he had been marching on amidst his dream offraternity, fighting for an ideal Republic based on truth and justice, and each and every endeavour had led him to a dungeon; he had invariablyfinished his humanitarian reverie under bolts and bars. Carbonaro, Republican, evangelical sectarian, he had conspired at all times and inall places, incessantly struggling against the Power of the day, whateverit might be. And when the Republic at last had come, that Republic whichhad cost him so many years of gaol, it had, in its own turn, imprisonedhim, adding fresh years of gloom to those which already had lackedsunlight. And thus he remained the martyr of freedom: freedom which hestill desired in spite of everything; freedom, which, strive as he might, never came, never existed. 

"But you are mistaken, " replied Guillaume, wounded by Janzen's raillery. "There is again a thought of getting rid of Barthes, whose uncompromisingrectitude disturbs our politicians; and he does well to take hisprecautions!"

Nicholas Barthes came in, a tall, slim, withered old man, with a noselike an eagle's beak, and eyes that still burned in their deep sockets, under white and bushy brows. His mouth, toothless but still refined, waslost to sight between his moustaches and snowy beard; and his hair, crowning him whitely like an aureola, fell in curls over his shoulders. Behind him with all modesty came Theophile Morin, with grey whiskers, grey, brush-like hair, spectacles, and yellow, weary mien--that of an oldprofessor exhausted by years of teaching. Neither of them seemedastonished or awaited an explanation on finding that man in bed with aninjured wrist. And there were no introductions: those who were acquaintedmerely smiled at one another. 

Barthes, for his part, stooped and kissed Guillaume on both cheeks. "Ah!"said the latter, almost gaily, "it gives me courage to see you. "

However, the new comers had brought a little information. The boulevardswere in an agitated state, the news of the crime had spread from cafe tocafe, and everybody was anxious to see the late edition which one paperhad published giving a very incorrect account of the affair, full of themost extraordinary details. Briefly, nothing positive was as yet known. 

On seeing Guillaume turn pale Pierre compelled him to lie down again, andeven talked of taking the visitors into the next room. But the injuredman gently replied: "No, no, I promise you that I won't stir again, thatI won't open my mouth. But stay there and chat together. I assure youthat it will do me good to have you near me and hear you. "

Then, under the sleepy gleams of the lamp, the others began to talk inundertones. Old Barthes, who considered that bomb to be both idiotic andabominable, spoke of it with the stupefaction of one who, after fightinglike a hero through all the legendary struggles for liberty, foundhimself belated, out of his element, in a new era, which he could notunderstand. Did not the conquest of freedom suffice for everything? headded. Was there any other problem beyond that of founding the realRepublic? Then, referring to Mege and his speech in the Chamber thatafternoon, he bitterly arraigned Collectivism, which he declared to beone of the democratic forms of tyranny. Theophile Morin, for his part, also spoke against the Collectivist enrolling of the social forces, buthe professed yet greater hatred of the odious violence of the Anarchists;for it was only by evolution that he expected progress, and he feltsomewhat indifferent as to what political means might bring about thescientific society of to-morrow. And in like way Bache did not seemparticularly fond of the Anarchists, though he was touched by the idyllicdream, the humanitarian hope, whose germs lay beneath their passion fordestruction. And, like Barthes, he also flew into a passion with Mege, who since entering the Chamber had become, said he, a mere rhetoricianand theorist, dreaming of dictatorship. Meantime Janzen, still erect, hisface frigid and his lips curling ironically, listened to all three ofthem, and vented a few trenchant words to express his own Anarchistfaith; the uselessness of drawing distinctions, and the necessity ofdestroying everything in order that everything might be rebuilt on freshlines. 

Pierre, who had remained near the bed, also listened with passionateattention. Amidst the downfall of his own beliefs, the utter void whichhe felt within him, here were these four men, who represented thecardinal points of this century's ideas, debating the very same terribleproblem which brought him so much suffering, that of the new belief whichthe democracy of the coming century awaits. And, ah! since the days ofthe immediate ancestors, since the days of Voltaire and Diderot andRousseau how incessantly had billows of ideas followed and jostled oneanother, the older ones giving birth to new ones, and all breaking andbounding in a tempest in which it was becoming so difficult todistinguish anything clearly! Whence came the wind, and whither was theship of salvation going, for what port ought one to embark? Pierre hadalready thought that the balance-sheet of the century ought to be drawnup, and that, after accepting the legacies of Rousseau and the otherprecursors, he ought to study the ideas of St. Simon, Fourier and evenCabet; of Auguste Comte, Proudhon and Karl Marx as well, in order, at anyrate, to form some idea of the distance that had been travelled, and ofthe cross-ways which one had now reached. And was not this anopportunity, since chance had gathered those men together in his house, living exponents of the conflicting doctrines which he wished to examine?

On turning round, however, he perceived that Guillaume was now very paleand had closed his eyes. Had even he, with his faith in science, felt thedoubt which is born of contradictory theories, and the despair whichcomes when one sees the fight for truth resulting in growth of error?

"Are you in pain?" the priest anxiously inquired. 

"Yes, a little. But I will try to sleep. "

At this they all went off with silent handshakes. Nicholas Barthes aloneremained in the house and slept in a room on the first floor which Sophiehad got ready for him. Pierre, unwilling to quit his brother, dozed offupon a sofa. And the little house relapsed into its deep quietude, thesilence of solitude and winter, through which passed the melancholyquiver of the souvenirs of childhood. 

In the morning, as soon as it was seven o'clock, Pierre had to go for thenewspapers. Guillaume had passed a bad night and intense fever had setin. Nevertheless, his brother was obliged to read him the articles on theexplosion. There was an amazing medley of truths and inventions, ofprecise information lost amidst the most unexpected extravagance. Sagnier's paper, the "Voix du Peuple, " distinguished itself by itssub-titles in huge print and a whole page of particulars jumbled togetherchance-wise. It had at once decided to postpone the famous list of thethirty-two deputies and senators compromised in the African Railwaysaffair; and there was no end to the details it gave of the aspect of theentrance to the Duvillard mansion after the explosion the pavement brokenup, the upper floor rent open, the huge doors torn away from theirhinges. Then came the story of the Baron's son and daughter preserved asby a miracle, the landau escaping the slightest injury, while the bankerand his wife, it was alleged, owed their preservation to the circumstancethat they had lingered at the Madeleine after Monseigneur Martha'sremarkable address there. An entire column was given to the one victim, the poor, pretty, fair-haired errand girl, whose identity did not seem tobe clearly established, although a flock of reporters had rushed first tothe modiste employing her, in the Avenue de l'Opera, and next to theupper part of the Faubourg St. Denis, where it was thought hergrandmother resided. Then, in a gravely worded article in "Le Globe, "evidently inspired by Fonsegue, an appeal was made to the Chamber'spatriotism to avoid giving cause for any ministerial crisis in thepainful circumstances through which the country was passing. Thus theministry might last, and live in comparative quietude, for a few weekslonger. 

Guillaume, however, was struck by one point only: the culprit was notknown; Salvat, it appeared certain, was neither arrested nor evensuspected. It seemed, indeed, as if the police were starting on a falsescent--that of a well-dressed gentleman wearing gloves, whom a neighbourswore he had seen entering the mansion at the moment of the explosion. Thus Guillaume became a little calmer. But his brother read to him fromanother paper some particulars concerning the engine of destruction thathad been employed. It was a preserved-meat can, and the fragments of itshowed that it had been comparatively small. And Guillaume relapsed intoanxiety on learning that people were much astonished at the violentravages of such a sorry appliance, and that the presence of some newexplosive of incalculable power was already suspected. 

At eight o'clock Bertheroy put in an appearance. Although he wassixty-eight, he showed as much briskness and sprightliness as any youngsawbones calling in a friendly way to perform a little operation. He hadbrought an instrument case, some linen bands and some lint. However, hebecame angry on finding the injured man nervous, flushed and hot withfever. 

"Ah! I see that you haven't been reasonable, my dear child, " said he. "You must have talked too much, and have bestirred and excited yourself. "Then, having carefully probed the wound, he added, while dressing it:"The bone is injured, you know, and I won't answer for anything unlessyou behave better. Any complications would make amputation necessary. "

Pierre shuddered, but Guillaume shrugged his shoulders, as if to say thathe might just as well be amputated since all was crumbling around him. Bertheroy, who had sat down, lingering there for another moment, scrutinised both brothers with his keen eyes. He now knew of theexplosion, and must have thought it over. "My dear child, " he resumed inhis brusque way, "I certainly don't think that you committed thatabominable act of folly in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy. But I fancy that youwere in the neighbourhood--no, no, don't answer me, don't defendyourself. I know nothing and desire to know nothing, not even the formulaof that devilish powder of which your shirt cuff bore traces, and whichhas wrought such terrible havoc. "

And then as the brothers remained surprised, turning cold with anxiety, in spite of his assurances, he added with a sweeping gesture: "Ah! myfriends, I regard such an action as even more useless than criminal! Ionly feel contempt for the vain agitation of politics, whether they berevolutionary or conservative. Does not science suffice? Why hasten thetimes when one single step of science brings humanity nearer to the goalof truth and justice than do a hundred years of politics and socialrevolt? Why, it is science alone which sweeps away dogmas, casts downgods, and creates light and happiness. And I, Member of the Institute asI am, decorated and possessed of means, I am the only trueRevolutionist. "

Then he began to laugh and Guillaume realised all the good-natured ironyof his laugh. While admiring him as a great _savant_, he had hithertosuffered at seeing him lead such a _bourgeois_ life, accepting whateverappointments and honours were offered him, a Republican under theRepublic, but quite ready to serve science under no matter what master. But now, from beneath this opportunist, this hieratical _savant_, thistoiler who accepted wealth and glory from all hands, there appeared aquiet yet terrible evolutionist, who certainly expected that his own workwould help to ravage and renew the world!

However, Bertheroy rose and took his leave: "I'll come back; behavesensibly, and love one another as well as you can. "

When the brothers again found themselves alone, Pierre seated atGuillaume's bedside, their hands once more sought each other and met in aburning clasp instinct with all their anguish. How much threateningmystery and distress there was both around and within them! The greywintry daylight came into the room, and they could see the black trees inthe garden, while the house remained full of quivering silence, save thatoverhead a faint sound of footsteps was audible. They were the steps ofNicholas Barthes, the heroic lover of freedom, who, rising at daybreak, had, like a caged lion, resumed his wonted promenade, the incessantcoming and going of one who had ever been a prisoner. And as the brothersceased listening to him their eyes fell on a newspaper which had remainedopen on the bed, a newspaper soiled by a sketch in outline whichpretended to portray the poor dead errand girl, lying, ripped open, beside the bandbox and the bonnet it had contained. It was so frightful, so atrociously hideous a scene, that two big tears again fell uponPierre's cheeks, whilst Guillaume's blurred, despairing eyes gazedwistfully far away, seeking for the Future. 

II. A HOME OF INDUSTRY

THE little house in which Guillaume had dwelt for so many years, a homeof quietude and hard work, stood in the pale light of winter up yonder atMontmartre, peacefully awaiting his return. He reflected, however, after_dejeuner_ that it might not be prudent for him to go back thither forsome three weeks, and so he thought of sending Pierre to explain theposition of affairs. "Listen, brother, " he said. "You must render me thisservice. Go and tell them the truth--that I am here, slightly injured, and do not wish them to come to see me, for fear lest somebody shouldfollow them and discover my retreat. After the note I wrote them lastevening they would end by getting anxious if I did not send them somenews. " Then, yielding to the one worry which, since the previous night, had disturbed his clear, frank glance, he added: "Just feel in theright-hand pocket of my waistcoat; you will find a little key there. Good! that's it. Now you must give it to Madame Leroi, my mother-in-law, and tell her that if any misfortune should happen to me, she is to dowhat is understood between us. That will suffice, she will understandyou. "

At the first moment Pierre had hesitated; but he saw how even the slighteffort of speaking exhausted his brother, so he silenced him, saying:"Don't talk, but put your mind at ease. I will go and reassure yourpeople, since you wish that this commission should be undertaken by me. "

Truth to tell, the errand was so distasteful to Pierre that he had atfirst thought of sending Sophie in his place. All his old prejudices werereviving; it was as if he were going to some ogre's den. How many timeshad he not heard his mother say "that creature!" in referring to thewoman with whom her elder son cohabited. Never had she been willing tokiss Guillaume's boys; the whole connection had shocked her, and she wasparticularly indignant that Madame Leroi, the woman's mother, should havejoined the household for the purpose of bringing up the little ones. Pierre retained so strong a recollection of all this that even nowadays, when he went to the basilica of the Sacred Heart and passed the littlehouse on his way, he glanced at it distrustfully, and kept as far from itas he could, as if it were some abode of vice and error. Undoubtedly, forten years now, the boys' mother had been dead, but did not anotherscandal-inspiring creature dwell there, that young orphan girl to whomhis brother had given shelter, and whom he was going to marry, although adifference of twenty years lay between them? To Pierre all this wascontrary to propriety, abnormal and revolting, and he pictured a homegiven over to social rebellion, where lack of principle led to every kindof disorder. 

However, he was leaving the room to start upon his journey, whenGuillaume called him back. "Tell Madame Leroi, " said he, "that if Ishould die you will let her know of it, so that she may immediately dowhat is necessary. "

"Yes, yes, " answered Pierre. "But calm yourself, and don't move about. I'll say everything. And in my absence Sophie will stop here with you incase you should need her. "

Having given full instructions to the servant, Pierre set out to take atramcar, intending to alight from it on the Boulevard de Rochechouart, and then climb the height on foot. And on the road, lulled by the glidingmotion of the heavy vehicle, he began to think of his brother's past lifeand connections, with which he was but vaguely, imperfectly, acquainted. It was only at a later date that details of everything came to hisknowledge. In 1850 a young professor named Leroi, who had come from Paristo the college of Montauban with the most ardent republican ideas, hadthere married Agathe Dagnan, the youngest of the five girls of an oldProtestant family from the Cevennes. Young Madame Leroi was _enceinte_when her husband, threatened with arrest for contributing some violentarticles to a local newspaper, immediately after the "Coup d'Etat, " foundhimself obliged to seek refuge at Geneva. It was there that the youngcouple's daughter, Marguerite, a very delicate child, was born in 1852. For seven years, that is until the Amnesty of 1859, the householdstruggled with poverty, the husband giving but a few ill-paid lessons, and the wife absorbed in the constant care which the child required. Then, after their return to Paris, their ill-luck became even greater. For a long time the ex-professor vainly sought regular employment; it wasdenied him on account of his opinions, and he had to run about givinglessons in private houses. When he was at last on the point of beingreceived back into the University a supreme blow, an attack of paralysis, fell upon him. He lost the use of both legs. And then came utter misery, every kind of sordid drudgery, the writing of articles for dictionaries, the copying of manuscripts, and even the addressing of newspaperwrappers, on the fruits of which the household barely contrived to live, in a little lodging in the Rue Monsieur-le-Prince. 

It was there that Marguerite grew up. Leroi, embittered by injustice andsuffering, predicted the advent of a Republic which would avenge thefollies of the Empire, and a reign of science which would sweep away thedeceptive and cruel divinity of religious dogmas. On the other hand, Agathe's religious faith had collapsed at Geneva, at sight of the narrowand imbecile practices of Calvinism, and all that she retained of it wasthe old Protestant leaven of rebellion. She had become at once the headand the arm of the house; she went for her husband's work, took it backwhen completed, and even did much of it herself, whilst, at the sametime, performing her house duties, and rearing and educating herdaughter. The latter, who attended no school, was indebted for all shelearnt to her father and mother, on whose part there was never anyquestion of religious instruction. Through contact with her husband, Madame Leroi had lost all belief, and her Protestant heredity incliningher to free inquiry and examination, she had arranged for herself a kindof peaceful atheism, based on paramount principles of human duty andjustice, which she applied courageously, irrespective of all socialconventionalities. The long iniquity of her husband's fate, theundeserved misfortunes which struck her through him and her daughter, ended by endowing her with wonderful fortitude and devotion, which madeher, whether as a judge, a manager, or a consoler, a woman ofincomparable energy and nobleness of character. 

It was in the Rue Monsieur-le-Prince that Guillaume became acquaintedwith the Leroi family, after the war of 1870. On the same floor as theirlittle lodging he occupied a large room, where he devoted himselfpassionately to his studies. At the outset there was only an occasionalbow, for Guillaume's neighbours were very proud and very grave, leadingtheir life of poverty in fierce silence and retirement. Then intercoursebegan with the rendering of little services, such as when the young manprocured the ex-professor a commission to write a few articles for a newencyclopaedia. But all at once came the catastrophe: Leroi died in hisarmchair one evening while his daughter was wheeling him from his tableto his bed. The two distracted women had not even the money to bury him. The whole secret of their bitter want flowed forth with their tears, andthey were obliged to accept the help of Guillaume, who, from that moment, became the necessary confidant and friend. And the thing which was boundto happen did happen, in the most simple and loving manner, permitted bythe mother herself, who, full of contempt for a social system whichallowed those of good hearts to die of hunger, refused to admit thenecessity of any social tie. Thus there was no question of a regularmarriage. One day Guillaume, who was twenty-three years old, foundhimself mated to Marguerite, who was twenty; both of them handsome, healthy, and strong, adoring one another, loving work, and full of hopein the future. 

From that moment a new life began. Since his father's death, Guillaume, who had broken off all intercourse with his mother, had been receiving anallowance of two hundred francs a month. This just represented dailybread; however, he was already doubling the amount by his work as achemist, --his analyses and researches, which tended to the employment ofcertain chemical products in industry. So he and Marguerite installedthemselves on the very summit of Montmartre, in a little house, at arental of eight hundred francs a year, the great convenience of the placebeing a strip of garden, where one might, later on, erect a woodenworkshop. In all tranquillity Madame Leroi took up her abode with theyoung people, helping them, and sparing them the necessity of keeping asecond servant. And at successive intervals of two years, her threegrandchildren were born, three sturdy boys: first Thomas, then Francois, and then Antoine. And in the same way as she had devoted herself to herhusband and daughter, and then to Guillaume, so did she now devoteherself to the three children. She became "Mere-Grand"--an emphatic andaffectionate way of expressing the term "grandmother"--for all who livedin the house, the older as well as the younger ones. She therepersonified sense, and wisdom, and courage; it was she who was ever onthe watch, who directed everything, who was consulted about everything, and whose opinion was always followed. Indeed, she reigned there like anall-powerful queen-mother. 

For fifteen years this life went on, a life of hard work and peacefulaffection, while the strictest economy was observed in contenting everyneed of the modest little household. Then Guillaume lost his mother, tookhis share of the family inheritance, and was able to satisfy his olddesire, which was to buy the house he lived in, and build a spaciousworkshop in the garden. He was even able to build it of bricks, and addan upper story to it. But the work was scarcely finished, and life seemedto be on the point of expanding and smiling on them all, when misfortunereturned, and typhoid fever, with brutal force, carried off Marguerite, after a week's illness. She was then five and thirty, and her eldest boy, Thomas, was fourteen. Thus Guillaume, distracted by his loss, foundhimself a widower at thirty-eight. The thought of introducing any unknownwoman into that retired home, where all hearts beat in tender unison, wasso unbearable to him that he determined to take no other mate. His workabsorbed him, and he would know how to quiet both his heart and hisflesh. Mere-Grand, fortunately, was still there, erect and courageous;the household retained its queen, and in her the children found amanageress and teacher, schooled in adversity and heroism. 

Two years passed; and then came an addition to the family. A young woman, Marie Couturier, the daughter of one of Guillaume's friends, suddenlyentered it. Couturier had been an inventor, a madman with some measure ofgenius, and had spent a fairly large fortune in attempting all sorts offantastic schemes. His wife, a very pious woman, had died of grief at itall; and although on the rare occasions when he saw his daughter, heshowed great fondness for her and loaded her with presents, he had firstplaced her in a boarding college, and afterwards left her in the chargeof a poor female relative. Remembering her only on his death-bed, he hadbegged Guillaume to give her an asylum, and find her a husband. The poorrelation, who dealt in ladies' and babies' linen, had just become abankrupt. So, at nineteen, the girl, Marie, found herself a pennilessoutcast, possessed of nothing save a good education, health and courage. Guillaume would never allow her to run about giving lessons. He took her, in quite a natural way, to help Mere-Grand, who was no longer so activeas formerly. And the latter approved the arrangement, well pleased at theadvent of youth and gaiety, which would somewhat brighten the household, whose life had been one of much gravity ever since Marguerite's death. Marie would simply be an elder sister; she was too old for the boys, whowere still at college, to be disturbed by her presence. And she wouldwork in that house where everybody worked. She would help the littlecommunity pending the time when she might meet and love some worthyfellow who would marry her. 

Five more years elapsed without Marie consenting to quit that happy home. The sterling education she had received was lodged in a vigorous brain, which contented itself with the acquirement of knowledge. Yet she hadremained very pure and healthy, even very _naive_, maidenly by reason ofher natural rectitude. And she was also very much a woman, beautifyingand amusing herself with a mere nothing, and ever showing gaiety andcontentment. Moreover, she was in no wise of a dreamy nature, but verypractical, always intent on some work or other, and only asking of lifesuch things as life could give, without anxiety as to what might liebeyond it. She lovingly remembered her pious mother, who had prepared herfor her first Communion in tears, imagining that she was opening heaven'sportals to her. But since she had been an orphan she had of her ownaccord ceased all practice of religion, her good sense revolting andscorning the need of any moral police regulations to make her do herduty. Indeed, she considered such regulations dangerous and destructiveof true health. Thus, like Mere-Grand, she had come to a sort of quietand almost unconscious atheism, not after the fashion of one who reasons, but simply like the brave, healthy girl she was, one who had long enduredpoverty without suffering from it, and believed in nothing save thenecessity of effort. She had been kept erect, indeed, by her convictionthat happiness was to be found in the normal joys of life, livedcourageously. And her happy equilibrium of mind had ever guided and savedher, in such wise that she willingly listened to her natural instinct, saying, with her pleasant laugh, that this was, after all, her bestadviser. She rejected two offers of marriage, and on the second occasion, as Guillaume pressed her to accept, she grew astonished, and inquired ifhe had had enough of her in the house. She found herself verycomfortable, and she rendered service there. So why should she leave andrun the risk of being less happy elsewhere, particularly as she was notin love with anybody?

Then, by degrees, the idea of a marriage between Marie and Guillaumepresented itself; and indeed what could have been more reasonable andadvantageous for all? If Guillaume had not mated again it was for hissons' sake, because he feared that by introducing a stranger to the househe might impair its quietude and gaiety. But now there was a woman amongthem who already showed herself maternal towards the boys, and whosebright youth had ended by disturbing his own heart. He was still in hisprime, and had always held that it was not good for man to live alone, although, personally, thanks to his ardour for work, he had hithertoescaped excessive suffering in his bereavement. However, there was thegreat difference of ages to be considered; and he would have bravelyremained in the background and have sought a younger husband for Marie, if his three big sons and Mere-Grand herself had not conspired to effecthis happiness by doing all they could to bring about a marriage whichwould strengthen every home tie and impart, as it were, a freshspringtide to the house. As for Marie, touched and grateful to Guillaumefor the manner in which he had treated her for five years past, sheimmediately consented with an impulse of sincere affection, in which, shefancied, she could detect love. And at all events, could she act in amore sensible, reasonable way, base her life on more certain prospects ofhappiness? So the marriage had been resolved upon; and about a monthpreviously it had been decided that it should take place during theensuing spring, towards the end of April. 

When Pierre, after alighting from the tramcar, began to climb theinterminable flights of steps leading to the Rue St. Eleuthere, a feelingof uneasiness again came over him at the thought that he was about toenter that suspicious ogre's den where everything would certainly woundand irritate him. Given the letter which Sophie had carried thither onthe previous night, announcing that the master would not return, howanxious and upset must all its inmates be! However, as Pierre ascendedthe final flight and nervously raised his head, the little house appearedto him right atop of the hill, looking very serene and quiet under thebright wintry sun, which had peered forth as if to bestow upon the modestdwelling an affectionate caress. 

There was a door in the old garden wall alongside the Rue St. Eleuthere, almost in front of the broad thoroughfare conducting to the basilica ofthe Sacred Heart; but to reach the house itself one had to skirt the walland climb to the Place du Tertre, where one found the facade and theentrance. Some children were playing on the Place, which, planted as itwas with a few scrubby trees, and edged with humble shops, --afruiterer's, a grocer's and a baker's, --looked like some square in asmall provincial town. In a corner, on the left, Guillaume's dwelling, which had been whitewashed during the previous spring, showed its brightfrontage and five lifeless windows, for all its life was on the other, the garden, side, which overlooked Paris and the far horizon. 

Pierre mustered his courage and, pulling a brass knob which glitteredlike gold, rang the bell. There came a gay, distant jingle; but for amoment nobody appeared, and he was about to ring again, when the door wasthrown wide open, revealing a passage which ran right through the house, beyond which appeared the ocean of Paris, the endless sea of house roofsbathed in sunlight. And against this spacious, airy background, stood ayoung woman of twenty-six, clad in a simple gown of black woolen stuff, half covered by a large blue apron. She had her sleeves rolled up aboveher elbows, and her arms and hands were still moist with water which shehad but imperfectly wiped away. 

A moment's surprise and embarrassment ensued. The young woman, who hadhastened to the door with laughing mien, became grave and covertlyhostile at sight of the visitor's cassock. The priest thereupon realisedthat he must give his name: "I am Abbe Pierre Froment. "

At this the young woman's smile of welcome came back to her. "Oh! I begyour pardon, monsieur--I ought to have recognised you, for I saw you wishGuillaume good day one morning as you passed. "

She said Guillaume; she, therefore, must be Marie. And Pierre looked ather in astonishment, finding her very different from what he hadimagined. She was only of average height, but she was vigorously, admirably built, broad of hip and broad of shoulder, with the small firmbosom of an amazon. By her erect and easy step, instinct with all theadorable grace of woman in her prime, one could divine that she wasstrong, muscular and healthy. A brunette, but very white of skin, she hada heavy helm of superb black hair, which she fastened in a negligent way, without any show of coquetry. And under her dark locks, her pure, intelligent brow, her delicate nose and gay eyes appeared full of intenselife; whilst the somewhat heavier character of her lower features, herfleshy lips and full chin, bespoke her quiet kindliness. She had surelycome on earth as a promise of every form of tenderness, every form ofdevotion. In a word, she was a true mate for man. 

However, with her heavy, straying hair and superb arms, so ingenuous intheir nudity, she only gave Pierre an impression of superfluous healthand extreme self-assurance. She displeased him and even made him feelsomewhat anxious, as if she were a creature different from all others. 

"It is my brother Guillaume who has sent me, " he said. 

At this her face again changed; she became grave and hastened to admithim to the passage. And when the door was closed she answered: "You havebrought us news of him, then! I must apologise for receiving you in thisfashion. The servants have just finished some washing, and I was makingsure if the work had been well done. Pray excuse me, and come in here fora moment; it is perhaps best that I should be the first to know thenews. "

So saying, she led him past the kitchen to a little room which served asscullery and wash-house. A tub full of soapy water stood there, and somedripping linen hung over some wooden bars. "And so, Guillaume?" sheasked. 

Pierre then told the truth in simple fashion: that his brother's wristhad been injured; that he himself had witnessed the accident, and thathis brother had then sought an asylum with him at Neuilly, where hewished to remain and get cured of his injury in peace and quietness, without even receiving a visit from his sons. While speaking in thisfashion, the priest watched the effect of his words on Marie's face:first fright and pity, and then an effort to calm herself and judgethings reasonably. 

"His letter quite froze me last night, " she ended by replying. "I feltsure that some misfortune had happened. But one must be brave and hideone's fear from others. His wrist injured, you say; it is not a seriousinjury, is it?"

"No; but it is necessary that every precaution should be taken with it. "

She looked him well in the face with her big frank eyes, which dived intohis own as if to reach the very depths of his being, though at the sametime she plainly sought to restrain the score of questions which rose toher lips. "And that is all: he was injured in an accident, " she resumed;"he didn't ask you to tell us anything further about it?"

"No, he simply desires that you will not be anxious. "

Thereupon she insisted no further, but showed herself obedient andrespectful of the decision which Guillaume had arrived at. It sufficedthat he should have sent a messenger to reassure the household--she didnot seek to learn any more. And even as she had returned to her work inspite of the secret anxiety in which the letter of the previous eveninghad left her, so now, with her air of quiet strength, she recovered anappearance of serenity, a quiet smile and clear brave glance. 

"Guillaume only gave me one other commission, " resumed Pierre, "that ofhanding a little key to Madame Leroi. "

"Very good, " Marie answered, "Mere-Grand is here; and, besides, thechildren must see you. I will take you to them. "

Once more quite tranquil, she examined Pierre without managing to concealher curiosity, which seemed of rather a kindly nature blended with anelement of vague pity. Her fresh white arms had remained bare. In allcandour she slowly drew down her sleeves; then took off the large blueapron, and showed herself with her rounded figure, at once robust andelegant, in her modest black gown. He meanwhile looked at her, and mostcertainly he did not find her to his liking. On seeing her so natural, healthy, and courageous, quite a feeling of revolt arose within him, though he knew not why. 

"Will you please follow me, Monsieur l'Abbe?" she said. "We must crossthe garden. "

On the ground-floor of the house, across the passage, and facing thekitchen and the scullery, there were two other rooms, a libraryoverlooking the Place du Tertre, and a dining-room whose windows openedinto the garden. The four rooms on the first floor served as bedchambersfor the father and the sons. As for the garden, originally but a smallone, it had now been reduced to a kind of gravelled yard by the erectionof the large workshop at one end of it. Of the former greenery, however, there still remained two huge plum-trees with old knotted trunks, as wellas a big clump of lilac-bushes, which every spring were covered withbloom. And in front of the latter Marie had arranged a broad flower-bed, in which she amused herself with growing a few roses, some wallflowersand some mignonette. 

With a wave of her hand as she went past, she called Pierre's attentionto the black plum-trees and the lilacs and roses, which showed but a fewgreenish spots, for winter still held the little nook in sleep. "TellGuillaume, " she said, "that he must make haste to get well and be backfor the first shoots. "

Then, as Pierre glanced at her, she all at once flushed purple. Much toher distress, sudden and involuntary blushes would in this wiseoccasionally come upon her, even at the most innocent remarks. She foundit ridiculous to feel such childish emotion when she had so brave aheart. But her pure maidenly blood had retained exquisite delicacy, suchnatural and instinctive modesty that she yielded to it perforce. Anddoubtless she had merely blushed because she feared that the priest mightthink she had referred to her marriage in speaking of the spring. 

"Please go in, Monsieur l'Abbe. The children are there, all three. " Andforthwith she ushered him into the workshop. 

It was a very spacious place, over sixteen feet high, with a brickflooring and bare walls painted an iron grey. A sheet of light, a streamof sunshine, spread to every corner through a huge window facing thesouth, where lay the immensity of Paris. The Venetian shutters often hadto be lowered in the summer to attenuate the great heat. From morn tillnight the whole family lived here, closely and affectionately united inwork. Each was installed as fancy listed, having a particular chosenplace. One half of the building was occupied by the father's chemicallaboratory, with its stove, experiment tables, shelves for apparatus, glass cases and cupboards for phials and jars. Near all this Thomas, theeldest son, had installed a little forge, an anvil, a vice bench, in facteverything necessary to a working mechanician, such as he had becomesince taking his bachelor's degree, from his desire to remain with hisfather and help him with certain researches and inventions. Then, at theother end, the younger brothers, Francois and Antoine, got on very welltogether on either side of a broad table which stood amidst a medley ofportfolios, nests of drawers and revolving book-stands. Francois, ladenwith academical laurels, first on the pass list for the Ecole Normale, had entered that college where young men are trained for universityprofessorships, and was there preparing for his Licentiate degree, whileAntoine, who on reaching the third class at the Lycee Condorcet had takena dislike to classical studies, now devoted himself to his calling as awood-engraver. And, in the full light under the window, Mere-Grand andMarie likewise had their particular table, where needlework, embroidery, all sorts of _chiffons_ and delicate things lay about near the somewhatrough jumble of retorts, tools and big books. 

Marie, however, on the very threshold called out in her calm voice, towhich she strove to impart a gay and cheering accent: "Children!children! here is Monsieur l'Abbe with news of father!"

Children, indeed! Yet what motherliness she already set in the word asshe applied it to those big fellows whose elder sister she had longconsidered herself to be! At three and twenty Thomas was quite acolossus, already bearded and extremely like his father. But although hehad a lofty brow and energetic features, he was somewhat slow both inmind and body. And he was also taciturn, almost unsociable, absorbed infilial devotion, delighted with the manual toil which made him a mereworkman at his master's orders. Francois, two years younger than Thomas, and nearly as tall, showed a more refined face, though he had the samelarge brow and firm mouth, a perfect blending of health and strength, inwhich the man of intellect, the scientific Normalian, could only bedetected by the brighter and more subtle sparkle of the eyes. Theyoungest of the brothers, Antoine, who for his eighteen years was almostas strong as his elders, and promised to become as tall, differed fromthem by his lighter hair and soft, blue, dreamy eyes, which he hadinherited from his mother. It had been difficult, however, to distinguishone from the other when all three were schoolboys at the Lycee Condorcet;and even nowadays people made mistakes unless they saw them side by side, so as to detect the points of difference which were becoming more markedas age progressed. 

On Pierre's arrival the brothers were so absorbed in their work that theydid not even hear the door open. And again, as in the case of Marie, thepriest was surprised by the discipline and firmness of mind, which amidstthe keenest anxiety gave the young fellows strength to take up theirdaily task. Thomas, who stood at his vice-bench in a blouse, wascarefully filing a little piece of copper with rough but skilful hands. Francois, leaning forward, was writing in a bold, firm fashion, whilst onthe other side of the table, Antoine, with a slender graver between hisfingers, finished a block for an illustrated newspaper. 

However, Marie's clear voice made them raise their heads: "Children, father has sent you some news!"

Then all three with the same impulse hurriedly quitted their work andcame forward. One could divine that directly there was any question oftheir father they were drawn together, blended one with the other, sothat but one and the same heart beat in their three broad chests. However, a door at the far end of the workroom opened at that moment, andMere-Grand, coming from the upper floor where she and Marie had theirbedrooms, made her appearance. She had just absented herself to fetch askein of wool; and she gazed fixedly at the priest, unable to understandthe reason of his presence. 

Marie had to explain matters. "Mere-Grand, " said she, "this is Monsieurl'Abbe Froment, Guillaume's brother; he has come from him. "

Pierre on his side was examining the old lady, astonished to find her soerect and full of life at seventy. Her former beauty had left a statelycharm on her rather long face; youthful fire still lingered in her browneyes; and very firm was the contour of her pale lips, which in partingshowed that she had retained all her teeth. A few white hairs alonesilvered her black tresses, which were arranged in old-time fashion. Hercheeks had but slightly withered, and her deep, symmetrical wrinkles gaveher countenance an expression of much nobility, a sovereign air as of aqueen-mother, which, tall and slight of stature as she was, andinvariably gowned in black woollen stuff, she always retained, no matterhow humble her occupation. 

"So Guillaume sent you, monsieur, " she said; "he is injured, is he not?"

Surprised by this proof of intuition, Pierre repeated his story. "Yes, his wrist is injured--but oh! it's not a case of immediate gravity. "

On the part of the three sons, he had divined a sudden quiver, an impulseof their whole beings to rush to the help and defence of their father. And for their sakes he sought words of comfort: "He is with me atNeuilly. And with due care it is certain that no serious complicationswill arise. He sent me to tell you to be in no wise uneasy about him. "

Mere-Grand for her part evinced no fears, but preserved great calmness, as if the priest's tidings contained nothing beyond what she had knownalready. If anything, she seemed rather relieved, freed from anxietywhich she had confided to none. "If he is with you, monsieur, " sheanswered, "he is evidently as comfortable as he can be, and shelteredfrom all risks. We were surprised, however, by his letter last night, asit did not explain why he was detained, and we should have ended byfeeling frightened. But now everything is satisfactory. "

Mere-Grand and the three sons, following Marie's example, asked noexplanations. On a table near at hand Pierre noticed several morningnewspapers lying open and displaying column after column of particularsabout the crime. The sons had certainly read these papers, and had fearedlest their father should be compromised in that frightful affair. How fardid their knowledge of the latter go? They must be ignorant of the partplayed by Salvat. It was surely impossible for them to piece together allthe unforeseen circumstances which had brought about their father'smeeting with the workman, and then the crime. Mere-Grand, no doubt, wasin certain respects better informed than the others. But they, the sonsand Marie, neither knew nor sought to know anything. And thus what awealth of respect and affection there was in their unshakable confidencein the father, in the tranquillity they displayed directly he sent themword that they were not to be anxious about him!

"Madame, " Pierre resumed, "Guillaume told me to give you this little key, and to remind you to do what he charged you to do, if any misfortuneshould befall him. "

She started, but so slightly that it was scarcely perceptible; and takingthe key she answered as if some ordinary wish on the part of a sickperson were alone in question. "Very well. Tell him that his wishes shallbe carried out. " Then she added, "But pray take a seat, monsieur. "

Pierre, indeed, had remained standing. However, he now felt it necessaryto accept a chair, desirous as he was of hiding the embarrassment whichhe still felt in this house, although he was _en famille_ there. Marie, who could not live without occupation for her fingers, had just returnedto some embroidery, some of the fine needlework which she stubbornlyexecuted for a large establishment dealing in baby-linen and bridal_trousseaux_; for she wished at any rate to earn her own pocket-money, she often said with a laugh. Mere-Grand, too, from habit, which shefollowed even when visitors were present, had once more started on herperpetual stocking-mending; while Francois and Antoine had again seatedthemselves at their table; and Thomas alone remained on his legs, leaningagainst his bench. All the charm of industrious intimacy pervaded thespacious, sun-lit room. 

"But we'll all go to see father to-morrow, " Thomas suddenly exclaimed. 

Before Pierre could answer Marie raised her head. "No, no, " said she, "hedoes not wish any of us to go to him; for if we should be watched andfollowed we should betray the secret of his retreat. Isn't that so, Monsieur l'Abbe?"

"It would indeed be prudent of you to deprive yourselves of the pleasureof embracing him until he himself can come back here. It will be a matterof some two or three weeks, " answered Pierre. 

Mere-Grand at once expressed approval of this. "No doubt, " said she. "Nothing could be more sensible. "

So the three sons did not insist, but bravely accepted the secret anxietyin which they must for a time live, renouncing the visit which would havecaused them so much delight, because their father bade them do so andbecause his safety depended perhaps on their obedience. 

However, Thomas resumed: "Then, Monsieur l'Abbe, will you please tell himthat as work will be interrupted here, I shall return to the factoryduring his absence. I shall be more at ease there for the researches onwhich we are engaged. "

"And please tell him from me, " put in Francois, "that he mustn't worryabout my examination. Things are going very well. I feel almost certainof success. "

Pierre promised that he would forget nothing. However, Marie raised herhead, smiling and glancing at Antoine, who had remained silent with afaraway look in his eyes. "And you, little one, " said she, "don't yousend him any message?"

Emerging from a dream, the young fellow also began to smile. "Yes, yes, amessage that you love him dearly, and that he's to make haste back foryou to make him happy. "

At this they all became merry, even Marie, who in lieu of embarrassmentshowed a tranquil gaiety born of confidence in the future. Between herand the young men there was naught but happy affection. And a grave smileappeared even on the pale lips of Mere-Grand, who likewise approved ofthe happiness which life seemed to be promising. 

Pierre wished to stay a few minutes longer. They all began to chat, andhis astonishment increased. He had gone from surprise to surprise in thishouse where he had expected to find that equivocal, disorderly life, thatrebellion against social laws, which destroy morality. But instead ofthis he had found loving serenity, and such strong discipline that lifethere partook of the gravity, almost the austerity, of convent life, tempered by youth and gaiety. The vast room was redolent of industry andquietude, warm with bright sunshine. However, what most particularlystruck him was the Spartan training, the bravery of mind and heart amongthose sons who allowed nothing to be seen of their personal feelings, anddid not presume to judge their father, but remained content with hismessage, ready to await events, stoical and silent, while carrying ontheir daily tasks. Nothing could be more simple, more dignified, morelofty. And there was also the smiling heroism of Mere-Grand and Marie, those two women who slept over that laboratory where terriblepreparations were manipulated, and where an explosion was alwayspossible. 

However, such courage, orderliness and dignity merely surprised Pierre, without touching him. He had no cause for complaint, he had received apolite greeting if not an affectionate one; but then he was as yet only astranger there, a priest. In spite of everything, however, he remainedhostile, feeling that he was in a sphere where none of his own tormentscould be shared or even divined. How did these folks manage to be so calmand happy amidst their religious unbelief, their sole faith in science, and in presence of that terrifying Paris which spread before them theboundless sea, the growling abomination of its injustice and its want? Asthis thought came to him he turned his head and gazed at the city throughthe huge window, whence it stretched away, ever present, ever living itsgiant life. And at that hour, under the oblique sun-rays of the winterafternoon, all Paris was speckled with luminous dust, as if someinvisible sower, hidden amidst the glory of the planet, were fastscattering seed which fell upon every side in a stream of gold. The wholefield was covered with it; for the endless chaos of house roofs andedifices seemed to be land in tilth, furrowed by some gigantic plough. And Pierre in his uneasiness, stirred, despite everything, by aninvincible need of hope, asked himself if this was not a good sowing, thefurrows of Paris strewn with light by the divine sun for the great futureharvest, that harvest of truth and justice of whose advent he haddespaired. 

At last he rose and took his leave, promising to return at once, if thereshould be any bad news. It was Marie who showed him to the front door. And there another of those childish blushes which worried her so muchsuddenly rose to her face, just as she, in her turn, also wished to sendher loving message to the injured man. However, with her gay, candid eyesfixed on those of the priest, she bravely spoke the words: "_Au revoir, Monsieur l'Abbe_. Tell Guillaume that I love him and await him. "

III. PENURY AND TOIL

THREE days went by, and every morning Guillaume, confined to his bed andconsumed by fever and impatience, experienced fresh anxiety directly thenewspapers arrived. Pierre had tried to keep them from him, but Guillaumethen worried himself the more, and so the priest had to read him columnby column all the extraordinary articles that were published respectingthe crime. 

Never before had so many rumours inundated the press. Even the "Globe, "usually so grave and circumspect, yielded to the general _furore_, andprinted whatever statements reached it. But the more unscrupulous paperswere the ones to read. The "Voix du Peuple" in particular made use of thepublic feverishness to increase its sales. Each morning it employed somefresh device, and printed some frightful story of a nature to drivepeople mad with terror. It related that not a day passed without BaronDuvillard receiving threatening letters of the coarsest description, announcing that his wife, his son and his daughter would all be killed, that he himself would be butchered in turn, and that do what he might hishouse would none the less be blown up. And as a measure of precaution thehouse was guarded day and night alike by a perfect army of plain-clothesofficers. Then another article contained an amazing piece of invention. Some anarchists, after carrying barrels of powder into a sewer near theMadeleine, were said to have undermined the whole district, planning aperfect volcano there, into which one half of Paris would sink. And atanother time it was alleged that the police were on the track of aterrible plot which embraced all Europe, from the depths of Russia to theshores of Spain. The signal for putting it into execution was to be givenin France, and there would be a three days' massacre, with grape shotsweeping everyone off the Boulevards, and the Seine running red, swollenby a torrent of blood. Thanks to these able and intelligent devices ofthe Press, terror now reigned in the city; frightened foreigners fledfrom the hotels _en masse_; and Paris had become a mere mad-house, wherethe most idiotic delusions at once found credit. 

It was not all this, however, that worried Guillaume. He was only anxiousabout Salvat and the various new "scents" which the newspaper reportersattempted to follow up. The engineer was not yet arrested, and, so farindeed, there had been no statement in print to indicate that the policewere on his track. At last, however, Pierre one morning read a paragraphwhich made the injured man turn pale. 

"Dear me! It seems that a tool has been found among the rubbish at theentrance of the Duvillard mansion. It is a bradawl, and its handle bearsthe name of Grandidier, which is that of a man who keeps some well-knownmetal works. He is to appear before the investigating magistrate to-day. "

Guillaume made a gesture of despair. "Ah!" said he, "they are on theright track at last. That tool must certainly have been dropped bySalvat. He worked at Grandidier's before he came to me for a few days. And from Grandidier they will learn all that they need to know in orderto follow the scent. "

Pierre then remembered that he had heard the Grandidier factory mentionedat Montmartre. Guillaume's eldest son, Thomas, had served hisapprenticeship there, and even worked there occasionally nowadays. 

"You told me, " resumed Guillaume, "that during my absence Thomas intendedto go back to the factory. It's in connection with a new motor which he'splanning, and has almost hit upon. If there should be a perquisitionthere, he may be questioned, and may refuse to answer, in order to guardhis secret. So he ought to be warned of this, warned at once!"

Without trying to extract any more precise statement from his brother, Pierre obligingly offered his services. "If you like, " said he, "I willgo to see Thomas this afternoon. Perhaps I may come across MonsieurGrandidier himself and learn how far the affair has gone, and what wassaid at the investigating magistrate's. "

With a moist glance and an affectionate grasp of the hand, Guillaume atonce thanked Pierre: "Yes, yes, brother, go there, it will be good andbrave of you. "

"Besides, " continued the priest, "I really wanted to go to Montmartreto-day. I haven't told you so, but something has been worrying me. IfSalvat has fled, he must have left the woman and the child all alone upyonder. On the morning of the day when the explosion took place I saw thepoor creatures in such a state of destitution, such misery, that I can'tthink of them without a heart-pang. Women and children so often die ofhunger when the man is no longer there. "

At this, Guillaume, who had kept Pierre's hand in his own, pressed itmore tightly, and in a trembling voice exclaimed: "Yes, yes, and thatwill be good and brave too. Go there, brother, go there. "

That house of the Rue des Saules, that horrible home of want and agony, had lingered in Pierre's memory. To him it was like an embodiment of thewhole filthy _cloaca_, in which the poor of Paris suffer unto death. Andon returning thither that afternoon, he found the same slimy mud aroundit; its yard littered with the same filth, its dark, damp stairwaysredolent of the same stench of neglect and poverty, as before. In wintertime, while the fine central districts of Paris are dried and cleansed, the far-away districts of the poor remain gloomy and miry, beneath theeverlasting tramp of the wretched ones who dwell in them. 

Remembering the staircase which conducted to Salvat's lodging, Pierrebegan to climb it amidst a loud screaming of little children, whosuddenly became quiet, letting the house sink into death-like silenceonce more. Then the thought of Laveuve, who had perished up there like astray dog, came back to Pierre. And he shuddered when, on the toplanding, he knocked at Salvat's door, and profound silence alone answeredhim. Not a breath was to be heard. 

However, he knocked again, and as nothing stirred he began to think thatnobody could be there. Perhaps Salvat had returned to fetch the woman andthe child, and perhaps they had followed him to some humble nook abroad. Still this would have astonished him; for the poor seldom quit theirhomes, but die where they have suffered. So he gave another gentle knock. 

And at last a faint sound, the light tread of little feet, was heardamidst the silence. Then a weak, childish voice ventured to inquire: "Whois there?"

"Monsieur l'Abbe. "

The silence fell again, nothing more stirred. There was evidentlyhesitation on the other side. 

"Monsieur l'Abbe who came the other day, " said Pierre again. 

This evidently put an end to all uncertainty, for the door was set ajarand little Celine admitted the priest. "I beg your pardon, Monsieurl'Abbe, " said she, "but Mamma Theodore has gone out, and she told me notto open the door to anyone. "

Pierre had, for a moment, imagined that Salvat himself was hiding there. But with a glance he took in the whole of the small bare room, where man, woman and child dwelt together. At the same time, Madame Theodoredoubtless feared a visit from the police. Had she seen Salvat since thecrime? Did she know where he was hiding? Had he come back there toembrace and tranquillise them both?

"And your papa, my dear, " said Pierre to Celine, "isn't he here either?"

"Oh! no, monsieur, he has gone away. "

"What, gone away?"

"Yes, he hasn't been home to sleep, and we don't know where he is. "

"Perhaps he's working. "

"Oh, no! he'd send us some money if he was. "

"Then he's gone on a journey, perhaps?"

"I don't know. "

"He wrote to Mamma Theodore, no doubt?"

"I don't know. "

Pierre asked no further questions. In fact, he felt somewhat ashamed ofhis attempt to extract information from this child of eleven, whom hethus found alone. It was quite possible that she knew nothing, thatSalvat, in a spirit of prudence, had even refrained from sending anytidings of himself. Indeed, there was an expression of truthfulness onthe child's fair, gentle and intelligent face, which was grave with thegravity that extreme misery imparts to the young. 

"I am sorry that Mamma Theodore isn't here, " said Pierre, "I wanted tospeak to her. "

"But perhaps you would like to wait for her, Monsieur l'Abbe. She hasgone to my Uncle Toussaint's in the Rue Marcadet; and she can't stop muchlonger, for she's been away more than an hour. "

Thereupon Celine cleared one of the chairs on which lay a handful ofscraps of wood, picked up on some waste ground. 

The bare and fireless room was assuredly also a breadless one. Pierrecould divine the absence of the bread-winner, the disappearance of theman who represents will and strength in the home, and on whom one stillrelies even when weeks have gone by without work. He goes out and scoursthe city, and often ends by bringing back the indispensable crust whichkeeps death at bay. But with his disappearance comes completeabandonment, the wife and child in danger, destitute of all prop andhelp. 

Pierre, who had sat down and was looking at that poor, little, blue-eyedgirl, to whose lips a smile returned in spite of everything, could notkeep from questioning her on another point. "So you don't go to school, my child?" said he. 

She faintly blushed and answered: "I've no shoes to go in. "

He glanced at her feet, and saw that she was wearing a pair of ragged oldlist-slippers, from which her little toes protruded, red with cold. 

"Besides, " she continued, "Mamma Theodore says that one doesn't go toschool when one's got nothing to eat. Mamma Theodore wanted to work butshe couldn't, because her eyes got burning hot and full of water. And sowe don't know what to do, for we've had nothing left since yesterday, andif Uncle Toussaint can't lend us twenty sous it'll be all over. "

She was still smiling in her unconscious way, but two big tears hadgathered in her eyes. And the sight of the child shut up in that bareroom, apart from all the happy ones of earth, so upset the priest that heagain felt his anger with want and misery awakening. Then, another tenminutes having elapsed, he became impatient, for he had to go to theGrandidier works before returning home. 

"I don't know why Mamma Theodore doesn't come back, " repeated Celine. "Perhaps she's chatting. " Then, an idea occurring to her she continued:"I'll take you to my Uncle Toussaint's, Monsieur l'Abbe, if you like. It's close by, just round the corner. "

"But you have no shoes, my child. "

"Oh! that don't matter, I walk all the same. "

Thereupon he rose from the chair and said simply: "Well, yes, that willbe better, take me there. And I'll buy you some shoes. "

Celine turned quite pink, and then made haste to follow him aftercarefully locking the door of the room like a good little housewife, though, truth to tell, there was nothing worth stealing in the place. 

In the meantime it had occurred to Madame Theodore that before calling onher brother Toussaint to try to borrow a franc from him, she might firstessay her luck with her younger sister, Hortense, who had married littleChretiennot, the clerk, and occupied a flat of four rooms on theBoulevard de Rochechouart. This was quite an affair, however, and thepoor woman only made the venture because Celine had been fasting sincethe previous day. 

Eugene Toussaint, the mechanician, a man of fifty, was her stepbrother, by the first marriage contracted by her father. A young dressmaker whomthe latter had subsequently wedded, had borne him three daughters, Pauline, Leonie and Hortense. And on his death, his son Eugene, whoalready had a wife and child of his own, had found himself for a shorttime with his stepmother and sisters on his hands. The stepmother, fortunately, was an active and intelligent woman, and knew how to get outof difficulties. She returned to her former workroom where her daughterPauline was already apprenticed, and she next placed Leonie there; sothat Hortense, the youngest girl, who was a spoilt child, prettier andmore delicate than her sisters, was alone left at school. And, lateron, --after Pauline had married Labitte the stonemason, and Leonie, Salvatthe journeyman-engineer, --Hortense, while serving as assistant at aconfectioner's in the Rue des Martyrs, there became acquainted withChretiennot, a clerk, who married her. Leonie had died young, only a fewweeks after her mother; Pauline, forsaken by her husband, lived with herbrother-in-law Salvat, and Hortense alone wore a light silk gown onSundays, resided in a new house, and ranked as a _bourgeoise_, at theprice, however, of interminable worries and great privation. 

Madame Theodore knew that her sister was generally short of money towardsthe month's end, and therefore felt rather ill at ease in thus venturingto apply for a loan. Chretiennot, moreover, embittered by his ownmediocrity, had of late years accused his wife of being the cause oftheir spoilt life, and had ceased all intercourse with her relatives. Toussaint, no doubt, was a decent workman; but that Madame Theodore wholived in misery with her brother-in-law, and that Salvat who wanderedfrom workshop to workshop like an incorrigible ranter whom no employerwould keep; those two, with their want and dirt and rebellion, had endedby incensing the vain little clerk, who was not only a great stickler forthe proprieties, but was soured by all the difficulties he encountered inhis own life. And thus he had forbidden Hortense to receive her sister. 

All the same, as Madame Theodore climbed the carpeted staircase of thehouse on the Boulevard Rochechouart, she experienced a certain feeling ofpride at the thought that she had a relation living in such luxury. TheChretiennot's rooms were on the third floor, and overlooked thecourtyard. Their _femme-de-menage_--a woman who goes out by the day orhour charring, cleaning and cooking--came back every afternoon about fouro'clock to see to the dinner, and that day she was already there. Sheadmitted the visitor, though she could not conceal her anxious surpriseat her boldness in calling in such slatternly garb. However, on the verythreshold of the little salon, Madame Theodore stopped short inwonderment herself, for her sister Hortense was sobbing and crouching onone of the armchairs, upholstered in blue repp, of which she was soproud. 

"What is the matter? What has happened to you?" asked Madame Theodore. 

Her sister, though scarcely two and thirty, was no longer "the beautifulHortense" of former days. She retained a doll-like appearance, with atall slim figure, pretty eyes and fine, fair hair. But she who had oncetaken so much care of herself, had now come down to dressing-gowns ofdoubtful cleanliness. Her eyelids, too, were reddening, and blotches wereappearing on her skin. She had begun to fade after giving birth to twodaughters, one of whom was now nine and the other seven years of age. Very proud and egotistical, she herself had begun to regret her marriage, for she had formerly considered herself a real beauty, worthy of thepalaces and equipages of some Prince Charming. And at this moment she wasplunged in such despair, that her sister's sudden appearance on the scenedid not even astonish her: "Ah! it's you, " she gasped. "Ah! if you onlyknew what a blow's fallen on me in the middle of all our worries!"

Madame Theodore at once thought of the children, Lucienne and Marcelle. "Are your daughters ill?" she asked. 

"No, no, our neighbour has taken them for a walk on the Boulevard. Butthe fact is, my dear, I'm _enceinte_, and when I told Chretiennot of itafter _dejeuner_, he flew into a most fearful passion, saying the mostdreadful, the most cruel things!"

Then she again sobbed. Gentle and indolent by nature, desirous of peaceand quietness before anything else, she was incapable of deceiving herhusband, as he well knew. But the trouble was that an addition to thefamily would upset the whole economy of the household. 

"_Mon Dieu_!" said Madame Theodore at last, "you brought up the others, and you'll bring up this one too. "

At this an explosion of anger dried the other's eyes; and she rose, exclaiming: "You are good, you are! One can see that our purse isn'tyours. How are we to bring up another child when we can scarcely makeboth ends meet as it is?"

And thereupon, forgetting the _bourgeois_ pride which usually promptedher to silence or falsehood, she freely explained their embarrassment, the horrid pecuniary worries which made their life a perpetual misery. Their rent amounted to 700 francs, * so that out of the 3000 francs**which the husband earned at his office, barely a couple of hundred wereleft them every month. And how were they to manage with that little sum, provide food and clothes, keep up their rank and so forth? There was theindispensable black coat for monsieur, the new dress which madame musthave at regular intervals, under penalty of losing caste, the new bootswhich the children required almost every month, in fact, all sorts ofthings that could not possibly be dispensed with. One might strike a dishor two out of the daily menu, and even go without wine; but evenings camewhen it was absolutely necessary to take a cab. And, apart from all this, one had to reckon with the wastefulness of the children, the disorder inwhich the discouraged wife left the house, and the despair of thehusband, who was convinced that he would never extricate himself from hisdifficulties, even should his salary some day be raised to as high afigure as 4000 francs. Briefly, one here found the unbearable penury ofthe petty clerk, with consequences as disastrous as the black want of theartisan: the mock facade and lying luxury; all the disorder and sufferingwhich lie behind intellectual pride at not earning one's living at abench or on a scaffolding. 

 * $140. 

 ** $600. 

"Well, well, " repeated Madame Theodore, "you can't kill the child. "

"No, of course not; but it's the end of everything, " answered Hortense, sinking into the armchair again. "What will become of us, _mon Dieu_!What will become of us!" Then she collapsed in her unbuttoned dressinggown, tears once more gushing from her red and swollen eyes. 

Much vexed that circumstances should be so unpropitious, Madame Theodorenevertheless ventured to ask for the loan of twenty sons; and thisbrought her sister's despair and confusion to a climax. "I really haven'ta centime in the house, " said she, "just now I borrowed ten sous for thechildren from the servant. I had to get ten francs from the Mont de Pieteon a little ring the other day. And it's always the same at the end ofthe month. However, Chretiennot will be paid to-day, and he's coming backearly with the money for dinner. So if I can I will send you somethingto-morrow. "

At this same moment the servant hastened in with a distracted air, beingwell aware that monsieur was in no wise partial to madame's relatives. "Oh madame, madame!" said she; "here's monsieur coming up the stairs. "

"Quick then, quick, go away!" cried Hortense, "I should only have anotherscene if he met you here. To-morrow, if I can, I promise you. "

To avoid Chretiennot who was coming in, Madame Theodore had to hideherself in the kitchen. As he passed, she just caught sight of him, welldressed as usual in a tight-fitting frock-coat. Short and lean, with athin face and long and carefully tended beard, he had the bearing of onewho is both vain and quarrelsome. Fourteen years of office life hadwithered him, and now the long evening hours which he spent at aneighbouring cafe were finishing him off. 

When Madame Theodore had quitted the house she turned with dragging stepstowards the Rue Marcadet where the Toussaints resided. Here, again, shehad no great expectations, for she well knew what ill-luck and worry hadfallen upon her brother's home. During the previous autumn Toussaint, though he was but fifty, had experienced an attack of paralysis which hadlaid him up for nearly five months. Prior to this mishap he had bornehimself bravely, working steadily, abstaining from drink, and bringing uphis three children in true fatherly fashion. One of them, a girl, was nowmarried to a carpenter, with whom she had gone to Le Havre, while of theothers, both boys--one a soldier, had been killed in Tonquin, and theother Charles, after serving his time in the army, had become a workingmechanician. Still, Toussaint's long illness had exhausted the littlemoney which he had in the Savings Bank, and now that he had been set onhis legs again, he had to begin life once more without a copper beforehim. 

Madame Theodore found her sister-in-law alone in the cleanly kept roomwhich she and her husband occupied. Madame Toussaint was a portly woman, whose corpulence increased in spite of everything, whether it were worryor fasting. She had a round puffy face with bright little eyes; and was avery worthy woman, whose only faults were an inclination for gossipingand a fondness for good cheer. Before Madame Theodore even opened hermouth she understood the object of her visit. "You've come on us at a badmoment, my dear, " she said, "we're stumped. Toussaint wasn't able to goback to the works till the day before yesterday, and he'll have to askfor an advance this evening. "

As she spoke, she looked at the other with no great sympathy, hurt as shefelt by her slovenly appearance. "And Salvat, " she added, "is he stilldoing nothing?"

Madame Theodore doubtless foresaw the question, for she quietly lied: "Heisn't in Paris, a friend has taken him off for some work over Belgiumway, and I'm waiting for him to send us something. "

Madame Toussaint still remained distrustful, however: "Ah!" she said, "it's just as well that he shouldn't be in Paris; for with all these bombaffairs we couldn't help thinking of him, and saying that he was quitemad enough to mix himself up in them. "

The other did not even blink. If she knew anything she kept it toherself. 

"But you, my dear, can't you find any work?" continued Madame Toussaint. 

"Well, what would you have me do with my poor eyes? It's no longerpossible for me to sew. "

"That's true. A seamstress gets done for. When Toussaint was laid up hereI myself wanted to go back to my old calling as a needlewoman. But there!I spoilt everything and did no good. Charring's about the only thing thatone can always do. Why don't you get some jobs of that kind?"

"I'm trying, but I can't find any. "

Little by little Madame Toussaint was softening at sight of the other'smiserable appearance. She made her sit down, and told her that she wouldgive her something if Toussaint should come home with money. Then, yielding to her partiality for gossiping, since there was somebody tolisten to her, she started telling stories. The one affair, however, onwhich she invariably harped was the sorry business of her son Charles andthe servant girl at a wine shop over the way. Before going into the armyCharles had been a most hard-working and affectionate son, invariablybringing his pay home to his mother. And certainly he still worked andshowed himself good-natured; but military service, while sharpening hiswits, had taken away some of his liking for ordinary manual toil. Itwasn't that he regretted army life, for he spoke of his barracks as aprison. Only his tools had seemed to him rather heavy when, on quittingthe service, he had been obliged to take them in hand once more. 

"And so, my dear, " continued Madame Toussaint, "it's all very well forCharles to be kind-hearted, he can do no more for us. I knew that hewasn't in a hurry to get married, as it costs money to keep a wife. Andhe was always very prudent, too, with girls. But what would you have?There was that moment of folly with that Eugenie over the road, a regularbaggage who's already gone off with another man, and left her babybehind. Charles has put it out to nurse, and pays for it every month. Anda lot of expense it is too, perfect ruination. Yes, indeed, everypossible misfortune has fallen on us. "

In this wise Madame Toussaint rattled on for a full half hour. Thenseeing that waiting and anxiety had made her sister-in-law turn quitepale, she suddenly stopped short. "You're losing patience, eh?" sheexclaimed. "The fact is, that Toussaint won't be back for some time. Shall we go to the works together? I'll easily find out if he's likely tobring any money home. "

They then decided to go down, but at the bottom of the stairs theylingered for another quarter of an hour chatting with a neighbour who hadlately lost a child. And just as they were at last leaving the house theyheard a call: "Mamma! mamma!"

It came from little Celine, whose face was beaming with delight. She waswearing a pair of new shoes and devouring a cake. "Mamma, " she resumed, "Monsieur l'Abbe who came the other day wants to see you. Just look! hebought me all this!"

On seeing the shoes and the cake, Madame Theodore understood matters. Andwhen Pierre, who was behind the child, accosted her she began to trembleand stammer thanks. Madame Toussaint on her side had quickly drawn near, not indeed to ask for anything herself, but because she was well pleasedat such a God-send for her sister-in-law, whose circumstances were worsethan her own. And when she saw the priest slip ten francs into MadameTheodore's hand she explained to him that she herself would willinglyhave lent something had she been able. Then she promptly started on thestories of Toussaint's attack and her son Charles's ill-luck. 

But Celine broke in: "I say, mamma, the factory where papa used to workis here in this street, isn't it? Monsieur l'Abbe has some businessthere. "*

 * Although the children of the French peasantry almost invariably address their parents as "father" and "mother, " those of the working classes of Paris, and some other large cities, usually employ the terms "papa" and "mamma. "--Trans. 

"The Grandidier factory, " resumed Madame Toussaint; "well, we were justgoing there, and we can show Monsieur l'Abbe the way. "

It was only a hundred steps off. Escorted by the two women and the child, Pierre slackened his steps and tried to extract some information aboutSalvat from Madame Theodore. But she at once became very prudent. She hadnot seen him again, she declared; he must have gone with a mate toBelgium, where there was a prospect of some work. From what she said, itappeared to the priest that Salvat had not dared to return to the Rue desSaules since his crime, in which all had collapsed, both his past life oftoil and hope, and his recent existence with its duties towards the womanand the child. 

"There's the factory, Monsieur l'Abbe, " suddenly said Madame Toussaint, "my sister-in-law won't have to wait now, since you've been kind enoughto help her. Thank you for her and for us. "

Madame Theodore and Celine likewise poured forth their thanks, standingbeside Madame Toussaint in the everlasting mud of that populous district, amidst the jostling of the passers-by. And lingering there as if to seePierre enter, they again chatted together and repeated that, after all, some priests were very kind. 

The Grandidier works covered an extensive plot of ground. Facing thestreet there was only a brick building with narrow windows and a greatarchway, through which one espied a long courtyard. But, in the rear, came a suite of habitations, workshops, and sheds, above whose neverending roofs arose the two lofty chimneys of the generators. From thevery threshold one detected the rumbling and quivering of machinery, allthe noise and bustle of work. Black water flowed by at one's feet, and upabove white vapour spurted from a slender pipe with a regular stridentpuff, as if it were the very breath of that huge, toiling hive. 

Bicycles were now the principal output of the works. When Grandidier hadtaken them on leaving the Dijon Arts and Trades School, they weredeclining under bad management, slowly building some little motiveengines by the aid of antiquated machinery. Foreseeing the future, however, he had induced his elder brother, one of the managers of the BonMarche, to finance him, on the promise that he would supply that greatemporium with excellent bicycles at 150 francs apiece. And now quite abig venture was in progress, for the Bon Marche was already bringing outthe new popular machine "La Lisette, " the "Bicycle for the Multitude, " asthe advertisements asserted. Nevertheless, Grandidier was still in allthe throes of a great struggle, for his new machinery had cast a heavyburden of debt on him. At the same time each month brought its effort, the perfecting or simplifying of some part of the manufacture, whichmeant a saving in the future. He was ever on the watch; and even now wasthinking of reverting to the construction of little motors, for hethought he could divine in the near future the triumph of the motor-car. 

On asking if M. Thomas Froment were there, Pierre was led by an oldworkman to a little shed, where he found the young fellow in the linenjacket of a mechanician, his hands black with filings. He was adjustingsome piece of mechanism, and nobody would have suspected him to be aformer pupil of the Lycee Condorcet, one of the three clever Froments whohad there rendered the name famous. But his only desire had been to actas his father's faithful servant, the arm that forges, the embodiment ofthe manual toil by which conceptions are realised. And, a giant of threeand twenty, ever attentive and courageous, he was likewise a man ofpatient, silent and sober nature. 

On catching sight of Pierre he quivered with anxiety and sprang forward. "Father is no worse?" he asked. 

"No, no. But he read in the papers that story of a bradawl found in theRue Godot-de-Mauroy, and it made him anxious, because the police may makea perquisition here. "

Thomas, his own anxiety allayed, began to smile. "Tell him he may sleepquietly, " he responded. "To begin with, I've unfortunately not yet hit onour little motor such as I want it to be. In fact, I haven't yet put ittogether. I'm keeping the pieces at our house, and nobody here knowsexactly what I come to do at the factory. So the police may search, itwill find nothing. Our secret runs no risk. "

Pierre promised to repeat these words to Guillaume, so as to dissipatehis fears. However, when he tried to sound Thomas, and ascertain theposition of affairs, what the factory people thought of the discovery ofthe bradawl, and whether there was as yet any suspicion of Salvat, heonce more found the young man taciturn, and elicited merely a "yes" or a"no" in answer to his inquiries. The police had not been there as yet?No. But the men must surely have mentioned Salvat? Yes, of course, onaccount of his Anarchist opinions. But what had Grandidier, the master, said, on returning from the investigating magistrate's? As for thatThomas knew nothing. He had not seen Grandidier that day. 

"But here he comes!" the young man added. "Ah! poor fellow, his wife, Ifancy, had another attack this morning. "

He alluded to a frightful story which Guillaume had already recounted toPierre. Grandidier, falling in love with a very beautiful girl, hadmarried her; but for five years now she had been insane: the result ofpuerperal fever and the death of an infant son. Her husband, with hisardent affection for her, had been unwilling to place her in an asylum, and had accordingly kept her with him in a little pavilion, whosewindows, overlooking the courtyard of the factory, always remainedclosed. She was never seen; and never did he speak of her to anybody. Itwas said that she was usually like a child, very gentle and very sad, andstill beautiful, with regal golden hair. At times, however, attacks offrantic madness came upon her, and he then had to struggle with her, andoften hold her for hours in his arms to prevent her from splitting herhead against the walls. Fearful shrieks would ring out for a time, andthen deathlike silence would fall once more. 

Grandidier came into the shed where Thomas was working. A handsome man offorty, with an energetic face, he had a dark and heavy moustache, brush-like hair and clear eyes. He was very partial to Thomas, and duringthe young fellow's apprenticeship there, had treated him like a son. Andhe now let him return thither whenever it pleased him, and placed hisappliances at his disposal. He knew that he was trying to devise a newmotor, a question in which he himself was extremely interested; still heevinced the greatest discretion, never questioning Thomas, but awaitingthe result of his endeavours. 

"This is my uncle, Abbe Froment, who looked in to wish me good day, " saidthe young man, introducing Pierre. 

An exchange of polite remarks ensued. Then Grandidier sought to cast offthe sadness which made people think him stern and harsh, and in abantering tone exclaimed: "I didn't tell you, Thomas, of my business withthe investigating magistrate. If I hadn't enjoyed a good reputation weshould have had all the spies of the Prefecture here. The magistratewanted me to explain the presence of that bradawl in the RueGodot-de-Mauroy, and I at once realised that, in his opinion, the culpritmust have worked here. For my part I immediately thought of Salvat. But Idon't denounce people. The magistrate has my hiring-book, and as forSalvat I simply answered that he worked here for nearly three months lastautumn, and then disappeared. They can look for him themselves! Ah! thatmagistrate! you can picture him a little fellow with fair hair andcat-like eyes, very careful of his appearance, a society man evidently, but quite frisky at being mixed up in this affair. "

"Isn't he Monsieur Amadieu?" asked Pierre. 

"Yes, that's his name. Ah! he's certainly delighted with the presentwhich those Anarchists have made him, with that crime of theirs. "

The priest listened in deep anxiety. As his brother had feared, the truescent, the first conducting wire, had now been found. And he looked atThomas to see if he also were disturbed. But the young man was eitherignorant of the ties which linked Salvat to his father, or else hepossessed great power of self-control, for he merely smiled atGrandidier's sketch of the magistrate. 

Then, as Grandidier went to look at the piece of mechanism which Thomaswas finishing, and they began to speak about it, Pierre drew near to anopen doorway which communicated with a long workshop where engine latheswere rumbling, and the beams of press-drills falling quickly andrhythmically. Leather gearing spun along with a continuous gliding, andthere was ceaseless bustle and activity amidst the odoriferous dampnessof all the steam. Scores of perspiring workmen, grimy with dust andfilings, were still toiling. Still this was the final effort of the day. And as three men approached a water-tap near Pierre to wash their hands, he listened to their talk, and became particularly interested in it whenhe heard one of them, a tall, ginger-haired fellow, call anotherToussaint, and the third Charles. 

Toussaint, a big, square-shouldered man with knotty arms, only showed hisfifty years on his round, scorched face, which besides being roughenedand wrinkled by labour, bristled with grey hairs, which nowadays he wascontent to shave off once a week. It was only his right arm that wasaffected by paralysis, and moved rather sluggishly. As for Charles, aliving portrait of his father, he was now in all the strength of his sixand twentieth year, with splendid muscles distending his white skin, anda full face barred by a heavy black moustache. The three men, like theiremployer, were speaking of the explosion at the Duvillard mansion, of thebradawl found there, and of Salvat, whom they all now suspected. 

"Why, only a brigand would do such a thing!" said Toussaint. "ThatAnarchism disgusts me. I'll have none of it. But all the same it's forthe _bourgeois_ to settle matters. If the others want to blow them up, it's their concern. It's they who brought it about. "

This indifference was undoubtedly the outcome of a life of want andsocial injustice; it was the indifference of an old toiler, who, weary ofstruggling and hoping for improvements, was now quite ready to toleratethe crumbling of a social system, which threatened him with hunger in hisimpotent old age. 

"Well, you know, " rejoined Charles, "I've heard the Anarchists talking, and they really say some very true and sensible things. And just takeyourself, father; you've been working for thirty years, and isn't itabominable that you should have had to pass through all that you did passthrough recently, liable to go off like some old horse that's slaughteredat the first sign of illness? And, of course, it makes me think ofmyself, and I can't help feeling that it won't be at all amusing to endlike that. And may the thunder of God kill me if I'm wrong, but one feelshalf inclined to join in their great flare-up if it's really to makeeverybody happy!"

He certainly lacked the flame of enthusiasm, and if he had come to theseviews it was solely from impatience to lead a less toilsome life, forobligatory military service had given him ideas of equality among allmen--a desire to struggle, raise himself and obtain his legitimate shareof life's enjoyments. It was, in fact, the inevitable step which carrieseach generation a little more forward. There was the father, who, deceived in his hope of a fraternal republic, had grown sceptical andcontemptuous; and there was the son advancing towards a new faith, andgradually yielding to ideas of violence, since political liberty hadfailed to keep its promises. 

Nevertheless, as the big, ginger-haired fellow grew angry, and shoutedthat if Salvat were guilty, he ought to be caught and guillotined atonce, without waiting for judges, Toussaint ended by endorsing hisopinion. "Yes, yes, he may have married one of my sisters, but I renouncehim.... And yet, you know, it would astonish me to find him guilty, for he isn't wicked at heart. I'm sure he wouldn't kill a fly. "

"But what would you have?" put in Charles. "When a man's driven toextremities he goes mad. "

They had now washed themselves; but Toussaint, on perceiving hisemployer, lingered there in order to ask him for an advance. As ithappened, Grandidier, after cordially shaking hands with Pierre, approached the old workman of his own accord, for he held him in esteem. And, after listening to him, he gave him a line for the cashier on acard. As a rule, he was altogether against the practice of advancingmoney, and his men disliked him, and said he was over rigid, though inpoint of fact he had a good heart. But he had his position as an employerto defend, and to him concessions meant ruin. With such keen competitionon all sides, with the capitalist system entailing a terrible andincessant struggle, how could one grant the demands of the workers, evenwhen they were legitimate?

Sudden compassion came upon Pierre when, after quitting Thomas, he sawGrandidier, who had finished his round, crossing the courtyard in thedirection of the closed pavilion, where all the grief of hisheart-tragedy awaited him. Here was that man waging the battle of life, defending his fortune with the risk that his business might melt awayamidst the furious warfare between capital and labour; and at the sametime, in lieu of evening repose, finding naught but anguish it hishearth: a mad wife, an adored wife, who had sunk back into infancy, andwas for ever dead to love! How incurable was his secret despair! Even onthe days when he triumphed in his workshops, disaster awaited him athome. And could any more unhappy man, any man more deserving of pity, befound even among the poor who died of hunger, among those gloomy workers, those vanquished sons of labour who hated and who envied him?

When Pierre found himself in the street again he was astonished to seeMadame Toussaint and Madame Theodore still there with little Celine. Withtheir feet in the mud, like bits of wreckage against which beat theceaseless flow of wayfarers, they had lingered there, still and everchatting, loquacious and doleful, lulling their wretchedness to restbeneath a deluge of tittle-tattle. And when Toussaint, followed by hisson, came out, delighted with the advance he had secured, he also foundthem on the same spot. Then he told Madame Theodore the story of thebradawl, and the idea which had occurred to him and all his mates thatSalvat might well be the culprit. She, however, though turning very pale, began to protest, concealing both what she knew and what she reallythought. 

"I tell you I haven't seen him for several days, " said she. "He mustcertainly be in Belgium. And as for a bomb, that's humbug. You sayyourself that he's very gentle and wouldn't harm a fly!"

A little later as Pierre journeyed back to Neuilly in a tramcar he fellinto a deep reverie. All the stir and bustle of that working-classdistrict, the buzzing of the factory, the overflowing activity of thathive of labour, seemed to have lingered within him. And for the firsttime, amidst his worries, he realised the necessity of work. Yes, it wasfatal, but it also gave health and strength. In effort which sustains andsaves, he at last found a solid basis on which all might be reared. Wasthis, then, the first gleam of a new faith? But ah! what mockery! Work anuncertainty, work hopeless, work always ending in injustice! And thenwant ever on the watch for the toiler, strangling him as soon as slacktimes came round, and casting him into the streets like a dead dogimmediately old age set in. 

On reaching Neuilly, Pierre found Bertheroy at Guillaume's bedside. Theold _savant_ had just dressed the injured wrist, and was not yet certainthat no complications would arise. "The fact is, " he said to Guillaume, "you don't keep quiet. I always find you in a state of feverish emotionwhich is the worst possible thing for you. You must calm yourself, mydear fellow, and not allow anything to worry you. "

A few minutes later, though, just as he was going away, he said with hispleasant smile: "Do you know that a newspaper writer came to interview meabout that explosion? Those reporters imagine that scientific men knoweverything! I told the one who called on me that it would be very kind of_him_ to enlighten _me_ as to what powder was employed. And, by the way, I am giving a lesson on explosives at my laboratory to-morrow. There willbe just a few persons present. You might come as well, Pierre, so as togive an account of it to Guillaume; it would interest him. "

At a glance from his brother, Pierre accepted the invitation. Then, Bertheroy having gone, he recounted all he had learnt during theafternoon, how Salvat was suspected, and how the investigating magistratehad been put on the right scent. And at this news, intense fever againcame over Guillaume, who, with his head buried in the pillow, and hiseyes closed, stammered as if in a kind of nightmare: "Ah! then, this isthe end! Salvat arrested, Salvat interrogated! Ah! that so much toil andso much hope should crumble!"

IV. CULTURE AND HOPE

ON the morrow, punctually at one o'clock, Pierre reached the Rue d'Ulm, where Bertheroy resided in a fairly large house, which the State hadplaced at his disposal, in order that he might install in it a laboratoryfor study and research. Thus the whole first floor had been transformedinto one spacious apartment, where, from time to time, the illustriouschemist was fond of receiving a limited number of pupils and admirers, before whom he made experiments, and explained his new discoveries andtheories. 

For these occasions a few chairs were set out before the long and massivetable, which was covered with jars and appliances. In the rear one sawthe furnace, while all around were glass cases, full of vials andspecimens. The persons present were, for the most part, fellow _savants_, with a few young men, and even a lady or two, and, of course, anoccasional journalist. The whole made up a kind of family gathering, thevisitors chatting with the master in all freedom. 

Directly Bertheroy perceived Pierre he came forward, pressed his hand andseated him on a chair beside Guillaume's son Francois, who had been oneof the first arrivals. The young man was completing his third year at theEcole Normale, close by, so he only had a few steps to take to call uponhis master Bertheroy, whom he regarded as one of the firmest minds of theage. Pierre was delighted to meet his nephew, for he had been greatlyimpressed in his favour on the occasion of his visit to Montmartre. Francois, on his side, greeted his uncle with all the cordialexpansiveness of youth. He was, moreover, well pleased to obtain somenews of his father. 

However, Bertheroy began. He spoke in a familiar and sober fashion, butfrequently employed some very happy expressions. At first he gave anaccount of his own extensive labours and investigations with regard toexplosive substances, and related with a laugh that he sometimesmanipulated powders which would have blown up the entire district. But, said he, in order to reassure his listeners, he was always extremelyprudent. At last he turned to the subject of that explosion in the RueGodot-de-Mauroy, which, for some days, had filled Paris with dismay. Theremnants of the bomb had been carefully examined by experts, and onefragment had been brought to him, in order that he might give his opinionon it. The bomb appeared to have been prepared in a very rudimentaryfashion; it had been charged with small pieces of iron, and fired bymeans of a match, such as a child might have devised. The extraordinarypart of the affair was the formidable power of the central cartridge, which, although it must have been a small one, had wrought as much havocas any thunderbolt. And the question was this: What incalculable power ofdestruction might one not arrive at if the charge were increased ten, twenty or a hundredfold. Embarrassment began, and divergencies of opinionclouded the issue directly one tried to specify what explosive had beenemployed. Of the three experts who had been consulted, one pronouncedhimself in favour of dynamite pure and simple; but the two others, although they did not agree together, believed in some combination ofexplosive matters. He, Bertheroy, had modestly declined to adjudicate, for the fragment submitted to him bore traces of so slight a character, that analysis became impossible. Thus he was unwilling to make anypositive pronouncement. But his opinion was that one found oneself inpresence of some unknown powder, some new explosive, whose power exceededanything that had hitherto been dreamt of. He could picture some unknown_savant_, or some ignorant but lucky inventor, discovering the formula ofthis explosive under mysterious conditions. And this brought him to thepoint he wished to reach, the question of all the explosives which are sofar unknown, and of the coming discoveries which he could foresee. In thecourse of his investigations he himself had found cause to suspect theexistence of several such explosives, though he had lacked time andopportunity to prosecute his studies in that direction. However, heindicated the field which should be explored, and the best way ofproceeding. In his opinion it was there that lay the future. And in abroad and eloquent peroration, he declared that explosives had hithertobeen degraded by being employed in idiotic schemes of vengeance anddestruction; whereas it was in them possibly that lay the liberatingforce which science was seeking, the lever which would change the face ofthe world, when they should have been so domesticated and subdued as tobe only the obedient servants of man. 

Throughout this familiar discourse Pierre could feel that Francois wasgrowing impassioned, quivering at thought of the vast horizon which themaster opened up. He himself had become extremely interested, for hecould not do otherwise than notice certain allusions, and connect what heheard with what he had guessed of Guillaume's anxiety regarding thatsecret which he feared to see at the mercy of an investigatingmagistrate. And so as he, Pierre, before going off with Francois, approached Bertheroy to wish him good day, he pointedly remarked:"Guillaume will be very sorry that he was unable to hear you unfold thoseadmirable ideas. "

The old _savant_ smiled. "Pooh!" said he; "just give him a summary ofwhat I said. He will understand. He knows more about the matter than Ido. "

In presence of the illustrious chemist, Francois preserved the silentgravity of a respectful pupil, but when he and Pierre had taken a fewsteps down the street in silence, he remarked: "What a pity it is that aman of such broad intelligence, free from all superstition, and anxiousfor the sole triumph of truth, should have allowed himself to beclassified, ticketed, bound round with titles and academical functions!How greatly our affection for him would increase if he took less Statepay, and freed himself from all the grand cordons which tie his hands. "

"What would you have!" rejoined Pierre, in a conciliatory spirit. "A manmust live! At the same time I believe that he does not regard himself astied by anything. "

Then, as they had reached the entrance of the Ecole Normale, the prieststopped, thinking that his companion was going back to the college. ButFrancois, raising his eyes and glancing at the old place, remarked: "No, no, to-day's Thursday, and I'm at liberty! Oh! we have a deal of liberty, perhaps too much. But for my own part I'm well pleased at it, for itoften enables me to go to Montmartre and work at my old little table. It's only there that I feel any real strength and clearness of mind. "

His preliminary examinations had entitled him to admission at either theEcole Polytechnique or the Ecole Normale, * and he had chosen the latter, entering its scientific section with No. 1 against his name. His fatherhad wished him to make sure of an avocation, that of professor, even ifcircumstances should allow him to remain independent and follow his ownbent on leaving the college. Francois, who was very precocious, was nowpreparing for his last examination there, and the only rest he took wasin walking to and from Montmartre, or in strolling through the Luxembourggardens. 

 * The purposes of the Ecole Normale have been referred to on p. 197. At the Ecole Polytechnique young men receive much of the preliminary training which they require to become either artillery officers, or military, naval or civil engineers. --Trans. 

From force of habit he now turned towards the latter, accompanied byPierre and chatting with him. One found the mildness of springtime therethat February afternoon; for pale sunshine streamed between the trees, which were still leafless. It was indeed one of those first fine dayswhich draw little green gems from the branches of the lilac bushes. 

The Ecole Normale was still the subject of conversation and Pierreremarked: "I must own that I hardly like the spirit that prevails there. Excellent work is done, no doubt, and the only way to form professors isto teach men the trade by cramming them with the necessary knowledge. Butthe worst is that although all the students are trained for the teachingprofession, many of them don't remain in it, but go out into the world, take to journalism, or make it their business to control the arts, literature and society. And those who do this are for the most partunbearable. After swearing by Voltaire they have gone back tospirituality and mysticism, the last drawing-room craze. Now that a firmfaith in science is regarded as brutish and inelegant, they fancy thatthey rid themselves of their caste by feigning amiable doubt, andignorance, and innocence. What they most fear is that they may carry ascent of the schools about with them, so they put on extremely Parisianairs, venture on somersaults and slang, and assume all the grace ofdancing bears in their eager desire to please. From that desire springthe sarcastic shafts which they aim at science, they who pretend thatthey know everything, but who go back to the belief of the humble, the_naive_ idealism of Biblical legends, just because they think the latterto be more distinguished. "

Francois began to laugh: "The portrait is perhaps a little overdrawn, "said he, "still there's truth in it, a great deal of truth. "

"I have known several of them, " continued Pierre, who was growinganimated. "And among them all I have noticed that a fear of being dupedleads them to reaction against the entire effort, the whole work of thecentury. Disgust with liberty, distrust of science, denial of the future, that is what they now profess. And they have such a horror of thecommonplace that they would rather believe in nothing or the incredible. It may of course be commonplace to say that two and two make four, yetit's true enough; and it is far less foolish for a man to say and repeatit than to believe, for instance, in the miracles of Lourdes. "

Francois glanced at the priest in astonishment. The other noticed it andstrove to restrain himself. Nevertheless, grief and anger carried himaway whenever he spoke of the educated young people of the time, such as, in his despair, he imagined them to be. In the same way as he had pitiedthe toilers dying of hunger in the districts of misery and want, so herehe overflowed with contempt for the young minds that lacked bravery inthe presence of knowledge, and harked back to the consolation ofdeceptive spirituality, the promise of an eternity of happiness in death, which last was longed for and exalted as the very sum of life. Was notthe cowardly thought of refusing to live for the sake of living so as todischarge one's simple duty in being and making one's effort, equivalentto absolute assassination of life? However, the _Ego_ was always themainspring; each one sought personal happiness. And Pierre was grieved tothink that those young people, instead of discarding the past andmarching on to the truths of the future, were relapsing into shadowymetaphysics through sheer weariness and idleness, due in part perhaps tothe excessive exertion of the century, which had been overladen withhuman toil. 

However, Francois had begun to smile again. "But you are mistaken, " saidhe; "we are not all like that at the Ecole Normale. You only seem to knowthe Normalians of the Section of Letters, and your opinions would surelychange if you knew those of the Section of Sciences. It is quite truethat the reaction against Positivism is making itself felt among ourliterary fellow-students, and that they, like others, are haunted by theidea of that famous bankruptcy of science. This is perhaps due to theirmasters, the neo-spiritualists and dogmatical rhetoricians into whosehands they have fallen. And it is still more due to fashion, the whim ofthe times which, as you have very well put it, regards scientific truthas bad taste, something graceless and altogether too brutal for light anddistinguished minds. Consequently, a young fellow of any shrewdness whodesires to please is perforce won over to the new spirit. "

"The new spirit!" interrupted Pierre, unable to restrain himself. "Oh!that is no mere innocent, passing fashion, it is a tactical device and aterrible one, an offensive return of the powers of darkness against thoseof light, of servitude against free thought, truth and justice. "

Then, as the young man again looked at him with growing astonishment, herelapsed into silence. The figure of Monseigneur Martha had risen beforehis eyes, and he fancied he could again hear the prelate at theMadeleine, striving to win Paris over to the policy of Rome, to thatspurious neo-Catholicism which, with the object of destroying democracyand science, accepted such portions of them as it could adapt to its ownviews. This was indeed the supreme struggle. Thence came all the poisonpoured forth to the young. Pierre knew what efforts were being made inreligious circles to help on this revival of mysticism, in the mad hopeof hastening the rout of science. Monseigneur Martha, who wasall-powerful at the Catholic University, said to his intimates, however, that three generations of devout and docile pupils would be needed beforethe Church would again be absolute sovereign of France. 

"Well, as for the Ecole Normale, " continued Francois, "I assure you thatyou are mistaken. There are a few narrow bigots there, no doubt. But evenin the Section of Letters the majority of the students are sceptics atbottom--sceptics of discreet and good-natured average views. Of coursethey are professors before everything else, though they are a trifleashamed of it; and, as professors, they judge things with no littlepedantic irony, devoured by a spirit of criticism, and quite incapable ofcreating anything themselves. I should certainly be astonished to see theman of genius whom we await come out of their ranks. To my thinking, indeed, it would be preferable that some barbarian genius, neither wellread nor endowed with critical faculty, or power of weighing and shadingthings, should come and open the next century with a hatchet stroke, sending up a fine flare of truth and reality.... But, as for mycomrades of the Scientific Section, I assure you that neo-Catholicism andMysticism and Occultism, and every other branch of the fashionablephantasmagoria trouble them very little indeed. They are not making areligion of science, they remain open to doubt on many points; but theyare mostly men of very clear and firm minds, whose passion is theacquirement of certainty, and who are ever absorbed in the investigationswhich continue throughout the whole vast field of human knowledge. Theyhaven't flinched, they have remained Positivists, or Evolutionists, orDeterminists, and have set their faith in observation and experiment tohelp on the final conquest of the world. "

Francois himself was growing excited, as he thus confessed his faithwhile strolling along the quiet sunlit garden paths. "The young indeed!"he resumed. "Do people know them? It makes us laugh when we see all sortsof apostles fighting for us, trying to attract us, and saying that we arewhite or black or grey, according to the hue which they require for thetriumph of their particular ideas! The young, the real ones, why, they'rein the schools, the laboratories and the libraries. It's they who workand who'll bring to-morrow to the world. It's not the young fellows ofdinner and supper clubs, manifestoes and all sorts of extravagances. Thelatter make a great deal of noise, no doubt; in fact, they alone areheard. But if you knew of the ceaseless efforts and passionate strivingof the others, those who remain silent, absorbed in their tasks. And Iknow many of them: they are with their century, they have rejected noneof its hopes, but are marching on to the coming century, resolved topursue the work of their forerunners, ever going towards more light andmore equity. And just speak to them of the bankruptcy of science. They'llshrug their shoulders at the mere idea, for they know well enough thatscience has never before inflamed so many hearts or achieved greaterconquests! It is only if the schools, laboratories and libraries wereclosed, and the social soil radically changed, that one would have causeto fear a fresh growth of error such as weak hearts and narrow minds holdso dear!"

At this point Francois's fine flow of eloquence was interrupted. A tallyoung fellow stopped to shake hands with him; and Pierre was surprised torecognise Baron Duvillard's son Hyacinthe, who bowed to him in verycorrect style. "What! you here in our old quarter, " exclaimed Francois. 

"My dear fellow, I'm going to Jonas's, over yonder, behind theObservatory. Don't you know Jonas? Ah! my dear fellow, he's a delightfulsculptor, who has succeeded in doing away with matter almost entirely. Hehas carved a figure of Woman, no bigger than the finger, and entirelysoul, free from all baseness of form, and yet complete. All Woman, indeed, in her essential symbolism! Ah! it's grand, it's overpowering. Aperfect scheme of aesthetics, a real religion!"

Francois smiled as he looked at Hyacinthe, buttoned up in his longpleated frock-coat, with his made-up face, and carefully cropped hair andbeard. "And yourself?" said he, "I thought you were working, and weregoing to publish a little poem, shortly?"

"Oh! the task of creating is so distasteful to me, my dear fellow! Asingle line often takes me weeks.... Still, yes, I have a little poemon hand, 'The End of Woman. ' And you see, I'm not so exclusive as somepeople pretend, since I admire Jonas, who still believes in Woman. Hisexcuse is sculpture, which, after all, is at best such a grossmaterialistic art. But in poetry, good heavens, how we've beenoverwhelmed with Woman, always Woman! It's surely time to drive her outof the temple, and cleanse it a little. Ah! if we were all pure and loftyenough to do without Woman, and renounce all those horrid sexualquestions, so that the last of the species might die childless, eh? Theworld would then at least finish in a clean and proper manner!"

Thereupon, Hyacinthe walked off with his languid air, well pleased withthe effect which he had produced on the others. 

"So you know him?" said Pierre to Francois. 

"He was my school-fellow at Condorcet, we were in the same classestogether. Such a funny fellow he was! A perfect dunce! And he was alwaysmaking a parade of Father Duvillard's millions, while pretending todisdain them, and act the revolutionist, for ever saying that he'd usehis cigarette to fire the cartridge which was to blow up the world! Hewas Schopenhauer, and Nietzsche, and Tolstoi, and Ibsen, rolled into one!And you can see what he has become with it all: a humbug with a diseasedmind!"

"It's a terrible symptom, " muttered Pierre, "when through _ennui_ orlassitude, or the contagion of destructive fury, the sons of the happyand privileged ones start doing the work of the demolishers. "

Francois had resumed his walk, going down towards the ornamental water, where some children were sailing their boats. "That fellow is simplygrotesque, " he replied; "but how would you have sane people give any heedto that mysticism, that awakening of spirituality which is alleged by thesame _doctrinaires_ who started the bankruptcy of science cry, when afterso brief an evolution it produces such insanity, both in art andliterature? A few years of influence have sufficed; and now Satanism, Occultism and other absurdities are flourishing; not to mention that, according to some accounts, the Cities of the Plains are reconciled withnew Rome. Isn't the tree judged by its fruits? And isn't it evident that, instead of a renascence, a far-spreading social movement bringing backthe past, we are simply witnessing a transitory reaction, which manythings explain? The old world would rather not die, and is struggling ina final convulsion, reviving for a last hour before it is swept away bythe overflowing river of human knowledge, whose waters ever increase. Andyonder, in the future, is the new world, which the real young ones willbring into existence, those who work, those who are not known, who arenot heard. And yet, just listen! Perhaps you will hear them, for we areamong them, in their 'quarter. ' This deep silence is that of the labourof all the young fellows who are leaning over their work-tables, and dayby day carrying forward the conquest of truth. "

So saying Francois waved his hand towards all the day-schools andcolleges and high schools beyond the Luxembourg garden, towards theFaculties of Law and Medicine, the Institute and its five Academies, theinnumerable libraries and museums which made up the broad domain ofintellectual labour. And Pierre, moved by it all, shaken in his theoriesof negation, thought that he could indeed hear a low but far-spreadingmurmur of the work of thousands of active minds, rising fromlaboratories, studies and class, reading and lecture rooms. It was notlike the jerky, breathless trepidation, the loud clamour of factorieswhere manual labour toils and chafes. But here, too, there were sighs ofweariness, efforts as killing, exertion as fruitful in its results. Wasit indeed true that the cultured young were still and ever in theirsilent forge, renouncing no hope, relinquishing no conquest, but in fullfreedom of mind forging the truth and justice of to-morrow with theinvincible hammers of observation and experiment?

Francois, however, had raised his eyes to the palace clock to ascertainthe time. "I'm going to Montmartre, " he said; "will you come part of theway with me?"

Pierre assented, particularly as the young man added that on his way hemeant to call for his brother Antoine at the Museum of the Louvre. Thatbright afternoon the Louvre picture galleries were steeped in warm anddignified quietude, which one particularly noticed on coming from thetumult and scramble of the streets. The majority of the few people onefound there were copyists working in deep silence, which only thewandering footsteps of an occasional tourist disturbed. Pierre andFrancois found Antoine at the end of the gallery assigned to thePrimitive masters. With scrupulous, almost devout care he was making adrawing of a figure by Mantegna. The Primitives did not impassion him byreason of any particular mysticism and ideality, such as fashion pretendsto find in them, but on the contrary, and justifiably enough, by reasonof the sincerity of their ingenuous realism, their respect and modesty inpresence of nature, and the minute fidelity with which they sought totranscribe it. He spent days of hard work in copying and studying them, in order to learn strictness and probity of drawing from them--all thatlofty distinction of style which they owe to their candour as honestartists. 

Pierre was struck by the pure glow which a sitting of good hard work hadset in Antoine's light blue eyes. It imparted warmth and evenfeverishness to his fair face, which was usually all dreaminess andgentleness. His lofty forehead now truly looked like a citadel armed forthe conquest of truth and beauty. He was only eighteen, and his story wassimply this: as he had grown disgusted with classical studies and beenmastered by a passion for drawing, his father had let him leave the LyceeCondorcet when he was in the third class there. Some little time had thenelapsed while he felt his way and the deep originality within him wasbeing evolved. He had tried etching on copper, but had soon come to woodengraving, and had attached himself to it in spite of the discredit intowhich it had fallen, lowered as it had been to the level of a mere trade. Was there not here an entire art to restore and enlarge? For his own parthe dreamt of engraving his own drawings, of being at once the brain whichconceives and the hand which executes, in such wise as to obtain neweffects of great intensity both as regards perception and touch. Tocomply with the wishes of his father, who desired each of his sons tohave a trade, he earned his bread like other engravers by working for theillustrated newspapers. But, in addition to this current work, he hadalready engraved several blocks instinct with wonderful power and life. They were simply copies of real things, scenes of everyday existence, butthey were accentuated, elevated so to say, by the essential line, with amaestria which on the part of so young a lad fairly astonished one. 

"Do you want to engrave that?" Francois asked him, as he placed his copyof Mantegna's figure in his portfolio. 

"Oh! no, that's merely a dip into innocence, a good lesson to teach oneto be modest and sincere. Life is very different nowadays. "

Then, while walking along the streets--for Pierre, who felt growingsympathy for the two young fellows, went with them in the direction ofMontmartre, forgetful of all else, --Antoine, who was beside him, spokeexpansively of his artistic dreams. 

"Colour is certainly a power, a sovereign source of charm, and one may, indeed, say that without colour nothing can be completely represented. Yet, singularly enough, it isn't indispensable to me. It seems to me thatI can picture life as intensely and definitely with mere black and white, and I even fancy that I shall be able to do so in a more essentialmanner, without any of the dupery which lies in colour. But what a taskit is! I should like to depict the Paris of to-day in a few scenes, a fewtypical figures, which would serve as testimony for all time. And Ishould like to do it with great fidelity and candour, for an artist onlylives by reason of his candour, his humility and steadfast belief inNature, which is ever beautiful. I've already done a few figures, I willshow them to you. But ah! if I only dared to tackle my blocks with thegraver, at the outset, without drawing my subject beforehand. For thatgenerally takes away one's fire. However, what I do with the pencil is amere sketch; for with the graver I may come upon a find, some unexpectedstrength or delicacy of effect. And so I'm draughtsman and engraver allin one, in such a way that my blocks can only be turned out by myself. Ifthe drawings on them were engraved by another, they would be quitelifeless.... Yes, life can spring from the fingers just as well asfrom the brain, when one really possesses creative power. "

They walked on, and when they found themselves just below Montmartre, andPierre spoke of taking a tramcar to return to Neuilly, Antoine, quitefeverish with artistic passion, asked him if he knew Jahan, the sculptor, who was working for the Sacred Heart. And on receiving a negative reply, he added: "Well, come and see him for a moment. He has a great futurebefore him. You'll see an angel of his which has been declined. "

Then, as Francois began to praise the angel in question, Pierre agreed toaccompany them. On the summit of the height, among all the sheds whichthe building of the basilica necessitated, Jahan had been able to set upa glazed workshop large enough for the huge angel ordered of him. Histhree visitors found him there in a blouse, watching a couple ofassistants, who were rough-hewing the block of stone whence the angel wasto emerge. Jahan was a sturdy man of thirty-six, with dark hair andbeard, a large, ruddy mouth and fine bright eyes. Born in Paris, he hadstudied at the Fine Art School, but his impetuous temperament hadconstantly landed him in trouble there. 

"Ah! yes, " said he, "you've come to see my angel, the one which theArchbishop wouldn't take. Well, there it is. "

The clay model of the figure, some three feet high, and already drying, looked superb in its soaring posture, with its large, outspread wingsexpanding as if with passionate desire for the infinite. The body, barelydraped, was that of a slim yet robust youth, whose face beamed with therapture of his heavenly flight. 

"They found him too human, " said Jahan. "And after all they were right. There's nothing so difficult to conceive as an angel. One even hesitatesas to the sex; and when faith is lacking one has to take the first modelone finds and copy it and spoil it. For my part, while I was modellingthat one, I tried to imagine a beautiful youth suddenly endowed withwings, and carried by the intoxication of his flight into all the joy ofthe sunshine. But it upset them, they wanted something more religious, they said; and so then I concocted that wretched thing over there. Afterall, one has to earn one's living, you know. "

So saying, he waved his hand towards another model, the one for which hisassistants were preparing the stone. And this model represented an angelof the correct type, with symmetrical wings like those of a goose, afigure of neither sex, and commonplace features, expressing the sillyecstasy that tradition requires. 

"What would you have?" continued Jahan. "Religious art has sunk to themost disgusting triteness. People no longer believe; churches are builtlike barracks, and decorated with saints and virgins fit to make oneweep. The fact is that genius is only the fruit of the social soil; and agreat artist can only send up a blaze of the faith of the time he livesin. For my part, I'm the grandson of a Beauceron peasant. My father cameto Paris to set himself up in business as a marble worker for tombstonesand so forth, just at the top of the Rue de la Roquette. It was there Igrew up. I began as a workman, and all my childhood was spent among themasses, in the streets, without ever a thought coming to me of settingfoot in a church. So few Parisians think of doing so nowadays. And sowhat's to become of art since there's no belief in the Divinity or evenin beauty? We're forced to go forward to the new faith, which is thefaith in life and work and fruitfulness, in all that labours andproduces. "

Then suddenly breaking off he exclaimed: "By the way, I've been doingsome more work to my figure of Fecundity, and I'm fairly well pleasedwith it. Just come with me and I'll show it you. "

Thereupon he insisted on taking them to his private studio, which wasnear by, just below Guillaume's little house. It was entered by way ofthe Rue du Calvaire, a street which is simply a succession of ladder-likeflights of steps. The door opened on to one of the little landings, andone found oneself in a spacious, well-lighted apartment littered withmodels and casts, fragments and figures, quite an overflow of sturdy, powerful talent. On a stool was the unfinished model of Fecundity swathedin wet cloths. These Jahan removed, and then she stood forth with herrounded figure, her broad hips and her wifely, maternal bosom, full ofthe milk which nourishes and redeems. 

"Well, what do you think of her?" asked Jahan. "Built as she is, I fancythat her children ought to be less puny than the pale, languid, aestheticfellows of nowadays!"

While Antoine and Francois were admiring the figure, Pierre, for hispart, took most interest in a young girl who had opened the door to them, and who had now wearily reseated herself at a little table to continue abook she was reading. This was Jahan's sister, Lise. A score of yearsyounger than himself, she was but sixteen, and had been living alone withhim since their father's death. Very slight and delicate looking, she hada most gentle face, with fine light hair which suggested pale gold-dust. She was almost a cripple, with legs so weak that she only walked withdifficulty, and her mind also was belated, still full of childish_naivete_. At first this had much saddened her brother, but with time hehad grown accustomed to her innocence and languor. Busy as he always was, ever in a transport, overflowing with new plans, he somewhat neglectedher by force of circumstances, letting her live beside him much as shelisted. 

Pierre had noticed, however, the sisterly impulsiveness with which shehad greeted Antoine. And the latter, after congratulating Jahan on hisstatue, came and sat down beside her, questioned her and wished to seethe book which she was reading. During the last six months the most pureand affectionate intercourse had sprung up between them. He, from hisfather's garden, up yonder on the Place du Tertre, could see her throughthe huge window of that studio where she led so innocent a life. Andnoticing that she was always alone, as if forsaken, he had begun to takean interest in her. Then had come acquaintance; and, delighted to findher so simple and so charming, he had conceived the design of rousing herto intelligence and life, by loving her, by becoming at once the mind andthe heart whose power fructifies. Weak plant that she was, in need ofdelicate care, sunshine and affection, he became for her all that herbrother had, through circumstances, failed to be. He had already taughther to read, a task in which every mistress had previously failed. Buthim she listened to and understood. And by slow degrees a glow ofhappiness came to the beautiful clear eyes set in her irregular face. Itwas love's miracle, the creation of woman beneath the breath of a younglover who gave himself entirely. No doubt she still remained verydelicate, with such poor health that one ever feared that she mightexpire in a faint sigh; and her legs, moreover, were still too weak toadmit of her walking any distance. But all the same, she was no longerthe little wilding, the little ailing flower of the previous spring. 

Jahan, who marvelled at the incipient miracle, drew near to the youngpeople. "Ah!" said he, "your pupil does you honour. She reads quitefluently, you know, and understands the fine books you send her. You readto me of an evening now, don't you, Lise?"

She raised her candid eyes, and gazed at Antoine with a smile of infinitegratitude. "Oh! whatever he'll teach me, " she said, "I'll learn it, anddo it. "

The others laughed gently. Then, as the visitors were going off, Francoispaused before a model which had cracked while drying. "Oh! that's aspoilt thing, " said the sculptor. "I wanted to model a figure of Charity. It was ordered of me by a philanthropic institution. But try as I might, I could only devise something so commonplace that I let the clay spoil. Still, I must think it over and endeavour to take the matter in handagain. "

When they were outside, it occurred to Pierre to go as far as thebasilica of the Sacred Heart in the hope of finding Abbe Rose there. Sothe three of them went round by way of the Rue Gabrielle and climbed thesteps of the Rue Chape. And just as they were reaching the summit wherethe basilica reared its forest of scaffoldings beneath the clear sky, they encountered Thomas, who, on leaving the factory, had gone to give anorder to a founder in the Rue Lamarck. 

He, who as a rule was so silent and discreet, now happened to be in anexpansive mood, which made him look quite radiant. "Ah! I'm so pleased, "he said, addressing Pierre; "I fancy that I've found what I want for ourlittle motor. Tell father that things are going on all right, and that hemust make haste to get well. "

At these words his brothers, Francois and Antoine, drew close to him witha common impulse. And they stood there all three, a valiant little group, their hearts uniting and beating with one and the same delight at theidea that their father would be gladdened, that the good news they weresending him would help him towards recovery. As for Pierre, who, now thathe knew them, was beginning to love them and judge them at their worth, he marvelled at the sight of these three young giants, each so strikinglylike the other, and drawn together so closely and so promptly, directlytheir filial affection took fire. 

"Tell him that we are waiting for him, and will come to him at the firstsign if we are wanted. "

Then each in turn shook the priest's hand vigorously. And while heremained watching them as they went off towards the little house, whosegarden he perceived over the wall of the Rue Saint Eleuthere, he fanciedhe could there detect a delicate silhouette, a white, sunlit face under ahelp of dark hair. It was doubtless the face of Marie, examining the budson her lilac bushes. At that evening hour, however, the diffuse light wasso golden that the vision seemed to fade in it as in a halo. And Pierre, feeling dazzled, turned his head, and on the other side saw naught butthe overwhelming, chalky mass of the basilica, whose hugeness shut outall view of the horizon. 

For a moment he remained motionless on that spot, so agitated byconflicting thoughts and feelings that he could read neither heart normind clearly. Then, as he turned towards the city, all Paris spreaditself out at his feet, a limpid, lightsome Paris, beneath the pink glowof that spring-like evening. The endless billows of house-roofs showedforth with wonderful distinctness, and one could have counted the chimneystacks and the little black streaks of the windows by the million. Theedifices rising into the calm atmosphere seemed like the anchored vesselsof some fleet arrested in its course, with lofty masting which glitteredat the sun's farewell. And never before had Pierre so distinctly observedthe divisions of that human ocean. Eastward and northward was the city ofmanual toil, with the rumbling and the smoke of its factories. Southward, beyond the river, was the city of study, of intellectual labour, so calm, so perfectly serene. And on all sides the passion of trade ascended fromthe central districts, where the crowds rolled and scrambled amidst aneverlasting uproar of wheels; while westward, the city of the happy andpowerful ones, those who fought for sovereignty and wealth, spread outits piles of palaces amidst the slowly reddening flare of the decliningplanet. 

And then, from the depths of his negation, the chaos into which his lossof faith had plunged him, Pierre felt a delicious freshness pass like thevague advent of a new faith. So vague it was that he could not haveexpressed even his hope of it in words. But already among the roughfactory workers, manual toil had appeared to him necessary andredemptive, in spite of all the misery and abominable injustice to whichit led. And now the young men of intellect of whom he had despaired, thatgeneration of the morrow which he had thought spoilt, relapsing intoancient error and rottenness, had appeared to him full of virile promise, resolved to prosecute the work of those who had gone before, and effect, by the aid of Science only, the conquest of absolute truth and absolutejustice. 

V. PROBLEMS

A FULL month had already gone by since Guillaume had taken refuge at hisbrother's little house at Neuilly. His wrist was now nearly healed. Hehad long ceased to keep his bed, and often strolled through the garden. In spite of his impatience to go back to Montmartre, join his loved onesand resume his work there, he was each morning prompted to defer hisreturn by the news he found in the newspapers. The situation was ever thesame. Salvat, whom the police now suspected, had been perceived oneevening near the central markets, and then again lost sight of. Everyday, however, his arrest was said to be imminent. And in that case whatwould happen? Would he speak out, and would fresh perquisitions be made?

For a whole week the press had been busy with the bradawl found under theentrance of the Duvillard mansion. Nearly every reporter in Paris hadcalled at the Grandidier factory and interviewed both workmen and master. Some had even started on personal investigations, in the hope ofcapturing the culprit themselves. There was no end of jesting about theincompetence of the police, and the hunt for Salvat was followed all themore passionately by the general public, as the papers overflowed withthe most ridiculous concoctions, predicting further explosions, anddeclaring even that all Paris would some morning be blown into the air. The "Voix du Peuple" set a fresh shudder circulating every day by itsannouncements of threatening letters, incendiary placards and mysterious, far-reaching plots. And never before had so base and foolish a spirit ofcontagion wafted insanity through a civilised city. 

Guillaume, for his part, no sooner awoke of a morning than he was allimpatience to see the newspapers, quivering at the idea that he would atlast read of Salvat's arrest. In his state of nervous expectancy, thewild campaign which the press had started, the idiotic and the ferociousthings which he found in one or another journal, almost drove him crazy. A number of "suspects" had already been arrested in a kind of chancerazzia, which had swept up the usual Anarchist herd, together with sundryhonest workmen and bandits, _illumines_ and lazy devils, in fact, a mostsingular, motley crew, which investigating magistrate Amadieu wasendeavouring to turn into a gigantic association of evil-doers. Onemorning, moreover, Guillaume found his own name mentioned in connectionwith a perquisition at the residence of a revolutionary journalist, whowas a friend of his. At this his heart bounded with revolt, but he wasforced to the conclusion that it would be prudent for him to remainpatient a little longer, in his peaceful retreat at Neuilly, since thepolice might at any moment break into his home at Montmartre, to arresthim should it find him there. 

Amidst all this anxiety the brothers led a most solitary and gentle life. Pierre himself now spent most of his time at home. The first days ofMarch had come, and precocious springtide imparted delightful charm andwarmth to the little garden. Guillaume, however, since quitting his bed, had more particularly installed himself in his father's old laboratory, now transformed into a spacious study. All the books and papers left bythe illustrious chemist were still there, and among the latter Guillaumefound a number of unfinished essays, the perusal of which greatly excitedhis interest, and often absorbed him from morning till night. It was thiswhich largely enabled him to bear his voluntary seclusion patiently. Seated on the other side of the big table, Pierre also mostly occupiedhimself with reading; but at times his eyes would quit his book andwander away into gloomy reverie, into all the chaos into which he stilland ever sank. For long hours the brothers would in this wise remain sideby side, without speaking a word. Yet they knew they were together; andoccasionally, when their eyes met, they would exchange a smile. Thestrong affection of former days was again springing up within them; theirchildhood, their home, their parents, all seemed to live once more in thequiet atmosphere they breathed. However, the bay window overlooked thegarden in the direction of Paris, and often, when they emerged from theirreading or their reverie, it was with a sudden feeling of anxiety, and inorder to lend ear to the distant rumbling, the increased clamour of thegreat city. 

On other occasions they paused as if in astonishment at hearing acontinuous footfall overhead. It was that of Nicholas Barthes, who stilllingered in the room above. He seldom came downstairs, and scarcely everventured into the garden, for fear, said he, that he might be perceivedand recognised from a distant house whose windows were concealed by aclump of trees. One might laugh at the old conspirator's haunting thoughtof the police. Nevertheless, the caged-lion restlessness, the ceaselesspromenade of that perpetual prisoner who had spent two thirds of his lifein the dungeons of France in his desire to secure the liberty of others, imparted to the silence of the little house a touching melancholy, thevery rhythm as it were of all the great good things which one hoped for, but which would never perhaps come. 

Very few visits drew the brothers from their solitude. Bertheroy cameless frequently now that Guillaume's wrist was healing. The mostassiduous caller was certainly Theophile Morin, whose discreet ring washeard every other day at the same hour. Though he did not share the ideasof Barthes he worshipped him as a martyr; and would always go upstairs tospend an hour with him. However, they must have exchanged few words, fornot a sound came from the room. Whenever Morin sat down for a moment inthe laboratory with the brothers, Pierre was struck by his seemingweariness, his ashen grey hair and beard and dismal countenance, all thelife of which appeared to have been effaced by long years spent in theteaching profession. Indeed, it was only when the priest mentioned Italythat he saw his companion's resigned eyes blaze up like live coals. Oneday when he spoke of the great patriot Orlando Prada, Morin's companionof victory in Garibaldi's days, he was amazed by the sudden flare ofenthusiasm which lighted up the other's lifeless features. However, thesewere but transient flashes: the old professor soon reappeared, and allthat one found in Morin was the friend of Proudhon and the subsequentdisciple of Auguste Comte. Of his Proudhonian principles he had retainedall a pauper's hatred of wealth, and a desire for a more equitablepartition of fortune. But the new times dismayed him, and neitherprinciple nor temperament allowed him to follow Revolutionism to itsutmost limits. Comte had imparted unshakable convictions to him in thesphere of intellectual questions, and he contented himself with the clearand decisive logic of Positivism, rejecting all metaphysical hypothesesas useless, persuaded as he was that the whole human question, whethersocial or religious, would be solved by science alone. This faith, firmas it had remained, was, however, coupled with secret bitterness, fornothing seemed to advance in a sensible manner towards its goal. Comtehimself had ended in the most cloudy mysticism; great _savants_ recoiledfrom truth in terror; and now barbarians were threatening the world withfresh night; all of which made Morin almost a reactionist in politics, already resigned to the advent of a dictator, who would set thingssomewhat in order, so that humanity might be able to complete itseducation. 

Other visitors who occasionally called to see Guillaume were Bache andJanzen, who invariably came together and at night-time. Every now andthen they would linger chatting with Guillaume in the spacious studyuntil two o'clock in the morning. Bache, who was fat and had a fatherlyair, with his little eyes gently beaming amidst all the snowy whitenessof his hair and beard, would talk on slowly, unctuously and interminably, as soon as he had begun to explain his views. He would address merely apolite bow to Saint-Simon, the initiator, the first to lay down the lawthat work was a necessity for one and all according to their capacities;but on coming to Fourier his voice softened and he confessed his wholereligion. To his thinking, Fourier had been the real messiah of moderntimes, the saviour of genius, who had sown the good seed of the futureworld, by regulating society such as it would certainly be organisedto-morrow. The law of harmony had been promulgated; human passions, liberated and utilised in healthy fashion, would become the requisitemachinery; and work, rendered pleasant and attractive, would prove thevery function of life. Nothing could discourage Bache; if merely oneparish began by transforming itself into a _phalansterium_, the wholedepartment would soon follow, then the adjacent departments, and finallyall France. Moreover, Bache even favoured the schemes of Cabet, whoseIcaria, said he, had in no wise been such a foolish idea. Further, herecalled a motion he had made, when member of the Commune in 1871, toapply Fourier's ideas to the French Republic; and he was apparentlyconvinced that the troops of Versailles had delayed the triumph ofCommunism for half a century. Whenever people nowadays talked oftable-turning he pretended to laugh, but at bottom he had remained animpenitent "spiritist. " Since he had been a municipal councillor he hadbeen travelling from one socialist sect to another, according as theirideas offered points of resemblance to his old faith. And he was fairlyconsumed by his need of faith, his perplexity as to the Divine, which hewas now occasionally inclined to find in the legs of some piece offurniture, after denying its presence in the churches. 

Janzen, for his part, was as taciturn as his friend Bache was garrulous. Such remarks as he made were brief, but they were as galling as lashes, as cutting as sabre-strokes. At the same time his ideas and theoriesremained somewhat obscure, partly by reason of this brevity of his, andpartly on account of the difficulty he experienced in expressing himselfin French. He was from over yonder, from some far-away land--Russia, Poland, Austria or Germany, nobody exactly knew; and it mattered little, for he certainly acknowledged no country, but wandered far and wide withhis dream of blood-shedding fraternity. Whenever, with his wontedfrigidity, he gave utterance to one of those terrible remarks of hiswhich, like a scythe in a meadow, cut away all before him, little lessthan the necessity of thus mowing down nations, in order to sow the earthafresh with a young and better community, became apparent. At eachproposition unfolded by Bache, such as labour rendered agreeable bypolice regulations, _phalansteria_ organised like barracks, religiontransformed into pantheist or spiritist deism, he gently shrugged hisshoulders. What could be the use of such childishness, such hypocriticalrepairing, when the house was falling and the only honest course was tothrow it to the ground, and build up the substantial edifice of to-morrowwith entirely new materials? On the subject of propaganda by deeds, bomb-throwing and so forth, he remained silent, though his gestures wereexpressive of infinite hope. He evidently approved that course. Thelegend which made him one of the perpetrators of the crime of Barcelonaset a gleam of horrible glory in his mysterious past. One day when Bache, while speaking to him of his friend Bergaz, the shadowy Bourse jobber whohad already been compromised in some piece of thieving, plainly declaredthat the aforesaid Bergaz was a bandit, Janzen contented himself withsmiling, and replying quietly that theft was merely forced restitution. Briefly, in this man of culture and refinement, in whose own mysteriouslife one might perhaps have found various crimes but not a single act ofbase improbity, one could divine an implacable, obstinate theoretician, who was resolved to set the world ablaze for the triumph of his ideas. 

On certain evenings when a visit from Theophile Morin coincided with onefrom Bache and Janzen, and they and Guillaume lingered chatting until farinto the night, Pierre would listen to them in despair from the shadowycorner where he remained motionless, never once joining in thediscussions. Distracted, by his own unbelief and thirst for truth, he hadat the outset taken a passionate interest in these debates, desirous ashe was of drawing up a balance-sheet of the century's ideas, so as toform some notion of the distance that had been travelled, and the profitsthat had accrued. But he recoiled from all this in fresh despair, onhearing the others argue, each from his own standpoint and withoutpossibility of concession and agreement. After the repulses he hadencountered at Lourdes and Rome, he well realised that in this freshexperiment which he was making with Paris, the whole brain of the centurywas in question, the new truths, the expected gospel which was to changethe face of the world. And, burning with inconsiderate zeal, he went fromone belief to another, which other he soon rejected in order to adopt athird. If he had first felt himself to be a Positivist with Morin, anEvolutionist and Determinist with Guillaume, he had afterwards beentouched by the fraternal dream of a new golden age which he had found inBache's humanitarian Communism. And indeed even Janzen had momentarilyshaken him by his fierce confidence in the theory of liberativeIndividualism. But afterwards he had found himself out of his depth; andeach and every theory had seemed to him but part of the chaoticcontradictions and incoherences of humanity on its march. It was all acontinuous piling up of dross, amidst which he lost himself. AlthoughFourier had sprung from Saint-Simon he denied him in part; and ifSaint-Simon's doctrine ended in a kind of mystical sensuality, theother's conducted to an unacceptable regimenting of society. Proudhon, for his part, demolished without rebuilding anything. Comte, who createdmethod and declared science to be the one and only sovereign, had noteven suspected the advent of the social crisis which now threatened tosweep all away, and had finished personally as a mere worshipper of love, overpowered by woman. Nevertheless, these two, Comte and Proudhon, entered the lists and fought against the others, Fourier and Saint-Simon;the combat between them or their disciples becoming so bitter and soblind that the truths common to them all were obscured and disfiguredbeyond recognition. Thence came the extraordinary muddle of the presenthour; Bache with Saint-Simon and Fourier, and Morin with Proudhon andComte, utterly failing to understand Mege, the Collectivist deputy, whomthey held up to execration, him and his State Collectivism, in the sameway, moreover, as they thundered against all the other present-timeSocialist sects, without realising that these also, whatever theirnature, had more or less sprung from the same masters as themselves. Andall this seemingly indicated that Janzen was right when he declared thatthe house was past repair, fast crumbling amidst rottenness and insanity, and that it ought to be levelled to the ground. 

One night, after the three visitors had gone, Pierre, who had remainedwith Guillaume, saw him grow very gloomy as he slowly walked to and fro. He, in his turn, had doubtless felt that all was crumbling. And thoughhis brother alone was there to hear him, he went on speaking. Heexpressed all his horror of the Collectivist State as imagined by Mege, aDictator-State re-establishing ancient servitude on yet closer lines. Theerror of all the Socialist sects was their arbitrary organisation ofLabour, which enslaved the individual for the profit of the community. And, forced to conciliate the two great currents, the rights of societyand the rights of the individual, Guillaume had ended by placing hiswhole faith in free Communism, an anarchical state in which he dreamt ofseeing the individual freed, moving and developing without restraint, forthe benefit both of himself and of all others. Was not this, said he, theone truly scientific theory, unities creating worlds, atoms producinglife by force of attraction, free and ardent love? All oppressiveminorities would disappear; and the faculties and energies of one and allwould by free play arrive at harmony amidst the equilibrium--whichchanged according to needs--of the active forces of advancing humanity. In this wise he pictured a nation, saved from State tutelage, without amaster, almost without laws, a happy nation, each citizen of which, completely developed by the exercise of liberty, would, of his free will, come to an understanding with his neighbours with regard to the thousandnecessities of life. And thence would spring society, free association, hundreds of associations which would regulate social life; though at thesame time they would remain variable, in fact often opposed and hostileto one another. For progress is but the fruit of conflict and struggle;the world has only been created by the battle of opposing forces. Andthat was all; there would be no more oppressors, no more rich, no morepoor; the domain of the earth with its natural treasures and itsimplements of labour would be restored to the people, its legitimateowners, who would know how to enjoy it with justice and logic, whennothing abnormal would impede their expansion. And then only would thelaw of love make its action felt; then would human solidarity, which, among mankind, is the living form of universal attraction, acquire allits power, bringing men closer and closer together, and uniting them inone sole family. A splendid dream it was--the noble and pure dream ofabsolute freedom--free man in free society. And thither a _savant's_superior mind was fated to come after passing on the road the manySocialist sects which one and all bore the stigma of tyranny. And, assuredly, as thus indulged, the Anarchist idea is the loftiest, theproudest, of all ideas. And how delightful to yield to the hope ofharmony in life--life which restored to the full exercise of its naturalpowers would of itself create happiness!

When Guillaume ceased speaking, he seemed to be emerging from a dream;and he glanced at Pierre with some dismay, for he feared that he mighthave said too much and have hurt his feelings. Pierre--moved though hewas, for a moment in fact almost won over--had just seen the terriblepractical objection, which destroyed all hope, arise before his mind'seye. Why had not harmony asserted itself in the first days of the world'sexistence, at the time when societies were formed? How was it thattyranny had triumphed, delivering nations over to oppressors? Andsupposing that the apparently insolvable problem of destroyingeverything, and beginning everything afresh, should ever be solved, whocould promise that mankind, obedient to the same laws, would not againfollow the same paths as formerly? After all, mankind, nowadays, issimply what life has made it; and nothing proves that life would againmake it other than it is. To begin afresh, ah, yes! but to attain anotherresult! But could that other result really come from man? Was it notrather man himself who should be changed? To start afresh from where onewas, to continue the evolution that had begun, undoubtedly meant slowtravel and dismal waiting. But how great would be the danger and even thedelay, if one went back without knowing by what road across the wholechaos of ruins one might regain all the lost time!

"Let us go to bed, " at last said Guillaume, smiling. "It's silly of me toweary you with all these things which don't concern you. "

Pierre, in his excitement, was about to reveal his own heart and mind, and the whole torturing battle within him. But a feeling of shame againrestrained him. His brother only knew him as a believing priest, faithfulto his faith. And so, without answering, he betook himself to his room. 

On the following evening, about ten o'clock, while Guillaume and Pierresat reading in the study, the old servant entered to announce M. Janzenand a friend. The friend was Salvat. 

"He wished to see you, " Janzen explained to Guillaume. "I met him, andwhen he heard of your injury and anxiety he implored me to bring himhere. And I've done so, though it was perhaps hardly prudent of me. "

Guillaume had risen, full of surprise and emotion at such a visit;Pierre, however, though equally upset by Salvat's appearance; did notstir from his chair, but kept his eyes upon the workman. 

"Monsieur Froment, " Salvat ended by saying, standing there in a timid, embarrassed way, "I was very sorry indeed when I heard of the worry I'dput you in; for I shall never forget that you were very kind to me wheneverybody else turned me away. "

As he spoke he balanced himself alternately on either leg, andtransferred his old felt hat from hand to hand. 

"And so I wanted to come and tell you myself that if I took a cartridgeof your powder one evening when you had your back turned, it's the onlything that I feel any remorse about in the whole business, since it maycompromise you. And I also want to take my oath before you that you'venothing to fear from me, that I'll let my head be cut off twenty times ifneed be, rather than utter your name. That's all that I had in my heart. "

He relapsed into silence and embarrassment, but his soft, dreamy eyes, the eyes of a faithful dog, remained fixed upon Guillaume with anexpression of respectful worship. And Pierre was still gazing at himathwart the hateful vision which his arrival had conjured up, that of thepoor, dead, errand girl, the fair pretty child lying ripped open underthe entrance of the Duvillard mansion! Was it possible that he was there, he, that madman, that murderer, and that his eyes were actually moist!

Guillaume, touched by Salvat's words, had drawn near and pressed hishand. "I am well aware, Salvat, " said he, "that you are not wicked atheart. But what a foolish and abominable thing you did!"

Salvat showed no sign of anger, but gently smiled. "Oh! if it had to bedone again, Monsieur Froment, I'd do it. It's my idea, you know. And, apart from you, all is well; I am content. "

He would not sit down, but for another moment continued talking withGuillaume, while Janzen, as if he washed his hands of the business, deeming this visit both useless and dangerous, sat down and turned overthe leaves of a picture book. And Guillaume made Salvat tell him what hehad done on the day of the crime; how like a stray dog he had wandered indistraction through Paris, carrying his bomb with him, originally in histool-bag and then under his jacket; how he had gone a first time to theDuvillard mansion and found its carriage entrance closed; then how he hadbetaken himself first to the Chamber of Deputies which the ushers hadprevented him from entering, and afterwards to the Circus, where thethought of making a great sacrifice of _bourgeois_ had occurred to himtoo late. And finally, how he had at last come back to the Duvillardmansion, as if drawn thither by the very power of destiny. His tool-bagwas lying in the depths of the Seine, he said; he had thrown it into thewater with sudden hatred of work, since it had even failed to give himbread. And he next told the story of his flight; the explosion shakingthe whole district behind him, while, with delight and astonishment, hefound himself some distance off, in quiet streets where nothing was asyet known. And for a month past he had been living in chance fashion, howor where he could hardly tell, but he had often slept in the open, andgone for a day without food. One evening little Victor Mathis had givenhim five francs. And other comrades had helped him, taken him in for anight and sent him off at the first sign of peril. A far-spreading, tacitcomplicity had hitherto saved him from the police. As for going abroad, well, he had, at one moment, thought of doing so; but a description ofhis person must have been circulated, the gendarmes must be waiting forhim at the frontiers, and so would not flight, instead of retarding, rather hasten his arrest? Paris, however, was an ocean; it was there thathe incurred the least risk of capture. Moreover, he no longer hadsufficient energy to flee. A fatalist as he was after his own fashion, hecould not find strength to quit the pavements of Paris, but there awaitedarrest, like a social waif carried chancewise through the multitude as ina dream. 

"And your daughter, little Celine?" Guillaume inquired. "Have youventured to go back to see her?"

Salvat waved his hand in a vague way. "No, but what would you have? She'swith Mamma Theodore. Women always find some help. And then I'm done for, I can do nothing for anybody. It's as if I were already dead. " However, in spite of these words, tears were rising to his eyes. "Ah! the poorlittle thing!" he added, "I kissed her with all my heart before I wentaway. If she and the woman hadn't been starving so long the idea of thatbusiness would perhaps never have come to me. "

Then, in all simplicity, he declared that he was ready to die. If he hadended by depositing his bomb at the entrance of Duvillard's house, it wasbecause he knew the banker well, and was aware that he was the wealthiestof those _bourgeois_ whose fathers at the time of the Revolution hadduped the people, by taking all power and wealth for themselves, --thepower and wealth which the sons were nowadays so obstinately bent inretaining that they would not even bestow the veriest crumbs on others. As for the Revolution, he understood it in his own fashion, like anilliterate fellow who had learnt the little he knew from newspapers andspeeches at public meetings. And he struck his chest with his fist as hespoke of his honesty, and was particularly desirous that none shoulddoubt his courage because he had fled. 

"I've never robbed anybody, " said he, "and if I don't go and hand myselfup to the police, it's because they may surely take the trouble to findand arrest me. I'm very well aware that my affair's clear enough asthey've found that bradawl and know me. All the same, it would be sillyof me to help them in their work. Still, they'd better make haste, forI've almost had enough of being tracked like a wild beast and no longerknowing how I live. "

Janzen, yielding to curiosity, had ceased turning over the leaves of thepicture book and was looking at Salvat. There was a smile of disdain inthe Anarchist leader's cold eyes; and in his usual broken French heremarked: "A man fights and defends himself, kills others and tries toavoid being killed himself. That's warfare. "

These words fell from his lips amidst deep silence. Salvat, however, didnot seem to have heard them, but stammered forth his faith in a longsentence laden with fulsome expressions, such as the sacrifice of hislife in order that want might cease, and the example of a great action, in the certainty that it would inspire other heroes to continue thestruggle. And with this certainly sincere faith and illuminism of histhere was blended a martyr's pride, delight at being one of the radiant, worshipped saints of the dawning Revolutionary Church. 

As he had come so he went off. When Janzen had led him away, it seemed asif the night which had brought him had carried him back into itsimpenetrable depths. And then only did Pierre rise from his chair. He wasstifling, and threw the large window of the room wide open. It was a verymild but moonless night, whose silence was only disturbed by thesubsiding clamour of Paris, which stretched away, invisible, on thehorizon. 

Guillaume, according to his habit, had begun to walk up and down. And atlast he spoke, again forgetting that his brother was a priest. "Ah! thepoor fellow! How well one can understand that deed of violence and hope!His whole past life of fruitless labour and ever-growing want explainsit. Then, too, there has been all the contagion of ideas; thefrequentation of public meetings where men intoxicate themselves withwords, and of secret meetings among comrades where faith acquiresfirmness and the mind soars wildly. Ah! I think I know that man wellindeed! He's a good workman, sober and courageous. Injustice has alwaysexasperated him. And little by little the desire for universal happinesshas cast him out of the realities of life which he has ended by holdingin horror. So how can he do otherwise than live in a dream--a dream ofredemption, which, from circumstances, has turned to fire and murder asits fitting instruments. As I looked at him standing there, I fancied Icould picture one of the first Christian slaves of ancient Rome. All theiniquity of olden pagan society, agonising beneath the rottenness born ofdebauchery and covetousness, was weighing on his shoulders, bearing himdown. He had come from the dark Catacombs where he had whispered words ofdeliverance and redemption with his wretched brethren. And a thirst formartyrdom consumed him, he spat in the face of Caesar, he insulted thegods, he fired the pagan temples, in order that the reign of Jesus mightcome and abolish servitude. And he was ready to die, to be torn to piecesby the wild beasts!"

Pierre did not immediately reply. He had already been struck, however, bythe fact that there were undoubted points of resemblance between thesecret propaganda and militant faith of the Anarchists, and certainpractices of the first Christians. Both sects abandon themselves to a newfaith in the hope that the humble may thereby at last reap justice. Paganism disappears through weariness of the flesh and the need of a morelofty and pure faith. That dream of a Christian paradise opening up afuture life with a system of compensations for the ills endured on earth, was the outcome of young hope dawning at its historic hour. But to-day, when eighteen centuries have exhausted that hope, when the longexperiment is over and the toiler finds himself duped and still and evera slave, he once more dreams of getting happiness upon this earth, particularly as each day Science tends more and more to show him that thehappiness of the spheres beyond is a lie. And in all this there is butthe eternal struggle of the poor and the rich, the eternal question ofbringing more justice and less suffering to the world. 

"But surely, " Pierre at last replied, "you can't be on the side of thosebandits, those murderers whose savage violence horrifies me. I let youtalk on yesterday, when you dreamt of a great and happy people, of idealanarchy in which each would be free amidst the freedom of all. But whatabomination, what disgust both for mind and heart, when one passes fromtheory to propaganda and practice! If yours is the brain that thinks, whose is the hateful hand that acts, that kills children, throws downdoors and empties drawers? Do you accept that responsibility? With youreducation, your culture, the whole social heredity behind you, does notyour entire being revolt at the idea of stealing and murdering?"

Guillaume halted before his brother, quivering. "Steal and murder! no!no! I will not. But one must say everything and fully understand thehistory of the evil hour through which we are passing. It is madnesssweeping by; and, to tell the truth, everything necessary to provoke ithas been done. At the very dawn of the Anarchist theory, at the veryfirst innocent actions of its partisans, there was such stern repression, the police so grossly ill-treating the poor devils that fell into itshands, that little by little came anger and rage leading to the mosthorrible reprisals. It is the Terror initiated by the _bourgeois_ thathas produced Anarchist savagery. And would you know whence Salvat and hiscrime have come? Why, from all our centuries of impudence and iniquity, from all that the nations have suffered, from all the sores which are nowdevouring us, the impatience for enjoyment, the contempt of the strongfor the weak, the whole monstrous spectacle which is presented by ourrotting society!"

Guillaume was again slowly walking to and fro; and as if he werereflecting aloud he continued: "Ah! to reach the point I have attained, through how much thought, through how many battles, have I not passed! Iwas merely a Positivist, a _savant_ devoted to observation andexperiment, accepting nothing apart from proven facts. Scientifically andsocially, I admitted that simple evolution had slowly brought humanityinto being. But both in the history of the globe and that of humansociety, I found it necessary to make allowance for the volcano, thesudden cataclysm, the sudden eruption, by which each geological phase, each historical period, has been marked. In this wise one ends byascertaining that no forward step has ever been taken, no progress everaccomplished in the world's history, without the help of horriblecatastrophes. Each advance has meant the sacrifice of millions andmillions of human lives. This of course revolts us, given our narrowideas of justice, and we regard nature as a most barbarous mother; but, if we cannot excuse the volcano, we ought to deal with it when it burstsforth, like _savants_ forewarned of its possibility.... And then, ah, then! well, perhaps I'm a dreamer like others, but I have my ownnotions. "

With a sweeping gesture he confessed what a social dreamer there waswithin him beside the methodical and scrupulous _savant_. His constantendeavour was to bring all back to science, and he was deeply grieved atfinding in nature no scientific sign of equality or even justice, such ashe craved for in the social sphere. His despair indeed came from thisinability to reconcile scientific logic with apostolic love, the dream ofuniversal happiness and brotherhood and the end of all iniquity. 

Pierre, however, who had remained near the open window, gazing into thenight towards Paris, whence ascended the last sounds of the evening ofpassionate pleasure, felt the whole flood of his own doubt and despairstifling him. It was all too much: that brother of his who had fallenupon him with his scientific and apostolic beliefs, those men who came todiscuss contemporary thought from every standpoint, and finally thatSalvat who had brought thither the exasperation of his mad deed. AndPierre, who had hitherto listened to them all without a word, without agesture, who had hidden his secrets from his brother, seeking refuge inhis supposed priestly views, suddenly felt such bitterness stirring hisheart that he could lie no longer. 

"Ah! brother, if you have your dream, I have my sore which has eaten intome and left me void! Your Anarchy, your dream of just happiness, forwhich Salvat works with bombs, why, it is the final burst of insanitywhich will sweep everything away! How is it that you can't realise it?The century is ending in ruins. I've been listening to you all for amonth past. Fourier destroyed Saint-Simon, Proudhon and Comte demolishedFourier, each in turn piling up incoherences and contradictions, leavingmere chaos behind them, which nobody dares to sort out. And since then, Socialist sects have been swarming and multiplying, the more sensible ofthem leading simply to dictatorship, while the others indulge in mostdangerous reveries. And after such a tempest of ideas there could indeedcome nothing but your Anarchy, which undertakes to bring the old world toa finish by reducing it to dust.... Ah! I expected it, I was waitingfor it--that final catastrophe, that fratricidal madness, the inevitableclass warfare in which our civilisation was destined to collapse!Everything announced it: the want and misery below, the egotism up above, all the cracking of the old human habitation, borne down by too great aweight of crime and grief. When I went to Lourdes it was to see if thedivinity of simple minds would work the awaited miracle, and restore thebelief of the early ages to the people, which rebelled through excess ofsuffering. And when I went to Rome it was in the _naive_ hope of therefinding the new religion required by our democracies, the only one thatcould pacify the world by bringing back the fraternity of the golden age. But how foolish of me all that was! Both here and there, I simply lightedon nothingness. There where I so ardently dreamt of finding the salvationof others, I only sank myself, going down apeak like a ship not a timberof which is ever found again. One tie still linked me to my fellow-men, that of charity, the dressing, relieving, and perhaps, in the long run, healing, of wounds and sores; but that last cable has now been severed. Charity, to my mind, appears futile and derisive by the side of justice, to whom all supremacy belongs, and whose advent has become a necessityand can be stayed by none. And so it is all over, I am mere ashes, anempty grave as it were. I no longer believe in anything, anything, anything whatever!"

Pierre had risen to his full height, with arms outstretched as if to letall the nothingness within his heart and mind fall from them. AndGuillaume, distracted by the sight of such a fierce denier, such adespairing Nihilist as was now revealed to him, drew near, quivering:"What are you saying, brother! I thought you so firm, so calm in yourbelief! A priest to be admired, a saint worshipped by the whole of thisparish! I was unwilling even to discuss your faith, and now it is you whodeny all, and believe in nothing whatever!"

Pierre again slowly stretched out his arms. "There is nothing, I tried tolearn all, and only found the atrocious grief born of the nothingnessthat overwhelms me. "

"Ah! how you must suffer, Pierre, my little brother! Can religion, then, be even more withering than science, since it has ravaged you like that, while I have yet remained an old madman, still full of fancies?"

Guillaume caught hold of Pierre's hands and pressed them, full ofterrified compassion in presence of all the grandeur and horror embodiedin that unbelieving priest who watched over the belief of others, andchastely, honestly discharged his duty amidst the haughty sadness born ofhis falsehood. And how heavily must that falsehood have weighed upon hisconscience for him to confess himself in that fashion, amidst an uttercollapse of his whole being! A month previously, in the unexpansivenessof his proud solitude, he would never have taken such a course. To speakout it was necessary that he should have been stirred by many things, hisreconciliation with his brother, the conversations he had heard of anevening, the terrible drama in which he was mingled, as well as hisreflections on labour struggling against want, and the vague hope withwhich the sight of intellectual youth had inspired him. And, indeed, amidthe very excess of his negation was there not already the faint dawn of anew faith?

This Guillaume must have understood, on seeing how he quivered withunsatisfied tenderness as he emerged from the fierce silence which he hadpreserved so long. He made him sit down near the window, and placedhimself beside him without releasing his hands. "But I won't have yousuffer, my little brother!" he said; "I won't leave you, I'll nurse you. For I know you much better than you know yourself. You would never havesuffered were it not for the battle between your heart and your mind, andyou will cease to suffer on the day when they make peace, and you lovewhat you understand. " And in a lower voice, with infinite affection, hewent on: "You see, it's our poor mother and our poor father continuingtheir painful struggle in you. You were too young at the time, youcouldn't know what went on. But I knew them both very wretched: he, wretched through her, who treated him as if he were one of the damned;and she, suffering through him, tortured by his irreligion. When he died, struck down by an explosion in this very room, she took it to be thepunishment of God. Yet, what an honest man he was, with a good, greatheart, what a worker, seeking for truth alone, and desirous of the loveand happiness of all! Since we have spent our evenings here, I have felthim coming back, reviving as it were both around and within us; and she, too, poor, saintly woman, is ever here, enveloping us with love, weeping, and yet stubbornly refusing to understand. It is they, perhaps, who havekept me here so long, and who at this very moment are present to placeyour hands in mine. "

And, indeed, it seemed to Pierre as if he could feel the breath ofvigilant affection which Guillaume evoked passing over them both. Therewas again a revival of all the past, all their youth, and nothing couldhave been more delightful. 

"You hear me, brother, " Guillaume resumed. "You must reconcile them, forit is only in you that they can be reconciled. You have his firm, loftybrow, and her mouth and eyes of unrealisable tenderness. So, try to bringthem to agreement, by some day contenting, as your reason shall allow, the everlasting thirst for love, and self-bestowal, and life, which forlack of satisfaction is killing you. Your frightful wretchedness has noother cause. Come back to life, love, bestow yourself, be a man!"

Pierre raised a dolorous cry: "No, no, the death born of doubt has sweptthrough me, withering and shattering everything, and nothing more canlive in that cold dust!"

"But, come, " resumed Guillaume, "you cannot have reached such absolutenegation. No man reaches it. Even in the most disabused of minds thereremains a nook of fancy and hope. To deny charity, devotion, theprodigies which love may work, ah! for my part I do not go so far asthat. And now that you have shown me your sore, why should I not tell youmy dream, the wild hope which keeps me alive! It is strange; but, are_savants_ to be the last childish dreamers, and is faith only to springup nowadays in chemical laboratories?"

Intense emotion was stirring Guillaume; there was battle waging in bothhis brain and his heart. And at last, yielding to the deep compassionwhich filled him, vanquished by his ardent affection for his unhappybrother, he spoke out. But he had drawn yet closer to Pierre, even passedone arm around him; and it was thus embracing him that he, in his turn, made his confession, lowering his voice as if he feared that someonemight overhear his secret. "Why should you not know it?" he said. "My ownsons are ignorant of it. But you are a man and my brother, and sincethere is nothing of the priest left in you, it is to the brother I willconfide it. This will make me love you the more, and perhaps it may doyou good. "

Then he told him of his invention, a new explosive, a powder of suchextraordinary force that its effects were incalculable. And he had foundemployment for this powder in an engine of warfare, a special cannon, hurling bombs which would assure the most overwhelming victory to thearmy using them. The enemy's forces would be destroyed in a few hours, and besieged cities would fall into dust at the slightest bombardment. Hehad long searched and doubted, calculated, recalculated and experimented;but everything was now ready: the precise formula of the powder, thedrawings for the cannon and the bombs, a whole packet of precious papersstored in a safe spot. And after months of anxious reflection he hadresolved to give his invention to France, so as to ensure her a certaintyof victory in her coming, inevitable war with Germany!

At the same time, he was not a man of narrow patriotism; on the contraryhe had a very broad, international conception of the future liberativecivilisation. Only he believed in the initiatory mission of France, andparticularly in that of Paris, which, even as it is to-day, was destinedto be the world's brain to-morrow, whence all science and justice wouldproceed. The great idea of liberty and equality had already soared fromit at the prodigious blast of the Revolution; and from its genius andvalour the final emancipation of man would also take its flight. Thus itwas necessary that Paris should be victorious in the struggle in orderthat the world might be saved. 

Pierre understood his brother, thanks to the lecture on explosives whichhe had heard at Bertheroy's. And the grandeur of this scheme, this dream, particularly struck him when he thought of the extraordinary future whichwould open for Paris amidst the effulgent blaze of the bombs. Moreover, he was struck by all the nobility of soul which had lain behind hisbrother's anxiety for a month past. If Guillaume had trembled it wassimply with fear that his invention might be divulged in consequence ofSalvat's crime. The slightest indiscretion might compromise everything;and that little stolen cartridge, whose effects had so astonished_savants_, might reveal his secret. He felt it necessary to act inmystery, choosing his own time, awaiting the proper hour, until when thesecret would slumber in its hiding-place, confided to the sole care ofMere-Grand, who had her orders and knew what she was to do should he, inany sudden accident, disappear. 

"And, now, " said Guillaume in conclusion, "you know my hopes and myanguish, and you can help me and even take my place if I am unable toreach the end of my task. Ah! to reach the end! Since I have been shut uphere, reflecting, consumed by anxiety and impatience, there have beenhours when I have ceased to see my way clearly! There is that Salvat, that wretched fellow for whose crime we are all of us responsible, andwho is now being hunted down like a wild beast! There is also thatinsensate and insatiable _bourgeoisie_, which will let itself be crushedby the fall of the shaky old house, rather than allow the least repair toit! And there is further that avaricious, that abominable Parisian press, so harsh towards the weak and little, so fond of insulting those who havenone to defend them, so eager to coin money out of public misfortune, andready to spread insanity on all sides, simply to increase its sales!Where, therefore, shall one find truth and justice, the hand endowed withlogic and health that ought to be armed with the thunderbolt? Would Paristhe conqueror, Paris the master of the nations, prove the justiciar, thesaviour that men await! Ah! the anguish of believing oneself to be themaster of the world's destinies, and to have to choose and decide. "

He had risen again quivering, full of anger and fear that humanwretchedness and baseness might prevent the realisation of his dream. Andamidst the heavy silence which fell in the room, the little housesuddenly resounded with a regular, continuous footfall. 

"Ah, yes! to save men and love them, and wish them all to be equal andfree, " murmured Pierre, bitterly. "But just listen! Barthes's footstepsare answering you, as if from the everlasting dungeon into which his loveof liberty has thrown him!"

However, Guillaume had already regained possession of himself, and comingback in a transport of his faith, he once more took Pierre in his loving, saving arms, like an elder brother who gives himself without restraint. "No, no, I'm wrong, I'm blaspheming, " he exclaimed; "I wish you to bewith me, full of hope and full of certainty. You must work, you mustlove, you must revive to life. Life alone can give you back peace andhealth. "

Tears returned to the eyes of Pierre, who was penetrated to the heart bythis ardent affection. "Ah! how I should like to believe you, " hefaltered, "and try to cure myself. True, I have already felt, as it were, a vague revival within me. And yet to live again, no, I cannot; thepriest that I am is dead--a lifeless, an empty tomb. "

He was shaken by so frightful a sob, that Guillaume could not restrainhis own tears. And clasped in one another's arms the brothers wept on, their hearts full of the softest emotion in that home of their youth, whither the dear shadows of their parents ever returned, hovering arounduntil they should be reconciled and restored to the peace of the earth. And all the darkness and mildness of the garden streamed in through theopen window, while yonder, on the horizon, Paris had fallen asleep in themysterious gloom, beneath a very peaceful sky which was studded withstars. 

BOOK III. 

I. THE RIVALS

ON the Wednesday preceding the mid-Lent Thursday, a great charity bazaarwas held at the Duvillard mansion, for the benefit of the Asylum of theInvalids of Labour. The ground-floor reception rooms, three spaciousLouis Seize _salons_, whose windows overlooked the bare and solemncourtyard, were given up to the swarm of purchasers, five thousandadmission cards having been distributed among all sections of Parisiansociety. And the opening of the bombarded mansion in this wise tothousands of visitors was regarded as quite an event, a realmanifestation, although some people whispered that the RueGodot-de-Mauroy and the adjacent streets were guarded by quite an army ofpolice agents. 

The idea of the bazaar had come from Duvillard himself, and at hisbidding his wife had resigned herself to all this worry for the benefitof the enterprise over which she presided with such distinguishednonchalance. On the previous day the "Globe" newspaper, inspired by itsdirector Fonsegue, who was also the general manager of the asylum, hadpublished a very fine article, announcing the bazaar, and pointing outhow noble, and touching, and generous was the initiative of the Baroness, who still gave her time, her money, and even her home to charity, inspite of the abominable crime which had almost reduced that home toashes. Was not this the magnanimous answer of the spheres above to thehateful passions of the spheres below? And was it not also a peremptoryanswer to those who accused the capitalists of doing nothing for thewage-earners, the disabled and broken-down sons of toil?

The drawing-room doors were to be opened at two o'clock, and would onlyclose at seven, so that there would be five full hours for the sales. Andat noon, when nothing was as yet ready downstairs, when workmen and womenwere still decorating the stalls, and sorting the goods amidst a finalscramble, there was, as usual, a little friendly _dejeuner_, to which afew guests had been invited, in the private rooms on the first floor. However, a scarcely expected incident had given a finishing touch to thegeneral excitement of the house: that very morning Sagnier had resumedhis campaign of denunciation in the matter of the African Railway Lines. In a virulent article in the "Voix du Peuple, " he had inquired if it werethe intention of the authorities to beguile the public much longer withthe story of that bomb and that Anarchist whom the police did not arrest. And this time, while undertaking to publish the names of the thirty-twocorrupt senators and deputies in a very early issue, he had boldly namedMinister Barroux as one who had pocketed a sum of 200, 000 francs. Megewould therefore certainly revive his interpellation, which might becomedangerous, now that Paris had been thrown into such a distracted state byterror of the Anarchists. At the same time it was said that Vignon andhis party had resolved to turn circumstances to account, with the objectof overthrowing the ministry. Thus a redoubtable crisis was inevitably athand. Fortunately, the Chamber did not meet that Wednesday; in fact, ithad adjourned until the Friday, with the view of making mid-Lent aholiday. And so forty-eight hours were left one to prepare for theonslaught. 

Eve, that morning, seemed more gentle and languid than ever, rather paletoo, with an expression of sorrowful anxiety in the depths of herbeautiful eyes. She set it all down to the very great fatigue which thepreparations for the bazaar had entailed on her. But the truth was thatGerard de Quinsac, after shunning any further assignation, had for fivedays past avoided her in an embarrassed way. Still she was convinced thatshe would see him that morning, and so she had again ventured to wear thewhite silk gown which made her look so much younger than she really was. At the same time, beautiful as she had remained, with her delicate skin, superb figure and noble and charming countenance, her six and forty yearswere asserting themselves in her blotchy complexion and the littlecreases which were appearing about her lips, eyelids and temples. 

Camille, for her part, though her position as daughter of the house madeit certain that she would attract much custom as a saleswoman, hadobstinately persisted in wearing one of her usual dresses, a dark"carmelite" gown, an old woman's frock, as she herself called it with acutting laugh. However, her long and wicked-looking face beamed with somesecret delight; such an expression of wit and intelligence wreathing herthin lips and shining in her big eyes that one lost sight of herdeformity and thought her almost pretty. 

Eve experienced a first deception in the little blue and silversitting-room, where, accompanied by her daughter, she awaited the arrivalof her guests. General de Bozonnet, whom Gerard was to have brought withhim, came in alone, explaining that Madame de Quinsac had felt ratherpoorly that morning, and that Gerard, like a good and dutiful son, hadwished to remain with her. Still he would come to the bazaar directlyafter _dejeuner_. While the Baroness listened to the General, striving tohide her disappointment and her fear that she would now be unable toobtain any explanation from Gerard that day, Camille looked at her witheager, devouring eyes. And a certain covert instinct of the misfortunethreatening her must at that moment have come to Eve, for in her turn sheglanced at her daughter and turned pale as if with anxiety. 

Then Princess Rosemonde de Harn swept in like a whirlwind. She also wasto be one of the saleswomen at the stall chosen by the Baroness, wholiked her for her very turbulence, the sudden gaiety which she generallybrought with her. Gowned in fire-hued satin (red shot with yellow), looking very eccentric with her curly hair and thin boyish figure, shelaughed and talked of an accident by which her carriage had almost beencut in halves. Then, as Baron Duvillard and Hyacinthe came in from theirrooms, late as usual, she took possession of the young man and scoldedhim, for on the previous evening she had vainly waited for him till teno'clock in the expectation that he would keep his promise to escort herto a tavern at Montmartre, where some horrible things were said to occur. Hyacinthe, looking very bored, quietly replied that he had been detainedat a seance given by some adepts in the New Magic, in the course of whichthe soul of St. Theresa had descended from heaven to recite a lovesonnet. 

However, Fonsegue was now coming in with his wife, a tall, thin, silentand generally insignificant woman, whom he seldom took about with him. Onthis occasion he had been obliged to bring her, as she was one of thelady-patronesses of the asylum, and he himself was coming to lunch withthe Duvillards in his capacity as general manager. To the superficialobserver he looked quite as gay as usual; but he blinked nervously, andhis first glance was a questioning one in the direction of Duvillard, asif he wished to know how the latter bore the fresh thrust directed at himby Sagnier. And when he saw the banker looking perfectly composed, assuperb, as rubicund as usual, and chatting in a bantering way withRosemonde, he also put on an easy air, like a gamester who had never lostbut had always known how to compel good luck, even in hours of treachery. And by way of showing his unconstraint of mind he at once addressed theBaroness on managerial matters: "Have you now succeeded in seeing M. L'Abbe Froment for the affair of that old man Laveuve, whom he so warmlyrecommended to us? All the formalities have been gone through, you know, and he can be brought to us at once, as we have had a bed vacant forthree days past. "

"Yes, I know, " replied Eve; "but I can't imagine what has become of AbbeFroment, for he hasn't given us a sign of life for a month past. However, I made up my mind to write to him yesterday, and beg him to come to thebazaar to-day. In this manner I shall be able to acquaint him with thegood news myself. "

"It was to leave you the pleasure of doing so, " said Fonsegue, "that Irefrained from sending him any official communication. He's a charmingpriest, is he not?"

"Oh! charming, we are very fond of him. "

However, Duvillard now intervened to say that they need not wait forDuthil, as he had received a telegram from him stating that he wasdetained by sudden business. At this Fonsegue's anxiety returned, and heonce more questioned the Baron with his eyes. Duvillard smiled, however, and reassured him in an undertone: "It's nothing serious. Merely acommission for me, about which he'll only be able to bring me an answerby-and-by. " Then, taking Fonsegue on one side, he added: "By the way, don't forget to insert the paragraph I told you of. "

"What paragraph? Oh! yes, the one about that _soiree_ at which Silvianerecited a piece of verse. Well, I wanted to speak to you about it. Itworries me a little, on account of the excessive praise it contains. "

Duvillard, but a moment before so full of serenity, with his lofty, conquering, disdainful mien, now suddenly became pale and agitated. "ButI absolutely want it to be inserted, my dear fellow! You would place mein the greatest embarrassment if it were not to appear, for I promisedSilviane that it should. "

As he spoke his lips trembled, and a scared look came into his eyes, plainly revealing his dismay. 

"All right, all right, " said Fonsegue, secretly amused, and well pleasedat this complicity. "As it's so serious the paragraph shall go in, Ipromise you. "

The whole company was now present, since neither Gerard nor Duthil was tobe expected. So they went into the dining-room amidst a final noise ofhammering in the sale-rooms below. The meal proved somewhat of ascramble, and was on three occasions disturbed by female attendants, whocame to explain difficulties and ask for orders. Doors were constantlyslamming, and the very walls seemed to shake with the unusual bustlewhich filled the house. And feverish as they all were in the dining-room, they talked in desultory, haphazard fashion on all sorts of subjects, passing from a ball given at the Ministry of the Interior on the previousnight, to the popular mid-Lent festival which would take place on themorrow, and ever reverting to the bazaar, the prices that had been givenfor the goods which would be on sale, the prices at which they might besold, and the probable figure of the full receipts, all this beinginterspersed with strange anecdotes, witticisms and bursts of laughter. On the General mentioning magistrate Amadieu, Eve declared that she nolonger dared to invite him to _dejeuner_, knowing how busy he was at thePalace of Justice. Still, she certainly hoped that he would come to thebazaar and contribute something. Then Fonsegue amused himself withteasing Princess Rosemonde about her fire-hued gown, in which, said he, she must already feel roasted by the flames of hell; a suggestion whichsecretly delighted her, as Satanism had now become her momentary passion. Meantime, Duvillard lavished the most gallant politeness on that silentcreature, Madame Fonsegue, while Hyacinthe, in order to astonish even thePrincess, explained in a few words how the New Magic could transform achaste young man into a real angel. And Camille, who seemed very happyand very excited, from time to time darted a hot glance at her mother, whose anxiety and sadness increased as she found the other more and moreaggressive, and apparently resolved upon open and merciless warfare. 

At last, just as the dessert was coming to an end, the Baroness heard herdaughter exclaim in a piercing, defiant voice: "Oh! don't talk to me ofthe old ladies who still seem to be playing with dolls, and paintthemselves, and dress as if they were about to be confirmed! All suchogresses ought to retire from the scene! I hold them in horror!"

At this, Eve nervously rose from her seat, and exclaimed apologetically:"You must forgive me for hurrying you like this. But I'm afraid that weshan't have time to drink our coffee in peace. "

The coffee was served in the little blue and silver sitting-room, wherebloomed some lovely yellow roses, testifying to the Baroness's keenpassion for flowers, which made the house an abode of perpetual spring. Duvillard and Fonsegue, however, carrying their cups of steaming coffeewith them, at once went into the former's private room to smoke a cigarthere and chat in freedom. As the door remained wide open, one couldhear their gruff voices more or less distinctly. Meantime, General deBozonnet, delighted to find in Madame Fonsegue a serious, submissiveperson, who listened without interrupting, began to tell her a very longstory of an officer's wife who had followed her husband throughevery battle of the war of 1870. Then Hyacinthe, who took nocoffee--contemptuously declaring it to be a beverage only fit fordoor-keepers--managed to rid himself of Rosemonde, who was sipping somekummel, in order to come and whisper to his sister: "I say, it was verystupid of you to taunt mamma in the way you did just now. I don't care arap about it myself. But it ends by being noticed, and, I warn youcandidly, it shows ill breeding. "

Camille gazed at him fixedly with her black eyes. "Pray don't _you_meddle with my affairs, " said she. 

At this he felt frightened, scented a storm, and decided to takeRosemonde into the adjoining red drawing-room in order to show her apicture which his father had just purchased. And the General, on beingcalled by him, likewise conducted Madame Fonsegue thither. 

The mother and daughter then suddenly found themselves alone and face toface. Eve was leaning on a pier-table, as if overcome; and indeed, theleast sorrow bore her down, so weak at heart she was, ever ready to weepin her naive and perfect egotism. Why was it that her daughter thus hatedher, and did her utmost to disturb that last happy spell of love in whichher heart lingered? She looked at Camille, grieved rather than irritated;and the unfortunate idea came to her of making a remark about her dressat the very moment when the girl was on the point of following the othersinto the larger drawing-room. 

"It's quite wrong of you, my dear, " said she, "to persist in dressinglike an old woman. It doesn't improve you a bit. "

As Eve spoke, her soft eyes, those of a courted and worshipped handsomewoman, clearly expressed the compassion she felt for that ugly, deformedgirl, whom she had never been able to regard as a daughter. Was itpossible that she, with her sovereign beauty, that beauty which sheherself had ever adored and nursed, making it her one care, her onereligion--was it possible that she had given birth to such a gracelesscreature, with a dark, goatish profile, one shoulder higher than theother, and a pair of endless arms such as hunchbacks often have? All hergrief and all her shame at having had such a child became apparent in thequivering of her voice. 

Camille, however, had stopped short, as if struck in the face with awhip. Then she came back to her mother and the horrible explanation beganwith these simple words spoken in an undertone: "You consider that Idress badly? Well, you ought to have paid some attention to me, have seenthat my gowns suited your taste, and have taught me your secret oflooking beautiful!"

Eve, with her dislike of all painful feeling, all quarrelling and bitterwords, was already regretting her attack. So she sought to make aretreat, particularly as time was flying and they would soon be expecteddownstairs: "Come, be quiet, and don't show your bad temper when allthose people can hear us. I have loved you--"

But with a quiet yet terrible laugh Camille interrupted her. "You'veloved me! Oh! my poor mamma, what a comical thing to say! Have you everloved _anybody_? You want others to love _you_, but that's anothermatter. As for your child, any child, do you even know how it ought to beloved? You have always neglected me, thrust me on one side, deeming me sougly, so unworthy of you! And besides, you have not had days and nightsenough to love yourself! Oh! don't deny it, my poor mamma; but even nowyou're looking at me as if I were some loathsome monster that's in yourway. "

From that moment the abominable scene was bound to continue to the end. With their teeth set, their faces close together, the two women went onspeaking in feverish whispers. 

"Be quiet, Camille, I tell you! I will not allow such language!"

"But I won't be quiet when you do all you can to wound me. If it's wrongof me to dress like an old woman, perhaps another is rather ridiculous indressing like a girl, like a bride. "

"Like a bride? I don't understand you. "

"Oh! yes, you do. However, I would have you know that everybody doesn'tfind me so ugly as you try to make them believe. "

"If you look amiss, it is because you don't dress properly; that is all Isaid. "

"I dress as I please, and no doubt I do so well enough, since I'm lovedas I am. "

"What, really! Does someone love you? Well, let him inform us of it andmarry you. "

"Yes--certainly, certainly! It will be a good riddance, won't it? Andyou'll have the pleasure of seeing me as a bride!"

Their voices were rising in spite of their efforts to restrain them. However, Camille paused and drew breath before hissing out the words:"Gerard is coming here to ask for my hand in a day or two. "

Eve, livid, with wildly staring eyes, did not seem to understand. "Gerard? why do you tell me that?"

"Why, because it's Gerard who loves me and who is going to marry me! Youdrive me to extremities; you're for ever repeating that I'm ugly; youtreat me like a monster whom nobody will ever care for. So I'm forced todefend myself and tell you the truth in order to prove to you thateverybody is not of your opinion. "

Silence fell; the frightful thing which had risen between them seemed tohave arrested the quarrel. But there was neither mother nor daughter leftthere. They were simply two suffering, defiant rivals. Eve in her turndrew a long breath and glanced anxiously towards the adjoining room toascertain if anyone were coming in or listening to them. And then in atone of resolution she made answer:

"You cannot marry Gerard. "

"Pray, why not?"

"Because I won't have it; because it's impossible. "

"That isn't a reason; give me a reason. "

"The reason is that the marriage is impossible that is all. "

"No, no, I'll tell you the reason since you force me to it. The reason isthat Gerard is your lover! But what does that matter, since I know it andam willing to take him all the same?"

And to this retort Camille's flaming eyes added the words: "And it isparticularly on that account that I want him. " All the long torture bornof her infirmities, all her rage at having always seen her motherbeautiful, courted and adored, was now stirring her and seeking vengeancein cruel triumph. At last then she was snatching from her rival the loverof whom she had so long been jealous!

"You wretched girl!" stammered Eve, wounded in the heart and almostsinking to the floor. "You don't know what you say or what you make mesuffer. "

However, she again had to pause, draw herself erect and smile; forRosemonde hastened in from the adjoining room with the news that she waswanted downstairs. The doors were about to be opened, and it wasnecessary she should be at her stall. Yes, Eve answered, she would bedown in another moment. Still, even as she spoke she leant more heavilyon the pier-table behind her in order that she might not fall. 

Hyacinthe had drawn near to his sister: "You know, " said he, "it's simplyidiotic to quarrel like that. You would do much better to comedownstairs. "

But Camille harshly dismissed him: "Just _you_ go off, and take theothers with you. It's quite as well that they shouldn't be about ourears. "

Hyacinthe glanced at his mother, like one who knew the truth andconsidered the whole affair ridiculous. And then, vexed at seeing her sodeficient in energy in dealing with that little pest, his sister, heshrugged his shoulders, and leaving them to their folly, conducted theothers away. One could hear Rosemonde laughing as she went off below, while the General began to tell Madame Fonsegue another story as theydescended the stairs together. However, at the moment when the mother anddaughter at last fancied themselves alone once more, other voices reachedtheir ears, those of Duvillard and Fonsegue, who were still near at hand. The Baron from his room might well overhear the dispute. 

Eve felt that she ought to have gone off. But she had lacked the strengthto do so; it had been a sheer impossibility for her after those wordswhich had smote her like a buffet amidst her distress at the thought oflosing her lover. 

"Gerard cannot marry you, " she said; "he does not love you. "

"He does. "

"You fancy it because he has good-naturedly shown some kindness to you, on seeing others pay you such little attention. But he does not loveyou. "

"He does. He loves me first because I'm not such a fool as many othersare, and particularly because I'm young. "

This was a fresh wound for the Baroness; one inflicted with mockingcruelty in which rang out all the daughter's triumphant delight at seeingher mother's beauty at last ripening and waning. "Ah! my poor mamma, youno longer know what it is to be young. If I'm not beautiful, at allevents I'm young; my eyes are clear and my lips are fresh. And my hair'sso long too, and I've so much of it that it would suffice to gown me if Ichose. You see, one's never ugly when one's young. Whereas, my poormamma, everything is ended when one gets old. It's all very well for awoman to have been beautiful, and to strive to keep so, but in realitythere's only ruin left, and shame and disgust. "

She spoke these words in such a sharp, ferocious voice that each of thementered her mother's heart like a knife. Tears rose to the eyes of thewretched woman, again stricken in her bleeding wound. Ah! it was true, she remained without weapons against youth. And all her anguish came fromthe consciousness that she was growing old, from the feeling that lovewas departing from her now, that like a fruit she had ripened and fallenfrom the tree. 

"But Gerard's mother will never let him marry you, " she said. 

"He will prevail on her; that's his concern. I've a dowry of twomillions, and two millions can settle many things. "

"Do you now want to libel him, and say that he's marrying you for yourmoney?"

"No, indeed! Gerard's a very nice and honest fellow. He loves me and he'smarrying me for myself. But, after all, he isn't rich; he still has noassured position, although he's thirty-six; and there may well be someadvantage in a wife who brings you wealth as well as happiness. For, youhear, mamma, it's happiness I'm bringing him, real happiness, love that'sshared and is certain of the future. "

Once again their faces drew close together. The hateful scene, interrupted by sounds around them, postponed, and then resumed, wasdragging on, becoming a perfect drama full of murderous violence, although they never shouted, but still spoke on in low and gaspingvoices. Neither gave way to the other, though at every moment they wereliable to some surprise; for not only were all the doors open, so thatthe servants might come in, but the Baron's voice still rang out gaily, close at hand. 

"He loves you, he loves you"--continued Eve. "That's what you say. But_he_ never told you so. "

"He has told me so twenty times; he repeats it every time that we arealone together!"

"Yes, just as one says it to a little girl by way of amusing her. But hehas never told you that he meant to marry you. "

"He told it me the last time he came. And it's settled. I'm simplywaiting for him to get his mother's consent and make his formal offer. "

"You lie, you lie, you wretched girl! You simply want to make me suffer, and you lie, you lie!"

Eve's grief at last burst forth in that cry of protest. She no longerknew that she was a mother, and was speaking to her daughter. The woman, the _amorosa_, alone remained in her, outraged and exasperated by arival. And with a sob she confessed the truth: "It is I he loves! Onlythe last time I spoke to him, he swore to me--you hear me?--he swore uponhis honour that he did not love you, and that he would never marry you!"

A faint, sharp laugh came from Camille. Then, with an air of derisivecompassion, she replied: "Ah! my poor mamma, you really make me sorry foryou! What a child you are! Yes, really, you are the child, not I. What!you who ought to have so much experience, you still allow yourself to beduped by a man's protests! That one really has no malice; and, indeed, that's why he swears whatever you want him to swear, just to please andquiet you, for at heart he's a bit of a coward. "

"You lie, you lie!"

"But just think matters over. If he no longer comes here, if he didn'tcome to _dejeuner_ this morning, it is simply because he's had enough ofyou. He has left you for good; just have the courage to realise it. Ofcourse he's still polite and amiable, because he's a well-bred man, anddoesn't know how to break off. The fact is that he takes pity on you. "

"You lie, you lie!"

"Well, question him then. Have a frank explanation with him. Ask him hisintentions in a friendly way. And then show some good nature yourself, and realise that if you care for him you ought to give him me at once inhis own interest. Give him back his liberty, and you will soon see thatI'm the one he loves. "

"You lie, you lie! You wretched child, you only want to torture and killme!"

Then, in her fury and distress, Eve remembered that she was the mother, and that it was for her to chastise that unworthy daughter. There was nostick near her, but from a basket of the yellow roses, whose powerfulscent intoxicated both of them, she plucked a handful of blooms, withlong and spiny stalks, and smote Camille across the face. A drop of bloodappeared on the girl's left temple, near her eyelid. 

But she sprang forward, flushed and maddened by this correction, with herhand raised and ready to strike back. "Take care, mother! I swear I'dbeat you like a gipsy! And now just put this into your head: I mean tomarry Gerard, and I will; and I'll take him from you, even if I have toraise a scandal, should you refuse to give him to me with good grace. "

Eve, after her one act of angry vigour, had sunk into an armchair, overcome, distracted. And all the horror of quarrels, which sprang fromher egotistical desire to be happy, caressed, flattered and adored, wasreturning to her. But Camille, still threatening, still unsatiated, showed her heart as it really was, her stern, black, unforgiving heart, intoxicated with cruelty. There came a moment of supreme silence, whileDuvillard's gay voice again rang out in the adjoining room. 

The mother was gently weeping, when Hyacinthe, coming upstairs at a run, swept into the little _salon_. He looked at the two women, and made agesture of indulgent contempt. "Ah! you're no doubt satisfied now! Butwhat did I tell you? It would have been much better for you to have comedownstairs at once! Everybody is asking for you. It's all idiotic. I'vecome to fetch you. "

Eve and Camille would not yet have followed him, perhaps, if Duvillardand Fonsegue had not at that moment come out of the former's room. Havingfinished their cigars they also spoke of going downstairs. And Eve had torise and smile and show dry eyes, while Camille, standing before alooking-glass, arranged her hair, and stanched the little drop of bloodthat had gathered on her temple. 

There was already quite a number of people below, in the three hugesaloons adorned with tapestry and plants. The stalls had been draped withred silk, which set a gay, bright glow around the goods. And no ordinarybazaar could have put forth such a show, for there was something ofeverything among the articles of a thousand different kinds, fromsketches by recognised masters, and the autographs of famous writers, down to socks and slippers and combs. The haphazard way in which thingswere laid out was in itself an attraction; and, in addition, there was abuffet, where the whitest of beautiful hands poured out champagne, andtwo lotteries, one for an organ and another for a pony-drawn villagecart, the tickets for which were sold by a bevy of charming girls, whohad scattered through the throng. As Duvillard had expected, however, thegreat success of the bazaar lay in the delightful little shiver which thebeautiful ladies experienced as they passed through the entrance wherethe bomb had exploded. The rougher repairing work was finished, the wallsand ceilings had been doctored, in part re-constructed. However, thepainters had not yet come, and here and there the whiter stone andplaster work showed like fresh scars left by all the terrible gashes. Itwas with mingled anxiety and rapture that pretty heads emerged from thecarriages which, arriving in a continuous stream, made the flagstones ofthe court re-echo. And in the three saloons, beside the stalls, there wasno end to the lively chatter: "Ah! my dear, did you see all those marks?How frightful, how frightful! The whole house was almost blown up. And tothink it might begin again while we are here! One really needs somecourage to come, but then, that asylum is such a deserving institution, and money is badly wanted to build a new wing. And besides, thosemonsters will see that we are not frightened, whatever they do. "

When the Baroness at last came down to her stall with Camille she foundthe saleswomen feverishly at work already under the direction of PrincessRosemonde, who on occasions of this kind evinced the greatest cunning andrapacity, robbing the customers in the most impudent fashion. "Ah! hereyou are, " she exclaimed. "Beware of a number of higglers who have come tosecure bargains. I know them! They watch for their opportunities, turneverything topsy-turvy and wait for us to lose our heads and forgetprices, so as to pay even less than they would in a real shop. But I'llget good prices from them, you shall see!"

At this, Eve, who for her own part was a most incapable saleswoman, hadto laugh with the others. And in a gentle voice she made a pretence ofaddressing certain recommendations to Camille, who listened with asmiling and most submissive air. In point of fact the wretched mother wassinking with emotion, particularly at the thought that she would have toremain there till seven o'clock, and suffer in secret before all thosepeople, without possibility of relief. And thus it was almost like arespite when she suddenly perceived Abbe Froment sitting and waiting forher on a settee, covered with red velvet, near her stall. Her legs werefailing her, so she took a place beside him. 

"You received my letter then, Monsieur l'Abbe. I am glad that you havecome, for I have some good news to give you, and wished to leave you thepleasure of imparting it to your _protege_, that man Laveuve, whom you sowarmly recommended to me. Every formality has now been fulfilled, and youcan bring him to the asylum to-morrow. "

Pierre gazed at her in stupefaction. "Laveuve? Why, he is dead!"

In her turn she became astonished. "What, dead! But you never informed meof it! If I told you of all the trouble that has been taken, of all thathad to be undone and done again, and the discussions and the papers andthe writing! Are you quite sure that he is dead?"

"Oh! yes, he is dead. He has been dead a month. "

"Dead a month! Well, we could not know; you yourself gave us no sign oflife. Ah! _mon Dieu_! what a worry that he should be dead. We shall nowbe obliged to undo everything again!"

"He is dead, madame. It is true that I ought to have informed you of it. But that doesn't alter the fact--he is dead. "

Dead! that word which kept on returning, the thought too, that for amonth past she had been busying herself for a corpse, quite froze her, brought her to the very depths of despair, like an omen of the cold deathinto which she herself must soon descend, in the shroud of her lastpassion. And, meantime, Pierre, despite himself, smiled bitterly at theatrocious irony of it all. Ah! that lame and halting Charity, whichproffers help when men are dead!

The priest still lingered on the settee when the Baroness rose. She hadseen magistrate Amadieu hurriedly enter like one who just wished to showhimself, purchase some trifle, and then return to the Palace of Justice. However, he was also perceived by little Massot, the "Globe" reporter, who was prowling round the stalls, and who at once bore down upon him, eager for information. And he hemmed him in and forthwith interviewed himrespecting the affair of that mechanician Salvat, who was accused ofhaving deposited the bomb at the entrance of the house. Was this simplyan invention of the police, as some newspapers pretended? Or was itreally correct? And if so, would Salvat soon be arrested? In self-defenceAmadieu answered correctly enough that the affair did not as yet concernhim, and would only come within his attributions, if Salvat should bearrested and the investigation placed in his hands. At the same time, however, the magistrate's pompous and affectedly shrewd manner suggestedthat he already knew everything to the smallest details, and that, had hechosen, he could have promised some great events for the morrow. A circleof ladies had gathered round him as he spoke, quite a number of prettywomen feverish with curiosity, who jostled one another in their eagernessto hear that brigand tale which sent a little shiver coursing under theirskins. However, Amadieu managed to slip off after paying Rosemonde twentyfrancs for a cigarette case, which was perhaps worth thirty sous. 

Massot, on recognising Pierre, came up to shake hands with him. "Don'tyou agree with me, Monsieur l'Abbe, that Salvat must be a long way off bynow if he's got good legs? Ah! the police will always make me laugh!"

However, Rosemonde brought Hyacinthe up to the journalist. "MonsieurMassot, " said she, "you who go everywhere, I want you to be judge. ThatChamber of Horrors at Montmartre, that tavern where Legras sings the'Flowers of the Streets'--"

"Oh! a delightful spot, madame, " interrupted Massot, "I wouldn't takeeven a gendarme there. "

"No, don't jest, Monsieur Massot, I'm talking seriously. Isn't it quiteallowable for a respectable woman to go there when she's accompanied by agentleman?" And, without allowing the journalist time to answer her, sheturned towards Hyacinthe: "There! you see that Monsieur Massot doesn'tsay no! You've got to take me there this evening, it's sworn, it'ssworn. "

Then she darted away to sell a packet of pins to an old lady, while theyoung man contented himself with remarking, in the voice of one who hasno illusions left: "She's quite idiotic with her Chamber of Horrors!"

Massot philosophically shrugged his shoulders. It was only natural that awoman should want to amuse herself. And when Hyacinthe had gone off, passing with perverse contempt beside the lovely girls who were sellinglottery tickets, the journalist ventured to murmur: "All the same, itwould do that youngster good if a woman were to take him in hand. "

Then, again addressing Pierre, he resumed: "Why, here comes Duthil! Whatdid Sagnier mean this morning by saying that Duthil would sleep at Mazasto-night?"

In a great hurry apparently, and all smiles, Duthil was cutting his waythrough the crowd in order to join Duvillard and Fonsegue, who stillstood talking near the Baroness's stall. And he waved his hand to them ina victorious way, to imply that he had succeeded in the delicate missionentrusted to him. This was nothing less than a bold manoeuvre to hastenSilviane's admission to the Comedie Francaise. The idea had occurred toher of making the Baron give a dinner at the Cafe Anglais in order thatshe might meet at it an influential critic, who, according to herstatements, would compel the authorities to throw the doors wide open forher as soon as he should know her. However, it did not seem easy tosecure the critic's presence, as he was noted for his sternness andgrumbling disposition. And, indeed, after a first repulse, Duthil had forthree days past been obliged to exert all his powers of diplomacy, andbring even the remotest influence into play. But he was radiant now, forhe had conquered. 

"It's for this evening, my dear Baron, at half-past seven, " he exclaimed. "Ah! dash it all, I've had more trouble than I should have had to securea concession vote!" Then he laughed with the pretty impudence of a man ofpleasure, whom political conscientiousness did not trouble. And, indeed, his allusion to the fresh denunciations of the "Voix du Peuple" hugelyamused him. 

"Don't jest, " muttered Fonsegue, who for his part wished to amuse himselfby frightening the young deputy. "Things are going very badly!"

Duthil turned pale, and a vision of the police and Mazas rose before hiseyes. In this wise sheer funk came over him from time to time. However, with his lack of all moral sense, he soon felt reassured and began tolaugh. "Bah!" he retorted gaily, winking towards Duvillard, "thegovernor's there to pilot the barque!"

The Baron, who was extremely pleased, had pressed his hands, thanked him, and called him an obliging fellow. And now turning towards Fonsegue, heexclaimed: "I say, you must make one of us this evening. Oh! it'snecessary. I want something imposing round Silviane. Duthil willrepresent the Chamber, you journalism, and I finance--" But he suddenlypaused on seeing Gerard, who, with a somewhat grave expression, wasleisurely picking his way through the sea of skirts. "Gerard, my friend, "said the Baron, after beckoning to him, "I want you to do me a service. "And forthwith he told him what was in question; how the influentialcritic had been prevailed upon to attend a dinner which would decideSilviane's future; and how it was the duty of all her friends to rallyround her. 

"But I can't, " the young man answered in embarrassment. "I have to dineat home with my mother, who was rather poorly this morning. "

"Oh! a sensible woman like your mother will readily understand that thereare matters of exceptional importance. Go home and excuse yourself. Tellher some story, tell her that a friend's happiness is in question. " Andas Gerard began to weaken, Duvillard added: "The fact is, that I reallywant you, my dear fellow; I must have a society man. Society, you know, is a great force in theatrical matters; and if Silviane has society withher, her triumph is certain. "

Gerard promised, and then chatted for a moment with his uncle, General deBozonnet, who was quite enlivened by that throng of women, among whom hehad been carried hither and thither like an old rudderless ship. Afteracknowledging the amiability with which Madame Fonsegue had listened tohis stories, by purchasing an autograph of Monseigneur Martha from herfor a hundred francs, he had quite lost himself amid the bevy of girlswho had passed him on, one to another. And now, on his return from them, he had his hands full of lottery tickets: "Ah! my fine fellow, " said he, "I don't advise you to venture among all those young persons. You wouldhave to part with your last copper. But, just look! there's MademoiselleCamille beckoning to you!"

Camille, indeed, from the moment she had perceived Gerard, had beensmiling at him and awaiting his approach. And when their glances met hewas obliged to go to her, although, at the same moment, he felt thatEve's despairing and entreating eyes were fixed upon him. The girl, whofully realised that her mother was watching her, at once made a markeddisplay of amiability, profiting by the license which charitable fervourauthorised, to slip a variety of little articles into the young man'spockets, and then place others in his hands, which she pressed within herown, showing the while all the sparkle of youth, indulging in fresh, merry laughter, which fairly tortured her rival. 

So extreme was Eve's suffering, that she wished to intervene and partthem. But it so chanced that Pierre barred her way, for he wished tosubmit an idea to her before leaving the bazaar. "Madame, " said he, "since that man Laveuve is dead, and you have taken so much trouble withregard to the bed which you now have vacant, will you be so good as tokeep it vacant until I have seen our venerable friend, Abbe Rose? I am tosee him this evening, and he knows so many cases of want, and would be soglad to relieve one of them, and bring you some poor _protege_ of his. "

"Yes, certainly, " stammered the Baroness, "I shall be very happy, --I willwait a little, as you desire, --of course, of course, Monsieur l'Abbe. "

She was trembling all over; she no longer knew what she was saying; and, unable to conquer her passion, she turned aside from the priest, unawareeven that he was still there, when Gerard, yielding to the dolorousentreaty of her eyes, at last managed to escape from Camille and joinher. 

"What a stranger you are becoming, my friend!" she said aloud, with aforced smile. "One never sees you now. "

"Why, I have been poorly, " he replied, in his amiable way. "Yes, I assureyou I have been ailing a little. "

He, ailing! She looked at him with maternal anxiety, quite upset. And, indeed, however proud and lofty his figure, his handsome regular face didseem to her paler than usual. It was as if the nobility of the facadehad, in some degree, ceased to hide the irreparable dilapidation within. And given his real good nature, it must be true that hesuffered--suffered by reason of his useless, wasted life, by reason ofall the money he cost his impoverished mother, and of the needs that wereat last driving him to marry that wealthy deformed girl, whom at first hehad simply pitied. And so weak did he seem to Eve, so like a piece ofwreckage tossed hither and thither by a tempest, that, at the risk ofbeing overheard by the throng, she let her heart flow forth in a low butardent, entreating murmur: "If you suffer, ah! what sufferings aremine!--Gerard, we must see one another, I will have it so. "

"No, I beg you, let us wait, " he stammered in embarrassment. 

"It must be, Gerard; Camille has told me your plans. You cannot refuse tosee me. I insist on it. "

He made yet another attempt to escape the cruel explanation. "But it'simpossible at the usual place, " he answered, quivering. "The address isknown. "

"Then to-morrow, at four o'clock, at that little restaurant in the Boiswhere we have met before. "

He had to promise, and they parted. Camille had just turned her head andwas looking at them. Moreover, quite a number of women had besieged thestall; and the Baroness began to attend to them with the air of a ripeand nonchalant goddess, while Gerard rejoined Duvillard, Fonsegue andDuthil, who were quite excited at the prospect of their dinner thatevening. 

Pierre had heard a part of the conversation between Gerard and theBaroness. He knew what skeletons the house concealed, what physiologicaland moral torture and wretchedness lay beneath all the dazzling wealthand power. There was here an envenomed, bleeding sore, ever spreading, acancer eating into father, mother, daughter and son, who one and all hadthrown social bonds aside. However, the priest made his way out of the_salons_, half stifling amidst the throng of lady-purchasers who weremaking quite a triumph of the bazaar. And yonder, in the depths of thegloom, he could picture Salvat still running and running on; while thecorpse of Laveuve seemed to him like a buffet of atrocious irony dealt tonoisy and delusive charity. 

II. SPIRIT AND FLESH

How delightful was the quietude of the little ground-floor overlooking astrip of garden in the Rue Cortot, where good Abbe Rose resided!Hereabouts there was not even a rumble of wheels, or an echo of thepanting breath of Paris, which one heard on the other side of the heightof Montmartre. The deep silence and sleepy peacefulness were suggestiveof some distant provincial town. 

Seven o'clock had struck, the dusk had gathered slowly, and Pierre was inthe humble dining-room, waiting for the _femme-de-menage_ to place thesoup upon the table. Abbe Rose, anxious at having seen so little of himfor a month past, had written, asking him to come to dinner, in orderthat they might have a quiet chat concerning their affairs. From time totime Pierre still gave his friend money for charitable purposes; in fact, ever since the days of the asylum in the Rue de Charonne, they had hadaccounts together, which they periodically liquidated. So that eveningafter dinner they were to talk of it all, and see if they could not doeven more than they had hitherto done. The good old priest was quiteradiant at the thought of the peaceful evening which he was about tospend in attending to the affairs of his beloved poor; for therein layhis only amusement, the sole pleasure to which he persistently andpassionately returned, in spite of all the worries that his inconsideratecharity had already so often brought him. 

Glad to be able to procure his friend this pleasure, Pierre, on his side, grew calmer, and found relief and momentary repose in sharing the other'ssimple repast and yielding to all the kindliness around him, far from hisusual worries. He remembered the vacant bed at the Asylum, which BaronessDuvillard had promised to keep in reserve until he should have asked AbbeRose if he knew of any case of destitution particularly worthy ofinterest; and so before sitting down to table he spoke of the matter. 

"Destitution worthy of interest!" replied Abbe Rose, "ah! my dear child, every case is worthy of interest. And when it's a question of old toilerswithout work the only trouble is that of selection, the anguish ofchoosing one and leaving so many others in distress. " Nevertheless, painful though his scruples were, he strove to think and come to somedecision. "I know the case which will suit you, " he said at last. "It'scertainly one of the greatest suffering and wretchedness; and, so humblea one, too--an old carpenter of seventy-five, who has been living onpublic charity during the eight or ten years that he has been unable tofind work. I don't know his name, everybody calls him 'the big Old'un. 'There are times when he does not come to my Saturday distributions forweeks together. We shall have to look for him at once. I think that hesleeps at the Night Refuge in the Rue d'Orsel when lack of room theredoesn't force him to spend the night crouching behind some palings. Shallwe go down the Rue d'Orsel this evening?"

Abbe Rose's eyes beamed brightly as he spoke, for this proposal of hissignified a great debauch, the tasting of forbidden fruit. He had beenreproached so often and so roughly with his visits to those who hadfallen to the deepest want and misery, that in spite of his overflowing, apostolic compassion, he now scarcely dared to go near them. However, hecontinued: "Is it agreed, my child? Only this once? Besides, it is ouronly means of finding the big Old'un. You won't have to stop with melater than eleven. And I should so like to show you all that! You willsee what terrible sufferings there are! And perhaps we may be fortunateenough to relieve some poor creature or other. "

Pierre smiled at the juvenile ardour displayed by this old man with snowyhair. "It's agreed, my dear Abbe, " he responded, "I shall be very pleasedto spend my whole evening with you, for I feel it will do me good tofollow you once more on one of those rambles which used to fill ourhearts with grief and joy. "

At this moment the servant brought in the soup; however, just as the twopriests were taking their seats a discreet ring was heard, and when AbbeRose learnt that the visitor was a neighbour, Madame Mathis, who had comefor an answer, he gave orders that she should be shown in. 

"This poor woman, " he explained to Pierre, "needed an advance of tenfrancs to get a mattress out of pawn; and I didn't have the money by meat the time. But I've since procured it. She lives in the house, youknow, in silent poverty, on so small an income that it hardly keeps herin bread. "

"But hasn't she a big son of twenty?" asked Pierre, suddenly rememberingthe young man he had seen at Salvat's. 

"Yes, yes. Her parents, I believe, were rich people in the provinces. I've been told that she married a music master, who gave her lessons, atNantes; and who ran away with her and brought her to Paris, where hedied. It was quite a doleful love-story. By selling the furniture andrealising every little thing she possessed, she scraped together anincome of about two thousand francs a year, with which she was able tosend her son to college and live decently herself. But a fresh blow fellon her: she lost the greater part of her little fortune, which wasinvested in doubtful securities. So now her income amounts at the utmostto eight hundred francs; two hundred of which she has to expend in rent. For all her other wants she has to be content with fifty francs a month. About eighteen months ago her son left her so as not to be a burden onher, and he is trying to earn his living somewhere, but without success, I believe. "

Madame Mathis, a short, dark woman, with a sad, gentle, retiring face, came in. Invariably clad in the same black gown, she showed all theanxious timidity of a poor creature whom the storms of life perpetuallyassailed. When Abbe Rose had handed her the ten francs discreetly wrappedin paper, she blushed and thanked him, promising to pay him back as soonas she received her month's money, for she was not a beggar and did notwish to encroach on the share of those who starved. 

"And your son, Victor, has he found any employment?" asked the oldpriest. 

She hesitated, ignorant as she was of what her son might be doing, fornow she did not see him for weeks together. And finally, she contentedherself with answering: "He has a good heart, he is very fond of me. Itis a great misfortune that we should have been ruined before he couldenter the Ecole Normale. It was impossible for him to prepare for theexamination. But at the Lycee he was such a diligent and intelligentpupil!"

"You lost your husband when your son was ten years old, did you not?"said Abbe Rose. 

At this she blushed again, thinking that her husband's story was known tothe two priests. "Yes, my poor husband never had any luck, " she said. "His difficulties embittered and excited his mind, and he died in prison. He was sent there through a disturbance at a public meeting, when he hadthe misfortune to wound a police officer. He had also fought at the timeof the Commune. And yet he was a very gentle man and extremely fond ofme. "

Tears had risen to her eyes; and Abbe Rose, much touched, dismissed her:"Well, let us hope that your son will give you satisfaction, and be ableto repay you for all you have done for him. "

With a gesture of infinite sorrow, Madame Mathis discreetly withdrew. Shewas quite ignorant of her son's doings, but fate had pursued her sorelentlessly that she ever trembled. 

"I don't think that the poor woman has much to expect from her son, " saidPierre, when she had gone. "I only saw him once, but the gleam in hiseyes was as harsh and trenchant as that of a knife. "

"Do you think so?" the old priest exclaimed, with his kindly _naivete_. "Well, he seemed to me very polite, perhaps a trifle eager to enjoy life;but then, all the young folks are impatient nowadays. Come, let us sitdown to table, for the soup will be cold. "

Almost at the same hour, on the other side of Paris, night had in likefashion slowly fallen in the drawing-room of the Countess de Quinsac, onthe dismal, silent ground-floor of an old mansion in the Rue St. Dominique. The Countess was there, alone with her faithful friend, theMarquis de Morigny, she on one side, and he on the other side of thechimney-piece, where the last embers of the wood fire were dying out. Theservant had not yet brought the lamp, and the Countess refrained fromringing, finding some relief from her anxiety in the falling darkness, which hid from view all the unconfessed thoughts that she was afraid ofshowing on her weary face. And it was only now, before that dim hearth, and in that black room, where never a sound of wheels disturbed thesilence of the slumberous past, that she dared to speak. 

"Yes, my friend, " she said, "I am not satisfied with Gerard's health. Youwill see him yourself, for he promised to come home early and dine withme. Oh! I'm well aware that he looks big and strong; but to know himproperly one must have nursed and watched him as I have done! Whattrouble I had to rear him! In reality he is at the mercy of any pettyailment. His slightest complaint becomes serious illness. And the life heleads does not conduce to good health. "

She paused and sighed, hesitating to carry her confession further. 

"He leads the life he can, " slowly responded the Marquis de Morigny, ofwhose delicate profile, and lofty yet loving bearing, little could beseen in the gloom. "As he was unable to endure military life, and as eventhe fatigues of diplomacy frighten you, what would you have him do? Hecan only live apart pending the final collapse, while this abominableRepublic is dragging France to the grave. "

"No doubt, my friend. And yet it is just that idle life which frightensme. He is losing in it all that was good and healthy in him. I don'trefer merely to the _liaisons_ which we have had to tolerate. The lastone, which I found so much difficulty in countenancing at the outset, socontrary did it seem to all my ideas and beliefs, has since seemed to meto exercise almost a good influence. Only he is now entering histhirty-sixth year, and can he continue living in this fashion withoutobject or duties? If he is ailing it is perhaps precisely because he doesnothing, holds no position, and serves no purpose. " Her voice againquavered. "And then, my friend, since you force me to tell youeverything, I must own that I am not in good health myself. I have hadseveral fainting fits of late, and have consulted a doctor. The truth is, that I may go off at any moment. "

With a quiver, Morigny leant forward in the still deepening gloom, andwished to take hold of her hands. "You! what, am I to lose you, my lastaffection!" he faltered, "I who have seen the old world I belong tocrumble away, I who only live in the hope that you at all events willstill be here to close my eyes!"

But she begged him not to increase her grief: "No, no, don't take myhands, don't kiss them! Remain there in the shade, where I can scarcelysee you.... We have loved one another so long without aught to causeshame or regret; and that will prove our strength--our divinestrength--till we reach the grave.... And if you were to touch me, ifI were to feel you too near me I could not finish, for I have not done soyet. "

As soon as he had relapsed into silence and immobility, she continued:"If I were to die to-morrow, Gerard would not even find here the littlefortune which he still fancies is in my hands. The dear child has oftencost me large sums of money without apparently being conscious of it. Iought to have been more severe, more prudent. But what would you have?Ruin is at hand. I have always been too weak a mother. And do you nowunderstand in what anguish I live? I ever have the thought that if I dieGerard will not even possess enough to live on, for he is incapable ofeffecting the miracle which I renew each day, in order to keep the houseup on a decent footing.... Ah! I know him, so supine, so sickly, inspite of his proud bearing, unable to do anything, even conduct himself. And so what will become of him; will he not fall into the most diredistress?"

Then her tears flowed freely, her heart opened and bled, for she foresawwhat must happen after her death: the collapse of her race and of a wholeworld in the person of that big child. And the Marquis, still motionlessbut distracted, feeling that he had no title to offer his own fortune, suddenly understood her, foresaw in what disgrace this fresh disasterwould culminate. 

"Ah! my poor friend!" he said at last in a voice trembling with revoltand grief. "So you have agreed to that marriage--yes, that abominablemarriage with that woman's daughter! Yet you swore it should never be!You would rather witness the collapse of everything, you said. And nowyou are consenting, I can feel it!"

She still wept on in that black, silent drawing-room before thechimney-piece where the fire had died out. Did not Gerard's marriage toCamille mean a happy ending for herself, a certainty of leaving her sonwealthy, loved, and seated at the banquet of life? However, a lastfeeling of rebellion arose within her. 

"No, no, " she exclaimed, "I don't consent, I swear to you that I don'tconsent as yet. I am fighting with my whole strength, waging an incessantbattle, the torture of which you cannot imagine. "

Then, in all sincerity, she foresaw the likelihood of defeat. "If Ishould some day give way, my friend, at all events believe that I feel, as fully as you do, how abominable such a marriage must be. It will bethe end of our race and our honour!"

This cry profoundly stirred the Marquis, and he was unable to add a word. Haughty and uncompromising Catholic and Royalist that he was, he, on hisside also, expected nothing but the supreme collapse. Yet howheartrending was the thought that this noble woman, so dearly and sopurely loved, would prove one of the most mournful victims of thecatastrophe! And in the shrouding gloom he found courage to kneel beforeher, take her hand, and kiss it. 

Just as the servant was at last bringing a lighted lamp Gerard made hisappearance. The past-century charm of the old Louis XVI. Drawing-room, with its pale woodwork, again became apparent in the soft light. In orderthat his mother might not be over-saddened by his failure to dine withher that evening the young man had put on an air of brisk gaiety; andwhen he had explained that some friends were waiting for him, she at oncereleased him from his promise, happy as she felt at seeing him so merry. 

"Go, go, my dear boy, " said she, "but mind you do not tire yourself toomuch.... I am going to keep Morigny; and the General and Larombiereare coming at nine o'clock. So be easy, I shall have someone with me tokeep me from fretting and feeling lonely. "

In this wise Gerard after sitting down for a moment and chatting with theMarquis was able to slip away, dress, and betake himself to the CafeAnglais. 

When he reached it women in fur cloaks were already climbing the stairs, fashionable and merry parties were filling the private rooms, theelectric lights shone brilliantly, and the walls were already vibratingwith the stir of pleasure and debauchery. In the room which BaronDuvillard had engaged the young man found an extraordinary display, themost superb flowers, and a profusion of plate and crystal as for a royalgala. The pomp with which the six covers were laid called forth a smile;while the bill of fare and the wine list promised marvels, all the rarestand most expensive things that could be selected. 

"It's stylish, isn't it?" exclaimed Silviane, who was already there withDuvillard, Fonsegue and Duthil. "I just wanted to make your influentialcritic open his eyes a little! When one treats a journalist to such adinner as this, he has got to be amiable, hasn't he?"

In her desire to conquer, it had occurred to the young woman to arrayherself in the most amazing fashion. Her gown of yellow satin, coveredwith old Alencon lace, was cut low at the neck; and she had put on allher diamonds, a necklace, a diadem, shoulder-knots, bracelets and rings. With her candid, girlish face, she looked like some Virgin in a missal, aQueen-Virgin, laden with the offerings of all Christendom. 

"Well, well, you look so pretty, " said Gerard, who sometimes jested withher, "that I think it will do all the same. "

"Ah!" she replied with equanimity. "You consider me a _bourgeoise_, Isee. Your opinion is that a simple little dinner and a modest gown wouldhave shown better taste. But ah! my dear fellow, you don't know the wayto get round men!"

Duvillard signified his approval, for he was delighted to be able to showher in all her glory, adorned like an idol. Fonsegue, for his part, talked of diamonds, saying that they were now doubtful investments, asthe day when they would become articles of current manufacture was fastapproaching, thanks to the electrical furnace and other inventions. Meantime Duthil, with an air of ecstasy and the dainty gestures of alady's maid, hovered around the young woman, either smoothing arebellious bow or arranging some fold of her lace. 

"But I say, " resumed Silviane, "your critic seems to be an ill-bred man, for he's keeping us waiting. "

Indeed, the critic arrived a quarter of an hour late, and whileapologising, he expressed his regret that he should be obliged to leaveat half-past nine, for he was absolutely compelled to put in anappearance at a little theatre in the Rue Pigalle. He was a big fellow offifty with broad shoulders and a full, bearded face. His mostdisagreeable characteristic was the narrow dogmatic pedantry which he hadacquired at the Ecole Normale, and had never since been able to shakeoff. All his herculean efforts to be sceptical and frivolous, and thetwenty years he had spent in Paris mingling with every section ofsociety, had failed to rid him of it. _Magister_ he was, and _magister_he remained, even in his most strenuous flights of imagination andaudacity. From the moment of his arrival he tried to show himselfenraptured with Silviane. Naturally enough, he already knew her by sight, and had even criticised her on one occasion in five or six contemptuouslines. However, the sight of her there, in full beauty, clad like aqueen, and presented by four influential protectors, filled him withemotion; and he was struck with the idea that nothing would be moreParisian and less pedantic than to assert she had some talent and giveher his support. 

They had seated themselves at table, and the repast proved a magnificentone, the service ever prompt and assiduous, an attendant being allottedto each diner. While the flowers scattered their perfumes through theroom, and the plate and crystal glittered on the snowy cloth, anabundance of delicious and unexpected dishes were handed round--asturgeon from Russia, prohibited game, truffles as big as eggs, andhothouse vegetables and fruit as full of flavour as if they had beennaturally matured. It was money flung out of window, simply for thepleasure of wasting more than other people, and eating what they couldnot procure. The influential critic, though he displayed the ease of aman accustomed to every sort of festivity, really felt astonished at itall, and became servile, promising his support, and pledging himself farmore than he really wished to. Moreover, he showed himself very gay, found some witty remarks to repeat, and even some rather ribald jests. But when the champagne appeared after the roast and the grand burgundies, his over-excitement brought him back perforce to his real nature. Theconversation had now turned on Corneille's "Polyeucte" and the part of"Pauline, " in which Silviane wished to make her _debut_ at the ComedieFrancaise. This extraordinary caprice, which had quite revolted theinfluential critic a week previously, now seemed to him simply a boldenterprise in which the young woman might even prove victorious if sheconsented to listen to his advice. And, once started, he delivered quitea lecture on the past, asserting that no actress had ever yet understoodit properly, for at the outset Pauline was simply a well-meaning littlecreature of the middle classes, and the beauty of her conversion at thefinish arose from the working of a miracle, a stroke of heavenly gracewhich endowed her with something divine. This was not the opinion ofSilviane, who from the first lines regarded Pauline as the ideal heroineof some symbolical legend. However, as the critic talked on and on, shehad to feign approval; and he was delighted at finding her so beautifuland docile beneath his ferule. At last, as ten o'clock was striking, herose and tore out of the hot and reeking room in order to do his work. 

"Ah! my dears, " cried Silviane, "he's a nice bore is that critic ofyours! What a fool he is with his idea of Pauline being a little_bourgeoise_! I would have given him a fine dressing if it weren't forthe fact that I have some need of him. Ah! no, it's too idiotic! Pour meout a glass of champagne. I want something to set me right after allthat!"

The _fete_ then took quite an intimate turn between the four men whoremained and that bare-armed, bare-breasted girl, covered with diamonds;while from the neighbouring passages and rooms came bursts of laughterand sounds of kissing, all the stir and mirth of the debauchery nowfilling the house. And beneath the windows torrents of vehicles andpedestrians streamed along the Boulevards where reigned the wild fever ofpleasure and harlotry. 

"No, don't open it, or I shall catch cold!" resumed Silviane, addressingFonsegue as he stepped towards the window. "Are you so very warm, then?I'm just comfortable.... But, Duvillard, my good fellow, please ordersome more champagne. It's wonderful what a thirst your critic has givenme!"

Amidst the blinding glare of the lamps and the perfume of the flowers andwines, one almost stifled in the room. And Silviane was seized with anirresistible desire for a spree, a desire to tipple and amuse herself insome vulgar fashion, as in her bygone days. A few glasses of champagnebrought her to full pitch, and she showed the boldest and giddiestgaiety. The others, who had never before seen her so lively, began ontheir own side to feel amused. As Fonsegue was obliged to go to hisoffice she embraced him "like a daughter, " as she expressed it. However, on remaining alone with the others she indulged in great freedom ofspeech, which became more and more marked as her intoxication increased. And to the class of men with whom she consorted her great attraction, asshe was well aware, lay in the circumstance that with her virginalcountenance and her air of ideal purity was coupled the most monstrousperversity ever displayed by any shameless woman. Despite her innocentblue eyes and lily-like candour, she would give rein, particularly whenshe was drunk, to the most diabolical of fancies. 

Duvillard let her drink on, but she guessed his thoughts, like sheguessed those of the others, and simply smiled while concoctingimpossible stories and descanting fantastically in the language of thegutter. And seeing her there in her dazzling gown fit for a queenlyvirgin, and hearing her pour forth the vilest words, they thought hermost wonderfully droll. However, when she had drunk as much champagne asshe cared for and was half crazy, a novel idea suddenly occurred to her. 

"I say, my children, " she exclaimed, "we are surely not going to stophere. It's so precious slow! You shall take me to the Chamber ofHorrors--eh? just to finish the evening. I want to hear Legras sing 'LaChemise, ' that song which all Paris is running to hear him sing. "

But Duvillard indignantly rebelled: "Oh! no, " said he; "most certainlynot. It's a vile song and I'll never take you to such an abominableplace. "

But she did not appear to hear him. She had already staggered to her feetand was arranging her hair before a looking-glass. "I used to live atMontmartre, " she said, "and it'll amuse me to go back there. And, besides, I want to know if this Legras is a Legras that I knew, oh! everso long ago! Come, up you get, and let us be off!"

"But, my dear girl, " pleaded Duvillard, "we can't take you into that dendressed as you are! Just fancy your entering that place in a low-neckedgown and covered with diamonds! Why everyone would jeer at us! Come, Gerard, just tell her to be a little reasonable. "

Gerard, equally offended by the idea of such a freak, was quite willingto intervene. But she closed his mouth with her gloved hand and repeatedwith the gay obstinacy of intoxication: "Pooh, it will be all the moreamusing if they do jeer at us! Come, let us be off, let us be off, quick!"

Thereupon Duthil, who had been listening with a smile and the air of aman of pleasure whom nothing astonishes or displeases, gallantly took herpart. "But, my dear Baron, everybody goes to the Chamber of Horrors, "said he. "Why, I myself have taken the noblest ladies there, andprecisely to hear that song of Legras, which is no worse than anythingelse. "

"Ah! you hear what Duthil says!" cried Silviane. "He's a deputy, he is, and he wouldn't go there if he thought it would compromise hishonorability!"

Then, as Duvillard still struggled on in despair at the idea ofexhibiting himself with her in such a scandalous place, she became allthe merrier: "Well, my dear fellow, please yourself. I don't need you. You and Gerard can go home if you like. But I'm going to Montmartre withDuthil. You'll take charge of me, won't you, Duthil, eh?"

Still, the Baron was in no wise disposed to let the evening finish inthat fashion. The mere idea of it gave him a shock, and he had to resignhimself to the girl's stubborn caprice. The only consolation he couldthink of was to secure Gerard's presence, for the young man, with somelingering sense of decorum, still obstinately refused to make one of theparty. So the Baron took his hands and detained him, repeating in urgenttones that he begged him to come as an essential mark of friendship. Andat last the wife's lover and daughter's suitor had to give way to the manwho was the former's husband and the latter's father. 

Silviane was immensely amused by it all, and, indiscreetly thee-ing andthou-ing Gerard, suggested that he at least owed the Baron some littlecompliance with his wishes. 

Duvillard pretended not to hear her. He was listening to Duthil, who toldhim that there was a sort of box in a corner of the Chamber of Horrors, in which one could in some measure conceal oneself. And then, asSilviane's carriage--a large closed landau, whose coachman, a sturdy, handsome fellow, sat waiting impassively on his box--was down below, theystarted off. 

The Chamber of Horrors was installed in premises on the Boulevard deRochechouart, formerly occupied by a cafe whose proprietor had becomebankrupt. * It was a suffocating place, narrow, irregular, with all sortsof twists, turns, and secluded nooks, and a low and smoky ceiling. Andnothing could have been more rudimentary than its decorations. The wallshad simply been placarded with posters of violent hues, some of thecrudest character, showing the barest of female figures. Behind a pianoat one end there was a little platform reached by a curtained doorway. For the rest, one simply found a number of bare wooden forms setalongside the veriest pot-house tables, on which the glasses containingvarious beverages left round and sticky marks. There was no luxury, noartistic feature, no cleanliness even. Globeless gas burners flaredfreely, heating a dense mist compounded of tobacco smoke and humanbreath. Perspiring, apoplectical faces could be perceived through thisveil, and an acrid odour increased the intoxication of the assembly, which excited itself with louder and louder shouts at each fresh song. Ithad been sufficient for an enterprising fellow to set up these boards, bring out Legras, accompanied by two or three girls, make him sing hisfrantic and abominable songs, and in two or three evenings overwhelmingsuccess had come, all Paris being enticed and flocking to the place, which for ten years or so had failed to pay as a mere cafe, where by wayof amusement petty cits had been simply allowed their daily games atdominoes. 

 * Those who know Paris will identify the site selected by M. Zola as that where 'Colonel' Lisbonne of the Commune installed his den the 'Bagne' some years ago. Nevertheless, such places as the 'Chamber of Horrors' now abound in the neighbourhood of Montmartre, and it must be admitted that whilst they are frequented by certain classes of Frenchmen they owe much of their success in a pecuniary sense to the patronage of foreigners. Among the latter, Englishmen are particularly conspicuous. --Trans. 

And the change had been caused by the passion for filth, the irresistibleattraction exercised by all that brought opprobrium and disgust. TheParis of enjoyment, the _bourgeoisie_ which held all wealth and power, which would relinquish naught of either, though it was surfeited andgradually wearying of both, simply hastened to the place in order thatobscenity and insult might be flung in its face. Hypnotised, as it were, while staggering to its fall, it felt a need of being spat upon. And whata frightful symptom there lay in it all: those condemned ones rushingupon dirt of their own accord, voluntarily hastening their owndecomposition by that unquenchable thirst for the vile, which attractedmen, reputed to be grave and upright, and lovely women of the mostperfect grace and luxury, to all the beastliness of that low den!

At one of the tables nearest the stage sat little Princess Rosemonde deHarn, with wild eyes and quivering nostrils, delighted as she felt at nowbeing able to satisfy her curiosity regarding the depths of Paris life. Young Hyacinthe had resigned himself to the task of bringing her, and, correctly buttoned up in his long frock-coat, he was indulgent enough torefrain from any marked expression of boredom. At a neighbouring tablethey had found a shadowy Spaniard of their acquaintance, a so-calledBourse jobber, Bergaz, who had been introduced to the Princess by Janzen, and usually attended her entertainments. They virtually knew nothingabout him, not even if he really earned at the Bourse all the money whichhe sometimes spent so lavishly, and which enabled him to dress withaffected elegance. His slim, lofty figure was not without a certain airof distinction, but his red lips spoke of strong passions and his brighteyes were those of a beast of prey. That evening he had two young fellowswith him, one Rossi, a short, swarthy Italian, who had come to Paris as apainter's model, and had soon glided into the lazy life of certaindisreputable callings, and the other, Sanfaute, a born Parisianblackguard, a pale, beardless, vicious and impudent stripling of LaChapelle, whose long curly hair fell down upon either side of his bonycheeks. 

"Oh! pray now!" feverishly said Rosemonde to Bergaz; "as you seem to knowall these horrid people, just show me some of the celebrities. Aren'tthere some thieves and murderers among them?"

He laughed shrilly, and in a bantering way replied: "But you know thesepeople well enough, madame. That pretty, pink, delicate-looking womanover yonder is an American lady, the wife of a consul, whom, I believe, you receive at your house. That other on the right, that tall brunettewho shows such queenly dignity, is a Countess, whose carriage passesyours every day in the Bois. And the thin one yonder, whose eyes glitterlike those of a she-wolf, is the particular friend of a high official, who is well known for his reputation of austerity. "

But she stopped him, in vexation: "I know, I know. But the others, thoseof the lower classes, those whom one comes to see. "

Then she went on asking questions, and seeking for terrifying andmysterious countenances. At last, two men seated in a corner ended byattracting her attention; one of them a very young fellow with a pale, pinched face, and the other an ageless individual who, besides beingbuttoned up to his neck in an old coat, had pulled his cap so low overhis eyes, that one saw little of his face beyond the beard which fringedit. Before these two stood a couple of mugs of beer, which they drankslowly and in silence. 

"You are making a great mistake, my dear, " said Hyacinthe with a franklaugh, "if you are looking for brigands in disguise. That poor fellowwith the pale face, who surely doesn't have food to eat every day, was myschoolfellow at Condorcet!"

Bergaz expressed his amazement. "What! you knew Mathis at Condorcet!After all, though, you're right, he received a college education. Ah! andso you knew him. A very remarkable young man he is, though want isthrottling him. But, I say, the other one, his companion, you don't knowhim?"

Hyacinthe, after looking at the man with the cap-hidden face, was alreadyshaking his head, when Bergaz suddenly gave him a nudge as a signal tokeep quiet, and by way of explanation he muttered: "Hush! Here'sRaphanel. I've been distrusting him for some time past. Whenever heappears anywhere, the police is not far off. "

Raphanel was another of the vague, mysterious Anarchists whom Janzen hadpresented to the Princess by way of satisfying her momentary passion forrevolutionism. This one, though he was a fat, gay, little man, with adoll-like face and childish nose, which almost disappeared between hispuffy cheeks, had the reputation of being a thorough desperado; and atpublic meetings he certainly shouted for fire and murder with all hislungs. Still, although he had already been compromised in variousaffairs, he had invariably managed to save his own bacon, whilst hiscompanions were kept under lock and key; and this they were now beginningto think somewhat singular. 

He at once shook hands with the Princess in a jovial way, took a seatnear her without being invited, and forthwith denounced the dirty_bourgeoisie_ which came to wallow in places of ill fame. Rosemonde wasdelighted, and encouraged him, but others near by began to get angry, andBergaz examined him with his piercing eyes, like a man of energy whoacts, and lets others talk. Now and then, too, he exchanged quick glancesof intelligence with his silent lieutenants, Sanfaute and Rossi, whoplainly belonged to him, both body and soul. They were the ones who foundtheir profit in Anarchy, practising it to its logical conclusions, whether in crime or in vice. 

Meantime, pending the arrival of Legras with his "Flowers of thePavement, " two female vocalists had followed one another on the stage, the first fat and the second thin, one chirruping some silly love songswith an under-current of dirt, and the other shouting the coarsest ofrefrains, in a most violent, fighting voice. She had just finished amidsta storm of bravos, when the assembly, stirred to merriment and eager fora laugh, suddenly exploded once more. Silviane was entering the littlebox at one end of the hall. When she appeared erect in the full light, with bare arms and shoulders, looking like a planet in her gown of yellowsatin and her blazing diamonds, there arose a formidable uproar, shouts, jeers, hisses, laughing and growling, mingled with ferocious applause. And the scandal increased, and the vilest expressions flew about as soonas Duvillard, Gerard and Duthil also showed themselves, looking veryserious and dignified with their white ties and spreading shirt fronts. 

"We told you so!" muttered Duvillard, who was much annoyed with theaffair, while Gerard tried to conceal himself in a dim corner. 

She, however, smiling and enchanted, faced the public, accepting thestorm with the candid bearing of a foolish virgin, much as one inhalesthe vivifying air of the open when it bears down upon one in a squall. And, indeed, she herself had sprung from the sphere before her, itsatmosphere was her native air. 

"Well, what of it?" she said replying to the Baron who wanted her to sitdown. "They are merry. It's very nice. Oh! I'm really amusing myself!"

"Why, yes, it's very nice, " declared Duthil, who in like fashion sethimself at his ease. "Silviane is right, people naturally like a laughnow and then!"

Amidst the uproar, which did not cease, little Princess Rosemonde roseenthusiastically to get a better view. "Why, it's your father who's withthat woman Silviane, " she said to Hyacinthe. "Just look at them! Well, hecertainly has plenty of bounce to show himself here with her!"

Hyacinthe, however, refused to look. It didn't interest him, his fatherwas an idiot, only a child would lose his head over a girl in thatfashion. And with his contempt for woman the young man became positivelyinsulting. 

"You try my nerves, my dear fellow, " said Rosemonde as she sat down. "Youare the child with your silly ideas about us. And as for your father, hedoes quite right to love that girl. I find her very pretty indeed, quiteadorable!"

Then all at once the uproar ceased, those who had risen resumed theirseats, and the only sound was that of the feverish throb which coursedthrough the assembly. Legras had just appeared on the platform. He was apale sturdy fellow with a round and carefully shaven face, stern eyes, and the powerful jaws of a man who compels the adoration of women byterrorising them. He was not deficient in talent, he sang true, and hisringing voice was one of extraordinary penetration and pathetic power. And his _repertoire_, his "Flowers of the Pavement, " completed theexplanation of his success; for all the foulness and suffering of thelower spheres, the whole abominable sore of the social hell created bythe rich, shrieked aloud in these songs in words of filth and fire andblood. 

A prelude was played on the piano, and Legras standing there in hisvelvet jacket sang "La Chemise, " the horrible song which brought allParis to hear him. All the lust and vice that crowd the streets of thegreat city appeared with their filth and their poison; and amid thepicture of Woman stripped, degraded, ill-treated, dragged through themire and cast into a cesspool, there rang out the crime of the_bourgeoisie_. But the scorching insult of it all was less in the wordsthemselves than in the manner in which Legras cast them in the faces ofthe rich, the happy, the beautiful ladies who came to listen to him. Under the low ceiling, amidst the smoke from the pipes, in the blindingglare of the gas, he sent his lines flying through the assembly likeexpectorations, projected by a whirlwind of furious contempt. And when hehad finished there came delirium; the beautiful ladies did not even thinkof wiping away the many affronts they had received, but applaudedfrantically. The whole assembly stamped and shouted, and wallowed, distracted, in its ignominy. 

"Bravo! bravo!" the little Princess repeated in her shrill voice. "It'sastonishing, astonishing, prodigious!"

And Silviane, whose intoxication seemed to have increased since she hadbeen there, in the depths of that fiery furnace, made herselfparticularly conspicuous by the manner in which she clapped her hands andshouted: "It's he, it's my Legras! I really must kiss him, he's pleasedme so much!"

Duvillard, now fairly exasperated, wished to take her off by force. Butshe clung to the hand-rest of the box, and shouted yet more loudly, though without any show of temper. It became necessary to parley withher. Yes, she was willing to go off and let them drive her home; but, first of all, she must embrace Legras, who was an old friend of hers. "Goand wait for me in the carriage!" she said, "I will be with you in amoment. "

Just as the assembly was at last becoming calmer, Rosemonde perceivedthat the box was emptying; and her own curiosity being satisfied, shethought of prevailing on Hyacinthe to see her home. He, who had listenedto Legras in a languid way without even applauding, was now talking ofNorway with Bergaz, who pretended that he had travelled in the North. Oh!the fiords! oh! the ice-bound lakes! oh! the pure lily-white, chastecoldness of the eternal winter! It was only amid such surroundings, saidHyacinthe, that he could understand woman and love, like a kiss of thevery snow itself. 

"Shall we go off there to-morrow?" exclaimed the Princess with hervivacious effrontery. "I'll shut up my house and slip the key under thedoor. "

Then she added that she was jesting, of course. But Bergaz knew her to bequite capable of such a freak; and at the idea that she might shut up herlittle mansion and perhaps leave it unprotected he exchanged a quickglance with Sanfaute and Rossi, who still smiled in silence. Ah! what anopportunity for a fine stroke! What an opportunity to get back some ofthe wealth of the community appropriated by the blackguard _bourgeoisie_!

Meantime Raphanel, after applauding Legras, was looking all round theplace with his little grey, sharp eyes. And at last young Mathis and hiscompanion, the ill-clad individual, of whose face only a scrap of beardcould be seen, attracted his attention. They had neither laughed norapplauded; they seemed to be simply a couple of tired fellows who wereresting, and in whose opinion one is best hidden in the midst of a crowd. 

All at once, though, Raphanel turned towards Bergaz: "That's surelylittle Mathis over yonder. But who's that with him?"

Bergaz made an evasive gesture; he did not know. Still, he no longer tookhis eyes from Raphanel. And he saw the other feign indifference at whatfollowed, and finish his beer and take his leave, with the jesting remarkthat he had an appointment with a lady at a neighbouring omnibus office. No sooner had he gone than Bergaz rose, sprang over some of the forms andjostled people in order to reach little Mathis, into whose ear hewhispered a few words. And the young man at once left his table, takinghis companion and pushing him outside through an occasional exit. It wasall so rapidly accomplished that none of the general public paidattention to the flight. 

"What is it?" said the Princess to Bergaz, when he had quietly resumedhis seat between Rossi and Sanfaute. 

"Oh! nothing, I merely wished to shake hands with Mathis as he was goingoff. "

Thereupon Rosemonde announced that she meant to do the same. Nevertheless, she lingered a moment longer and again spoke of Norway onperceiving that nothing could impassion Hyacinthe except the idea of theeternal snow, the intense, purifying cold of the polar regions. In hispoem on the "End of Woman, " a composition of some thirty lines, which hehoped he should never finish, he thought of introducing a forest offrozen pines by way of final scene. Now the Princess had risen and wasgaily reverting to her jest, declaring that she meant to take him home todrink a cup of tea and arrange their trip to the Pole, when aninvoluntary exclamation fell from Bergaz, who, while listening, had kepthis eyes on the doorway. 

"Mondesir! I was sure of it!"

There had appeared at the entrance a short, sinewy, broad-backed littleman, about whose round face, bumpy forehead, and snub nose there wasconsiderable military roughness. One might have thought him anon-commissioned officer in civilian attire. He gazed over the wholeroom, and seemed at once dismayed and disappointed. 

Bergaz, however, wishing to account for his exclamation, resumed in aneasy way: "Ah! I said there was a smell of the police about the place!You see that fellow--he's a detective, a very clever one, named Mondesir, who had some trouble when he was in the army. Just look at him, sniffinglike a dog that has lost scent! Well, well, my brave fellow, if you'vebeen told of any game you may look and look for it, the bird's flownalready!"

Once outside, when Rosemonde had prevailed on Hyacinthe to see her home, they hastened to get into the brougham, which was waiting for them, fornear at hand they perceived Silviane's landau, with the majestic coachmanmotionless on his box, while Duvillard, Gerard, and Duthil still stoodwaiting on the curbstone. They had been there for nearly twenty minutesalready, in the semi-darkness of that outer boulevard, where all thevices of the poor districts of Paris were on the prowl. They had beenjostled by drunkards; and shadowy women brushed against them as they wentby whispering beneath the oaths and blows of bullies. And there werecouples seeking the darkness under the trees, and lingering on thebenches there; while all around were low taverns and dirty lodging-housesand places of ill-fame. All the human degradation which till break of dayswarms in the black mud of this part of Paris, enveloped the three men, giving them the horrors, and yet neither the Baron nor Gerard nor Duthilwas willing to go off. Each hoped that he would tire out the others, andtake Silviane home when she should at last appear. 

But after a time the Baron grew impatient, and said to the coachman:"Jules, go and see why madame doesn't come. "

"But the horses, Monsieur le Baron?"

"Oh! they will be all right, we are here. "

A fine drizzle had begun to fall; and the wait went on again as if itwould never finish. But an unexpected meeting gave them momentaryoccupation. A shadowy form, something which seemed to be a thin, black-skirted woman, brushed against them. And all of a sudden they weresurprised to find it was a priest. 

"What, is it you, Monsieur l'Abbe Froment?" exclaimed Gerard. "At thistime of night? And in this part of Paris?"

Thereupon Pierre, without venturing either to express his ownastonishment at finding them there themselves, or to ask them what theywere doing, explained that he had been belated through accompanying AbbeRose on a visit to a night refuge. Ah! to think of all the frightful wantwhich at last drifted to those pestilential dormitories where the stenchhad almost made him faint! To think of all the weariness and despairwhich there sank into the slumber of utter prostration, like that ofbeasts falling to the ground to sleep off the abominations of life! Noname could be given to the promiscuity; poverty and suffering were therein heaps, children and men, young and old, beggars in sordid rags, besidethe shameful poor in threadbare frock-coats, all the waifs and strays ofthe daily shipwrecks of Paris life, all the laziness and vice, andill-luck and injustice which the torrent rolls on, and throws off likescum. Some slept on, quite annihilated, with the faces of corpses. Others, lying on their backs with mouths agape, snored loudly as if stillventing the plaint of their sorry life. And others tossed restlessly, still struggling in their slumber against fatigue and cold and hunger, which pursued them like nightmares of monstrous shape. And from all thosehuman beings, stretched there like wounded after a battle, from all thatambulance of life reeking with a stench of rottenness and death, thereascended a nausea born of revolt, the vengeance-prompting thought of allthe happy chambers where, at that same hour, the wealthy loved or restedin fine linen and costly lace. *

 * Even the oldest Paris night refuges, which are the outcome of private philanthropy--L'Oeuvre de l'Hospitalite de Nuit-- have only been in existence some fourteen or fifteen years. Before that time, and from the period of the great Revolution forward, there was absolutely no place, either refuge, asylum, or workhouse, in the whole of that great city of wealth and pleasure, where the houseless poor could crave a night's shelter. The various royalist, imperialist and republican governments and municipalities of modern France have often been described as 'paternal, ' but no governments and municipalities in the whole civilised world have done less for the very poor. The official Poor Relief Board--L'Assistance Publique--has for fifty years been a by-word, a mockery and a sham, in spite of its large revenue. And this neglect of the very poor has been an important factor in every French revolution. Each of these--even that of 1870--had its purely economic side, though many superficial historians are content to ascribe economic causes to the one Revolution of 1789, and to pass them by in all other instances. --Trans. 

In vain had Pierre and Abbe Rose passed all the poor wretches in reviewwhile seeking the big Old'un, the former carpenter, so as to rescue himfrom the cesspool of misery, and send him to the Asylum on the verymorrow. He had presented himself at the refuge that evening, but therewas no room left, for, horrible to say, even the shelter of that hellcould only be granted to early comers. And so he must now be leaningagainst a wall, or lying behind some palings. This had greatly distressedpoor Abbe Rose and Pierre, but it was impossible for them to search everydark, suspicious corner; and so the former had returned to the RueCortot, while the latter was seeking a cab to convey him back to Neuilly. 

The fine drizzling rain was still falling and becoming almost icy, whenSilviane's coachman, Jules, at last reappeared and interrupted thepriest, who was telling the Baron and the others how his visit to therefuge still made him shudder. 

"Well, Jules--and madame?" asked Duvillard, quite anxious at seeing thecoachman return alone. 

Impassive and respectful, with no other sign of irony than a slightinvoluntary twist of the lips, Jules answered: "Madame sends word thatshe is not going home; and she places her carriage at the gentlemen'sdisposal if they will allow me to drive them home. "

This was the last straw, and the Baron flew into a passion. To haveallowed her to drag him to that vile den, to have waited there hopefullyso long, and to be treated in this fashion for the sake of a Legras! No, no, he, the Baron, had had enough of it, and she should pay dearly forher abominable conduct! Then he stopped a passing cab and pushed Gerardinside it saying, "You can set me down at my door. "

"But she's left us the carriage!" shouted Duthil, who was alreadyconsoled, and inwardly laughed at the termination of it all. "Come here, there's plenty of room for three. No? you prefer the cab? Well, just asyou like, you know. "

For his part he gaily climbed into the landau and drove off lounging onthe cushions, while the Baron, in the jolting old cab, vented his ragewithout a word of interruption from Gerard, whose face was hidden by thedarkness. To think of it! that she, whom he had overwhelmed with gifts, who had already cost him two millions of francs, should in this fashioninsult him, the master who could dispose both of fortunes and of men!Well, she had chosen to do it, and he was delivered! Then Duvillard drewa long breath like a man released from the galleys. 

For a moment Pierre watched the two vehicles go off; and then took hisown way under the trees, so as to shelter himself from the rain until avacant cab should pass. Full of distress and battling thoughts he hadbegun to feel icy cold. The whole monstrous night of Paris, all thedebauchery and woe that sobbed around him made him shiver. Phantom-likewomen who, when young, had led lives of infamy in wealth, and who now, old and faded, led lives of infamy in poverty, were still and everwandering past him in search of bread, when suddenly a shadowy formgrazed him, and a voice murmured in his ear: "Warn your brother, thepolice are on Salvat's track, he may be arrested at any moment. "

The shadowy figure was already going its way, and as a gas ray fell uponit, Pierre thought that he recognised the pale, pinched face of VictorMathis. And at the same time, yonder in Abbe Rose's peaceful dining-room, he fancied he could again see the gentle face of Madame Mathis, so sadand so resigned, living on solely by the force of the last trembling hopewhich she had unhappily set in her son. 

III. PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT

ALREADY at eight o'clock on that holiday-making mid-Lent Thursday, whenall the offices of the Home Department were empty, Monferrand, theMinister, sat alone in his private room. A single usher guarded his door, and in the first ante-chamber there were only a couple of messengers. 

The Minister had experienced, on awaking, the most unpleasant ofemotions. The "Voix du Peuple, " which on the previous day had revived theAfrican Railway scandal, by accusing Barroux of having pocketed 20, 000francs, had that morning published its long-promised list of thebribe-taking senators and deputies. And at the head of this listMonferrand had found his own name set down against a sum of 80, 000francs, while Fonsegue was credited with 50, 000. Then a fifth of thelatter amount was said to have been Duthil's share, and Chaigneux hadcontented himself with the beggarly sum of 3, 000 francs--the lowest pricepaid for any one vote, the cost of each of the others ranging from 5 to20, 000. 

It must be said that there was no anger in Monferrand's emotion. Only hehad never thought that Sagnier would carry his passion for uproar andscandal so far as to publish this list--a page which was said to havebeen torn from a memorandum book belonging to Duvillard's agent, Hunter, and which was covered with incomprehensible hieroglyphics that ought tohave been discussed and explained, if, indeed, the real truth was to bearrived at. Personally, Monferrand felt quite at ease, for he had writtennothing, signed nothing, and knew that one could always extricate oneselffrom a mess by showing some audacity, and never confessing. Nevertheless, what a commotion it would all cause in the parliamentary duck-pond. He atonce realised the inevitable consequences, the ministry overthrown andswept away by this fresh whirlwind of denunciation and tittle-tattle. Mege would renew his interpellation on the morrow, and Vignon and hisfriends would at once lay siege to the posts they coveted. And he, Monferrand, could picture himself driven out of that ministerial sanctumwhere, for eight months past, he had been taking his ease, not with anyfoolish vainglory, but with the pleasure of feeling that he was in hisproper place as a born ruler, who believed he could tame and lead themultitude. 

Having thrown the newspapers aside with a disdainful gesture, he rose andstretched himself, growling the while like a plagued lion. And then hebegan to walk up and down the spacious room, which showed all the fadedofficial luxury of mahogany furniture and green damask hangings. Steppingto and fro, with his hands behind his back, he no longer wore his usualfatherly, good-natured air. He appeared as he really was, a bornwrestler, short, but broad shouldered, with sensual mouth, fleshy noseand stern eyes, that all proclaimed him to be unscrupulous, of iron willand fit for the greatest tasks. Still, in this case, in what directionlay his best course? Must he let himself be dragged down with Barroux?Perhaps his personal position was not absolutely compromised? And yet howcould he part company from the others, swim ashore, and save himselfwhile they were being drowned? It was a grave problem, and with hisfrantic desire to retain power, he made desperate endeavours to devisesome suitable manoeuvre. 

But he could think of nothing, and began to swear at the virtuous fits ofthat silly Republic, which, in his opinion, rendered all governmentimpossible. To think of such foolish fiddle-faddle stopping a man of hisacumen and strength! How on earth can one govern men if one is denied theuse of money, that sovereign means of sway? And he laughed bitterly; forthe idea of an idyllic country where all great enterprises would becarried out in an absolutely honest manner seemed to him the height ofabsurdity. 

At last, however, unable as he was to come to a determination, itoccurred to him to confer with Baron Duvillard, whom he had long known, and whom he regretted not having seen sooner so as to urge him topurchase Sagnier's silence. At first he thought of sending the Baron abrief note by a messenger; but he disliked committing anything to paper, for the veriest scrap of writing may prove dangerous; so he preferred toemploy the telephone which had been installed for his private use nearhis writing-table. 

"It is Baron Duvillard who is speaking to me?... Quite so. It's I, theMinister, Monsieur Monferrand. I shall be much obliged if you will cometo see me at once.... Quite so, quite so, I will wait for you. "

Then again he walked to and fro and meditated. That fellow Duvillard wasas clever a man as himself, and might be able to give him an idea. And hewas still laboriously trying to devise some scheme, when the usherentered saying that Monsieur Gascogne, the Chief of the Detective Police, particularly wished to speak to him. Monferrand's first thought was thatthe Prefecture of Police desired to know his views respecting the stepswhich ought to be taken to ensure public order that day; for two mid-Lentprocessions--one of the Washerwomen and the other of the Students--wereto march through Paris, whose streets would certainly be crowded. 

"Show Monsieur Gascogne in, " he said. 

A tall, slim, dark man, looking like an artisan in his Sunday best, thenstepped into the ministerial sanctum. Fully acquainted with theunder-currents of Paris life, this Chief of the Detective Force had acold dispassionate nature and a clear and methodical mind. Professionalism slightly spoilt him, however: he would have possessedmore intelligence if he had not credited himself with so much. 

He began by apologising for his superior the Prefect, who would certainlyhave called in person had he not been suffering from indisposition. However, it was perhaps best that he, Gascogne, should acquaint Monsieurle Ministre with the grave affair which brought him, for he knew everydetail of it. Then he revealed what the grave affair was. 

"I believe, Monsieur le Ministre, that we at last hold the perpetrator ofthe crime in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy. "

At this, Monferrand, who had been listening impatiently, became quiteimpassioned. The fruitless searches of the police, the attacks and thejeers of the newspapers, were a source of daily worry to him. "Ah!--Well, so much the better for you Monsieur Gascogne, " he replied with brutalfrankness. "You would have ended by losing your post. The man isarrested?"

"Not yet, Monsieur le Ministre; but he cannot escape, and it is merely anaffair of a few hours. "

Then the Chief of the Detective Force told the whole story: how DetectiveMondesir, on being warned by a secret agent that the Anarchist Salvat wasin a tavern at Montmartre, had reached it just as the bird had flown;then how chance had again set him in presence of Salvat at a hundredpaces or so from the tavern, the rascal having foolishly loitered thereto watch the establishment; and afterwards how Salvat had been stealthilyshadowed in the hope that they might catch him in his hiding-place withhis accomplices. And, in this wise, he had been tracked to thePorte-Maillot, where, realising, no doubt, that he was pursued, he hadsuddenly bolted into the Bois de Boulogne. It was there that he had beenhiding since two o'clock in the morning in the drizzle which had notceased to fall. They had waited for daylight in order to organise a_battue_ and hunt him down like some animal, whose weariness mustnecessarily ensure capture. And so, from one moment to another, he wouldbe caught. 

"I know the great interest you take in the arrest, Monsieur le Ministre, "added Gascogne, "and it occurred to me to ask your orders. DetectiveMondesir is over there, directing the hunt. He regrets that he did notapprehend the man on the Boulevard de Rochechouart; but, all the same, the idea of following him was a capital one, and one can only reproachMondesir with having forgotten the Bois de Boulogne in his calculations. "

Salvat arrested! That fellow Salvat whose name had filled the newspapersfor three weeks past. This was a most fortunate stroke which would betalked of far and wide! In the depths of Monferrand's fixed eyes onecould divine a world of thoughts and a sudden determination to turn thisincident which chance had brought him to his own personal advantage. Inhis own mind a link was already forming between this arrest and thatAfrican Railways interpellation which was likely to overthrow theministry on the morrow. The first outlines of a scheme already rosebefore him. Was it not his good star that had sent him what he had beenseeking--a means of fishing himself out of the troubled waters of theapproaching crisis?

"But tell me, Monsieur Gascogne, " said he, "are you quite sure that thisman Salvat committed the crime?"

"Oh! perfectly sure, Monsieur le Ministre. He'll confess everything inthe cab before he reaches the Prefecture. "

Monferrand again walked to and fro with a pensive air, and ideas came tohim as he spoke on in a slow, meditative fashion. "My orders! well, myorders, they are, first, that you must act with the very greatestprudence. Yes, don't gather a mob of promenaders together. Try to arrangethings so that the arrest may pass unperceived--and if you secure aconfession keep it to yourself, don't communicate it to the newspapers. Yes, I particularly recommend that point to you, don't take thenewspapers into your confidence at all--and finally, come and tell meeverything, and observe secrecy, absolute secrecy, with everybody else. "

Gascogne bowed and would have withdrawn, but Monferrand detained him tosay that not a day passed without his friend Monsieur Lehmann, the PublicProsecutor, receiving letters from Anarchists who threatened to blow himup with his family; in such wise that, although he was by no means acoward, he wished his house to be guarded by plain-clothes officers. Asimilar watch was already kept upon the house where investigatingmagistrate Amadieu resided. And if the latter's life was precious, thatof Public Prosecutor Lehmann was equally so, for he was one of thosepolitical magistrates, one of those shrewd talented Israelites, who maketheir way in very honest fashion by invariably taking the part of theGovernment in office. 

Then Gascogne in his turn remarked: "There is also the Barthes affair, Monsieur le Ministre--we are still waiting. Are we to arrest Barthes atthat little house at Neuilly?"

One of those chances which sometimes come to the help of detectives andmake people think the latter to be men of genius had revealed to him thecircumstance that Barthes had found a refuge with Abbe Pierre Froment. Ever since the Anarchist terror had thrown Paris into dismay a warranthad been out against the old man, not for any precise offence, but simplybecause he was a suspicious character and might, therefore, have had someintercourse with the Revolutionists. However, it had been repugnant toGascogne to arrest him at the house of a priest whom the whole districtvenerated as a saint; and the Minister, whom he had consulted on thepoint, had warmly approved of his reserve, since a member of the clergywas in question, and had undertaken to settle the affair himself. 

"No, Monsieur Gascogne, " he now replied, "don't move in the matter. Youknow what my feelings are, that we ought to have the priests with us andnot against us--I have had a letter written to Abbe Froment in order thathe may call here this morning, as I shall have no other visitors. I willspeak to him myself, and you may take it that the affair no longerconcerns you. "

Then he was about to dismiss him when the usher came back saying that thePresident of the Council was in the ante-room. *

 * The title of President of the Council is given to the French prime minister. --Trans. 

"Barroux!--Ah! dash it, then, Monsieur Gascogne, you had better go outthis way. It is as well that nobody should meet you, as I wish you tokeep silent respecting Salvat's arrest. It's fully understood, is it not?I alone am to know everything; and you will communicate with me heredirect, by the telephone, if any serious incident should arise. "

The Chief of the Detective Police had scarcely gone off, by way of anadjoining _salon_, when the usher reopened the door communicating withthe ante-room: "Monsieur le President du Conseil. "

With a nicely adjusted show of deference and cordiality, Monferrandstepped forward, his hands outstretched: "Ah! my dear President, why didyou put yourself out to come here? I would have called on you if I hadknown that you wished to see me. "

But with an impatient gesture Barroux brushed aside all question ofetiquette. "No, no! I was taking my usual stroll in the Champs Elysees, and the worries of the situation impressed me so keenly that I preferredto come here at once. You yourself must realise that we can't put up withwhat is taking place. And pending to-morrow morning's council, when weshall have to arrange a plan of defence, I felt that there was goodreason for us to talk things over. "

He took an armchair, and Monferrand on his side rolled another forward soas to seat himself with his back to the light. Whilst Barroux, the elderof the pair by ten years, blanched and solemn, with a handsome face, snowy whiskers, clean-shaven chin and upper-lip, retained all the dignityof power, the bearing of a Conventionnel of romantic views, who sought tomagnify the simple loyalty of a rather foolish but good-hearted_bourgeois_ nature into something great; the other, beneath his heavycommon countenance and feigned frankness and simplicity, concealedunknown depths, the unfathomable soul of a shrewd enjoyer and despot whowas alike pitiless and unscrupulous in attaining his ends. 

For a moment Barroux drew breath, for in reality he was greatly moved, his blood rising to his head, and his heart beating with indignation andanger at the thought of all the vulgar insults which the "Voix du Peuple"had poured upon him again that morning. "Come, my dear colleague, " saidhe, "one must stop that scandalous campaign. Moreover, you can realisewhat awaits us at the Chamber to-morrow. Now that the famous list hasbeen published we shall have every malcontent up in arms. Vignon isbestirring himself already--"

"Ah! you have news of Vignon?" exclaimed Monferrand, becoming veryattentive. 

"Well, as I passed his door just now, I saw a string of cabs waitingthere. All his creatures have been on the move since yesterday, and atleast twenty persons have told me that the band is already dividing thespoils. For, as you must know, the fierce and ingenuous Mege is againgoing to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for others. Briefly, we aredead, and the others claim that they are going to bury us in mud beforethey fight over our leavings. " With his arm outstretched Barroux made atheatrical gesture, and his voice resounded as if he were in the tribune. Nevertheless, his emotion was real, tears even were coming to his eyes. "To think that I who have given my whole life to the Republic, I whofounded it, who saved it, should be covered with insults in this fashion, and obliged to defend myself against abominable charges! To say that Iabused my trust! That I sold myself and took 200, 000 francs from that manHunter, simply to slip them into my pocket! Well, certainly there _was_ aquestion of 200, 000 francs between us. But how and under whatcircumstances? They were doubtless the same as in your case, with regardto the 80, 000 francs that he is said to have handed you--"

But Monferrand interrupted his colleague in a clear trenchant voice: "Henever handed me a centime. "

The other looked at him in astonishment, but could only see his big, rough head, whose features were steeped in shadow: "Ah! But I thought youhad business relations with him, and knew him particularly well. "

"No, I simply knew Hunter as everyone knew him. I was not even aware thathe was Baron Duvillard's agent in the African Railways matter; and therewas never any question of that affair between us. "

This was so improbable, so contrary to everything Barroux knew of thebusiness, that for a moment he felt quite scared. Then he waved his handas if to say that others might as well look after their own affairs, andreverted to himself. "Oh! as for me, " he said, "Hunter called on me morethan ten times, and made me quite sick with his talk of the AfricanRailways. It was at the time when the Chamber was asked to authorise theissue of lottery stock. * And, by the way, my dear fellow, I was then hereat the Home Department, while you had just taken that of Public Works. Ican remember sitting at that very writing-table, while Hunter was in thesame armchair that I now occupy. That day he wanted to consult me aboutthe employment of the large sum which Duvillard's house proposed to spendin advertising; and on seeing what big amounts were set down against theRoyalist journals, I became quite angry, for I realised with perfectaccuracy that this money would simply be used to wage war against theRepublic. And so, yielding to Hunter's entreaties, I also drew up a listallotting 200, 000 francs among the friendly Republican newspapers, whichwere paid through me, I admit it. And that's the whole story. "**

 * This kind of stock is common enough in France. A part of it is extinguished annually at a public "drawing, " when all such shares or bonds that are drawn become entitled to redemption at "par, " a percentage of them also securing prizes of various amounts. City of Paris Bonds issued on this system are very popular among French people with small savings; but, on the other hand, many ventures, whose lottery stock has been authorised by the Legislature, have come to grief and ruined investors. --Trans. 

 ** All who are acquainted with recent French history will be aware that Barroux' narrative is simply a passage from the life of the late M. Floquet, slightly modified to suit the requirements of M. Zola's story. --Trans. 

Then he sprang to his feet and struck his chest, whilst his voice againrose: "Well, I've had more than enough of all that calumny and falsehood!And I shall simply tell the Chamber my story to-morrow. It will be myonly defence. An honest man does not fear the truth!"

But Monferrand, in his turn, had sprung up with a cry which was acomplete confession of his principles: "It's ridiculous, one neverconfesses; you surely won't do such a thing!"

"I shall, " retorted Barroux with superb obstinacy. "And we shall see ifthe Chamber won't absolve me by acclamation. "

"No, you will fall beneath an explosion of hisses, and drag all of usdown with you. "

"What does it matter? We shall fall with dignity, like honest men!"

Monferrand made a gesture of furious anger, and then suddenly becamecalm. Amidst all the anxious confusion in which he had been strugglingsince daybreak, a gleam now dawned upon him. The vague ideas suggested bySalvat's approaching arrest took shape, and expanded into an audaciousscheme. Why should he prevent the fall of that big ninny Barroux? Theonly thing of importance was that he, Monferrand, should not fall withhim, or at any rate that he should rise again. So he protested nofurther, but merely mumbled a few words, in which his rebellious feelingseemingly died out. And at last, putting on his good-natured air oncemore, he said: "Well, after all you are perhaps right. One must be brave. Besides, you are our head, my dear President, and we will follow you. "

They had now again sat down face to face, and their conversationcontinued till they came to a cordial agreement respecting the coursewhich the Government should adopt in view of the inevitableinterpellation on the morrow. 

Meantime, Baron Duvillard was on his way to the ministry. He had scarcelyslept that night. When on the return from Montmartre Gerard had set himdown at his door in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy, he had at once gone to bed, like a man who is determined to compel sleep, so that he may forget hisworries and recover self-control. But slumber would not come; for hoursand hours he vainly sought it. The manner in which he had been insultedby that creature Silviane was so monstrous! To think that she, whom hehad enriched, whose every desire he had contented, should have cast suchmud at him, the master, who flattered himself that he held Paris and theRepublic in his hands, since he bought up and controlled consciences justas others might make corners in wool or leather for the purposes ofBourse speculation. And the dim consciousness that Silviane was theavenging sore, the cancer preying on him who preyed on others, completedhis exasperation. In vain did he try to drive away his haunting thoughts, remember his business affairs, his appointments for the morrow, hismillions which were working in every quarter of the world, the financialomnipotence which placed the fate of nations in his grasp. Ever, and inspite of all, Silviane rose up before him, splashing him with mud. Indespair he tried to fix his mind on a great enterprise which he had beenplanning for months past, a Trans-Saharan railway, a colossal venturewhich would set millions of money at work, and revolutionise the trade ofthe world. And yet Silviane appeared once more, and smacked him on bothcheeks with her dainty little hand, which she had dipped in the gutter. It was only towards daybreak that he at last dozed off, while vowing in afury that he would never see her again, that he would spurn her, andorder her away, even should she come and drag herself at his feet. 

However, when he awoke at seven, still tired and aching, his firstthought was for her, and he almost yielded to a fit of weakness. The ideacame to him to ascertain if she had returned home, and if so make hispeace. But he jumped out of bed, and after his ablutions he recovered allhis bravery. She was a wretch, and he this time thought himself for evercured of his passion. To tell the truth, he forgot it as soon as heopened the morning newspapers. The publication of the list ofbribe-takers in the "Voix du Peuple" quite upset him, for he had hithertothought it unlikely that Sagnier held any such list. However, he judgedthe document at a glance, at once separating the few truths it containedfrom a mass of foolishness and falsehood. And this time also he did notconsider himself personally in danger. There was only one thing that hereally feared: the arrest of his intermediary, Hunter, whose trial mighthave drawn him into the affair. As matters stood, and as he did not ceaseto repeat with a calm and smiling air, he had merely done what everybanking-house does when it issues stock, that is, pay the press foradvertisements and puffery, employ brokers, and reward servicesdiscreetly rendered to the enterprise. It was all a business matter, andfor him that expression summed up everything. Moreover, he played thegame of life bravely, and spoke with indignant contempt of a banker who, distracted and driven to extremities by blackmailing, had imagined thathe would bring a recent scandal to an end by killing himself: a pitifultragedy, from all the mire and blood of which the scandal had sproutedafresh with the most luxuriant and indestructible vegetation. No, no!suicide was not the course to follow: a man ought to remain erect, andstruggle on to his very last copper, and the very end of his energy. 

At about nine o'clock a ringing brought Duvillard to the telephoneinstalled in his private room. And then his folly took possession of himonce more: it must be Silviane who wished to speak to him. She oftenamused herself by thus disturbing him amidst his greatest cares. No doubtshe had just returned home, realising that she had carried things too faron the previous evening and desiring to be forgiven. However, when hefound that the call was from Monferrand, who wished him to go to theministry, he shivered slightly, like a man saved from the abyss besidewhich he is travelling. And forthwith he called for his hat and stick, desirous as he was of walking and reflecting in the open air. And againhe became absorbed in the intricacies of the scandalous business whichwas about to stir all Paris and the legislature. Kill himself! ah, no, that would be foolish and cowardly. A gust of terror might be sweepingpast; nevertheless, for his part he felt quite firm, superior to events, and resolved to defend himself without relinquishing aught of his power. 

As soon as he entered the ante-rooms of the ministry he realised that thegust of terror was becoming a tempest. The publication of the terriblelist in the "Voix du Peuple" had chilled the guilty ones to the heart;and, pale and distracted, feeling the ground give way beneath them, theyhad come to take counsel of Monferrand, who, they hoped, might save them. The first whom Duvillard perceived was Duthil, looking extremelyfeverish, biting his moustaches, and constantly making grimaces in hisefforts to force a smile. The banker scolded him for coming, saying thatit was a great mistake to have done so, particularly with such a scaredface. The deputy, however, his spirits already cheered by these roughwords, began to defend himself, declaring that he had not even readSagnier's article, and had simply come to recommend a lady friend to theMinister. Thereupon the Baron undertook this business for him and senthim away with the wish that he might spend a merry mid-Lent. However, theone who most roused Duvillard's pity was Chaigneux, whose figure swayedabout as if bent by the weight of his long equine head, and who looked soshabby and untidy that one might have taken him for an old pauper. Onrecognising the banker he darted forward, and bowed to him withobsequious eagerness. 

"Ah! Monsieur le Baron, " said he, "how wicked some men must be! They arekilling me, I shall die of it all; and what will become of my wife, whatwill become of my three daughters, who have none but me to help them?"

The whole of his woeful story lay in that lament. A victim of politics, he had been foolish enough to quit Arras and his business there as asolicitor, in order to seek triumph in Paris with his wife and daughters, whose menial he had then become--a menial dismayed by the constantrebuffs and failures which his mediocrity brought upon him. An honestdeputy! ah, good heavens! yes, he would have liked to be one; but was henot perpetually "hard-up, " ever in search of a hundred-franc note, andthus, perforce, a deputy for sale? And withal he led such a pitiablelife, so badgered by the women folk about him, that to satisfy theirdemands he would have picked up money no matter where or how. 

"Just fancy, Monsieur le Baron, I have at last found a husband for myeldest girl. It is the first bit of luck that I have ever had; there willonly be three women left on my hands if it comes off. But you can imaginewhat a disastrous impression such an article as that of this morning mustcreate in the young man's family. So I have come to see the Minister tobeg him to give my future son-in-law a prefectoral secretaryship. I havealready promised him the post, and if I can secure it things may yet bearranged. "

He looked so terribly shabby and spoke in such a doleful voice that itoccurred to Duvillard to do one of those good actions on which heventured at times when they were likely to prove remunerativeinvestments. It is, indeed, an excellent plan to give a crust of bread tosome poor devil whom one can turn, if necessary, into a valet or anaccomplice. So the banker dismissed Chaigneux, undertaking to do hisbusiness for him in the same way as he had undertaken to do Duthil's. Andhe added that he would be pleased to see him on the morrow, and have achat with him, as he might be able to help him in the matter of hisdaughter's marriage. 

At this Chaigneux, scenting a loan, collapsed into the most lavishthanks. "Ah! Monsieur le Baron, my life will not be long enough to enableme to repay such a debt of gratitude. "

As Duvillard turned round he was surprised to see Abbe Froment waiting ina corner of the ante-room. Surely that one could not belong to the batchof _suspects_, although by the manner in which he was pretending to reada newspaper it seemed as if he were trying to hide some keen anxiety. Atlast the Baron stepped forward, shook hands, and spoke to him cordially. And Pierre thereupon related that he had received a letter requesting himto call on the Minister that day. Why, he could not tell; in fact, he wasgreatly surprised, he said, putting on a smile in order to conceal hisdisquietude. He had been waiting a long time already, and hoped that hewould not be forgotten on that bench. 

Just then the usher appeared, and hastened up to the banker. "TheMinister, " said he, "was at that moment engaged with the President of theCouncil; but he had orders to admit the Baron as soon as the Presidentwithdrew. " Almost immediately afterwards Barroux came out, and asDuvillard was about to enter he recognised and detained him. And he spokeof the denunciations very bitterly, like one indignant with all theslander. Would not he, Duvillard, should occasion require it, testifythat he, Barroux, had never taken a centime for himself? Then, forgettingthat he was speaking to a banker, and that he was Minister of Finances, he proceeded to express all his disgust of money. Ah! what poisonous, murky, and defiling waters were those in which money-making went on!However, he repeated that he would chastise his insulters, and that astatement of the truth would suffice for the purpose. 

Duvillard listened and looked at him. And all at once the thought ofSilviane came back, and took possession of the Baron, without any attempton his part to drive it away. He reflected that if Barroux had chosen togive him a helping hand when he had asked for it, Silviane would now havebeen at the Comedie Francaise, in which case the deplorable affair of theprevious night would not have occurred; for he was beginning to regardhimself as guilty in the matter; if he had only contented Silviane's whimshe would never have dismissed him in so vile a fashion. 

"You know, I owe you a grudge, " he said, interrupting Barroux. 

The other looked at him in astonishment. "And why, pray?" he asked. 

"Why, because you never helped me in the matter of that friend of minewho wishes to make her _debut_ in 'Polyeucte. '"

Barroux smiled, and with amiable condescension replied: "Ah! yes, Silviane d'Aulnay! But, my dear sir, it was Taboureau who put spokes inthe wheel. The Fine Arts are his department, and the question wasentirely one for him. And I could do nothing; for that very worthy andhonest gentleman, who came to us from a provincial faculty, was full ofscruples. For my own part I'm an old Parisian, I can understand anything, and I should have been delighted to please you. "

At this fresh resistance offered to his passion Duvillard once morebecame excited, eager to obtain that which was denied him. "Taboureau, Taboureau!" said he, "he's a nice deadweight for you to load yourselfwith! Honest! isn't everybody honest? Come, my dear Minister, there'sstill time, get Silviane admitted, it will bring you good luck forto-morrow. "

This time Barroux burst into a frank laugh: "No, no, I can't castTaboureau adrift at this moment--people would make too much sport ofit--a ministry wrecked or saved by a Silviane question!"

Then he offered his hand before going off. The Baron pressed it, and fora moment retained it in his own, whilst saying very gravely and with asomewhat pale face: "You do wrong to laugh, my dear Minister. Governmentshave fallen or set themselves erect again through smaller matters thanthat. And should you fall to-morrow I trust that you will never haveoccasion to regret it. "

Wounded to the heart by the other's jesting air, exasperated by the ideathat there was something he could not achieve, Duvillard watched Barrouxas he withdrew. Most certainly the Baron did not desire a reconciliationwith Silviane, but he vowed that he would overturn everything ifnecessary in order to send her a signed engagement for the Comedie, andthis simply by way of vengeance, as a slap, so to say, --yes, a slap whichwould make her tingle! That moment spent with Barroux had been a decisiveone. 

However, whilst still following Barroux with his eyes, Duvillard wassurprised to see Fonsegue arrive and manoeuvre in such a way as to escapethe Prime Minister's notice. He succeeded in doing so, and then enteredthe ante-room with an appearance of dismay about the whole of his littlefigure, which was, as a rule, so sprightly. It was the gust of terror, still blowing, that had brought him thither. 

"Didn't you see your friend Barroux?" the Baron asked him, somewhatpuzzled. 

"Barroux? No!"

This quiet lie was equivalent to a confession of everything. Fonsegue wasso intimate with Barroux that he thee'd and thou'd him, and for ten yearshad been supporting him in his newspaper, having precisely the sameviews, the same political religion. But with a smash-up threatening, hedoubtless realised, thanks to his wonderfully keen scent, that he mustchange his friendships if he did not wish to remain under the ruinshimself. If he had, for long years, shown so much prudence and diplomaticvirtue in order to firmly establish the most dignified and respected ofParisian newspapers, it was not for the purpose of letting that newspaperbe compromised by some foolish blunder on the part of an honest man. 

"I thought you were on bad terms with Monferrand, " resumed Duvillard. "What have you come here for?"

"Oh! my dear Baron, the director of a leading newspaper is never on badterms with anybody. He's at the country's service. "

In spite of his emotion, Duvillard could not help smiling. "You areright, " he responded. "Besides, Monferrand is really an able man, whomone can support without fear. "

At this Fonsegue began to wonder whether his anguish of mind was visible. He, who usually played the game of life so well, with his own hand underthorough control, had been terrified by the article in the "Voix duPeuple. " For the first time in his career he had perpetrated a blunder, and felt that he was at the mercy of some denunciation, for withunpardonable imprudence he had written a very brief but compromisingnote. He was not anxious concerning the 50, 000 francs which Barroux hadhanded him out of the 200, 000 destined for the Republican press. But hetrembled lest another affair should be discovered, that of a sum of moneywhich he had received as a present. It was only on feeling the Baron'skeen glance upon him that he was able to recover some self-possession. How silly it was to lose the knack of lying and to confess things simplyby one's demeanour!

But the usher drew near and repeated that the Minister was now waitingfor the Baron; and Fonsegue went to sit down beside Abbe Froment, whom healso was astonished to find there. Pierre repeated that he had received aletter, but had no notion what the Minister might wish to say to him. Andthe quiver of his hands again revealed how feverishly impatient he was toknow what it might be. However, he could only wait, since Monferrand wasstill busy discussing such grave affairs. 

On seeing Duvillard enter, the Minister had stepped forward, offering hishand. However much the blast of terror might shake others, he hadretained his calmness and good-natured smile. "What an affair, eh, mydear Baron!" he exclaimed. 

"It's idiotic!" plainly declared the other, with a shrug of hisshoulders. Then he sat down in the armchair vacated by Barroux, while theMinister installed himself in front of him. These two were made tounderstand one another, and they indulged in the same despairing gesturesand furious complaints, declaring that government, like business, wouldno longer be possible if men were required to show such virtue as theydid not possess. At all times, and under every _regime_, when a decisionof the Chambers had been required in connection with some greatenterprise, had not the natural and legitimate tactics been for one to dowhat might be needful to secure that decision? It was absolutelynecessary that one should obtain influential and sympathetic support, ina word, make sure of votes. Well, everything had to be paid for, men likeother things, some with fine words, others with favours or money, presents made in a more or less disguised manner. And even admittingthat, in the present cases, one had gone rather far in the purchasing, that some of the bartering had been conducted in an imprudent way, was itwise to make such an uproar over it? Would not a strong government havebegun by stifling the scandal, from motives of patriotism, a mere senseof cleanliness even?

"Why, of course! You are right, a thousand times right!" exclaimedMonferrand. "Ah! if I were the master you would see what a finefirst-class funeral I would give it all!" Then, as Duvillard looked athim fixedly, struck by these last words, he added with his expressivesmile: "Unfortunately I'm not the master, and it was to talk to you ofthe situation that I ventured to disturb you. Barroux, who was here justnow, seemed to me in a regrettable frame of mind. "

"Yes, I saw him, he has such singular ideas at times--" Then, breakingoff, the Baron added: "Do you know that Fonsegue is in the ante-room? Ashe wishes to make his peace with you, why not send for him? He won't bein the way, in fact, he's a man of good counsel, and the support of hisnewspaper often suffices to give one the victory. "

"What, is Fonsegue there!" cried Monferrand. "Why, I don't ask betterthan to shake hands with him. There were some old affairs between us thatdon't concern anybody! But, good heavens! if you only knew what littlespite I harbour!"

When the usher had admitted Fonsegue the reconciliation took place in thesimplest fashion. They had been great friends at college in their nativeCorreze, but had not spoken together for ten years past in consequence ofsome abominable affair the particulars of which were not exactly known. However, it becomes necessary to clear away all corpses when one wishesto have the arena free for a fresh battle. 

"It's very good of you to come back the first, " said Monferrand. "So it'sall over, you no longer bear me any grudge?"

"No, indeed!" replied Fonsegue. "Why should people devour one anotherwhen it would be to their interest to come to an understanding?"

Then, without further explanations, they passed to the great affair, andthe conference began. And when Monferrand had announced Barroux'determination to confess and explain his conduct, the others loudlyprotested. That meant certain downfall, they would prevent him, he surelywould not be guilty of such folly. Forthwith they discussed everyimaginable plan by which the Ministry might be saved, for that mustcertainly be Monferrand's sole desire. He himself with all eagernesspretended to seek some means of extricating his colleagues and himselffrom the mess in which they were. However, a faint smile, still playedaround his lips, and at last as if vanquished he sought no further. "There's no help for it, " said he, "the ministry's down. "

The others exchanged glances, full of anxiety at the thought of anotherCabinet dealing with the African Railways affair. A Vignon Cabinet woulddoubtless plume itself on behaving honestly. 

"Well, then, what shall we do?"

But just then the telephone rang, and Monferrand rose to respond to thesummons: "Allow me. "

He listened for a moment and then spoke into the tube, nothing that hesaid giving the others any inkling of the information which had reachedhim. This had come from the Chief of the Detective Police, and was to theeffect that Salvat's whereabouts in the Bois de Boulogne had beendiscovered, and that he would be hunted down with all speed. "Very good!And don't forget my orders, " replied Monferrand. 

Now that Salvat's arrest was certain, the Minister determined to followthe plan which had gradually taken shape in his mind; and returning tothe middle of the room he slowly walked to and fro, while saying with hiswonted familiarity: "But what would you have, my friends? It would benecessary for me to be the master. Ah! if I were the master! A Commissionof Inquiry, yes! that's the proper form for a first-class funeral to takein a big affair like this, so full of nasty things. For my part, I shouldconfess nothing, and I should have a Commission appointed. And then youwould see the storm subside. "

Duvillard and Fonsegue began to laugh. The latter, however, thanks to hisintimate knowledge of Monferrand, almost guessed the truth. "Justlisten!" said he; "even if the ministry falls it doesn't necessarilyfollow that you must be on the ground with it. Besides, a ministry can bemended when there are good pieces of it left. "

Somewhat anxious at finding his thoughts guessed, Monferrand protested:"No, no, my dear fellow, I don't play that game. We are jointlyresponsible, we've got to keep together, dash it all!"

"Keep together! Pooh! Not when simpletons purposely drown themselves!And, besides, if we others have need of you, we have a right to save youin spite of yourself! Isn't that so, my dear Baron?"

Then, as Monferrand sat down, no longer protesting but waiting, Duvillard, who was again thinking of his passion, full of anger at therecollection of Barroux' refusal, rose in his turn, and exclaimed: "Why, certainly! If the ministry's condemned let it fall! What good can you getout of a ministry which includes such a man as Taboureau! There you havean old, worn-out professor without any prestige, who comes to Paris fromGrenoble, and has never set foot in a theatre in his life! Yet thecontrol of the theatres is handed over to him, and naturally he's everdoing the most stupid things!"

Monferrand, who was well informed on the Silviane question, remainedgrave, and for a moment amused himself by trying to excite the Baron. "Taboureau, " said he, "is a somewhat dull and old-fashioned Universityman, but at the department of Public Instruction he's in his properelement. "

"Oh! don't talk like that, my dear fellow! You are more intelligent thanthat, you are not going to defend Taboureau as Barroux did. It's quitetrue that I should very much like to see Silviane at the Comedie. She's avery good girl at heart, and she has an amazing lot of talent. Would youstand in her way if you were in Taboureau's place?"

"I? Good heavens, no! A pretty girl on the stage, why, it would pleaseeverybody, I'm sure. Only it would be necessary to have a man of the sameviews as were at the department of Instruction and Fine Arts. "

His sly smile had returned to his face. The securing of that girl's_debut_ was certainly not a high price to pay for all the influence ofDuvillard's millions. Monferrand therefore turned towards Fonsegue as ifto consult him. The other, who fully understood the importance of theaffair, was meditating in all seriousness: "A senator is the proper manfor Public Instruction, " said he. "But I can think of none, none at all, such as would be wanted. A man of broad mind, a real Parisian, and yetone whose presence at the head of the University wouldn't cause too muchastonishment--there's perhaps Dauvergne--"

"Dauvergne! Who's he?" exclaimed Monferrand in surprise. "Ah! yes, Dauvergne the senator for Dijon--but he's altogether ignorant ofUniversity matters, he hasn't the slightest qualification. "

"Well, as for that, " resumed Fonsegue, "I'm trying to think. Dauvergne iscertainly a good-looking fellow, tall and fair and decorative. Besides, he's immensely rich, has a most charming young wife--which does no harm, on the contrary--and he gives real _fetes_ at his place on the BoulevardSt. Germain. "

It was only with hesitation that Fonsegue himself had ventured to suggestDauvergne. But by degrees his selection appeared to him a real "find. ""Wait a bit! I recollect now that in his young days Dauvergne wrote acomedy, a one act comedy in verse, and had it performed at Dijon. AndDijon's a literary town, you know, so that piece of his sets a littleperfume of 'Belles-Lettres' around him. And then, too, he left Dijontwenty years ago, and is a most determined Parisian, frequenting everysphere of society. Dauvergne will do whatever one desires. He's the manfor us, I tell you. "

Duvillard thereupon declared that he knew him, and considered him a verydecent fellow. Besides, he or another, it mattered nothing!

"Dauvergne, Dauvergne, " repeated Monferrand. "_Mon Dieu_, yes! After all, why not? He'll perhaps make a very good minister. Let us say Dauvergne. "Then suddenly bursting into a hearty laugh: "And so we are reconstructingthe Cabinet in order that that charming young woman may join the Comedie!The Silviane cabinet--well, and what about the other departments?"

He jested, well knowing that gaiety often hastens difficult solutions. And, indeed, they merrily continued settling what should be done if theministry were defeated on the morrow. Although they had not plainly saidso the plan was to let Barroux sink, even help him to do so, and thenfish Monferrand out of the troubled waters. The latter engaged himselfwith the two others, because he had need of them, the Baron on account ofhis financial sovereignty, and the director of "Le Globe" on account ofthe press campaign which he could carry on in his favour. And in the sameway the others, quite apart from the Silviane business, had need ofMonferrand, the strong-handed man of government, who undertook to burythe African Railways scandal by bringing about a Commission of Inquiry, all the strings of which would be pulled by himself. There was soon aperfect understanding between the three men, for nothing draws peoplemore closely together than common interest, fear and need. Accordingly, when Duvillard spoke of Duthil's business, the young lady whom he wishedto recommend, the Minister declared that it was settled. A very nicefellow was Duthil, they needed a good many like him. And it was alsoagreed that Chaigneux' future son-in-law should have his secretaryship. Poor Chaigneux! He was so devoted, always ready to undertake anycommission, and his four women folk led him such a hard life!

"Well, then, it's understood. " And Monferrand, Duvillard and Fonseguevigorously shook hands. 

However, when the first accompanied the others to the door, he noticed aprelate, in a cassock of fine material, edged with violet, speaking to apriest in the ante-room. Thereupon he, the Minister, hastened forward, looking much distressed. "Ah! you were waiting, Monseigneur Martha! Comein, come in quick!"

But with perfect urbanity the Bishop refused. "No, no, Monsieur l'AbbeFroment was here before me. Pray receive him first. "

Monferrand had to give way; he admitted the priest, and speedily dealtwith him. He who usually employed the most diplomatic reserve when he wasin presence of a member of the clergy plumply unfolded the Barthesbusiness. Pierre had experienced the keenest anguish during the two hoursthat he had been waiting there, for he could only explain the letter hehad received by a surmise that the police had discovered his brother'spresence in his house. And so when he heard the Minister simply speak ofBarthes, and declare that the government would rather see him go intoexile than be obliged to imprison him once more, he remained for a momentquite disconcerted. As the police had been able to discover the oldconspirator in the little house at Neuilly, how was it that they seemedaltogether ignorant of Guillaume's presence there? It was, however, theusual gap in the genius of great detectives. 

"Pray what do you desire of me, Monsieur le Ministre?" said Pierre atlast; "I don't quite understand. "

"Why, Monsieur l'Abbe, I leave all this to your sense of prudence. Ifthat man were still at your house in forty-eight hours from now, weshould be obliged to arrest him there, which would be a source of griefto us, for we are aware that your residence is the abode of every virtue. So advise him to leave France. If he does that we shall not trouble him. "

Then Monferrand hastily brought Pierre back to the ante-room; and, smiling and bending low, he said: "Monseigneur, I am entirely at yourdisposal. Come in, come in, I beg you. "

The prelate, who was gaily chatting with Duvillard and Fonsegue, shookhands with them, and then with Pierre. In his desire to win all hearts, he that morning displayed the most perfect graciousness. His bright, black eyes were all smiles, the whole of his handsome face wore acaressing expression, and he entered the ministerial sanctum leisurelyand gracefully, with an easy air of conquest. 

And now only Monferrand and Monseigneur Martha were left, talking on andon in the deserted building. Some people had thought that the prelatewished to become a deputy. But he played a far more useful and lofty partin governing behind the scenes, in acting as the directing mind of theVatican's policy in France. Was not France still the Eldest Daughter ofthe Church, the only great nation which might some day restoreomnipotence to the Papacy? For that reason he had accepted the Republic, preached the duty of "rallying" to it, and inspired the new Catholicgroup in the Chamber. And Monferrand, on his side, struck by the progressof the New Spirit, that reaction of mysticism which flattered itself thatit would bury science, showed the prelate much amiability, like astrong-handed man who, to ensure his own victory, utilised every forcethat was offered him. 

IV. THE MAN HUNT

ON the afternoon of that same day such a keen desire for space and theopen air came upon Guillaume, that Pierre consented to accompany him on along walk in the Bois de Boulogne. The priest, upon returning from hisinterview with Monferrand, had informed his brother that the governmentonce more wished to get rid of Nicholas Barthes. However, they were soperplexed as to how they should impart these tidings to the old man, thatthey resolved to postpone the matter until the evening. During their walkthey might devise some means of breaking the news in a gentle way. As forthe walk, this seemed to offer no danger; to all appearance Guillaume wasin no wise threatened, so why should he continue hiding? Thus thebrothers sallied forth and entered the Bois by the Sablons gate, whichwas the nearest to them. 

The last days of March had now come, and the trees were beginning to showsome greenery, so soft and light, however, that one might have thought itwas pale moss or delicate lace hanging between the stems and boughs. Although the sky remained of an ashen grey, the rain, after fallingthroughout the night and morning, had ceased; and exquisite freshnesspervaded that wood now awakening to life once more, with its foliagedripping in the mild and peaceful atmosphere. The mid-Lent rejoicings hadapparently attracted the populace to the centre of Paris, for in theavenues one found only the fashionable folks of select days, the peopleof society who come thither when the multitude stops away. There werecarriages and gentlemen on horseback; beautiful aristocratic ladies whohad alighted from their broughams or landaus; and wet-nurses withstreaming ribbons, who carried infants wearing the most costly lace. Ofthe middle-classes, however, one found only a few matrons living in theneighbourhood, who sat here and there on the benches busy with embroideryor watching their children play. 

Pierre and Guillaume followed the Allee de Longchamp as far as the roadgoing from Madrid to the lakes. Then they took their way under the trees, alongside the little Longchamp rivulet. They wished to reach the lakes, pass round them, and return home by way of the Maillot gate. But socharming and peaceful was the deserted plantation through which theypassed, that they yielded to a desire to sit down and taste the delightof resting amidst all the budding springtide around them. A fallen treeserved them as a bench, and it was possible for them to fancy themselvesfar away from Paris, in the depths of some real forest. It was, too, of areal forest that Guillaume began to think on thus emerging from his long, voluntary imprisonment. Ah! for the space; and for the health-bringingair which courses between that forest's branches, that forest of theworld which by right should be man's inalienable domain! However, thename of Barthes, the perpetual prisoner, came back to Guillaume's lips, and he sighed mournfully. The thought that there should be even a singleman whose liberty was thus ever assailed, sufficed to poison the pureatmosphere he breathed. 

"What will you say to Barthes?" he asked his brother. "The poor fellowmust necessarily be warned. Exile is at any rate preferable toimprisonment. "

Pierre sadly waved his hand. "Yes, of course, I must warn him. But what apainful task it is!"

Guillaume made no rejoinder, for at that very moment, in that remote, deserted nook, where they could fancy themselves at the world's end, amost extraordinary spectacle was presented to their view. Something orrather someone leapt out of a thicket and bounded past them. It wasassuredly a man, but one who was so unrecognisable, so miry, so woefuland so frightful, that he might have been taken for an animal, a boarthat hounds had tracked and forced from his retreat. On seeing therivulet, he hesitated for a moment, and then followed its course. But, all at once, as a sound of footsteps and panting breath drew nearer, hesprang into the water, which reached his thighs, bounded on to thefurther bank, and vanished from sight behind a clump of pines. A momentafterwards some keepers and policemen rushed by, skirting the rivulet, and in their turn disappearing. It was a man hunt that had gone past, afierce, secret hunt with no display of scarlet or blast of horns athwartthe soft, sprouting foliage. 

"Some rascal or other, " muttered Pierre. "Ah! the wretched fellow!"

Guillaume made a gesture of discouragement. "Gendarmes and prison!" saidhe. "They still constitute society's only schooling system!"

Meantime the man was still running on, farther and farther away. 

When, on the previous night, Salvat had suddenly escaped from thedetectives by bounding into the Bois de Boulogne, it had occurred to himto slip round to the Dauphine gate and there descend into the deep ditch*of the city ramparts. He remembered days of enforced idleness which hehad spent there, in nooks where, for his own part, he had never met aliving soul. Nowhere, indeed, could one find more secret places ofretreat, hedged round by thicker bushes, or concealed from view byloftier herbage. Some corners of the ditch, at certain angles of themassive bastions, are favourite dens or nests for thieves and lovers. Salvat, as he made his way through the thickest of the brambles, nettlesand ivy, was lucky enough to find a cavity full of dry leaves, in whichhe buried himself to the chin. The rain had already drenched him, andafter slipping down the muddy slope, he had frequently been obliged togrope his way upon all fours. So those dry leaves proved a boon such ashe had not dared to hope for. They dried him somewhat, serving as ablanket in which he coiled himself after his wild race through the dankdarkness. The rain still fell, but he now only felt it on his head, and, weary as he was, he gradually sank into deep slumber beneath thecontinuous drizzle. When he opened his eyes again, the dawn was breaking, and it was probably about six o'clock. During his sleep the rain hadended by soaking the leaves, so that he was now immersed in a kind ofchilly bath. Still he remained in it, feeling that he was there shelteredfrom the police, who must now surely be searching for him. None of thosebloodhounds would guess his presence in that hole, for his body was quiteburied, and briers almost completely hid his head. So he did not stir, but watched the rise of the dawn. 

 * This ditch or dry moat is about 30 feet deep and 50 feet wide. The counterscarp by which one may descend into it has an angle of 45 degrees. --Trans. 

When at eight o'clock some policemen and keepers came by, searching theditch, they did not perceive him. As he had anticipated, the hunt hadbegun at the first glimmer of light. For a time his heart beat violently;however, nobody else passed, nothing whatever stirred the grass. The onlysounds that reached him were faint ones from the Bois de Boulogne, thering of a bicyclist's bell, the thud of a horse's hoofs, the rumble ofcarriage wheels. And time went by, nine o'clock came, and then teno'clock. Since the rain had ceased falling, Salvat had not suffered somuch from the cold, for he was wearing a thick overcoat which littleMathis had given him. But, on the other hand, hunger was coming back;there was a burning sensation in his stomach, and leaden hoops seemed tobe pressing against his ribs. He had eaten nothing for two days; he hadbeen starving already on the previous evening, when he had accepted aglass of beer at that tavern at Montmartre. Nevertheless, his plan was toremain in the ditch until nightfall, and then slip away in the directionof the village of Boulogne, where he knew of a means of egress from thewood. He was not caught yet, he repeated, he might still manage toescape. Then he tried to get to sleep again, but failed, so painful hadhis sufferings become. By the time it was eleven, everything swam beforehis eyes. He once nearly fainted, and thought that he was going to die. Then rage gradually mastered him, and, all at once, he sprang out of hisleafy hiding-place, desperately hungering for food, unable to remainthere any longer, and determined to find something to eat, even should itcost him his liberty and life. It was then noon. 

On leaving the ditch he found the spreading lawns of the chateau of LaMuette before him. He crossed them at a run, like a madman, instinctivelygoing towards Boulogne, with the one idea that his only means of escapelay in that direction. It seemed miraculous that nobody paid attention tohis helter-skelter flight. However, when he had reached the cover of sometrees he became conscious of his imprudence, and almost regretted thesudden madness which had borne him along, eager for escape. Tremblingnervously, he bent low among some furze bushes, and waited for a fewminutes to ascertain if the police were behind him. Then with watchfuleye and ready ear, wonderful instinct and scent of danger, he slowly wenthis way again. He hoped to pass between the upper lake and the Auteuilrace-course; but there were few trees in that part, and they formed abroad avenue. He therefore had to exert all his skill in order to avoidobservation, availing himself of the slenderest stems, the smallestbushes, as screens, and only venturing onward after a lengthy inspectionof his surroundings. Before long the sight of a guard in the distancerevived his fears and detained him, stretched on the ground behind somebrambles, for a full quarter of an hour. Then the approach first of acab, whose driver had lost his way, and afterwards of a strollingpedestrian, in turn sufficed to stop him. He breathed once more, however, when, after passing the Mortemart hillock, he was able to enter thethickets lying between the two roads which lead to Boulogne and St. Cloud. The coppices thereabouts were dense, and he merely had to followthem, screened from view, in order to reach the outlet he knew of, whichwas now near at hand. So he was surely saved. 

But all at once, at a distance of some five and thirty yards, he saw akeeper, erect and motionless, barring his way. He turned slightly to theleft and there perceived another keeper, who also seemed to be awaitinghim. And there were more and more of them; at every fifty paces or sostood a fresh one, the whole forming a _cordon_, the meshes as it were ofa huge net. The worst was that he must have been perceived, for a lightcry, like the clear call of an owl, rang out, and was repeated fartherand farther off. The hunters were at last on the right scent, prudencehad become superfluous, and it was only by flight that the quarry mightnow hope to escape. Salvat understood this so well that he suddenly beganto run, leaping over all obstacles and darting between the trees, careless whether he were seen or heard. A few bounds carried him acrossthe Avenue de St. Cloud into the plantations stretching to the Allee dela Reine Marguerite. There the undergrowth was very dense; in the wholeBois there are no more closely set thickets. In summer they become onevast entanglement of verdure, amidst which, had it been the leafy season, Salvat might well have managed to secrete himself. For a moment he didfind himself alone, and thereupon he halted to listen. He could neithersee nor hear the keepers now. Had they lost his track, then? Profoundquietude reigned under the fresh young foliage. But the light, owlish cryarose once more, branches cracked, and he resumed his wild flight, hurrying straight before him. Unluckily he found the Allee de la ReineMarguerite guarded by policemen, so that he could not cross over, but hadto skirt it without quitting the thickets. And now his back was turnedtowards Boulogne; he was retracing his steps towards Paris. However, alast idea came to his bewildered mind: it was to run on in this wise asfar as the shady spots around Madrid, and then, by stealing from copse tocopse, attempt to reach the Seine. To proceed thither across the bareexpanse of the race-course and training ground was not for a moment to bethought of. 

So Salvat still ran on and on. But on reaching the Allee de Longchamp hefound it guarded like the other roads, and therefore had to relinquishhis plan of escaping by way of Madrid and the river-bank. While he wasperforce making a bend alongside the Pre Catelan, he became aware thatthe keepers, led by detectives, were drawing yet nearer to him, confininghis movements to a smaller and smaller area. And his race soon acquiredall the frenzy of despair. Haggard and breathless he leapt mounds, rushedpast multitudinous obstacles. He forced a passage through brambles, brokedown palings, thrice caught his feet in wire work which he had not seen, and fell among nettles, yet picked himself up went on again, spurred bythe stinging of his hands and face. It was then Guillaume and Pierre sawhim pass, unrecognisable and frightful, taking to the muddy water of therivulet like a stag which seeks to set a last obstacle between itself andthe hounds. There came to him a wild idea of getting to the lake, andswimming, unperceived, to the island in the centre of it. That, he madlythought, would be a safe retreat, where he might burrow and hide himselfwithout possibility of discovery. And so he still ran on. But once againthe sight of some guards made him retrace his steps, and he was compelledto go back and back in the direction of Paris, chased, forced towards thevery fortifications whence he had started that morning. It was now nearlythree in the afternoon. For more than two hours and a half he had beenrunning. 

At last he saw a soft, sandy ride for horsemen before him. He crossed it, splashing through the mire left by the rain, and reached a littlepathway, a delightful lovers' lane, as shady in summer as any arbour. Forsome time he was able to follow it, concealed from observation, and withhis hopes reviving. But it led him to one of those broad, straightavenues where carriages and bicycles, the whole afternoon pageant ofsociety, swept past under the mild and cloudy sky. So he returned to thethickets, fell once more upon the keepers, lost all notion of thedirection he took, and even all power of thought, becoming a mere thingcarried along and thrown hither and thither by the chances of the pursuitwhich pressed more and more closely upon him. Star-like crosswaysfollowed one upon other, and at last he came to a broad lawn, where thefull light dazzled him. And there he suddenly felt the hot, pantingbreath of his pursuers close in the rear. Eager, hungry breath it was, like that of hounds seeking to devour him. Shouts rang out, one handalmost caught hold of him, there was a rush of heavy feet, a scramble toseize him. But with a supreme effort he leapt upon a bank, crawled to itssummit, rose again, and once more found himself alone, still running onamid the fresh and quiet greenery. 

Nevertheless, this was the end. He almost fell flat upon the ground. Hisaching feet could no longer carry him; blood was oozing from his ears, and froth had come to his mouth. His heart beat with such violence thatit seemed likely to break his ribs. Water and perspiration streamed fromhim, he was miry and haggard and tortured by hunger, conquered, in fact, more by hunger than by fatigue. And through the mist which seemed to havegathered before his wild eyes, he suddenly saw an open doorway, thedoorway of a coach-house in the rear of a kind of chalet, sequesteredamong trees. Excepting a big white cat, which took to flight, there wasnot a living creature in the place. Salvat plunged into it and rolledover on a heap of straw, among some empty casks. He was scarcely hiddenthere when he heard the chase sweep by, the detectives and the keeperslosing scent, passing the chalet and rushing in the direction of theParis ramparts. The noise of their heavy boots died away, and deepsilence fell, while the hunted man, who had carried both hands to hisheart to stay its beating, sank into the most complete prostration, withbig tears trickling from his closed eyes. 

Whilst all this was going on, Pierre and Guillaume, after a brief rest, had resumed their walk, reaching the lake and proceeding towards thecrossway of the Cascades, in order to return to Neuilly by the roadbeyond the water. However, a shower fell, compelling them to take shelterunder the big leafless branches of a chestnut-tree. Then, as the raincame down more heavily and they could perceive a kind of chalet, a littlecafe-restaurant amid a clump of trees, they hastened thither for betterprotection. In a side road, which they passed on their way, they saw acab standing, its driver waiting there in philosophical fashion under thefalling shower. Pierre, moreover, noticed a young man stepping outbriskly in front of them, a young man resembling Gerard de Quinsac, who, whilst walking in the Bois, had no doubt been overtaken by the rain, andlike themselves was seeking shelter in the chalet. However, on enteringthe latter's public room, the priest saw no sign of the gentleman, andconcluded that he must have been mistaken. This public room, which had akind of glazed verandah overlooking the Bois, contained a few chairs andtables, the latter with marble tops. On the first floor there were fouror five private rooms reached by a narrow passage. Though the doors wereopen the place had as yet scarcely emerged from its winter's rest. Therewas nobody about, and on all sides one found the dampness common toestablishments which, from lack of custom, are compelled to close fromNovember until March. In the rear were some stables, a coach-house, andvarious mossy, picturesque outbuildings, which painters and gardenerswould now soon embellish for the gay pleasure parties which the fineweather would bring. 

"I really think that they haven't opened for the season yet, " saidGuillaume as he entered the silent house. 

"At all events they will let us stay here till the rain stops, " answeredPierre, seating himself at one of the little tables. 

However, a waiter suddenly made his appearance seemingly in a greathurry. He had come down from the first floor, and eagerly rummaged acupboard for a few dry biscuits, which he laid upon a plate. At last hecondescended to serve the brothers two glasses of Chartreuse. 

In one of the private rooms upstairs Baroness Duvillard, who had drivento the chalet in a cab, had been awaiting her lover Gerard for nearlyhalf an hour. It was there that, during the charity bazaar, they hadgiven each other an appointment. For them the chalet had preciousmemories: two years previously, on discovering that secluded nest, whichwas so deserted in the early, hesitating days of chilly spring, they hadmet there under circumstances which they could not forget. And theBaroness, in choosing the house for the supreme assignation of theirdying passion, had certainly not been influenced merely by a fear thatshe might be spied upon elsewhere. She had, indeed, thought of the firstkisses that had been showered on her there, and would fain have revivedthem even if they should now prove the last that Gerard would bestow onher. 

But she would also have liked to see some sunlight playing over theyouthful foliage. The ashen sky and threatening rain saddened her. Andwhen she entered the private room she did not recognise it, so cold anddim it seemed with its faded furniture. Winter had tarried there, withall the dampness and mouldy smell peculiar to rooms which have longremained closed. Then, too, some of the wall paper which had come awayfrom the plaster hung down in shreds, dead flies were scattered over theparquetry flooring; and in order to open the shutters the waiter had toengage in a perfect fight with their fastenings. However, when he hadlighted a little gas-stove, which at once flamed up and diffused somewarmth, the room became more cosy. 

Eve had seated herself on a chair, without raising the thick veil whichhid her face. Gowned, gloved, and bonneted in black, as if she werealready in mourning for her last passion, she showed naught of her ownperson save her superb fair hair, which glittered like a helm of tawnygold. She had ordered tea for two, and when the waiter brought it with alittle plateful of dry biscuits, left, no doubt, from the previousseason, he found her in the same place, still veiled and motionless, absorbed, it seemed, in a gloomy reverie. If she had reached the cafehalf an hour before the appointed time it was because she desired someleisure and opportunity to overcome her despair and compose herself. Sheresolved that of all things she would not weep, that she would remaindignified and speak calmly, like one who, whatever rights she mightpossess, preferred to appeal to reason only. And she was well pleasedwith the courage that she found within her. Whilst thinking of what sheshould say to dissuade Gerard from a marriage which to her mind wouldprove both a calamity and a blunder, she fancied herself very calm, indeed almost resigned to whatsoever might happen. 

But all at once she started and began to tremble. Gerard was entering theroom. 

"What! are you here the first, my dear?" he exclaimed. "I thought that Imyself was ten minutes before the time! And you've ordered some tea andare waiting for me!"

He forced a smile as he spoke, striving to display the same delight atseeing her as he had shown in the early golden days of their passion. Butat heart he was much embarrassed, and he shuddered at the thought of theawful scene which he could foresee. 

She had at last risen and raised her veil. And looking at him shestammered: "Yes, I found myself at liberty earlier than I expected.... I feared some impediment might arise... And so I came. "

Then, seeing how handsome and how affectionate he still looked, she couldnot restrain her passion. All her skilful arguments, all her fineresolutions, were swept away. Her flesh irresistibly impelled her towardshim; she loved him, she would keep him, she would never surrender him toanother. And she wildly flung her arms around his neck. 

"Oh! Gerard, Gerard! I suffer too cruelly; I cannot, I cannot bear it!Tell me at once that you will not marry her, that you will never marryher!"

Her voice died away in a sob, tears started from her eyes. Ah! thosetears which she had sworn she would never shed! They gushed forth withoutcessation, they streamed from her lovely eyes like a flood of thebitterest grief. 

"My daughter, O God! What! you would marry my daughter! She, here, onyour neck where I am now! No, no, such torture is past endurance, it mustnot be, I will not have it!"

He shivered as he heard that cry of frantic jealousy raised by a motherwho now was but a woman, maddened by the thought of her rival's youth, those five and twenty summers which she herself had left far behind. Forhis part, on his way to the assignation, he had come to what he thoughtthe most sensible decision, resolving to break off the intercourse afterthe fashion of a well-bred man, with all sorts of fine consolatoryspeeches. But sternness was not in his nature. He was weak andsoft-hearted, and had never been able to withstand a woman's tears. Nevertheless, he endeavoured to calm her, and in order to rid himself ofher embrace, he made her sit down upon the sofa. And there, beside her, he replied: "Come, be reasonable, my dear. We came here to have afriendly chat, did we not? I assure you that you are greatly exaggeratingmatters. "

But she was determined to obtain a more positive answer from him. "No, no!" she retorted, "I am suffering too dreadfully, I must know the truthat once. Swear to me that you will never, never marry her!"

He again endeavoured to avoid replying as she wished him to do. "Come, come, " he said, "you will do yourself harm by giving way to such grief asthis; you know that I love you dearly. "

"Then swear to me that you will never, never marry her. "

"But I tell you that I love you, that you are the only one I love. "

Then she again threw her arms around him, and kissed him passionatelyupon the eyes. "Is it true?" she asked in a transport. "You love me, youlove no one else? Oh! tell me so again, and kiss me, and promise me thatyou will never belong to her. "

Weak as he was he could not resist her ardent caresses and pressingentreaties. There came a moment of supreme cowardice and passion; herarms were around him and he forgot all but her, again and again repeatingthat he loved none other, and would never, never marry her daughter. Atlast he even sank so low as to pretend that he simply regarded that poor, infirm creature with pity. His words of compassionate disdain for herrival were like nectar to Eve, for they filled her with the blissful ideathat it was she herself who would ever remain beautiful in his eyes andwhom he would ever love.... 

At last silence fell between them, like an inevitable reaction after sucha tempest of despair and passion. It disturbed Gerard. "Won't you drinksome tea?" he asked. "It is almost cold already. "

She was not listening, however. To her the reaction had come in adifferent form; and as though the inevitable explanation were only nowcommencing, she began to speak in a sad and weary voice. "My dear Gerard, you really cannot marry my daughter. In the first place it would be sowrong, and then there is the question of your name, your position. Forgive my frankness, but the fact is that everybody would say that youhad sold yourself--such a marriage would be a scandal for both yourfamily and mine. "

As she spoke she took hold of his hands, like a mother seeking to preventher big son from committing some terrible blunder. And he listened toher, with bowed head and averted eyes. She now evinced no anger, nojealous rage; all such feelings seemed to have departed with the raptureof her passion. 

"Just think of what people would say, " she continued. "I don't deceivemyself, I am fully aware that there is an abyss between your circle ofsociety and ours. It is all very well for us to be rich, but money simplyenlarges the gap. And it was all very fine for me to be converted, mydaughter is none the less 'the daughter of the Jewess, ' as folks so oftensay. Ah! my Gerard, I am so proud of you, that it would rend my heart tosee you lowered, degraded almost, by a marriage for money with a girl whois deformed, who is unworthy of you and whom you could never love. "

He raised his eyes and looked at her entreatingly, anxious as he was tobe spared such painful talk. "But haven't I sworn to you, that you arethe only one I love?" he said. "Haven't I sworn that I would never marryher! It's all over. Don't let us torture ourselves any longer. "

Their glances met and lingered on one another, instinct with all themisery which they dared not express in words. Eve's face had suddenlyaged; her eyelids were red and swollen, and blotches marbled herquivering cheeks, down which her tears again began to trickle. "My poor, poor Gerard, " said she, "how heavily I weigh on you. Oh! do not deny it!I feel that I am an intolerable burden on your shoulders, an impedimentin your life, and that I shall bring irreparable disaster on you by myobstinacy in wishing you to be mine alone. "

He tried to speak, but she silenced him. "No, no, all is over between us. I am growing ugly, all is ended. And besides, I shut off the future fromyou. I can be of no help to you, whereas you bestow all on me. And yetthe time has come for you to assure yourself a position. At your age youcan't continue living without any certainty of the morrow, without a homeand hearth of your own; and it would be cowardly and cruel of me to setmyself up as an obstacle, and prevent you from ending your life happily, as I should do if I clung to you and dragged you down with me. "

Gazing at him through her tears she continued speaking in this fashion. Like his mother she was well aware that he was weak and even sickly; andshe therefore dreamt of arranging a quiet life for him, a life oftranquil happiness free from all fear of want. She loved him so fondly;and possessed so much genuine kindness of heart that perhaps it might bepossible for her to rise even to renunciation and sacrifice. Moreover, the very egotism born of her beauty suggested that it might be well forher to think of retirement and not allow the autumn of her life to bespoilt by torturing dramas. All this she said to him, treating him like achild whose happiness she wished to ensure even at the price of her own;and he, his eyes again lowered, listened without further protest, pleasedindeed to let her arrange a happy life for him. 

Examining the situation from every aspect, she at last began torecapitulate the points in favour of that abominable marriage, thethought of which had so intensely distressed her. "It is certain, " shesaid, "that Camille would bring you all that I should like you to have. With her, I need hardly say it, would come plenty, affluence. And as forthe rest, well, I do not wish to excuse myself or you, but I could nametwenty households in which there have been worse things. Besides, I waswrong when I said that money opened a gap between people. On thecontrary, it draws them nearer together, it secures forgiveness for everyfault; so nobody would dare to blame you, there would only be jealousones around you, dazzled by your good fortune. "

Gerard rose, apparently rebelling once more. "Surely, " said he, "_you_don't insist on my marrying your daughter?"

"Ah! no indeed! But I am sensible, and I tell you what I ought to tellyou. You must think it all over. "

"I have done so already. It is you that I have loved, and that I lovestill. What you say is impossible. "

She smiled divinely, rose, and again embraced him. "How good and kind youare, my Gerard. Ah! if you only knew how I love you, how I shall alwayslove you, whatever happens. "

Then she again began to weep, and even he shed tears. Their good faithwas absolute; tender of heart as they were, they sought to delay thepainful wrenching and tried to hope for further happiness. But they wereconscious that the marriage was virtually an accomplished fact. Onlytears and words were left them, while life and destiny were marching on. And if their emotion was so acute it was probably because they felt thatthis was the last time they would meet as lovers. Still they strove toretain the illusion that they were not exchanging their last farewell, that their lips would some day meet again in a kiss of rapture. 

Eve removed her arms from the young man's neck, and they both gazed roundthe room, at the sofa, the table, the four chairs, and the little hissinggas-stove. The moist, hot atmosphere was becoming quite oppressive. 

"And so, " said Gerard, "you won't drink a cup of tea?"

"No, it's so horrid here, " she answered, while arranging her hair infront of the looking-glass. 

At that parting moment the mournfulness of this place, where she hadhoped to find such delightful memories, filled her with distress, whichwas turning to positive anguish, when she suddenly heard an uproar ofgruff voices and heavy feet. People were hastening along the passage andknocking at the doors. And, on darting to the window, she perceived anumber of policemen surrounding the chalet. At this the wildest ideasassailed her. Had her daughter employed somebody to follow her? Did herhusband wish to divorce her so as to marry Silviane? The scandal would beawful, and all her plans must crumble! She waited in dismay, white like aghost; while Gerard, also paling and quivering, begged her to be calm. Atlast, when loud blows were dealt upon the door and a Commissary of Policeenjoined them to open it, they were obliged to do so. Ah! what a moment, and what dismay and shame!

Meantime, for more than an hour, Pierre and Guillaume had been waitingfor the rain to cease. Seated in a corner of the glazed verandah theytalked in undertones of Barthes' painful affair, and ultimately decidedto ask Theophile Morin to dine with them on the following evening, andinform his old friend that he must again go into exile. 

"That is the best course, " repeated Guillaume. "Morin is very fond of himand will know how to break the news. I have no doubt too that he will gowith him as far as the frontier. "

Pierre sadly looked at the falling rain. "Ah! what a choice, " said he, "to be ever driven to a foreign land under penalty of being thrust intoprison. Poor fellow! how awful it is to have never known a moment ofhappiness and gaiety in one's life, to have devoted one's whole existenceto the idea of liberty, and to see it scoffed at and expire withoneself!"

Then the priest paused, for he saw several policemen and keepers approachthe cafe and prowl round it. Having lost scent of the man they werehunting, they had retraced their steps with the conviction no doubt thathe had sought refuge in the chalet. And in order that he might not againescape them, they now took every precaution, exerted all their skill insurrounding the place before venturing on a minute search. Covert fearcame upon Pierre and Guillaume when they noticed these proceedings. Itseemed to them that it must all be connected with the chase which theyhad caught a glimpse of some time previously. Still, as they happened tobe in the chalet they might be called upon to give their names andaddresses. At this thought they glanced at one another, and almost madeup their minds to go off under the rain. But they realised that anythinglike flight might only compromise them the more. So they waited; and allat once there came a diversion, for two fresh customers entered theestablishment. 

A victoria with its hood and apron raised had just drawn up outside thedoor. The first to alight from it was a young, well-dressed man with abored expression of face. He was followed by a young woman who waslaughing merrily, as if much amused by the persistence of the downpour. By way of jesting, indeed, she expressed her regret that she had not cometo the Bois on her bicycle, whereupon her companion retorted that todrive about in a deluge appeared to him the height of idiocy. 

"But we were bound to go somewhere, my dear fellow, " she gaily answered. "Why didn't you take me to see the maskers?"

"The maskers, indeed! No, no, my dear. I prefer the Bois, and even thebottom of the lake, to them. "

Then, as the couple entered the chalet, Pierre saw that the young womanwho made merry over the rain was little Princess Rosemonde, while hercompanion, who regarded the mid-Lent festivities as horrible, andbicycling as an utterly unaesthetic amusement, was handsome HyacintheDuvillard. On the previous evening, while they were taking a cup of teatogether on their return from the Chamber of Horrors, the young man hadresponded to the Princess's blandishments by declaring that the only formof attachment he believed in was a mystic union of intellects and souls. And as such a union could only be fittingly arrived at amidst the cold, chaste snow, they had decided that they would start for Christiania onthe following Monday. Their chief regret was that by the time theyreached the fiords the worst part of the northern winter would be over. 

They sat down in the cafe and ordered some kummel, but there was none, said the waiter, so they had to content themselves with common anisette. Then Hyacinthe, who had been a schoolfellow of Guillaume's sons, recognised both him and Pierre; and leaning towards Rosemonde told her ina whisper who the elder brother was. 

Thereupon, with sudden enthusiasm, she sprang to her feet: "GuillaumeFroment, indeed! the great chemist!" And stepping forward with armoutstretched, she continued: "Ah! monsieur, you must excuse me, but Ireally must shake hands with you. I have so much admiration for you! Youhave done such wonderful work in connection with explosives!" Then, noticing the chemist's astonishment, she again burst into a laugh: "I amthe Princess de Harn, your brother Abbe Froment knows me, and I ought tohave asked him to introduce me. However, we have mutual friends, you andI; for instance, Monsieur Janzen, a very distinguished man, as you areaware. He was to have taken me to see you, for I am a modest disciple ofyours. Yes, I have given some attention to chemistry, oh! from pure zealfor truth and in the hope of helping good causes, not otherwise. So youwill let me call on you--won't you?--directly I come back fromChristiania, where I am going with my young friend here, just to acquiresome experience of unknown emotions. "

In this way she rattled on, never allowing the others an opportunity tosay a word. And she mingled one thing with another; her cosmopolitantastes, which had thrown her into Anarchism and the society of shadyadventurers; her new passion for mysticism and symbolism; her belief thatthe ideal must triumph over base materialism; her taste for aestheticverse; and her dream of some unimagined rapture when Hyacinthe shouldkiss her with his frigid lips in a realm of eternal snow. 

All at once, however, she stopped short and again began to laugh. "Dearme!" she exclaimed. "What are those policemen looking for here? Have theycome to arrest us? How amusing it would be!"

Police Commissary Dupot and detective Mondesir had just made up theirminds to search the cafe, as their men had hitherto failed to find Salvatin any of the outbuildings. They were convinced that he was here. Dupot, a thin, bald, short-sighted, spectacled little man, wore his usualexpression of boredom and weariness; but in reality he was very wideawake and extremely courageous. He himself carried no weapons; but, as heanticipated a most violent resistance, such as might be expected from atrapped wolf, he advised Mondesir to have his revolver ready. Fromconsiderations of hierarchical respect, however, the detective, who withhis snub nose and massive figure had much the appearance of a bull-dog, was obliged to let his superior enter first. 

From behind his spectacles the Commissary of Police quickly scrutinizedthe four customers whom he found in the cafe: the lady, the priest, andthe two other men. And passing them in a disdainful way, he at once madefor the stairs, intending to inspect the upper floor. Thereupon thewaiter, frightened by the sudden intrusion of the police, lost his headand stammered: "But there's a lady and gentleman upstairs in one of theprivate rooms. "

Dupot quietly pushed him aside. "A lady and gentleman, that's not what weare looking for.... Come, make haste, open all the doors, you mustn'tleave a cupboard closed. "

Then climbing to the upper floor, he and Mondesir explored in turn everyapartment and corner till they at last reached the room where Eve andGerard were together. Here the waiter was unable to admit them, as thedoor was bolted inside. "Open the door!" he called through the keyhole, "it isn't you that they want!"

At last the bolt was drawn back, and Dupot, without even venturing tosmile, allowed the trembling lady and gentleman to go downstairs, whileMondesir, entering the room, looked under every article of furniture, andeven peeped into a little cupboard in order that no neglect might beimputed to him. 

Meantime, in the public room which they had to cross after descending thestairs, Eve and Gerard experienced fresh emotion; for people whom theyknew were there, brought together by an extraordinary freak of chance. Although Eve's face was hidden by a thick veil, her eyes met her son'sglance and she felt sure that he recognised her. What a fatality! He hadso long a tongue and told his sister everything! Then, as the Count, indespair at such a scandal, hurried off with the Baroness to conduct herthrough the pouring rain to her cab, they both distinctly heard littlePrincess Rosemonde exclaim: "Why, that was Count de Quinsac! Who was thelady, do you know?" And as Hyacinthe, greatly put out, returned noanswer, she insisted, saying: "Come, you must surely know her. Who wasshe, eh?"

"Oh! nobody. Some woman or other, " he ended by replying. 

Pierre, who had understood the truth, turned his eyes away to hide hisembarrassment. But all at once the scene changed. At the very moment whenCommissary Dupot and detective Mondesir came downstairs again, aftervainly exploring the upper floor, a loud shout was raised outside, followed by a noise of running and scrambling. Then Gascogne, the Chiefof the Detective Force, who had remained in the rear of the chalet, continuing the search through the outbuildings, made his appearance, pushing before him a bundle of rags and mud, which two policemen held oneither side. And this bundle was the man, the hunted man, who had justbeen discovered in the coach-house, inside a staved cask, covered withhay. 

Ah! what a whoop of victory there was after that run of two hours'duration, that frantic chase which had left them all breathless andfootsore! It had been the most exciting, the most savage of all sports--aman hunt! They had caught the man at last, and they pushed him, theydragged him, they belaboured him with blows. And he, the man, what asorry prey he looked! A wreck, wan and dirty from having spent the nightin a hole full of leaves, still soaked to his waist from having rushedthrough a stream, drenched too by the rain, bespattered with mire, hiscoat and trousers in tatters, his cap a mere shred, his legs and handsbleeding from his terrible rush through thickets bristling with bramblesand nettles. There no longer seemed anything human about his face; hishair stuck to his moist temples, his bloodshot eyes protruded from theirsockets; fright, rage, and suffering were all blended on his wasted, contracted face. Still it was he, the man, the quarry, and they gave himanother push, and he sank on one of the tables of the little cafe, stillheld and shaken, however, by the rough hands of the policemen. 

Then Guillaume shuddered as if thunderstruck, and caught hold of Pierre'shand. At this the priest, who was looking on, suddenly understood thetruth and also quivered. Salvat! the man was Salvat! It was Salvat whomthey had seen rushing through the wood like a wild boar forced by thehounds. And it was Salvat who was there, now conquered and simply afilthy bundle. Then once more there came to Pierre, amidst his anguish, avision of the errand girl lying yonder at the entrance of the Duvillardmansion, the pretty fair-haired girl whom the bomb had ripped and killed!

Dupot and Mondesir made haste to participate in Gascogne's triumph. Totell the truth, however, the man had offered no resistance; it was like alamb that he had let the police lay hold of him. And since he had been inthe cafe, still roughly handled, he had simply cast a weary and mournfulglance around him. 

At last he spoke, and the first words uttered by his hoarse, gaspingvoice were these: "I am hungry. "

He was sinking with hunger and weariness. This was the third day that hehad eaten nothing. 

"Give him some bread, " said Commissary Dupot to the waiter. "He can eatit while a cab is being fetched. "

A policeman went off to find a vehicle. The rain had suddenly ceasedfalling, the clear ring of a bicyclist's bell was heard in the distance, some carriages drove by, and under the pale sunrays life again came backto the Bois. 

Meantime, Salvat had fallen gluttonously upon the hunk of bread which hadbeen given him, and whilst he was devouring it with rapturous animalsatisfaction, he perceived the four customers seated around. He seemedirritated by the sight of Hyacinthe and Rosemonde, whose faces expressedthe mingled anxiety and delight they felt at thus witnessing the arrestof some bandit or other. But all at once his mournful, bloodshot eyeswavered, for to his intense surprise he had recognised Pierre andGuillaume. When he again looked at the latter it was with the submissiveaffection of a grateful dog, and as if he were once more promising thathe would divulge nothing, whatever might happen. 

At last he again spoke, as if addressing himself like a man of courage, both to Guillaume, from whom he had averted his eyes, and to others also, his comrades who were not there: "It was silly of me to run, " said he. "Idon't know why I did so. It's best that it should be all ended. I'mready. "

V. THE GAME OF POLITICS

ON reading the newspapers on the following morning Pierre and Guillaumewere greatly surprised at not finding in them the sensational accounts ofSalvat's arrest which they had expected. All they could discover was abrief paragraph in a column of general news, setting forth that somepolicemen on duty in the Bois de Boulogne had there arrested anAnarchist, who was believed to have played a part in certain recentoccurrences. On the other hand, the papers gave a deal of space to thequestions raised by Sagnier's fresh denunciations. There were innumerablearticles on the African Railways scandal, and the great debate whichmight be expected at the Chamber of Deputies, should Mege, the Socialistmember, really renew his interpellation, as he had announced hisintention of doing. 

As Guillaume's wrist was now fast healing, and nothing seemed to threatenhim, he had already, on the previous evening, decided that he wouldreturn to Montmartre. The police had passed him by without apparentlysuspecting any responsibility on his part; and he was convinced thatSalvat would keep silent. Pierre, however, begged him to wait a littlelonger, at any rate until the prisoner should have been interrogated bythe investigating magistrate, by which time they would be able to judgethe situation more clearly. Pierre, moreover, during his long stay at theHome Department on the previous morning, had caught a glimpse of certainthings and overheard certain words which made him suspect some dimconnection between Salvat's crime and the parliamentary crisis; and hetherefore desired a settlement of the latter before Guillaume returned tohis wonted life. 

"Just listen, " he said to his brother. "I am going to Morin's to ask himto come and dine here this evening, for it is absolutely necessary thatBarthes should be warned of the fresh blow which is falling on him. Andthen I think I shall go to the Chamber, as I want to know what takesplace there. After that, since you desire it, I will let you go back toyour own home. "

It was not more than half-past one when Pierre reached thePalais-Bourbon. It had occurred to him that Fonsegue would be able tosecure him admittance to the meeting-hall, but in the vestibule he metGeneral de Bozonnet, who happened to possess a couple of tickets. Afriend of his, who was to have accompanied him, had, at the last moment, been unable to come. So widespread was the curiosity concerning thedebate now near at hand, and so general were the predictions that itwould prove a most exciting one, that the demand for tickets had beenextremely keen during the last twenty-four hours. In fact Pierre wouldnever have been able to obtain admittance if the General had notgood-naturedly offered to take him in. As a matter of fact the oldwarrior was well pleased to have somebody to chat with. He explained thathe had simply come there to kill time, just as he might have killed it ata concert or a charity bazaar. However, like the ex-Legitimist andBonapartist that he was, he had really come for the pleasure of feastinghis eyes on the shameful spectacle of parliamentary ignominy. 

When the General and Pierre had climbed the stairs, they were able tosecure two front seats in one of the public galleries. Little Massot, whowas already there, and who knew them both, placed one of them on hisright and the other on his left. "I couldn't find a decent seat left inthe press gallery, " said he, "but I managed to get this place, from whichI shall be able to see things properly. It will certainly be a bigsitting. Just look at the number of people there are on every side!"

The narrow and badly arranged galleries were packed to overflowing. Therewere men of every age and a great many women too in the confused, serriedmass of spectators, amidst which one only distinguished a multiplicity ofpale white faces. The real scene, however, was down below in themeeting-hall, which was as yet empty, and with its rows of seats disposedin semi-circular fashion looked like the auditorium of a theatre. Underthe cold light which fell from the glazed roofing appeared the solemn, shiny tribune, whence members address the Chamber, whilst behind it, on ahigher level, and running right along the rear wall, was what is calledthe Bureau, with its various tables and seats, including the presidentialarmchair. The Bureau, like the tribune, was still unoccupied. The onlypersons one saw there were a couple of attendants who were laying out newpens and filling inkstands. 

"The women, " said Massot with a laugh, after another glance at thegalleries, "come here just as they might come to a menagerie, that is, inthe secret hope of seeing wild beasts devour one another. But, by theway, did you read the article in the 'Voix du Peuple' this morning? Whata wonderful fellow that Sagnier is. When nobody else can find any filthleft, he manages to discover some. He apparently thinks it necessary toadd something new every day, in order to send his sales up. And of courseit all disturbs the public, and it's thanks to him that so many peoplehave come here in the hope of witnessing some horrid scene. "

Then he laughed again, as he asked Pierre if he had read an unsignedarticle in the "Globe, " which in very dignified but perfidious languagehad called upon Barroux to give the full and frank explanations which thecountry had a right to demand in that matter of the African Railways. This paper had hitherto vigorously supported the President of theCouncil, but in the article in question the coldness which precedes arupture was very apparent. Pierre replied that the article had muchsurprised him, for he had imagined that Fonsegue and Barroux were linkedtogether by identity of views and long-standing personal friendship. 

Massot was still laughing. "Quite so, " said he. "And you may be sure thatthe governor's heart bled when he wrote that article. It has been muchnoticed, and it will do the government a deal of harm. But the governor, you see, knows better than anybody else what line he ought to follow tosave both his own position and the paper's. "

Then he related what extraordinary confusion and emotion reigned amongthe deputies in the lobbies through which he had strolled before comingupstairs to secure a seat. After an adjournment of a couple of days theChamber found itself confronted by this terrible scandal, which was likeone of those conflagrations which, at the moment when they are supposedto be dying out, suddenly flare up again and devour everything. Thevarious figures given in Sagnier's list, the two hundred thousand francspaid to Barroux, the eighty thousand handed to Monferrand, the fiftythousand allotted to Fonsegue, the ten thousand pocketed by Duthil, andthe three thousand secured by Chaigneux, with all the other amountsdistributed among So-and-so and So-and-so, formed the general subject ofconversation. And at the same time some most extraordinary stories werecurrent; there was no end of tittle-tattle in which fact and falsehoodwere so inextricably mingled that everybody was at sea as to the realtruth. Whilst many deputies turned pale and trembled as beneath a blastof terror, others passed by purple with excitement, bursting withdelight, laughing with exultation at the thought of coming victory. For, in point of fact, beneath all the assumed indignation, all the calls forparliamentary cleanliness and morality, there simply lay a question ofpersons--the question of ascertaining whether the government would beoverthrown, and in that event of whom the new administration wouldconsist. Barroux no doubt appeared to be in a bad way; but with things insuch a muddle one was bound to allow a margin for the unexpected. Fromwhat was generally said it seemed certain that Mege would be extremelyviolent. Barroux would answer him, and the Minister's friends declaredthat he was determined to speak out in the most decisive manner. As forMonferrand he would probably address the Chamber after his colleague, butVignon's intentions were somewhat doubtful, as, in spite of his delight, he made a pretence of remaining in the back, ground. He had been seengoing from one to another of his partisans, advising them to keep calm, in order that they might retain the cold, keen _coup d'oeil_ which inwarfare generally decides the victory. Briefly, such was the plotting andintriguing that never had any witch's cauldron brimful of drugs andnameless abominations been set to boil on a more hellish fire than thatof this parliamentary cook-shop. 

"Heaven only knows what they will end by serving us, " said little Massotby way of conclusion. 

General de Bozonnet for his part anticipated nothing but disaster. IfFrance had only possessed an army, said he, one might have swept awaythat handful of bribe-taking parliamentarians who preyed upon the countryand rotted it. But there was no army left, there was merely an armednation, a very different thing. And thereupon, like a man of a past agewhom the present times distracted, he started on what had been hisfavourite subject of complaint ever since he had been retired from theservice. 

"Here's an idea for an article if you want one, " he said to Massot. "Although France may have a million soldiers she hasn't got an army. I'llgive you some notes of mine, and you will be able to tell people thetruth. "

Warfare, he continued, ought to be purely and simply a caste occupation, with commanders designated by divine right, leading mercenaries orvolunteers into action. By democratising warfare people had simply killedit; a circumstance which he deeply regretted, like a born soldier whoregarded fighting as the only really noble occupation that life offered. For, as soon as it became every man's duty to fight, none was willing todo so; and thus compulsory military service--what was called "the nationin arms"--would, at a more or less distant date, certainly bring aboutthe end of warfare. If France had not engaged in a European war since1870 this was precisely due to the fact that everybody in France wasready to fight. But rulers hesitated to throw a whole nation againstanother nation, for the loss both in life and treasure would betremendous. And so the thought that all Europe was transformed into avast camp filled the General with anger and disgust. He sighed for theold times when men fought for the pleasure of the thing, just as theyhunted; whereas nowadays people were convinced that they wouldexterminate one another at the very first engagement. 

"But surely it wouldn't be an evil if war should disappear, " Pierregently remarked. 

This somewhat angered the General. "Well, you'll have pretty nations ifpeople no longer fight, " he answered, and then trying to show a practicalspirit, he added: "Never has the art of war cost more money than sincewar itself has become an impossibility. The present-day defensive peaceis purely and simply ruining every country in Europe. One may be spareddefeat, but utter bankruptcy is certainly at the end of it all. And inany case the profession of arms is done for. All faith in it is dyingout, and it will soon be forsaken, just as men have begun to forsake thepriesthood. "

Thereupon he made a gesture of mingled grief and anger, almost cursingthat parliament, that Republican legislature before him, as if heconsidered it responsible for the future extinction of warfare. Butlittle Massot was wagging his head dubiously, for he regarded the subjectas rather too serious a one for him to write upon. And, all at once, inorder to turn the conversation into another channel, he exclaimed: "Ah!there's Monseigneur Martha in the diplomatic gallery beside the SpanishAmbassador. It's denied, you know, that he intends to come forward as acandidate in Morbihan. He's far too shrewd to wish to be a deputy. Healready pulls the strings which set most of the Catholic deputies whohave 'rallied' to the Republican Government in motion. "

Pierre himself had just noticed Monseigneur Martha's smiling face. And, somehow or other, however modest might be the prelate's demeanour, itseemed to him that he really played an important part in what was goingon. He could hardly take his eyes from him. It was as if he expected thathe would suddenly order men hither and thither, and direct the wholemarch of events. 

"Ah!" said Massot again. "Here comes Mege. It won't be long now beforethe sitting begins. "

The hall, down below, was gradually filling. Deputies entered anddescended the narrow passages between the benches. Most of them remainedstanding and chatting in a more or less excited way; but some seatedthemselves and raised their grey, weary faces to the glazed roof. It wasa cloudy afternoon, and rain was doubtless threatening, for the lightbecame quite livid. If the hall was pompous it was also dismal with itsheavy columns, its cold allegorical statues, and its stretches of baremarble and woodwork. The only brightness was that of the red velvet ofthe benches and the gallery hand-rests. 

Every deputy of any consequence who entered was named by Massot to hiscompanions. Mege, on being stopped by another member of the littleSocialist group, began to fume and gesticulate. Then Vignon, detachinghimself from a group of friends and putting on an air of smilingcomposure, descended the steps towards his seat. The occupants of thegalleries, however, gave most attention to the accused members, thosewhose names figured in Sagnier's list. And these were interestingstudies. Some showed themselves quite sprightly, as if they were entirelyat their ease; but others had assumed a most grave and indignantdemeanour. Chaigneux staggered and hesitated as if beneath the weight ofsome frightful act of injustice; whereas Duthil looked perfectly serenesave for an occasional twitch of his lips. The most admired, however, wasFonsegue, who showed so candid a face, so open a glance, that hiscolleagues as well as the spectators might well have declared himinnocent. Nobody indeed could have looked more like an honest man. 

"Ah! there's none like the governor, " muttered Massot with enthusiasm. "But be attentive, for here come the ministers. One mustn't miss Barroux'meeting with Fonsegue, after this morning's article. "

Chance willed it that as Barroux came along with his head erect, his facepale, and his whole demeanour aggressive, he was obliged to pass Fonseguein order to reach the ministerial bench. In doing so he did not speak tohim, but he gazed at him fixedly like one who is conscious of defection, of a cowardly stab in the back on the part of a traitor. Fonsegue seemedquite at ease, and went on shaking hands with one and another of hiscolleagues as if he were altogether unconscious of Barroux' glance. Nordid he even appear to see Monferrand, who walked by in the rear of thePrime Minister, wearing a placid good-natured air, as if he knew nothingof what was impending, but was simply coming to some ordinary humdrumsitting. However, when he reached his seat, he raised his eyes and smiledat Monseigneur Martha, who gently nodded to him. Then well pleased tothink that things were going as he wished them to go, he began to rub hishands, as he often did by way of expressing his satisfaction. 

"Who is that grey-haired, mournful-looking gentleman on the ministerialbench?" Pierre inquired of Massot. 

"Why, that's Taboureau, the Minister of Public Instruction, the excellentgentleman who is said to have no prestige. One's always hearing of him, and one never recognises him; he looks like an old, badly worn coin. Justlike Barroux he can't feel very well pleased with the governor thisafternoon, for to-day's 'Globe' contained an article pointing out histhorough incapacity in everything concerning the fine arts. It was anarticle in measured language, but all the more effective for that veryreason. It would surprise me if Taboureau should recover from it. "

Just then a low roll of drums announced the arrival of the President andother officials of the Chamber. A door opened, and a little processionpassed by amidst an uproar of exclamations and hasty footsteps. Then, standing at his table, the President rang his bell and declared thesitting open. But few members remained silent, however, whilst one of thesecretaries, a dark, lanky young man with a harsh voice, read the minutesof the previous sitting. When they had been adopted, various letters ofapology for non-attendance were read, and a short, unimportant bill waspassed without discussion. And then came the big affair, Mege'sinterpellation, and at once the whole Chamber was in a flutter, while themost passionate curiosity reigned in the galleries above. On theGovernment consenting to the interpellation, the Chamber decided that thedebate should take place at once. And thereupon complete silence fell, save that now and again a brief quiver sped by, in which one could detectthe various feelings, passions and appetites swaying the assembly. 

Mege began to speak with assumed moderation, carefully setting forth thevarious points at issue. Tall and thin, gnarled and twisted like avine-stock, he rested his hands on the tribune as if to support his bentfigure, and his speech was often interrupted by the little dry coughwhich came from the tuberculosis that was burning him. But his eyessparkled with passion behind his glasses, and little by little his voicerose in piercing accents and he drew his lank figure erect and began togesticulate vehemently. He reminded the Chamber that some two monthspreviously, at the time of the first denunciations published by the "Voixdu Peuple, " he had asked leave to interpellate the Government respectingthat deplorable affair of the African Railways; and he remarked, trulyenough, that if the Chamber had not yielded to certain considerationswhich he did not wish to discuss, and had not adjourned his proposedinquiries, full light would long since have been thrown on the wholeaffair, in such wise that there would have been no revival, no increaseof the scandal, and no possible pretext for that abominable campaign ofdenunciation which tortured and disgusted the country. However, it had atlast been understood that silence could be maintained no longer. It wasnecessary that the two ministers who were so loudly accused of havingabused their trusts, should prove their innocence, throw full light uponall they had done; apart from which the Chamber itself could not possiblyremain beneath the charge of wholesale venality. 

Then he recounted the whole history of the affair, beginning with thegrant of a concession for the African Lines to Baron Duvillard; and nextpassing to the proposals for the issue of lottery stock, which proposals, it was now said, had only been sanctioned by the Chamber after the mostshameful bargaining and buying of votes. At this point Mege becameextremely violent. Speaking of that mysterious individual Hunter, BaronDuvillard's recruiter and go-between, he declared that the police hadallowed him to flee from France, much preferring to spend its time inshadowing Socialist deputies. Then, hammering the tribune with his fist, he summoned Barroux to give a categorical denial to the charges broughtagainst him, and to make it absolutely clear that he had never received asingle copper of the two hundred thousand francs specified in Hunter'slist. Forthwith certain members shouted to Mege that he ought to read thewhole list; but when he wished to do so others vociferated that it wasabominable, that such a mendacious and slanderous document ought not tobe accorded a place in the proceedings of the French legislature. Megewent on still in frantic fashion, figuratively casting Sagnier into thegutter, and protesting that there was nothing in common between himselfand such a base insulter. But at the same time he demanded that justiceand punishment should be meted out equally to one and all, and that ifindeed there were any bribe-takers among his colleagues, they should besent that very night to the prison of Mazas. 

Meantime the President, erect at his table, rang and rang his bellwithout managing to quell the uproar. He was like a pilot who finds thetempest too strong for him. Among all the men with purple faces andbarking mouths who were gathered in front of him, the ushers alonemaintained imperturbable gravity. At intervals between the bursts ofshouting, Mege's voice could still be heard. By some sudden transition hehad come to the question of a Collectivist organisation of society suchas he dreamt of, and he contrasted it with the criminal capitalistsociety of the present day, which alone, said he, could produce suchscandals. And yielding more and more to his apostolic fervour, declaringthat there could be no salvation apart from Collectivism, he shouted thatthe day of triumph would soon dawn. He awaited it with a smile ofconfidence. In his opinion, indeed, he merely had to overthrow thatministry and perhaps another one, and then he himself would at last takethe reins of power in hand, like a reformer who would know how to pacifythe nation. As outside Socialists often declared, it was evident that theblood of a dictator flowed in that sectarian's veins. His feverish, stubborn rhetoric ended by exhausting his interrupters, who werecompelled to listen to him. When he at last decided to leave the tribune, loud applause arose from a few benches on the left. 

"Do you know, " said Massot to the General, "I met Mege taking a walk withhis three little children in the Jardin des Plantes the other day. Helooked after them as carefully as an old nurse. I believe he's a veryworthy fellow at heart, and lives in a very modest way. "

But a quiver had now sped through the assembly. Barroux had quitted hisseat to ascend the tribune. He there drew himself erect, throwing hishead back after his usual fashion. There was a haughty, majestic, slightly sorrowful expression on his handsome face, which would have beenperfect had his nose only been a little larger. He began to express hissorrow and indignation in fine flowery language, which he punctuated withtheatrical gestures. His eloquence was that of a tribune of the romanticschool, and as one listened to him one could divine that in spite of allhis pomposity he was really a worthy, tender-hearted and somewhat foolishman. That afternoon he was stirred by genuine emotion; his heart bled atthe thought of his disastrous destiny, he felt that a whole world wascrumbling with himself. Ah! what a cry of despair he stifled, the cry ofthe man who is buffeted and thrown aside by the course of events on thevery day when he thinks that his civic devotion entitles him to triumph!To have given himself and all he possessed to the cause of the Republic, even in the dark days of the Second Empire; to have fought and struggledand suffered persecution for that Republic's sake; to have establishedthat Republic amidst the battle of parties, after all the horrors ofnational and civil war; and then, when the Republic at last triumphed andbecame a living fact, secure from all attacks and intrigues, to suddenlyfeel like a survival of some other age, to hear new comers speak a newlanguage, preach a new ideal, and behold the collapse of all he hadloved, all he had reverenced, all that had given him strength to fightand conquer! The mighty artisans of the early hours were no more; it hadbeen meet that Gambetta should die. How bitter it all was for the lastlingering old ones to find themselves among the men of the new, intelligent and shrewd generation, who gently smiled at them, deemingtheir romanticism quite out of fashion! All crumbled since the ideal ofliberty collapsed, since liberty was no longer the one desideratum, thevery basis of the Republic whose existence had been so dearly purchasedafter so long an effort!

Erect and dignified Barroux made his confession. The Republic to him waslike the sacred ark of life; the very worst deeds became saintly if theywere employed to save her from peril. And in all simplicity he, told hisstory, how he had found the great bulk of Baron Duvillard's money goingto the opposition newspapers as pretended payment for puffery andadvertising, whilst on the other hand the Republican organs received butbeggarly, trumpery amounts. He had been Minister of the Interior at thetime, and had therefore had charge of the press; so what would have beensaid of him if he had not endeavoured to reestablish some equilibrium inthis distribution of funds in order that the adversaries of theinstitutions of the country might not acquire a great increase ofstrength by appropriating all the sinews of war? Hands had been stretchedout towards him on all sides, a score of newspapers, the most faithful, the most meritorious, had claimed their legitimate share. And he hadensured them that share by distributing among them the two hundredthousand francs set down in the list against his name. Not a centime ofthe money had gone into his own pocket, he would allow nobody to impugnhis personal honesty, on that point his word must suffice. At that momentBarroux was really grand. All his emphatic pomposity disappeared; heshowed himself, as he really was--an honest man, quivering, his heartbared, his conscience bleeding, in his bitter distress at having beenamong those who had laboured and at now being denied reward. 

For, truth to tell, his words fell amidst icy silence. In his childishsimplicity he had anticipated an outburst of enthusiasm; a RepublicanChamber could but acclaim him for having saved the Republic; and now thefrigidity of one and all quite froze him. He suddenly felt that he wasall alone, done for, touched by the hand of death. Nevertheless, hecontinued speaking amidst that terrible silence with the courage of onewho is committing suicide, and who, from his love of noble and eloquentattitudes, is determined to die standing. He ended with a finalimpressive gesture. However, as he came down from the tribune, thegeneral coldness seemed to increase, not a single member applauded. Withsupreme clumsiness he had alluded to the secret scheming of Rome and theclergy, whose one object, in his opinion, was to recover the predominantposition they had lost and restore monarchy in France at a more or lessdistant date. 

"How silly of him! Ought a man ever to confess?" muttered Massot. "He'sdone for, and the ministry too!"

Then, amidst the general frigidity, Monferrand boldly ascended thetribune stairs. The prevailing uneasiness was compounded of all thesecret fear which sincerity always causes, of all the distress of thebribe-taking deputies who felt that they were rolling into an abyss, andalso of the embarrassment which the others felt at thought of the more orless justifiable compromises of politics. Something like relief, therefore, came when Monferrand started with the most emphatic denials, protesting in the name of his outraged honour, and dealing blow afterblow on the tribune with one hand, while with the other he smote hischest. Short and thick-set, with his face thrust forward, hiding hisshrewdness beneath an expression of indignant frankness, he was for amoment really superb. He denied everything. He was not only ignorant ofwhat was meant by that sum of eighty thousand francs set down against hisname, but he defied the whole world to prove that he had even touched asingle copper of that money. He boiled over with indignation to such apoint that he did not simply deny bribe-taking on his own part, he deniedit on behalf of the whole assembly, of all present and past Frenchlegislatures, as if, indeed, bribe-taking on the part of a representativeof the people was altogether too monstrous an idea, a crime thatsurpassed possibility to such an extent that the mere notion of it wasabsurd. And thereupon applause rang out; the Chamber, delivered from itsfears, thrilled by his words, acclaimed him. 

From the little Socialist group, however, some jeers arose, and voicessummoned Monferrand to explain himself on the subject of the AfricanRailways, reminding him that he had been at the head of the Public WorksDepartment at the time of the vote, and requiring of him that he shouldstate what he now meant to do, as Minister of the Interior, in order toreassure the country. He juggled with this question, declaring that ifthere were any guilty parties they would be punished, for he did notrequire anybody to remind him of his duty. And then, all at once, withincomparable maestria, he had recourse to the diversion which he had beenpreparing since the previous day. His duty, said he, was a thing which henever forgot; he discharged it like a faithful soldier of the nation hourby hour, and with as much vigilance as prudence. He had been accused ofemploying the police on he knew not what base spying work in such wise asto allow the man Hunter to escape. Well, as for that much-slanderedpolice force, he would tell the Chamber on what work he had reallyemployed it the day before, and how zealously it had laboured for thecause of law and order. In the Bois de Boulogne, on the previousafternoon, it had arrested that terrible scoundrel, the perpetrator ofthe crime in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy, that Anarchist mechanician Salvat, who for six weeks past had so cunningly contrived to elude capture. Thescoundrel had made a full confession during the evening, and the lawwould now take its course with all despatch. Public morality was at lastavenged, Paris might now emerge in safety from its long spell of terror, Anarchism would be struck down, annihilated. And that was what he, Monferrand, had done as a Minister for the honour and safety of hiscountry, whilst villains were vainly seeking to dishonour him byinscribing his name on a list of infamy, the outcome of the very basestpolitical intrigues. 

The Chamber listened agape and quivering. This story of Salvat's arrest, which none of the morning papers had reported; the present whichMonferrand seemed to be making them of that terrible Anarchist whom manyhad already begun to regard as a myth; the whole _mise-en-scene_ of theMinister's speech transported the deputies as if they were suddenlywitnessing the finish of a long-interrupted drama. Stirred and flattered, they prolonged their applause, while Monferrand went on celebrating hisact of energy, how he had saved society, how crime should be punished, and how he himself would ever prove that he had a strong arm and couldanswer for public order. He even won favour with the Conservatives andClericals on the Right by separating himself from Barroux, addressing afew words of sympathy to those Catholics who had "rallied" to theRepublic, and appealing for concord among men of different beliefs inorder that they might fight the common enemy, that fierce, wild socialismwhich talked of overthrowing everything!

By the time Monferrand came down from the tribune, the trick was played, he had virtually saved himself. Both the Right and Left of the Chamber*applauded, drowning the protests of the few Socialists whosevociferations only added to the triumphal tumult. Members eagerlystretched out their hands to the Minister, who for a moment remainedstanding there and smiling. But there was some anxiety in that smile ofhis; his success was beginning to frighten him. Had he spoken too well, and saved the entire Cabinet instead of merely saving himself? That wouldmean the ruin of his plan. The Chamber ought not to vote under the effectof that speech which had thrilled it so powerfully. Thus Monferrand, though he still continued to smile, spent a few anxious moments inwaiting to see if anybody would rise to answer him. 

 * Ever since the days of the Bourbon Restoration it has been the practice in the French Chambers for the more conservative members to seat themselves on the President's right, and for the Radical ones to place themselves on his left. The central seats of the semicircle in which the members' seats are arranged in tiers are usually occupied by men of moderate views. Generally speaking, such terms as Right Centre and Left Centre are applied to groups of Moderates inclining in the first place to Conservatism and in the latter to Radicalism. All this is of course known to readers acquainted with French institutions, but I give the explanation because others, after perusing French news in some daily paper, have often asked me what was meant by "a deputy of the Right, " and so forth. --Trans. 

His success had been as great among the occupants of the galleries asamong the deputies themselves. Several ladies had been seen applauding, and Monseigneur Martha had given unmistakable signs of the liveliestsatisfaction. "Ah, General!" said Massot to Bozonnet in a sneering way. "Those are our fighting men of the present time. And he's a bold andstrong one, is Monferrand. Of course it is all what people style 'savingone's bacon, ' but none the less it's very clever work. "

Just then, however, Monferrand to his great satisfaction had seen Vignonrise from his seat in response to the urging of his friends. Andthereupon all anxiety vanished from the Minister's smile, which becameone of malicious placidity. 

The very atmosphere of the Chamber seemed to change with Vignon in thetribune. He was slim, with a fair and carefully tended beard, blue eyesand all the suppleness of youth. He spoke, moreover, like a practicalman, in simple, straightforward language, which made the emptiness of theother's declamatory style painfully conspicuous. His term of officialservice as a prefect in the provinces had endowed him with keen insight;and it was in an easy way that he propounded and unravelled the mostintricate questions. Active and courageous, confident in his own star, too young and too shrewd to have compromised himself in anything so far, he was steadily marching towards the future. He had already drawn up arather more advanced political programme than that of Barroux andMonferrand, so that when opportunity offered there might be good reasonsfor him to take their place. Moreover, he was quite capable of carryingout his programme by attempting some of the long-promised reforms forwhich the country was waiting. He had guessed that honesty, when it hadprudence and shrewdness as its allies, must some day secure an innings. In a clear voice, and in a very quiet, deliberate way, he now said whatit was right to say on the subject under discussion, the things thatcommon sense dictated and that the Chamber itself secretly desired shouldbe said. He was certainly the first to rejoice over an arrest which wouldreassure the country; but he failed to understand what connection therecould be between that arrest and the sad business that had been broughtbefore the Chamber. The two affairs were quite distinct and different, and he begged his colleagues not to vote in the state of excitement inwhich he saw them. Full light must be thrown on the African Railwaysquestion, and this, one could not expect from the two incriminatedministers. However, he was opposed to any suggestion of a committee ofinquiry. In his opinion the guilty parties, if such there were, ought tobe brought immediately before a court of law. And, like Barroux, he woundup with a discreet allusion to the growing influence of the clergy, declaring that he was against all unworthy compromises, and was equallyopposed to any state dictatorship and any revival of the ancienttheocratic spirit. 

Although there was but little applause when Vignon returned to his seat, it was evident that the Chamber was again master of its emotions. And thesituation seemed so clear, and the overthrow of the ministry so certain, that Mege, who had meant to reply to the others, wisely abstained fromdoing so. Meantime people noticed the placid demeanour of Monferrand, whohad listened to Vignon with the utmost complacency, as if he wererendering homage to an adversary's talent; whereas Barroux, ever sincethe cold silence which had greeted his speech, had remained motionless inhis seat, bowed down and pale as a corpse. 

"Well, it's all over, " resumed Massot, amidst the hubbub which arose asthe deputies prepared to vote; "the ministry's done for. Little Vignonwill go a long way, you know. People say that he dreams of the Elysee. Atall events everything points to him as our next prime minister. "

Then, as the journalist rose, intending to go off, the General detainedhim: "Wait a moment, Monsieur Massot, " said he. "How disgusting all thatparliamentary cooking is! You ought to point it out in an article, andshow people how the country is gradually being weakened and rotted to themarrow by all such useless and degrading discussions. Why, a great battleresulting in the loss of 50, 000 men would exhaust us less than ten yearsof this abominable parliamentary system. You must call on me somemorning. I will show you a scheme of military reform, in which I pointout the necessity of returning to the limited professional armies whichwe used to have, for this present-day national army, as folks call it, which is a semi-civilian affair and at best a mere herd of men, is like adead weight on us, and is bound to pull us down!"

Pierre, for his part, had not spoken a word since the beginning of thedebate. He had listened to everything, at first influenced by the thoughtof his brother's interests, and afterwards mastered by the feverishnesswhich gradually took possession of everybody present. He had becomeconvinced that there was nothing more for Guillaume to fear; but howcuriously did one event fit into another, and how loudly had Salvat'sarrest re-echoed in the Chamber! Looking down into the seething hallbelow him, he had detected all the clash of rival passions and interests. After watching the great struggle between Barroux, Monferrand and Vignon, he had gazed upon the childish delight of that terrible Socialist Mege, who was so pleased at having been able to stir up the depths of thosetroubled waters, in which he always unwittingly angled for the benefit ofothers. Then, too, Pierre had become interested in Fonsegue, who, knowingwhat had been arranged between Monferrand, Duvillard and himself, evincedperfect calmness and strove to reassure Duthil and Chaigneux, who, ontheir side, were quite dismayed by the ministry's impending fall. Yet, Pierre's eyes always came back to Monseigneur Martha. He had watched hisserene smiling face throughout the sitting, striving to detect hisimpressions of the various incidents that had occurred, as if in hisopinion that dramatic parliamentary comedy had only been played as a steptowards the more or less distant triumph for which the prelate laboured. And now, while awaiting the result of the vote, as Pierre turned towardsMassot and the General, he found that they were talking of nothing butrecruiting and tactics and the necessity of a bath of blood for the wholeof Europe. Ah! poor mankind, ever fighting and ever devouring one anotherin parliaments as well as on battle-fields, when, thought Pierre, wouldit decide to disarm once and for all, and live at peace according to thelaws of justice and reason!

Then he again looked down into the hall, where the greatest confusion wasprevailing among the deputies with regard to the coming vote. There wasquite a rainfall of suggested "resolutions, " from a very violent oneproposed by Mege, to another, which was merely severe, emanating fromVignon. The ministry, however, would only accept the "Order of the daypure and simple, " a mere decision, that is, to pass to the next business, as if Mege's interpellation had been unworthy of attention. And presentlythe Government was defeated, Vignon's resolution being adopted by amajority of twenty-five. Some portion of the Left had evidently joinedhands with the Right and the Socialist group. A prolonged hubbub followedthis result. 

"Well, so we are to have a Vignon Cabinet, " said Massot, as he went offwith Pierre and the General. "All the same, though, Monferrand has savedhimself, and if I were in Vignon's place I should distrust him. "

That evening there was a very touching farewell scene at the little houseat Neuilly. When Pierre returned thither from the Chamber, saddened butreassured with regard to the future, Guillaume at once made up his mindto go home on the morrow. And as Nicholas Barthes was compelled to leave, the little dwelling seemed on the point of relapsing into dreary quietudeonce more. 

Theophile Morin, whom Pierre had informed of the painful alternative inwhich Barthes was placed, duly came to dinner; but he did not have timeto speak to the old man before they all sat down to table at seveno'clock. As usual Barthes had spent his day in marching, like a cagedlion, up and down the room in which he had accepted shelter after thefashion of a big fearless child, who never worried with regard either tohis present circumstances or the troubles which the future might have instore for him. His life had ever been one of unlimited hope, whichreality had ever shattered. Although all that he had loved, all that hehad hoped to secure by fifty years of imprisonment or exile, --liberty, equality and a real brotherly republic, --had hitherto failed to come, such as he had dreamt of them, he nevertheless retained the candid faithof his youth, and was ever confident in the near future. He would smileindulgently when new comers, men of violent ideas, derided him and calledhim a poor old fellow. For his part, he could make neither head nor tailof the many new sects. He simply felt indignant with their lack of humanfeeling, and stubbornly adhered to his own idea of basing the world'sregeneration on the simple proposition that men were naturally good andought to be free and brotherly. 

That evening at dinner, feeling that he was with friends who cared forhim, Barthes proved extremely gay, and showed all his ingenuousness intalking of his ideal, which would soon be realised, said he, in spite ofeverything. He could tell a story well whenever he cared to chat, and onthat occasion he related some delightful anecdotes about the prisonsthrough which he had passed. He knew all the dungeons, Ste. Pelagie andMont St. Michel, Belle-Ile-en-Mer and Clairvaux, to say nothing oftemporary gaols and the evil-smelling hulks on board which politicalprisoners are often confined. And he still laughed at certainrecollections, and related how in the direst circumstances he had alwaysbeen able to seek refuge in his conscience. The others listened to himquite charmed by his conversation, but full of anguish at the thoughtthat this perpetual prisoner or exile must again rise and take his staffto sally forth, driven from his native land once more. 

Pierre did not speak out until they were partaking of dessert. Then herelated how the Minister had written to him, and how in a brief interviewhe had stated that Barthes must cross the frontier within forty-eighthours if he did not wish to be arrested. Thereupon the old man gravelyrose, with his white fleece, his eagle beak and his bright eyes stillsparkling with the fire of youth. And he wished to go off at once. "What!" said he, "you have known all this since yesterday, and have stillkept me here at the risk of my compromising you even more than I had donealready! You must forgive me, I did not think of the worry I might causeyou, I thought that everything would be satisfactorily arranged. I mustthank you both--yourself and Guillaume--for the few days of quietude thatyou have procured to an old vagabond and madman like myself. "

Then, as they tried to prevail on him to remain until the followingmorning, he would not listen to them. There would be a train for Brusselsabout midnight, and he had ample time to take it. He refused to let Morinaccompany him. No, no, said he, Morin was not a rich man, and moreover hehad work to attend to. Why should he take him away from his duties, whenit was so easy, so simple, for him to go off alone? He was going backinto exile as into misery and grief which he had long known, like someWandering Jew of Liberty, ever driven onward through the world. 

When he took leave of the others at ten o'clock, in the little sleepystreet just outside the house, tears suddenly dimmed his eyes. "Ah! I'mno longer a young man, " he said; "it's all over this time. I shall nevercome back again. My bones will rest in some corner over yonder. " And yet, after he had affectionately embraced Pierre and Guillaume, he drewhimself up like one who remained unconquered, and he raised a supreme cryof hope. "But after all, who knows? Triumph may perhaps come to-morrow. The future belongs to those who prepare it and wait for it!"

Then he walked away, and long after he had disappeared his firm, sonorousfootsteps could be heard re-echoing in the quiet night. 

BOOK IV. 

I. PIERRE AND MARIE

ON the mild March morning when Pierre left his little house at Neuilly toaccompany Guillaume to Montmartre, he was oppressed by the thought thaton returning home he would once more find himself alone with nothing toprevent him from relapsing into negation and despair. The idea of thishad kept him from sleeping, and he still found it difficult to hide hisdistress and force a smile. 

The sky was so clear and the atmosphere so mild that the brothers hadresolved to go to Montmartre on foot by way of the outer boulevards. Nineo'clock was striking when they set out. Guillaume for his part was verygay at the thought of the surprise he would give his family. It was as ifhe were suddenly coming back from a long journey. He had not warned themof his intentions; he had merely written to them now and again to tellthem that he was recovering, and they certainly had no idea that hisreturn was so near at hand. 

When Guillaume and Pierre had climbed the sunlit slopes of Montmartre, and crossed the quiet countrified Place du Tertre, the former, by meansof a latch-key, quietly opened the door of his house, which seemed to beasleep, so profound was the stillness both around and within it. Pierrefound it the same as on the occasion of his previous and only visit. First came the narrow passage which ran through the ground-floor, affording a view of all Paris at the further end. Next there was thegarden, reduced to a couple of plum-trees and a clump of lilac-bushes, the leaves of which had now sprouted. And this time the priest perceivedthree bicycles leaning against the trees. Beyond them stood the largework-shop, so gay, and yet so peaceful, with its huge window overlookinga sea of roofs. 

Guillaume had reached the work-shop without meeting anybody. With anexpression of much amusement he raised a finger to his lips. "Attention, Pierre, " he whispered; "you'll just see!"

Then having noiselessly opened the door, they remained for a moment onthe threshold. 

The three sons alone were there. Near his forge stood Thomas working aboring machine, with which he was making some holes in a small brassplate. Then Francois and Antoine were seated on either side of theirlarge table, the former reading, and the latter finishing a block. Thebright sunshine streamed in, playing over all the seeming disorder of theroom, where so many callings and so many implements found place. A largebunch of wallflowers bloomed on the women's work-table near the window;and absorbed as the young men were in their respective tasks the onlysound was the slight hissing of the boring machine each time that theeldest of them drilled another hole. 

However, although Guillaume did not stir, there suddenly came a quiver, an awakening. His sons seemed to guess his presence, for they raisedtheir heads, each at the same moment. From each, too, came the same cry, and a common impulse brought them first to their feet and then to hisarms. 

"Father!"

Guillaume embraced them, feeling very happy. And that was all; there wasno long spell of emotion, no useless talk. It was as if he had merelygone out the day before and, delayed by business, had now come back. Still, he looked at them with his kindly smile, and they likewise smiledwith their eyes fixed on his. Those glances proclaimed everything, theclosest affection and complete self-bestowal for ever. 

"Come in, Pierre, " called Guillaume; "shake hands with these young men. "

The priest had remained near the door, overcome by a singular feeling ofdiscomfort. When his nephews had vigorously shaken hands with him, he satdown near the window apart from them, as if he felt out of his elementthere. 

"Well, youngsters, " said Guillaume, "where's Mere-Grand, and where'sMarie?"

Their grandmother was upstairs in her room, they said; and Marie hadtaken it into her head to go marketing. This, by the way, was one of herdelights. She asserted that she was the only one who knew how to buynew-laid eggs and butter of a nutty odour. Moreover, she sometimesbrought some dainty or some flowers home, in her delight at provingherself to be so good a housewife. 

"And so things are going on well?" resumed Guillaume. "You are allsatisfied, your work is progressing, eh?"

He addressed brief questions to each of them, like one who, on his returnhome, at once reverts to his usual habits. Thomas, with his rough facebeaming, explained in a couple of sentences that he was now sure ofperfecting his little motor; Francois, who was still preparing for hisexamination, jestingly declared that he yet had to lodge a heap oflearning in his brain; and then Antoine produced the block which he wasfinishing, and which depicted his little friend Lise, Jahan's sister, reading in her garden amidst the sunshine. It was like a florescence ofthat dear belated creature whose mind had been awakened by his affection. 

However, the three brothers speedily went back to their places, revertingto their work with a natural impulse, for discipline had made them regardwork as life itself. Then Guillaume, who had glanced at what each wasdoing, exclaimed: "Ah! youngsters, I schemed and prepared a lot of thingsmyself while I was laid up. I even made a good many notes. We walked herefrom Neuilly, but my papers and the clothes which Mere-Grand sent me willcome in a cab by-and-by.... Ah! how pleased I am to find everything inorder here, and to be able to take up my task with you again! Ah! I shallpolish off some work now, and no mistake!"

He had already gone to his own corner, the space reserved for him betweenthe window and the forge. He there had a chemical furnace, several glasscases and shelves crowded with appliances, and a long table, one end ofwhich he used for writing purposes. And he once more took possession ofthat little world. After glancing around with delight at seeingeverything in its place, he began to handle one object and another, eagerto be at work like his sons. 

All at once, however, Mere-Grand appeared, calm, grave and erect in herblack gown, at the top of the little staircase which conducted to thebedrooms. "So it's you, Guillaume?" said she. "Will you come up for amoment?"

He immediately did so, understanding that she wished to speak to himalone and tranquillise him. It was a question of the great secret betweenthem, that one thing of which his sons knew nothing, and which, afterSalvat's crime, had brought him much anguish, through his fear that itmight be divulged. When he reached Mere-Grand's room she at once took himto the hiding-place near her bed, and showed him the cartridges of thenew explosive, and the plans of the terrible engine of warfare which hehad invented. He found them all as he had left them. Before anyone couldhave reached them, she would have blown up the whole place at the risk ofperishing herself in the explosion. With her wonted air of quiet heroism, she handed Guillaume the key which he had sent her by Pierre. 

"You were not anxious, I hope?" she said. 

He pressed her hands with a commingling of affection and respect. "Myonly anxiety, " he replied, "was that the police might come here and treatyou roughly.... You are the guardian of our secret, and it would befor you to finish my work should I disappear. "

While Guillaume and Madame Leroi were thus engaged upstairs, Pierre, still seated near the window below, felt his discomfort increasing. Theinmates of the house certainly regarded him with no other feeling thanone of affectionate sympathy; and so how came it that he considered themhostile? The truth was that he asked himself what would become of himamong those workers, who were upheld by a faith of their own, whereas hebelieved in nothing, and did not work. The sight of those young men, sogaily and zealously toiling, ended by quite irritating him; and thearrival of Marie brought his distress to a climax. 

Joyous and full of life, she came in without seeing him, a basket on herarm. And she seemed to bring all the sunlight of the spring morning withher, so bright was the sparkle of her youth. The whole of her pink face, her delicate nose, her broad intelligent brow, her thick, kindly lips, beamed beneath the heavy coils of her black hair. And her brown eyes everlaughed with the joyousness which comes from health and strength. 

"Ah!" she exclaimed, "I have brought such a lot of things, youngsters. Just come and see them; I wouldn't unpack the basket in the kitchen. "

It became absolutely necessary for the brothers to draw round the basketwhich she had laid upon the table. "First there's the butter!" said she;"just smell if it hasn't a nice scent of nuts! It's churned especiallyfor me, you know. Then here are the eggs. They were laid only yesterday, I'll answer for it. And, in fact, that one there is this morning's. Andlook at the cutlets! They're wonderful, aren't they? The butcher cutsthem carefully when he sees me. And then here's a cream cheese, realcream, you know, it will be delicious! Ah! and here's the surprise, something dainty, some radishes, some pretty little pink radishes. Justfancy! radishes in March, what a luxury!"

She triumphed like the good little housewife she was, one who hadfollowed a whole course of cookery and home duties at the Lycee Fenelon. The brothers, as merry as she herself, were obliged to compliment her. 

All at once, however, she caught sight of Pierre. "What! you are there, Monsieur l'Abbe?" she exclaimed; "I beg your pardon, but I didn't seeyou. How is Guillaume? Have you brought us some news of him?"

"But father's come home, " said Thomas; "he's upstairs with Mere-Grand. "

Quite thunderstruck, she hastily placed her purchases in the basket. "Guillaume's come back, Guillaume's come back!" said she, "and you don'ttell me of it, you let me unpack everything! Well, it's nice of me, Imust say, to go on praising my butter and eggs when Guillaume's comeback. "

Guillaume, as it happened, was just coming down with Madame Leroi. Mariegaily hastened to him and offered him her cheeks, on which he planted tworesounding kisses. Then she, resting her hands on his shoulders, gave hima long look, while saying in a somewhat tremulous voice: "I am pleased, very pleased to see you, Guillaume. I may confess it now, I thought I hadlost you, I was very anxious and very unhappy. "

Although she was still smiling, tears had gathered in her eyes, and he, likewise moved, again kissed her, murmuring: "Dear Marie! How happy itmakes me to find you as beautiful and as affectionate as ever. "

Pierre, who was looking at them, deemed them cold. He had doubtlessexpected more tears, and a more passionate embrace on the part of anaffianced pair, whom so grievous an accident had separated almost on theeve of their wedding. Moreover, his feelings were hurt by thedisproportion of their respective ages. No doubt his brother still seemedto him very sturdy and young, and his feeling of repulsion must have comefrom that young woman whom, most decidedly, he did not like. Ever sinceher arrival he had experienced increasing discomfort, a keener and keenerdesire to go off and never return. 

So acute became his suffering at feeling like a stranger in his brother'shome, that he at last rose and sought to take his leave, under thepretext that he had some urgent matters to attend to in town. 

"What! you won't stay to _dejeuner_ with us!" exclaimed Guillaume inperfect stupefaction. "Why, it was agreed! You surely won't distress melike that! This house is your own, remember!"

Then, as with genuine affection they all protested and pressed him tostay, he was obliged to do so. However, he soon relapsed into silence andembarrassment, seated on the same chair as before, and listening moodilyto those people who, although they were his relatives, seemed to be farremoved from him. 

As it was barely eleven o'clock they resumed work, but every now andagain there was some merry talk. On one of the servants coming for theprovisions, Marie told the girl to call her as soon as it should be timeto boil the eggs, for she prided herself on boiling them to a nicety, insuch wise as to leave the whites like creamy milk. This gave anopportunity for a few jests from Francois, who occasionally teased herabout all the fine things she had learnt at the Lycee Fenelon, where herfather had placed her when she was twelve years old. However, she was notafraid of him, but gave him tit for tat by chaffing him about all thehours which he lost at the Ecole Normale over a mass of pedagogic trash. 

"Ah! you big children!" she exclaimed, while still working at herembroidery. "You are all very intelligent, and you all claim to havebroad minds, and yet--confess it now--it worries you a little that a girllike me should have studied at college in the same way as yourselves. It's a sexual quarrel, a question of rivalry and competition, isn't it?"

They protested the contrary, declaring that they were in favour of girlsreceiving as complete an education as possible. She was well aware ofthis; however, she liked to tease them in return for the manner in whichthey themselves plagued her. 

"But do you know, " said she, "you are a great deal behind the times? I amwell aware of the reproaches which are levelled at girls' colleges byso-called right-minded people. To begin, there is no religious elementwhatever in the education one receives there, and this alarms manyfamilies which consider religious education to be absolutely necessaryfor girls, if only as a moral weapon of defence. Then, too, the educationat our Lycees is being democratised--girls of all positions come to them. Thanks to the scholarships which are so liberally offered, the daughterof the lady who rents a first floor flat often finds the daughter of herdoor-keeper among her school-fellows, and some think this objectionable. It is said also that the pupils free themselves too much from homeinfluence, and that too much opportunity is left for personal initiative. As a matter of fact the extensiveness of the many courses of study, allthe learning that is required of pupils at the examinations, certainlydoes tend to their emancipation, to the coming of the future woman andfuture society, which you young men are all longing for, are you not?"

"Of course we are!" exclaimed Francois; "we all agree on that point. "

She waved her hand in a pretty way, and then quietly continued: "I'mjesting. My views are simple enough, as you well know, and I don't askfor nearly as much as you do. As for woman's claims and rights, well, thequestion is clear enough; woman is man's equal so far as nature allowsit. And the only point is to agree and love one another. At the same timeI'm well pleased to know what I do--oh! not from any spirit of pedantrybut simply because I think it has all done me good, and given me somemoral as well as physical health. "

It delighted her to recall the days she had spent at the Lycee Fenelon, which of the five State colleges for girls opened in Paris was the onlyone counting a large number of pupils. Most of these were the daughtersof officials or professors, who purposed entering the teachingprofession. In this case, they had to win their last diploma at the EcoleNormale of Sevres, after leaving the Lycee. Marie, for her part, thoughher studies had been brilliant, had felt no taste whatever for thecalling of teacher. Moreover, when Guillaume had taken charge of herafter her father's death, he had refused to let her run about givinglessons. To provide herself with a little money, for she would acceptnone as a gift, she worked at embroidery, an art in which she was mostaccomplished. 

While she was talking to the young men Guillaume had listened to herwithout interfering. If he had fallen in love with her it was largely onaccount of her frankness and uprightness, the even balance of her nature, which gave her so forcible a charm. She knew all; but if she lacked thepoetry of the shrinking, lamb-like girl who has been brought up inignorance, she had gained absolute rectitude of heart and mind, exemptfrom all hypocrisy, all secret perversity such as is stimulated by whatmay seem mysterious in life. And whatever she might know, she hadretained such child-like purity that in spite of her six-and-twentysummers all the blood in her veins would occasionally rush to her cheeksin fiery blushes, which drove her to despair. 

"My dear Marie, " Guillaume now exclaimed, "you know very well that theyoungsters were simply joking. You are in the right, of course.... Andyour boiled eggs cannot be matched in the whole world. "

He said this in so soft and affectionate a tone that the young womanflushed purple. Then, becoming conscious of it, she coloured yet moredeeply, and as the three young men glanced at her maliciously she grewangry with herself. "Isn't it ridiculous, Monsieur l'Abbe, " she said, turning towards Pierre, "for an old maid like myself to blush in thatfashion? People might think that I had committed a crime. It's simply tomake me blush, you know, that those children tease me. I do all I can toprevent it, but it's stronger than my will. "

At this Mere-Grand raised her eyes from the shirt she was mending, andremarked: "Oh! it's natural enough, my dear. It is your heart rising toyour cheeks in order that we may see it. "

The _dejeuner_ hour was now at hand; and they decided to lay the table inthe work-shop, as was occasionally done when they had a guest. Thesimple, cordial meal proved very enjoyable in the bright sunlight. Marie's boiled eggs, which she herself brought from the kitchen coveredwith a napkin, were found delicious. Due honour was also done to thebutter and the radishes. The only dessert that followed the cutlets wasthe cream cheese, but it was a cheese such as nobody else had everpartaken of. And, meantime, while they ate and chatted all Paris laybelow them, stretching away to the horizon with its mighty rumbling. 

Pierre had made an effort to become cheerful, but he soon relapsed intosilence. Guillaume, however, was very talkative. Having noticed the threebicycles in the garden, he inquired of Marie how far she had gone thatmorning. She answered that Francois and Antoine had accompanied her inthe direction of Orgemont. The worry of their excursions was that eachtime they returned to Montmartre they had to push their machines up theheight. From the general point of view, however, the young woman wasdelighted with bicycling, which had many virtues, said she. Then, seeingPierre glance at her in amazement, she promised that she would some dayexplain her opinions on the subject to him. After this bicycling becamethe one topic of conversation until the end of the meal. Thomas gave anaccount of the latest improvements introduced into Grandidier's machines;and the others talked of the excursions they had made or meant to make, with all the exuberant delight of school children eager for the open air. 

In the midst of the chatter, Mere-Grand, who presided at table with theserene dignity of a queen-mother, leant towards Guillaume, who sat nextto her, and spoke to him in an undertone. Pierre understood that she wasreferring to his marriage, which was to have taken place in April, butmust now necessarily be deferred. This sensible marriage, which seemedlikely to ensure the happiness of the entire household, was largely thework of Mere-Grand and the three young men, for Guillaume would neverhave yielded to his heart if she whom he proposed to make his wife hadnot already been a well-loved member of the family. At the present timethe last week in June seemed, for all sorts of reasons, to be afavourable date for the wedding. 

Marie, who heard the suggestion, turned gaily towards Mere-Grand. 

"The end of June will suit very well, will it not, my dear?" said thelatter. 

Pierre expected to see a deep flush rise to the young woman's cheeks, butshe remained very calm. She felt deep affection, blended with the mosttender gratitude, for Guillaume, and was convinced that in marrying himshe would be acting wisely and well both for herself and the others. 

"Certainly, the end of June, " she repeated, "that will suit very wellindeed. "

Then the sons, who likewise had heard the proposal, nodded their heads byway of assenting also. 

When they rose from table Pierre was absolutely determined to go off. Thecordial and simple meal, the sight of that family, which had beenrendered so happy by Guillaume's return, and of that young woman whosmiled so placidly at life, had brought him keen suffering, though why hecould not tell. However, it all irritated him beyond endurance; and hetherefore again pretended that he had a number of things to see to inParis. He shook hands in turn with the young men, Mere-Grand and Marie;both of the women evincing great friendliness but also some surprise athis haste to leave the house. Guillaume, who seemed saddened and anxious, sought to detain him, and failing in this endeavour followed him into thelittle garden, where he stopped him in order to have an explanation. 

"Come, " said he, "what is the matter with you, Pierre? Why are yourunning off like this?"

"Oh! there's nothing the matter I assure you; but I have to attend to afew urgent affairs. "

"Oh, Pierre, pray put all pretence aside. Nobody here has displeased youor hurt your feelings, I hope. They also will soon love you as I do. "

"I have no doubt of it, and I complain of nobody excepting perhapsmyself. "

Guillaume's sorrow was increasing. "Ah! brother, little brother, " heresumed, "you distress me, for I can detect that you are hiding somethingfrom me. Remember that new ties have linked us together and that we loveone another as in the old days when you were in your cradle and I used tocome to play with you. I know you well, remember. I know all yourtortures, since you have confessed them to me; and I won't have yousuffer, I want to cure you, I do!"

Pierre's heart was full, and as he heard those words he could notrestrain his tears. "Oh! you must leave me to my sufferings, " heresponded. "They are incurable. You can do nothing for me, I am beyondthe pale of nature, I am a monster. "

"What do you say! Can you not return within nature's pale even if you_have_ gone beyond it? One thing that I will not allow is that you shouldgo and shut yourself up in that solitary little house of yours, where youmadden yourself by brooding over the fall of your faith. Come and spendyour time with us, so that we may again give you some taste for life. "

Ah! the empty little house which awaited him! Pierre shivered at thethought of it, at the idea that he would now find himself all alonethere, bereft of the brother with whom he had lately spent so many happydays. Into what solitude and torment must he not now relapse after thatcompanionship to which he had become accustomed? However, the verythought of the latter increased his grief, and confession suddenly gushedfrom his lips: "To spend my time here, live with you, oh! no, that is animpossibility. Why do you compel me to speak out, and tell you thingsthat I am ashamed of and do not even understand. Ever since this morningyou must have seen that I have been suffering here. No doubt it isbecause you and your people work, whereas I do nothing, because you loveone another and believe in your efforts, whereas I no longer know how tolove or believe. I feel out of my element. I'm embarrassed here, and Iembarrass you. In fact you all irritate me, and I might end by hatingyou. There remains nothing healthy in me, all natural feelings have beenspoilt and destroyed, and only envy and hatred could sprout up from suchruins. So let me go back to my accursed hole, where death will some daycome for me. Farewell, brother!"

But Guillaume, full of affection and compassion, caught hold of his armsand detained him. "You shall not go, I will not allow you to go, withouta positive promise that you will come back. I don't wish to lose youagain, especially now that I know all you are worth and how dreadfullyyou suffer. I will save you, if need be, in spite of yourself. I willcure you of your torturing doubts, oh! without catechising you, withoutimposing any particular faith on you, but simply by allowing life to doits work, for life alone can give you back health and hope. So I beg you, brother, in the name of our affection, come back here, come as often asyou can to spend a day with us. You will then see that when folks haveallotted themselves a task and work together in unison, they escapeexcessive unhappiness. A task of any kind--yes, that is what is wanted, together with some great passion and frank acceptance of life, so that itmay be lived as it should be and loved. "

"But what would be the use of my living here?" Pierre muttered bitterly. "I've no task left me, and I no longer know how to love. "

"Well, I will give you a task, and as for love, that will soon beawakened by the breath of life. Come, brother, consent, consent!"

Then, seeing that Pierre still remained gloomy and sorrowful, andpersisted in his determination to go away and bury himself, Guillaumeadded, "Ah! I don't say that the things of this world are such as onemight wish them to be. I don't say that only joy and truth and justiceexist. For instance, the affair of that unhappy fellow Salvat fills mewith anger and revolt. Guilty he is, of course, and yet how many excuseshe had, and how I shall pity him if the crimes of all of us are laid athis door, if the various political gangs bandy him from one to another, and use him as a weapon in their sordid fight for power. The thought ofit all so exasperates me that at times I am as unreasonable as yourself. But now, brother, just to please me, promise that you will come and spendthe day after to-morrow with us. "

Then, as Pierre still kept silent, Guillaume went on: "I will have it so. It would grieve me too much to think that you were suffering frommartyrdom in your solitary nook. I want to cure and save you. "

Tears again rose to Pierre's eyes, and in a tone of infinite distress heanswered: "Don't compel me to promise.... All I can say is that I willtry to conquer myself. "

The week he then spent in his little, dark, empty home proved a terribleone. Shutting himself up he brooded over his despair at having lost thecompanionship of that elder brother whom he once more loved with hiswhole soul. He had never before been so keenly conscious of his solitude;and he was a score of times on the point of hastening to Montmartre, forhe vaguely felt that affection, truth and life were there. But on eachoccasion he was held back by a return of the discomfort which he hadalready experienced, discomfort compounded of shame and fear. Priest thathe was, cut off from love and the avocations of other men, he wouldsurely find nothing but hurt and suffering among creatures who were allnature, freedom and health. While he pondered thus, however, there rosebefore him the shades of his father and mother, those sad spirits thatseemed to wander through the deserted rooms lamenting and entreating himto reconcile them in himself, as soon as he should find peace. What washe to do, --deny their prayer, and remain weeping with them, or go yonderin search of the cure which might at last lull them to sleep and bringthem happiness in death by the force of his own happiness in life? Atlast a morning came when it seemed to him that his father enjoined himwith a smile to betake himself yonder, while his mother consented with aglance of her big soft eyes, in which her sorrow at having made so bad apriest of him yielded to her desire to restore him to the life of ourcommon humanity. 

Pierre did not argue with himself that day: he took a cab and gaveGuillaume's address to the driver for fear lest he should be overcome onthe way and wish to turn back. And when he again found himself, as in adream, in the large work-shop, where Guillaume and the young men welcomedhim in a delicately affectionate way, he witnessed an unexpected scenewhich both impressed and relieved him. 

Marie, who had scarcely nodded to him as he entered, sat there with apale and frowning face. And Mere-Grand, who was also grave, said, afterglancing at her: "You must excuse her, Monsieur l'Abbe; but she isn'treasonable. She is in a temper with all five of us. "

Guillaume began to laugh. "Ah! she's so stubborn!" he exclaimed. "You canhave no idea, Pierre, of what goes on in that little head of hers whenanybody says or does anything contrary to her ideas of justice. Suchabsolute and lofty ideas they are, that they can descend to nocompromise. For instance, we were talking of that recent affair of afather who was found guilty on his son's evidence; and she maintainedthat the son had only done what was right in giving evidence against hisfather, and that one ought invariably to tell the truth, no matter whatmight happen. What a terrible public prosecutor she would make, eh?"

Thereupon Marie, exasperated by Pierre's smile, which seemingly indicatedthat he also thought her in the wrong, flew into quite a passion: "Youare cruel, Guillaume!" she cried; "I won't be laughed at like this. "

"But you are losing your senses, my dear, " exclaimed Francois, whileThomas and Antoine again grew merry. "We were only urging a question ofhumanity, father and I, for we respect and love justice as much as youdo. "

"There's no question of humanity, but simply one of justice. What is justand right is just and right, and you cannot alter it. "

Then, as Guillaume made a further attempt to state his views and win herover to them, she rose trembling, in such a passion that she couldscarcely stammer: "No, no, you are all too cruel, you only want to grieveme. I prefer to go up into my own room. "

At this Mere-Grand vainly sought to restrain her. "My child, my child!"said she, "reflect a moment; this is very wrong, you will deeply regretit. "

"No, no; you are not just, and I suffer too much. "

Then she wildly rushed upstairs to her room overhead. 

Consternation followed. Scenes of a similar character had occasionallyoccurred before, but there had never been so serious a one. Guillaumeimmediately admitted that he had done wrong in laughing at her, for shecould not bear irony. Then he told Pierre that in her childhood and youthshe had been subject to terrible attacks of passion whenever shewitnessed or heard of any act of injustice. As she herself explained, these attacks would come upon her with irresistible force, transportingher to such a point that she would sometimes fall upon the floor andrave. Even nowadays she proved quarrelsome and obstinate whenever certainsubjects were touched upon. And she afterwards blushed for it all, fullyconscious that others must think her unbearable. 

Indeed, a quarter of an hour later, she came downstairs again of her ownaccord, and bravely acknowledged her fault. "Wasn't it ridiculous of me?"she said. "To think I accuse others of being unkind when I behave likethat! Monsieur l'Abbe must have a very bad opinion of me. " Then, afterkissing Mere-Grand, she added: "You'll forgive me, won't you? Oh!Francois may laugh now, and so may Thomas and Antoine. They are quiteright, our differences are merely laughing matters. "

"My poor Marie, " replied Guillaume, in a tone of deep affection. "You seewhat it is to surrender oneself to the absolute. If you are so healthyand reasonable it's because you regard almost everything from therelative point of view, and only ask life for such gifts as it canbestow. But when your absolute ideas of justice come upon you, you loseboth equilibrium and reason. At the same time, I must say that we are allliable to err in much the same manner. "

Marie, who was still very flushed, thereupon answered in a jesting way:"Well, it at least proves that I'm not perfect. "

"Oh, certainly! And so much the better, " said Guillaume, "for it makes melove you the more. "

This was a sentiment which Pierre himself would willingly have re-echoed. The scene had deeply stirred him. Had not his own frightful tormentsoriginated with his desire for the absolute both in things and beings? Hehad sought faith in its entirety, and despair had thrown him intocomplete negation. Again, was there not some evil desire for the absoluteand some affectation of pride and voluntary blindness in the haughtybearing which he had retained amidst the downfall of his belief, thesaintly reputation which he had accepted when he possessed no faith atall? On hearing his brother praise Marie, because she only asked life forsuch things as it could give, it had seemed to him that this was advicefor himself. It was as if a refreshing breath of nature had passed beforehis face. At the same time his feelings in this respect were still vague, and the only well-defined pleasure that he experienced came from theyoung woman's fit of anger, that error of hers which brought her nearerto him, by lowering her in some degree from her pedestal of sereneperfection. It was, perhaps, that seeming perfection which had made himsuffer; however, he was as yet unable to analyse his feelings. That day, for the first time, he chatted with her for a little while, and when hewent off he thought her very good-hearted and very human. 

Two days later he again came to spend the afternoon in the large sunlitwork-shop overlooking Paris. Ever since he had become conscious of theidle life he was leading, he had felt very bored when he was alone, andonly found relief among that gay, hardworking family. His brother scoldedhim for not having come to _dejeuner_, and he promised to do so on themorrow. By the time a week had elapsed, none of the discomfort and coverthostility which had prevailed between him and Marie remained: they metand chatted on a footing of good fellowship. Although he was a priest, she was in no wise embarrassed by his presence. With her quiet atheism, indeed, she had never imagined that a priest could be different fromother men. Thus her sisterly cordiality both astonished and delightedPierre. It was as if he wore the same garments and held the same ideas ashis big nephews, as if there were nothing whatever to distinguish himfrom other men. He was still more surprised, however, by Marie's silenceon all religious questions. She seemed to live on quietly and happily, without a thought of what might be beyond life, that terrifying realm ofmystery, which to him had brought such agony of mind. 

Now that he came every two or three days to Montmartre she noticed thathe was suffering. What could be the matter with him, she wondered. Whenshe questioned him in a friendly manner and only elicited evasivereplies, she guessed that he was ashamed of his sufferings, and that theywere aggravated, rendered well-nigh incurable, by the very secrecy inwhich he buried them. Thereupon womanly compassion awoke within her, andshe felt increasing affection for that tall, pale fellow with feverisheyes, who was consumed by grievous torments which he would confess tonone. No doubt she questioned Guillaume respecting her brother's sadness, and he must have confided some of the truth to her in order that shemight help him to extricate Pierre from his sufferings, and give him backsome taste for life. The poor fellow always seemed so happy when shetreated him like a friend, a brother!

At last, one evening, on seeing his eyes full of tears as he gazed uponthe dismal twilight falling over Paris, she herself pressed him toconfide his trouble to her. And thereupon he suddenly spoke out, confessing all his torture and the horrible void which the loss of faithhad left within him. Ah! to be unable to believe, to be unable to love, to be nothing but ashes, to know of nothing certain by which he mightreplace the faith that had fled from him! She listened in stupefaction. Why, he must be mad! And she plainly told him so, such was herastonishment and revolt at hearing such a desperate cry of wretchedness. To despair, indeed, and believe in nothing and love nothing, simplybecause a religious hypothesis had crumbled! And this, too, when thewhole, vast world was spread before one, life with the duty of living it, creatures and things to be loved and succoured, without counting theuniversal labour, the task which one and all came to accomplish!Assuredly he must be mad, mad with the gloomiest madness; still she vowedshe would cure him. 

From that time forward she felt the most compassionate affection for thisextraordinary young man, who had first embarrassed and afterwardsastonished her. She showed herself very gentle and gay with him; shelooked after him with the greatest skill and delicacy of heart and mind. There had been certain similar features in their childhood; each had beenreared in the strictest religious views by a pious mother. But afterwardshow different had been their fates! Whilst he was struggling with hisdoubts, bound by his priestly vows, she had grown up at the LyceeFenelon, where her father had placed her as soon as her mother died; andthere, far removed from all practice of religion, she had graduallyreached total forgetfulness of her early religious views. It was aconstant source of surprise for him to find that she had thus escaped alldistress of mind at the thought of what might come after death, whereasthat same thought had so deeply tortured him. When they chatted togetherand he expressed his astonishment at it, she frankly laughed, saying thatshe had never felt any fear of hell, for she was certain that no hellexisted. And she added that she lived in all quietude, without hope ofgoing to any heaven, her one thought being to comply in a reasonable waywith the requirements and necessities of earthly life. It was, perhaps, in some measure a matter of temperament with her; but it was also amatter of education. Yet, whatever that education had been, whateverknowledge she had acquired, she had remained very womanly and veryloving. There was nothing stern or masculine about her. 

"Ah, my friend, " she said one day to Pierre, "if you only knew how easyit is for me to remain happy so long as I see those I love free from anyexcessive suffering. For my own part I can always adapt myself to life. Iwork and content myself no matter what may happen. Sorrow has only cometo me from others, for I can't help wishing that everybody should befairly happy, and there are some who won't.... I was for a long timevery poor, but I remained gay. I wish for nothing, except for things thatcan't be purchased. Still, want is the great abomination which distressesme. I can understand that you should have felt everything crumbling whencharity appeared to you so insufficient a remedy as to be contemptible. Yet it does bring relief; and, moreover, it is so sweet to be able togive. Some day, too, by dint of reason and toil, by the good andefficient working of life itself, the reign of justice will surely come. But now it's I that am preaching! Oh! I have little taste for it! Itwould be ridiculous for me to try to heal you with big phrases. All thesame, I should like to cure you of your gloomy sufferings. To do so, allthat I ask of you is to spend as much time as you can with us. You knowthat this is Guillaume's greatest desire. We will all love you so well, you will see us all so affectionately united, and so gay over our commonwork, that you will come back to truth by joining us in the school of ourgood mother nature. You must live and work, and love and hope. "

Pierre smiled as he listened. He now came to Montmartre nearly every day. She was so nice and affectionate when she preached to him in that waywith a pretty assumption of wisdom. As she had said too, life was sodelightful in that big workroom; it was so pleasant to be all together, and to labour in common at the same work of health and truth. Ashamed asPierre was of doing nothing, anxious as he was to occupy his mind andfingers, he had first taken an interest in Antoine's engraving, askingwhy he should not try something of the kind himself. However, he feltthat he lacked the necessary gift for art. Then, too, he recoiled fromFrancois' purely intellectual labour, for he himself had scarcely emergedfrom the harrowing study of conflicting texts. Thus he was more inclinedfor manual toil like that of Thomas. In mechanics he found precision andclearness such as might help to quench his thirst for certainty. So heplaced himself at the young man's orders, pulled his bellows and heldpieces of mechanism for him. He also sometimes served as assistant toGuillaume, tying a large blue apron over his cassock in order to help inthe experiments. From that time he formed part of the work-shop, whichsimply counted a worker the more. 

One afternoon early in April, when they were all busily engaged there, Marie, who sat embroidering at the table in front of Mere-Grand, raisedher eyes to the window and suddenly burst into a cry of admiration: "Oh!look at Paris under that rain of sunlight!"

Pierre drew near; the play of light was much the same as that which hehad witnessed at his first visit. The sun, sinking behind some slightpurple clouds, was throwing down a hail of rays and sparks which on allsides rebounded and leapt over the endless stretch of roofs. It mighthave been thought that some great sower, hidden amidst the glory of theplanet, was scattering handfuls of golden grain from one horizon to theother. 

Pierre, at sight of it, put his fancy into words: "It is the sun sowingParis with grain for a future harvest, " said he. "See how the expanselooks like ploughed land; the brownish houses are like soil turned up, and the streets are deep and straight like furrows. "

"Yes, yes, that's true, " exclaimed Marie gaily. "The sun is sowing Pariswith grain. See how it casts the seed of light and health right away tothe distant suburbs! And yet, how singular! The rich districts on thewest seem steeped in a ruddy mist, whilst the good seed falls in goldendust over the left bank and the populous districts eastward. It is there, is it not, that the crop will spring up?"

They had all drawn near, and were smiling at the symbol. As Marie hadsaid, it seemed indeed that while the sun slowly sank behind the laceworkof clouds, the sower of eternal life scattered his flaming seed with arhythmical swing of the arm, ever selecting the districts of toil andeffort. One dazzling handful of grain fell over yonder on the district ofthe schools; and then yet another rained down to fertilise the districtof the factories and work-shops. 

"Ah! well, " said Guillaume gaily. "May the crop soon sprout from the goodground of our great Paris, which has been turned up by so manyrevolutions, and enriched by the blood of so many workers! It is the onlyground in the world where Ideas can germinate and bloom. Yes, yes, Pierreis quite right, it is the sun sowing Paris with the seed of the futureworld, which can sprout only up here!"

Then Thomas, Francois and Antoine, who stood behind their father in arow, nodded as if to say that this was also their own conviction; whilstMere-Grand gazed afar with dreamy eyes as though she could already beholdthe splendid future. 

"Ah! but it is only a dream; centuries must elapse. We shall never seeit!" murmured Pierre with a quiver. 

"But others will!" cried Marie. "And does not that suffice?"

Those lofty words stirred Pierre to the depths of his being. And all atonce there came to him the memory of another Marie*--the adorable Marieof his youth, that Marie de Guersaint who had been cured at Lourdes, andthe loss of whom had left such a void in his heart. Was that new Mariewho stood there smiling at him, so tranquil and so charming in herstrength, destined to heal that old-time wound? He felt that he wasbeginning to live again since she had become his friend. 

 * The heroine of M. Zola's "Lourdes. "

Meantime, there before them, the glorious sun, with the sweep of itsrays, was scattering living golden dust over Paris, still and ever sowingthe great future harvest of justice and of truth. 

II. TOWARDS LIFE

ONE evening, at the close of a good day's work, Pierre, who was helpingThomas, suddenly caught his foot in the skirt of his cassock and narrowlyescaped falling. At this, Marie, after raising a faint cry of anxiety, exclaimed: "Why don't you take it off?"

There was no malice in her inquiry. She simply looked upon the priestlyrobe as something too heavy and cumbersome, particularly when one hadcertain work to perform. Nevertheless, her words deeply impressed Pierre, and he could not forget them. When he was at home in the evening andrepeated them to himself they gradually threw him into feverishagitation. Why, indeed, had he not divested himself of that cassock, which weighed so heavily and painfully on his shoulders? Then a frightfulstruggle began within him, and he spent a terrible, sleepless night, again a prey to all his former torments. 

At first sight it seemed a very simple matter that he should cast hispriestly gown aside, for had he not ceased to discharge any priestlyoffice? He had not said mass for some time past, and this surely meantrenunciation of the priesthood. Nevertheless, so long as he retained hisgown it was possible that he might some day say mass again, whereas if hecast it aside he would, as it were, strip himself, quit the priesthoodentirely, without possibility of return. It was a terrible step to take, one that would prove irrevocable; and thus he paced his room for hours, in great anguish of mind. 

He had formerly indulged in a superb dream. Whilst believing nothinghimself he had resolved to watch, in all loyalty, over the belief ofothers. He would not so lower himself as to forswear his vows, he wouldbe no base renegade, but however great the torments of the void he feltwithin him he would remain the minister of man's illusions respecting theDivinity. And it was by reason of his conduct in this respect that he hadended by being venerated as a saint--he who denied everything, who hadbecome a mere empty sepulchre. For a long time his falsehood had neverdisturbed him, but it now brought him acute suffering. It seemed to himthat he would be acting in the vilest manner if he delayed placing hislife in accord with his opinions. The thought of it all quite rent hisheart. 

The question was a very clear one. By what right did he remain theminister of a religion in which he no longer believed? Did not elementaryhonesty require that he should quit a Church in which he denied thepresence of the Divinity? He regarded the dogmas of that Church aspuerile errors, and yet he persisted in teaching them as if they wereeternal truths. Base work it was, that alarmed his conscience. He vainlysought the feverish glow of charity and martyrdom which had led him tooffer himself as a sacrifice, willing to suffer all the torture of doubtand to find his own life lost and ravaged, provided that he might yetafford the relief of hope to the lowly. Truth and nature, no doubt, hadalready regained too much ascendancy over him for those feelings toreturn. The thought of such a lying apostolate now wounded him; he nolonger had the hypocritical courage to call the Divinity down upon thebelievers kneeling before him, when he was convinced that the Divinitywould not descend. Thus all the past was swept away; there remainednothing of the sublime pastoral part he would once have liked to play, that supreme gift of himself which lay in stubborn adherence to the rulesof the Church, and such devotion to faith as to endure in silence thetorture of having lost it. 

What must Marie think of his prolonged falsehood, he wondered, andthereupon he seemed to hear her words again: "Why not take your cassockoff?" His conscience bled as if those words were a stab. What contemptmust she not feel for him, she who was so upright, so high-minded? Everyscattered blame, every covert criticism directed against his conduct, seemed to find embodiment in her. It now sufficed that she should condemnhim, and he at once felt guilty. At the same time she had never voicedher disapproval to him, in all probability because she did not think shehad any right to intervene in a struggle of conscience. The superbcalmness and healthiness which she displayed still astonished him. Hehimself was ever haunted and tortured by thoughts of the unknown, of whatthe morrow of death might have in store for one; but although he hadstudied and watched her for days together, he had never seen her give asign of doubt or distress. This exemption from such sufferings as his ownwas due, said she, to the fact that she gave all her gaiety, all herenergy, all her sense of duty, to the task of living, in such wise thatlife itself proved a sufficiency, and no time was left for mere fanciesto terrify and stultify her. Well, then, since she with her air of quietstrength had asked him why he did not take off his cassock, he would takeit off--yes, he would divest himself of that robe which seemed to burnand weigh him down. 

He fancied himself calmed by this decision, and towards morning threwhimself upon his bed; but all at once a stifling sensation, a renewal ofhis abominable anguish, brought him to his feet again. No, no, he couldnot divest himself of that gown which clung so tightly to his flesh. Hisskin would come away with his cloth, his whole being would be lacerated!Is not the mark of priesthood an indelible one, does it not brand thepriest for ever, and differentiate him from the flock? Even should hetear off his gown with his skin, he would remain a priest, an object ofscandal and shame, awkward and impotent, shut off from the life of othermen. And so why tear it off, since he would still and ever remain inprison, and a fruitful life of work in the broad sunlight was no longerwithin his reach? He, indeed, fancied himself irremediably stricken withimpotence. Thus he was unable to come to any decision, and when hereturned to Montmartre two days later he had again relapsed into a stateof torment. 

Feverishness, moreover, had come upon the happy home. Guillaume wasbecoming more and more annoyed about Salvat's affair, not a day elapsingwithout the newspapers fanning his irritation. He had at first beendeeply touched by the dignified and reticent bearing of Salvat, who haddeclared that he had no accomplices whatever. Of course the inquiry intothe crime was what is called a secret one; but magistrate Amadieu, towhom it had been entrusted, conducted it in a very noisy way. Thenewspapers, which he in some degree took into his confidence, were fullof articles and paragraphs about him and his interviews with theprisoner. Thanks to Salvat's quiet admissions, Amadieu had been able toretrace the history of the crime hour by hour, his only remaining doubtshaving reference to the nature of the powder which had been employed, andthe making of the bomb itself. It might after all be true that Salvat hadloaded the bomb at a friend's, as he indeed asserted was the case; but hemust be lying when he added that the only explosive used was dynamite, derived from some stolen cartridges, for all the experts now declaredthat dynamite would never have produced such effects as those which hadbeen witnessed. This, then, was the mysterious point which protracted theinvestigations. And day by day the newspapers profited by it to circulatethe wildest stories under sensational headings, which were speciallydevised for the purpose of sending up their sales. 

It was all the nonsense contained in these stories that fannedGuillaume's irritation. In spite of his contempt for Sagnier he could notkeep from buying the "Voix du Peuple. " Quivering with indignation, growing more and more exasperated, he was somehow attracted by the mirewhich he found in that scurrilous journal. Moreover, the othernewspapers, including even the "Globe, " which was usually so dignified, published all sorts of statements for which no proof could be supplied, and drew from them remarks and conclusions which, though couched inmilder language than Sagnier's, were none the less abominably unjust. Itseemed indeed as if the whole press had set itself the task of coveringSalvat with mud, so as to be able to vilify Anarchism generally. According to the journalists the prisoner's life had simply been one longabomination. He had already earned his living by thievery in hischildhood at the time when he had roamed the streets, an unhappy, forsaken vagrant; and later on he had proved a bad soldier and a badworker. He had been punished for insubordination whilst he was in thearmy, and he had been dismissed from a dozen work-shops because heincessantly disturbed them by his Anarchical propaganda. Later still, hehad fled his country and led a suspicious life of adventure in America, where, it was alleged, he must have committed all sorts of unknowncrimes. Moreover there was his horrible immorality, his connection withhis sister-in-law, that Madame Theodore who had taken charge of hisforsaken child in his absence, and with whom he had cohabited since hisreturn to France. In this wise Salvat's failings and transgressions werepitilessly denounced and magnified without any mention of the causeswhich had induced them, or of the excuses which lay in the unhappy man'sdegrading environment. And so Guillaume's feelings of humanity andjustice revolted, for he knew the real Salvat, --a man of tender heart anddreamy mind, so liable to be impassioned by fancies, --a man cast intolife when a child without weapon of defence, ever trodden down or thrustaside, then gradually exasperated by the perpetual onslaughts of want, and at last dreaming of reviving the golden age by destroying the old, corrupt world. 

Unfortunately for Salvat, everything had gone against him since he hadbeen shut up in strict confinement, at the mercy of the ambitious andworldly Amadieu. Guillaume had learnt from his son, Thomas, that theprisoner could count on no support whatever among his former mates at theGrandidier works. These works were becoming prosperous once more, thanksto their steady output of bicycles; and it was said that Grandidier wasonly waiting for Thomas to perfect his little motor, in order to startthe manufacture of motor-cars on a large scale. However, the successwhich he was now for the first time achieving, and which scarcely repaidhim for all his years of toil and battle, had in certain respectsrendered him prudent and even severe. He did not wish any suspicion to becast upon his business through the unpleasant affair of his formerworkman Salvat, and so he had dismissed such of his workmen as heldAnarchist views. If he had kept the two Toussaints, one of whom was theprisoner's brother-in-law, while the other was suspected of sympathy withhim, this was because they had belonged to the works for a score ofyears, and he did not like to cast them adrift. Moreover, Toussaint, thefather, had declared that if he were called as a witness for the defence, he should simply give such particulars of Salvat's career as related tothe prisoner's marriage with his sister. 

One evening when Thomas came home from the works, to which he returnedevery now and then in order to try his little motor, he related that hehad that day seen Madame Grandidier, the poor young woman who had becomeinsane through an attack of puerperal fever following upon the death of achild. Although most frightful attacks of madness occasionally came overher, and although life beside her was extremely painful, even during theintervals when she remained downcast and gentle as a child, her husbandhad never been willing to send her to an asylum. He kept her with him ina pavilion near the works, and as a rule the shutters of the windowsoverlooking the yard remained closed. Thus Thomas had been greatlysurprised to see one of these windows open, and the young woman appear atit amidst the bright sunshine of that early spring. True, she onlyremained there for a moment, vision-like, fair and pretty, with smilingface; for a servant who suddenly drew near closed the window, and thepavilion then again sank into lifeless silence. At the same time it wasreported among the men employed at the works that the poor creature hadnot experienced an attack for well-nigh a month past, and that this wasthe reason why the "governor" looked so strong and pleased, and worked sovigorously to help on the increasing prosperity of his business. 

"He isn't a bad fellow, " added Thomas, "but with the terrible competitionthat he has to encounter, he is bent on keeping his men under control. Nowadays, says he, when so many capitalists and wage earners seem bent onexterminating one another, the latter--if they don't want tostarve--ought to be well pleased when capital falls into the hands of anactive, fair-minded man.... If he shows no pity for Salvat, it isbecause he really believes in the necessity of an example. "

That same day Thomas, after leaving the works and while threading his waythrough the toilsome hive-like Marcadet district, had overtaken MadameTheodore and little Celine, who were wandering on in great distress. Itappeared that they had just called upon Toussaint, who had been unable tolend them even such a trifle as ten sous. Since Salvat's arrest, thewoman and the child had been forsaken and suspected by one and all. Driven forth from their wretched lodging, they were without food andwandered hither and thither dependent on chance alms. Never had greaterwant and misery fallen on defenceless creatures. 

"I told them to come up here, father, " said Thomas, "for I thought thatone might pay their landlord a month's rent, so that they might go homeagain.... Ah! there's somebody coming now--it's they, no doubt. "

Guillaume had felt angry with himself whilst listening to his son, for hehad not thought of the poor creatures. It was the old story: the mandisappears, and the woman and the child find themselves in the streets, starving. Whenever Justice strikes a man her blow travels beyond him, fells innocent beings and kills them. 

Madame Theodore came in, humble and timid, scared like a lucklesscreature whom life never wearies of persecuting. She was becoming almostblind, and little Celine had to lead her. The girl's fair, thin face woreits wonted expression of shrewd intelligence, and even now, howeverwoeful her rags, it was occasionally brightened by a childish smile. 

Pierre and Marie, who were both there, felt extremely touched. Near themwas Madame Mathis, young Victor's mother, who had come to help Mere-Grandwith the mending of some house-linen. She went out by the day in thisfashion among a few families, and was thus enabled to give her son anoccasional franc or two. Guillaume alone questioned Madame Theodore. 

"Ah! monsieur, " she stammered, "who could ever have thought Salvatcapable of such a thing, he who's so good and so humane? Still it's true, since he himself has admitted it to the magistrate.... For my part Itold everybody that he was in Belgium. I wasn't quite sure of it, stillI'm glad that he didn't come back to see us; for if he had been arrestedat our place I should have lost my senses.... Well, now that they havehim, they'll sentence him to death, that's certain. "

At this Celine, who had been looking around her with an air of interest, piteously exclaimed: "Oh! no, oh! no, mamma, they won't hurt him!"

Big tears appeared in the child's eyes as she raised this cry. Guillaumekissed her, and then went on questioning Madame Theodore. 

"Well, monsieur, " she answered, "the child's not old or big enough towork as yet, and my eyes are done for, people won't even take me as acharwoman. And so it's simple enough, we starve.... Oh! of course I'mnot without relations; I have a sister who married very well. Her husbandis a clerk, Monsieur Chretiennot, perhaps you know him. Unfortunatelyhe's rather proud, and as I don't want any scenes between him and mysister, I no longer go to see her. Besides, she's in despair just now, for she's expecting another baby, which is a terrible blow for a smallhousehold, when one already has two girls.... That's why the onlyperson I can apply to is my brother Toussaint. His wife isn't a bad sortby any means, but she's no longer the same since she's been living infear of her husband having another attack. The first one carried off allher savings, and what would become of her if Toussaint should remain onher hands, paralysed? Besides, she's threatened with another burden, for, as you may know, her son Charles got keeping company with a servant at awine shop, who of course ran away after she had a baby, which she lefthim to see to. So one can understand that the Toussaints themselves arehard put. I don't complain of them. They've already lent me a littlemoney, and of course they can't go on lending for ever. "

She continued talking in this spiritless, resigned way, complaining onlyon account of Celine; for, said she, it was enough to make one's heartbreak to see such an intelligent child obliged to tramp the streets aftergetting on so well at the Communal School. She could feel too thateverybody now kept aloof from them on account of Salvat. The Toussaintsdidn't want to be compromised in any such business. There was onlyCharles, who had said that he could well understand a man losing his headand trying to blow up the _bourgeois_, because they really treated theworkers in a blackguard way. 

"For my part, monsieur, " added Madame Theodore, "I say nothing, for I'monly a woman. All the same, though, if you'd like to know what I think, well, I think that it would have been better if Salvat hadn't done whathe did, for we two, the girl and I, are the real ones to suffer from it. Ah! I can't get the idea into my head, that the little one should be thedaughter of a man condemned to death. "

Once more Celine interrupted her, flinging her arms around her neck: "Oh!mamma, oh! mamma, don't say that, I beg you! It can't be true, it grievesme too much!"

At this Pierre and Marie exchanged compassionate glances, whileMere-Grand rose from her chair, in order to go upstairs and search herwardrobes for some articles of clothing which might be of use to the twopoor creatures. Guillaume, who, for his part, had been moved to tears, and felt full of revolt against the social system which rendered suchdistress possible, slipped some alms into the child's little hand, andpromised Madame Theodore that he would see her landlord so as to get herback her room. 

"Ah! Monsieur Froment!" replied the unfortunate woman. "Salvat was quiteright when he said you were a real good man! And as you employed him herefor a few days you know too that he isn't a wicked one.... Now thathe's been put in prison everybody calls him a brigand, and it breaks myheart to hear them. " Then, turning towards Madame Mathis, who hadcontinued sewing in discreet silence, like a respectable woman whom noneof these things could concern, she went on: "I know you, madame, but I'mbetter acquainted with your son, Monsieur Victor, who has often come tochat at our place. Oh! you needn't be afraid, I shan't say it, I shallnever compromise anybody; but if Monsieur Victor were free to speak, he'dbe the man to explain Salvat's ideas properly. "

Madame Mathis looked at her in stupefaction. Ignorant as she was of herson's real life and views, she experienced a vague dread at the idea ofany connection between him and Salvat's family. Moreover, she refused tobelieve it possible. "Oh! you must be mistaken, " she said. "Victor toldme that he now seldom came to Montmartre, as he was always going about insearch of work. "

By the anxious quiver of the widow's voice, Madame Theodore understoodthat she ought not to have mixed her up in her troubles; and so in allhumility she at once beat a retreat: "I beg your pardon, madame, I didn'tthink I should hurt your feelings. Perhaps, too, I'm mistaken, as yousay. "

Madame Mathis had again turned to her sewing as to the solitude in whichshe lived, that nook of decent misery where she dwelt withoutcompanionship and almost unknown, with scarcely sufficient bread to eat. Ah! that dear son of hers, whom she loved so well; however much he mightneglect her, she had placed her only remaining hope in him: he was herlast dream, and would some day lavish all kinds of happiness upon her!

At that moment Mere-Grand came downstairs again, laden with a bundle oflinen and woollen clothing, and Madame Theodore and little Celinewithdrew while pouring forth their thanks. For a long time after they hadgone Guillaume, unable to resume work, continued walking to and fro insilence, with a frown upon his face. 

When Pierre, still hesitating and still tortured by conflicting feelings, returned to Montmartre on the following day he witnessed with muchsurprise a visit of a very different kind. There was a sudden gust ofwind, a whirl of skirts and a ring of laughter as little PrincessRosemonde swept in, followed by young Hyacinthe Duvillard, who, on hisside, retained a very frigid bearing. 

"It's I, my dear master, " exclaimed the Princess. "I promised you avisit, you remember, for I am such a great admirer of your genius. Andour young friend here has been kind enough to bring me. We have only justreturned from Norway, and my very first visit is for you. "

She turned as she spoke, and bowed in an easy and gracious way to Pierreand Marie, Francois and Antoine, who were also there. Then she resumed:"Oh! my dear master, you have no idea how beautifully virginal Norway is!We all ought to go and drink at that new source of the Ideal, and weshould return purified, rejuvenated and capable of great renunciations!"

As a matter of fact she had been well-nigh bored to death there. To makeone's honeymoon journey to the land of the ice and snow, instead of toItaly, the hot land of the sun, was doubtless a very refined idea, whichshowed that no base materialism formed part of one's affections. It wasthe soul alone that travelled, and naturally it was fit that only kissesof the soul should be exchanged on the journey. Unfortunately, however, Hyacinthe had carried his symbolism so far as to exasperate Rosemonde, and on one occasion they had come to blows over it, and then to tearswhen this lover's quarrel had ended as many such quarrels do. Briefly, they had no longer deemed themselves pure enough for the companionship ofthe swans and the lakes of dreamland, and had therefore taken the firststeamer that was sailing for France. 

As it was altogether unnecessary to confess to everybody what a failuretheir journey had proved, the Princess abruptly brought her rapturousreferences to Norway to an end, and then explained: "By the way, do youknow what I found awaiting me on my return? Why, I found my housepillaged, oh! completely pillaged! And in such a filthy condition, too!We at once recognised the mark of the beast, and thought of Bergaz'syoung friends. "

Already on the previous day Guillaume had read in the newspapers that aband of young Anarchists had entered the Princess's little house bybreaking a basement window. She had left it quite deserted, unprotectedeven by a caretaker; and the robbers had not merely removed everythingfrom the premises--including even the larger articles of furniture, buthad lived there for a couple of days, bringing provisions in fromoutside, drinking all the wine in the cellars, and leaving every room ina most filthy and disgusting condition. On discovering all this, Rosemonde had immediately remembered the evening she had spent at theChamber of Horrors in the company of Bergaz and his acolytes, Rossi andSanfaute, who had heard her speak of her intended trip to Norway. The twoyoung men had therefore been arrested, but Bergaz had so far escaped. ThePrincess was not greatly astonished by it all, for she had already beenwarned of the presence of dangerous characters among the mixedcosmopolitan set with which she associated. Janzen had told her inconfidence of a number of villanous affairs which were attributed toBergaz and his band. And now the Anarchist leader openly declared thatBergaz had sold himself to the police like Raphanel; and that theburglary at the Princess's residence had been planned by the policeofficials, who thereby hoped to cover the Anarchist cause with mire. Ifproof was wanted of this, added Janzen, it could be found in the factthat the police had allowed Bergaz to escape. 

"I fancied that the newspapers might have exaggerated matters, " saidGuillaume, when the Princess had finished her story. "They are inventingsuch abominable things just now, in order to blacken the case of thatpoor devil Salvat. "

"Oh! they've exaggerated nothing!" Rosemonde gaily rejoined. "As a matterof fact they have omitted a number of particulars which were too filthyfor publication.... For my part, I've merely had to go to an hotel. I'm very comfortable there; I was beginning to feel bored in that houseof mine.... All the same, however, Anarchism is hardly a cleanbusiness, and I no longer like to say that I have any connection withit. "

She again laughed, and then passed to another subject, asking Guillaumeto tell her of his most recent researches, in order, no doubt, that shemight show she knew enough chemistry to understand him. He had beenrendered thoughtful, however, by the story of Bergaz and the burglary, and would only answer her in a general way. 

Meantime, Hyacinthe was renewing his acquaintance with hisschool-fellows, Francois and Antoine. He had accompanied the Princess toMontmartre against his own inclinations; but since she had taken towhipping him he had become afraid of her. The chemist's little homefilled him with disdain, particularly as the chemist was a man ofquestionable reputation. Moreover, he thought it a duty to insist on hisown superiority in the presence of those old school-fellows of his, whomhe found toiling away in the common rut, like other people. 

"Ah! yes, " said he to Francois, who was taking notes from a book spreadopen before him, "you are at the Ecole Normale, I believe, and arepreparing for your licentiate. Well, for my part, you know, the idea ofbeing tied to anything horrifies me. I become quite stupid when there'sany question of examination or competition. The only possible road forone to follow is that of the Infinite. And between ourselves what duperythere is in science, how it narrows our horizon! It's just as well toremain a child with eyes gazing into the invisible. A child knows morethan all your learned men. "

Francois, who occasionally indulged in irony, pretended to share hisopinion. "No doubt, no doubt, " said he, "but one must have a naturaldisposition to remain a child. For my part, unhappily, I'm consumed by adesire to learn and know. It's deplorable, as I'm well aware, but I passmy days racking my brain over books.... I shall never know very much, that's certain; and perhaps that's the reason why I'm ever striving tolearn a little more. You must at all events grant that work, likeidleness, is a means of passing life, though of course it is a lesselegant and aesthetic one. "

"Less aesthetic, precisely, " rejoined Hyacinthe. "Beauty lies solely inthe unexpressed, and life is simply degraded when one introduces anythingmaterial into it. "

Simpleton though he was in spite of the enormity of his pretensions, hedoubtless detected that Francois had been speaking ironically. So heturned to Antoine, who had remained seated in front of a block he wasengraving. It was the one which represented Lise reading in her garden, for he was ever taking it in hand again and touching it up in his desireto emphasise his indication of the girl's awakening to intelligence andlife. 

"So you engrave, I see, " said Hyacinthe. "Well, since I renouncedversification--a little poem I had begun on the End of Woman--becausewords seemed to me so gross and cumbersome, mere paving-stones as itwere, fit for labourers, I myself have had some idea of trying drawing, and perhaps engraving too. But what drawing can portray the mystery whichlies beyond life, the only sphere that has any real existence andimportance for us? With what pencil and on what kind of plate could onedepict it? We should need something impalpable, something unheard of, which would merely suggest the essence of things and beings. "

"But it's only by material means, " Antoine somewhat roughly replied, "that art can render the essence of things and beings, that is, theirfull significance as we understand it. To transcribe life is my greatpassion; and briefly life is the only mystery that there is in things andbeings. When it seems to me that an engraving of mine lives, I'm wellpleased, for I feel that I have created. "

Hyacinthe pouted by way of expressing his contempt of all fruitfulness. Any fool might beget offspring. It was the sexless idea, existing byitself, that was rare and exquisite. He tried to explain this, but becameconfused, and fell back on the conviction which he had brought back fromNorway, that literature and art were done for in France, killed bybaseness and excess of production. 

"It's evident!" said Francois gaily by way of conclusion. "To do nothingalready shows that one has some talent!"

Meantime, Pierre and Marie listened and gazed around them, somewhatembarrassed by this strange visit which had set the usually grave andpeaceful workroom topsy-turvy. The little Princess, though, evinced muchamiability, and on drawing near to Marie admired the wonderful delicacyof some embroidery she was finishing. Before leaving, moreover, Rosemondeinsisted upon Guillaume inscribing his autograph in an album whichHyacinthe had to fetch from her carriage. The young man obeyed her withevident boredom. It could be seen that they were already weary of oneanother. Pending a fresh caprice, however, it amused Rosemonde toterrorize her sorry victim. When she at length led him away, afterdeclaring to Guillaume that she should always regard that visit as amemorable incident in her life, she made the whole household smile bysaying: "Oh! so your sons knew Hyacinthe at college. He's a good-naturedlittle fellow, isn't he? and he would really be quite nice if he wouldonly behave like other people. "

That same day Janzen and Bache came to spend the evening with Guillaume. Once a week they now met at Montmartre, as they had formerly done atNeuilly. Pierre, on these occasions, went home very late, for as soon asMere-Grand, Marie, and Guillaume's sons had retired for the night, therewere endless chats in the workroom, whence Paris could be seen spangledwith thousands of gas lights. Another visitor at these times wasTheophile Morin, but he did not arrive before ten o'clock, as he wasdetained by the work of correcting his pupils' exercises or some otherwearisome labour pertaining to his profession. 

As soon as Guillaume had told the others of the Princess's visit thatafternoon, Janzen hastily exclaimed: "But she's mad, you know. When Ifirst met her I thought for a moment that I might perhaps utilise her forthe cause. She seemed so thoroughly convinced and bold! But I soon foundthat she was the craziest of women, and simply hungered for newemotions!"

Janzen was at last emerging from his wonted frigidity and mysteriousness. His cheeks were quite flushed. In all probability he had suffered fromhis rupture with the woman whom he had once called 'the Queen of theAnarchists, ' and whose fortune and extensive circle of acquaintance hadseemed to him such powerful weapons of propaganda. 

"You know, " said he, when he had calmed down, "it was the police who hadher house pillaged and turned into a pigstye. Yes, in view of Salvat'strial, which is now near at hand, the idea was to damn Anarchism beyondpossibility of even the faintest sympathy on the part of the_bourgeois_. "

"Yes, she told me so, " replied Guillaume, who had become attentive. "ButI scarcely credit the story. If Bergaz had merely acted under suchinfluence as you suggest, he would have been arrested with the others, just as Raphanel was taken with those whom he betrayed. Besides, I knowsomething of Bergaz; he's a freebooter. " Guillaume made a sorrowfulgesture, and then in a saddened voice continued: "Oh, I can understandall claims and all legitimate reprisals. But theft, cynical theft for thepurpose of profit and enjoyment, is beyond me! It lowers my hope of abetter and more equitable form of society. Yes, that burglary at thePrincess's house has greatly distressed me. "

An enigmatical smile, sharp like a knife, again played over Janzen'slips. "Oh! it's a matter of heredity with you!" said he. "The centuriesof education and belief that lie behind you compel you to protest. Allthe same, however, when people won't make restoration, things must betaken from them. What worries me is that Bergaz should have sold himselfjust now. The public prosecutor will use that farcical burglary as acrushing argument when he asks the jury for Salvat's head. "

Such was Janzen's hatred of the police that he stubbornly clung to hisversion of the affair. Perhaps, too, he had quarrelled with Bergaz, withwhom he had at one time freely associated. 

Guillaume, who understood that all discussion would be useless, contentedhimself with replying: "Ah! yes, Salvat! Everything is against thatunhappy fellow, he is certain to be condemned. But you can't know, myfriends, what a passion that affair of his puts me into. All my ideas oftruth and justice revolt at the thought of it. He's a madman certainly;but there are so many excuses to be urged for him. At bottom he is simplya martyr who has followed the wrong track. And yet he has become thescapegoat, laden with the crimes of the whole nation, condemned to payfor one and all!"

Bache and Morin nodded without replying. They both professed horror ofAnarchism; while Morin, forgetting that the word if not the thing datedfrom his first master Proudhon, clung to his Comtist doctrines, in theconviction that science alone would ensure the happiness and pacificationof the nations. Bache, for his part, old mystical humanitarian that hewas, claimed that the only solution would come from Fourier, who bydecreeing an alliance of talent, labour and capital, had mapped out thefuture in a decisive manner. Nevertheless, both Bache and Morin were sodiscontented with the slow-paced _bourgeoise_ Republic of the presentday, and so hurt by the thought that everything was going from bad toworse through the flouting of their own particular ideas, that they werequite willing to wax indignant at the manner in which the conflictingparties of the time were striving to make use of Salvat in order toretain or acquire power. 

"When one thinks, " said Bache, "that this ministerial crisis of theirshas now been lasting for nearly three weeks! Every appetite is openlydisplayed, it's a most disgusting sight! Did you see in the papers thismorning that the President has again been obliged to summon Vignon to theElysee?"

"Oh! the papers, " muttered Morin in his weary way, "I no longer readthem! What's the use of doing so? They are so badly written, and they alllie!"

As Bache had said, the ministerial crisis was still dragging on. ThePresident of the Republic, taking as his guide the debate in the Chamberof Deputies, by which the Barroux administration had been overthrown, hadvery properly sent for Vignon, the victor on that occasion, and entrustedhim with the formation of a new ministry. It had seemed that this wouldbe an easy task, susceptible of accomplishment in two or three days atthe utmost, for the names of the friends whom the young leader of theRadical party would bring to power with him had been freely mentioned formonths past. But all sorts of difficulties had suddenly arisen. For tendays or so Vignon had struggled on amidst inextricable obstacles. Then, disheartened and disgusted, fearing, too, that he might use himself upand shut off the future if he persisted in his endeavours, he had beenobliged to tell the President that he renounced the task. Forthwith thePresident had summoned other deputies, and questioned them until he hadfound one brave enough to make an attempt on his own account; whereuponincidents similar to those which had marked Vignon's endeavours had oncemore occurred. At the outset a list was drawn up with every prospect ofbeing ratified within a few hours, but all at once hesitation arose, somepulled one way, some another; every effort was slowly paralysed tillabsolute failure resulted. It seemed as though the mysterious manoeuvreswhich had hampered Vignon had begun again; it was as if some band ofinvisible plotters was, for some unknown purpose, doing its utmost towreck every combination. A thousand hindrances arose with increasingforce from every side--jealousy, dislike, and even betrayal were secretlyprompted by expert agents, who employed every form of pressure, whetherthreats or promises, besides fanning and casting rival passions andinterests into collision. Thus the President, greatly embarrassed by thisposture of affairs, had again found it necessary to summon Vignon, who, after reflection and negotiation, now had an almost complete list in hispocket, and seemed likely to perfect a new administration within the nextforty-eight hours. 

"Still it isn't settled, " resumed Bache. "Well-informed people assertthat Vignon will fail again as he did the first time. For my part I can'tget rid of the idea that Duvillard's gang is pulling the strings, thoughfor whose benefit is a mystery. You may be quite sure, however, that itschief purpose is to stifle the African Railways affair. If Monferrandwere not so badly compromised I should almost suspect some trick on hispart. Have you noticed that the 'Globe, ' after throwing Barroux overboardin all haste, now refers to Monferrand every day with the most respectfulsympathy? That's a grave sign; for it isn't Fonsegue's habit to show anysolicitude for the vanquished. But what can one expect from that wretchedChamber! The only point certain is that something dirty is being plottedthere. "

"And that big dunderhead Mege who works for every party except his own!"exclaimed Morin; "what a dupe he is with that idea that he need merelyoverthrow first one cabinet and then another, in order to become theleader of one himself!"

The mention of Mege brought them all to agreement, for they unanimouslyhated him. Bache, although his views coincided on many points with thoseof the apostle of State Collectivism, judged each of his speeches, eachof his actions, with pitiless severity. Janzen, for his part, treated theCollectivist leader as a mere reactionary _bourgeois_, who ought to beswept away one of the first. This hatred of Mege was indeed the commonpassion of Guillaume's friends. They could occasionally show some justicefor men who in no wise shared their ideas; but in their estimation it wasan unpardonable crime for anybody to hold much the same views asthemselves, without being absolutely in agreement with them on everypossible point. 

Their discussion continued, their various theories mingling or clashingtill they passed from politics to the press, and grew excited over thedenunciations which poured each morning from Sagnier's newspaper, likefilth from the mouth of a sewer. Thereupon Guillaume, who had becomeabsorbed in reverie while pacing to and fro according to his habit, suddenly exclaimed: "Ah! what dirty work it is that Sagnier does! Beforelong there won't be a single person, a single thing left on which hehasn't vomited! You think he's on your side, and suddenly he splashes youwith mire!... By the way, he related yesterday that skeleton keys andstolen purses were found on Salvat when he was arrested in the Bois deBoulogne! It's always Salvat! He's the inexhaustible subject forarticles. The mere mention of him suffices to send up a paper's sales!The bribe-takers of the African Railways shout 'Salvat!' to create adiversion. And the battles which wreck ministers are waged round hisname. One and all set upon him and make use of him and beat him down!"

With that cry of revolt and compassion, the friends separated for thenight. Pierre, who sat near the open window, overlooking the sparklingimmensity of Paris, had listened to the others without speaking a word. He had once more been mastered by his doubts, the terrible struggle ofhis heart and mind; and no solution, no appeasement had come to him fromall the contradictory views he had heard--the views of men who onlyunited in predicting the disappearance of the old world, and could makeno joint brotherly effort to rear the future world of truth and justice. In that vast city of Paris stretching below him, spangled with stars, glittering like the sky of a summer's night, Pierre also found a greatenigma. It was like chaos, like a dim expanse of ashes dotted with sparkswhence the coming aurora would arise. What future was being forged there, he wondered, what decisive word of salvation and happiness would comewith the dawn, and wing its flight to every point of the horizon?

When Pierre, in his turn, was about to retire, Guillaume laid his handsupon his shoulders, and with much emotion gave him a long look. "Ah! mypoor fellow, " said he, "you've been suffering too for some days past, Ihave noticed it. But you are the master of your sufferings, for thestruggle you have to overcome is simply in yourself, and you can subdueit; whereas one cannot subdue the world, when it is the world, itscruelty and injustice that make one suffer! Good night, be brave, act asyour reason tells you, even if it makes you weep, and you will find peacesurely enough. "

Later on, when Pierre again found himself alone in his little house atNeuilly, where none now visited him save the shades of his father andmother, he was long kept awake by a supreme internal combat. He had neverbefore felt so disgusted with the falsehood of his life, that cassockwhich he had persisted in wearing, though he was a priest in name only. Perhaps it was all that he had beheld and heard at his brother's, thewant and wretchedness of some, the wild, futile agitation of others, theneed of improvement among mankind which remained paramount amidst everycontradiction and form of weakness, that had made him more deeplyconscious of the necessity of living in loyal and normal fashion in thebroad daylight. He could no longer think of his former dream of leadingthe solitary life of a saintly priest when he was nothing of the kind, without a shiver of shame at having lied so long. And now it was quitedecided, he would lie no longer, not even from feelings of compassion inorder that others might retain their religious illusions. And yet howpainful it was to have to divest himself of that gown which seemed tocling to his skin, and how heartrending the thought that if he did removeit he would be skinless, lacerated, infirm, unable, do what he might, tobecome like other men!

It was this recurring thought which again tortured him throughout thatterrible night. Would life yet allow him to enter its fold? Had he notbeen branded with a mark which for ever condemned him to dwell apart? Hethought he could feel his priestly vows burning his very flesh likered-hot iron. What use would it be for him to dress as men dress, if inreality he was never to be a man? He had hitherto lived in such aquivering state, in a sphere of renunciation and dreams! To know manhoodnever, to be too late for it, that thought filled him with terror. Andwhen at last he made up his mind to fling aside his cassock, he did sofrom a simple sense of rectitude, for all his anguish remained. 

When he returned to Montmartre on the following day, he wore a jacket andtrousers of a dark colour. Neither an exclamation nor a glance that mighthave embarrassed him came from Mere-Grand or the three young men. Was notthe change a natural one? They greeted him therefore in the quiet waythat was usual with them; perhaps, with some increase of affection, as ifto set him the more at his ease. Guillaume, however, ventured to smilegood-naturedly. In that change he detected his own work. Cure was coming, as he had hoped it would come, by him and in his own home, amid the fullsunlight, the life which ever streamed in through yonder window. 

Marie, who on her side raised her eyes and looked at Pierre, knew nothingof the sufferings which he had endured through her simple and logicalinquiry: "Why not take your cassock off?" She merely felt that byremoving it he would be more at ease for his work. 

"Oh, Pierre, just come and look!" she suddenly exclaimed. "I have beenamusing myself with watching all the smoke which the wind is layingyonder over Paris. One might take it to be a huge fleet of ships shiningin the sunlight. Yes, yes, golden ships, thousands of golden ships, setting forth from the ocean of Paris to enlighten and pacify the world!"

III. THE DAWN OF LOVE

A COUPLE of days afterwards, when Pierre was already growing accustomedto his new attire, and no longer gave it a thought, it so happened thaton reaching Montmartre he encountered Abbe Rose outside the basilica ofthe Sacred Heart. The old priest, who at first was quite thunderstruckand scarcely able to recognise him, ended by taking hold of his hands andgiving him a long look. Then with his eyes full of tears he exclaimed:"Oh! my son, so you have fallen into the awful state I feared! I nevermentioned it, but I felt that God had withdrawn from you. Ah! nothingcould wound my heart so cruelly as this. "

Then, still trembling, he began to lead Pierre away as if to hide such ascandal from the few people who passed by; and at last, his strengthfailing him, he sank upon a heap of bricks lying on the grass of one ofthe adjoining work-yards. 

The sincere grief which his old and affectionate friend displayed upsetPierre far more than any angry reproaches or curses would have done. Tears had come to his own eyes, so acute was the suffering he experiencedat this meeting, which he ought, however, to have foreseen. There was yetanother wrenching, and one which made the best of their blood flow, inthat rupture between Pierre and the saintly man whose charitable dreamsand hopes of salvation he had so long shared. There had been so manydivine illusions, so many struggles for the relief of the masses, so muchrenunciation and forgiveness practised in common between them in theirdesire to hasten the harvest of the future! And now they were parting;he, Pierre, still young in years, was returning to life, leaving his agedcompanion to his vain waiting and his dreams. 

In his turn, taking hold of Abbe Rose's hands, he gave expression to hissorrow. "Ah, my friend, my father, " said he, "it is you alone that Iregret losing, now that I am leaving my frightful torments behind. Ithought that I was cured of them, but it has been sufficient for me tomeet you, and my heart is rent again.... Don't weep for me, I prayyou, don't reproach me for what I have done. It was necessary that Ishould do it. If I had consulted you, you would yourself have told methat it was better to renounce the priesthood than to remain a priestwithout faith or honour. "

"Yes, yes, " Abbe Rose gently responded, "you no longer had any faithleft. I suspected it. And your rigidity and saintliness of life, in whichI detected such great despair, made me anxious for you. How many hoursdid I not spend at times in striving to calm you! And you must listen tome again, you must still let me save you. I am not a sufficiently learnedtheologian to lead you back by discussing texts and dogmas; but in thename of Charity, my child, yes, in the name of Charity alone, reflect andtake up your task of consolation and hope once more. "

Pierre had sat down beside Abbe Rose, in that deserted nook, at the veryfoot of the basilica. "Charity! charity!" he replied in passionateaccents; "why, it is its nothingness and bankruptcy that have killed thepriest there was in me. How can you believe that benevolence issufficient, when you have spent your whole life in practising it withoutany other result than that of seeing want perpetuated and even increased, and without any possibility of naming the day when such abomination shallcease?... You think of the reward after death, do you not? The justicethat is to reign in heaven? But that is not justice, it is dupery--duperythat has brought the world nothing but suffering for centuries past. "

Then he reminded the old priest of their life in the Charonne district, when they had gone about together succouring children in the streets andparents in their hovels; the whole of those admirable efforts which, sofar as Abbe Rose was concerned, had simply ended in blame from hissuperiors, and removal from proximity to his poor, under penalty of moresevere punishment should he persist in compromising religion by thepractice of blind benevolence without reason or object. And now, was henot, so to say, submerged beneath the ever-rising tide of want, awarethat he would never, never be able to give enough even should he disposeof millions, and that he could only prolong the agony of the poor, who, even should they eat today, would starve again on the morrow? Thus he waspowerless. The wound which he tried to dress and heal, immediatelyreopened and spread, in such wise that all society would at last bestricken and carried off by it. 

Quivering as he listened, and slowly shaking his white head, the oldpriest ended by replying: "that does that matter, my child? what doesthat matter? One must give, always give, give in spite of everything!There is no other joy on earth.... If dogmas worry you, contentyourself with the Gospel, and even of that retain merely the promise ofsalvation through charity. "

But at this Pierre's feelings revolted. He forgot that he was speaking toone of simple mind, who was all love and nothing else, and couldtherefore not follow him. "The trial has been made, " he answered, "humansalvation cannot be effected by charity, nothing but justice canaccomplish it. That is the gathering cry which is going up from everynation. For nearly two thousand years now the Gospel has proved afailure. There has been no redemption; the sufferings of mankind areevery whit as great and unjust as they were when Jesus came. And thus theGospel is now but an abolished code, from which society can only drawthings that are troublous and hurtful. Men must free themselves from it. "

This was his final conviction. How strange the idea, thought he, ofchoosing as the world's social legislator one who lived, as Jesus lived, amidst a social system absolutely different from that of nowadays. Theage was different, the very world was different. And if it were merely aquestion of retaining only such of the moral teaching of Jesus as seemedhuman and eternal, was there not again a danger in applying immutableprinciples to the society of every age? No society could live under thestrict law of the Gospel. Was not all order, all labour, all lifedestroyed by the teaching of Jesus? Did He not deny woman, the earth, eternal nature and the eternal fruitfulness of things and beings?Moreover, Catholicism had reared upon His primitive teaching such afrightful edifice of terror and oppression. The theory of original sin, that terrible heredity reviving with each creature born into the world, made no allowance as Science does for the corrective influences ofeducation, circumstances and environment. There could be no morepessimist conception of man than this one which devotes him to the Devilfrom the instant of his birth, and pictures him as struggling againsthimself until the instant of his death. An impossible and absurdstruggle, for it is a question of changing man in his entirety, killingthe flesh, killing reason, destroying some guilty energy in each andevery passion, and of pursuing the Devil to the very depths of thewaters, mountains and forests, there to annihilate him with the very sapof the world. If this theory is accepted the world is but sin, a mereHell of temptation and suffering, through which one must pass in order tomerit Heaven. Ah! what an admirable instrument for absolute despotism isthat religion of death, which the principle of charity alone has enabledmen to tolerate, but which the need of justice will perforce sweep away. The poor man, who is the wretched dupe of it all, no longer believes inParadise, but requires that each and all should be rewarded according totheir deserts upon this earth; and thus eternal life becomes the goodgoddess, and desire and labour the very laws of the world, while thefruitfulness of woman is again honoured, and the idiotic nightmare ofHell is replaced by glorious Nature whose travail knows no end. Leaningupon modern Science, clear Latin reason sweeps away the ancient Semiticconception of the Gospel. 

"For eighteen hundred years, " concluded Pierre, "Christianity has beenhampering the march of mankind towards truth and justice. And mankindwill only resume its evolution on the day when it abolishes Christianity, and places the Gospel among the works of the wise, without taking it anylonger as its absolute and final law. "

But Abbe Rose raised his trembling hands: "Be quiet, be quiet, my child!"he cried; "you are blaspheming! I knew that doubt distracted you; but Ithought you so patient, so able to bear suffering, that I relied on yourspirit of renunciation and resignation. What can have happened to makeyou leave the Church in this abrupt and violent fashion? I no longerrecognise you. Sudden passion has sprung up in you, an invincible forceseems to carry you away. What is it? Who has changed you, tell me?"

Pierre listened in astonishment. "No, " said he, "I assure you, I am suchas you have known me, and in all this there is but an inevitable resultand finish. Who could have influenced me, since nobody has entered mylife? What new feeling could transform me, since I find none in me? I amthe same as before, the same assuredly. "

Still there was a touch of hesitation in his voice. Was it really truethat there had been no change within him? He again questioned himself, and there came no clear answer; decidedly, he would find nothing. It wasall but a delightful awakening, an overpowering desire for life, alonging to open his arms widely enough to embrace everyone andeverything indeed, a breeze of joy seemed to raise him from the groundand carry him along. 

Although Abbe Rose was too innocent of heart to understand thingsclearly, he again shook his head and thought of the snares which theDevil is ever setting for men. He was quite overwhelmed by Pierre'sdefection. Continuing his efforts to win him back, he made the mistake ofadvising him to consult Monseigneur Martha, for he hoped that a prelateof such high authority would find the words necessary to restore him tohis faith. Pierre, however, boldly replied that if he was leaving theChurch it was partly because it comprised such a man as Martha, such anartisan of deception and despotism, one who turned religion into corruptdiplomacy, and dreamt of winning men back to God by dint of ruses. Thereupon Abbe Rose, rising to his feet, could find no other argument inhis despair than that of pointing to the basilica which stood besidethem, square, huge and massive, and still waiting for its dome. 

"That is God's abode, my child, " said he, "the edifice of expiation andtriumph, of penitence and forgiveness. You have said mass in it, and nowyou are leaving it sacrilegiously and forswearing yourself!"

But Pierre also had risen; and buoyed up by a sudden rush of health andstrength he answered: "No, no! I am leaving it willingly, as one leaves adark vault, to return into the open air and the broad sunlight. God doesnot dwell there; the only purpose of that huge edifice is to defy reason, truth and justice; it has been erected on the highest spot that could befound, like a citadel of error that dominates, insults and threatensParis!"

Then seeing that the old priest's eyes were again filling with tears, andfeeling on his own side so pained by their rupture that he began to sob, Pierre wished to go away. "Farewell! farewell!" he stammered. 

But Abbe Rose caught him in his arms and kissed him, as if he were arebellious son who yet had remained the dearest. "No, not farewell, notfarewell, my child, " he answered; "say rather till we meet again. Promiseme that we shall see each other again, at least among those who starveand weep. It is all very well for you to think that charity has becomebankrupt, but shall we not always love one another in loving our poor?"

Then they parted. 

On becoming the companion of his three big nephews, Pierre had in a fewlessons learnt from them how to ride a bicycle, in order that he mightoccasionally accompany them on their morning excursions. He went twicewith them and Marie along the somewhat roughly paved roads in thedirection of the Lake of Enghien. Then one morning when the young womanhad promised to take him and Antoine as far as the forest ofSaint-Germain, it was found at the last moment that Antoine could notcome. Marie was already dressed in a chemisette of fawn-coloured silk, and a little jacket and "rationals" of black serge, and it was such awarm, bright April day that she was not inclined to renounce her trip. 

"Well, so much the worse!" she gaily said to Pierre, "I shall take youwith me, there will only be the pair of us. I really want you to see howdelightful it is to bowl over a good road between the beautiful trees. "

However, as Pierre was not yet a very expert rider, they decided thatthey would take the train as far as Maisons-Laffitte, whence they wouldproceed on their bicycles to the forest, cross it in the direction ofSaint-Germain, and afterwards return to Paris by train. 

"You will be here for _dejeuner_, won't you?" asked Guillaume, whom thisfreak amused, and who looked with a smile at his brother. The latter, like Marie, was in black: jacket, breeches and stockings all of the samehue. 

"Oh, certainly!" replied Marie. "It's now barely eight o'clock, so wehave plenty of time. Still you need not wait for us, you know, we shallalways find our way back. "

It was a delightful morning. When they started, Pierre could fancyhimself with a friend of his own sex, so that this trip together throughthe warm sunlight seemed quite natural. Doubtless their costumes, whichwere so much alike, conduced to the gay brotherly feeling he experienced. But beyond all this there was the healthfulness of the open air, thedelight which exercise brings, the pleasure of roaming in all freedomthrough the midst of nature. 

On taking the train they found themselves alone in a compartment, andMarie once more began to talk of her college days. "Ah! you've no idea, "said she, "what fine games at baseball we used to have at Fenelon! Weused to tie up our skirts with string so as to run the better, for wewere not allowed to wear rationals like I'm wearing now. And there wereshrieks, and rushes, and pushes, till our hair waved about and we werequite red with exercise and excitement. Still that didn't prevent us fromworking in the class-rooms. On the contrary! Directly we were at study wefought again, each striving to learn the most and reach the top of theclass!"

She laughed gaily as she thus recalled her school life, and Pierreglanced at her with candid admiration, so pink and healthy did she lookunder her little hat of black felt, which a long silver pin kept inposition. Her fine dark hair was caught up behind, showing her neck, which looked as fresh and delicate as a child's. And never before had sheseemed to him so supple and so strong. 

"Ah, " she continued in a jesting way, "there is nothing like rationals, you know! To think that some women are foolish and obstinate enough towear skirts when they go out cycling!"

Then, as he declared--just by way of speaking the truth, and without thefaintest idea of gallantry--that she looked very nice indeed in hercostume, she responded: "Oh! I don't count. I'm not a beauty. I simplyenjoy good health.... But can you understand it? To think that womenhave an unique opportunity of putting themselves at their ease, andreleasing their limbs from prison, and yet they won't do so! If theythink that they look the prettier in short skirts like schoolgirls theyare vastly mistaken! And as for any question of modesty, well, it seemsto me that it is infinitely less objectionable for women to wearrationals than to bare their bosoms at balls and theatres and dinners associety ladies do. " Then, with a gesture of girlish impulsiveness, sheadded: "Besides, does one think of such things when one's rolling along?... Yes, rationals are the only things, skirts are rank heresy!"

In her turn, she was now looking at him, and was struck by theextraordinary change which had come over him since the day when he hadfirst appeared to her, so sombre in his long cassock, with his faceemaciated, livid, almost distorted by anguish. It was like aresurrection, for now his countenance was bright, his lofty brow had allthe serenity of hope, while his eyes and lips once more showed some ofthe confident tenderness which sprang from his everlasting thirst forlove, self-bestowal and life. All mark of the priesthood had already lefthim, save that where he had been tonsured his hair still remained rathershort. 

"Why are you looking at me?" he asked. 

"I was noticing how much good has been done you by work and the openair, " she frankly answered; "I much prefer you as you are. You used tolook so poorly. I thought you really ill. "

"So I was, " said he. 

The train, however, was now stopping at Maisons-Laffitte. They alightedfrom it, and at once took the road to the forest. This road rises gentlytill it reaches the Maisons gate, and on market days it is often crowdedwith carts. 

"I shall go first, eh?" said Marie gaily, "for vehicles still alarm you. "

Thereupon she started ahead, but every now and again she turned with asmile to see if he were following her. And every time they overtook andpassed a cart she spoke to him of the merits of their machines, whichboth came from the Grandidier works. They were "Lisettes, " examples ofthose popular bicycles which Thomas had helped to perfect, and which theBon Marche now sold in large numbers for 250 francs apiece. Perhaps theywere rather heavy in appearance, but on the other hand their strength wasbeyond question. They were just the machines for a long journey, so Mariedeclared. 

"Ah! here's the forest, " she at last exclaimed. "We have now reached theend of the rise; and you will see what splendid avenues there are. Onecan bowl along them as on a velvet carpet. "

Pierre had already joined her, and they rode on side by side along thebroad straight avenue fringed with magnificent trees. 

"I am all right now, " said Pierre; "your pupil will end by doing youhonour, I hope. "

"Oh! I've no doubt of it. You already have a very good seat, and beforelong you'll leave me behind, for a woman is never a man's equal in amatter like this. At the same time, however, what a capital educationcycling is for women!"

In what way?"

"Oh! I've certain ideas of my own on the subject; and if ever I have adaughter I shall put her on a bicycle as soon as she's ten years old, just to teach her how to conduct herself in life. "

"Education by experience, eh?"

"Yes, why not? Look at the big girls who are brought up hanging to theirmothers' apron strings. Their parents frighten them with everything, theyare allowed no initiative, no exercise of judgment or decision, so thatat times they hardly know how to cross a street, to such a degree doesthe traffic alarm them. Well, I say that a girl ought to be set on abicycle in her childhood, and allowed to follow the roads. She will thenlearn to open her eyes, to look out for stones and avoid them, and toturn in the right direction at every bend or crossway. If a vehicle comesup at a gallop or any other danger presents itself, she'll have to makeup her mind on the instant, and steer her course firmly and properly ifshe does not wish to lose a limb. Briefly, doesn't all this supply properapprenticeship for one's will, and teach one how to conduct and defendoneself?"

Pierre had begun to laugh. "You will all be too healthy, " he remarked. 

"Oh, one must be healthy if one wants to be happy. But what I wish toconvey is that those who learn to avoid stones and to turn properly alongthe highways will know how to overcome difficulties, and take the bestdecisions in after life. The whole of education lies in knowledge andenergy. "

"So women are to be emancipated by cycling?"

"Well, why not? It may seem a droll idea; but see what progress has beenmade already. By wearing rationals women free their limbs from prison;then the facilities which cycling affords people for going out togethertend to greater intercourse and equality between the sexes; the wife andthe children can follow the husband everywhere, and friends likeourselves are at liberty to roam hither and thither without astonishinganybody. In this lies the greatest advantage of all: one takes a bath ofair and sunshine, one goes back to nature, to the earth, our commonmother, from whom one derives fresh strength and gaiety of heart! Justlook how delightful this forest is. And how healthful the breeze thatinflates our lungs! Yes, it all purifies, calms and encourages one. "

The forest, which was quite deserted on week days, stretched out inquietude on either hand, with sunlight filtering between its deep bandsof trees. At that hour the rays only illumined one side of the avenue, there gilding the lofty drapery of verdure; on the other, the shady side, the greenery seemed almost black. It was truly delightful to skim, swallow-like, over that royal avenue in the fresh atmosphere, amidst thewaving of grass and foliage, whose powerful scent swept against one'sface. Pierre and Marie scarcely touched the soil: it was as if wings hadcome to them, and were carrying them on with a regular flight, throughalternate patches of shade and sunshine, and all the scattered vitalityof the far-reaching, quivering forest, with its mosses, its sources, itsanimal and its insect life. 

Marie would not stop when they reached the crossway of the Croix deNoailles, a spot where people congregate on Sundays, for she wasacquainted with secluded nooks which were far more charmingresting-places. When they reached the slope going down towards Poissy, she roused Pierre, and they let their machines rush on. Then came all thejoyous intoxication of speed, the rapturous feeling of darting alongbreathlessly while the grey road flees beneath one, and the trees oneither hand turn like the opening folds of a fan. The breeze blowstempestuously, and one fancies that one is journeying yonder towards thehorizon, the infinite, which ever and ever recedes. It is like boundlesshope, delivery from every shackle, absolute freedom of motion throughspace. And nothing can inspirit one more gloriously--one's heart leaps asif one were in the very heavens. 

"We are not going to Poissy, you know!" Marie suddenly cried; "we have toturn to the left. "

They took the road from Acheres to the Loges, which ascends andcontracts, thus bringing one closer together in the shade. Graduallyslowing down, they began to exert themselves in order to make their wayup the incline. This road was not so good as the others, it had beengullied by the recent heavy rains, and sand and gravel lay about. Butthen is there not even a pleasure in effort?

"You will get used to it, " said Marie to Pierre; "it's amusing toovercome obstacles. For my part I don't like roads which are invariablysmooth. A little ascent which does not try one's limbs too much rousesand inspirits one. And it is so agreeable to find oneself strong, andable to go on and on in spite of rain, or wind, or hills. "

Her bright humour and courage quite charmed Pierre. "And so, " said he, "we are off for a journey round France?"

"No, no, we've arrived. You won't dislike a little rest, eh? And now, tell me, wasn't it worth our while to come on here and rest in such anice fresh, quiet spot. "

She nimbly sprang off her machine and, bidding him follow her, turnedinto a path, along which she went some fifty paces. They placed theirbicycles against some trees, and then found themselves in a littleclearing, the most exquisite, leafy nest that one could dream of. Theforest here assumed an aspect of secluded sovereign beauty. Thespringtide had endowed it with youth, the foliage was light and virginal, like delicate green lace flecked with gold by the sun-rays. And from theherbage and the surrounding thickets arose a breath of life, laden withall the powerful aroma of the earth. 

"It's not too warm as yet, fortunately, " exclaimed Marie, as she seatedherself at the foot of a young oak-tree, against which she leant. "InJuly ladies get rather red by the time they reach this spot, and all thepowder comes off their faces. However, one can't always be beautiful. "

"Well, I'm not cold by any means, " replied Pierre, as he sat at her feetwiping his forehead. 

She laughed, and answered that she had never before seen him with such acolour. Then they began to talk like children, like two young friends, finding a source of gaiety in the most puerile things. She was somewhatanxious about his health, however, and would not allow him to remain inthe cool shade, as he felt so very warm. In order to tranquillise her, hehad to change his place and seat himself with his back to the sun. Then alittle later he saved her from a large black spider, which had caughtitself in the wavy hair on the nape of her neck. At this all her womanlynature reappeared, and she shrieked with terror. "How stupid it was to beafraid of a spider!" she exclaimed a moment afterwards; yet, in spite ofher efforts to master herself, she remained pale and trembling. 

Silence at last fell between them, and they looked at one another with asmile. In the midst of that delicate greenery they felt drawn together byfrank affection--the affection of brother and sister, so it seemed tothem. It made Marie very happy to think that she had taken an interest inPierre, and that his return to health was largely her own work. However, their eyes never fell, their hands never met, even as they sat theretoying with the grass, for they were as pure, as unconscious of all evil, as were the lofty oaks around them. 

At last Marie noticed that time was flying. "You know that they expect usback to lunch, " she exclaimed. "We ought to be off. "

Thereupon they rose, wheeled their bicycles back to the highway, andstarting off again at a good pace passed the Loges and reachedSaint-Germain by the fine avenue which conducts to the chateau. Itcharmed them to take their course again side by side, like birds of equalflight. Their little bells jingled, their chains rustled lightly, and afresh breeze swept past them as they resumed their talk, quite at ease, and so linked together by friendship that they seemed far removed fromall the rest of the world. 

They took the train from Saint-Germain to Paris, and on the journeyPierre suddenly noticed that Marie's cheeks were purpling. There were twoladies with them in the compartment. 

"Ah!" said he, "so you feel warm in your turn now?"

But she protested the contrary, her face glowing more and more brightlyas she spoke, as if some sudden feeling of shame quite upset her. "No, I'm not warm, " said she; "just feel my hands.... But how ridiculous itis to blush like this without any reason for it!"

He understood her. This was one of those involuntary blushing fits whichso distressed her, and which, as Mere-Grand had remarked, brought herheart to her very cheeks. There was no cause for it, as she herself said. After slumbering in all innocence in the solitude of the forest her hearthad begun to beat, despite herself. 

Meantime, over yonder at Montmartre, Guillaume had spent his morning inpreparing some of that mysterious powder, the cartridges of which heconcealed upstairs in Mere-Grand's bedroom. Great danger attended thismanufacture. The slightest forgetfulness while he was manipulating theingredients, any delay, too, in turning off a tap, might lead to aterrible explosion, which would annihilate the building and all who mightbe in it. For this reason he preferred to work when he was alone, so thaton the one hand there might be no danger for others, and on the otherless likelihood of his own attention being diverted from his task. Thatmorning, as it happened, his three sons were working in the room, andMere-Grand sat sewing near the furnace. Truth to tell, she did not count, for she scarcely ever left her place, feeling quite at ease there, however great might be the peril. Indeed, she had become so wellacquainted with the various phases of Guillaume's delicate operations, and their terrible possibilities, that she would occasionally give him ahelping hand. 

That morning, as she sat there mending some house linen, --her eyesightstill being so keen that in spite of her seventy years she wore nospectacles, --she now and again glanced at Guillaume as if to make surethat he forgot nothing. Then feeling satisfied, she would once more bendover her work. She remained very strong and active. Her hair was onlyjust turning white, and she had kept all her teeth, while her face stilllooked refined, though it was slowly withering with age and had acquiredan expression of some severity. As a rule she was a woman of few words;her life was one of activity and good management. When she opened herlips it was usually to give advice, to counsel reason, energy andcourage. For some time past she had been growing more taciturn than ever, as if all her attention were claimed by the household matters which werein her sole charge; still, her fine eyes would rest thoughtfully on thoseabout her, on the three young men, and on Guillaume, Marie and Pierre, who all obeyed her as if she were their acknowledged queen. If she lookedat them in that pensive way, was it that she foresaw certain changes, andnoticed certain incidents of which the others remained unconscious?Perhaps so. At all events she became even graver, and more attentive thanin the past. It was as if she were waiting for some hour to strike whenall her wisdom and authority would be required. 

"Be careful, Guillaume, " she at last remarked, as she once more looked upfrom her sewing. "You seem absent-minded this morning. Is anythingworrying you?"

He glanced at her with a smile. "No, nothing, I assure you, " he replied. "But I was thinking of our dear Marie, who was so glad to go off to theforest in this bright sunshine. "

Antoine, who heard the remark, raised his head, while his brothersremained absorbed in their work. "What a pity it is that I had this blockto finish, " said he; "I would willingly have gone with her. "

"Oh, no matter, " his father quietly rejoined. "Pierre is with her, and heis very cautious. "

For another moment Mere-Grand continued scrutinising Guillaume; then sheonce more reverted to her sewing. 

If she exercised such sway over the home and all its inmates, it was byreason of her long devotion, her intelligence, and the kindliness withwhich she ruled. Uninfluenced by any religious faith, and disregardingall social conventionalities, her guiding principle in everything was thetheory of human justice which she had arrived at after suffering sogrievously from the injustice that had killed her husband. She put herviews into practice with wonderful courage, knowing nothing of anyprejudices, but accomplishing her duty, such as she understood it, to thevery end. And in the same way as she had first devoted herself to herhusband, and next to her daughter Marguerite, so at present she devotedherself to Guillaume and his sons. Pierre, whom she had first studiedwith some anxiety, had now, too, become a member of her family, a dwellerin the little realm of happiness which she ruled. She had doubtless foundhim worthy of admission into it, though she did not reveal the reasonwhy. After days and days of silence she had simply said, one evening, toGuillaume, that he had done well in bringing his brother to live amongthem. 

Time flew by as she sat sewing and thinking. Towards noon Guillaume, whowas still at work, suddenly remarked to her: "As Marie and Pierre haven'tcome back, we had better let the lunch wait a little while. Besides, Ishould like to finish what I'm about. "

Another quarter of an hour then elapsed. Finally, the three young menrose from their work, and went to wash their hands at a tap in thegarden. 

"Marie is very late, " now remarked Mere-Grand. "We must hope that nothinghas happened to her. "

"Oh! she rides so well, " replied Guillaume. "I'm more anxious on accountof Pierre. "

At this the old lady again fixed her eyes on him, and said: "But Mariewill have guided Pierre; they already ride very well together. "

"No doubt; still I should be better pleased if they were back home. "

Then all at once, fancying that he heard the ring of a bicycle bell, hecalled out: "There they are!" And forgetting everything else in hissatisfaction, he quitted his furnace and hastened into the garden inorder to meet them. 

Mere-Grand, left to herself, quietly continued sewing, without a thoughtthat the manufacture of Guillaume's powder was drawing to an end in anapparatus near her. A couple of minutes later, however, when Guillaumecame back, saying that he had made a mistake, his eyes suddenly rested onhis furnace, and he turned quite livid. Brief as had been his absence theexact moment when it was necessary to turn off a tap in order that nodanger might attend the preparation of his powder had already gone by;and now, unless someone should dare to approach that terrible tap, andboldly turn it, a fearful explosion might take place. Doubtless it wastoo late already, and whoever might have the bravery to attempt the featwould be blown to pieces. 

Guillaume himself had often run a similar risk of death with perfectcomposure. But on this occasion he remained as if rooted to the floor, unable to take a step, paralysed by the dread of annihilation. Heshuddered and stammered in momentary expectation of a catastrophe whichwould hurl the work-shop to the heavens. 

"Mere-Grand, Mere-Grand, " he stammered. "The apparatus, the tap... Itis all over, all over!"

The old woman had raised her head without as yet understanding him. "Eh, what?" said she; "what is the matter with you?" Then, on seeing howdistorted were his features, how he recoiled as if mad with terror, sheglanced at the furnace and realised the danger. "Well, but it's simpleenough, " said she; "it's only necessary to turn off the tap, eh?"

Thereupon, without any semblance of haste, in the most easy and naturalmanner possible, she deposited her needlework on a little table, rosefrom her chair, and turned off the tap with a light but firm hand. "There! it's done, " said she. "But why didn't you do it yourself, myfriend?"

He had watched her in bewilderment, chilled to the bones, as if touchedby the hand of death. And when some colour at last returned to hischeeks, and he found himself still alive in front of the apparatus whenceno harm could now come, he heaved a deep sigh and again shuddered. "Whydid I not turn it off?" he repeated. "It was because I felt afraid. "

At that very moment Marie and Pierre came into the work-shop all chatterand laughter, delighted with their excursion, and bringing with them thebright joyousness of the sunlight. The three brothers, Thomas, Francisand Antoine, were jesting with them, and trying to make them confess thatPierre had at least fought a battle with a cow on the high road, andridden into a cornfield. All at once, however, they became quite anxious, for they noticed that their father looked terribly upset. 

"My lads, " said he, "I've just been a coward. Ah! it's a curious feeling, I had never experienced it before. "

Thereupon he recounted his fears of an accident, and how quietlyMere-Grand had saved them all from certain death. She waved her hand, however, as if to say that there was nothing particularly heroic inturning off a tap. The young men's eyes nevertheless filled with tears, and one after the other they went to kiss her with a fervour instinctwith all the gratitude and worship they felt for her. She had beendevoting herself to them ever since their infancy, she had now just giventhem a new lease of life. Marie also threw herself into her arms, kissingher with gratitude and emotion. Mere-Grand herself was the only one whodid not shed tears. She strove to calm them, begging them to exaggeratenothing and to remain sensible. 

"Well, you must at all events let me kiss you as the others have done, "Guillaume said to her, as he recovered his self-possession. "I at leastowe you that. And Pierre, too, shall kiss you, for you are now as goodfor him as you have always been for us. "

At table, when it was at last possible for them to lunch, he reverted tothat attack of fear which had left him both surprised and ashamed. He whofor years had never once thought of death had for some time past foundideas of caution in his mind. On two occasions recently he had shudderedat the possibility of a catastrophe. How was it that a longing for lifehad come to him in his decline? Why was it that he now wished to live? Atlast with a touch of tender affection in his gaiety, he remarked: "Do youknow, Marie, I think it is my thoughts of you that make me a coward. IfI've lost my bravery it's because I risk something precious when anydanger arises. Happiness has been entrusted to my charge. Just now when Ifancied that we were all going to die, I thought I could see you, and myfear of losing you froze and paralysed me. "

Marie indulged in a pretty laugh. Allusions to her coming marriage wereseldom made; however, she invariably greeted them with an air of happyaffection. 

"Another six weeks!" she simply said. 

Thereupon Mere-Grand, who had been looking at them, turned her eyestowards Pierre. He, however, like the others was listening with a smile. 

"That's true, " said the old lady, "you are to be married in six weeks'time. So I did right to prevent the house from being blown up. "

At this the young men made merry; and the repast came to an end in veryjoyous fashion. 

During the afternoon, however, Pierre's heart gradually grew heavy. Marie's words constantly returned to him: "Another six weeks!" Yes, itwas indeed true, she would then be married. But it seemed to him that hehad never previously known it, never for a moment thought of it. Andlater on, in the evening, when he was alone in his room at Neuilly, hisheart-pain became intolerable. Those words tortured him. Why was it thatthey had not caused him any suffering when they were spoken, why had hegreeted them with a smile? And why had such cruel anguish slowlyfollowed? All at once an idea sprang up in his mind, and became anoverwhelming certainty. He loved Marie, he loved her as a lover, with alove so intense that he might die from it. 

With this sudden consciousness of his passion everything became clear andplain. He had been going perforce towards that love ever since he hadfirst met Marie. The emotion into which the young woman had originallythrown him had seemed to him a feeling of repulsion, but afterwards hehad been slowly conquered, all his torments and struggles ending in thislove for her. It was indeed through her that he had at last foundquietude. And the delightful morning which he had spent with her thatday, appeared to him like a betrothal morning, in the depths of the happyforest. Nature had resumed her sway over him, delivered him from hissufferings, made him strong and healthy once more, and given him to thewoman he adored. The quiver he had experienced, the happiness he hadfelt, his communion with the trees, the heavens, and every livingcreature--all those things which he had been unable to explain, nowacquired a clear meaning which transported him. In Marie alone lay hiscure, his hope, his conviction that he would be born anew and at lastfind happiness. In her company he had already forgotten all thosedistressing problems which had formerly haunted him and bowed him down. For a week past he had not once thought of death, which had so long beenthe companion of his every hour. All the conflict of faith and doubt, thedistress roused by the idea of nihility, the anger he had felt at theunjust sufferings of mankind, had been swept away by her fresh coolhands. She was so healthy herself, so glad to live, that she had imparteda taste for life even to him. Yes, it was simply that: she was making hima man, a worker, a lover once more. 

Then he suddenly remembered Abbe Rose and his painful conversation withthat saintly man. The old priest, whose heart was so ingenuous, and whoknew nothing of love and passion, was nevertheless the only one who hadunderstood the truth. He had told Pierre that he was changed, that therewas another man in him. And he, Pierre, had foolishly and stubbornlydeclared that he was the same as he had always been; whereas Marie hadalready transformed him, bringing all nature back to his breast--allnature, with its sunlit countrysides, its fructifying breezes, and itsvast heavens, whose glow ripens its crops. That indeed was why he hadfelt so exasperated with Catholicism, that religion of death; that waswhy he had shouted that the Gospel was useless, and that the worldawaited another law--a law of terrestrial happiness, human justice andliving love and fruitfulness!

Ah, but Guillaume? Then a vision of his brother rose before Pierre, thatbrother who loved him so fondly, and who had carried him to his home oftoil, quietude and affection, in order to cure him of his sufferings. Ifhe knew Marie it was simply because Guillaume had chosen that he shouldknow her. And again Marie's words recurred to him: "Another six weeks!"Yes, in six weeks his brother would marry the young woman. This thoughtwas like a stab in Pierre's heart. Still, he did not for one momenthesitate: if he must die of his love, he would die of it, but none shouldever know it, he would conquer himself, he would flee to the ends of theearth should he ever feel the faintest cowardice. Rather than bring amoment's pain to that brother who had striven to resuscitate him, who wasthe artisan of the passion now consuming him, who had given him his wholeheart and all he had--he would condemn himself to perpetual torture. Andindeed, torture was coming back; for in losing Marie he could but sinkinto the distress born of the consciousness of his nothingness. As he layin bed, unable to sleep, he already experienced a return of hisabominable torments--the negation of everything, the feeling thateverything was useless, that the world had no significance, and that lifewas only worthy of being cursed and denied. And then the shudder born ofthe thought of death returned to him. Ah! to die, to die without evenhaving lived!

The struggle was a frightful one. Until daybreak he sobbed in martyrdom. Why had he taken off his cassock? He had done so at a word from Marie;and now another word from her gave him the despairing idea of donning itonce more. One could not escape from so fast a prison. That black gownstill clung to his skin. He fancied that he had divested himself of it, and yet it was still weighing on his shoulders, and his wisest coursewould be to bury himself in it for ever. By donning it again he would atleast wear mourning for his manhood. 

All at once, however, a fresh thought upset him. Why should he strugglein that fashion? Marie did not love him. There had been nothing betweenthem to indicate that she cared for him otherwise than as a charming, tender-hearted sister. It was Guillaume that she loved, no doubt. Then hepressed his face to his pillow to stifle his sobs, and once more sworethat he would conquer himself and turn a smiling face upon theirhappiness. 

IV. TRIAL AND SENTENCE

HAVING returned to Montmartre on the morrow Pierre suffered so grievouslythat he did not show himself there on the two following days. Hepreferred to remain at home where there was nobody to notice hisfeverishness. On the third morning, however, whilst he was still in bed, strengthless and full of despair, he was both surprised and embarrassedby a visit from Guillaume. 

"I must needs come to you, " said the latter, "since you forsake us. I'vecome to fetch you to attend Salvat's trial, which takes place to-day. Ihad no end of trouble to secure two places. Come, get up, we'll have_dejeuner_ in town, so as to reach the court early. "

Then, while Pierre was hastily dressing, Guillaume, who on his sideseemed thoughtful and worried that morning, began to question him: "Haveyou anything to reproach us with?" he asked. 

"No, nothing. What an idea!" was Pierre's reply. 

"Then why have you been staying away? We had got into the habit of seeingyou every day, but all at once you disappear. "

Pierre vainly sought a falsehood, and all his composure fled. "I had somework to do here, " said he, "and then, too, my gloomy ideas cane back tome, and I didn't want to go and sadden you all. "

At this Guillaume hastily waved his hand. "If you fancy that your absenceenlivens us you're mistaken, " he replied. "Marie, who is usually so welland happy, had such a bad headache on the day before yesterday that shewas obliged to keep her room. And she was ill at ease and nervous andsilent again yesterday. We spent a very unpleasant day. "

As he spoke Guillaume looked Pierre well in the face, his frank loyaleyes clearly revealing the suspicions which had come to him, but which hewould not express in words. 

Pierre, quite dismayed by the news of Marie's indisposition, andfrightened by the idea of betraying his secret, thereupon managed to tella lie. "Yes, she wasn't very well on the day when we went cycling, " hequietly responded. "But I assure you that I have had a lot to do here. When you came in just now I was about to get up and go to your house asusual. "

Guillaume kept his eyes on him for a moment longer. Then, eitherbelieving him or deciding to postpone his search for the truth to somefuture time, he began speaking affectionately on other subjects. With hiskeen brotherly love, however, there was blended such a quiver ofimpending distress, of unconfessed sorrow, which possibly he did not yetrealise, that Pierre in his turn began to question him. "And you, " saidhe, "are you ill? You seem to me to have lost your usual serenity. "

"I? Oh! I'm not ill. Only I can't very well retain my composure; Salvat'saffair distresses me exceedingly, as you must know. They will all end bydriving me mad with the monstrous injustice they show towards thatunhappy fellow. "

Thenceforward Guillaume went on talking of Salvat in a stubbornpassionate way, as if he wished to find an explanation of all his painand unrest in that affair. While he and Pierre were partaking of_dejeuner_ at a little restaurant on the Boulevard du Palais he relatedhow deeply touched he was by the silence which Salvat had preserved withregard both to the nature of the explosive employed in the bomb and thefew days' work which he had once done at his house. It was, thanks tothis silence, that he, Guillaume, had not been worried or even summonedas a witness. Then, in his emotion, he reverted to his invention, thatformidable engine which would ensure omnipotence to France, as the greatinitiatory and liberative power of the world. The results of theresearches which had occupied him for ten years past were now out ofdanger and in all readiness, so that if occasion required they might atonce be delivered to the French government. And, apart from certainscruples which came to him at the thought of the unworthiness of Frenchfinancial and political society; he was simply delaying any further stepsin the matter until his marriage with Marie, in order that he mightassociate her with the gift of universal peace which he imagined he wasabout to bestow upon the world. 

It was through Bertheroy and with great difficulty that Guillaume hadmanaged to secure two seats in court for Salvat's trial. When he andPierre presented themselves for admission at eleven o'clock, they fanciedthat they would never be able to enter. The large gates of the Palace ofJustice were kept closed, several passages were fenced off, and terrorseemed to reign in the deserted building, as if indeed the judges fearedsome sudden invasion of bomb-laden Anarchists. Each door and barrier, too, was guarded by soldiers, with whom the brothers had to parley. Whenthey at last entered the Assize Court they found it already crowded withpeople, who were apparently quite willing to suffocate there for an hourbefore the arrival of the judges, and to remain motionless for some sevenor eight hours afterwards, since it was reported that the authoritieswished to get the case over in a single sitting. In the small spaceallotted to the standing public there was a serried mass of sightseerswho had come up from the streets, a few companions and friends of Salvathaving managed to slip in among them. In the other compartment, wherewitnesses are generally huddled together on oak benches, were thosespectators who had been allowed admittance by favour, and these were sonumerous and so closely packed that here and there they almost sat uponone another's knees. Then, in the well of the court and behind the bench, were rows of chairs set out as for some theatrical performance, andoccupied by privileged members of society, politicians, leadingjournalists, and ladies. And meantime a number of gowned advocates soughtrefuge wherever chance offered, crowding into every vacant spot, everyavailable corner. 

Pierre had never before visited the Assize Court, and its appearancesurprised him. He had expected much pomp and majesty, whereas this templeof human justice seemed to him small and dismal and of doubtfulcleanliness. The bench was so low that he could scarcely see thearmchairs of the presiding judge and his two assessors. Then he wasstruck by the profusion of old oak panels, balustrades and benches, whichhelped to darken the apartment, whose wall hangings were of olive green, while a further display of oak panelling appeared on the ceiling above. From the seven narrow and high-set windows with scanty little whitecurtains there fell a pale light which sharply divided the court. On onehand one saw the dock and the defending counsel's seat steeped in frigidlight, while, on the other, was the little, isolated jury box in theshade. This contrast seemed symbolical of justice, impersonal anduncertain, face to face with the accused, whom the light stripped bare, probed as it were to his very soul. Then, through a kind of grey mistabove the bench, in the depths of the stern and gloomy scene, one couldvaguely distinguish the heavy painting of "Christ Crucified. " A whitebust of the Republic alone showed forth clearly against the dark wallabove the dock where Salvat would presently appear. The only remainingseats that Guillaume and Pierre could find were on the last bench of thewitnesses' compartment, against the partition which separated the latterfrom the space allotted to the standing public. Just as Guillaume wasseating himself, he saw among the latter little Victor Mathis, who stoodthere with his elbows leaning on the partition, while his chin rested onhis crossed hands. The young man's eyes were glowing in his pale facewith thin, compressed lips. Although they recognised one another, Victordid not move, and Guillaume on his side understood that it was not safeto exchange greetings in such a place. From that moment, however, heremained conscious that Victor was there, just above him, never stirring, but waiting silently, fiercely and with flaming eyes, for what was goingto happen. 

Pierre, meantime, had recognised that most amiable deputy Duthil, andlittle Princess Rosemonde, seated just in front of him. Amidst the hubbubof the throng which chatted and laughed to while away the time, theirvoices were the gayest to be heard, and plainly showed how delighted theywere to find themselves at a spectacle to which so many desiredadmittance. Duthil was explaining all the arrangements to Rosemonde, telling her to whom or to what purpose each bench and wooden box wasallotted: there was the jury-box, the prisoner's dock, the seats assignedto counsel for the defence, the public prosecutor, and the clerk of thecourt, without forgetting the table on which material evidence wasdeposited and the bar to which witnesses were summoned. There was nobodyas yet in any of these places; one merely saw an attendant giving a lastlook round, and advocates passing rapidly. One might indeed have thoughtoneself in a theatre, the stage of which remained deserted, while thespectators crowded the auditorium waiting for the play to begin. To fillup the interval the little Princess ended by looking about her forpersons of her acquaintance among the close-pressed crowd of sight-seerswhose eager faces were already reddening. 

"Oh! isn't that Monsieur Fonsegue over there behind the bench, near thatstout lady in yellow?" she exclaimed. "Our friend General de Bozonnet ison the other side, I see. But isn't Baron Duvillard here?"

"Oh! no, " replied Duthil; "he could hardly come; it would look as if hewere here to ask for vengeance. " Then, in his turn questioning Rosemonde, the deputy went on: "Do you happen to have quarrelled with your handsomefriend Hyacinthe? Is that the reason why you've given me the pleasure ofacting as your escort to-day?"

With a slight shrug of her shoulders, the Princess replied that poetswere beginning to bore her. A fresh caprice, indeed, was drawing her intopolitics. For a week past she had found amusement in the surroundings ofthe ministerial crisis, into which the young deputy for Angouleme hadinitiated her. "They are all a little bit crazy at the Duvillards', mydear fellow, " said she. "It's decided, you know, that Gerard is to marryCamille. The Baroness has resigned herself to it, and I've heard from amost reliable quarter that Madame de Quinsac, the young man's mother, hasgiven her consent. "

At this Duthil became quite merry. He also seemed to be well informed onthe subject. "Yes, yes, I know, " said he. "The wedding is to take placeshortly, at the Madeleine. It will be a magnificent affair, no doubt. Andafter all, what would you have? There couldn't be a better finish to theaffair. The Baroness is really kindness personified, and I said all alongthat she would sacrifice herself in order to ensure the happiness of herdaughter and Gerard. In point of fact that marriage will settleeverything, put everything in proper order again. "

"And what does the Baron say?" asked Rosemonde. 

"The Baron? Why, he's delighted, " replied Duthil in a bantering way. "Youread no doubt this morning that Dauvergne is given the department ofPublic Instruction in the new Ministry. This means that Silviane'sengagement at the Comedic is a certainty. Dauvergne was chosen simply onthat account. "

At this moment the conversation was interrupted by little Massot, who, after a dispute with one of the ushers some distance away, had perceiveda vacant place by the side of the Princess. He thereupon made her aquestioning sign, and she beckoned to him to approach. 

"Ah!" said he, as he installed himself beside her, "I have not got herewithout trouble. One's crushed to death on the press bench, and I've anarticle to write. You are the kindest of women, Princess, to make alittle room for your faithful admirer, myself. " Then, after shaking handswith Duthil, he continued without any transition: "And so there's a newministry at last, Monsieur le Depute. You have all taken your time aboutit, but it's really a very fine ministry, which everybody regards withsurprise and admiration. "

The decrees appointing the new ministers had appeared in the "JournalOfficiel" that very morning. After a long deadlock, after Vignon had forthe second time seen his plans fail through ever-recurring obstacles, Monferrand, as a last resource, had suddenly been summoned to the Elysee, and in four-and-twenty hours he had found the colleagues he wanted andsecured the acceptance of his list, in such wise that he now triumphantlyre-ascended to power after falling from it with Barroux in such wretchedfashion. He had also chosen a new post for himself, relinquishing thedepartment of the Interior for that of Finances, with the Presidency ofthe Council, which had long been his secret ambition. His stealthylabour, the masterly fashion in which he had saved himself while otherssank, now appeared in its full beauty. First had come Salvat's arrest, and the use he had made of it, then the wonderful subterranean campaignwhich he had carried on against Vignon, the thousand obstacles which hehad twice set across his path, and finally the sudden _denouement_ withthat list he held in readiness, that formation of a ministry in a singleday as soon as his services were solicited. 

"It is fine work, I must compliment you on it, " added little Massot byway of a jest. 

"But I've had nothing to do with it, " Duthil modestly replied. 

"Nothing to do with it! Oh! yes you have, my dear sir, everybody saysso. "

The deputy felt flattered and smiled, while the other rattled on with hisinsinuations, which were put in such a humorous way that nothing he saidcould be resented. He talked of Monferrand's followers who had sopowerfully helped him on to victory. How heartily had Fonsegue finishedoff his old friend Barroux in the "Globe"! Every morning for a month pastthe paper had published an article belabouring Barroux, annihilatingVignon, and preparing the public for the return of a saviour of societywho was not named. Then, too, Duvillard's millions had waged a secretwarfare, all the Baron's numerous creatures had fought like an army forthe good cause. Duthil himself had played the pipe and beaten the drum, while Chaigneux resigned himself to the baser duties which others wouldnot undertake. And so the triumphant Monferrand would certainly begin bystifling that scandalous and embarrassing affair of the African Railways, and appointing a Committee of Inquiry to bury it. 

By this time Duthil had assumed an important air. "Well, my dear fellow, "said he, "at serious moments when society is in peril, certainstrong-handed men, real men of government, become absolutely necessary. Monferrand had no need of our friendship, his presence in office wasimperiously required by the situation. His hand is the only one that cansave us!"

"I know, " replied Massot scoffingly. "I've even been told that ifeverything was settled straight off so that the decrees might bepublished this morning, it was in order to instil confidence into thejudges and jurymen here, in such wise that knowing Monferrand's fist tobe behind them they would have the courage to pronounce sentence of deaththis evening. "

"Well, public safety requires a sentence of death, and those who have toensure that safety must not be left ignorant of the fact that thegovernment is with them, and will know how to protect them, if need be. "

At this moment a merry laugh from the Princess broke in upon theconversation. "Oh! just look over there!" said she; "isn't that Silvianewho has just sat down beside Monsieur Fonsegue?"

"The Silviane ministry!" muttered Massot in a jesting way. "Well, therewill be no boredom at Dauvergne's if he ingratiates himself withactresses. "

Guillaume and Pierre heard this chatter, however little they cared tolisten to it. Such a deluge of society tittle-tattle and politicalindiscretion brought the former a keen heart-pang. So Salvat wassentenced to death even before he had appeared in court. He was to payfor the transgressions of one and all, his crime was simply a favourableopportunity for the triumph of a band of ambitious people bent on powerand enjoyment! Ah! what terrible social rottenness there was in it all;money corrupting one and another, families sinking to filth, politicsturned into a mere treacherous struggle between individuals, and powerbecoming the prey of the crafty and the impudent! Must not everythingsurely crumble? Was not this solemn assize of human justice a derisiveparody, since all that one found there was an assembly of happy andprivileged people defending the shaky edifice which sheltered them, andmaking use of all the forces they yet retained, to crush a fly--thatunhappy devil of uncertain sanity who had been led to that court by hisviolent and cloudy dream of another, superior and avenging justice?

Such were Guillaume's thoughts, when all at once everybody around himstarted. Noon was now striking, and the jurymen trooped into court instraggling fashion and took their seats in their box. Among them one sawfat fellows clad in their Sunday best and with the faces of simpletons, and thin fellows who had bright eyes and sly expressions. Some of themwere bearded and some were bald. However, they all remained ratherindistinct, as their side of the court was steeped in shade. After themcame the judges, headed by M. De Larombiere, one of the Vice-Presidentsof the Appeal Court, who in assuming the perilous honour of conductingthe trial had sought to increase the majesty of his long, slender, whiteface, which looked the more austere as both his assessors, one dark andthe other fair, had highly coloured countenances. The public prosecutor'sseat was already occupied by one of the most skilful of theadvocates-general, M. Lehmann, a broad-shouldered Alsatian Israelite, with cunning eyes, whose presence showed that the case was deemedexceptionally important. At last, amidst the heavy tread of gendarmes, Salvat was brought in, at once rousing such ardent curiosity that all thespectators rose to look at him. He still wore the cap and loose overcoatprocured for him by Victor Mathis, and everybody was surprised to see hisemaciated, sorrowful, gentle face, crowned by scanty reddish hair, whichwas turning grey. His soft, glowing, dreamy blue eyes glanced around, andhe smiled at someone whom he recognised, probably Victor, but perhapsGuillaume. After that he remained quite motionless. 

The presiding judge waited for silence to fall, and then came theformalities which attend the opening of a court of law, followed by theperusal of the lengthy indictment, which a subordinate official read in ashrill voice. The scene had now changed, and the spectators listenedwearily and somewhat impatiently, as, for weeks past, the newspapers hadrelated all that the indictment set forth. At present not a corner of thecourt remained unoccupied, there was scarcely space enough for thewitnesses to stand in front of the bench. The closely packed throng wasone of divers hues, the light gowns of ladies alternating with the blackgowns of advocates, while the red robes of the judges disappeared fromview, the bench being so low that the presiding judge's long facescarcely rose above the sea of heads. Many of those present becameinterested in the jurors, and strove to scrutinise their shadowycountenances. Others, who did not take their eyes off the prisoner, marvelled at his apparent weariness and indifference, which were so greatthat he scarcely answered the whispered questions of his counsel, a youngadvocate with a wide-awake look, who was nervously awaiting theopportunity to achieve fame. Most curiosity, however, centred in thetable set apart for the material evidence. Here were to be seen all sortsof fragments, some of the woodwork torn away from the carriage-door ofthe Duvillard mansion, some plaster that had fallen from the ceiling, apaving-stone which the violence of the explosion had split in halves, andother blackened remnants. The more moving sights, however, were themilliner's bonnet-box, which had remained uninjured, and a glass jar inwhich something white and vague was preserved in spirits of wine. Thiswas one of the poor errand girl's little hands, which had been severed atthe wrist. The authorities had been unable to place her poor ripped bodyon the table, and so they had brought that hand!

At last Salvat rose, and the presiding judge began to interrogate him. The contrast in the aspect of the court then acquired tragic force: inthe shrouding shade upon one hand were the jurors, their minds alreadymade up beneath the pressure of public terror, while in the full, vividlight on the other side was the prisoner, alone and woeful, charged withall the crimes of his race. Four gendarmes watched over him. He wasaddressed by M. De Larombiere in a tone of contempt and disgust. Thejudge was not deficient in rectitude; he was indeed one of the lastrepresentatives of the old, scrupulous, upright French magistracy; but heunderstood nothing of the new times, and he treated prisoners with theseverity of a Biblical Jehovah. Moreover, the infirmity which was theworry of his life, the childish lisp which, in his opinion, had aloneprevented him from shining as a public prosecutor, made him ferociouslyill-tempered, incapable of any intelligent indulgence. There were smiles, which he divined, as soon as he raised his sharp, shrill little voice, toask his first questions. That droll voice of his took away whatevermajesty might have remained attached to these proceedings, in which aman's life was being fought for in a hall full of inquisitive, stiflingand perspiring folks, who fanned themselves and jested. Salvat answeredthe judge's earlier questions with his wonted weariness and politeness. While the judge did everything to vilify him, harshly reproaching himwith his wretched childhood and youth, magnifying every stain and everytransgression in his career, referring to the promiscuity of his lifebetween Madame Theodore and little Celine as something bestial, he, theprisoner, quietly said yes or no, like a man who has nothing to hide andaccepts the full responsibility of his actions. He had already made acomplete confession of his crime, and he calmly repeated it withoutchanging a word. He explained that if he had deposited his bomb at theentrance of the Duvillard mansion it was to give his deed its truesignificance, that of summoning the wealthy, the money-mongers who had soscandalously enriched themselves by dint of theft and falsehood, torestore that part of the common wealth which they had appropriated, tothe poor, the working classes, their children and their wives, whoperished of starvation. It was only at this moment that he grew excited;all the misery that he had endured or witnessed rose to his clouded, semi-educated brain, in which claims and theories and exasperated ideasof absolute justice and universal happiness had gathered confusedly. Andfrom that moment he appeared such as he really was, a sentimentalist, adreamer transported by suffering, proud and stubborn, and bent onchanging the world in accordance with his sectarian logic. 

"But you fled!" cried the judge in a voice such as would have befitted agrasshopper. "You must not say that you gave your life to your cause andwere ready for martyrdom!"

Salvat's most poignant regret was that he had yielded in the Bois deBoulogne to the dismay and rage which come upon a tracked and hunted manand impel him to do all he can to escape capture. And on being thustaunted by the judge he became quite angry. "I don't fear death, you'llsee that, " he replied. "If all had the same courage as I have, yourrotten society would be swept away to-morrow, and happiness would at lastdawn. "

Then the interrogatory dealt at great length with the composition andmanufacture of the bomb. The judge, rightly enough, pointed out that thiswas the only obscure point of the affair. "And so, " he remarked, "youpersist in saying that dynamite was the explosive you employed? Well, youwill presently hear the experts, who, it is true, differ on certainpoints, but are all of opinion that you employed some other explosive, though they cannot say precisely what it was. Why not speak out on thepoint, as you glory in saying everything?"

Salvat, however, had suddenly calmed down, giving only cautiousmonosyllabic replies. "Well, seek for whatever you like if you don'tbelieve me, " he now answered. "I made my bomb by myself, and undercircumstances which I've already related a score of times. You surelydon't expect me to reveal names and compromise comrades?"

From this declaration he would not depart. It was only towards the end ofthe interrogatory that irresistible emotion overcame him on the judgeagain referring to the unhappy victim of his crime, the little errandgirl, so pretty and fair and gentle, whom ferocious destiny had broughtto the spot to meet such an awful death. "It was one of your own classwhom you struck, " said M. De Larombiere; "your victim was a work girl, apoor child who, with the few pence she earned, helped to support her agedgrandmother. "

Salvat's voice became very husky as he answered: "That's really the onlything I regret.... My bomb certainly wasn't meant for her; and may allthe workers, all the starvelings, remember that she gave her blood as I'mgoing to give mine!"

In this wise the interrogatory ended amidst profound agitation. Pierrehad felt Guillaume shuddering beside him, whilst the prisoner quietly andobstinately refused to say a word respecting the explosive that had beenemployed, preferring as he did to assume full responsibility for the deedwhich was about to cost him his life. Moreover, Guillaume, on turninground, in compliance with an irresistible impulse, had perceived VictorMathis still motionless behind him: his elbows ever leaning on the railof the partition, and his chin still resting on his hands, whilst helistened with silent, concentrated passion. His face had become yet palerthan before, and his eyes glowed as with an avenging fire, whose flameswould never more be extinguished. 

The interrogatory of the prisoner was followed by a brief commotion incourt. 

"That Salvat looks quite nice, he has such soft eyes, " declared thePrincess, whom the proceedings greatly amused. "Oh! don't speak ill ofhim, my dear deputy. You know that I have Anarchist ideas myself. "

"I speak no ill of him, " gaily replied Duthil. "Nor has our friendAmadieu any right to speak ill of him. For you know that this affair hasset Amadieu on a pinnacle. He was never before talked about to such anextent as he is now; and he delights in being talked about, you know! Hehas become quite a social celebrity, the most illustrious of ourinvestigating magistrates, and will soon be able to do or become whateverhe pleases. "

Then Massot, with his sarcastic impudence, summed up the situation. "WhenAnarchism flourishes, everything flourishes, eh? That bomb has helped onthe affairs of a good many fine fellows that I know. Do you think that mygovernor Fonsegue, who's so attentive to Silviane yonder, complains ofit? And doesn't Sagnier, who's spreading himself out behind the presidingjudge, and whose proper place would be between the fourgendarmes--doesn't he owe a debt to Salvat for all the abominableadvertisements he has been able to give his paper by using the wretchedfellow's back as a big drum? And I need not mention the politicians orthe financiers or all those who fish in troubled waters. "

"But I say, " interrupted Duthil, "it seems to me that you yourself madegood use of the affair. Your interview with the little girl Celinebrought you in a pot of money. "

Massot, as it happened, had been struck with the idea of ferreting outMadame Theodore and the child, and of relating his visit to them in the"Globe, " with an abundance of curious and touching particulars. Thearticle had met with prodigious success, Celine's pretty answersrespecting her imprisoned father having such an effect on ladies withsensitive hearts that they had driven to Montmartre in their carriages inorder to see the two poor creatures. Thus alms had come to them from allsides; and strangely enough the very people who demanded the father'shead were the most eager to sympathise with the child. 

"Well, I don't complain of my little profits, " said the journalist inanswer to Duthil. "We all earn what we can, you know. "

At this moment Rosemonde, while glancing round her, recognised Guillaumeand Pierre, but she was so amazed to see the latter in ordinary civiliangarb that she did not dare to speak to him. Leaning forward sheacquainted Duthil and Massot with her surprise, and they both turnedround to look. From motives of discretion, however, they pretended thatthey did not recognise the Froments. 

The heat in court was now becoming quite unbearable, and one lady hadalready fainted. At last the presiding judge again raised his lispingvoice, and managed to restore silence. Salvat, who had remained standing, now held a few sheets of paper, and with some difficulty he made thejudge understand that he desired to complete his interrogatory by readinga declaration, which he had drawn up in prison, and in which he explainedhis reasons for his crime. For a moment M. De Larombiere hesitated, allsurprise and indignation at such a request; but he was aware that hecould not legally impose silence on the prisoner, and so he signified hisconsent with a gesture of mingled irritation and disdain. ThereuponSalvat began his perusal much after the fashion of a schoolboy, hemmingand hawing here and there, occasionally becoming confused, and thenbringing out certain words with wonderful emphasis, which evidentlypleased him. This declaration of his was the usual cry of suffering andrevolt already raised by so many disinherited ones. It referred to allthe frightful want of the lower spheres; the toiler unable to find alivelihood in his toil; a whole class, the most numerous and worthy ofthe classes, dying of starvation; whilst, on the other hand, were theprivileged ones, gorged with wealth, and wallowing in satiety, yetrefusing to part with even the crumbs from their tables, determined asthey were to restore nothing whatever of the wealth which they hadstolen. And so it became necessary to take everything away from them, torouse them from their egotism by terrible warnings, and to proclaim tothem even with the crash of bombs that the day of justice had come. Theunhappy man spoke that word "justice" in a ringing voice which seemed tofill the whole court. But the emotion of those who heard him reached itshighest pitch when, after declaring that he laid down his life for thecause, and expected nothing but a verdict of death from the jury, headded, as if prophetically, that his blood would assuredly give birth toother martyrs. They might send him to the scaffold, said he, but he knewthat his example would bear fruit. After him would come another avenger, and yet another, and others still, until the old and rotten social systemshould have crumbled away so as to make room for the society of justiceand happiness of which he was one of the apostles. 

The presiding judge, in his impatience and agitation, twice endeavouredto interrupt Salvat. But the other read on and on with the imperturbableconscientiousness of one who fears that he may not give proper utteranceto his most important words. He must have been thinking of that perusalever since he had been in prison. It was the decisive act of his suicide, the act by which he proclaimed that he gave his life for the glory ofdying in the cause of mankind. And when he had finished he sat downbetween the gendarmes with glowing eyes and flushed cheeks, as if heinwardly experienced some deep joy. 

To destroy the effect which the declaration had produced--a comminglingof fear and compassion--the judge at once wished to proceed with thehearing of the witnesses. Of these there was an interminable procession;though little interest attached to their evidence, for none of them hadany revelations to make. Most attention perhaps was paid to the measuredstatements of Grandidier, who had been obliged to dismiss Salvat from hisemploy on account of the Anarchist propaganda he had carried on. Then theprisoner's brother-in-law, Toussaint, the mechanician, also seemed a veryworthy fellow if one might judge him by the manner in which he strove toput things favourably for Salvat, without in any way departing from thetruth. After Toussaint's evidence considerable time was taken up by thediscussions between the experts, who disagreed in public as much as theyhad disagreed in their reports. Although they were all of opinion thatdynamite could not have been the explosive employed in the bomb, theyindulged in the most extraordinary and contradictory suppositions as tothis explosive's real nature. Eventually a written opinion given by theillustrious _savant_ Bertheroy was read; and this, after clearly settingforth the known facts, concluded that one found oneself in presence of anew explosive of prodigious power, the formula of which he himself wasunable to specify. 

Then detective Mondesir and commissary Dupot came in turn to relate thevarious phases of the man hunt in the Bois de Boulogne. In Mondesircentred all the gaiety of the proceedings, thanks to the guardroomsallies with which he enlivened his narrative. And in like way thegreatest grief, a perfect shudder of revolt and compassion, was roused bythe errand girl's grandmother, a poor, bent, withered old woman, whom theprosecution had cruelly constrained to attend the court, and who wept andlooked quite dismayed, unable as she was to understand what was wanted ofher. When she had withdrawn, the only remaining witnesses were those forthe defence, a procession of foremen and comrades, who all declared thatthey had known Salvat as a very worthy fellow, an intelligent and zealousworkman, who did not drink, but was extremely fond of his daughter, andincapable of an act of dishonesty or cruelty. 

It was already four o'clock when the evidence of the witnesses came to anend. The atmosphere in court was now quite stifling, feverish fatigueflushed every face, and a kind of ruddy dust obscured the waning lightwhich fell from the windows. Women were fanning themselves and men weremopping their foreheads. However, the passion roused by the scene stillbrought a glow of cruel delight to every eye. And no one stirred. 

"Ah!" sighed Rosemonde all at once, "to think that I hoped to drink a cupof tea at a friend's at five o'clock. I shall die of thirst andstarvation here. "

"We shall certainly be kept till seven, " replied Massot. "I can't offerto go and fetch you a roll, for I shouldn't be readmitted. "

Then Duthil, who had not ceased shrugging his shoulders while Salvat readhis declaration, exclaimed: "What childish things he said, didn't he? Andto think that the fool is going to die for all that! Rich and poor, indeed! Why, there will always be rich and poor. And it's equally certainthat when a man is poor his one great desire is to become rich. If thatfellow is in the dock to-day it's simply because he failed to makemoney. "

While the others were thus conversing, Pierre for his part was feelingextremely anxious about his brother, who sat beside him in silence, paleand utterly upset. Pierre sought his hand and covertly pressed it. Thenin a low voice he inquired: "Do you feel ill? Shall we go away?"

Guillaume answered him by discreetly and affectionately returning hishandshake. He was all right, he would remain till the end, however muchhe might be stirred by exasperation. 

It was now Monsieur Lehmann, the public prosecutor, who rose to addressthe court. He had a large, stern mouth, and was squarely built, with astubborn Jewish face. Nevertheless he was known to be a man of dexterous, supple nature, one who had a foot in every political camp, and invariablycontrived to be on good terms with the powers that were. This explainedhis rapid rise in life, and the constant favour he enjoyed. In the veryfirst words he spoke he alluded to the new ministry gazetted thatmorning, referring pointedly to the strong-handed man who had undertakenthe task of reassuring peaceable citizens and making evil-doers tremble. Then he fell upon the wretched Salvat with extraordinary vehemence, recounting the whole of his life, and exhibiting him as a banditexpressly born for the perpetration of crime, a monster who was bound toend by committing some abominable and cowardly outrage. Next heflagellated Anarchism and its partisans. The Anarchists were a mere herdof vagabonds and thieves, said he. That had been shown by the recentrobbery at the Princess de Harn's house. The ignoble gang that had beenarrested for that affair had given the apostles of the Anarchist doctrineas their references! And that was what the application of Anarchisttheories resulted in--burglary and filth, pending a favourable hour forwholesale pillage and murder! For nearly a couple of hours the publicprosecutor continued in this fashion, throwing truth and logic to thewinds, and exclusively striving to alarm his hearers. He made allpossible use of the terror which had reigned in Paris, and figurativelybrandished the corpse of the poor little victim, the pretty errand girl, as if it were a blood-red flag, before pointing to the pale hand, preserved in spirits of wine, with a gesture of compassionate horrorwhich sent a shudder through his audience. And he ended, as he had begun, by inspiriting the jurors, and telling them that they might fearlessly dotheir duty now that those at the head of the State were firmly resolvedto give no heed to threats. 

Then the young advocate entrusted with the defence in his turn spoke. Andhe really said what there was to say with great clearness and precision. He was of a different school from that of the public prosecutor: hiseloquence was very simple and smooth, his only passion seemed to be zealfor truth. Moreover, it was sufficient for him to show Salvat's career inits proper light, to depict him pursued by social fatalities since hischildhood, and to explain the final action of his career by all that hehad suffered and all that had sprung up in his dreamy brain. Was not hiscrime the crime of one and all? Who was there that did not feel, if onlyin a small degree, responsible for that bomb which a penniless, starvingworkman had deposited on the threshold of a wealthy man's abode--awealthy man whose name bespoke the injustice of the social system: somuch enjoyment on the one hand and so much privation on the other! If oneof us happened to lose his head, and felt impelled to hasten the adventof happiness by violence in such troublous times, when so many burningproblems claimed solution, ought he to be deprived of his life in thename of justice, when none could swear that they had not in some measurecontributed to his madness? Following up this question, Salvat's counseldwelt at length on the period that witnessed the crime, a period of somany scandals and collapses, when the old world was giving birth to a newone amidst the most terrible struggles and pangs. And he concluded bybegging the jury to show themselves humane, to resist all passion andterror, and to pacify the rival classes by a wise verdict, instead ofprolonging social warfare by giving the starvelings yet another martyr toavenge. 

It was past six o'clock when M. De Larombiere began to sum up in apartial and flowery fashion, in which one detected how grieved and angryhe was at having such a shrill little voice. Then the judges and thejurors withdrew, and the prisoner was led away, leaving the spectatorswaiting amidst an uproar of feverish impatience. Some more ladies hadfainted, and it had even been necessary to carry out a gentleman who hadbeen overcome by the cruel heat. However, the others stubbornly remainedthere, not one of them quitting his place. 

"Ah! it won't take long now, " said Massot. "The jurors brought theirverdict all ready in their pockets. I was looking at them while thatlittle advocate was telling them such sensible things. They all looked asif they were comfortably asleep in the gloom. "

Then Duthil turned to the Princess and asked her, "Are you still hungry?"

"Oh! I'm starving, " she replied. "I shall never be able to wait till Iget home. You will have to take me to eat a biscuit somewhere.... Allthe same, however, it's very exciting to see a man's life staked on a yesor a no. "

Meantime Pierre, finding Guillaume still more feverish and grieved, hadonce again taken hold of his hand. Neither of them spoke, so great wasthe distress that they experienced for many reasons which they themselvescould not have precisely defined. It seemed to them, however, that allhuman misery--inclusive of their own, the affections, the hopes, thegriefs which brought them suffering--was sobbing and quivering in thatbuzzing hall. Twilight had gradually fallen there, but as the end was nowso near it had doubtless been thought unnecessary to light thechandeliers. And thus large vague shadows, dimming and shrouding theserried throng, now hovered about in the last gleams of the day. Theladies in light gowns yonder, behind the bench, looked like pale phantomswith all-devouring eyes, whilst the numerous groups of black-robedadvocates formed large sombre patches which gradually spread everywhere. The greyish painting of the Christ had already vanished, and on the wallsone only saw the glaring white bust of the Republic, which resembled somefrigid death's head starting forth from the darkness. 

"Ah!" Massot once more exclaimed, "I knew that it wouldn't take long!"

Indeed, the jurors were returning after less than a quarter of an hour'sabsence. Then the judges likewise came back and took their seats. Increased emotion stirred the throng, a great gust seemed to sweepthrough the court, a gust of anxiety, which made every head sway. Somepeople had risen to their feet, and others gave vent to involuntaryexclamations. The foreman of the jury, a gentleman with a broad red face, had to wait a moment before speaking. At last in a sharp but somewhatsputtering voice he declared: "On my honour and my conscience, before Godand before man, the verdict of the jury is: on the question of Murder, yes, by a majority of votes. "*

 * English readers may be reminded that in France the verdict of a majority of the jury suffices for conviction or acquittal. If the jury is evenly divided the prisoner is acquitted. --Trans. 

The night had almost completely fallen when Salvat was once more broughtin. In front of the jurors, who faded away in the gloom, he stood forth, erect, with a last ray from the windows lighting up his face. The judgesthemselves almost disappeared from view, their red robes seemed to haveturned black. And how phantom-like looked the prisoner's emaciated faceas he stood there listening, with dreamy eyes, while the clerk of thecourt read the verdict to him. 

When silence fell and no mention was made of extenuating circumstances, he understood everything. His face, which had retained a childishexpression, suddenly brightened. "That means death. Thank you, gentlemen, " he said. 

Then he turned towards the public, and amidst the growing darknesssearched for the friendly faces which he knew were there; and this timeGuillaume became fully conscious that he had recognised him, and wasagain expressing affectionate and grateful thanks for the crust he hadreceived from him on a day of want. He must have also bidden farewell toVictor Mathis, for as Guillaume glanced at the young man, who had notmoved, he saw that his eyes were staring wildly, and that a terribleexpression rested on his lips. 

As for the rest of the proceedings, the last questions addressed to thejury and the counsel, the deliberations of the judges and the delivery ofsentence--these were all lost amidst the buzzing and surging of thecrowd. A little compassion was unconsciously manifested; and some stuporwas mingled with the satisfaction that greeted the sentence of death. 

No sooner had Salvat been condemned, however, than he drew himself up tohis full height, and as the guards led him away he shouted in astentorian voice: "Long live Anarchy!"

Nobody seemed angered by the cry. The crowd went off quietly, as ifweariness had lulled all its passions. The proceedings had really lastedtoo long and fatigued one too much. It was quite pleasant to inhale thefresh air on emerging from such a nightmare. 

In the large waiting hall, Pierre and Guillaume passed Duthil and thePrincess, whom General de Bozonnet had stopped while chatting withFonsegue. All four of them were talking in very loud voices, complainingof the heat and their hunger, and agreeing that the affair had not been aparticularly interesting one. Yet, all was well that ended well. AsFonsegue remarked, the condemnation of Salvat to death was a politicaland social necessity. 

When Pierre and Guillaume reached the Pont Neuf, the latter for a momentrested his elbows on the parapet of the bridge. His brother, standingbeside him, also gazed at the grey waters of the Seine, which here andthere were fired by the reflections of the gas lamps. A fresh breezeascended from the river; it was the delightful hour when night stealsgently over resting Paris. Then, as the brothers stood there breathingthat atmosphere which usually brings relief and comfort, Pierre on hisside again became conscious of his heart-wound, and remembered hispromise to return to Montmartre, a promise that he must keep in spite ofthe torture there awaiting him; whilst Guillaume on the other handexperienced a revival of the suspicion and disquietude that had come tohim on seeing Marie so feverish, changed as it were by some new feeling, of which she herself was ignorant. Were further sufferings, struggles, and obstacles to happiness yet in store for those brothers who loved oneanother so dearly? At all events their hearts bled once more with all thesorrow into which they had been cast by the scene they had justwitnessed: that assize of justice at which a wretched man had beencondemned to pay with his head for the crimes of one and all. 

Then, as they turned along the quay, Guillaume recognised young Victorgoing off alone in the gloom, just in front of them. The chemist stoppedhim and spoke to him of his mother. But the young man did not hear; histhin lips parted, and in a voice as trenchant as a knife-thrust heexclaimed: "Ah! so it's blood they want. Well, they may cut off his head, but he will be avenged!"

V. SACRIFICE

THE days which followed Salvat's trial seemed gloomy ones up yonder inGuillaume's workroom, which was usually so bright and gay. Sadness andsilence filled the place. The three young men were no longer there. Thomas betook himself to the Grandidier works early every morning inorder to perfect his little motor; Francois was so busy preparing for hisexamination that he scarcely left the Ecole Normale; while Antoine wasdoing some work at Jahan's, where he delighted to linger and watch hislittle friend Lise awakening to life. Thus Guillaume's sole companion wasMere-Grand, who sat near the window busy with her needlework; for Mariewas ever going about the house, and only stayed in the workroom for anylength of time when Pierre happened to be there. 

Guillaume's gloom was generally attributed to the feelings of anger andrevolt into which the condemnation of Salvat had thrown him. He had flowninto a passion on his return from the Palace of Justice, declaring thatthe execution of the unhappy man would simply be social murder, deliberate provocation of class warfare. And the others had bowed onhearing that pain-fraught violent cry, without attempting to discuss thepoint. Guillaume's sons respectfully left him to the thoughts which kepthim silent for hours, with his face pale and a dreamy expression in hiseyes. His chemical furnace remained unlighted, and his only occupationfrom morn till night was to examine the plans and documents connectedwith his invention, that new explosive and that terrible engine of war, which he had so long dreamt of presenting to France in order that shemight impose the reign of truth and justice upon all the nations. However, during the long hours which he spent before the papers scatteredover his table, often without seeing them, for his eyes wandered faraway, a multitude of vague thoughts came to him--doubts respecting thewisdom of his project, and fears lest his desire to pacify the nationsshould simply throw them into an endless war of extermination. Althoughhe really believed that great city of Paris to be the world's brain, entrusted with the task of preparing the future, he could not disguisefrom himself that with all its folly and shame and injustice it stillpresented a shocking spectacle. Was it really ripe enough for the work ofhuman salvation which he thought of entrusting to it? Then, on trying tore-peruse his notes and verify his formulas, he only recovered his formerenergetic determination on thinking of his marriage, whereupon the ideacame to him that it was now too late for him to upset his life bychanging such long-settled plans. 

His marriage! Was it not the thought of this which haunted Guillaume anddisturbed him far more powerfully than his scientific work or hishumanitarian passion? Beneath all the worries that he acknowledged, therewas another which he did not confess even to himself, and which filledhim with anguish. He repeated day by day that he would reveal hisinvention to the Minister of War as soon as he should be married toMarie, whom he wished to associate with his glory. Married to Marie! Eachtime he thought of it, burning fever and secret disquietude came overhim. If he now remained so silent and had lost his quiet cheerfulness, itwas because he had felt new life, as it were, emanating from her. She wascertainly no longer the same woman as formerly; she was becoming more andmore changed and distant. He had watched her and Pierre when the latterhappened to be there, which was now but seldom. He, too, appearedembarrassed, and different from what he had been. On the days when hecame, however, Marie seemed transformed; it was as if new life animatedthe house. Certainly the intercourse between her and Pierre was quiteinnocent, sisterly on the one hand, brotherly on the other. They simplyseemed to be a pair of good friends. And yet a radiance, a vibration, emanated from them, something more subtle even than a sun-ray or aperfume. After the lapse of a few days Guillaume found himself unable todoubt the truth any longer. And his heart bled, he was utterly upset byit. He had not found them in fault in any way, but he was convinced thatthese two children, as he so paternally called them, really adored oneanother. 

One lovely morning when he happened to be alone with Mere-Grand, face toface with sunlit Paris, he fell into a yet more dolorous reverie thanusual. He seemed to be gazing fixedly at the old lady, as, seated in herusual place, she continued sewing with an air of queenly serenity. Perhaps, however, he did not see her. For her part she occasionallyraised her eyes and glanced at him, as if expecting a confession whichdid not come. At last, finding such silence unbearable, she made up hermind to address him: "What has been the matter with you, Guillaume, forsome time past? Why don't you tell me what you have to tell me?"

He descended from the clouds, as it were, and answered in astonishment:"What I have to tell you?"

"Yes, I know it as well as you do, and I thought you would speak to me ofit, since it pleases you to do nothing here without consulting me. "

At this he turned very pale and shuddered. So he had not been mistaken inthe matter, even Mere-Grand knew all about it. To talk of it, however, was to give shape to his suspicions, to transform what, hitherto, mightmerely have been a fancy on his part into something real and definite. 

"It was inevitable, my dear son, " said Mere-Grand. "I foresaw it from theoutset. And if I did not warn you of it, it was because I believed insome deep design on your part. Since I have seen you suffering, however, I have realised that I was mistaken. " Then, as he still looked at herquivering and distracted, she continued: "Yes, I fancied that you mighthave wished it, that in bringing your brother here you wished to know ifMarie loved you otherwise than as a father. There was good reason fortesting her--for instance, the great difference between your ages, foryour life is drawing to a close, whilst hers is only beginning. And Ineed not mention the question of your work, the mission which I havealways dreamt of for you. "

Thereupon, with his hands raised in prayerful fashion, Guillaume drewnear to the old lady and exclaimed: "Oh! speak out clearly, tell me whatyou think. I don't understand, my poor heart is so lacerated; and yet Ishould so much like to know everything, so as to be able to act and takea decision. To think that you whom I love, you whom I venerate as much asif you were my real mother, you whose profound good sense I know so wellthat I have always followed your advice--to think that you should haveforeseen this frightful thing and have allowed it to happen at the riskof its killing me!... Why have you done so, tell me, why?"

Mere-Grand was not fond of talking. Absolute mistress of the house as shewas, managing everything, accountable to nobody for her actions, shenever gave expression to all that she thought or all that she desired. Indeed, there was no occasion for it, as Guillaume, like the children, relied upon her completely, with full confidence in her wisdom. And hersomewhat enigmatical ways even helped to raise her in their estimation. 

"What is the use of words, when things themselves speak?" she now gentlyanswered, while still plying her needle. "It is quite true that Iapproved of the plan of a marriage between you and Marie, for I saw thatit was necessary that she should be married if she was to stay here. Andthen, too, there were many other reasons which I needn't speak of. However, Pierre's arrival here has changed everything, and placed thingsin their natural order. Is not that preferable?"

He still lacked the courage to understand her. "Preferable! When I'm inagony? When my life is wrecked?"

Thereupon she rose and came to him, tall and rigid in her thin blackgown, and with an expression of austerity and energy on her pale face. "My son, " she said, "you know that I love you, and that I wish you to bevery noble and lofty. Only the other morning, you had an attack offright, the house narrowly escaped being blown up. Then, for some daysnow you have been sitting over those documents and plans in anabsent-minded, distracted state, like a man who feels weak, and doubts, and no longer knows his way. Believe me, you are following a dangerouspath; it is better that Pierre should marry Marie, both for their sakesand for your own. "

"For my sake? No, no! What will become of me!"

"You will calm yourself and reflect, my son. You have such serious dutiesbefore you. You are on the eve of making your invention known. It seemsto me that something has bedimmed your sight, and that you will perhapsact wrongly in this respect, through failing to take due account of theproblem before you. Perhaps there is something better to be done.... At all events, suffer if it be necessary, but remain faithful to yourideal. "

Then, quitting him with a maternal smile, she sought to soften hersomewhat stern words by adding: "You have compelled me to speakunnecessarily, for I am quite at ease; with your superior mind, whateverbe in question, you can but do the one right thing that none other woulddo. "

On finding himself alone Guillaume fell into feverish uncertainty. Whatwas the meaning of Mere-Grand's enigmatical words? He knew that she wason the side of whatever might be good, natural, and necessary. But sheseemed to be urging him to some lofty heroism; and indeed what she hadsaid threw a ray of light upon the unrest which had come to him inconnection with his old plan of going to confide his secret to someMinister of War or other, whatever one might happen to be in office atthe time. Growing hesitation and repugnance stirred him as he fancied hecould again hear her saying that perhaps there might be some bettercourse, that would require search and reflection. But all at once avision of Marie rose before him, and his heart was rent by the thoughtthat he was asked to renounce her. To lose her, to give her to another!No, no, that was beyond his strength. He would never have the frightfulcourage that was needed to pass by the last promised raptures of lovewith disdain!

For a couple of days Guillaume struggled on. He seemed to be again livingthe six years which the young woman had already spent beside him in thathappy little house. She had been at first like an adopted daughter there;and later on, when the idea of their marriage had sprung up, he hadviewed it with quiet delight in the hope that it would ensure thehappiness of all around him. If he had previously abstained from marryingagain it was from the fear of placing a strange mother over his children;and if he yielded to the charm of loving yet once more, and no longerleading a solitary life, it was because he had found at his very hearthone of such sensible views, who, in the flower of youth, was willing tobecome his wife despite the difference in their ages. Then months hadgone by, and serious occurrences had compelled them to postpone thewedding, though without undue suffering on his part. Indeed, thecertainty that she was waiting for him had sufficed him, for his life ofhard work had rendered him patient. Now, however, all at once, at thethreat of losing her, his hitherto tranquil heart ached and bled. Hewould never have thought the tie so close a one. But he was now almostfifty, and it was as if love and woman were being wrenched away from him, the last woman that he could love and desire, one too who was the moredesirable, as she was the incarnation of youth from which he must ever besevered, should he indeed lose her. Passionate desire, mingled with rage, flared up within him at the thought that someone should have come to takeher from him. 

One night, alone in his room, he suffered perfect martyrdom. In orderthat he might not rouse the house he buried his face in his pillow so asto stifle his sobs. After all, it was a simple matter; Marie had givenhim her promise, and he would compel her to keep it. She would be his, and his alone, and none would be able to steal her from him. Then, however, there rose before him a vision of his brother, thelong-forgotten one, whom, from feelings of affection, he had compelled tojoin his family. But his sufferings were now so acute that he would havedriven that brother away had he been before him. He was enraged, maddened, by the thought of him. His brother--his little brother! So alltheir love was over; hatred and violence were about to poison theirlives. For hours Guillaume continued complaining deliriously, and seekinghow he might so rid himself of Pierre that what had happened should beblotted out. Now and again, when he recovered self-control, he marvelledat the tempest within him; for was he not a _savant_ guided by loftyreason, a toiler to whom long experience had brought serenity? But thetruth was that this tempest had not sprung up in his mind, it was ragingin the child-like soul that he had retained, the nook of affection anddreaminess which remained within him side by side with his principles ofpitiless logic and his belief in proven phenomena only. His very geniuscame from the duality of his nature: behind the chemist was a socialdreamer, hungering for justice and capable of the greatest love. And nowpassion was transporting him, and he was weeping for the loss of Marie ashe would have wept over the downfall of that dream of his, thedestruction of war _by_ war, that scheme for the salvation of mankind atwhich he had been working for ten years past. 

At last, amidst his weariness, a sudden resolution calmed him. He beganto feel ashamed of despairing in this wise when he had no certain groundsto go upon. He must know everything, he would question the young woman;she was loyal enough to answer him frankly. Was not this a solutionworthy of them both? An explanation in all sincerity, after which theywould be able to take a decision. Then he fell asleep; and, tired thoughhe felt when he rose in the morning, he was calmer. It was as if somesecret work had gone on in his heart during his few hours of repose afterthat terrible storm. 

As it happened Marie was very gay that morning. On the previous day shehad gone with Pierre and Antoine on a cycling excursion over frightfulroads in the direction of Montmorency, whence they had returned in astate of mingled anger and delight. When Guillaume stopped her in thelittle garden, he found her humming a song while returning bare-armedfrom the scullery, where some washing was going on. 

"Do you want to speak to me?" she asked. 

"Yes, my dear child, it's necessary for us to talk of some seriousmatters. "

She at once understood that their marriage was in question, and becamegrave. She had formerly consented to that marriage because she regardedit as the only sensible course she could take, and this with fullknowledge of the duties which she would assume. No doubt her husbandwould be some twenty years older than herself, but this circumstance wasone of somewhat frequent occurrence, and as a rule such marriages turnedout well, rather than otherwise. Moreover, she was in love with nobody, and was free to consent. And she had consented with an impulse ofgratitude and affection which seemed so sweet that she thought it thesweetness of love itself. Everybody around her, too, appeared so pleasedat the prospect of this marriage, which would draw the family yet moreclosely together. And, on her side, she had been as it were intoxicatedby the idea of making others happy. 

"What is the matter?" she now asked Guillaume in a somewhat anxiousvoice. "No bad news, I hope?"

"No, no, " he answered. "I've simply something to say to you. "

Then he led her under the plum-trees to the only green nook left in thegarden. An old worm-eaten bench still stood there against thelilac-bushes. And in front of them Paris spread out its sea of roofs, looking light and fresh in the morning sunlight. 

They both sat down. But at the moment of speaking and questioning Marie, Guillaume experienced sudden embarrassment, while his heart beatviolently at seeing her beside him, so young and adorable with her barearms. 

"Our wedding-day is drawing near, " he ended by saying. And then as sheturned somewhat pale, perhaps unconsciously, he himself suddenly feltcold. Had not her lips twitched as if with pain? Had not a shadow passedover her fresh, clear eyes?

"Oh! we still have some time before us, " she replied. 

Then, slowly and very affectionately, he resumed: "No doubt; still it isnecessary to attend to the formalities. And it is as well, perhaps, thatI should speak of those worries to-day, so that I may not have to botheryou about them again. "

Then he gently went on telling her all that would have to be done, keeping his eyes on her whilst he spoke, watching for such signs ofemotion as the thought of her promise's early fulfilment might bring toher face. She sat there in silence, with her hands on her lap, and herfeatures quite still, thus giving no certain sign of any regret ortrouble. Still she seemed rather dejected, compliant, as it were, but inno wise joyous. 

"You say nothing, my dear Marie, " Guillaume at last exclaimed. "Doesanything of all this displease you?"

"Displease me? Oh, no!"

"You must speak out frankly, if it does, you know. We will wait a littlelonger if you have any personal reasons for wishing to postpone the dateagain. "

"But I've no reasons, my friend. What reasons could I have? I leave youquite free to settle everything as you yourself may desire. "

Silence fell. While answering, she had looked him frankly in the face;but a little quiver stirred her lips, and gloom, for which she could notaccount, seemed to rise and darken her face, usually as bright and gay asspring water. In former times would she not have laughed and sung at themere announcement of that coming wedding?

Then Guillaume, with an effort which made his voice tremble, dared tospeak out: "You must forgive me for asking you a question, my dear Marie. There is still time for you to cancel your promise. Are you quite certainthat you love me?"

At this she looked at him in genuine stupefaction, utterly failing tounderstand what he could be aiming at. And--as she seemed to be deferringher reply, he added: "Consult your heart. Is it really your old friend oris it another that you love?"

"I? I, Guillaume? Why do you say that to me? What can I have done to giveyou occasion to say such a thing!"

All her frank nature revolted as she spoke, and her beautiful eyes, glowing with sincerity, gazed fixedly on his. 

"I love Pierre! I do, I?... Well, yes, I love him, as I love you all;I love him because he has become one of us, because he shares our lifeand our joys! I'm happy when he's here, certainly; and I should like himto be always here. I'm always pleased to see him and hear him and go outwith him. I was very much grieved recently when he seemed to be relapsinginto his gloomy ideas. But all that is natural, is it not? And I thinkthat I have only done what you desired I should do, and I cannotunderstand how my affection for Pierre can in any way exercise aninfluence respecting our marriage. "

These words, in her estimation, ought to have convinced Guillaume thatshe was not in love with his brother; but in lieu thereof they broughthim painful enlightenment by the very ardour with which she denied thelove imputed to her. 

"But you unfortunate girl!" he cried. "You are betraying yourself withoutknowing it.... It is quite certain you do not love me, you love mybrother!"

He had caught hold of her wrists and was pressing them with despairingaffection as if to compel her to read her heart. And she continuedstruggling. A most loving and tragic contest went on between them, heseeking to convince her by the evidence of facts, and she resisting him, stubbornly refusing to open her eyes. In vain did he recount what hadhappened since the first day, explaining the feelings which had followedone upon another in her heart and mind: first covert hostility, nextcuriosity regarding that extraordinary young priest, and then sympathyand affection when she had found him so wretched and had gradually curedhim of his sufferings. They were both young and mother Nature had donethe rest. However, at each fresh proof and certainty which he put beforeher, Marie only experienced growing emotion, trembling at last from headto foot, but still unwilling to question herself. 

"No, no, " said she, "I do not love him. If I loved him I should know itand would acknowledge it to you; for you are well aware that I cannottell an untruth. "

Guillaume, however, had the cruelty to insist on the point, like someheroic surgeon cutting into his own flesh even more than into that ofothers, in order that the truth might appear and everyone be saved. "Marie, " said he, "it is not I whom you love. All that you feel for me isrespect and gratitude and daughterly affection. Remember what yourfeelings were at the time when our marriage was decided upon. You werethen in love with nobody, and you accepted the offer like a sensiblegirl, feeling certain that I should render you happy, and that the unionwas a right and satisfactory one.... But since then my brother hascome here; love has sprung up in your heart in quite a natural way; andit is Pierre, Pierre alone, whom you love as a lover and a husband shouldbe loved. "

Exhausted though she was, utterly distracted, too, by the light which, despite herself, was dawning within her, Marie still stubbornly anddesperately protested. 

"But why do you struggle like this against the truth, my child?" saidGuillaume; "I do not reproach you. It was I who chose that this shouldhappen, like the old madman I am. What was bound to come has come, anddoubtless it is for the best. I only wanted to learn the truth from youin order that I might take a decision and act uprightly. "

These words vanquished her, and her tears gushed forth. It seemed asthough something had been rent asunder within her; and she felt quiteovercome, as if by the weight of a new truth of which she had hithertobeen ignorant. "Ah! it was cruel of you, " she said, "to do me suchviolence so as to make me read my heart. I swear to you again that I didnot know I loved Pierre in the way you say. But you have opened my heart, and roused what was quietly slumbering in it.... And it is true, I dolove Pierre, I love him now as you have said. And so here we are, allthree of us supremely wretched through your doing!"

She sobbed, and with a sudden feeling of modesty freed her wrists fromhis grasp. He noticed, however, that no blush rose to her face. Truth totell, her virginal loyalty was not in question; she had no cause toreproach herself with any betrayal; it was he alone, perforce, who hadawakened her to love. For a moment they looked at one another throughtheir tears: she so strong and healthy, her bosom heaving at eachheart-beat, and her white arms--arms that could both charm andsustain--bare almost to her shoulders; and he still vigorous, with histhick fleece of white hair and his black moustaches, which gave hiscountenance such an expression of energetic youth. But it was all over, the irreparable had swept by, and utterly changed their lives. 

"Marie, " he nobly said, "you do not love me, I give you back yourpromise. "

But with equal nobility she refused to take it back. "Never will I doso, " she replied. "I gave it to you frankly, freely and joyfully, and myaffection and admiration for you have never changed. "

Nevertheless, with more firmness in his hitherto broken voice, Guillaumeretorted: "You love Pierre, and it is Pierre whom you ought to marry. "

"No, " she again insisted, "I belong to you. A tie which years havetightened cannot be undone in an hour. Once again, if I love Pierre Iswear to you that I was ignorant of it this morning. And let us leave thematter as it is; do not torture me any more, it would be too cruel ofyou. "

Then, quivering like a woman who suddenly perceives that she is bare, ina stranger's presence, she hastily pulled down her sleeves, and even drewthem over her hands as if to leave naught of her person visible. Andafterwards she rose and walked away without adding a single word. 

Guillaume remained alone on the bench in that leafy corner, in front ofParis, to which the light morning sunshine lent the aspect of somequivering, soaring city of dreamland. A great weight oppressed him, andit seemed to him as if he would never be able to rise from the seat. Thatwhich brought him most suffering was Marie's assurance that she had tillthat morning been ignorant of the fact that she was in love with Pierre. She had been ignorant of it, and it was he, Guillaume, who had brought itto her knowledge, compelled her to confess it! He had now firmly plantedit in her heart, and perhaps increased it by revealing it to her. Ah! howcruel the thought--to be the artisan of one's own torment! Of one thinghe was now quite certain: there would be no more love in his life. At theidea of this, his poor, loving heart sank and bled. And yet amidst thedisaster, amidst his grief at realising that he was an old man, and thatrenunciation was imperative, he experienced a bitter joy at havingbrought the truth to light. This was very harsh consolation, fit only forone of heroic soul, yet he found lofty satisfaction in it, and from thatmoment the thought of sacrifice imposed itself upon him withextraordinary force. He must marry his children; there lay the path ofduty, the only wise and just course, the only certain means of ensuringthe happiness of the household. And when his revolting heart yet leaptand shrieked with anguish, he carried his vigorous hands to his chest inorder to still it. 

On the morrow came the supreme explanation between Guillaume and Pierre, not in the little garden, however, but in the spacious workroom. And hereagain one beheld the vast panorama of Paris, a nation as it were at work, a huge vat in which the wine of the future was fermenting. Guillaume hadarranged things so that he might be alone with his brother; and no soonerhad the latter entered than he attacked him, going straight to the pointwithout any of the precautions which he had previously taken with Marie. 

"Haven't you something to say to me, Pierre?" he inquired. "Why won't youconfide in me?"

The other immediately understood him, and began to tremble, unable tofind a word, but confessing everything by the distracted, entreatingexpression of his face. 

"You love Marie, " continued Guillaume, "why did you not loyally come andtell me of your love?"

At this Pierre recovered self-possession and defended himself vehemently:"I love Marie, it's true, and I felt that I could not conceal it, thatyou yourself would notice it at last. But there was no occasion for me totell you of it, for I was sure of myself, and would have fled rather thanhave allowed a single word to cross my lips. I suffered in silence andalone, and you cannot know how great my torture was! It is even cruel onyour part to speak to me of it; for now I am absolutely compelled toleave you.... I have already, on several occasions, thought of doingso. If I have come back here, it was doubtless through weakness, but alsoon account of my affection for you all. And what mattered my presencehere? Marie ran no risk. She does not love me. "

"She does love you!" Guillaume answered. "I questioned her yesterday, andshe had to confess that she loved you. "

At this Pierre, utterly distracted, caught Guillaume by the shoulders andgazed into his eyes. "Oh! brother, brother! what is this you say? Why saya thing which would mean terrible misfortune for us all? Even if it weretrue, my grief would far exceed my joy, for I will not have you suffer. Marie belongs to you. To me she is as sacred as a sister. And if there beonly my madness to part you, it will pass by, I shall know how to conquerit. "

"Marie loves you, " repeated Guillaume in his gentle, obstinate way. "Idon't reproach you with anything. I well know that you have struggled, and have never betrayed yourself to her either by word or glance. Yesterday she herself was still ignorant that she loved you, and I had toopen her eyes.... What would you have? I simply state a fact: sheloves you. "

This time Pierre, still quivering, made a gesture of mingled rapture andterror, as if some divine and long-desired blessing were falling upon himfrom heaven and crushing him beneath its weight. 

"Well, then, " he said, after a brief pause, "it is all over.... Let uskiss one another for the last time, and then I'll go. "

"Go? Why? You must stay with us. Nothing could be more simple: you loveMarie and she loves you. I give her to you. "

A loud cry came from Pierre, who wildly raised his hands again with agesture of fright and rapture. "You give me Marie?" he replied. "You, whoadore her, who have been waiting for her for months? No, no, it wouldovercome me, it would terrify me, as if you gave me your very heart aftertearing it from your breast. No, no! I will not accept your sacrifice!"

"But as it is only gratitude and affection that Marie feels for me, " saidGuillaume, "as it is you whom she really loves, am I to take a meanadvantage of the engagements which she entered into unconsciously, andforce her to a marriage when I know that she would never be wholly mine?Besides, I have made a mistake, it isn't I who give her to you, she hasalready given herself, and I do not consider that I have any right toprevent her from doing so. "

"No, no! I will never accept, I will never bring such grief upon you... Kiss me, brother, and let me go. "

Thereupon Guillaume caught hold of Pierre and compelled him to sit downby his side on an old sofa near the window. And he began to scold himalmost angrily while still retaining a smile, in which suffering andkindliness were blended. "Come, " said he, "we are surely not going tofight over it. You won't force me to tie you up so as to keep you here? Iknow what I'm about. I thought it all over before I spoke to you. Nodoubt, I can't tell you that it gladdens me. I thought at first that Iwas going to die; I should have liked to hide myself in the very depthsof the earth. And then, well, it was necessary to be reasonable, and Iunderstood that things had arranged themselves for the best, in theirnatural order. "

Pierre, unable to resist any further, had begun to weep with both handsraised to his face. 

"Don't grieve, brother, either for yourself or for me, " said Guillaume. "Do you remember the happy days we lately spent together at Neuilly afterwe had found one another again? All our old affection revived within us, and we remained for hours, hand in hand, recalling the past and lovingone another. And what a terrible confession you made to me one night, theconfession of your loss of faith, your torture, the void in which youwere rolling! When I heard of it my one great wish was to cure you. Iadvised you to work, love, and believe in life, convinced as I was thatlife alone could restore you to peace and health.... And for thatreason I afterwards brought you here. You fought against it, and it was Iwho forced you to come. I was so happy when I found that you again tookan interest in life, and had once more become a man and a worker! I wouldhave given some of my blood if necessary to complete your cure.... Well, it's done now, I have given you all I had, since Marie herself hasbecome necessary to you, and she alone can save you. "

Then as Pierre again attempted to protest, he resumed: "Don't deny it. Itis so true indeed, that if she does not complete the work I have begun, all my efforts will have been vain, you will fall back into your miseryand negation, into all the torments of a spoilt life. She is necessary toyou, I say. And do you think that I no longer know how to love you? Wouldyou have me refuse you the very breath of life that will truly make you aman, after all my fervent wishes for your return to life? I have enoughaffection for you both to consent to your loving one another.... Besides, I repeat it, nature knows what she does. Instinct is a sureguide, it always tends to what is useful and trite. I should have been asorry husband, and it is best that I should keep to my work as an old_savant_; whereas you are young and represent the future, all fruitfuland happy life. "

Pierre shuddered as he heard this, for his old fears returned to him. Hadnot the priesthood for ever cut him off from life, had not his long yearsof chaste celibacy robbed him of his manhood? "Fruitful and happy life!"he muttered, "ah! if you only knew how distressed I feel at the idea thatI do not perhaps deserve the gift you so lovingly offer me! You are worthmore than I am; you would have given her a larger heart, a firmer brain, and perhaps, too, you are really a younger man than myself.... Thereis still time, brother, keep her, if with you she is likely to be happierand more truly and completely loved. For my part I am full of doubts. Herhappiness is the only thing of consequence. Let her belong to the one whowill love her best!"

Indescribable emotion had now come over both men. As Guillaume heard hisbrother's broken words, the cry of a love that trembled at the thought ofpossible weakness, he did for a moment waver. With a dreadful heart-panghe stammered despairingly: "Ah! Marie, whom I love so much! Marie, whom Iwould have rendered so happy!"

At this Pierre could not restrain himself; he rose and cried: "Ah! yousee that you love her still and cannot renounce her.... So let me go!let me go!"

But Guillaume had already caught him around the body, clasping him withan intensity of brotherly love which was increased by the renunciation hewas resolved upon: "Stay!" said he. "It wasn't I that spoke, it was theother man that was in me, he who is about to die, who is already dead! Bythe memory of our mother and our father I swear to you that the sacrificeis consummated, and that if you two refuse to accept happiness from meyou will but make me suffer. "

For a moment the weeping men remained in one another's arms. They hadoften embraced before, but never had their hearts met and mingled as theydid now. It was a delightful moment, which seemed an eternity. All thegrief and misery of the world had disappeared from before them; thereremained naught save their glowing love, whence sprang an eternity oflove even as light comes from the sun. And that moment was compensationfor all their past and future tears, whilst yonder, on the horizon beforethem, Paris still spread and rumbled, ever preparing the unknown future. 

Just then Marie herself came in. And the rest proved very simple. Guillaume freed himself from his brother's clasp, led him forward andcompelled him and Marie to take each other by the hand. At first she madeyet another gesture of refusal in her stubborn resolve that she would nottake her promise back. But what could she say face to face with those twotearful men, whom she had found in one another's arms, mingling togetherin such close brotherliness? Did not those tears and that embrace sweepaway all ordinary reasons, all such arguments as she held in reserve?Even the embarrassment of the situation disappeared, it seemed as if shehad already had a long explanation with Pierre, and that he and she wereof one mind to accept that gift of love which Guillaume offered them withso much heroism. A gust of the sublime passed through the room, andnothing could have appeared more natural to them than this extraordinaryscene. Nevertheless, Marie remained silent, she dared not give heranswer, but looked at them both with her big soft eyes, which, like theirown, were full of tears. 

And it was Guillaume who, with sudden inspiration, ran to the littlestaircase conducting to the rooms overhead, and called: "Mere-Grand!Mere-Grand! Come down at once, you are wanted. "

Then, as soon as she was there, looking slim and pale in her black gown, and showing the wise air of a queen-mother whom all obeyed, he said:"Tell these two children that they can do nothing better than marry oneanother. Tell them that we have talked it over, you and I, and that it isyour desire, your will that they should do so. "

She quietly nodded her assent, and then said: "That is true, it will beby far the most sensible course. "

Thereupon Marie flung herself into her arms, consenting, yielding to thesuperior forces, the powers of life, that had thus changed the course ofher existence. Guillaume immediately desired that the date of the weddingshould be fixed, and accommodation provided for the young couple in therooms overhead. And as Pierre glanced at him with some remaining anxietyand spoke of travelling, for he feared that his wound was not yet healed, and that their presence might bring him suffering, Guillaume responded:"No, no, I mean to keep you. If I'm marrying you, it is to have you bothhere. Don't worry about me. I have so much work to do, I shall work. "

In the evening when Thomas and Francois came home and learnt the news, they did not seem particularly surprised by it. They had doubtless feltthat things would end like this. And they bowed to the _denouement_, notventuring to say a word, since it was their father himself who announcedthe decision which had been taken, with his usual air of composure. Asfor Antoine, who on his own side quivered with love for Lise, he gazedwith doubting, anxious eyes at his father, who had thus had the courageto pluck out his heart. Could he really survive such a sacrifice, must itnot kill him? Then Antoine kissed his father passionately, and the elderbrothers in their turn embraced him with all their hearts. Guillaumesmiled and his eyes became moist. After his victory over his horribletorments nothing could have been sweeter to him than the embraces of histhree big sons. 

There was, however, further emotion in store for him that evening. Justas the daylight was departing, and he was sitting at his large table nearthe window, again checking and classifying the documents and plansconnected with his invention, he was surprised to see his old master andfriend Bertheroy enter the workroom. The illustrious chemist called onhim in this fashion at long intervals, and Guillaume felt the honour thusconferred on him by this old man to whom eminence and fame had brought somany titles, offices and decorations. Moreover, Bertheroy, with hisposition as an official _savant_ and member of the Institute, showed somecourage in thus venturing to call on one whom so-called respectable folksregarded with contumely. And on this occasion, Guillaume at onceunderstood that it was some feeling of curiosity that had brought him. And so he was greatly embarrassed, for he hardly dared to remove thepapers and plans which were lying on the table. 

"Oh, don't be frightened, " gaily exclaimed Bertheroy, who, despite hiscareless and abrupt ways, was really very shrewd. "I haven't come to pryinto your secrets.... Leave your papers there, I promise you that Iwon't read anything. "

Then, in all frankness, he turned the conversation on the subject ofexplosives, which he was still studying, he said, with passionateinterest. He had made some new discoveries which he did not conceal. Incidentally, too, he spoke of the opinion he had given in Salvat'saffair. His dream was to discover some explosive of great power, whichone might attempt to domesticate and reduce to complete obedience. Andwith a smile he pointedly concluded: "I don't know where that madmanfound the formula of his powder. But if you should ever discover it, remember that the future perhaps lies in the employment of explosives asmotive power. "

Then, all at once, he added: "By the way, that fellow Salvat will beexecuted on the day after to-morrow. A friend of mine at the Ministry ofJustice has just told me so. "

Guillaume had hitherto listened to him with an air of mingled distrustand amusement. But this announcement of Salvat's execution stirred him toanger and revolt, though for some days past he had known it to beinevitable, in spite of the sympathy which the condemned man was nowrousing in many quarters. 

"It will be a murder!" he cried vehemently. 

Bertheroy waved his hand: "What would you have?" he answered: "there's asocial system and it defends itself when it is attacked. Besides, thoseAnarchists are really too foolish in imagining that they will transformthe world with their squibs and crackers! In my opinion, you know, science is the only revolutionist. Science will not only bring us truthbut justice also, if indeed justice ever be possible on this earth. Andthat is why I lead so calm a life and am so tolerant. "

Once again Bertheroy appeared to Guillaume as a revolutionist, one whowas convinced that he helped on the ruin of the ancient abominablesociety of today, with its dogmas and laws, even whilst he was working inthe depths of his laboratory. He was, however, too desirous of repose, and had too great a contempt for futilities to mingle with the events ofthe day, and he preferred to live in quietude, liberally paid andrewarded, and at peace with the government whatever it might be, whilstat the same time foreseeing and preparing for the formidable parturitionof the future. 

He waved his hand towards Paris, over which a sun of victory was setting, and then again spoke: "Do you hear the rumble? It is we who are thestokers, we who are ever flinging fresh fuel under the boiler. Sciencedoes not pause in her work for a single hour, and she is the artisan ofParis, which--let us hope it--will be the artisan of the future. All therest is of no account. "

But Guillaume was no longer listening to him. He was thinking of Salvatand the terrible engine of war he had invented, that engine which beforelong would shatter cities. And a new idea was dawning and growing in hismind. He had just freed himself of his last tie, he had created all thehappiness he could create around him. Ah! to recover his courage, to bemaster of himself once more, and, at any rate, derive from the sacrificeof his heart the lofty delight of being free, of being able to lay downeven his life, should he some day deem it necessary!

BOOK V. 

I. THE GUILLOTINE

FOR some reason of his own Guillaume was bent upon witnessing theexecution of Salvat. Pierre tried to dissuade him from doing so; andfinding his efforts vain, became somewhat anxious. He accordinglyresolved to spend the night at Montmartre, accompany his brother andwatch over him. In former times, when engaged with Abbe Rose incharitable work in the Charonne district, he had learnt that theguillotine could be seen from the house where Mege, the Socialist deputy, resided at the corner of the Rue Merlin. He therefore offered himself asa guide. As the execution was to take place as soon as it should legallybe daybreak, that is, about half-past four o'clock, the brothers did notgo to bed but sat up in the workroom, feeling somewhat drowsy, andexchanging few words. Then as soon as two o'clock struck, they startedoff. 

The night was beautifully serene and clear. The full moon, shining like asilver lamp in the cloudless, far-stretching heavens, threw a calm, dreamy light over the vague immensity of Paris, which was like somespell-bound city of sleep, so overcome by fatigue that not a murmur arosefrom it. It was as if beneath the soft radiance which spread over itsroofs, its panting labour and its cries of suffering were lulled torepose until the dawn. Yet, in a far, out of the way district, dark workwas even now progressing, a knife was being raised on high in order thata man might be killed. 

Pierre and Guillaume paused in the Rue St. Eleuthere, and gazed at thevaporous, tremulous city spread out below then. And as they turned theyperceived the basilica of the Sacred Heart, still domeless but alreadylooking huge indeed in the moonbeams, whose clear white light accentuatedits outlines and brought them into sharp relief against a mass ofshadows. Under the pale nocturnal sky, the edifice showed like a colossalmonster, symbolical of provocation and sovereign dominion. Never beforehad Guillaume found it so huge, never had it appeared to him to dominateParis, even in the latter's hours of slumber, with such stubborn andoverwhelming might. 

This wounded him so keenly in the state of mind in which he foundhimself, that he could not help exclaiming: "Ah! they chose a good sitefor it, and how stupid it was to let them do so! I know of nothing morenonsensical; Paris crowned and dominated by that temple of idolatry! Howimpudent it is, what a buffet for the cause of reason after so manycenturies of science, labour, and battle! And to think of it being rearedover Paris, the one city in the world which ought never to have beensoiled in this fashion! One can understand it at Lourdes and Rome; butnot in Paris, in the very field of intelligence which has been so deeplyploughed, and whence the future is sprouting. It is a declaration of war, an insolent proclamation that they hope to conquer Paris also!"

Guillaume usually evinced all the tolerance of a _savant_, for whomreligions are simply social phenomena. He even willingly admitted thegrandeur or grace of certain Catholic legends. But Marie Alacoque'sfamous vision, which has given rise to the cult of the Sacred Heart, filled him with irritation and something like physical disgust. Hesuffered at the mere idea of Christ's open, bleeding breast, and thegigantic heart which the saint asserted she had seen beating in thedepths of the wound--the huge heart in which Jesus placed the woman'slittle heart to restore it to her inflated and glowing with love. Whatbase and loathsome materialism there was in all this! What a display ofviscera, muscles and blood suggestive of a butcher's shop! And Guillaumewas particularly disgusted with the engraving which depicted this horror, and which he found everywhere, crudely coloured with red and yellow andblue, like some badly executed anatomical plate. 

Pierre on his side was also looking at the basilica as, white withmoonlight, it rose out of the darkness like a gigantic fortress raised tocrush and conquer the city slumbering beneath it. It had already broughthim suffering during the last days when he had said mass in it and wasstruggling with his torments. "They call it the national votiveoffering, " he now exclaimed. "But the nation's longing is for health andstrength and restoration to its old position by work. That is a thing theChurch does not understand. It argues that if France was stricken withdefeat, it was because she deserved punishment. She was guilty, and soto-day she ought to repent. Repent of what? Of the Revolution, of acentury of free examination and science, of the emancipation of her mind, of her initiatory and liberative labour in all parts of the world? Thatindeed is her real transgression; and it is as a punishment for all ourlabour, search for truth, increase of knowledge and march towards justicethat they have reared that huge pile which Paris will see from all herstreets, and will never be able to see without feeling derided andinsulted in her labour and glory. "

With a wave of his hand he pointed to the city, slumbering in themoonlight as beneath a sheet of silver, and then set off again with hisbrother, down the slopes, towards the black and deserted streets. 

They did not meet a living soul until they reached the outer boulevard. Here, however, no matter what the hour may be, life continues withscarcely a pause. No sooner are the wine shops, music and dancing hallsclosed, than vice and want, cast into the street, there resume theirnocturnal existence. Thus the brothers came upon all the homeless ones:low prostitutes seeking a pallet, vagabonds stretched on the benchesunder the trees, rogues who prowled hither and thither on the lookout fora good stroke. Encouraged by their accomplice--night, all the mire andwoe of Paris had returned to the surface. The empty roadway now belongedto the breadless, homeless starvelings, those for whom there was no placein the sunlight, the vague, swarming, despairing herd which is onlyespied at night-time. Ah! what spectres of destitution, what apparitionsof grief and fright there were! What a sob of agony passed by in Paristhat morning, when as soon as the dawn should rise, a man--a pauper, asufferer like the others--was to be guillotined!

As Guillaume and Pierre were about to descend the Rue des Martyrs, theformer perceived an old man lying on a bench with his bare feetprotruding from his gaping, filthy shoes. Guillaume pointed to him insilence. Then, a few steps farther on, Pierre in his turn pointed to aragged girl, crouching, asleep with open month, in the corner of adoorway. There was no need for the brothers to express in words all thecompassion and anger which stirred their hearts. At long intervalspolicemen, walking slowly two by two, shook the poor wretches andcompelled them to rise and walk on and on. Occasionally, if they foundthem suspicious or refractory, they marched them off to thepolice-station. And then rancour and the contagion of imprisonment oftentransformed a mere vagabond into a thief or a murderer. 

In the Rue des Martyrs and the Rue du Faubourg-Montmartre, the brothersfound night-birds of another kind, women who slunk past them, close tothe house-fronts, and men and hussies who belaboured one another withblows. Then, upon the grand boulevards, on the thresholds of lofty blackhouses, only one row of whose windows flared in the night, pale-facedindividuals, who had just come down from their clubs, stood lightingcigars before going home. A lady with a ball wrap over her evening gownwent by accompanied by a servant. A few cabs, moreover, still jogged upand down the roadway, while others, which had been waiting for hours, stood on their ranks in rows, with drivers and horses alike asleep. Andas one boulevard after another was reached, the Boulevard Poissonniere, the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle, the Boulevard St. Denis, and so forth, asfar as the Place de la Republique, there came fresh want and misery, moreforsaken and hungry ones, more and more of the human "waste" that is castinto the streets and the darkness. And on the other hand, an army ofstreet-sweepers was now appearing to remove all the filth of the pastfour and twenty hours, in order that Paris, spruce already at sunrise, might not blush for having thrown up such a mass of dirt andloathsomeness in the course of a single day. 

It was, however, more particularly after following the BoulevardVoltaire, and drawing near to the districts of La Roquette and Charonne, that the brothers felt they were returning to a sphere of labour wherethere was often lack of food, and where life was but so much pain. Pierrefound himself at home here. In former days, accompanied by good AbbeRose, visiting despairing ones, distributing alms, picking up childrenwho had sunk to the gutter, he had a hundred times perambulated every oneof those long, densely populated streets. And thus a frightful visionarose before his mind's eye; he recalled all the tragedies he hadwitnessed, all the shrieks he had heard, all the tears and bloodshed hehad seen, all the fathers, mothers and children huddled together anddying of want, dirt and abandonment: that social hell in which he hadended by losing his last hopes, fleeing from it with a sob in theconviction that charity was a mere amusement for the rich, and absolutelyfutile as a remedy. It was this conviction which now returned to him ashe again cast eyes upon that want and grief stricken district whichseemed fated to everlasting destitution. That poor old man whom Abbe Rosehad revived one night in yonder hovel, had he not since died ofstarvation? That little girl whom he had one morning brought in his armsto the refuge after her parents' death, was it not she whom he had justmet, grown but fallen to the streets, and shrieking beneath the fist of abully? Ah! how great was the number of the wretched! Their name waslegion! There were those whom one could not save, those who were hourlyborn to a life of woe and want, even as one may be born infirm, andthose, too, who from every side sank in the sea of human injustice, thatocean which has ever been the same for centuries past, and which thoughone may strive to drain it, still and for ever spreads. How heavy was thesilence, how dense the darkness in those working-class streets wheresleep seems to be the comrade of death! Yet hunger prowls, and misfortunesobs; vague spectral forms slink by, and then are lost to view in thedepths of the night. 

As Pierre and Guillaume went along they became mixed with dark groups ofpeople, a whole flock of inquisitive folk, a promiscuous, passionatetramp, tramp towards the guillotine. It came from all Paris, urged on bybrutish fever, a hankering for death and blood. In spite, however, of thedull noise which came from this dim crowd, the mean streets that werepassed remained quite dark, not a light appeared at any of their windows;nor could one hear the breathing of the weary toilers stretched on theirwretched pallets from which they would not rise before the morningtwilight. 

On seeing the jostling crowd which was already assembled on the PlaceVoltaire, Pierre understood that it would be impossible for him and hisbrother to ascend the Rue de la Roquette. Barriers, moreover, mustcertainly have been thrown across that street. In order therefore toreach the corner of the Rue Merlin, it occurred to him to take the Rue dela Folie Regnault, which winds round in the rear of the prison, fartheron. 

Here indeed they found solitude and darkness again. 

The huge, massive prison with its great bare walls on which a moonrayfell, looked like some pile of cold stones, dead for centuries past. Atthe end of the street they once more fell in with the crowd, a dimrestless mass of beings, whose pale faces alone could be distinguished. The brothers had great difficulty in reaching the house in which Megeresided at the corner of the Rue Merlin. All the shutters of thefourth-floor flat occupied by the Socialist deputy were closed, thoughevery other window was wide open and crowded with surging sightseers. Moreover, the wine shop down below and the first-floor room connectedwith it flared with gas, and were already crowded with noisy customers, waiting for the performance to begin. 

"I hardly like to go and knock at Mege's door, " said Pierre. 

"No, no, you must not do so!" replied Guillaume. 

"Let us go into the wine shop. We may perhaps be able to see somethingfrom the balcony. "

The first-floor room was provided with a very large balcony, which womenand gentlemen were already filling. The brothers nevertheless managed toreach it, and for a few minutes remained there, peering into the darknessbefore them. The sloping street grew broader between the two prisons, the"great" and the "little" Roquette, in such wise as to form a sort ofsquare, which was shaded by four clumps of plane-trees, rising from thefootways. The low buildings and scrubby trees, all poor and ugly ofaspect, seemed almost to lie on a level with the ground, under a vast skyin which stars were appearing, as the moon gradually declined. And thesquare was quite empty save that on one spot yonder there seemed to besome little stir. Two rows of guards prevented the crowd from advancing, and even threw it back into the neighbouring streets. On the one hand, the only lofty houses were far away, at the point where the Rue St. Maurintersects the Rue de la Roquette; while, on the other, they stood at thecorners of the Rue Merlin and the Rue de la Folie Regnault, so that itwas almost impossible to distinguish anything of the execution even fromthe best placed windows. As for the inquisitive folk on the pavement theyonly saw the backs of the guards. Still this did not prevent a crush. Thehuman tide flowed on from all sides with increasing clamour. 

Guided by the remarks of some women who, leaning forward on the balcony, had been watching the square for a long time already, the brothers wereat last able to perceive something. It was now half-past three, and theguillotine was nearly ready. The little stir which one vaguely espiedyonder under the trees, was that of the headsman's assistants fixing theknife in position. A lantern slowly came and went, and five or sixshadows danced over the ground. But nothing else could be distinguished, the square was like a large black pit, around which ever broke the wavesof the noisy crowd which one could not see. And beyond the square onecould only identify the flaring wine shops, which showed forth likelighthouses in the night. All the surrounding district of poverty andtoil was still asleep, not a gleam as yet came from workrooms or yards, not a puff of smoke from the lofty factory chimneys. 

"We shall see nothing, " Guillaume remarked. 

But Pierre silenced him, for he has just discovered that an elegantlyattired gentleman leaning over the balcony near him was none other thanthe amiable deputy Duthil. He had at first fancied that a woman muffledin wraps who stood close beside the deputy was the little Princess deHarn, whom he had very likely brought to see the execution since he hadtaken her to see the trial. On closer inspection, however, he had foundthat this woman was Silviane, the perverse creature with the virginalface. Truth to tell, she made no concealment of her presence, but talkedon in an extremely loud voice, as if intoxicated; and the brothers soonlearnt how it was that she happened to be there. Duvillard, Duthil, andother friends had been supping with her at one o'clock in the morning, when on learning that Salvat was about to be guillotined, the fancy ofseeing the execution had suddenly come upon her. Duvillard, after vainlyentreating her to do nothing of the kind, had gone off in a fury, for hefelt that it would be most unseemly on his part to attend the executionof a man who had endeavoured to blow up his house. And thereupon Silvianehad turned to Duthil, whom her caprice greatly worried, for he held allsuch loathsome spectacles in horror, and had already refused to act asescort to the Princess. However, he was so infatuated with Silviane'sbeauty, and she made him so many promises, that he had at last consentedto take her. 

"He can't understand people caring for amusement, " she said, speaking ofthe Baron. "And yet this is really a thing to see.... But no matter, you'll find him at my feet again to-morrow. "

Duthil smiled and responded: "I suppose that peace has been signed andratified now that you have secured your engagement at the Comedie. "

"Peace? No!" she protested. "No, no. There will be no peace between usuntil I have made my _debut_. After that, we'll see. "

They both laughed; and then Duthil, by way of paying his court, told herhow good-naturedly Dauvergne, the new Minister of Public Instruction andFine Arts, had adjusted the difficulties which had hitherto kept thedoors of the Comedie closed upon her. A really charming man wasDauvergne, the embodiment of graciousness, the very flower of theMonferrand ministry. His was the velvet hand in that administration whoseleader had a hand of iron. 

"He told me, my beauty, " said Duthil, "that a pretty girl was in placeeverywhere. " And then as Silviane, as if flattered, pressed closelybeside him, the deputy added: "So that wonderful revival of 'Polyeucte, 'in which you are going to have such a triumph, is to take place on theday after to-morrow. We shall all go to applaud you, remember. "

"Yes, on the evening of the day after to-morrow, " said Silviane, "thevery same day when the wedding of the Baron's daughter will take place. There'll be plenty of emotion that day!"

"Ah! yes, of course!" retorted Duthil, "there'll be the wedding of ourfriend Gerard with Mademoiselle Camille to begin with. We shall have acrush at the Madeleine in the morning and another at the Comedie in theevening. You are quite right, too; there will be several hearts throbbingin the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy. "

Thereupon they again became merry, and jested about the Duvillardfamily--father, mother, lover and daughter--with the greatest possibleferocity and crudity of language. Then, all at once Silviane exclaimed:"Do you know, I'm feeling awfully bored here, my little Duthil. I can'tdistinguish anything, and I should like to be quite near so as to see itall plainly. You must take me over yonder, close to that machine oftheirs. "

This request threw Duthil into consternation, particularly as at thatsame moment Silviane perceived Massot outside the wine shop, and begancalling and beckoning to him imperiously. A brief conversation thenensued between the young woman and the journalist: "I say, Massot!" shecalled, "hasn't a deputy the right to pass the guards and take a ladywherever he likes?"

"Not at all!" exclaimed Duthil. "Massot knows very well that a deputyought to be the very first to bow to the laws. "

This exclamation warned Massot that Duthil did not wish to leave thebalcony. "You ought to have secured a card of invitation, madame, " saidhe, in reply to Silviane. "They would then have found you room at one ofthe windows of La Petite Roquette. Women are not allowed elsewhere.... But you mustn't complain, you have a very good place up there. "

"But I can see nothing at all, my dear Massot. "

"Well, you will in any case see more than Princess de Harn will. Just nowI came upon her carriage in the Rue du Chemin Vert. The police would notallow it to come any nearer. "

This news made Silviane merry again, whilst Duthil shuddered at the ideaof the danger he incurred, for Rosemonde would assuredly treat him to aterrible scene should she see him with another woman. Then, an ideaoccurring to him, he ordered a bottle of champagne and some little cakesfor his "beautiful friend, " as he called Silviane. She had beencomplaining of thirst, and was delighted with the opportunity ofperfecting her intoxication. When a waiter had managed to place a littletable near her, on the balcony itself, she found things very pleasant, and indeed considered it quite brave to tipple and sup afresh, whilewaiting for that man to be guillotined close by. 

It was impossible for Pierre and Guillaume to remain up there any longer. All that they heard, all that they beheld filled them with disgust. Theboredom of waiting had turned all the inquisitive folks of the balconyand the adjoining room into customers. The waiter could hardly manage toserve the many glasses of beer, bottles of expensive wine, biscuits, andplates of cold meat which were ordered of him. And yet the spectatorshere were all _bourgeois_, rich gentlemen, people of society! On theother hand, time has to be killed somehow when it hangs heavily on one'shands; and thus there were bursts of laughter and paltry and horriblejests, quite a feverish uproar arising amidst the clouds of smoke fromthe men's cigars. When Pierre and Guillaume passed through the wine shopon the ground-floor they there found a similar crush and similar tumult, aggravated by the disorderly behaviour of the big fellows in blouses whowere drinking draught wine at the pewter bar which shone like silver. There were people, too, at all the little tables, besides an incessantcoming and going of folks who entered the place for a "wet, " by way ofcalming their impatience. And what folks they were! All the scum, all thevagabonds who had been dragging themselves about since daybreak on thelookout for whatever chance might offer them, provided it were not work!

On the pavement outside, Pierre and Guillaume felt yet a greaterheart-pang. In the throng which the guards kept back, one simply found somuch mire stirred up from the very depths of Paris life: prostitutes andcriminals, the murderers of to-morrow, who came to see how a man ought todie. Loathsome, bareheaded harlots mingled with bands of prowlers or ranthrough the crowd, howling obscene refrains. Bandits stood in groupschatting and quarrelling about the more or less glorious manner in whichcertain famous _guillotines_ had died. Among these was one with respectto whom they all agreed, and of whom they spoke as of a great captain, ahero whose marvellous courage was deserving of immortality. Then, as onepassed along, one caught snatches of horrible phrases, particulars aboutthe instrument of death, ignoble boasts, and filthy jests reeking withblood. And over and above all else there was bestial fever, a lust fordeath which made this multitude delirious, an eagerness to see life flowforth fresh and ruddy beneath the knife, so that as it coursed over thesoil they might dip their feet in it. As this execution was not anordinary one, however, there were yet spectators of another kind; silentmen with glowing eyes who came and went all alone, and who were plainlythrilled by their faith, intoxicated with the contagious madness whichincites one to vengeance or martyrdom. 

Guillaume was just thinking of Victor Mathis, when he fancied that he sawhim standing in the front row of sightseers whom the guards held incheck. It was indeed he, with his thin, beardless, pale, drawn face. Short as he was, he had to raise himself on tiptoes in order to seeanything. Near him was a big, red-haired girl who gesticulated; but forhis part he never stirred or spoke. He was waiting motionless, gazingyonder with the round, ardent, fixed eyes of a night-bird, seeking topenetrate the darkness. At last a guard pushed him back in a somewhatbrutal way; but he soon returned to his previous position, ever patientthough full of hatred against the executioners, wishing indeed to see allhe could in order to increase his hate. 

Then Massot approached the brothers. This time, on seeing Pierre withouthis cassock, he did not even make a sign of astonishment, but gailyremarked: "So you felt curious to see this affair, Monsieur Froment?"

"Yes, I came with my brother, " Pierre replied. "But I very much fear thatwe shan't see much. "

"You certainly won't if you stay here, " rejoined Massot. And thereupon inhis usual good-natured way--glad, moreover, to show what power awell-known journalist could wield--he inquired: "Would you like me topass you through? The inspector here happens to be a friend of mine. "

Then, without waiting for an answer, he stopped the inspector and hastilywhispered to him that he had brought a couple of colleagues, who wantedto report the proceedings. At first the inspector hesitated, and seemedinclined to refuse Massot's request; but after a moment, influenced bythe covert fear which the police always has of the press, he made a wearygesture of consent. 

"Come, quick, then, " said Massot, turning to the brothers, and takingthem along with him. 

A moment later, to the intense surprise of Pierre and Guillaume, theguards opened their ranks to let them pass. They then found themselves inthe large open space which was kept clear. And on thus emerging from thetumultuous throng they were quite impressed by the death-like silence andsolitude which reigned under the little plane-trees. The night was nowpaling. A faint gleam of dawn was already falling from the sky. 

After leading his companions slantwise across the square, Massot stoppedthem near the prison and resumed: "I'm going inside; I want to see theprisoner roused and got ready. In the meantime, walk about here; nobodywill say anything to you. Besides, I'll come back to you in a moment. "

A hundred people or so, journalists and other privileged spectators, werescattered about the dark square. Movable wooden barriers--such as are setup at the doors of theatres when there is a press of people waiting foradmission--had been placed on either side of the pavement running fromthe prison gate to the guillotine; and some sightseers were alreadyleaning over these barriers, in order to secure a close view of thecondemned man as he passed by. Others were walking slowly to and fro, andconversing in undertones. The brothers, for their part, approached theguillotine. 

It stood there under the branches of the trees, amidst the delicategreenery of the fresh leaves of spring. A neighbouring gas-lamp, whoselight was turning yellow in the rising dawn, cast vague gleams upon it. The work of fixing it in position--work performed as quietly as could be, so that the only sound was the occasional thud of a mallet--had just beenfinished; and the headsman's "valets" or assistants, in frock-coats andtall silk hats, were waiting and strolling about in a patient way. Butthe instrument itself, how base and shameful it looked, squatting on theground like some filthy beast, disgusted with the work it had toaccomplish! What! those few beams lying on the ground, and those othersbarely nine feet high which rose from it, keeping the knife in position, constituted the machine which avenged Society, the instrument which gavea warning to evil-doers! Where was the big scaffold painted a bright redand reached by a stairway of ten steps, the scaffold which raised highbloody arms over the eager multitude, so that everybody might behold thepunishment of the law in all its horror! The beast had now been felled tothe ground, where it simply looked ignoble, crafty and cowardly. If onthe one hand there was no majesty in the manner in which human justicecondemned a man to death at its assizes: on the other, there was merelyhorrid butchery with the help of the most barbarous and repulsive ofmechanical contrivances, on the terrible day when that man was executed. 

As Pierre and Guillaume gazed at the guillotine, a feeling of nausea cameover them. Daylight was now slowly breaking, and the surroundings wereappearing to view: first the square itself with its two low, greyprisons, facing one another; then the distant houses, the taverns, themarble workers' establishments, and the shops selling flowers andwreaths, which are numerous hereabouts, as the cemetery of Pere-Lachaiseis so near. Before long one could plainly distinguish the black lines ofthe spectators standing around in a circle, the heads leaning forwardfrom windows and balconies, and the people who had climbed to the veryhouse roofs. The prison of La Petite Roquette over the way had beenturned into a kind of tribune for guests; and mounted Gardes de Pariswent slowly to and fro across the intervening expanse. Then, as the skybrightened, labour awoke throughout the district beyond the crowd, adistrict of broad, endless streets lined with factories, work-shops andwork-yards. Engines began to snort, machinery and appliances were gotready to start once more on their usual tasks, and smoke already curledaway from the forest of lofty brick chimneys which, on all sides, sprangout of the gloom. 

It then seemed to Guillaume that the guillotine was really in its rightplace in that district of want and toil. It stood in its own realm, likea _terminus_ and a threat. Did not ignorance, poverty and woe lead to it?And each time that it was set up amidst those toilsome streets, was itnot charged to overawe the disinherited ones, the starvelings, who, exasperated by everlasting injustice, were always ready for revolt? Itwas not seen in the districts where wealth and enjoyment reigned. Itwould there have seemed purposeless, degrading and truly monstrous. Andit was a tragical and terrible coincidence that the bomb-thrower, drivenmad by want, should be guillotined there, in the very centre of want'sdominion. 

But daylight had come at last, for it was nearly half-past four. Thedistant noisy crowd could feel that the expected moment was drawing nigh. A shudder suddenly sped through the atmosphere. 

"He's coming, " exclaimed little Massot, as he came back to Pierre andGuillaume. "Ah! that Salvat is a brave fellow after all. "

Then he related how the prisoner had been awakened; how the governor ofthe prison, magistrate Amadieu, the chaplain, and a few other persons hadentered the cell where Salvat lay fast asleep; and then how the condemnedman had understood the truth immediately upon opening his eyes. He hadrisen, looking pale but quite composed. And he had dressed himselfwithout assistance, and had declined the nip of brandy and the cigaretteproffered by the good-hearted chaplain, in the same way as with a gentlebut stubborn gesture he had brushed the crucifix aside. Then had come the"toilette" for death. With all rapidity and without a word beingexchanged, Salvat's hands had been tied behind his back, his legs hadbeen loosely secured with a cord, and the neckband of his shirt had beencut away. He had smiled when the others exhorted him to be brave. He onlyfeared some nervous weakness, and had but one desire, to die like a hero, to remain the martyr of the ardent faith in truth and justice for whichhe was about to perish. 

"They are now drawing up the death certificate in the register, "continued Massot in his chattering way. "Come along, come along to thebarriers if you wish a good view.... I turned paler, you know, andtrembled far more than he did. I don't care a rap for anything as a rule;but, all the same, an execution isn't a pleasant business.... Youcan't imagine how many attempts were made to save Salvat's life. Evensome of the papers asked that he might be reprieved. But nothingsucceeded, the execution was regarded as inevitable, it seems, even bythose who consider it a blunder. Still, they had such a touchingopportunity to reprieve him, when his daughter, little Celine, wrote thatfine letter to the President of the Republic, which I was the first topublish in the 'Globe. ' Ah! that letter, it cost me a lot of runningabout!"

Pierre, who was already quite upset by this long wait for the horriblescene, felt moved to tears by Massot's reference to Celine. He couldagain see the child standing beside Madame Theodore in that bare, coldroom whither her father would never more return. It was thence that hehad set out on a day of desperation with his stomach empty and his brainon fire, and it was here that he would end, between yonder beams, beneathyonder knife. 

Massot, however, was still giving particulars. The doctors, said he, werefurious because they feared that the body would not be delivered to themimmediately after the execution. To this Guillaume did not listen. Hestood there with his elbows resting on the wooden barrier and his eyesfixed on the prison gate, which still remained shut. His hands werequivering, and there was an expression of anguish on his face as if itwere he himself who was about to be executed. The headsman had again justleft the prison. He was a little, insignificant-looking man, and seemedannoyed, anxious to have done with it all. Then, among a group offrock-coated gentlemen, some of the spectators pointed out Gascogne, theChief of the Detective Police, who wore a cold, official air, andAmadieu, the investigating magistrate, who smiled and looked very spruce, early though the hour was. He had come partly because it was his duty, and partly because he wished to show himself now that the curtain wasabout to fall on a wonderful tragedy of which he considered himself theauthor. Guillaume glanced at him, and then as a growing uproar rose fromthe distant crowd, he looked up for an instant, and again beheld the twogrey prisons, the plane-trees with their fresh young leaves, and thehouses swarming with people beneath the pale blue sky, in which thetriumphant sun was about to appear. 

"Look out, here he comes!"

Who had spoken? A slight noise, that of the opening gate, made everyheart throb. Necks were outstretched, eyes gazed fixedly, there waslaboured breathing on all sides. Salvat stood on the threshold of theprison. The chaplain, stepping backwards, had come out in advance of him, in order to conceal the guillotine from his sight, but he had stoppedshort, for he wished to see that instrument of death, make acquaintancewith it, as it were, before he walked towards it. And as he stood there, his long, aged sunken face, on which life's hardships had left theirmark, seemed transformed by the wondrous brilliancy of his flaring, dreamy eyes. Enthusiasm bore him up--he was going to his death in all thesplendour of his dream. When the executioner's assistants drew near tosupport him he once more refused their help, and again set himself inmotion, advancing with short steps, but as quickly and as straightly asthe rope hampering his legs permitted. 

All at once Guillaume felt that Salvat's eyes were fixed upon him. Drawing nearer and nearer the condemned man had perceived and recognisedhis friend; and as he passed by, at a distance of no more than six orseven feet, he smiled faintly and darted such a deep penetrating glanceat Guillaume, that ever afterwards the latter felt its smart. But whatlast thought, what supreme legacy had Salvat left him to meditate upon, perhaps to put into execution? It was all so poignant that Pierre fearedsome involuntary call on his brother's part; and so he laid his hand uponhis arm to quiet him. 

"Long live Anarchy!"

It was Salvat who had raised this cry. But in the deep silence his husky, altered voice seemed to break. The few who were near at hand had turnedvery pale; the distant crowd seemed bereft of life. The horse of one ofthe Gardes de Paris was alone heard snorting in the centre of the spacewhich had been kept clear. 

Then came a loathsome scramble, a scene of nameless brutality andignominy. The headsman's helps rushed upon Salvat as he came up slowlywith brow erect. Two of them seized him by the head, but finding littlehair there, could only lower it by tugging at his neck. Next two othersgrasped him by the legs and flung him violently upon a plank which tiltedover and rolled forward. Then, by dint of pushing and tugging, the headwas got into the "lunette, " the upper part of which fell in such wisethat the neck was fixed as in a ship's port-hole--and all this wasaccomplished amidst such confusion and with such savagery that one mighthave thought that head some cumbrous thing which it was necessary to getrid of with the greatest speed. But the knife fell with a dull, heavy, forcible thud, and two long jets of blood spurted from the severedarteries, while the dead man's feet moved convulsively. Nothing elsecould be seen. The executioner rubbed his hands in a mechanical way, andan assistant took the severed blood-streaming head from the little basketinto which it had fallen and placed it in the large basket into which thebody had already been turned. 

Ah! that dull, that heavy thud of the knife! It seemed to Guillaume thathe had heard it echoing far away all over that district of want and toil, even in the squalid rooms where thousands of workmen were at that momentrising to perform their day's hard task! And there the echo of that thudacquired formidable significance; it spoke of man's exasperation withinjustice, of zeal for martyrdom, and of the dolorous hope that the bloodthen spilt might hasten the victory of the disinherited. 

Pierre, for his part, at the sight of that loathsome butchery, the abjectcutthroat work of that killing machine, had suddenly felt his chillingshudder become more violent; for before him arose a vision of anothercorpse, that of the fair, pretty child ripped open by a bomb andstretched yonder, at the entrance of the Duvillard mansion. Bloodstreamed from her delicate flesh, just as it had streamed from thatdecapitated neck. It was blood paying for blood; it was like payment formankind's debt of wretchedness, for which payment is everlastingly beingmade, without man ever being able to free himself from suffering. 

Above the square and the crowd all was still silent in the clear sky. Howlong had the abomination lasted? An eternity, perhaps, compressed intotwo or three minutes. And now came an awakening: the spectators emergedfrom their nightmare with quivering hands, livid faces, and eyesexpressive of compassion, disgust and fear. 

"That makes another one. I've now seen four executions, " said Massot, whofelt ill at ease. "After all, I prefer to report weddings. Let us go off, I have all I want for my article. "

Guillaume and Pierre followed him mechanically across the square, andagain reached the corner of the Rue Merlin. And here they saw littleVictor Mathis, with flaming eyes and white face, still standing insilence on the spot where they had left him. He could have seen nothingdistinctly; but the thud of the knife was still echoing in his brain. Apoliceman at last gave him a push, and told him to move on. At this helooked the policeman in the face, stirred by sudden rage and ready tostrangle him. Then, however, he quietly walked away, ascending the Rue dela Roquette, atop of which the lofty foliage of Pere-Lachaise could beseen, beneath the rising sun. 

The brothers meantime fell upon a scene of explanations, which they heardwithout wishing to do so. Now that the sight was over, the Princess deHarn arrived, and she was the more furious as at the door of the wineshop she could see her new friend Duthil accompanying a woman. 

"I say!" she exclaimed, "you are nice, you are, to have left me in thelurch like this! It was impossible for my carriage to get near, so I'vehad to come on foot through all those horrid people who have beenjostling and insulting me. "

Thereupon Duthil, with all promptitude, introduced Silviane to her, adding, in an aside, that he had taken a friend's place as the actress'sescort. And then Rosemonde, who greatly wished to know Silviane, calmeddown as if by enchantment, and put on her most engaging ways. "It wouldhave delighted me, madame, " said she, "to have seen this sight in thecompany of an _artiste_ of your merit, one whom I admire so much, thoughI have never before had an opportunity of telling her so. "

"Well, dear me, madame, " replied Silviane, "you haven't lost much byarriving late. We were on that balcony there, and all that I could seewere a few men pushing another one about.... It really isn't worth thetrouble of coming. "

"Well, now that we have become acquainted, madame, " said the Princess, "Ireally hope that you will allow me to be your friend. "

"Certainly, madame, my friend; and I shall be flattered and delighted tobe yours. "

Standing there, hand in hand, they smiled at one another. Silviane wasvery drunk, but her virginal expression had returned to her face; whilstRosemonde seemed feverish with vicious curiosity. Duthil, whom the sceneamused, now had but one thought, that of seeing Silviane home; so callingto Massot, who was approaching, he asked him where he should find acab-rank. Rosemonde, however, at once offered her carriage, which waswaiting in an adjacent street. 

She would set the actress down at her door, said she, and the deputy athis; and such was her persistence in the matter that Duthil, greatlyvexed, was obliged to accept her offer. 

"Well, then, till to-morrow at the Madeleine, " said Massot, again quitesprightly, as he shook hands with the Princess. 

"Yes, till to-morrow, at the Madeleine and the Comedie. "

"Ah! yes, of course!" he repeated, taking Silviane's hand, which hekissed. "The Madeleine in the morning and the Comedie in the evening.... We shall all be there to applaud you. "

"Yes, I expect you to do so, " said Silviane. "Till to-morrow, then!"

"Till to-morrow!"

The crowd was now wearily dispersing, to all appearance disappointed andill at ease. A few enthusiasts alone lingered in order to witness thedeparture of the van in which Salvat's corpse would soon be removed;while bands of prowlers and harlots, looking very wan in the daylight, whistled or called to one another with some last filthy expression beforereturning to their dens. The headsman's assistants were hastily takingdown the guillotine, and the square would soon be quite clear. 

Pierre for his part wished to lead his brother away. Since the fall ofthe knife, Guillaume had remained as if stunned, without once opening hislips. In vain had Pierre tried to rouse him by pointing to the shuttersof Mege's flat, which still remained closed, whereas every other windowof the lofty house was wide open. Although the Socialist deputy hated theAnarchists, those shutters were doubtless closed as a protest againstcapital punishment. Whilst the multitude had been rushing to thatfrightful spectacle, Mege, still in bed, with his face turned to thewall, had probably been dreaming of how he would some day compel mankindto be happy beneath the rigid laws of Collectivism. Affectionate fatheras he was, the recent death of one of his children had quite upset hisprivate life. His cough, too, had become a very bad one; but he ardentlywished to live, for as soon as that new Monferrand ministry should havefallen beneath the interpellation which he already contemplated, his ownturn would surely come: he would take the reins of power in hand, abolishthe guillotine and decree justice and perfect felicity. 

"Do you see, Guillaume?" Pierre gently repeated. "Mege hasn't opened hiswindows. He's a good fellow, after all; although our friends Bache andMorin dislike him. " Then, as his brother still refrained from answering, Pierre added, "Come, let us go, we must get back home. "

They both turned into the Rue de la Folie Regnault, and reached the outerBoulevards by way of the Rue du Chemin Vert. All the toilers of thedistrict were now at work. In the long streets edged with low buildings, work-shops and factories, one heard engines snorting and machineryrumbling, while up above, the smoke from the lofty chimneys was assuminga rosy hue in the sunrise. Afterwards, when the brothers reached theBoulevard de Menilmontant and the Boulevard de Belleville, which theyfollowed in turn at a leisurely pace, they witnessed the great rush ofthe working classes into central Paris. The stream poured forth fromevery side; from all the wretched streets of the faubourgs there was anendless exodus of toilers, who, having risen at dawn, were now hurrying, in the sharp morning air, to their daily labour. Some wore short jacketsand others blouses; some were in velveteen trousers, others in linenoveralls. Their thick shoes made their tramp a heavy one; their hanginghands were often deformed by work. And they seemed half asleep, not asmile was to be seen on any of those wan, weary faces turned yondertowards the everlasting task--the task which was begun afresh each day, and which--'twas their only chance--they hoped to be able to take up forever and ever. There was no end to that drove of toilers, that army ofvarious callings, that human flesh fated to manual labour, upon whichParis preys in order that she may live in luxury and enjoyment. 

Then the procession continued across the Boulevard de la Villette, theBoulevard de la Chapelle, and the Boulevard de Rochechouart, where onereached the height of Montmartre. More and more workmen were ever comingdown from their bare cold rooms and plunging into the huge city, whence, tired out, they would that evening merely bring back the bread ofrancour. And now, too, came a stream of work-girls, some of them inbright skirts, some glancing at the passers-by; girls whose wages were sopaltry, so insufficient, that now and again pretty ones among them nevermore turned their faces homewards, whilst the ugly ones wasted away, condemned to mere bread and water. A little later, moreover, came the_employes_, the clerks, the counter-jumpers, the whole world offrock-coated penury--"gentlemen" who devoured a roll as they hastenedonward, worried the while by the dread of being unable to pay their rent, or by the problem of providing food for wife and children until the endof the month should come. * And now the sun was fast ascending on thehorizon, the whole army of ants was out and about, and the toilsome dayhad begun with its ceaseless display of courage, energy and suffering. 

 * In Paris nearly all clerks and shop-assistants receive monthly salaries, while most workmen are paid once a fortnight. --Trans. 

Never before had it been so plainly manifest to Pierre that work was anecessity, that it healed and saved. On the occasion of his visit to theGrandidier works, and later still, when he himself had felt the need ofoccupation, there had cone to him the thought that work was really theworld's law. And after that hateful night, after that spilling of blood, after the slaughter of that toiler maddened by his dreams, there wasconsolation and hope in seeing the sun rise once more, and everlastinglabour take up its wonted task. However hard it might prove, howeverunjustly it might be lotted out, was it not work which would some daybring both justice and happiness to the world?

All at once, as the brothers were climbing the steep hillside towardsGuillaume's house, they perceived before and above them the basilica ofthe Sacred Heart rising majestically and triumphantly to the sky. Thiswas no sublunar apparition, no dreamy vision of Domination standing faceto face with nocturnal Paris. The sun now clothed the edifice withsplendour, it looked golden and proud and victorious, flaring withimmortal glory. 

Then Guillaume, still silent, still feeling Salvat's last glance uponhim, seemed to come to some sudden and final decision. He looked at thebasilica with glowing eyes, and pronounced sentence upon it. 

II. IN VANITY FAIR

THE wedding was to take place at noon, and for half an hour alreadyguests had been pouring into the magnificently decorated church, whichwas leafy with evergreens and balmy with the scent of flowers. The highaltar in the rear glowed with countless candles, and through the greatdoorway, which was wide open, one could see the peristyle decked withshrubs, the steps covered with a broad carpet, and the inquisitive crowdassembled on the square and even along the Rue Royale, under the brightsun. 

After finding three more chairs for some ladies who had arrived ratherlate, Duthil remarked to Massot, who was jotting down names in hisnote-book: "Well, if any more come, they will have to remain standing. "

"Who were those three?" the journalist inquired. 

"The Duchess de Boisemont and her two daughters. "

"Indeed! All the titled people of France, as well as all the financiersand politicians, are here! It's something more even than a swell Parisianwedding. "

As a matter of fact all the spheres of "society" were gathered togetherthere, and some at first seemed rather embarrassed at finding themselvesbeside others. Whilst Duvillard's name attracted all the princes offinance and politicians in power, Madame de Quinsac and her son weresupported by the highest of the French aristocracy. The mere names of thewitnesses sufficed to indicate what an extraordinary medley there was. OnGerard's side these witnesses were his uncle, General de Bozonnet, andthe Marquis de Morigny; whilst on Camille's they were the great bankerLouvard, and Monferrand, the President of the Council and Minister ofFinances. The quiet bravado which the latter displayed in thus supportingthe bride after being compromised in her father's financial intriguesimparted a piquant touch of impudence to his triumph. And publiccuriosity was further stimulated by the circumstance that the nuptialblessing was to be given by Monseigneur Martha, Bishop of Persepolis, thePope's political agent in France, and the apostle of the endeavours towin the Republic over to the Church by pretending to "rally" to it. 

"But, I was mistaken, " now resumed Massot with a sneer. "I said a reallyParisian wedding, did I not? But in point of fact this wedding is asymbol. It's the apotheosis of the _bourgeoisie_, my dear fellow--the oldnobility sacrificing one of its sons on the altar of the golden calf inorder that the Divinity and the gendarmes, being the masters of Franceonce more, may rid us of those scoundrelly Socialists!"

Then, again correcting himself, he added: "But I was forgetting. Thereare no more Socialists. Their head was cut off the other morning. "

Duthil found this very funny. Then in a confidential way he remarked:"You know that the marriage wasn't settled without a good deal ofdifficulty.... Have you read Sagnier's ignoble article this morning?"

"Yes, yes; but I knew it all before, everybody knew it. "

Then in an undertone, understanding one another's slightest allusion, they went on chatting. It was only amidst a flood of tears and after adespairing struggle that Baroness Duvillard had consented to let herlover marry her daughter. And in doing so she had yielded to the soledesire of seeing Gerard rich and happy. She still regarded Camille withall the hatred of a defeated rival. Then, an equally painful contest hadtaken place at Madame de Quinsac's. The Countess had only overcome herrevolt and consented to the marriage in order to save her son from thedangers which had threatened him since childhood; and the Marquis deMorigny had been so affected by her maternal abnegation, that in spite ofall his anger he had resignedly agreed to be a witness, thus making asupreme sacrifice, that of his conscience, to the woman whom he had everloved. And it was this frightful story that Sagnier--using transparentnicknames--had related in the "Voix du Peuple" that morning. He had evencontrived to make it more horrid than it really was; for, as usual, hewas badly informed, and he was naturally inclined to falsehood andinvention, as by sending an ever thicker and more poisonous torrent fromhis sewer, he might, day by day, increase his paper's sales. SinceMonferrand's victory had compelled him to leave the African Railwaysscandal on one side, he had fallen back on scandals in private life, stripping whole families bare and pelting them with mud. 

All at once Duthil and Massot were approached by Chaigneux, who, with hisshabby frock coat badly buttoned, wore both a melancholy and busy air. "Well, Monsieur Massot, " said he, "what about your article on Silviane?Is it settled? Will it go in?"

As Chaigneux was always for sale, always ready to serve as a valet, ithad occurred to Duvillard to make use of him to ensure Silviane's successat the Comedie. He had handed this sorry deputy over to the young woman, who entrusted him with all manner of dirty work, and sent him scouringParis in search of applauders and advertisements. His eldest daughter wasnot yet married, and never had his four women folk weighed more heavilyon his hands. His life had become a perfect hell; they had ended bybeating him, if he did not bring a thousand-franc note home on the firstday of every month. 

"My article!" Massot replied; "no, it surely won't go in, my dear deputy. Fonsegue says that it's written in too laudatory a style for the 'Globe. 'He asked me if I were having a joke with the paper. "

Chaigneux became livid. The article in question was one written inadvance, from the society point of view, on the success which Silvianewould achieve in "Polyeucte, " that evening, at the Comedie. Thejournalist, in the hope of pleasing her, had even shown her his "copy";and she, quite delighted, now relied upon finding the article in print inthe most sober and solemn organ of the Parisian press. 

"Good heavens! what will become of us?" murmured the wretched Chaigneux. "It's absolutely necessary that the article should go in. "

"Well, I'm quite agreeable. But speak to the governor yourself. He'sstanding yonder between Vignon and Dauvergne, the Minister of PublicInstruction. "

"Yes, I certainly will speak to him--but not here. By-and-by in thesacristy, during the procession. And I must also try to speak toDauvergne, for our Silviane particularly wants him to be in theministerial box this evening. Monferrand will be there; he promisedDuvillard so. "

Massot began to laugh, repeating the expression which had circulatedthrough Paris directly after the actress's engagement: "The Silvianeministry.... Well, Dauvergne certainly owes that much to hisgodmother!" said he. 

Just then the little Princess de Harn, coming up like a gust of wind, broke in upon the three men. "I've no seat, you know!" she cried. 

Duthil fancied that it was a question of finding her a well-placed chairin the church. "You mustn't count on me, " he answered. "I've just had noend of trouble in stowing the Duchess de Boisemont away with her twodaughters. "

"Oh, but I'm talking of this evening's performance. Come, my dear Duthil, you really must find me a little corner in somebody's box. I shall die, Iknow I shall, if I can't applaud our delicious, our incomparable friend!"

Ever since setting Silviane down at her door on the previous day, Rosemonde had been overflowing with admiration for her. 

"Oh! you won't find a single remaining seat, madame, " declared Chaigneux, putting on an air of importance. "We have distributed everything. I havejust been offered three hundred francs for a stall. "

"That's true, there has been a fight even for the bracket seats, howeverbadly they might be placed, " Duthil resumed. "I am very sorry, but youmust not count on me.... Duvillard is the only person who might takeyou in his box. He told me that he would reserve me a seat there. And sofar, I think, there are only three of us, including his son.... AskHyacinthe by-and-by to procure you an invitation. "

Rosemonde, whom Hyacinthe had so greatly bored that she had given him hisdismissal, felt the irony of Duthil's suggestion. Nevertheless, sheexclaimed with an air of delight: "Ah, yes! Hyacinthe can't refuse methat. Thanks for your information, my dear Duthil. You are very nice, youare; for you settle things gaily even when they are rather sad.... Anddon't forget, mind, that you have promised to teach me politics. Ah!politics, my dear fellow, I feel that nothing will ever impassion me aspolitics do!"

Then she left them, hustled several people, and in spite of the crushended by installing herself in the front row. 

"Ah! what a crank she is!" muttered Massot with an air of amusement. 

Then, as Chaigneux darted towards magistrate Amadieu to ask him in themost obsequious way if he had received his ticket, the journalist said toDuthil in a whisper: "By the way, my dear friend, is it true thatDuvillard is going to launch his famous scheme for a Trans-Saharanrailway? It would be a gigantic enterprise, a question of hundreds andhundreds of millions this time.... At the 'Globe' office yesterdayevening, Fonsegue shrugged his shoulders and said it was madness, andwould never come off!"

Duthil winked, and in a jesting way replied: "It's as good as done, mydear boy. Fonsegue will be kissing the governor's feet before anotherforty-eight hours are over. "

Then he gaily gave the other to understand that golden manna wouldpresently be raining down on the press and all faithful friends andwilling helpers. Birds shake their feathers when the storm is over, andhe, Duthil, was as spruce and lively, as joyous at the prospect of thepresents he now expected, as if there had never been any African Railwaysscandal to upset him and make him turn pale with fright. 

"The deuce!" muttered Massot, who had become serious. "So this affairhere is more than a triumph: it's the promise of yet another harvest. Well, I'm no longer surprised at the crush of people. "

At this moment the organs suddenly burst into a glorious hymn ofgreeting. The marriage procession was entering the church. A loud clamourhad gone up from the crowd, which spread over the roadway of the RueRoyale and impeded the traffic there, while the _cortege_ pompouslyascended the steps in the bright sunshine. And it was now entering theedifice and advancing beneath the lofty, re-echoing vaults towards thehigh altar which flared with candles, whilst on either hand crowded thecongregation, the men on the right and the women on the left. They hadall risen and stood there smiling, with necks outstretched and eyesglowing with curiosity. 

First, in the rear of the magnificent beadle, came Camille, leaning onthe arm of her father, Baron Duvillard, who wore a proud expressionbefitting a day of victory. Veiled with superb _point d'Alencon_ fallingfrom her diadem of orange blossom, gowned in pleated silk muslin over anunderskirt of white satin, the bride looked so extremely happy, soradiant at having conquered, that she seemed almost pretty. Moreover, sheheld herself so upright that one could scarcely detect that her leftshoulder was higher than her right. 

Next came Gerard, giving his arm to his mother, the Countess deQuinsac, --he looking very handsome and courtly, as was proper, and shedisplaying impassive dignity in her gown of peacock-blue silk embroideredwith gold and steel beads. But it was particularly Eve whom people wishedto see, and every neck was craned forward when she appeared on the arm ofGeneral Bozonnet, the bridegroom's first witness and nearest malerelative. She was gowned in "old rose" taffetas trimmed with Valenciennesof priceless value, and never had she looked younger, more deliciouslyfair. Yet her eyes betrayed her emotion, though she strove to smile; andher languid grace bespoke her widowhood, her compassionate surrender ofthe man she loved. Monferrand, the Marquis de Morigny, and bankerLouvard, the three other witnesses, followed the Baroness and GeneralBozonnet, each giving his arm to some lady of the family. A considerablesensation was caused by the appearance of Monferrand, who seemed onfirst-rate terms with himself, and jested familiarly with the lady heaccompanied, a little brunette with a giddy air. Another who was noticedin the solemn, interminable procession was the bride's eccentric brotherHyacinthe, whose dress coat was of a cut never previously seen, with itstails broadly and symmetrically pleated. 

When the affianced pair had taken their places before the prayer-stoolsawaiting them, and the members of both families and the witnesses hadinstalled themselves in the rear in large armchairs, all gilding and redvelvet, the ceremony was performed with extraordinary pomp. The cure ofthe Madeleine officiated in person; and vocalists from the Grand Operareinforced the choir, which chanted the high mass to the accompaniment ofthe organs, whence came a continuous hymn of glory. All possible luxuryand magnificence were displayed, as if to turn this wedding into somepublic festivity, a great victory, an event marking the apogee of aclass. Even the impudent bravado attaching to the loathsome private dramawhich lay behind it all, and which was known to everybody, added a touchof abominable grandeur to the ceremony. But the truculent spirit ofsuperiority and domination which characterised the proceedings becamemost manifest when Monseigneur Martha appeared in surplice and stole topronounce the blessing. Tall of stature, fresh of face, and faintlysmiling, he had his wonted air of amiable sovereignty, and it was withaugust unction that he pronounced the sacramental words, like somepontiff well pleased at reconciling the two great empires whose heirs heunited. His address to the newly married couple was awaited withcuriosity. It proved really marvellous, he himself triumphed in it. Wasit not in that same church that he had baptised the bride's mother, thatblond Eve, who was still so beautiful, that Jewess whom he himself hadconverted to the Catholic faith amidst the tears of emotion shed by allParis society? Was it not there also that he had delivered his threefamous addresses on the New Spirit, whence dated, to his thinking, therout of science, the awakening of Christian spirituality, and that policyof rallying to the Republic which was to lead to its conquest?

So it was assuredly allowable for him to indulge in some delicateallusions, by way of congratulating himself on his work, now that he wasmarrying a poor scion of the old aristocracy to the five millions of that_bourgeoise_ heiress, in whose person triumphed the class which had wonthe victory in 1789, and was now master of the land. The fourth estate, the duped, robbed people, alone had no place in those festivities. But byuniting the affianced pair before him in the bonds of wedlock, Monseigneur Martha sealed the new alliance, gave effect to the Pope's ownpolicy, that stealthy effort of Jesuitical Opportunism which would takedemocracy, power and wealth to wife, in order to subdue and control them. When the prelate reached his peroration he turned towards Monferrand, whosat there smiling; and it was he, the Minister, whom he seemed to beaddressing while he expressed the hope that the newly married pair wouldever lead a truly Christian life of humility and obedience in all fear ofGod, of whose iron hand he spoke as if it were that of some gendarmecharged with maintaining the peace of the world. Everybody was aware thatthere was some diplomatic understanding between the Bishop and theMinister, some secret pact or other whereby both satisfied their passionfor authority, their craving to insinuate themselves into everything andreign supreme; and thus when the spectators saw Monferrand smiling in hissomewhat sly, jovial way, they also exchanged smiles. 

"Ah!" muttered Massot, who had remained near Duthil, "how amused oldJustus Steinberger would be, if he were here to see his granddaughtermarrying the last of the Quinsacs!"

"But these marriages are quite the thing, quite the fashion, my dearfellow, " the deputy replied. "The Jews and the Christians, the_bourgeois_ and the nobles, do quite right to come to an understanding, so as to found a new aristocracy. An aristocracy is needed, you know, forotherwise we should be swept away by the masses. "

None the less Massot continued sneering at the idea of what a grimaceJustus Steinberger would have made if he had heard Monseigneur Martha. Itwas rumoured in Paris that although the old Jew banker had ceased allintercourse with his daughter Eve since her conversion, he took a keeninterest in everything she was reported to do or say, as if he were morethan ever convinced that she would prove an avenging and dissolving agentamong those Christians, whose destruction was asserted to be the dream ofhis race. If he had failed in his hope of overcoming Duvillard by givingher to him as a wife, he doubtless now consoled himself with thinking ofthe extraordinary fortune to which his blood had attained, by minglingwith that of the harsh, old-time masters of his race, to whose corruptionit gave a finishing touch. Therein perhaps lay that final Jewish conquestof the world of which people sometimes talked. 

A last triumphal strain from the organ brought the ceremony to an end;whereupon the two families and the witnesses passed into the sacristy, where the acts were signed. And forthwith the great congratulatoryprocession commenced. 

The bride and bridegroom at last stood side by side in the lofty butrather dim room, panelled with oak. How radiant with delight was Camilleat the thought that it was all over, that she had triumphed and marriedthat handsome man of high lineage, after wresting him with so muchdifficulty from one and all, her mother especially! She seemed to havegrown taller. Deformed, swarthy, and ugly though she was, she drewherself up exultingly, whilst scores and scores of women, friends oracquaintances, scrambled and rushed upon her, pressing her hands orkissing her, and addressing her in words of ecstasy. Gerard, who roseboth head and shoulders above his bride, and looked all the nobler andstronger beside one of such puny figure, shook hands and smiled like somePrince Charming, who good-naturedly allowed himself to be loved. Meanwhile, the relatives of the newly wedded pair, though they were drawnup in one line, formed two distinct groups past which the crowd pushedand surged with arms outstretched. Duvillard received the congratulationsoffered him as if he were some king well pleased with his people; whilstEve, with a supreme effort, put on an enchanting mien, and answered oneand all with scarcely a sign of the sobs which she was forcing back. Then, on the other side of the bridal pair, Madame de Quinsac stoodbetween General de Bozonnet and the Marquis de Morigny. Very dignified, in fact almost haughty, she acknowledged most of the salutationsaddressed to her with a mere nod, giving her little withered hand only tothose people with whom she was well acquainted. A sea of strangecountenances encompassed her, and now and again when some particularlymurky wave rolled by, a wave of men whose faces bespoke all the crimes ofmoney-mongering, she and the Marquis exchanged glances of deep sadness. This tide continued sweeping by for nearly half an hour; and such was thenumber of those who wanted to shake hands with the bridal pair and theirrelatives, that the latter soon felt their arms ache. 

Meantime, some folks lingered in the sacristy; little groups collected, and gay chatter rang out. Monferrand was immediately surrounded. Massotpointed out to Duthil how eagerly Public Prosecutor Lehmann rushed uponthe Minister to pay him court. They were immediately joined byinvestigating magistrate Amadieu. And even M. De Larombiere, the judge, approached Monferrand, although he hated the Republic, and was anintimate friend of the Quinsacs. But then obedience and obsequiousnesswere necessary on the part of the magistracy, for it was dependent onthose in power, who alone could give advancement, and appoint even asthey dismissed. As for Lehmann, it was alleged that he had renderedassistance to Monferrand by spiriting away certain documents connectedwith the African Railways affair, whilst with regard to the smiling andextremely Parisian Amadieu, was it not to him that the government wasindebted for Salvat's head?

"You know, " muttered Massot, "they've all come to be thanked forguillotining that man yesterday. Monferrand owes that wretched fellow afine taper; for in the first place his bomb prolonged the life of theBarroux ministry, and later on it made Monferrand prime minister, as astrong-handed man was particularly needed to strangle Anarchism. What acontest, eh? Monferrand on one side and Salvat on the other. It was allbound to end in a head being cut off; one was wanted.... Ah! justlisten, they are talking of it. "

This was true. As the three functionaries of the law drew near to paytheir respects to the all-powerful Minister, they were questioned by ladyfriends whose curiosity had been roused by what they had read in thenewspapers. Thereupon Amadieu, whom duty had taken to the execution, andwho was proud of his own importance, and determined to destroy what hecalled "the legend of Salvat's heroic death, " declared that the scoundrelhad shown no true courage at all. His pride alone had kept him on hisfeet. Fright had so shaken and choked him that he had virtually been deadbefore the fall of the knife. 

"Ah! that's true!" cried Duthil. "I was there myself. "

Massot, however, pulled him by the arm, quite indignant at such anassertion, although as a rule he cared a rap for nothing. "You couldn'tsee anything, my dear fellow, " said he; "Salvat died very bravely. It'sreally stupid to continue throwing mud at that poor devil even when he'sdead. "

However, the idea that Salvat had died like a coward was too pleasing aone to be rejected. It was, so to say, a last sacrifice deposited atMonferrand's feet with the object of propitiating him. He still smiled inhis peaceful way, like a good-natured man who is stern only whennecessity requires it. And he showed great amiability towards the threejudicial functionaries, and thanked them for the bravery with which theyhad accomplished their painful duty to the very end. On the previous day, after the execution, he had obtained a formidable majority in the Chamberon a somewhat delicate matter of policy. Order reigned, said he, and allwas for the very best in France. Then, on seeing Vignon--who like a coolgamester had made a point of attending the wedding in order to showpeople that he was superior to fortune--the Minister detained him, andmade much of him, partly as a matter of tactics, for in spite ofeverything he could not help fearing that the future might belong to thatyoung fellow, who showed himself so intelligent and cautious. When amutual friend informed them that Barroux' health was now so bad that thedoctors had given him up as lost, they both began to express theircompassion. Poor Barroux! He had never recovered from that vote of theChamber which had overthrown him. He had been sinking from day to day, stricken to the heart by his country's ingratitude, dying of thatabominable charge of money-mongering and thieving; he who was so uprightand so loyal, who had devoted his whole life to the Republic! But then, as Monferrand repeated, one should never confess. The public can'tunderstand such a thing. 

At this moment Duvillard, in some degree relinquishing his paternalduties, came to join the others, and the Minister then had to share thehonours of triumph with him. For was not this banker the master? Was henot money personified--money, which is the only stable, everlastingforce, far above all ephemeral tenure of power, such as attaches to thoseministerial portfolios which pass so rapidly from hand to hand?Monferrand reigned, but he would pass away, and a like fate would someday fall on Vignon, who had already had a warning that one could notgovern unless the millions of the financial world were on one's side. Sowas not the only real triumpher himself, the Baron--he who laid out fivemillions of francs on buying a scion of the aristocracy for his daughter, he who was the personification of the sovereign _bourgeoisie_, whocontrolled public fortune, and was determined to part with nothing, evenwere he attacked with bombs? All these festivities really centred inhimself, he alone sat down to the banquet, leaving merely the crumbs fromhis table to the lowly, those wretched toilers who had been so cleverlyduped at the time of the Revolution. 

That African Railways affair was already but so much ancient history, buried, spirited away by a parliamentary commission. All who had beencompromised in it, the Duthils, the Chaigneux, the Fonsegues and others, could now laugh merrily. They had been delivered from their nightmare byMonferrand's strong fist, and raised by Duvillard's triumph. EvenSagnier's ignoble article and miry revelations in the "Voix du Peuple"were of no real account, and could be treated with a shrug of theshoulders, for the public had been so saturated with denunciation andslander that it was now utterly weary of all noisy scandal. The onlything which aroused interest was the rumour that Duvillard's big affairof the Trans-Saharan Railway was soon to be launched, that millions ofmoney would be handled, and that some of them would rain down uponfaithful friends. 

Whilst Duvillard was conversing in a friendly way with Monferrand andDauvergne, the Minister of Public Instruction, who had joined them, Massot encountered Fonsegue, his editor, and said to him in an undertone:"Duthil has just assured me that the Trans-Saharan business is ready, andthat they mean to chance it with the Chamber. They declare that they arecertain of success. "

Fonsegue, however, was sceptical on the point. "It's impossible, " saidhe; "they won't dare to begin again so soon. "

Although he spoke in this fashion, the news had made him grave. He hadlately had such a terrible fright through his imprudence in the AfricanRailways affair, that he had vowed he would take every precaution infuture. Still, this did not mean that he would refuse to participate inmatters of business. The best course was to wait and study them, and thensecure a share in all that seemed profitable. In the present instance hefelt somewhat worried. However, whilst he stood there watching the grouparound Duvillard and the two ministers, he suddenly perceived Chaigneux, who, flitting hither and thither, was still beating up applauders forthat evening's performance. He sang Silviane's praises in every key, predicted a most tremendous success, and did his very best to stimulatecuriosity. At last he approached Dauvergne, and with his long figure bentdouble exclaimed: "My dear Minister, I have a particular request to maketo you on the part of a very charming person, whose victory will not becomplete this evening if you do not condescend to favour her with yourvote. "

Dauvergne, a tall, fair, good-looking man, whose blue eyes smiled behindhis glasses, listened to Chaigneux with an affable air. He was proving agreat success at the Ministry of Public Instruction, although he knewnothing of University matters. However, like a real Parisian of Dijon, aspeople called him, he was possessed of some tact and skill, gaveentertainments at which his young and charming wife outshone all others, and passed as being quite an enlightened friend of writers and artists. Silviane's engagement at the Comedie, which so far was his most notableachievement, and which would have shaken the position of any otherminister, had by a curious chance rendered him popular. It was regardedas something original and amusing. 

On understanding that Chaigneux simply wished to make sure of hispresence at the Comedie that evening, he became yet more affable. "Why, certainly, I shall be there, my dear deputy, " he replied. "When one hassuch a charming god-daughter one mustn't forsake her in a moment ofdanger. "

At this Monferrand, who had been lending ear, turned round. "And tellher, " said he, "that I shall be there, too. She may therefore rely onhaving two more friends in the house. "

Thereupon Duvillard, quite enraptured, his eyes glistening with emotionand gratitude, bowed to the two ministers as if they had granted him somenever-to-be-forgotten favour. 

When Chaigneux, on his side also, had returned thanks with a low bow, hehappened to perceive Fonsegue, and forthwith he darted towards him andled him aside. "Ah! my dear colleague, " he declared, "it is absolutelynecessary that this matter should be settled. I regard it as of supremeimportance. "

"What are you speaking of?" inquired Fonsegue, much surprised. 

"Why, of Massot's article, which you won't insert. "

Thereupon, the director of the "Globe" plumply declared that he could notinsert the article. He talked of his paper's dignity and gravity; anddeclared that the lavishing of such fulsome praise upon a hussy--yes, amere hussy, in a journal whose exemplary morality and austerity had costhim so much labour, would seem monstrous and degrading. Personally, hedid not care a fig about it if Silviane chose to make an exhibition ofherself, well, he would be there to see; but the "Globe" was sacred. 

Disconcerted and almost tearful, Chaigneux nevertheless renewed hisattempt. "Come, my dear colleague, " said he, "pray make a little effortfor my sake. If the article isn't inserted, Duvillard will think that itis my fault. And you know that I really need his help. My eldestdaughter's marriage has again been postponed, and I hardly know where toturn. " Then perceiving that his own misfortunes in no wise touchedFonsegue, he added: "And do it for your own sake, my dear colleague, yourown sake. For when all is said Duvillard knows what is in the article, and it is precisely because it is so favourable a one that he wishes tosee it in the 'Globe. ' Think it over; if the article isn't published, hewill certainly turn his back on you. "

For a moment Fonsegue remained silent. Was he thinking of the colossalTrans-Saharan enterprise? Was he reflecting that it would be hard toquarrel at such a moment and miss his own share in the comingdistribution of millions among faithful friends? Perhaps so; however, theidea that it would be more prudent to await developments gained the daywith him. "No, no, " he said, "I can't, it's a matter of conscience. "

In the mean time congratulations were still being tendered to the newlywedded couple. It seemed as if all Paris were passing through thesacristy; there were ever the same smiles and the same hand shakes. Gerard, Camille and their relatives, however weary they might feel, wereforced to retain an air of delight while they stood there against thewall, pent up by the crowd. The heat was now becoming unbearable, and acloud of dust arose as when some big flock goes by. 

All at once little Princess de Harn, who had hitherto lingered nobodyknew where, sprang out of the throng, flung her arms around Camille, kissed even Eve, and then kept Gerard's hand in her own while paying himextraordinary compliments. Then, on perceiving Hyacinthe, she tookpossession of him and carried him off into a corner. "I say, " sheexclaimed, "I have a favour to ask you. "

The young man was wonderfully silent that day. His sister's weddingseemed to him a contemptible ceremony, the most vulgar that one couldimagine. So here, thought he, was another pair accepting the horridsexual law by which the absurdity of the world was perpetuated! For hispart, he had decided that he would witness the proceedings in rigidsilence, with a haughty air of disapproval. When Rosemonde spoke to him, he looked at her rather nervously, for he was glad that she had forsakenhim for Duthil, and feared some fresh caprice on her part. At last, opening his mouth for the first time that day, he replied: "Oh, as afriend, you know, I will grant you whatever favour you like. "

Forthwith the Princess explained that she would surely die if she did notwitness the _debut_ of her dear friend Silviane, of whom she had becomesuch a passionate admirer. So she begged the young man to prevail on hisfather to give her a seat in his box, as she knew that one was leftthere. 

Hyacinthe smiled. "Oh, willingly, my dear, " said he; "I'll warn papa, there will be a seat for you. "

Then, as the procession of guests at last drew to an end and the vestrybegan to empty, the bridal pair and their relatives were able to go offthrough the chattering throng, which still lingered about to bow to themand scrutinise them once more. 

Gerard and Camille were to leave for an estate which Duvillard possessedin Normandy, directly after lunch. This repast, served at the princelymansion of the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy, provided an opportunity for freshdisplay. The dining-room on the first floor had been transformed into abuffet, where reigned the greatest abundance and the most wonderfulsumptuousness. Quite a reception too was held in the drawing-rooms, thelarge red _salon_, the little blue and silver _salon_ and all the others, whose doors stood wide open. Although it had been arranged that onlyfamily friends should be invited, there were quite three hundred peoplepresent. The ministers had excused themselves, alleging that the weightycares of public business required their presence elsewhere. But themagistrates, the deputies and the leading journalists who had attendedthe wedding were again assembled together. And in that throng of hungryfolks, longing for some of the spoils of Duvillard's new venture, thepeople who felt most out of their element were Madame de Quinsac's fewguests, whom General de Bozonnet and the Marquis de Morigny had seated ona sofa in the large red _salon_, which they did not quit. 

Eve, who for her part felt quite overcome, both her moral and physicalstrength being exhausted, had seated herself in the little blue andsilver drawing-room, which, with her passion for flowers, she hadtransformed into an arbour of roses. She would have fallen had sheremained standing, the very floor had seemed to sink beneath her feet. Nevertheless, whenever a guest approached her she managed to force asmile, and appear beautiful and charming. Unlooked-for help at last cameto her in the person of Monseigneur Martha, who had graciously honouredthe lunch with his presence. He took an armchair near her, and began totalk to her in his amiable, caressing way. He was doubtless well aware ofthe frightful anguish which wrung the poor woman's heart, for he showedhimself quite fatherly, eager to comfort her. She, however, talked onlike some inconsolable widow bent on renouncing the world for God, whoalone could bring her peace. Then, as the conversation turned on theAsylum for the Invalids of Labour, she declared that she was resolved totake her presidency very seriously, and, in fact, would exclusivelydevote herself to it, in the future. 

"And as we are speaking of this, Monseigneur, " said she, "I would evenask you to give me some advice.... I shall need somebody to help me, and I thought of securing the services of a priest whom I much admire, Monsieur l'Abbe Pierre Froment. "

At this the Bishop became grave and embarrassed; but Princess Rosemonde, who was passing by with Duthil, had overheard the Baroness, and drawingnear with her wonted impetuosity, she exclaimed: "Abbe Pierre Froment!Oh! I forgot to tell you, my dear, that I met him going about in jacketand trousers! And I've been told too that he cycles in the Bois with somecreature or other. Isn't it true, Duthil, that we met him?"

The deputy bowed and smiled, whilst Eve clasped her hands in amazement. "Is it possible! A priest who was all charitable fervour, who had thefaith and passion of an apostle!"

Thereupon Monseigneur intervened: "Yes, yes, great sorrows occasionallyfall upon the Church. I heard of the madness of the unhappy man you speakof. I even thought it my duty to write to him, but he left my letterunanswered. I should so much have liked to stifle such a scandal! Butthere are abominable forces which we cannot always overcome; and so a dayor two ago the archbishop was obliged to put him under interdict.... You must choose somebody else, madame. "

It was quite a disaster. Eve gazed at Rosemonde and Duthil, withoutdaring to ask them for particulars, but wondering what creature couldhave been so audacious as to turn a priest from the path of duty. Shemust assuredly be some shameless demented woman! And it seemed to Eve asif this crime gave a finishing touch to her own misfortune. With a waveof the arm, which took in all the luxury around her, the roses steepingher in perfume, and the crush of guests around the buffet, she murmured:"Ah! decidedly there's nothing but corruption left; one can no longerrely on anybody!"

Whilst this was going on, Camille happened to be alone in her own roomgetting ready to leave the house with Gerard. And all at once her brotherHyacinthe joined her there. "Ah! it's you, youngster!" she exclaimed. "Well, make haste if you want to kiss me, for I'm off now, thankgoodness!"

He kissed her as she suggested, and then in a doctoral way replied: "Ithought you had more self-command. The delight you have been showing allthis morning quite disgusts me. "

A quiet glance of contempt was her only answer. However, he continued:"You know very well that she'll take your Gerard from you again, directlyyou come back to Paris. "

At this Camille's cheeks turned white and her eyes flared. She steppedtowards her brother with clenched fists: "She! you say that she will takehim from me!"

The "she" they referred to was their own mother. 

"Listen, my boy! I'll kill her first!" continued Camille. "Ah, no! sheneedn't hope for that. I shall know how to keep the man that belongs tome.... And as for you, keep your spite to yourself, for I know you, remember; you are a mere child and a fool!"

He recoiled as if a viper were rearing its sharp, slender black headbefore him; and having always feared her, he thought it best to beat aretreat. 

While the last guests were rushing upon the buffet and finishing thepillage there, the bridal pair took their leave, before driving off tothe railway station. General de Bozonnet had joined a group in order tovent his usual complaints about compulsory military service, and theMarquis de Morigny was obliged to fetch him at the moment when theCountess de Quinsac was kissing her son and daughter-in-law. The old ladytrembled with so much emotion that the Marquis respectfully ventured tosustain her. Meantime, Hyacinthe had started in search of his father, andat last found him near a window with the tottering Chaigneux, whom he wasviolently upbraiding, for Fonsegue's conscientious scruples had put himin a fury. Indeed, if Massot's article should not be inserted in the"Globe, " Silviane might lay all the blame upon him, the Baron, and wreakfurther punishment upon him. However, upon being summoned by his son hehad to don his triumphal air once more, kiss his daughter on theforehead, shake hands with his son-in-law, jest and wish them both apleasant journey. Then Eve, near whom Monseigneur Martha had remained, smiling, in her turn had to say farewell. In this she evinced touchingbravery; her determination to remain beautiful and charming until thevery end lent her sufficient strength to show herself both gay andmotherly. 

She took hold of the slightly quivering hand which Gerard proffered withsome embarrassment, and ventured to retain it for a moment in her own, ina good-hearted, affectionate way, instinct with all the heroism ofrenunciation. "Good by, Gerard, " she said, "keep in good health, behappy. " Then turning to Camille she kissed her on both cheeks, whileMonseigneur Martha sat looking at them with an air of indulgent sympathy. They wished each other "Au revoir, " but their voices trembled, and theireyes in meeting gleamed like swords; in the same way as beneath thekisses they had exchanged they had felt each other's teeth. Ah! how itenraged Camille to see her mother still so beautiful and fascinating inspite of age and grief! And for Eve how great the torture of beholdingher daughter's youth, that youth which had overcome her, and was for everwresting love from within her reach! No forgiveness was possible betweenthem; they would still hate one another even in the family tomb, wheresome day they would sleep side by side. 

All the same, that evening Baroness Duvillard excused herself fromattending the performance of "Polyeucte" at the Comedie Francaise. Shefelt very tired and wished to go to bed early, said she. As a matter offact she wept on her pillow all night long. Thus the Baron's stage-box onthe first balcony tier contained only himself, Hyacinthe, Duthil, andlittle Princess de Harn. 

At nine o'clock there was a full house, one of the brilliant chatteringhouses peculiar to great dramatic solemnities. All the society people whohad marched through the sacristy of the Madeleine that morning were nowassembled at the theatre, again feverish with curiosity, and on thelookout for the unexpected. One recognised the same faces and the sanesmiles; the women acknowledged one another's presence with little signsof intelligence, the men understood each other at a word, a gesture. Oneand all had kept the appointment, the ladies with bared shoulders, thegentlemen with flowers in their button-holes. Fonsegue occupied the"Globe's" box, with two friendly families. Little Massot had hiscustomary seat in the stalls. Amadieu, who was a faithful patron of theComedie, was also to be seen there, as well as General de Bozonnet andPublic Prosecutor Lehmann. The man who was most looked at, however, onaccount of his scandalous article that morning, was Sagnier, the terribleSagnier, looking bloated and apoplectical. Then there was Chaigneux, whohad kept merely a modest bracket-seat for himself, and who scoured thepassages, and climbed to every tier, for the last time preachingenthusiasm. Finally, the two ministers Monferrand and Dauvergne appearedin the box facing Duvillard's; whereupon many knowing smiles wereexchanged, for everybody was aware that these personages had come to helpon the success of the _debutante_. 

On the latter point there had still been unfavourable rumours only theprevious day. Sagnier had declared that the _debut_ of such a notoriousharlot as Silviane at the Comedie Francaise, in such a part too as thatof "Pauline, " which was one of so much moral loftiness, could only beregarded as an impudent insult to public decency. The whole press, moreover, had long been up in arms against the young woman'sextraordinary caprice. But then the affair had been talked of for sixmonths past, so that Paris had grown used to the idea of seeing Silvianeat the Comedie. And now it flocked thither with the one idea of beingentertained. Before the curtain rose one could tell by the veryatmosphere of the house that the audience was a jovial, good-humouredone, bent on enjoying itself, and ready to applaud should it find itselfat all pleased. 

The performance really proved extraordinary. When Silviane, chastelyrobed, made her appearance in the first act, the house was quiteastonished by her virginal face, her innocent-looking mouth, and her eyesbeaming with immaculate candour. Then, although the manner in which shehad understood her part at first amazed people, it ended by charmingthem. From the moment of confiding in "Stratonice, " from the moment ofrelating her dream, she turned "Pauline" into a soaring mysticalcreature, some saint, as it were, such as one sees in stained-glasswindows, carried along by a Wagnerian Brunhilda riding the clouds. It wasa thoroughly ridiculous conception of the part, contrary to reason andtruth alike. Still, it only seemed to interest people the more, partly onaccount of mysticism being the fashion, and partly on account of thecontrast between Silviane's assumed candour and real depravity. Hersuccess increased from act to act, and some slight hissing which wasattributed to Sagnier only helped to make the victory more complete. Monferrand and Dauvergne, as the newspapers afterwards related, gave thesignal for applause; and the whole house joined in it, partly fromamusement and partly perhaps in a spirit of irony. 

During the interval between the fourth and fifth acts there was quite aprocession of visitors to Duvillard's box, where the greatest excitementprevailed. Duthil, however, after absenting himself for a moment, cameback to say: "You remember our influential critic, the one whom I broughtto dinner at the Cafe Anglais? Well, he's repeating to everybody that'Pauline' is merely a little _bourgeoise_, and is not transformed by theheavenly grace until the very finish of the piece. To turn her into aholy virgin from the outset simply kills the part, says he. "

"Pooh!" repeated Duvillard, "let him argue if he likes, it will be allthe more advertisement.... The important point is to get Massot'sarticle inserted in the 'Globe' to-morrow morning. "

On this point, unfortunately, the news was by no means good. Chaigneux, who had gone in search of Fonsegue, declared that the latter stillhesitated in the matter in spite of Silviane's success, which he declaredto be ridiculous. Thereupon, the Baron became quite angry. "Go and tellFonsegue, " he exclaimed, "that I insist on it, and that I shall rememberwhat he does. "

Meantime Princess Rosemonde was becoming quite delirious with enthusiasm. "My dear Hyacinthe, " she pleaded, "please take me to Silviane'sdressing-room; I can't wait, I really must go and kiss her. "

"But we'll all go!" cried Duvillard, who heard her entreaty. 

The passages were crowded, and there were people even on the stage. Moreover, when the party reached the door of Silviane's dressing-room, they found it shut. When the Baron knocked at it, a dresser replied thatmadame begged the gentlemen to wait a moment. 

"Oh! a woman may surely go in, " replied Rosemonde, hastily slippingthrough the doorway. "And you may come, Hyacinthe, " she added; "there canbe no objection to you. "

Silviane was very hot, and a dresser was wiping her perspiring shoulderswhen Rosemonde darted forward and kissed her. Then they chatted togetheramidst the heat and glare from the gas and the intoxicating perfumes ofall the flowers which were heaped up in the little room. Finally, Hyacinthe heard them promise to see one another after the performance, Silviane even inviting Rosemonde to drink a cup of tea with her at herhouse. At this the young man smiled complacently, and said to theactress: "Your carriage is waiting for you at the corner of the RueMontpensier, is it not? Well, I'll take the Princess to it. That will bethe simpler plan, you can both go off together!"

"Oh! how good of you, " cried Rosemonde; "it's agreed. "

Just then the door was opened, and the men, being admitted, began to pourforth their congratulations. However, they had to regain their seats inall haste so as to witness the fifth act. This proved quite a triumph, the whole house bursting into applause when Silviane spoke the famousline, "I see, I know, I believe, I am undeceived, " with the rapturousenthusiasm of a holy martyr ascending to heaven. Nothing could have beenmore soul-like, it was said. And so when the performers were calledbefore the curtain, Paris bestowed an ovation on that virgin of thestage, who, as Sagnier put it, knew so well how to act depravity at home. 

Accompanied by Duthil, Duvillard at once went behind the scenes in orderto fetch Silviane, while Hyacinthe escorted Rosemonde to the broughamwaiting at the corner of the Rue Montpensier. Having helped her into it, the young man stood by, waiting. And he seemed to grow quite merry whenhis father came up with Silviane, and was stopped by her, just as, in histurn, he wished to get into the carriage. 

"There's no room for you, my dear fellow, " said she. "I've a friend withme. "

Rosemonde's little smiling face then peered forth from the depths of thebrougham. And the Baron remained there open-mouthed while the vehicleswiftly carried the two women away!

"Well, what would you have, my dear fellow?" said Hyacinthe, by way ofexplanation to Duthil, who also seemed somewhat amazed by what hadhappened. "Rosemonde was worrying my life out, and so I got rid of her bypacking her off with Silviane. "

Duvillard was still standing on the pavement and still looking dazed whenChaigneux, who was going home quite tired out, recognised him, and cameup to say that Fonsegue had thought the matter over, and that Massot'sarticle would be duly inserted. In the passages, too, there had been adeal of talk about the famous Trans-Saharan project. 

Then Hyacinthe led his father away, trying to comfort him like a sensiblefriend, who regarded woman as a base and impure creature. "Let's go hometo bed, " said he. "As that article is to appear, you can take it to herto-morrow. She will see you, sure enough. "

Thereupon they lighted cigars, and now and again exchanging a few words, took their way up the Avenue de l'Opera, which at that hour was desertedand dismal. Meantime, above the slumbering houses of Paris the breezewafted a prolonged sigh, the plaint, as it were, of an expiring world. 

III. THE GOAL OF LABOUR

EVER since the execution of Salvat, Guillaume had become extremelytaciturn. He seemed worried and absent-minded. He would work for hours atthe manufacture of that dangerous powder of which he alone knew theformula, and the preparation of which was such a delicate matter that hewould allow none to assist him. Then, at other times he would go off, andreturn tired out by some long solitary ramble. He remained very gentle athome, and strove to smile there. But whenever anybody spoke to him hestarted as if suddenly called back from dreamland. 

Pierre imagined his brother had relied too much upon his powers ofrenunciation, and found the loss of Marie unbearable. Was it not somethought of her that haunted him now that the date fixed for the marriagedrew nearer and nearer? One evening, therefore, Pierre ventured to speakout, again offering to leave the house and disappear. 

But at the first words he uttered Guillaume stopped him, andaffectionately replied: "Marie? Oh! I love her, I love her too well toregret what I have done. No, no! you only bring me happiness, I deriveall my strength and courage from you now that I know you are both happy.... And I assure you that you are mistaken, there is nothing at all thematter with me; my work absorbs me, perhaps, but that is all. "

That same evening he managed to cast his gloom aside, and displayeddelightful gaiety. During dinner he inquired if the upholsterer wouldsoon call to arrange the two little rooms which Marie was to occupy withher husband over the workroom. The young woman, who since her marriagewith Pierre had been decided had remained waiting with smiling patience, thereupon told Guillaume what it was she desired--first some hangings ofred cotton stuff, then some polished pine furniture which would enableher to imagine she was in the country, and finally a carpet on the floor, because a carpet seemed to her the height of luxury. She laughed as shespoke, and Guillaume laughed with her in a gay and fatherly way. His goodspirits brought much relief to Pierre, who concluded that he must havebeen mistaken in his surmises. 

On the very morrow, however, Guillaume relapsed into a dreamy state. Andso disquietude again came upon Pierre, particularly when he noticed thatMere-Grand also seemed to be unusually grave and silent. Not daring toaddress her, he tried to extract some information from his nephews, butneither Thomas nor Francois nor Antoine knew anything. Each of themquietly devoted his time to his work, respecting and worshipping hisfather, but never questioning him about his plans or enterprises. Whatever he might choose to do could only be right and good; and they, his sons, were ready to do the same and help him at the very first call, without pausing to inquire into his purpose. It was plain, however, thathe kept them apart from anything at all perilous, that he retained allresponsibility for himself, and that Mere-Grand alone was his_confidante_, the one whom he consulted and to whom he perhaps listened. Pierre therefore renounced his hope of learning anything from the sons, and directed his attention to the old lady, whose rigid gravity worriedhim the more as she and Guillaume frequently had private chats in theroom she occupied upstairs. They shut themselves up there all alone, andremained together for hours without the faintest sound coming from theseemingly lifeless chamber. 

One day, however, Pierre caught sight of Guillaume as he came out of it, carrying a little valise which appeared to be very heavy. And Pierrethereupon remembered both his brother's powder, one pound weight of whichwould have sufficed to destroy a cathedral, and the destructive enginewhich he had purposed bestowing upon France in order that she might bevictorious over all other nations, and become the one great initiatoryand liberative power. Pierre remembered too that the only person besideshimself who knew his brother's secret was Mere-Grand, who, at the timewhen Guillaume was fearing some perquisition on the part of the police, had long slept upon the cartridges of the terrible explosive. But now whywas Guillaume removing all the powder which he had been preparing forsome time past? As this question occurred to Pierre, a sudden suspicion, a vague dread, came upon him, and gave him strength to ask his brother:"Have you reason to fear anything, since you won't keep things here? Ifthey embarrass you, they can all be deposited at my house, nobody willmake a search there. "

Guillaume, whom these words astonished, gazed at Pierre fixedly, and thenreplied: "Yes, I have learnt that the arrests and perquisitions havebegun afresh since that poor devil was guillotined; for they are interror at the thought that some despairing fellow may avenge him. Moreover, it is hardly prudent to keep destructive agents of such greatpower here. I prefer to deposit them in a safe place. But not atNeuilly--oh! no indeed! they are not a present for you, brother. "Guillaume spoke with outward calmness; and if he had started withsurprise at the first moment, it had been scarcely perceptible. 

"So everything is ready?" Pierre resumed. "You will soon be handing yourengine of destruction over to the Minister of War, I presume?"

A gleam of hesitation appeared in the depths of Guillaume's eyes, and hewas for a moment about to tell a falsehood. However, he ended by replying"No, I have renounced that intention. I have another idea. "

He spoke these last words with so much energy and decision that Pierredid not dare to question him further, to ask him, for instance, what thatother idea might be. From that moment, however, he quivered with anxiousexpectancy. From hour to hour Mere-Grand's lofty silence and Guillaume'srapt, energetic face seemed to tell him that some huge and terrifyingscheme had come into being, and was growing and threatening the whole ofParis. 

One afternoon, just as Thomas was about to repair to the Grandidierworks, some one came to Guillaume's with the news that old Toussaint, theworkman, had been stricken with a fresh attack of paralysis. Thomasthereupon decided that he would call upon the poor fellow on his way, forhe held him in esteem and wished to ascertain if he could render him anyhelp. Pierre expressed a desire to accompany his nephew, and they startedoff together about four o'clock. 

On entering the one room which the Toussaints occupied, the room wherethey ate and slept, the visitors found the mechanician seated on a lowchair near the table. He looked half dead, as if struck by lightning. Itwas a case of hemiplegia, which had paralysed the whole of his rightside, his right leg and right arm, and had also spread to his face insuch wise that he could no longer speak. The only sound he could raisewas an incomprehensible guttural grunt. His mouth was drawn to the right, and his once round, good-natured-looking face, with tanned skin andbright eyes, had been twisted into a frightful mask of anguish. At fiftyyears of age, the unhappy man was utterly done for. His unkempt beard wasas white as that of an octogenarian, and his knotty limbs, preyed upon bytoil, were henceforth dead. Only his eyes remained alive, and theytravelled around the room, going from one to another. By his side, eagerto do what she could for him, was his wife, who remained stout even whenshe had little to eat, and still showed herself active and clear-headed, however great her misfortunes. 

"It's a friendly visit, Toussaint, " said she. "It's Monsieur Thomas whohas come to see you with Monsieur l'Abbe. " Then quietly correctingherself she added: "With Monsieur Pierre, his uncle. You see that you arenot yet forsaken. "

Toussaint wished to speak, but his fruitless efforts only brought two bigtears to his eyes. Then he gazed at his visitors with an expression ofindescribable woe, his jaws trembling convulsively. 

"Don't put yourself out, " repeated his wife. "The doctor told you that itwould do you no good. "

At the moment of entering the room, Pierre had already noticed twopersons who had risen from their chairs and drawn somewhat on one side. And now to his great surprise he recognised that they were MadameTheodore and Celine, who were both decently clad, and looked as if theyled a life of comfort. On hearing of Toussaint's misfortune they had cometo see him, like good-hearted creatures, who, on their own side, hadexperienced the most cruel suffering. Pierre, on noticing that they nowseemed to be beyond dire want, remembered what he had heard of thewonderful sympathy lavished on the child after her father's execution, the many presents and donations offered her, and the generous proposalsthat had been made to adopt her. These last had ended in her beingadopted by a former friend of Salvat, who had sent her to school again, pending the time when she might be apprenticed to some trade, while, onthe other hand, Madame Theodore had been placed as a nurse in aconvalescent home. In such wise both had been saved. 

When Pierre drew near to little Celine in order to kiss her, MadameTheodore told her to thank Monsieur l'Abbe--for so she still respectfullycalled him--for all that he had previously done for her. "It was you whobrought us happiness, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said she. "And that's a thing onecan never forget. I'm always telling Celine to remember you in herprayers. "

"And so, my child, you are now going to school again, " said Pierre. 

"Oh yes, Monsieur l'Abbe, and I'm well pleased at it. Besides, we nolonger lack anything. " Then, however, sudden emotion came over the girl, and she stammered with a sob: "Ah! if poor papa could only see us!"

Madame Theodore, meanwhile, had begun to take leave of Madame Toussaint. "Well, good by, we must go, " said she. "What has happened to you is verysad, and we wanted to tell you how much it grieved us. The worry is thatwhen misfortune falls on one, courage isn't enough to set things right.... Celine, come and kiss your uncle.... My poor brother, I hopeyou'll get back the use of your legs as soon as possible. "

They kissed the paralysed man on the cheeks, and then went off. Toussainthad looked at them with his keen and still intelligent eyes, as if helonged to participate in the life and activity into which they werereturning. And a jealous thought came to his wife, who usually was soplacid and good-natured. "Ah! my poor old man!" said she, after proppinghim up with a pillow, "those two are luckier than we are. Everythingsucceeds with them since that madman, Salvat, had his head cut off. They're provided for. They've plenty of bread on the shelf. "

Then, turning towards Pierre and Thomas, she continued: "We others aredone for, you know, we're down in the mud, with no hope of getting out ofit. But what would you have? My poor husband hasn't been guillotined, he's done nothing but work his whole life long; and now, you see, that'sthe end of him, he's like some old animal, no longer good for anything. "

Having made her visitors sit down she next answered their compassionatequestions. The doctor had called twice already, and had promised torestore the unhappy man's power of speech, and perhaps enable him tocrawl round the room with the help of a stick. But as for ever being ableto resume real work that must not be expected. And so what was the use ofliving on? Toussaint's eyes plainly declared that he would much ratherdie at once. When a workman can no longer work and no longer provide forhis wife he is ripe for the grave. 

"Savings indeed!" Madame Toussaint resumed. "There are folks who ask ifwe have any savings.... Well, we had nearly a thousand francs in theSavings Bank when Toussaint had his first attack. And some people don'tknow what a lot of prudence one needs to put by such a sum; for, afterall, we're not savages, we have to allow ourselves a little enjoyment nowand then, a good dish and a good bottle of wine.... Well, what withfive months of enforced idleness, and the medicines, and the underdonemeat that was ordered, we got to the end of our thousand francs; and nowthat it's all begun again we're not likely to taste any more bottled wineor roast mutton. "

Fond of good cheer as she had always been, this cry, far more than thetears she was forcing back, revealed how much the future terrified her. She was there erect and brave in spite of everything; but what a downfallif she were no longer able to keep her room tidy, stew a piece of veal onSundays, and gossip with the neighbours while awaiting her husband'sreturn from work! Why, they might just as well be thrown into the gutterand carried off in the scavenger's cart. 

However, Thomas intervened: "Isn't there an Asylum for the Invalids ofLabour, and couldn't your husband get admitted to it?" he asked. "Itseems to me that is just the place for him. "

"Oh dear, no, " the woman answered. "People spoke to me of that placebefore, and I got particulars of it. They don't take sick people there. When you call they tell you that there are hospitals for those who areill. "

With a wave of his hand Pierre confirmed her statement: it was useless toapply in that direction. He could again see himself scouring Paris, hurrying from the Lady President, Baroness Duvillard, to Fonsegue, theGeneral Manager, and only securing a bed for Laveuve when the unhappy manwas dead. 

However, at that moment an infant was heard wailing, and to the amazementof both visitors Madame Toussaint entered the little closet where her sonCharles had so long slept, and came out of it carrying a child, wholooked scarcely twenty months old. "Well, yes, " she explained, "this isCharles's boy. He was sleeping there in his father's old bed, and now youhear him, he's woke up.... You see, only last Wednesday, the daybefore Toussaint had his stroke, I went to fetch the little one at thenurse's at St. Denis, because she had threatened to cast him adrift sinceCharles had got into bad habits, and no longer paid her. I said to myselfat the time that work was looking up, and that my husband and I wouldalways be able to provide for a little mouth like that.... But justafterwards everything collapsed! At the same time, as the child's herenow I can't go and leave him in the street. "

While speaking in this fashion she walked to and fro, rocking the baby inher arms. And naturally enough she reverted to Charles's folly with thegirl, who had run away, leaving that infant behind her. Things might nothave been so very bad if Charles had still worked as steadily as he haddone before he went soldiering. In those days he had never lost an hour, and had always brought all his pay home! But he had come back from thearmy with much less taste for work. He argued, and had ideas of his own. He certainly hadn't yet come to bomb-throwing like that madman Salvat, but he spent half his time with Socialists and Anarchists, who put hisbrain in a muddle. It was a real pity to see such a strong, good-heartedyoung fellow turning out badly like that. But it was said in theneighbourhood that many another was inclined the same way; that the bestand most intelligent of the younger men felt tired of want andunremunerative labour, and would end by knocking everything to piecesrather than go on toiling with no certainty of food in their old age. 

"Ah! yes, " continued Madame Toussaint, "the sons are not like the fatherswere. These fine fellows won't be as patient as my poor husband has been, letting hard work wear him away till he's become the sorry thing you seethere.... Do you know what Charles said the other evening when hefound his father on that chair, crippled like that, and unable to speak?Why, he shouted to him that he'd been a stupid jackass all his life, working himself to death for those _bourgeois_, who now wouldn't bringhim so much as a glass of water. Then, as he none the less has a goodheart, he began to cry his eyes out. "

The baby was no longer wailing, still the good woman continued walking toand fro, rocking it in her arms and pressing it to her affectionateheart. Her son Charles could do no more for them, she said; perhaps hemight be able to give them a five-franc piece now and again, but eventhat wasn't certain. It was of no use for her to go back to her oldcalling as a seamstress, she had lost all practice of it. And it wouldeven be difficult for her to earn anything as charwoman, for she had thatinfant on her hands as well as her infirm husband--a big child, whom shewould have to wash and feed. And so what would become of the three ofthem? She couldn't tell; but it made her shudder, however brave andmotherly she tried to be. 

For their part, Pierre and Thomas quivered with compassion, particularlywhen they saw big tears coursing down the cheeks of the wretched, stricken Toussaint, as he sat quite motionless in that little and stillcleanly home of toil and want. The poor man had listened to his wife, andhe looked at her and at the infant now sleeping in her arms. Voiceless, unable to cry his woe aloud, he experienced the most awful anguish. Whatdupery his long life of labour had been! how frightfully unjust it wasthat all his efforts should end in such sufferings! how exasperating itwas to feel himself powerless, and to see those whom he loved and whowere as innocent as himself suffer and die by reason of his own sufferingand death! Ah! poor old man, cripple that he was, ending like some beastof burden that has foundered by the roadside--that goal of labour! And itwas all so revolting and so monstrous that he tried to put it into words, and his desperate grief ended in a frightful, raucous grunt. 

"Be quiet, don't do yourself harm!" concluded Madame Toussaint. "Thingsare like that, and there's no mending them. "

Then she went to put the child to bed again, and on her return, just asThomas and Pierre were about to speak to her of Toussaint's employer, M. Grandidier, a fresh visitor arrived. Thereupon the others decided towait. 

The new comer was Madame Chretiennot, Toussaint's other sister, eighteenyears younger than himself. Her husband, the little clerk, had compelledher to break off almost all intercourse with her relatives, as he feltashamed of them; nevertheless, having heard of her brother's misfortune, she had very properly come to condole with him. She wore a gown of cheapflimsy silk, and a hat trimmed with red poppies, which she had freshenedup three times already; but in spite of this display her appearancebespoke penury, and she did her best to hide her feet on account of theshabbiness of her boots. Moreover, she was no longer the beautifulHortense. Since a recent miscarriage, all trace of her good looks haddisappeared. 

The lamentable appearance of her brother and the bareness of that home ofsuffering chilled her directly she crossed the threshold. And as soon asshe had kissed Toussaint, and said how sorry she was to find him in sucha condition, she began to lament her own fate, and recount her troubles, for fear lest she should be asked for any help. 

"Ah! my dear, " she said to her sister-in-law, "you are certainly much tobe pitied! But if you only knew! We all have our troubles. Thus in mycase, obliged as I am to dress fairly well on account of my husband'sposition, I have more trouble than you can imagine in making both endsmeet. One can't go far on a salary of three thousand francs a year, whenone has to pay seven hundred francs' rent out of it. You will perhaps saythat we might lodge ourselves in a more modest way; but we can't, mydear, I must have a _salon_ on account of the visits I receive. So justcount!... Then there are my two girls. I've had to send them toschool; Lucienne has begun to learn the piano and Marcelle has some tastefor drawing.... By the way, I would have brought them with me, but Ifeared it would upset them too much. You will excuse me, won't you?"

Then she spoke of all the worries which she had had with her husband onaccount of Salvat's ignominious death. Chretiennot, vain, quarrelsomelittle fellow that he was, felt exasperated at now having a _guillotine_in his wife's family. And he had lately begun to treat the unfortunatewoman most harshly, charging her with having brought about all theirtroubles, and even rendering her responsible for his own mediocrity, embittered as he was more and more each day by a confined life of officework. On some evenings they had downright quarrels; she stood up forherself, and related that when she was at the confectionery shop in theRue des Martyrs she could have married a doctor had she only chosen, forthe doctor found her quite pretty enough. Now, however, she was becomingplainer and plainer, and her husband felt that he was condemned toeverlasting penury; so that their life was becoming more and more dismaland quarrelsome, and as unbearable--despite the pride of being"gentleman" and "lady"--as was the destitution of the working classes. 

"All the same, my dear, " at last said Madame Toussaint, weary of hersister-in-law's endless narrative of worries, "you have had one piece ofluck. You won't have the trouble of bringing up a third child, now. "

"That's true, " replied Hortense, with a sigh of relief. "How we shouldhave managed, I don't know.... Still, I was very ill, and I'm far frombeing in good health now. The doctor says that I don't eat enough, andthat I ought to have good food. "

Then she rose for the purpose of giving her brother another kiss andtaking her departure; for she feared a scene on her husband's part shouldhe happen to come home and find her absent. Once on her feet, however, she lingered there a moment longer, saying that she also had just seenher sister, Madame Theodore, and little Celine, both of them comfortablyclad and looking happy. And with a touch of jealousy she added: "Well, myhusband contents himself with slaving away at his office every day. He'llnever do anything to get his head cut off; and it's quite certain thatnobody will think of leaving an income to Marcelle and Lucienne.... Well, good by, my dear, you must be brave, one must always hope thatthings will turn out for the best. "

When she had gone off, Pierre and Thomas inquired if M. Grandidier hadheard of Toussaint's misfortune and agreed to do anything for him. MadameToussaint answered that he had so far made only a vague promise; and onlearning this they resolved to speak to him as warmly as they could onbehalf of the old mechanician, who had spent as many as five and twentyyears at the works. The misfortune was that a scheme for establishing afriendly society, and even a pension fund, which had been launched beforethe crisis from which the works were now recovering, had collapsedthrough a number of obstacles and complications. Had things turned outotherwise, Thomas might have had a pittance assured him, even though hewas unable to work. But under the circumstances the only hope for thepoor stricken fellow lay in his employer's compassion, if not his senseof justice. 

As the baby again began to cry, Madame Toussaint went to fetch it, andshe was once more carrying it to and fro, when Thomas pressed herhusband's sound hand between both his own. "We will come back, " said theyoung man; "we won't forsake you, Toussaint. You know very well thatpeople like you, for you've always been a good and steady workman. Sorely on us, we will do all we can. "

Then they left him tearful and overpowered, in that dismal room, while, up and down beside him, his wife rocked the squealing infant--that otherluckless creature, who was now so heavy on the old folks' hands, and likethem was fated to die of want and unjust toil. 

Toil, manual toil, panting at every effort, this was what Pierre andThomas once more found at the works. From the slender pipes above theroofs spurted rhythmical puffs of steam, which seemed like the verybreath of all that labour. And in the work-shops one found a continuousrumbling, a whole army of men in motion, forging, filing, and piercing, amidst the spinning of leather gearing and the trembling of machinery. The day was ending with a final feverish effort to complete some task orother before the bell should ring for departure. 

On inquiring for the master Thomas learnt that he had not been seen since_dejeuner_, which was such an unusual occurrence that the young man atonce feared some terrible scene in the silent pavilion, whose shutterswere ever closed upon Grandidier's unhappy wife--that mad but beautifulcreature, whom he loved so passionately that he had never been willing topart from her. The pavilion could be seen from the little glazedwork-shop which Thomas usually occupied, and as he and Pierre stoodwaiting there, it looked very peaceful and pleasant amidst the biglilac-bushes planted round about it. Surely, they thought, it ought tohave been brightened by the gay gown of a young woman and the laughter ofplayful children. But all at once a loud, piercing shriek reached theirears, followed by howls and moans, like those of an animal that is beingbeaten or possibly slaughtered. Ah! those howls ringing out amidst allthe stir of the toiling works, punctuated it seemed by the rhythmicalpuffing of the steam, accompanied too by the dull rumbling of themachinery! The receipts of the business had been doubling and doublingsince the last stock-taking; there was increase of prosperity everymonth, the bad times were over, far behind. Grandidier was realising alarge fortune with his famous bicycle for the million, the "Lisette"; andthe approaching vogue of motor-cars also promised huge gains, should heagain start making little motor-engines, as he meant to do, as soon asThomas's long-projected motor should be perfected. But what was wealthwhen in that dismal pavilion, whose shutters were ever closed, thosefrightful shrieks continued, proclaiming some terrible drama, which allthe stir and bustle of the prosperous works were unable to stifle?

Pierre and Thomas looked at one another, pale and quivering. And all atonce, as the cries ceased and the pavilion sank into death-like silenceonce more, the latter said in an undertone: "She is usually very gentle, she will sometimes spend whole days sitting on a carpet like a littlechild. He is fond of her when she is like that; he lays her down andpicks her up, caresses her and makes her laugh as if she were a baby. Ah!how dreadfully sad it is! When an attack comes upon her she gets frantic, tries to bite herself, and kill herself by throwing herself against thewalls. And then he has to struggle with her, for no one else is allowedto touch her. He tries to restrain her, and holds her in his arms to calmher.... But how terrible it was just now! Did you hear? I do not thinkshe has ever had such a frightful attack before. "

For a quarter of an hour longer profound silence prevailed. ThenGrandidier came out of the pavilion, bareheaded and still ghastly pale. Passing the little glazed work-shop on his way, he perceived Thomas andPierre there, and at once came in. But he was obliged to lean against abench like a man who is dazed, haunted by a nightmare. His good-natured, energetic face retained an expression of acute anguish; and his left earwas scratched and bleeding. However, he at once wished to talk, overcomehis feelings, and return to his life of activity. "I am very pleased tosee you, my dear Thomas, " said he, "I have been thinking over what youtold me about our little motor. We must go into the matter again. "

Seeing how distracted he was, it occurred to the young man that somesudden diversion, such as the story of another's misfortunes, mightperhaps draw him from his haunting thoughts. "Of course I am at yourdisposal, " he replied; "but before talking of that matter I should liketo tell you that we have just seen Toussaint, that poor old fellow whohas been stricken with paralysis. His awful fate has quite distressed us. He is in the greatest destitution, forsaken as it were by the roadside, after all his years of labour. "

Thomas dwelt upon the quarter of a century which the old workman hadspent at the factory, and suggested that it would be only just to takesome account of his long efforts, the years of his life which he haddevoted to the establishment. And he asked that he might be assisted inthe name both of equity and compassion. 

"Ah! monsieur, " Pierre in his turn ventured to say. "I should like totake you for an instant into that bare room, and show you that poor, aged, worn-out, stricken man, who no longer has even the power of speechleft him to tell people his sufferings. There can be no greaterwretchedness than to die in this fashion, despairing of all kindlinessand justice. "

Grandidier had listened to them in silence. But big tears hadirresistibly filled his eyes, and when he spoke it was in a very low andtremulous voice: "The greatest wretchedness, who can tell what it is? Whocan speak of it if he has not known the wretchedness of others? Yes, yes, it's sad undoubtedly that poor Toussaint should be reduced to that stateat his age, not knowing even if he will have food to eat on the morrow. But I know sorrows that are just as crushing, abominations which poisonone's life in a still greater degree.... Ah! yes, food indeed! Tothink that happiness will reign in the world when everybody has food toeat! What an idiotic hope!"

The whole grievous tragedy of his life was in the shudder which had comeover him. To be the employer, the master, the man who is making money, who disposes of capital and is envied by his workmen, to own anestablishment to which prosperity has returned, whose machinery coinsgold, apparently leaving one no other trouble than that of pocketingone's profits; and yet at the same time to be the most wretched of men, to know no day exempt from anguish, to find each evening at one's hearthno other reward or prop than the most atrocious torture of the heart!Everything, even success, has to be paid for. And thus that triumpher, that money-maker, whose pile was growing larger at each successiveinventory, was sobbing with bitter grief. 

However, he showed himself kindly disposed towards Toussaint, andpromised to assist him. As for a pension that was an idea which he couldnot entertain, as it was the negation of the wage-system such as itexisted. He energetically defended his rights as an employer, repeatingthat the strain of competition would compel him to avail himself of themso long as the present system should endure. His part in it was to dogood business in an honest way. However, he regretted that his men hadnever carried out the scheme of establishing a relief fund, and he saidthat he would do his best to induce them to take it in hand again. 

Some colour had now come back to his checks; for on returning to theinterests of his life of battle he felt his energy restored. He againreverted to the question of the little motor, and spoke of it for sometime with Thomas, while Pierre waited, feeling quite upset. Ah! hethought, how universal was the thirst for happiness! Then, in spite ofthe many technical terms that were used he caught a little of what theothers were saying. Small steam motors had been made at the works informer times; but they had not proved successes. In point of fact a newpropelling force was needed. Electricity, though everyone foresaw itsfuture triumph, was so far out of the question on account of the weightof the apparatus which its employment necessitated. So only petroleumremained, and the inconvenience attaching to its use was so great thatvictory and fortune would certainly rest with the manufacturer who shouldbe able to replace it by some other hitherto unknown agent. In thediscovery and adaptation of the latter lay the whole problem. 

"Yes, I am eager about it now, " at last exclaimed Grandidier in ananimated way. "I allowed you to prosecute your experiments withouttroubling you with any inquisitive questions. But a solution is becomingimperative. "

Thomas smiled: "Well, you must remain patient just a little longer, " saidhe; "I believe that I am on the right road. "

Then Grandidier shook hands with him and Pierre, and went off to make hisusual round through his busy, bustling works, whilst near at hand, awaiting his return, stood the closed pavilion, where every evening hewas fated to relapse into endless, incurable anguish. 

The daylight was already waning when Pierre and Thomas, afterre-ascending the height of Montmartre, walked towards the large work-shopwhich Jahan, the sculptor, had set up among the many sheds whose erectionhad been necessitated by the building of the Sacred Heart. There was herea stretch of ground littered with materials, an extraordinary chaos ofbuilding stone, beams and machinery; and pending the time when an army ofnavvies would come to set the whole place in order, one could see gapingtrenches, rough flights of descending steps and fences, imperfectlyclosing doorways which conducted to the substructures of the basilica. 

Halting in front of Jahan's work-shop, Thomas pointed to one of thesedoorways by which one could reach the foundation works. "Have you neverhad an idea of visiting the foundations?" he inquired of Pierre. "There'squite a city down there on which millions of money have been spent. Theycould only find firm soil at the very base of the height, and they had toexcavate more than eighty shafts, fill them with concrete, and then reartheir church on all those subterranean columns.... Yes, that is so. Ofcourse the columns cannot be seen, but it is they who hold that insultingedifice aloft, right over Paris!"

Having drawn near to the fence, Pierre was looking at an open doorwaybeyond it, a sort of dark landing whence steps descended as if into thebowels of the earth. And he thought of those invisible columns ofconcrete, and of all the stubborn energy and desire for domination whichhad set and kept the edifice erect. 

Thomas was at last obliged to call him. "Let us make haste, " said he, "the twilight will soon be here. We shan't be able to see much. "

They had arranged to meet Antoine at Jahan's, as the sculptor wished toshow them a new model he had prepared. When they entered the work-shopthey found the two assistants still working at the colossal angel whichhad been ordered for the basilica. Standing on a scaffolding they wererough-hewing its symmetrical wings, whilst Jahan, seated on a low chair, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his hands soiled with clay, was contemplating a figure some three feet high on which he had just beenworking. 

"Ah! it's you, " he exclaimed. "Antoine has been waiting more than half anhour for you. He's gone outside with Lise to see the sun set over Paris, I think. But they will soon be back. "

Then he relapsed into silence, with his eyes fixed on his work. 

This was a bare, erect, lofty female figure, of such august majesty, sosimple were its lines, that it suggested something gigantic. The figure'sabundant, outspread hair suggested rays around its face, which beamedwith sovereign beauty like the sun. And its only gesture was one of offerand of greeting; its arms were thrown slightly forward, and its handswere open for the grasp of all mankind. 

Still lingering in his dream Jahan began to speak slowly: "You rememberthat I wanted a pendant for my figure of Fecundity. I had modelled aCharity, but it pleased me so little and seemed so commonplace that I letthe clay dry and spoil.... And then the idea of a figure of Justicecame to me. But not a gowned figure with the sword and the scales! Thatwasn't the Justice that inspired me. What haunted my mind was the otherJustice, the one that the lowly and the sufferers await, the one whoalone can some day set a little order and happiness among us. And Ipictured her like that, quite bare, quite simple, and very lofty. She isthe sun as it were, a sun all beauty, harmony and strength; for justiceis only to be found in the sun which shines in the heavens for one andall, and bestows on poor and rich alike its magnificence and light andwarmth, which are the source of all life. And so my figure, you see, hasher hands outstretched as if she were offering herself to all mankind, greeting it and granting it the gift of eternal life in eternal beauty. Ah! to be beautiful and strong and just, one's whole dream lies in that. "

Jahan relighted his pipe and burst into a merry laugh. "Well, I think thegood woman carries herself upright.... What do you fellows say?"

His visitors highly praised his work. Pierre for his part was muchaffected at finding in this artistic conception the very idea that he hadso long been revolving in his mind--the idea of an era of Justice risingfrom the ruins of the world, which Charity after centuries of trial hadfailed to save. 

Then the sculptor gaily explained that he had prepared his model thereinstead of at home, in order to console himself a little for his bigdummy of an angel, the prescribed triteness of which disgusted him. Somefresh objections had been raised with respect to the folds of the robe, which gave some prominence to the thighs, and in the end he had beencompelled to modify all of the drapery. 

"Oh! it's just as they like!" he cried; "it's no work of mine, you know;it's simply an order which I'm executing just as a mason builds a wall. There's no religious art left, it has been killed by stupidity anddisbelief. Ah! if social or human art could only revive, how glorious tobe one of the first to bear the tidings!"

Then he paused. Where could the youngsters, Antoine and Lise, have gotto, he wondered. He threw the door wide open, and, a little distanceaway, among the materials littering the waste ground, one could seeAntoine's tall figure and Lise's short slender form standing out againstthe immensity of Paris, which was all golden amidst the sun's farewell. The young man's strong arm supported Lise, who with this help walkedbeside him without feeling any fatigue. Slender and graceful, like a girlblossoming into womanhood, she raised her eyes to his with a smile ofinfinite gratitude, which proclaimed that she belonged to him forevermore. 

"Ah! they are coming back, " said Jahan. "The miracle is now complete, youknow. I'm delighted at it. I did not know what to do with her; I had evenrenounced all attempts to teach her to read; I left her for days togetherin a corner, infirm and tongue-tied like a lack-wit.... But yourbrother came and took her in hand somehow or other. She listened to himand understood him, and began to read and write with him, and growintelligent and gay. Then, as her limbs still gained no suppleness, andshe remained infirm, ailing and puny, he began by carrying her here, andthen helped her to walk in such wise that she can now do so by herself. In a few weeks' time she has positively grown and become quite charming. Yes, I assure you, it is second birth, real creation. Just look at them!"

Antoine and Lise were still slowly approaching. The evening breeze whichrose from the great city, where all was yet heat and sunshine, broughtthem a bath of life. If the young man had chosen that spot, with itssplendid horizon, open to the full air which wafted all the germs oflife, it was doubtless because he felt that nowhere else could he instilmore vitality, more soul, more strength into her. And love had beencreated by love. He had found her asleep, benumbed, without power ofmotion or intellect, and he had awakened her, kindled life in her, lovedher, that he might be loved by her in return. She was his work, she waspart of himself. 

"So you no longer feel tired, little one?" said Jahan. 

She smiled divinely. "Oh! no, it's so pleasant, so beautiful, to walkstraight on like this.... All I desire is to go on for ever and everwith Antoine. "

The others laughed, and Jahan exclaimed in his good-natured way: "Let ushope that he won't take you so far. You've reached your destination now, and I shan't be the one to prevent you from being happy. "

Antoine was already standing before the figure of Justice, to which thefalling twilight seemed to impart a quiver of life. "Oh! how divinelysimple, how divinely beautiful!" said he. 

For his own part he had lately finished a new wood engraving, whichdepicted Lise holding a book in her hand, an engraving instinct withtruth and emotion, showing her awakened to intelligence and love. Andthis time he had achieved his desire, making no preliminary drawing, buttackling the block with his graver, straight away, in presence of hismodel. And infinite hopefulness had come upon him, he was dreaming ofgreat original works in which the whole period that he belonged to wouldlive anew and for ever. 

Thomas now wished to return home. So they shook hands with Jahan, who, ashis day's work was over, put on his coat to take his sister back to theRue du Calvaire. 

"Till to-morrow, Lise, " said Antoine, inclining his head to kiss her. 

She raised herself on tip-toes, and offered him her eyes, which he hadopened to life. "Till to-morrow, Antoine, " said she. 

Outside, the twilight was falling. Pierre was the first to cross thethreshold, and as he did so, he saw so extraordinary a sight that for aninstant he felt stupefied. But it was certain enough: he could plainlydistinguish his brother Guillaume emerging from the gaping doorway whichconducted to the foundations of the basilica. And he saw him hastilyclimb over the palings, and then pretend to be there by pure chance, asthough he had come up from the Rue Lamarck. When he accosted his twosons, as if he were delighted to meet them, and began to say that he hadjust come from Paris, Pierre asked himself if he had been dreaming. However, an anxious glance which his brother cast at him convinced himthat he had been right. And then he not only felt ill at ease in presenceof that man whom he had never previously known to lie, but it seemed tohim that he was at last on the track of all he had feared, the formidablemystery that he had for some time past felt brewing around him in thelittle peaceful house. 

When Guillaume, his sons and his brother reached home and entered thelarge workroom overlooking Paris, it was so dark that they fancied nobodywas there. 

"What! nobody in?" said Guillaume. 

But in a somewhat low, quiet voice Francois answered out of the gloom:"Why, yes, I'm here. "

He had remained at his table, where he had worked the whole afternoon, and as he could no longer read, he now sat in a dreamy mood with his headresting on his hands, his eyes wandering over Paris, where night wasgradually falling. As his examination was now near at hand, he was livingin a state of severe mental strain. 

"What, you are still working there!" said his father. "Why didn't you askfor a lamp?"

"No, I wasn't working, I was looking at Paris, " Francois slowly answered. "It's singular how the night falls over it by degrees. The last districtthat remained visible was the Montague Ste. Genevieve, the plateau of thePantheon, where all our knowledge and science have grown up. A sun-raystill gilds the schools and libraries and laboratories, when thelow-lying districts of trade are already steeped in darkness. I won't saythat the planet has a particular partiality for us at the Ecole Normale, but it's certain that its beams still linger on our roofs, when they areto be seen nowhere else. "

He began to laugh at his jest. Still one could see how ardent was hisfaith in mental effort, how entirely he gave himself to mental labour, which, in his opinion, could alone bring truth, establish justice andcreate happiness. 

Then came a short spell of silence. Paris sank more and more deeply intothe night, growing black and mysterious, till all at once sparks of lightbegan to appear. 

"The lamps are being lighted, " resumed Francois; "work is being resumed onall sides. "

Then Guillaume, who likewise had been dreaming, immersed in his fixedidea, exclaimed: "Work, yes, no doubt! But for work to give a fullharvest it must be fertilised by will. There is something which issuperior to work. "

Thomas and Antoine had drawn near. And Francois, as much for them as forhimself, inquired: "What is that, father?"

"Action. "

For a moment the three young men remained silent, impressed by thesolemnity of the hour, quivering too beneath the great waves of darknesswhich rose from the vague ocean of the city. Then a young voice remarked, though whose it was one could not tell: "Action is but work. "

And Pierre, who lacked the respectful quietude, the silent faith, of hisnephews, now felt his nervousness increasing. That huge and terrifyingmystery of which he was dimly conscious rose before him, while a greatquiver sped by in the darkness, over that black city where the lamps werenow being lighted for a whole passionate night of work. 

IV. THE CRISIS

A GREAT ceremony was to take place that day at the basilica of the SacredHeart. Ten thousand pilgrims were to be present there, at a solemnconsecration of the Holy Sacrament; and pending the arrival of fouro'clock, the hour fixed for the service, Montmartre would be invaded bypeople. Its slopes would be black with swarming devotees, the shops wherereligious emblems and pictures were sold would be besieged, the cafes andtaverns would be crowded to overflowing. It would all be like some hugefair, and meantime the big bell of the basilica, "La Savoyarde, " would beringing peal on peal over the holiday-making multitude. 

When Pierre entered the workroom in the morning he perceived Guillaumeand Mere-Grand alone there; and a remark which he heard the former makecaused him to stop short and listen from behind a tall-revolvingbookstand. Mere-Grand sat sewing in her usual place near the big window, while Guillaume stood before her, speaking in a low voice. 

"Mother, " said he, "everything is ready, it is for to-day. "

She let her work fall, and raised her eyes, looking very pale. "Ah!" shesaid, "so you have made up your mind. "

"Yes, irrevocably. At four o'clock I shall be yonder, and it will all beover. "

"'Tis well--you are the master. "

Silence fell, terrible silence. Guillaume's voice seemed to come from faraway, from somewhere beyond the world. It was evident that his resolutionwas unshakable, that his tragic dream, his fixed idea of martyrdom, wholly absorbed him. Mere-Grand looked at him with her pale eyes, like anheroic woman who had grown old in relieving the sufferings of others, andhad ever shown all the abnegation and devotion of an intrepid heart, which nothing but the idea of duty could influence. She knew Guillaume'sterrible scheme, and had helped him to regulate the pettiest details ofit; but if on the one hand, after all the iniquity she had seen andendured, she admitted that fierce and exemplary punishment might seemnecessary, and that even the idea of purifying the world by the fire of avolcano might be entertained, on the other hand, she believed toostrongly in the necessity of living one's life bravely to the very end, to be able, under any circumstances, to regard death as either good orprofitable. 

"My son, " she gently resumed, "I witnessed the growth of your scheme, andit neither surprised nor angered me. I accepted it as one acceptslightning, the very fire of the skies, something of sovereign purity andpower. And I have helped you through it all, and have taken upon myselfto act as the mouthpiece of your conscience.... But let me tell youonce more, one ought never to desert the cause of life. "

"It is useless to speak, mother, " Guillaume replied: "I have resolved togive my life and cannot take it back.... Are you now unwilling tocarry out my desires, remain here, and act as we have decided, when allis over?"

She did not answer this inquiry, but in her turn, speaking slowly andgravely, put a question to him: "So it is useless for me to speak to youof the children, myself and the house?" said she. "You have thought itall over, you are quite determined?" And as he simply answered "Yes, " sheadded: "'Tis well, you are the master.... I will be the one who is toremain behind and act. And you may be without fear, your bequest is ingood hands. All that we have decided together shall be done. "

Once more they became silent. Then she again inquired: "At four o'clock, you say, at the moment of that consecration?"

"Yes, at four o'clock. "

She was still looking at him with her pale eyes, and there seemed to besomething superhuman in her simplicity and grandeur as she sat there inher thin black gown. Her glance, in which the greatest bravery and thedeepest sadness mingled, filled Guillaume with acute emotion. His handsbegan to tremble, and he asked: "Will you let me kiss you, mother?"

"Oh! right willingly, my son, " she responded. "Your path of duty may notbe mine, but you see I respect your views and love you. "

They kissed one another, and when Pierre, whom the scene had chilled tohis heart, presented himself as if he were just arriving, Mere-Grand hadquietly taken up her needlework once more, while Guillaume was going toand fro, setting one of his laboratory shelves in order with all hiswonted activity. 

At noon when lunch was ready, they found it necessary to wait for Thomas, who had not yet come home. His brothers Francois and Antoine complainedin a jesting way, saying that they were dying of hunger, while for herpart Marie, who had made a _creme_, and was very proud of it, declaredthat they would eat it all, and that those who came late would have to gowithout tasting it. When Thomas eventually put in an appearance he wasgreeted with jeers. 

"But it wasn't my fault, " said he; "I stupidly came up the hill by way ofthe Rue de la Barre, and you can have no notion what a crowd I fell upon. Quite ten thousand pilgrims must have camped there last night. I am toldthat as many as possible were huddled together in the St. Joseph Refuge. The others no doubt had to sleep in the open air. And now they are busyeating, here, there and everywhere, all over the patches of waste groundand even on the pavements. One can scarcely set one foot before the otherwithout risk of treading on somebody. "

The meal proved a very gay one, though Pierre found the gaiety forced andexcessive. Yet the young people could surely know nothing of thefrightful, invisible thing which to Pierre ever seemed to be hoveringaround in the bright sunlight of that splendid June day. Was it that thedim presentiment which comes to loving hearts when mourning threatensthem, swept by during the short intervals of silence that followed thejoyous outbursts? Although Guillaume looked somewhat pale, and spoke withunusual caressing softness, he retained his customary bright smile. But, on the other hand, never had Mere-Grand been more silent or more grave. 

Marie's _creme_ proved a great success, and the others congratulated heron it so fulsomely that they made her blush. Then, all at once, heavysilence fell once more, a deathly chill seemed to sweep by, making everyface turn pale--even while they were still cleaning their plates withtheir little spoons. 

"Ah! that bell, " exclaimed Francois; "it is really intolerable. I canfeel my head splitting. "

He referred to "La Savoyarde, " the big bell of the basilica, which hadnow begun to toll, sending forth deep sonorous volumes of sound, whichever and ever winged their flight over the immensity of Paris. In theworkroom they were all listening to the clang. 

"Will it keep on like that till four o'clock?" asked Marie. 

"Oh! at four o'clock, " replied Thomas, "at the moment of the consecrationyou will hear something much louder than that. The great peals of joy, the song of triumph will then ring out. "

Guillaume was still smiling. "Yes, yes, " said he, "those who don't wantto be deafened for life had better keep their windows closed. The worstis, that Paris has to hear it whether it will or no, and even as far awayas the Pantheon, so I'm told. "

Meantime Mere-Grand remained silent and impassive. Antoine for his partexpressed his disgust with the horrible religious pictures for which thepilgrims fought--pictures which in some respects suggested those on thelids of sweetmeat boxes, although they depicted the Christ with Hisbreast ripped open and displaying His bleeding heart. There could be nomore repulsive materialism, no grosser or baser art, said Antoine. Thenthey rose from table, talking at the top of their voices so as to makethemselves heard above the incessant din which came from the big bell. 

Immediately afterwards they all set to work again. Mere-Grand took hereverlasting needlework in hand once more, while Marie, sitting near her, continued some embroidery. The young men also attended to theirrespective tasks, and now and again raised their heads and exchanged afew words. Guillaume, for his part, likewise seemed very busy; Pierrealone coming and going in a state of anguish, beholding them all as in anightmare, and attributing some terrible meaning to the most innocentremarks. During _dejeuner_, in order to explain the frightful discomfortinto which he was thrown by the gaiety of the meal, he had been obligedto say that he felt poorly. And now he was looking and listening andwaiting with ever-growing anxiety. 

Shortly before three o'clock, Guillaume glanced at his watch and thenquietly took up his hat. "Well, " said he, "I'm going out. "

His sons, Mere-Grand and Marie raised their heads. 

"I'm going out, " he repeated, "_au revoir_. "

Still he did not go off. Pierre could divine that he was struggling, stiffening himself against the frightful tempest which was raging withinhim, striving to prevent either shudder or pallor from betraying hisawful secret. Ah! he must have suffered keenly; he dared not give hissons a last kiss, for fear lest he might rouse some suspicion in theirminds, which would impel them to oppose him and prevent his death! Atlast with supreme heroism he managed to overcome himself. 

"_Au revoir_, boys. "

"_Au revoir_, father. Will you be home early?"

"Yes, yes.... Don't worry about me, do plenty of work. "

Mere-Grand, still majestically silent, kept her eyes fixed upon him. Herhe had ventured to kiss, and their glances met and mingled, instinct withall that he had decided and that she had promised: their common dream oftruth and justice. 

"I say, Guillaume, " exclaimed Marie gaily, "will you undertake acommission for me if you are going down by way of the Rue des Martyrs?"

"Why, certainly, " he replied. 

"Well, then, please look in at my dressmaker's, and tell her that Ishan't go to try my gown on till to-morrow morning. "

It was a question of her wedding dress, a gown of light grey silk, thestylishness of which she considered very amusing. Whenever she spoke ofit, both she and the others began to laugh. 

"It's understood, my dear, " said Guillaume, likewise making merry overit. "We know it's Cinderella's court robe, eh? The fairy brocade and lacethat are to make you very beautiful and for ever happy. "

However, the laughter ceased, and in the sudden silence which fell, itagain seemed as if death were passing by with a great flapping of wingsand an icy gust which chilled the hearts of everyone remaining there. 

"It's understood; so now I'm really off, " resumed Guillaume. "_Aurevoir_, children. "

Then he sallied forth, without even turning round, and for a moment theycould hear the firm tread of his feet over the garden gravel. 

Pierre having invented a pretext was able to follow him a couple ofminutes afterwards. As a matter of fact there was no need for him to dogGuillaume's heels, for he knew where his brother was going. He wasthoroughly convinced that he would find him at that doorway, conductingto the foundations of the basilica, whence he had seen him emerge twodays before. And so he wasted no time in looking for him among the crowdof pilgrims going to the church. His only thought was to hurry on andreach Jahan's workshop. And in accordance with his expectation, just ashe arrived there, he perceived Guillaume slipping between the brokenpalings. The crush and the confusion prevailing among the concourse ofbelievers favored Pierre as it had his brother, in such wise that he wasable to follow the latter and enter the doorway without being noticed. Once there he had to pause and draw breath for a moment, so greatly didthe beating of his heart oppress him. 

A precipitous flight of steps, where all was steeped in darkness, descended from the narrow entry. It was with infinite precaution thatPierre ventured into the gloom, which ever grew denser and denser. Helowered his feet gently so as to make no noise, and feeling the wallswith his hands, turned round and round as he went lower and lower into akind of well. However, the descent was not a very long one. As soon as hefound beaten ground beneath his feet he paused, no longer daring to stirfor fear of betraying his presence. The darkness was like ink, and therewas not a sound, a breath; the silence was complete. 

How should he find his way? he wondered. Which direction ought he totake? He was still hesitating when some twenty paces away he suddenly sawa bright spark, the gleam of a lucifer. Guillaume was lighting a candle. Pierre recognised his broad shoulders, and from that moment he simply hadto follow the flickering light along a walled and vaulted subterraneangallery. It seemed to be interminable and to run in a northerlydirection, towards the nave of the basilica. 

All at once the little light at last stopped, while Pierre, anxious tosee what would happen, continued to advance, treading as softly as hecould and remaining in the gloom. He found that Guillaume had stood hiscandle upon the ground in the middle of a kind of low rotunda under thecrypt, and that he had knelt down and moved aside a long flagstone whichseemed to cover a cavity. They were here among the foundations of thebasilica; and one of the columns or piles of concrete poured into shaftsin order to support the building could be seen. The gap, which the stoneslab removed by Guillaume had covered, was by the very side of thepillar; it was either some natural surface flaw, or a deep fissure causedby some subsidence or settling of the soil. The heads of other pillarscould be descried around, and these the cleft seemed to be reaching, forlittle slits branched out in all directions. Then, on seeing his brotherleaning forward, like one who is for the last time examining a mine hehas laid before applying a match to the fuse, Pierre suddenly understoodthe whole terrifying business. Considerable quantities of the newexplosive had been brought to that spot. Guillaume had made the journey ascore of times at carefully selected hours, and all his powder had beenpoured into the gap beside the pillar, spreading to the slightest riftsbelow, saturating the soil at a great depth, and in this wise forming anatural mine of incalculable force. And now the powder was flush with theflagstone which Guillaume has just moved aside. It was only necessary tothrow a match there, and everything would be blown into the air!

For a moment an acute chill of horror rooted Pierre to the spot. He couldneither have taken a step nor raised a cry. He pictured the swarmingthrong above him, the ten thousand pilgrims crowding the lofty naves ofthe basilica to witness the solemn consecration of the Host. Peal uponpeal flew from "La Savoyarde, " incense smoked, and ten thousand voicesraised a hymn of magnificence and praise. And all at once came thunderand earthquake, and a volcano opening and belching forth fire and smoke, and swallowing up the whole church and its multitude of worshippers. Breaking the concrete piles and rending the unsound soil, the explosion, which was certain to be one of extraordinary violence, would doubtlesssplit the edifice atwain, and hurl one-half down the slopes descendingtowards Paris, whilst the other on the side of the apse would crumble andcollapse upon the spot where it stood. And how fearful would be theavalanche; a broken forest of scaffoldings, a hail of stonework, rushingand bounding through the dust and smoke on to the roofs below; whilst theviolence of the shock would threaten the whole of Montmartre, which, itseemed likely, must stagger and sink in one huge mass of ruins!

However, Guillaume had again risen. The candle standing on the ground, its flame shooting up, erect and slender, threw his huge shadow all overthe subterranean vault. Amidst the dense blackness the light looked likesome dismal stationary star. Guillaume drew near to it in order to seewhat time it was by his watch. It proved to be five minutes past three. So he had nearly another hour to wait. He was in no hurry, he wished tocarry out his design punctually, at the precise moment he had selected;and he therefore sat down on a block of stone, and remained there withoutmoving, quiet and patient. The candle now cast its light upon his paleface, upon his towering brow crowned with white hair, upon the whole ofhis energetic countenance, which still looked handsome and young, thanksto his bright eyes and dark moustaches. And not a muscle of his facestirred; he simply gazed into the void. What thoughts could be passingthrough his mind at that supreme moment? Who could tell? There was not aquiver; heavy night, the deep eternal silence of the earth reigned allaround. 

Then Pierre, having quieted his palpitating heart, drew near. At thesound of his footsteps Guillaume rose menacingly, but he immediatelyrecognised his brother, and did not seem astonished to see him. 

"Ah! it's you, " he said, "you followed me.... I felt that youpossessed my secret. And it grieves me that you should have abused yourknowledge to join me here. You might have spared me this last sorrow. "

Pierre clasped his trembling hands, and at once tried to entreat him. "Brother, brother, " he began. 

"No, don't speak yet, " said Guillaume, "if you absolutely wish it I willlisten to you by-and-by. We have nearly an hour before us, so we canchat. But I want you to understand the futility of all you may thinkneedful to tell me. My resolution is unshakable; I was a long time comingto it, and in carrying it out I shall simply be acting in accordance withmy reason and my conscience. "

Then he quietly related that having decided upon a great deed he had longhesitated as to which edifice he should destroy. The opera-house hadmomentarily tempted him, but he had reflected that there would be nogreat significance in the whirlwind of anger and justice destroying alittle set of enjoyers. In fact, such a deed might savour of jealousy andcovetousness. Next he had thought of the Bourse, where he might strike ablow at money, the great agent of corruption, and the capitalist societyin whose clutches the wage-earners groaned. Only, here again the blowwould fall upon a restricted circle. Then an idea of destroying thePalace of Justice, particularly the assize court, had occurred to him. Itwas a very tempting thought--to wreak justice upon human justice, tosweep away the witnesses, the culprit, the public prosecutor who chargesthe latter, the counsel who defends him, the judges who sentence him, andthe lounging public which comes to the spot as to the unfolding of somesensational serial. And then too what fierce irony there would be in thesummary superior justice of the volcano swallowing up everythingindiscriminately without pausing to enter into details. However, the planover which he had most lingered was that of blowing up the Arc deTriomphe. This he regarded as an odious monument which perpetuatedwarfare, hatred among nations, and the false, dearly purchased, sanguineous glory of conquerors. That colossus raised to the memory of somuch frightful slaughter which had uselessly put an end to so many humanlives, ought, he considered, to be slaughtered in its turn. Could he sohave arranged things that the earth should swallow it up, he might haveachieved the glory of causing no other death than his own, of dyingalone, struck down, crushed to pieces beneath that giant of stone. What atomb, and what a memory might he thus have left to the world!

"But there was no means of approaching it, " he continued, "no basement, no cellar, so I had to give up the idea.... And then, although I'mperfectly willing to die alone, I thought what a loftier and moreterrible lesson there would be in the unjust death of an innocentmultitude, of thousands of unknown people, of all those that might happento be passing. In the same way as human society by dint of injustice, want and harsh regulations causes so many innocent victims, so mustpunishment fall as the lightning falls, indiscriminately killing anddestroying whatever it may encounter in its course. When a man sets hisfoot on an ant-hill, he gives no heed to all the lives which he stampsout. "

Pierre, whom this theory rendered quite indignant, raised a cry ofprotest: "Oh! brother, brother, is it you who are saying such things?"

Yet, Guillaume did not pause: "If I have ended by choosing this basilicaof the Sacred Heart, " he continued, "it is because I found it near athand and easy to destroy. But it is also because it haunts andexasperates me, because I have long since condemned it.... As I haveoften said to you, one cannot imagine anything more preposterous thanParis, our great Paris, crowned and dominated by this temple raised tothe glorification of the absurd. Is it not outrageous that common senseshould receive such a smack after so many centuries of science, that Romeshould claim the right of triumphing in this insolent fashion, on ourloftiest height in the full sunlight? The priests want Paris to repentand do penitence for its liberative work of truth and justice. But itsonly right course is to sweep away all that hampers and insults it in itsmarch towards deliverance. And so may the temple fall with its deity offalsehood and servitude! And may its ruins crush its worshippers, so thatlike one of the old geological revolutions of the world, the catastrophemay resound through the very entrails of mankind, and renew and changeit!"

"Brother, brother!" again cried Pierre, quite beside himself, "is it youwho are talking? What! you, a great scientist, a man of great heart, youhave come to this! What madness is stirring you that you should think andsay such abominable things? On the evening when we confessed our secretsone to the other, you told me of your proud and lofty dream of idealAnarchy. There would be free harmony in life, which left to its naturalforces would of itself create happiness. But you still rebelled againstthe idea of theft and murder. You would not accept them as right ornecessary; you merely explained and excused them. What has happened thenthat you, all brain and thought, should now have become the hateful handthat acts?"

"Salvat has been guillotined, " said Guillaume simply, "and I read hiswill and testament in his last glance. I am merely an executor.... Andwhat has happened, you ask? Why, all that has made me suffer for fourmonths past, the whole social evil which surrounds us, and which must bebrought to an end. "

Silence fell. The brothers looked at one another in the darkness. AndPierre now understood things. He saw that Guillaume was changed, that theterrible gust of revolutionary contagion sweeping over Paris hadtransformed him. It had all come from the duality of his nature, thepresence of contradictory elements within him. On one side one found ascientist whose whole creed lay in observation and experiment, who, indealing with nature, evinced the most cautious logic; while on the otherside was a social dreamer, haunted by ideas of fraternity, equality andjustice, and eager for universal happiness. Thence had first come thetheoretical anarchist that he had been, one in whom science and chimeraswere mingled, who dreamt of human society returning to the harmonious lawof the spheres, each man free, in a free association, regulated by lovealone. Neither Theophile Morin with the doctrines of Proudhon and Comte, nor Bache with those of St. Simon and Fourier, had been able to satisfyhis desire for the absolute. All those systems had seemed to himimperfect and chaotic, destructive of one another, and tending to thesame wretchedness of life. Janzen alone had occasionally satisfied himwith some of his curt phrases which shot over the horizon, like arrowsconquering the whole earth for the human family. And then in Guillaume'sbig heart, which the idea of want, the unjust sufferings of the lowly andthe poor exasperated, Salvat's tragic adventure had suddenly found place, fomenting supreme rebellion. For long weeks he had lived on withtrembling hands, with growing anguish clutching at his throat. First hadcome that bomb and the explosion which still made him quiver, then thevile cupidity of the newspapers howling for the poor wretch's head, thenthe search for him and the hunt through the Bois de Boulogne, till hefell into the hands of the police, covered with mud and dying ofstarvation. And afterwards there had been the assize court, the judges, the gendarmes, the witnesses, the whole of France arrayed against one manand bent on making him pay for the universal crime. And finally, therehad come the guillotine, the monstrous, the filthy beast consummatingirreparable injustice in human justice's name. One sole idea now remainedto Guillaume, that idea of justice which maddened him, leaving naught inhis mind save the thought of the just, avenging flare by which he wouldrepair the evil and ensure that which was right for all time forward. Salvat had looked at him, and contagion had done its work; he glowed witha desire for death, a desire to give his own blood and set the blood ofothers flowing, in order that mankind, amidst its fright and horror, should decree the return of the golden age. 

Pierre understood the stubborn blindness of such insanity; and he feltutterly upset by the fear that he should be unable to overcome it. "Youare mad, brother!" he exclaimed, "they have driven you mad! It is a gustof violence passing; they were treated in a wrong way and toorelentlessly at the outset, and now that they are avenging one another, it may be that blood will never cease to flow.... But, listen, brother, throw off that nightmare. You can't be a Salvat who murders or aBergaz who steals! Remember the pillage of the Princess's house andremember the fair-haired, pretty child whom we saw lying yonder, rippedopen.... You do not, you cannot belong to that set, brother--"

With a wave of his hand, Guillaume brushed these vain reasons aside. Ofwhat consequence were a few lives, his own included? No change had evertaken place in the world without millions and millions of existencesbeing stamped out. 

"But you had a great scheme in hand, " cried Pierre, hoping to save him byreviving his sense of duty. "It isn't allowable for you to go off likethis. "

Then he fervently strove to awaken his brother's scientific pride. Hespoke to him of his secret, of that great engine of warfare, which coulddestroy armies and reduce cities to dust, and which he had intended tooffer to France, so that on emerging victorious from the approaching war, she might afterwards become the deliverer of the world. And it was thisgrand scheme that he had abandoned, preferring to employ his explosive inkilling innocent people and overthrowing a church, which would be builtafresh, whatever the cost, and become a sanctuary of martyrs!

Guillaume smiled. "I have not relinquished my scheme, " said he, "I havesimply modified it. Did I not tell you of my doubts, my anxiousperplexity? Ah! to believe that one holds the destiny of the world inone's grasp, and to tremble and hesitate and wonder if the intelligenceand wisdom, that are needful for things to take the one wise course, willbe forthcoming! At sight of all the stains upon our great Paris, all theerrors and transgressions which we lately witnessed, I shuddered. I askedmyself if Paris were sufficiently calm and pure for one to entrust herwith omnipotence. How terrible would be the disaster if such an inventionas mine should fall into the hands of a demented nation, possibly adictator, some man of conquest, who would simply employ it to terrorizeother nations and reduce them to slavery.... Ah! no, I do not wish toperpetuate warfare, I wish to kill it. "

Then in a clear firm voice he explained his new plan, in which Pierre wassurprised to find some of the ideas which General de Bozonnet had one daylaid before him in a very different spirit. Warfare was on the road toextinction, threatened by its very excesses. In the old days ofmercenaries, and afterwards with conscripts, the percentage of soldiersdesignated by chance, war had been a profession and a passion. Butnowadays, when everybody is called upon to fight, none care to do so. Bythe logical force of things, the system of the whole nation in arms meansthe coming end of armies. How much longer will the nations remain on afooting of deadly peace, bowed down by ever increasing "estimates, "spending millions and millions on holding one another in respect? Ah! howgreat the deliverance, what a cry of relief would go up on the day whensome formidable engine, capable of destroying armies and sweeping citiesaway, should render war an impossibility and constrain every people todisarm! Warfare would be dead, killed in her own turn, she who has killedso many. This was Guillaume's dream, and he grew quite enthusiastic, sostrong was his conviction that he would presently bring it to pass. 

"Everything is settled, " said he; "if I am about to die and disappear, itis in order that my idea may triumph.... You have lately seen me spendwhole afternoons alone with Mere-Grand. Well, we were completing theclassification of the documents and making our final arrangements. Shehas my orders, and will execute them even at the risk of her life, fornone has a braver, loftier soul.... As soon as I am dead, buriedbeneath these stones, as soon as she has heard the explosion shake Parisand proclaim the advent of the new era, she will forward a set of all thedocuments I have confided to her--the formula of my explosive, thedrawings of the bomb and gun--to each of the great powers of the world. In this wise I shall bestow on all the nations the terrible gift ofdestruction and omnipotence which, at first, I wished to bestow on Francealone; and I do this in order that the nations, being one and all armedwith the thunderbolt, may at once disarm, for fear of being annihilated, when seeking to annihilate others. "

Pierre listened to him, gaping, amazed at this extraordinary idea, inwhich childishness was blended with genius. "Well, " said he, "if you giveyour secret to all the nations, why should you blow up this church, anddie yourself?"

"Why! In order that I may be believed!" cried Guillaume withextraordinary force of utterance. Then he added, "The edifice must lie onthe ground, and I must be under it. If the experiment is not made, ifuniversal horror does not attest and proclaim the amazing destructivepower of my explosive, people will consider me a mere schemer, avisionary!... A lot of dead, a lot of blood, that is what is needed inorder that blood may for ever cease to flow!" Then, with a broad sweep ofhis arm, he again declared that his action was necessary. "Besides, " hesaid, "Salvat left me the legacy of carrying out this deed of justice. IfI have given it greater scope and significance, utilising it as a meansof hastening the end of war, this is because I happen to be a man ofintellect. It would have been better possibly if my mind had been asimple one, and if I had merely acted like some volcano which changes thesoil, leaving life the task of renewing humanity. "

Much of the candle had now burnt away, and Guillaume at last rose fromthe block of stone. He had again consulted his watch, and found that hehad ten minutes left him. The little current of air created by hisgestures made the light flicker, while all around him the darkness seemedto grow denser. And near at hand ever lay the threatening open mine whicha spark might at any moment fire. 

"It is nearly time, " said Guillaume. "Come, brother, kiss me and go away. You know how much I love you, what ardent affection for you has beenawakened in my old heart. So love me in like fashion, and find loveenough to let me die as I want to die, in carrying out my duty. Kiss me, kiss me, and go away without turning your head. "

His deep affection for Pierre made his voice tremble, but he struggledon, forced back his tears, and ended by conquering himself. It was as ifhe were no longer of the world, no longer one of mankind. 

"No, brother, you have not convinced me, " said Pierre, who on his sidedid not seek to hide his tears, "and it is precisely because I love youas you love me, with my whole being, my whole soul, that I cannot goaway. It is impossible! You cannot be the madman, the murderer you wouldtry to be. "

"Why not? Am I not free. I have rid my life of all responsibilities, allties.... I have brought up my sons, they have no further need of me. But one heart-link remained--Marie, and I have given her to you. "

At this a disturbing argument occurred to Pierre, and he passionatelyavailed himself of it. "So you want to die because you have given meMarie, " said he. "You still love her, confess it!"

"No!" cried Guillaume, "I no longer love her, I swear it. I gave her toyou. I love her no more. "

"So you fancied; but you can see now that you still love her, for hereyou are, quite upset; whereas none of the terrifying things of which wespoke just now could even move you.... Yes, if you wish to die it isbecause you have lost Marie!"

Guillaume quivered, shaken by what his brother said, and in low, brokenwords he tried to question himself. "No, no, that any love pain shouldhave urged me to this terrible deed would be unworthy--unworthy of mygreat design. No, no, I decided on it in the free exercise of my reason, and I am accomplishing it from no personal motive, but in the name ofjustice and for the benefit of humanity, in order that war and want maycease. "

Then, in sudden anguish, he went on: "Ah! it is cruel of you, brother, cruel of you to poison my delight at dying. I have created all thehappiness I could, I was going off well pleased at leaving you all happy, and now you poison my death. No, no! question it how I may, my heart doesnot ache; if I love Marie, it is simply in the same way as I love you. "

Nevertheless, he remained perturbed, as if fearing lest he might be lyingto himself; and by degrees gloomy anger came over him: "Listen, that isenough, Pierre, " he exclaimed, "time is flying.... For the last time, go away! I order you to do so; I will have it!"

"I will not obey you, Guillaume.... I will stay, and as all myreasoning cannot save you from your insanity, fire your mine, and I willdie with you. "

"You? Die? But you have no right to do so, you are not free!"

"Free, or not, I swear that I will die with you. And if it merely be aquestion of flinging this candle into that hole, tell me so, and I willtake it and fling it there myself. "

He made a gesture at which his brother thought that he was about to carryout his threat. So he caught him by the arm, crying: "Why should you die?It would be absurd. That others should die may be necessary, but you, no!Of what use could be this additional monstrosity? You are endeavouring tosoften me, you are torturing my heart!" Then all at once, imagining thatPierre's offer had concealed another design, Guillaume thundered in afury: "You don't want to take the candle in order to throw it there. Whatyou want to do is to blow it out! And you think I shan't be ablethen--ah! you bad brother!"

In his turn Pierre exclaimed: "Oh! certainly, I'll use every means toprevent you from accomplishing such a frightful and foolish deed!"

"You'll prevent me!"

"Yes, I'll cling to you, I'll fasten my arms to your shoulders, I'll holdyour hands if necessary. "

"Ah! you'll prevent me, you bad brother! You think you'll prevent me!"

Choking and trembling with rage, Guillaume had already caught hold ofPierre, pressing his ribs with his powerful muscular arms. They wereclosely linked together, their eyes fixed upon one another, and theirbreath mingling in that kind of subterranean dungeon, where their bigdancing shadows looked like ghosts. They seemed to be vanishing into thenight, the candle now showed merely like a little yellow tear in themidst of the darkness; and at that moment, in those far depths, a quiversped through the silence of the earth which weighed so heavily upon them. Distant but sonorous peals rang out, as if death itself were somewhereringing its invisible bell. 

"You hear, " stammered Guillaume, "it's their bell up there. The time hascome. I have vowed to act, and you want to prevent me!"

"Yes, I'll prevent you as long as I'm here alive. "

"As long as you are alive, you'll prevent me!"

Guillaume could hear "La Savoyarde" pealing joyfully up yonder; he couldsee the triumphant basilica, overflowing with its ten thousand pilgrims, and blazing with the splendour of the Host amidst the smoke of incense;and blind frenzy came over him at finding himself unable to act, atfinding an obstacle suddenly barring the road to his fixed idea. 

"As long as you are alive, as long as you are alive!" he repeated, besidehimself. "Well, then, die, you wretched brother!"

A fratricidal gleam had darted from his blurred eyes. He hastily stooped, picked up a large brick forgotten there, and raised it with both hands asif it were a club. 

"Ah! I'm willing, " cried Pierre. "Kill me, then; kill your own brotherbefore you kill the others!"

The brick was already descending, but Guillaume's arms must havedeviated, for the weapon only grazed one of Pierre's shoulders. Nevertheless, he sank upon his knees in the gloom. When Guillaume saw himthere he fancied he had dealt him a mortal blow. What was it that hadhappened between them, what had he done? For a moment he remainedstanding, haggard, his mouth open, his eyes dilating with terror. Helooked at his hands, fancying that blood was streaming from them. Then hepressed them to his brow, which seemed to be bursting with pain, as ifhis fixed idea had been torn from him, leaving his skull open. And hehimself suddenly sank upon the ground with a great sob. 

"Oh! brother, little brother, what have I done?" he called. "I am amonster!"

But Pierre had passionately caught him in his arms again. "It is nothing, nothing, brother, I assure you, " he replied. "Ah! you are weeping now. How pleased I am! You are saved, I can feel it, since you are weeping. And what a good thing it is that you flew into such a passion, for youranger with me has dispelled your evil dream of violence. "

"I am horrified with myself, " gasped Guillaume, "to think that I wantedto kill you! Yes, I'm a brute beast that would kill his brother! And theothers, too, all the others up yonder.... Oh! I'm cold, I feel socold. "

His teeth were chattering, and he shivered. It was as if he had awakened, half stupefied, from some evil dream. And in the new light which hisfratricidal deed cast upon things, the scheme which had haunted him andgoaded him to madness appeared like some act of criminal folly, projectedby another. 

"To kill you!" he repeated almost in a whisper. "I shall never forgivemyself. My life is ended, I shall never find courage enough to live. "

But Pierre clasped him yet more tightly. "What do you say?" he answered. "Will there not rather be a fresh and stronger tie of affection betweenus? Ah! yes, brother, let me save you as you saved me, and we shall beyet more closely united! Don't you remember that evening at Neuilly, whenyou consoled me and held me to your heart as I am holding you to mine? Ihad confessed my torments to you, and you told me that I must live andlove!... And you did far more afterwards: you plucked your own lovefrom your breast and gave it to me. You wished to ensure my happiness atthe price of your own! And how delightful it is that, in my turn, I nowhave an opportunity to console you, save you, and bring you back tolife!"

"No, no, the bloodstain is there and it is ineffaceable. I can hope nomore!"

"Yes, yes, you can. Hope in life as you bade me do! Hope in love and hopein labour!"

Still weeping and clasping one another, the brothers continued speakingin low voices. The expiring candle suddenly went out unknown to them, andin the inky night and deep silence their tears of redeeming affectionflowed freely. On the one hand, there was joy at being able to repay adebt of brotherliness, and on the other, acute emotion at having been ledby a fanatical love of justice and mankind to the very verge of crime. And there were yet other things in the depths of those tears whichcleansed and purified them; there were protests against suffering inevery form, and ardent wishes that the world might some day be relievedof all its dreadful woe. 

At last, after pushing the flagstone over the cavity near the pillar, Pierre groped his way out of the vault, leading Guillaume like a child. 

Meantime Mere-Grand, still seated near the window of the workroom, hadimpassively continued sewing. Now and again, pending the arrival of fouro'clock, she had looked up at the timepiece hanging on the wall on herleft hand, or else had glanced out of the window towards the unfinishedpile of the basilica, which a gigantic framework of scaffoldingsencompassed. Slowly and steadily plying her needle, the old lady remainedvery pale and silent, but full of heroic serenity. On the other hand, Marie, who sat near her, embroidering, shifted her position a score oftimes, broke her thread, and grew impatient, feeling strangely nervous, aprey to unaccountable anxiety, which oppressed her heart. For their part, the three young men could not keep in place at all; it was as if somecontagious fever disturbed them. Each had gone to his work: Thomas wasfiling something at his bench; Francois and Antoine were on either sideof their table, the first trying to solve a mathematical problem, and theother copying a bunch of poppies in a vase before him. It was in vain, however, that they strove to be attentive. They quivered at the slightestsound, raised their heads, and darted questioning glances at one another. What could be the matter? What could possess them? What did they fear?Now and again one or the other would rise, stretch himself, and then, resume his place. However, they did not speak; it was as if they darednot say anything, and thus the heavy silence grew more and more terrible. 

When it was a few minutes to four o'clock Mere-Grand felt weary, or elsedesired to collect her thoughts. After another glance at the timepiece, she let her needlework fall on her lap and turned towards the basilica. It seemed to her that she had only enough strength left to wait; and sheremained with her eyes fixed on the huge walls and the forest ofscaffolding which rose over yonder with such triumphant pride under theblue sky. Then all at once, however brave and firm she might be, shecould not restrain a start, for "La Savoyarde" had raised a joyful clang. The consecration of the Host was now at hand, the ten thousand pilgrimsfilled the church, four o'clock was about to strike. And thereupon anirresistible impulse forced the old lady to her feet; she drew herselfup, quivering, her hands clasped, her eyes ever turned yonder, waiting inmute dread. 

"What is the matter?" cried Thomas, who noticed her. "Why are youtrembling, Mere-Grand?"

Francois and Antoine raised their heads, and in turn sprang forward. 

"Are you ill? Why are you turning so pale, you who are so courageous?"

But she did not answer. Ah! might the force of the explosion rend theearth asunder, reach the house and sweep it into the flaming crater ofthe volcano! Might she and the three young men, might they all die withthe father, this was her one ardent wish in order that grief might bespared them. And she remained waiting and waiting, quivering despiteherself, but with her brave, clear eyes ever gazing yonder. 

"Mere-Grand, Mere-Grand!" cried Marie in dismay; "you frighten us byrefusing to answer us, by looking over there as if some misfortune werecoming up at a gallop!"

Then, prompted by the same anguish, the same cry suddenly came fromThomas, Francois and Antoine: "Father is in peril--father is going todie!"

What did they know? Nothing precise, certainly. Thomas no doubt had beenastonished to see what a large quantity of the explosive his father hadrecently prepared, and both Francois and Antoine were aware of the ideasof revolt which he harboured in his mind. But, full of filial deference, they never sought to know anything beyond what he might choose to confideto them. They never questioned him; they bowed to whatever he might do. And yet now a foreboding came to them, a conviction that their father wasgoing to die, that some most frightful catastrophe was impending. It musthave been that which had already sent such a quiver through theatmosphere ever since the morning, making them shiver with fever, feelill at ease, and unable to work. 

"Father is going to die, father is going to die!"

The three big fellows had drawn close together, distracted by one and thesame anguish, and furiously longing to know what the danger was, in orderthat they might rush upon it and die with their father if they could notsave him. And amidst Mere-Grand's stubborn silence death once moreflitted through the room: there came a cold gust such as they had alreadyfelt brushing past them during _dejeuner_. 

At last four o'clock began to strike, and Mere-Grand raised her whitehands with a gesture of supreme entreaty. It was then that she at lastspoke: "Father is going to die. Nothing but the duty of living can savehim. "

At this the three young men again wished to rush yonder, whither theyknew not; but they felt that they must throw down all obstacles andconquer. Their powerlessness rent their hearts, they were both so franticand so woeful that their grandmother strove to calm them. "Father's ownwish was to die, " said she, "and he is resolved to die alone. "

They shuddered as they heard her, and then, on their side, strove to beheroic. But the minutes crept by, and it seemed as if the cold gust hadslowly passed away. Sometimes, at the twilight hour, a night-bird willcome in by the window like some messenger of misfortune, flit round thedarkened room, and then fly off again, carrying its sadness with it. Andit was much like that; the gust passed, the basilica remained standing, the earth did not open to swallow it. Little by little the atrociousanguish which wrung their hearts gave place to hope. And when at lastGuillaume appeared, followed by Pierre, a great cry of resurrection camefrom one and all: "Father!"

Their kisses, their tears, deprived him of his little remaining strength. He was obliged to sit down. He had glanced round him as if he werereturning to life perforce. Mere-Grand, who understood what bitterfeelings must have followed the subjugation of his will, approached himsmiling, and took hold of both his hands as if to tell him that she waswell pleased at seeing him again, and at finding that he accepted histask and was unwilling to desert the cause of life. For his part hesuffered dreadfully, the shock had been so great. The others spared himany narrative of their feelings; and he, himself, related nothing. With agesture, a loving word, he simply indicated that it was Pierre who hadsaved him. 

Thereupon, in a corner of the room, Marie flung her arms round the youngman's neck. "Ah! my good Pierre, I have never yet kissed you, " said she;"I want it to be for something serious the first time.... I love you, my good Pierre, I love you with all my heart. "

Later that same evening, after night had fallen, Guillaume and Pierreremained for a moment alone in the big workroom. The young men had goneout, and Mere-Grand and Marie were upstairs sorting some house linen, while Madame Mathis, who had brought some work back, sat patiently in adim corner waiting for another bundle of things which might requiremending. The brothers, steeped in the soft melancholy of the twilighthour, and chatting in low tones, had quite forgotten her. 

But all at once the arrival of a visitor upset them. It was Janzen withthe fair, Christ-like face. He called very seldom nowadays; and one neverknew from what gloomy spot he had come or into what darkness he wouldreturn when he took his departure. He disappeared, indeed, for monthstogether, and was then suddenly to be seen like some momentary passer-bywhose past and present life were alike unknown. 

"I am leaving to-night, " he said in a voice sharp like a knife. 

"Are you going back to your home in Russia?" asked Guillaume. 

A faint, disdainful smile appeared on the Anarchist's lips. "Home!" saidhe, "I am at home everywhere. To begin with, I am not a Russian, and thenI recognise no other country than the world. "

With a sweeping gesture he gave them to understand what manner of man hewas, one who had no fatherland of his own, but carried his gory dream offraternity hither and thither regardless of frontiers. From some words hespoke the brothers fancied he was returning to Spain, where somefellow-Anarchists awaited him. There was a deal of work to be done there, it appeared. He had quietly seated himself, chatting on in his cold way, when all at once he serenely added: "By the by, a bomb had just beenthrown into the Cafe de l'Univers on the Boulevard. Three _bourgeois_were killed. "

Pierre and Guillaume shuddered, and asked for particulars. ThereuponJanzen related that he had happened to be there, had heard the explosion, and seen the windows of the cafe shivered to atoms. Three customers werelying on the floor blown to pieces. Two of them were gentlemen, who hadentered the place by chance and whose names were not known, while thethird was a regular customer, a petty cit of the neighbourhood, who cameevery day to play a game at dominoes. And the whole place was wrecked;the marble tables were broken, the chandeliers twisted out of shape, themirrors studded with projectiles. And how great the terror and theindignation, and how frantic the rush of the crowd! The perpetrator ofthe deed had been arrested immediately--in fact, just as he was turningthe corner of the Rue Caumartin. 

"I thought I would come and tell you of it, " concluded Janzen; "it iswell you should know it. "

Then as Pierre, shuddering and already suspecting the truth, asked him ifhe knew who the man was that had been arrested, he slowly replied: "Theworry is that you happen to know him--it was little Victor Mathis. "

Pierre tried to silence Janzen too late. He had suddenly remembered thatVictor's mother had been sitting in a dark corner behind them a shorttime previously. Was she still there? Then he again pictured Victor, slight and almost beardless, with a straight, stubborn brow, grey eyesglittering with intelligence, a pointed nose and thin lips expressive ofstern will and unforgiving hatred. He was no simple and lowly one fromthe ranks of the disinherited. He was an educated scion of the_bourgeoisie_, and but for circumstances would have entered the EcoleNormale. There was no excuse for his abominable deed, there was nopolitical passion, no humanitarian insanity, in it. He was the destroyerpure and simple, the theoretician of destruction, the cold energetic manof intellect who gave his cultivated mind to arguing the cause of murder, in his desire to make murder an instrument of the social evolution. True, he was also a poet, a visionary, but the most frightful of allvisionaries: a monster whose nature could only be explained by mad pride, and who craved for the most awful immortality, dreaming that the comingdawn would rise from the arms of the guillotine. Only one thing couldsurpass him: the scythe of death which blindly mows the world. 

For a few seconds, amidst the growing darkness, cold horror reigned inthe workroom. "Ah!" muttered Guillaume, "he had the daring to do it, hehad. "

Pierre, however, lovingly pressed his arm. And he felt that he was asdistracted, as upset, as himself. Perhaps this last abomination had beenneeded to ravage and cure him. 

Janzen no doubt had been an accomplice in the deed. He was relating thatVictor's purpose had been to avenge Salvat, when all at once a great sighof pain was heard in the darkness, followed by a heavy thud upon thefloor. It was Madame Mathis falling like a bundle, overwhelmed by thenews which chance had brought her. At that moment it so happened thatMere-Grand came down with a lamp, which lighted up the room, andthereupon they hurried to the help of the wretched woman, who lay thereas pale as a corpse in her flimsy black gown. 

And this again brought Pierre an indescribable heart-pang. Ah! the poor, sad, suffering creature! He remembered her at Abbe Rose's, so discreet, so shamefaced, in her poverty, scarce able to live upon the slenderresources which persistent misfortunes had left her. Hers had indeed beena cruel lot: first, a home with wealthy parents in the provinces, a lovestory and elopement with the man of her choice; next, ill-luck steadilypursuing her, all sorts of home troubles, and at last her husband'sdeath. Then, in the retirement of her widowhood, after losing the bestpart of the little income which had enabled her to bring up her son, naught but this son had been left to her. He had been her Victor, hersole affection, the only one in whom she had faith. She had ever strivento believe that he was very busy, absorbed in work, and on the eve ofattaining to some superb position worthy of his merits. And now, all atonce, she had learnt that this fondly loved son was simply the mostodious of assassins, that he had flung a bomb into a cafe, and had therekilled three men. 

When Madame Mathis had recovered her senses, thanks to the carefultending of Mere-Grand, she sobbed on without cessation, raising such acontinuous doleful wail, that Pierre's hand again sought Guillaume's, andgrasped it, whilst their hearts, distracted but healed, mingled lovinglyone with the other. 

V. LIFE'S WORK AND PROMISE

FIFTEEN months later, one fine golden day in September, Bache andTheophile Morin were taking _dejeuner_ at Guillaume's, in the bigworkroom overlooking the immensity of Paris. 

Near the table was a cradle with its little curtains drawn. Behind themslept Jean, a fine boy four months old, the son of Pierre and Marie. Thelatter, simply in order to protect the child's social rights, had beenmarried civilly at the town-hall of Montmartre. Then, by way of pleasingGuillaume, who wished to keep them with him, and thus enlarge the familycircle, they had continued living in the little lodging over thework-shop, leaving the sleepy house at Neuilly in the charge of Sophie, Pierre's old servant. And life had been flowing on happily for thefourteen months or so that they had now belonged to one another. 

There was simply peace, affection and work around the young couple. Francois, who had left the Ecole Normale provided with every degree, every diploma, was now about to start for a college in the west ofFrance, so as to serve his term of probation as a professor, intending toresign his post afterwards and devote himself, if he pleased, to sciencepure and simple. Then Antoine had lately achieved great success with aseries of engravings he had executed--some views and scenes of Parislife; and it was settled that he was to marry Lise Jahan in the ensuingspring, when she would have completed her seventeenth year. Of the threesons, however, Thomas was the most triumphant, for he had at last devisedand constructed his little motor, thanks to a happy idea of his father's. One morning, after the downfall of all his huge chimerical schemes, Guillaume, remembering the terrible explosive which he had discovered andhitherto failed to utilise, had suddenly thought of employing it as amotive force, in the place of petroleum, in the motor which his eldestson had so long been trying to construct for the Grandidier works. So hehad set to work with Thomas, devising a new mechanism, encounteringendless difficulties, and labouring for a whole year before reachingsuccess. But now the father and son had accomplished their task; themarvel was created, and stood there riveted to an oak stand, and ready towork as soon as its final toilet should have been performed. 

Amidst all the changes which had occurred, Mere-Grand, in spite of hergreat age, continued exercising her active, silent sway over thehousehold, which was now again so gay and peaceful. Though she seldomseemed to leave her chair in front of her work-table, she was reallyhere, there and everywhere. Since the birth of Jean, she had talked ofrearing the child in the same way as she had formerly reared Thomas, Francois and Antoine. She was indeed full of the bravery of devotion, andseemed to think that she was not at all likely to die so long as shemight have others to guide, love and save. Marie marvelled at it all. Sheherself, though she was always gay and in good health, felt tired attimes now that she was suckling her infant. Little Jean indeed had twovigilant mothers near his cradle; whilst his father, Pierre, who hadbecome Thomas's assistant, pulled the bellows, roughened out pieces ofmetal, and generally completed his apprenticeship as a workingmechanician. 

On the particular day when Bache and Theophile Morin came to Montmartre, the _dejeuner_ proved even gayer than usual, thanks perhaps to theirpresence. The meal was over, the table had been cleared, and the coffeewas being served, when a little boy, the son of a doorkeeper in the RueCortot, came to ask for Monsieur Pierre Froment. When they inquired hisbusiness, he answered in a hesitating way that Monsieur l'Abbe Rose wasvery ill, indeed dying, and that he had sent him to fetch Monsieur PierreFroment at once. 

Pierre followed the lad, feeling much affected; and on reaching the RueCortot he there found Abbe Rose in a little damp ground-floor roomoverlooking a strip of garden. The old priest was in bed, dying as theboy had said, but he still retained the use of his faculties, and couldspeak in his wonted slow and gentle voice. A Sister of Charity waswatching beside him, and she seemed so surprised and anxious at thearrival of a visitor whom she did not know, that Pierre understood shewas there to guard the dying man and prevent him from having intercoursewith others. The old priest must have employed some stratagem in order tosend the doorkeeper's boy to fetch him. However, when Abbe Rose in hisgrave and kindly way begged the Sister to leave them alone for a moment, she dared not refuse this supreme request, but immediately left the room. 

"Ah! my dear child, " said the old man, "how much I wanted to speak toyou! Sit down there, close to the bed, so that you may be able to hearme, for this is the end; I shall no longer be here to-night. And I havesuch a great service to ask of you. "

Quite upset at finding his friend so wasted, with his face white like asheet, and scarce a sign of life save the sparkle of his innocent, lovingeyes, Pierre responded: "But I would have come sooner if I had known youwere in need of me! Why did you not send for me before? Are people beingkept away from you?"

A faint smile of shame and confession appeared on the old priest'sembarrassed face. "Well, my dear child, " said he, "you must know that Ihave again done some foolish things. Yes, I gave money to some peoplewho, it seems, were not deserving of it. In fact, there was quite ascandal; they scolded me at the Archbishop's palace, and accused me ofcompromising the interests of religion. And when they heard that I wasill, they put that good Sister beside me, because they said that I shoulddie on the floor, and give the very sheets off my bed if I were notprevented. "

He paused to draw breath, and then continued: "So you understand, thatgood Sister--oh! she is a very saintly woman--is here to nurse me andprevent me from still doing foolish things. To overcome her vigilance Ihad to use a little deceit, for which God, I trust, will forgive me. Asit happens, it's precisely my poor who are in question; it was to speakto you about them that I so particularly wished to see you. "

Tears had come to Pierre's eyes. "Tell me what you want me to do, " heanswered; "I am yours, both heart and soul. "

"Yes, yes, I know it, my dear child. It was for that reason that Ithought of you--you alone. In spite of all that has happened, you are theonly one in whom I have any confidence, who can understand me, and giveme a promise which will enable me to die in peace. "

This was the only allusion he would venture to make to the cruel rupturewhich had occurred after the young man had thrown off his cassock andrebelled against the Church. He had since heard of Pierre's marriage, andwas aware that he had for ever severed all religious ties. But at thatsupreme moment nothing of this seemed of any account to the old priest. His knowledge of Pierre's loving heart sufficed him, for all that he nowdesired was simply the help of that heart which he had seen glowing withsuch passionate charity. 

"Well, " he resumed, again finding sufficient strength to smile, "it is avery simple matter. I want to make you my heir. Oh! it isn't a finelegacy I am leaving you; it is the legacy of my poor, for I have nothingelse to bestow on you; I shall leave nothing behind me but my poor. "

Of these unhappy creatures, three in particular quite upset his heart. Herecoiled from the prospect of leaving them without chance of succour, without even the crumbs which he had hitherto distributed among them, andwhich had enabled them to live. One was the big Old'un, the agedcarpenter whom he and Pierre had vainly sought one night with the objectof sending him to the Asylum for the Invalids of Labour. He had been sentthere a little later, but he had fled three days afterwards, unwilling ashe was to submit to the regulations. Wild and violent, he had the mostdetestable disposition. Nevertheless, he could not be left to starve. Hecame to Abbe Rose's every Saturday, it seemed, and received a franc, which sufficed him for the whole week. Then, too, there was a bedriddenold woman in a hovel in the Rue du Mont-Cenis. The baker, who everymorning took her the bread she needed, must be paid. And in particularthere was a poor young woman residing on the Place du Tertre, one who wasunmarried but a mother. She was dying of consumption, unable to work, andtortured by the idea that when she should have gone, her daughter mustsink to the pavement like herself. And in this instance the legacy wastwofold: there was the mother to relieve until her death, which was nearat hand, and then the daughter to provide for until she could be placedin some good household. 

"You must forgive me, my dear child, for leaving you all these worries, "added Abbe Rose. "I tried to get the good Sister, who is nursing me, totake an interest in these poor people, but when I spoke to her of the bigOld'un, she was so alarmed that she made the sign of the cross. And it'sthe same with my worthy friend Abbe Tavernier. I know nobody of moreupright mind. Still I shouldn't be at ease with him, he has ideas of hisown.... And so, my dear child, there is only you whom I can rely upon, and you must accept my legacy if you wish me to depart in peace. "

Pierre was weeping. "Ah! certainly, with my whole soul, " he answered. "Ishall regard your desires as sacred. "

"Good! I knew you would accept.... So it is agreed: a franc for thebig Old'un every Saturday, the bread for the bedridden woman, some helpfor the poor young mother, and then a home for her little girl. Ah! ifyou only knew what a weight it is off my heart! The end may come now, itwill be welcome to me. "

His kind white face had brightened as if with supreme joy. HoldingPierre's hand within his own he detained him beside the bed, exchanging afarewell full of serene affection. And his voice weakening, he expressedhis whole mind in faint, impressive accents: "Yes, I shall be pleased togo off. I could do no more, I could do no more! Though I gave and gave, Ifelt that it was ever necessary to give more and more. And how sad tofind charity powerless, to give without hope of ever being able to stampout want and suffering! I rebelled against that idea of yours, as youwill remember. I told you that we should always love one another in ourpoor, and that was true, since you are here, so good and affectionate tome and those whom I am leaving behind. But, all the same, I can do nomore, I can do no more; and I would rather go off, since the woes ofothers rise higher and higher around me, and I have ended by doing themost foolish things, scandalising the faithful and making my superiorsindignant with me, without even saving one single poor person from theever-growing torrent of want. Farewell, my dear child. My poor old heartgoes off aching, my old hands are weary and conquered. "

Pierre embraced him with his whole soul, and then departed. His eyes werefull of tears and indescribable emotion wrung his heart. Never had heheard a more woeful cry than that confession of the impotence of charity, on the part of that old candid child, whose heart was all simplicity andsublime benevolence. Ah! what a disaster, that human kindness should befutile, that the world should always display so much distress andsuffering in spite of all the compassionate tears that had been shed, inspite of all the alms that had fallen from millions and millions of handsfor centuries and centuries! No wonder that it should bring desire fordeath, no wonder that a Christian should feel pleased at escaping fromthe abominations of this earth!

When Pierre again reached the workroom he found that the table had longsince been cleared, and that Bache and Morin were chatting withGuillaume, whilst the latter's sons had returned to their customaryoccupations. Marie, also, had resumed her usual place at the work-tablein front of Mere-Grand; but from time to time she rose and went to lookat Jean, so as to make sure that he was sleeping peacefully, with hislittle clenched fists pressed to his heart. And when Pierre, who kept hisemotion to himself, had likewise leant over the cradle beside the youngwoman, whose hair he discreetly kissed, he went to put on an apron inorder that he might assist Thomas, who was now, for the last time, regulating his motor. 

Then, as Pierre stood there awaiting an opportunity to help, the roomvanished from before his eyes; he ceased to see or hear the persons whowere there. The scent of Marie's hair alone lingered on his lips amidstthe acute emotion into which he had been thrown by his visit to AbbeRose. A recollection had come to him, that of the bitterly cold morningwhen the old priest had stopped him outside the basilica of the SacredHeart, and had timidly asked him to take some alms to that old manLaveuve, who soon afterwards had died of want, like a dog by the wayside. How sad a morning it had been; what battle and torture had Pierre notfelt within him, and what a resurrection had come afterwards! He had thatday said one of his last masses, and he recalled with a shudder hisabominable anguish, his despairing doubts at the thought of nothingness. Two experiments which he had previously made had failed most miserably. First had come one at Lourdes, where the glorification of the absurd hadsimply filled him with pity for any such attempt to revert to theprimitive faith of young nations, who bend beneath the terror born ofignorance; and, secondly, there had been an experiment at Rome, which hehad found incapable of any renewal, and which he had seen staggering toits death amidst its ruins, a mere great shadow, which would soon be ofno account, fast sinking, as it was, to the dust of dead religions. And, in his own mind, Charity itself had become bankrupt; he no longerbelieved that alms could cure the sufferings of mankind, he awaitednaught but a frightful catastrophe, fire and massacre, which would sweepaway the guilty, condemned world. His cassock, too, stifled him, a liealone kept it on his shoulders, the idea, unbelieving priest though hewas, that he could honestly and chastely watch over the belief of others. The problem of a new religion, a new hope, such as was needful to ensurethe peace of the coming democracies tortured him, but between thecertainties of science and the need of the Divine, which seemed toconsume humanity, he could find no solution. If Christianity crumbledwith the principle of Charity, there could remain nothing else butJustice, that cry which came from every breast, that battle of Justiceagainst Charity in which his heart must contend in that great city ofParis. It was there that began his third and decisive experiment, theexperiment which was to make truth as plain to him as the sun itself, andgive him back health and strength and delight in life. 

At this point of his reverie Pierre was roused by Thomas, who asked himto fetch a tool. As he did so he heard Bache remarking: "The ministryresigned this morning. Vignon has had enough of it, he wants to reservehis remaining strength. "

"Well, he has lasted more than a twelvemonth, " replied Morin. "That'salready an achievement. "

After the crime of Victor Mathis, who had been tried and executed withinthree weeks, Monferrand had suddenly fallen from power. What was the useof having a strong-handed man at the head of the Government if bombsstill continued to terrify the country? Moreover, he had displeased theChamber by his voracious appetite, which had prevented him from allowingothers more than an infinitesimal share of all the good things. And thistime he had been succeeded by Vignon, although the latter's programme ofreforms had long made people tremble. He, Vignon, was honest certainly, but of all these reforms he had only been able to carry out a fewinsignificant ones, for he had found himself hampered by a thousandobstacles. And thus he had resigned himself to ruling the country asothers had done; and people had discovered that after all there were butfaint shades of difference between him and Monferrand. 

"You know that Monferrand is being spoken of again?" said Guillaume. 

"Yes, and he has some chance of success. His creatures are bestirringthemselves tremendously, " replied Bache, adding, in a bitter, jestingway, that Mege, the Collectivist leader, played the part of a dupe inoverthrowing ministry after ministry. He simply gratified the ambition ofeach coterie in turn, without any possible chance of attaining to powerhimself. 

Thereupon Guillaume pronounced judgment. "Oh! well, let them devour oneanother, " said he. "Eager as they all are to reign and dispose of powerand wealth, they only fight over questions of persons. And nothing theydo can prevent the evolution from continuing. Ideas expand, and eventsoccur, and, over and above everything else, mankind is marching on. "

Pierre was greatly struck by these words, and he again recalled the past. His dolorous Parisian experiment had begun, and he was once more roamingthrough the city. Paris seemed to him to be a huge vat, in which a worldfermented, something of the best and something of the worst, a frightfulmixture such as sorceresses might have used; precious powders mingledwith filth, from all of which was to come the philter of love and eternalyouth. And in that vat Pierre first marked the scum of the politicalworld: Monferrand who strangled Barroux, who purchased the support ofhungry ones such as Fonsegue, Duthil and Chaigneux, who made use of thosewho attained to mediocrity, such as Taboureau and Dauvergne; and whoemployed even the sectarian passions of Mege and the intelligent ambitionof Vignon as his weapons. Next came money the poisoner, with that affairof the African Railways, which had rotted the Parliament and turnedDuvillard, the triumphant _bourgeois_, into a public perverter, the verycancer as it were of the financial world. Then as a just consequence ofall this there was Duvillard's own home infected by himself, thatfrightful drama of Eve contending with her daughter Camille for thepossession of Gerard, then Camille stealing him from her mother, andHyacinthe, the son, passing his crazy mistress Rosemonde on to thatnotorious harlot Silviane, with whom his father publicly exhibitedhimself. Then there was the old expiring aristocracy, with the pale, sadfaces of Madame de Quinsac and the Marquis de Morigny; the old militaryspirit whose funeral was conducted by General de Bozonnet; the magistracywhich slavishly served the powers of the day, Amadieu thrusting himselfinto notoriety by means of sensational cases, Lehmann, the publicprosecutor, preparing his speeches in the private room of the Ministerwhose policy he defended; and, finally, the mendacious and cupid Presswhich lived upon scandal, the everlasting flood of denunciation and filthwhich poured from Sagnier, and the gay impudence shown by theunscrupulous and conscienceless Massot, who attacked all and defendedall, by profession and to order! And in the same way as insects, ondiscovering one of their own kind dying, will often finish it off andfatten upon it, so the whole swarm of appetites, interests and passionshad fallen upon a wretched madman, that unhappy Salvat, whose idioticcrime had brought them all scrambling together, gluttonously eager toderive some benefit from that starveling's emaciated carcass. And allboiled in the huge vat of Paris; the desires, the deeds of violence, thestrivings of one and another man's will, the whole nameless medley of thebitterest ferments, whence, in all purity, the wine of the future wouldat last flow. 

Then Pierre became conscious of the prodigious work which went on in thedepths of the vat, beneath all the impurity and waste. As his brother hadjust said, what mattered the stains, the egotism and greed ofpoliticians, if humanity were still on the march, ever slowly andstubbornly stepping forward! What mattered, too, that corrupt andemasculate _bourgeoisie_, nowadays as moribund as the aristocracy, whoseplace it took, if behind it there ever came the inexhaustible reserve ofmen who surged up from the masses of the country-sides and the towns!What mattered the debauchery, the perversion arising from excess ofwealth and power, the luxuriousness and dissoluteness of life, since itseemed a proven fact that the capitals that had been queens of the worldhad never reigned without extreme civilisation, a cult of beauty and ofpleasure! And what mattered even the venality, the transgressions and thefolly of the press, if at the same time it remained an admirableinstrument for the diffusion of knowledge, the open conscience, so tosay, of the nation, a river which, though there might be horrors on itssurface, none the less flowed on, carrying all nations to the brotherlyocean of the future centuries! The human lees ended by sinking to thebottom of the vat, and it was not possible to expect that what was rightwould triumph visibly every day; for it was often necessary that yearsshould elapse before the realisation of some hope could emerge from thefermentation. Eternal matter is ever being cast afresh into the crucibleand ever coming from it improved. And if in the depths of pestilentialworkshops and factories the slavery of ancient times subsists in thewage-earning system, if such men as Toussaint still die of want on theirpallets like broken-down beasts of burden, it is nevertheless a fact thatonce already, on a memorable day of tempest, Liberty sprang forth fromthe vat to wing her flight throughout the world. And why in her turnshould not Justice spring from it, proceeding from those troubledelements, freeing herself from all dross, flowing forth with dazzlinglimpidity and regenerating the nations?

However, the voices of Bache and Morin, rising in the course of theirchat with Guillaume, once more drew Pierre from his reverie. They werenow speaking of Janzen, who after being compromised in a fresh outrage atBarcelona had fled from Spain. Bache fancied that he had recognised himin the street only the previous day. To think that a man with so clear amind and such keen energy should waste his natural gifts in such ahateful cause!

"When I remember, " said Morin slowly, "that Barthes lives in exile in ashabby little room at Brussels, ever quivering with the hope that thereign of liberty is at hand--he who has never had a drop of blood on hishands and who has spent two-thirds of his life in prison in order thatthe nations may be freed!"

Bache gently shrugged his shoulders: "Liberty, liberty, of course, " saidhe; "only it is worth nothing if it is not organised. "

Thereupon their everlasting discussion began afresh, with Saint-Simon andFourier on one side and Proudhon and Auguste Comte on the other. Bachegave a long account of the last commemoration which had taken place inhonour of Fourier's memory, how faithful disciples had brought wreathsand made speeches, forming quite a meeting of apostles, who allstubbornly clung to their faith, as confident in the future as if theywere the messengers of some new gospel. Afterwards Morin emptied hispockets, which were always full of Positivist tracts and pamphlets, manifestos, answers and so forth, in which Comte's doctrines wereextolled as furnishing the only possible basis for the new, awaitedreligion. Pierre, who listened, thereupon remembered the disputes in hislittle house at Neuilly when he himself, searching for certainty, hadendeavoured to draw up the century's balance-sheet. He had lost hisdepth, in the end, amidst the contradictions and incoherency of thevarious precursors. Although Fourier had sprung from Saint-Simon, hedenied him in part, and if Saint-Simon's doctrine ended in a kind ofmystical sensuality, the other's conducted to an inacceptable regimentingof society. Proudhon, for his part, demolished without rebuildinganything. Comte, who created method and declared science to be the oneand only sovereign, had not even suspected the advent of the socialcrisis which now threatened to sweep all away, and had finishedpersonally as a mere worshipper of love, overpowered by woman. Nevertheless, these two, Comte and Proudhon, entered the lists and foughtagainst the others, Fourier and Saint-Simon; the combat between them ortheir disciples becoming so bitter and so blind that the truths common tothem all at first seemed obscured and disfigured beyond recognition. Now, however, that evolution had slowly transformed Pierre, those commontruths seemed to him as irrefutable, as clear as the sunlight itself. Amidst the chaos of conflicting assertions which was to be found in thegospels of those social messiahs, there were certain similar phrases andprinciples which recurred again and again, the defence of the poor, theidea of a new and just division of the riches of the world in accordancewith individual labour and merit, and particularly the search for a newlaw of labour which would enable this fresh distribution to be madeequitably. Since all the precursory men of genius agreed so closely uponthose points, must they not be the very foundations of to-morrow's newreligion, the necessary faith which this century must bequeath to thecoming century, in order that the latter may make of it a human religionof peace, solidarity and love?

Then, all at once, there came a leap in Pierre's thoughts. He fanciedhimself at the Madeleine once more, listening to the address on the NewSpirit delivered by Monseigneur Martha, who had predicted that Paris, nowreconverted to Christianity, would, thanks to the Sacred Heart, becomethe ruler of the world. But no, but no! If Paris reigned, it was becauseit was able to exercise its intelligence freely. To set the cross and themystic and repulsive symbolism of a bleeding heart above it was simply somuch falsehood. Although they might rear edifices of pride and dominationas if to crush Paris with their very weight, although they might try tostop science in the name of a dead ideal and in the hope of setting theirclutches upon the coming century, these attempts would be of no avail. Science will end by sweeping away all remnants of their ancientsovereignty, their basilica will crumble beneath the breeze of Truthwithout any necessity of raising a finger against it. The trial has beenmade, the Gospel as a social code has fallen to pieces, and human wisdomcan only retain account of its moral maxims. Ancient Catholicism is onall sides crumbling into dust, Catholic Rome is a mere field of ruinsfrom which the nations turn aside, anxious as they are for a religionthat shall not be a religion of death. In olden times the overburdenedslave, glowing with a new hope and seeking to escape from his gaol, dreamt of a heaven where in return for his earthly misery he would berewarded with eternal enjoyment. But now that science has destroyed thatfalse idea of a heaven, and shown what dupery lies in reliance on themorrow of death, the slave, the workman, weary of dying for happiness'sake, demands that justice and happiness shall find place upon thisearth. Therein lies the new hope--Justice, after eighteen hundred yearsof impotent Charity. Ah! in a thousand years from now, when Catholicismwill be naught but a very ancient superstition of the past, how amazedmen will be to think that their ancestors were able to endure thatreligion of torture and nihility! How astonished they will feel onfinding that God was regarded as an executioner, that manhood wasthreatened, maimed and chastised, that nature was accounted an enemy, that life was looked upon as something accursed, and that death alone waspronounced sweet and liberating! For well-nigh two thousand years theonward march of mankind has been hampered by the odious idea of tearingall that is human away from man: his desires, his passions, his freeintelligence, his will and right of action, his whole strength. And howglorious will be the awakening when such virginity as is now honoured bythe Church is held in derision, when fruitfulness is again recognised asa virtue, amidst the hosanna of all the freed forces of nature--man'sdesires which will be honoured, his passions which will be utilised, hislabour which will be exalted, whilst life is loved and ever and evercreates love afresh!

A new religion! a new religion! Pierre remembered the cry which hadescaped him at Lourdes, and which he had repeated at Rome in presence ofthe collapse of old Catholicism. But he no longer displayed the samefeverish eagerness as then--a puerile, sickly desire that a new Divinityshould at once reveal himself, an ideal come into being, complete in allrespects, with dogmas and form of worship. The Divine certainly seemed tobe as necessary to man as were bread and water; he had ever fallen backupon it, hungering for the mysterious, seemingly having no other means ofconsolation than that of annihilating himself in the unknown. But who cansay that science will not some day quench the thirst for what lies beyondus? If the domain of science embraces the acquired truths, it alsoembraces, and will ever do so, the truths that remain to be acquired. Andin front of it will there not ever remain a margin for the thirst ofknowledge, for the hypotheses which are but so much ideality? Besides, isnot the yearning for the divine simply a desire to behold the Divinity?And if science should more and more content the yearning to know all andbe able to do all, will not that yearning be quieted and end by minglingwith the love of acquired truth? A religion grafted on science is theindicated, certain, inevitable finish of man's long march towardsknowledge. He will come to it at last as to a natural haven, as to peacein the midst of certainty, after passing every form of ignorance andterror on his road. And is there not already some indication of such areligion? Has not the idea of the duality of God and the Universe beenbrushed aside, and is not the principle of unity, _monisme_, becomingmore and more evident--unity leading to solidarity, and the sole law oflife proceeding by evolution from the first point of the ether thatcondensed to create the world? But if precursors, scientists andphilosophers--Darwin, Fourier and all the others--have sown the seed ofto-morrow's religion by casting the good word to the passing breeze, howmany centuries will doubtless be required to raise the crop! Peoplealways forget that before Catholicism grew up and reigned in thesunlight, it spent four centuries in germinating and sprouting from thesoil. Well, then, grant some centuries to this religion of science ofwhose sprouting there are signs upon all sides, and by-and-by theadmirable ideas of some Fourier will be seen expanding and forming a newgospel, with desire serving as the lever to raise the world, workaccepted by one and all, honoured and regulated as the very mechanism ofnatural and social life, and the passions of man excited, contented andutilised for human happiness! The universal cry of Justice, which riseslouder and louder, in a growing clamour from the once silent multitude, the people that have so long been duped and preyed upon, is but a cry forthis happiness towards which human beings are tending, the happiness thatembodies the complete satisfaction of man's needs, and the principle oflife loved for its own sake, in the midst of peace and the expansion ofevery force and every joy. The time will come when this Kingdom of Godwill be set upon the earth; so why not close that other deceptiveparadise, even if the weak-minded must momentarily suffer from thedestruction of their illusions; for it is necessary to operate even withcruelty on the blind if they are to be extricated from their misery, fromtheir long and frightful night of ignorance!

All at once a feeling of deep joy came over Pierre. A child's faint cry, the wakening cry of his son Jean had drawn him from his reverie. And hehad suddenly remembered that he himself was now saved, freed fromfalsehood and fright, restored to good and healthy nature. How hequivered as he recalled that he had once fancied himself lost, blottedout of life, and that a prodigy of love had extricated him from hisnothingness, still strong and sound, since that dear child of his wasthere, sturdy and smiling. Life had brought forth life; and truth hadburst forth, as dazzling as the sun. He had made his third experimentwith Paris, and this had been conclusive; it had been no wretchedmiscarriage with increase of darkness and grief, like his otherexperiments at Lourdes and Rome. In the first place, the law of labourhad been revealed to him, and he had imposed upon himself a task, ashumble a one as it was, that manual calling which he was learning so latein life, but which was, nevertheless, a form of labour, and one in whichhe would never fail, one too that would lend him the serenity which comesfrom the accomplishment of duty, for life itself was but labour: it wasonly by effort that the world existed. And then, moreover, he had loved;and salvation had come to him from woman and from his child. Ah! what along and circuitous journey he had made to reach this finish at once sonatural and so simple! How he had suffered, how much error and anger hehad known before doing what all men ought to do! That eager, glowing lovewhich had contended against his reason, which had bled at sight of thearrant absurdities of the miraculous grotto of Lourdes, which had bledagain too in presence of the haughty decline of the Vatican, had at lastfound contentment now that he was husband and father, now that he hadconfidence in work and believed in the just laws of life. And thence hadcome the indisputable truth, the one solution--happiness in certainty. 

Whilst Pierre was thus plunged in thought, Bache and Morin had alreadygone off with their customary handshakes and promises to come and chatagain some evening. And as Jean was now crying more loudly, Marie tookhim in her arms and unhooked her dress-body to give him her breast. 

"Oh! the darling, it's his time, you know, and he doesn't forget it!" shesaid. "Just look, Pierre, I believe he has got bigger since yesterday. "

She laughed; and Pierre, likewise laughing, drew near to kiss the child. And afterwards he kissed his wife, mastered as he was by emotion at thesight of that pink, gluttonous little creature imbibing life from thatlovely breast so full of milk. 

"Why! he'll eat you, " he gaily said to Marie. "How he's pulling!"

"Oh! he does bite me a little, " she replied; "but I like that the better, it shows that he profits by it. "

Then Mere-Grand, she who as a rule was so serious and silent, began totalk with a smile lighting up her face: "I weighed him this morning, "said she, "he weighs nearly a quarter of a pound more than he did thelast time. And if you had only seen how good he was, the darling! He willbe a very intelligent and well-behaved little gentleman, such as I like. When he's five years old, I shall teach him his alphabet, and when he'sfifteen, if he likes, I'll tell him how to be a man.... Don't youagree with me, Thomas? And you, Antoine, and you, too, Francois?"

Raising their heads, the three sons gaily nodded their approval, gratefulas they felt for the lessons in heroism which she had given them, andapparently finding no reason why she might not live another twenty yearsin order to give similar lessons to Jean. 

Pierre still remained in front of Marie, basking in all the rapture oflove, when he felt Guillaume lay his hands upon his shoulders frombehind. And on turning round he saw that his brother was also radiant, like one who felt well pleased at seeing them so happy. "Ah! brother, "said Guillaume softly, "do you remember my telling you that you sufferedsolely from the battle between your mind and your heart, and that youwould find quietude again when you loved what you could understand? Itwas necessary that our father and mother, whose painful quarrel hadcontinued beyond the grave, should be reconciled in you. And now it'sdone, they sleep in peace within you, since you yourself are pacified. "

These words filled Pierre with emotion. Joy beamed upon his face, whichwas now so open and energetic. He still had the towering brow, thatimpregnable fortress of reason, which he had derived from his father, andhe still had the gentle chin and affectionate eyes and mouth which hismother had given him, but all was now blended together, instinct withhappy harmony and serene strength. Those two experiments of his which hadmiscarried, were like crises of his maternal heredity, the tearfultenderness which had come to him from his mother, and which for lack ofsatisfaction had made him desperate; and his third experiment had onlyended in happiness because he had contented his ardent thirst for love inaccordance with sovereign reason, that paternal heredity which pleaded soloudly within him. Reason remained the queen. And if his sufferings hadthus always come from the warfare which his reason had waged against hisheart, it was because he was man personified, ever struggling between hisintelligence and his passions. And how peaceful all seemed, now that hehad reconciled and satisfied them both, now that he felt healthy, perfectand strong, like some lofty oak, which grows in all freedom, and whosebranches spread far away over the forest. 

"You have done good work in that respect, " Guillaume affectionatelycontinued, "for yourself and for all of us, and even for our dear parentswhose shades, pacified and reconciled, now abide so peacefully in thelittle home of our childhood. I often think of our dear house at Neuilly, which old Sophie is taking care of for us; and although, out of egotism, a desire to set happiness around me, I wished to keep you here, your Jeanmust some day go and live there, so as to bring it fresh youth. "

Pierre had taken hold of his brother's hands, and looking into his eyeshe asked: "And you--are you happy?"

"Yes, very happy, happier than I have ever been; happy at loving you as Ido, and happy at being loved by you as no one else will ever love me. "

Their hearts mingled in ardent brotherly affection, the most perfect andheroic affection that can blend men together. And they embraced oneanother whilst, with her babe on her breast, Marie, so gay, healthful andloyal, looked at them and smiled, with big tears gathering in her eyes. 

Thomas, however, having finished his motor's last toilet, had just set itin motion. It was a prodigy of lightness and strength, of no weightwhatever in comparison with the power it displayed. And it worked withperfect smoothness, without noise or smell. The whole family was gatheredround it in delight, when there came a timely visit, one from the learnedand friendly Bertheroy, whom indeed Guillaume had asked to call, in orderthat he might see the motor working. 

The great chemist at once expressed his admiration; and when he hadexamined the mechanism and understood how the explosive was employed asmotive power--an idea which he had long recommended, --he tenderedenthusiastic congratulations to Guillaume and Thomas. "You have created alittle marvel, " said he, "one which may have far-reaching effects bothsocially and humanly. Yes, yes, pending the invention of the electricalmotor which we have not yet arrived at, here is an ideal one, a system ofmechanical traction for all sorts of vehicles. Even aerial navigation maynow become a possibility, and the problem of force at home is finallysolved. And what a grand step! What sudden progress! Distance againdiminished, all roads thrown open, and men able to fraternise! This is agreat boon, a splendid gift, my good friends, that you are bestowing onthe world. "

Then he began to jest about the new explosive, whose prodigious power hehad divined, and which he now found put to such a beneficent purpose. "And to think, Guillaume, " he said, "that I fancied you acted with somuch mysteriousness and hid the formula of your powder from me becauseyou had an idea of blowing up Paris!"

At this Guillaume became grave and somewhat pale. And he confessed thetruth. "Well, I did for a moment think of it. "

However, Bertheroy went on laughing, as if he regarded this answer asmere repartee, though truth to tell he had felt a slight chill sweepthrough his hair. "Well, my friend, " he said, "you have done far betterin offering the world this marvel, which by the way must have been both adifficult and dangerous matter. So here is a powder which was intended toexterminate people, and which in lieu thereof will now increase theircomfort and welfare. In the long run things always end well, as I'm quitetired of saying. "

On beholding such lofty and tolerant good nature, Guillaume felt moved. Bertheroy's words were true. What had been intended for purposes ofdestruction served the cause of progress; the subjugated, domesticatedvolcano became labour, peace and civilisation. Guillaume had evenrelinquished all idea of his engine of battle and victory; he had foundsufficient satisfaction in this last invention of his, which wouldrelieve men of some measure of weariness, and help to reduce their labourto just so much effort as there must always be. In this he detected somelittle advance towards Justice; at all events it was all that he himselfcould contribute to the cause. And when on turning towards the window hecaught sight of the basilica of the Sacred Heart, he could not explainwhat insanity had at one moment cone over him, and set him dreaming ofidiotic and useless destruction. Some miasmal gust must have swept by, something born of want that scattered germs of anger and vengeance. Buthow blind it was to think that destruction and murder could ever beargood fruit, ever sow the soil with plenty and happiness! Violence cannotlast, and all it does is to rouse man's feeling of solidarity even amongthose on whose behalf one kills. The people, the great multitude, rebelagainst the isolated individual who seeks to wreak justice. No one mancan take upon himself the part of the volcano; this is the wholeterrestrial crust, the whole multitude which internal fire impels to riseand throw up either an Alpine chain or a better and freer society. Andwhatever heroism there may be in their madness, however great andcontagious may be their thirst for martyrdom, murderers are neveranything but murderers, whose deeds simply sow the seeds of horror. Andif on the one hand Victor Mathis had avenged Salvat, he had also slainhim, so universal had been the cry of reprobation roused by the secondcrime, which was yet more monstrous and more useless than the first. 

Guillaume, laughing in his turn, replied to Bertheroy in words whichshowed how completely he was cured: "You are right, " he said, "all endswell since all contributes to truth and justice. Unfortunately, thousandsof years are sometimes needed for any progress to be accomplished.... However, for my part, I am simply going to put my new explosive on themarket, so that those who secure the necessary authorisation maymanufacture it and grow rich. Henceforth it belongs to one and all.... And I've renounced all idea of revolutionising the world. "

But Bertheroy protested. This great official scientist, this member ofthe Institute laden with offices and honours, pointed to the littlemotor, and replied with all the vigour of his seventy years: "But that isrevolution, the true, the only revolution. It is with things like thatand not with stupid bombs that one revolutionises the world! It is not bydestroying, but by creating, that you have just done the work of arevolutionist. And how many times already have I not told you thatscience alone is the world's revolutionary force, the only force which, far above all paltry political incidents, the vain agitation of despots, priests, sectarians and ambitious people of all kinds, works for thebenefit of those who will come after us, and prepares the triumph oftruth, justice and peace.... Ah, my dear child, if you wish tooverturn the world by striving to set a little more happiness in it, youhave only to remain in your laboratory here, for human happiness canspring only from the furnace of the scientist. "

He spoke perhaps in a somewhat jesting way, but one could feel that hewas convinced of it all, that he held everything excepting science inutter contempt. He had not even shown any surprise when Pierre had casthis cassock aside; and on finding him there with his wife and child hehad not scrupled to show him as much affection as in the past. 

Meantime, however, the motor was travelling hither and thither, making nomore noise than a bluebottle buzzing in the sunshine. The whole happyfamily was gathered about it, still laughing with delight at such avictorious achievement. And all at once little Jean, Monsieur Jean, having finished sucking, turned round, displaying his milk-smeared lips, and perceived the machine, the pretty plaything which walked about byitself. At sight of it, his eyes sparkled, dimples appeared on his plumpcheeks, and, stretching out his quivering chubby hands, he raised a crowof delight. 

Marie, who was quietly fastening her dress, smiled at his glee andbrought him nearer, in order that he might have a better view of the toy. "Ah! my darling, it's pretty, isn't it? It moves and it turns, and it'sstrong; it's quite alive, you see. "

The others, standing around, were much amused by the amazed, enrapturedexpression of the child, who would have liked to touch the machine, perhaps in the hope of understanding it. 

"Yes, " resumed Bertheroy, "it's alive and it's powerful like the sun, like that great sun shining yonder over Paris, and ripening men andthings. And Paris too is a motor, a boiler in which the future isboiling, while we scientists keep the eternal flame burning underneath. Guillaume, my good fellow, you are one of the stokers, one of theartisans of the future, with that little marvel of yours, which willstill further extend the influence of our great Paris over the wholeworld. "

These words impressed Pierre, and he again thought of a gigantic vatstretching yonder from one horizon to the other, a vat in which thecoming century would emerge from an extraordinary mixture of theexcellent and the vile. But now, over and above all passions, ambitions, stains and waste, he was conscious of the colossal expenditure of labourwhich marked the life of Paris, of the heroic manual efforts inwork-shops and factories, and the splendid striving of the young men ofintellect whom he knew to be hard at work, studying in silence, relinquishing none of the conquests of their elders, but glowing withdesire to enlarge their domain. And in all this Paris was exalted, together with the future that was being prepared within it, and whichwould wing its flight over the world bright like the dawn of day. IfRome, now so near its death, had ruled the ancient world, it was Paristhat reigned with sovereign sway over the modern era, and had for thetime become the great centre of the nations as they were carried on fromcivilisation to civilisation, in a sunward course from east to west. Paris was the world's brain. Its past so full of grandeur had prepared itfor the part of initiator, civiliser and liberator. Only yesterday it hadcast the cry of Liberty among the nations, and to-morrow it would bringthem the religion of Science, the new faith awaited by the democracies. And Paris was also gaiety, kindness and gentleness, passion for knowledgeand generosity without limit. Among the workmen of its faubourgs and thepeasants of its country-sides there were endless reserves of men on whomthe future might freely draw. And the century ended with Paris, and thenew century would begin and spread with it. All the clamour of itsprodigious labour, all the light that came from it as from a beaconoverlooking the earth, all the thunder and tempest and triumphantbrightness that sprang from its entrails, were pregnant with that finalsplendour, of which human happiness would be compounded. 

Marie raised a light cry of admiration as she pointed towards the city. "Look! just look!" she exclaimed; "Paris is all golden, covered with aharvest of gold!"

They all re-echoed her admiration, for the effect was really one ofextraordinary magnificence. The declining sun was once more veiling theimmensity of Paris with golden dust. But this was no longer the city ofthe sower, a chaos of roofs and edifices suggesting brown land turned upby some huge plough, whilst the sun-rays streamed over it like goldenseed, falling upon every side. Nor was it the city whose divisions hadone day seemed so plain to Pierre: eastward, the districts of toil, mistywith the grey smoke of factories; southward, the districts of study, serene and quiet; westward, the districts of wealth, bright and open; andin the centre the districts of trade, with dark and busy streets. It nowseemed as if one and the same crop had sprung up on every side, impartingharmony to everything, and making the entire expanse one sole, boundlessfield, rich with the same fruitfulness. There was corn, corn everywhere, an infinity of corn, whose golden wave rolled from one end of the horizonto the other. Yes, the declining sun steeped all Paris in equalsplendour, and it was truly the crop, the harvest, after the sowing!

"Look! just look, " repeated Marie, "there is not a nook without itssheaf; the humblest roofs are fruitful, and every blade is full-earedwherever one may look. It is as if there were now but one and the samesoil, reconciled and fraternal. Ah! Jean, my little Jean, look! see howbeautiful it is!"

Pierre, who was quivering, had drawn close beside her. And Mere-Grand andBertheroy smiled upon that promise of a future which they would not see, whilst beside Guillaume, whom the sight filled with emotion, were histhree big sons, the three young giants, looking quite grave, they whoever laboured and were ever hopeful. Then Marie, with a fine gesture ofenthusiasm, stretched out her arms and raised her child aloft, as ifoffering it in gift to the huge city. 

"See, Jean! see, little one, " she cried, "it's you who'll reap it all, who'll store the whole crop in the barn!"

And Paris flared--Paris, which the divine sun had sown with light, andwhere in glory waved the great future harvest of Truth and of Justice. 

THE END